#but a lot of these people looking for a quick buck are not intelligent enough to form their own opinions which is why they literally just

[lecoindecachou]

Right, so originally I didn't even start re-watching this video bc of James Somerton but bc I wanted to watch the iilluminaughtii part of it again (she's still making videos btw. the comments are turned off). I actually remember seeing the thumbnail for them *a lot* on my recommended but I clicked on one once and didn't even make it to the end because well. It did feel like she was reading me the newspaper lol. I really hate that kind of monotone voice so many Youtubers use now, like they're reciting you the information at the back of a cereal box. It's the auditory equivalent of watching paint dry to me.

[ravynfyre]

First off, hi @bitchfitch ! You don't know me, but I saw your post through a mutual. I have trained and handled search and rescue dogs, and worked with training service dogs, and have worked with breeders of specialty dogs, for about 20-25 years now. I hope I can offer you some help here.

One of my dearest friends utilizes a Borzoi (Russian Wolfhound) as a mobility assistance dog. He is tall and surprisingly strong, and has an absolutely ideal temperament for it. Borzoi do, however, have just as high a coat maintenance as the big working dogs like Berners and Saints and Newfies. So I would recommend perhaps adding looking at the shorter coated tall sighthounds to your consideration list. Like a Greyhound or a Lurcher. I would avoid the Deerhounds or Irish Wolfhounds because they tend to have shorter lives and some odd health concerns due to limited gene pools. However, I cannot recommend a Deerhound cross (lurcher or longdog) enough. A first generation lurcher of a Deerhound and German or Belgian Shepherd should give you the height and mass, the absolutely devoted personality so useful in a service dog, the determined intelligence that makes training for those issues to be more reliable and consistent, and just the most beautiful heart, while the introduction of the herding dog genes would definitely help mitigate a lot of the inbreeding issues of the deerhound. Second generation crosses can become a bit more chaotic and harder to predict what they will turn out like, unless you have a really good and experienced lurcher/longdog breeder.

I would also suggest having a look at the Eastern European import lines of German Shepherds. They do not have the steeply angular backs that American lines tend to have, and thus, tend to have much healthier hips and joints. They also tend toward longer lives, and there are quite a few lines, particularly in the sable coloration, of the eastern european working shepherds that tend toward heavy, burly, tall bodies that would excel at being a stability dog. Plus, the herding dogs' senses of smell and focus on their handlers is EXTREMELY good for training the ability to sense the nuances of behavior required for a cardiac dog. If you are committed to a big boned freight/water dog type, I would avoid the Saints, or specifically look for "Drymouth" lines, because those memes and "jokes" about how much St. Bernards drool really are NOT jokes, or much hyperbole. Newfies run into the same issues, albeit not quite as pronounced. Berners tend a lot less towards drool, so I would lean towards one of those.

I would avoid the Bernadoodles, UNLESS it's like a fourth or later generation with predictable, consistent results for *at least* two generations. There is just *so much* difference in the genetic predisposition between the two breeds that it is too difficult to predict which genes will come out or rise ascendant in the offspring, until you have several generations that you have been selecting for. Contrary to popular belief, not all "doodles" are hypoallergenic - it's a crap-shoot whether that passes on to the pups or not. And the cross of two wildly different, and BOTH high maintenance coat types, *usually* makes for a VERY high maintenance coat that *requires* weekly or bi-weekly groomings by a professional to prevent them becoming a nightmare. And there are too damn many people out there trying to make a quick buck with a "fad" "breed" to be able to trust that the average "doodle" of whatever stripe is worth a shit.

Once you have decided on a breed, if you are on facebook, I recommend joining Fact Or Fiction: Ubncensored Opinion Of Breeders (https://www.facebook.com/groups/165506736957539) and also looking up as many communities for the breed(s) you are considering and joining those. That makes a good stepping stone to start researching specific breeders for the type you are looking for, and fellow breeders/owners are often very good at helping you look for someone who can produce the dog with the traits you need and are looking for. (Once you get under all the elitist bullshit that is, unfortunately, pretty much ubiquitous in all breeder/breed groups)

Do not let them discourage you or tell you "this breed doesn't do that". While it is true that the whole point behind breeds is that each breed has specialties, that doesn't mean that, say, a sighthound is incapable of being a scent dog... or that a malinois cannot be a comfort dog. it just eans that it may take a little more work to find the right specific animal to do what you want, rather than having a pick out of a large pool of dogs who *tend* to have desirable traits in general. (I mod for an australian cattle dog group and just had to shut down discourse on how cattle dogs were "incapable" of being a trained medical service dog, because "they can't be calm enough to do those things, and are too standoffish to strangers". That CAN be a breed trait, but *is not universal*. Same thing. If you decided on a Caucasian Mountain Dog to be your service dog, it would not be as *easy* to find an appropriate animal as it would be to find a Berner... but dogs are as individual as people are, and are not slaves to their breed characteristics)

If you are NOT on facebook, I would seek out social edia breed communities for the breed(s) you have selected, and start your research there. I do, however, recommend Facebook for exactly this type of thing, though. It's one of the few truly useful things FB can do - bring together people with similar knowledge bases to assist you. Reddit is also quite superb at that.

I do not have any contacts with Saints or Newfies, and only one contact who does Berners, but I do have quite a few in the general working dog world, and quite a few in the sighthound and herder worlds. So if there is anything that you think I could help you with there please do not hesitate to reach out to me.

Good luck, and I wish you strength and skill in finding and training what you need!

does anyone have tips/advice for someone who's like. Neutral on dogs but needs a service dog? I don't dislike them, I'm definitely more of a cat or fish person, but I've never had a dog that weighed more than 15lbs and he was more my parents dog than anything else and so I'm. A bit out of my depth when it comes to evaluating breeders and puppies and trainers and what to get and what to not get etc etc etc

(I'm specifically looking for a mobility and cardiac alert dog, so a Bernese Mountain Dog, Newfoundland (the ideal tbh), saint bernard etc)

[jostenneil]

Look, dgmw, I 100% understand the appeal of Red Hood conceptually, especially as a revenge fantasy- I do! The idea of Jason filling a narrative role of representing the anger of trauma victims or those the system fucks over (which I bring up bc it’s a lot of the “keep killing” camp tend to see him this way in my experience) can be very interesting to see explored or think about, especially when taking into account the societal power structures at play in Jason’s life & in Gotham, more specifically Crime Alley. HOWEVER there are many many reasons that it just… is not a good position to keep Jason in. Like, first of all, DC has been shown to write Jason’s ideology incredibly inconsistently (*coughs* in part due to the classism that led to his post-dying character assassination *cough*) & has it’s been shown that, generally, they are not able to examine it enough to execute it well. Or, more likely, they’ve never even really cared to beyond maybe UTRH & LDs. Secondly, even Jason’s most lauded post-resurrection writer (Winnick) has an incredibly reductive view of the character & his reasons for violence. He views Jason as a “complete psychopath” who slept with Talia out of an Oedipal desire to get back at Bruce &, if given the chance, would have likely used to play into the deranged bisexual trope (do I want Jason to be bi? Yes, but keep Winnick away from it). DC’s intention has very never been to actually explore Jason as a sympathetic anti-villain/anti-hero who’s representative of trauma victims (I’ve not read Outlaws yet but from what I’ve heard it does not count). They probably didn’t even think about it beyond whatever hamfisted way they could shove it in to make a quick buck off fanon. There is no reason to think this will change. Thirdly, there are other characters who will this niche better & more consistently, namely Bertinelli. Fourthly, I’d argue that you cannot fully separate Jason’s anger from the classism that led to it’s modern portrayal. For all people like to complain about it I’m honestly shocked that more people don’t take into account that Jason was nearly completely re-characterized after his murder, leading to a lot of his character development-regardless of whether it’s positive or negative- utterly illogical. Like Jason has been shown to be on some level aware of the cycle of crime since his first post-crisis appearance & I would not be at all surprised if a majority of people who’ve written for him post-resurrection were unaware of it. That is a problem. Lastly, destructive anger like this is not something that was thematically super present for Jason prior to his death- indignation at injustice sure, but not that level of rage- where as compassion was. Anger is also not sustainable to base one’s entire life & belief system around, compassion is. Not only is there more reason to explore Jason from that lens based on logical development, but I’d argue it’s more interesting. Tldr: Jason’s name literally means “to heal”, where the fuck is his trauma recovery regaining compassion arc???? Where?? Have 90% of his backing cast be civilian women w varying views on red hood’s methods & maybe I’ll pay you real money DC.

Sorry this is so long. Jason is just my blorbo sckrinly & therefore I’m very passionate about this. Thank you for being intelligent, I hope you have a nice night/day/whatever time it is for you☺️.

no like i don’t even have anything to add to this this literally says it all

[thetravelerwrites]

Urgan (Orc)

Rating: Mature Relationship: Male Human/Male Orc Additional Tags: Exophilia, Monster Boyfriend, Orc, Male Reader, MLM, Gay Reader, Football Captain, College, Friends to Lovers Content Warnings: Alcohol Poisoning, Children, Kids, Pregnancy, Unwanted Pregnacy, Mention of Abortion, College Drop-Out, Strong Language, Drug Use, Angst, Super Angst, ALL THE ANGST Words: 4385

A super duper angsty commission by the wonderful @severedreamerbeard​​! Urgan is the captain of his college football team and all around cool dude. He's an extremely reliable guy with his whole life ahead of him... until the woman he's been dating winds up pregnant, which turns his entire world upside down. The reader, Urgan's best friend, tries to help as much as he can while watching Urgan's life fall apart. Please reblog and leave feedback!

The Traveler's Masterlist  

Urgan had been your best friend since preschool. You were human and he was an orc, but you were both jocks growing up, both in sports, both athletic. He’d been there with you through all the major events in your life. He was there when your parents divorced, when you came out as gay in middle school, and when the teammates who had once been friends started bullying you because of it. He was always there.

You hoped you had been as good a friend to him as he had been to you. You were there when his dad died, when his mom remarried someone he hated, and when his highschool sweetheart cheated on him. After all that, the two of you were closer than brothers.

College life was easier on both of you. You both had gotten a sports scholarship and found a friend group that was a lot of fun to hang out with. Parties were epic, classes were less so, but you were living the life and loving every second of it.

Then it changed. Not for everyone, not even for you. Or at least, it didn’t have to. You could have made different choices. It would have been far easier if you had, you were sure. But…

“How long have you been dating Kelly?” You asked him over a beer. The two of you were sitting out on the front porch of a house party currently in full swing.

“Who?” He snorted, half-asleep. He’d pulled an all-nighter the day before preparing for his psych exam.

“Kelly,” You said, pointing into the open door at the girl wearing a halter with a half-empty vodka bottle in her hand, some of which she’d spilled on her chest, grinding on another girl who was sucking the vodka off of her clavicle.

“I wouldn’t say we’re ‘dating’,” He replied, throwing back a large swig of his beer. “Fucking, yes. I’m not trying to date anyone right now. I don’t have the time.” He threw his beer bottle into a large trash barrel and stood up. “Where’s Derek? He owes me fifty bucks.”

“For what?” You asked, standing up and following him through the house. He slapped Kelly’s ass as he passed her on the way inside, and she laughed.

“I borrowed it to buy coke three weeks ago,” He said.

“Didn’t he almost OD?” You asked.

“Yeah, but that ain’t my fault, I want my money,” Urgan said, muscling his way through the crowd.

“Don’t be an asshole, bro,” You said, still following him.

“I’m not being an asshole! It’s not like he learned anything, I bet you five bucks he’s doing coke right now.”

“Yeah, I’m not taking that bet,” You laughed. “I don’t know of a time when he’s not on coke. I think he was high when we first met.”

“That’s my point. You know I’m cool about that stuff normally, but it’s affecting his performance on the field,” Urgan grumbled. “I’m team captain, and if he doesn’t straighten up, I have to kick him off the team, friend or not. We lost to E.U. because of him.”

You grimaced. E.U. had been your school’s rival for generations. The loss hurt and was a huge blow to Urgan. It didn’t help that it was televised nationally.

“If you kick him off the team, the other guys will be pissed,” You reasoned.

“I know that,” He said grumpily. “But managing the team internally is my job. If I don’t do something about it, coach will either demote me or kick me off with him for not handling it when I should have. I can’t afford to lose my scholarship over some douchebag’s coke habit.” He made his way into the garage at the opposite end of the house and smacked a seated Derek on the back of the head. “Hey, Derek! Money! Now!”

“Dude, back off!” Derek protested. “I’ll get it to you when I get it, damn!”

“Not good enough,” Urgan said, kicking the mirror that was in front of Derek. Powder went flying.

“Hey!” Derek said, standing up and taking a swing at Urgan. Urgan ducked and caught Derek’s arm, pinning it behind him. He was always quick.

“Quit the coke or quit the team,” Urgan said, snarling. “We’re not losing another game because you’re too high to play.”

“The fuck are you talking about, man?” Derek said, struggling. “Don’t blame that shit on me! It’s not my fault you can’t organize your team!”

“I’m serious, dude,” Urgan said, pushing Derek to the ground. “I’m not getting punished for you. Straighten up or fuck off.”

“Suck my dick, asshole,” Derek said. He jerked his chin at you. “Or get your boyfriend to do it.”

Words like that were water off your back at this point, but it always riled Urgan up. You could already see him tensing.

“Let it go, dude,” You said, pulling him back. “Derek, seriously, you’re bringing the whole team down. Lay off the drugs, at least until after the championship.”

“Get the fuck out of my house if you’re going to act all high and mighty,” Derek said, pushing past you. “And you can forget that fifty bucks. It’s all over the ground now.”

Urgan’s fists were balled up and he was breathing hard.

“He’s not going to stop,” Urgan said.

“Come on, dude,” You said, smacking him on the shoulder. “You’re not going to accomplish anything here. Take it to the field. Show him why you’re captain.”

“I guess,” He said. “I’m hungry, man, let’s grab something.”

“Sure,” You said. “Kelly’s coming over to your place after the party, though, right?”

“Yeah, but she won’t be any shape to do anything but sleep. She knows where the key is, she’ll be fine.”

Finals were coming up, and most people were holed up in their rooms or dorms studying. Urgan was a decent student and never really worried about tests, though you hadn’t heard from him in a couple of days, which was odd. He could have been working a lot; he had a part-time job to pay for his own studio apartment. He said the dorms were too small for him.

“Urgan? No, I haven’t seen him in a week.” Joey said. Joey was a coworker from the bar where Urgan worked and also an ex-boyfriend of yours. You bumped into him at the university’s library while looking for Urgan. Urgan hadn’t answered his door when you went to check on him, so you figured he had to be here.

“Is he sick?” You asked, taking out your phone. You’d texted him awhile ago and you saw that he had seen it, but he hadn’t responded.

“I dunno,” Joey said. “All I know is that he asked the boss for some personal time. It could just be finals getting to him.”

You frowned. “Hmm… I’m going back to his apartment. He’s never been this quiet before. Something’s not right.”

“Tell him to come back to work. All the girls try to flirt with me when he’s not there. I need him to be my shield.”

You laughed and waved him off, heading out.

“Urgan!” You called, knocking insistently on his door. “Open the door! Are you alright?”

No answer. Frustrated, you got the spare key that was hidden in a slit of the doormat and unlocked the door. His apartment was dark and looked normal. Urgan was a fairly tidy guy, and nothing was really out of place.

“Urgan!” You called again, walking around the partition that obscured his bed. There he was, passed out on top of his blankets. There were empty bottles of liquor everywhere. Your heart stopped.

“Oh, fuck, please don’t be dead,” You said, crawling on the bed to slap him in the face. “Urgan, wake up!” His skin was cold, which scared the shit out of you, but after a minute feeling for a pulse on his neck you found a heartbeat, and you could see him breathing very slowly, so at least he was alive. But he wasn’t responding to your attempts to rouse him.

“Shit.” You took out your phone and called and called emergency services.

“911, what’s the nature of your emergency?”

“Hey, I need an ambulance, I think my friend has alcohol poisoning.” You said quickly, hoping it was intelligible, and gave them the address.

“Okay, sir, how long has this been going on?”

“I’m not sure, I just found him. I haven’t heard from him in days. He’s got a pulse, but he won’t wake up.”

“Is he cold to the touch?”

“Yes.”

“Is he breathing?”

“Slowly, but yes.”

“Can you make sure his airway is clear?”

You put the phone down and opened his mouth. There didn’t seem to be anything in the way.

“It’s clear,” You said.

“Alright, sir, I’ve got an ambulance on the way. Do me a favor and turn him on his side and bend the leg that’s on the top. Keep his airway clear and keep an eye on his breathing.”

“Okay,” You said, doing as the operator said and trying to keep calm.

The ambulance arrived within minutes, and after several moments of the EMTs attempting to wake him and failing, they loaded him in the rig. You were able to ride with him to the hospital. They took you both to a room, and you stood back as they began hooking Urgan up to all sorts of tubes and wires. They put a tube in his mouth because his breathing was weak and slowing down. They put him on a heavy saline drip and debated whether or not to pump his stomach. Eventually, they left him to rest and you sat with him.

“What the fuck is happening with you, man?” You asked him quietly as he slept.

Eventually, you fell asleep, and when you woke up, they were taking the air tube out of his throat. Urgan was awake and groaning in discomfort as it was removed.

“Dude, what the hell?” You said, standing up.

His eyes were bloodshot and he looked extremely sick, but at least he was awake. He waited for the doctors and the nurses to leave so that it was just you and him before he answered you.

“Kelly’s pregnant,” He said hoarsely. “It’s mine. She’s sure of it.”

“Oh, shit,” You said, sitting back down in the chair next to him. “I thought you used protection.”

“I do,” He said in frustration. “The condom must have broken or something. She told me she was on the pill. I don’t know what happened. I’m so fucking screwed.”

“You may not be,” You said, trying to comfort him, but you knew he was right. Being team captain meant that you put the team before everything. If you had another priority, you couldn’t be team captain. Not to mention the scandal of having a kid during the height of his college career would destroy his reputation and make him seem irresponsible. A baby right now was going to ruin him.

“Don’t bullshit me. I can’t show my face at school. Coach is going to kick my ass as soon as he finds out. My life is over.”

“Don’t talk like that, man,” You said. “What’s Kelly saying about all this? Has she told anyone?”

“No, not yet,” He said, covering his eyes. “Well, she hadn’t when I started drinking, but I don’t know if she has now.”

“She wants to keep it?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t get farther than ‘I’m having a baby and it’s yours’. And then I just started drinking and didn’t stop.”

“How far along is she?”

“Three months, she said.”

“How does she know it’s yours?”

“I was the only person she was sleeping with at the time. We were thinking about dating seriously, but it didn’t work out that way.”

“Do you believe that?”

“I don’t know. We’ll find out, I guess.”

You frowned deeply. “She’s… been partying pretty hard in the last three months.”

Urgan rubbed his face. “I know. I’m scared shitless the kid is going to be born fucked up.”

“Do you… think you can talk her into giving it up? For adoption, I mean? She doesn’t seem like mom material.”

“I don’t know,” He said. “I don’t know what she’ll do.”

“What about…” You hesitated to mention it. “What about an abortion?”

“That’s her decision,” He said vaguely. “It’s her body.”

“Do you want me to talk to her?”

“No, don’t,” He said. “I’ll do it when I’ve got my head on right.”

“Dude, look where you are right now,” You said, gesturing vaguely. “Let me at least call her.”

He sighed. “Fine.”

You took Urgan’s phone, which was in his back pocket when he was brought in, and called Kelly. She was surprised to hear about Urgan’s condition and said she’d come up to the hospital.

She arrived an hour later and you gave them some privacy to talk. It was a while, so you went to grab a soda. When you came back, Kelly was leaving with tears on her face. You went in and saw Urgan sitting up in bed. His eyes were red from crying.

“Hey man, are you okay?”

“No,” He said, wiping his face and sniffing. “She’s going to keep it. I’m leaving school.”

“What?” You said, coming around. “What are you talking about?”

“I’m gonna finish out the semester but I’m leaving before the baby is born. I have to find a better job. I’m hoping I can come back when the baby is a bit older, like when they start school or something, and finish my degree.”

“But you only have a year left! Are you sure this is what you want to do?”

“No!” He shouted. “I don’t want to leave school! I’ve been dreaming of this scholarship since I was a kid! It was my dad’s dream! But I’m not going to be a deadbeat! I have to find a decent job before the baby is born. I don’t have a choice.”

You were stunned to silence and just listen to him breathe through his tears.

“Are you and Kelly staying together?”

“Fuck no,” He said vehemently. “We both know that would be stupid. She’s going to stay in school as long as she can. She’s supposed to be due in winter sometime, so I should have enough saved up by then to give her for the baby, to make sure they’re comfortable.” He scowled. “I’m sure Derek is going to be thrilled. I can just see the look on his face now.”

“Don’t worry about that jackass,” You said. “Dude, I… Is there anything I can do to help out?”

He shook his head. “Kelly and I are going to keep this quiet until the end of the semester so that we don’t have to deal with anyone bullshit. After that, we’ll start telling people.”

“You’re not going to tell your mom?”

“Not yet. I can’t face her yet. She’s going to be so disappointed in me.” His tears began to fall again, and all you could do was put a hand on his shoulder and be there for him.

“I won’t say anything to anyone,” You told him. “I’m still your best friend, no matter what. If you need anything, you know I got you.”

“Thanks, man,” He said, his voice breaking.

Urgan finished out school as he planned, barely scraping a passing grade, and then notified everyone that he wouldn’t be returning. As expected, his coach was furious, his mom was disappointed, and the team was dumbfounded. Derek was the only person who seemed to be enjoying the situation.

During summer, he asked for an amniocentesis, both to prove whether or not Urgan was the father, and also to check for any genetic conditions, since Kelly’s family had a history of genetic diseases. Urgan was hoping that she was lying about only sleeping with him around the time she conceived and that he would wind up not the father so he could go back to school, but the test was conclusive. The baby was his.

Urgan found work pretty quickly at a seafood processing plant near town. It was grueling work and it didn’t pay much, but it was a full-time job and had healthcare benefits, which was the best he could hope for in these circumstances. He began saving immediately to buy clothes and diapers for his kid, which he recently found out was a little girl, and was in frequent contact with Kelly. He didn’t attend any of the doctor’s visits at Kelly’s request. Not that he wanted to be there in the first place.

You continued with college and partied like a normal college guy, stayed on the football team, and was promoted to captain. Urgan seemed happy for you and gave you pointers on leadership. If he resented you for it, he gave no sign.

Many of Urgan’s old friends, mostly team members, dropped him immediately. They no longer invited him to parties or events, and when you mentioned inviting him, they shot you down. As far as you knew, the only one who still stood by him was you, and you couldn’t be there as much as you wanted to as you now had responsibilities with the team.

Even still, if he called, you dropped what you were doing and went over. You promised you’d be there, and you were going to keep that promise. He was your best friend and you were going to stand with him. No matter what.

Urgan’s daughter, Roga, was born in November. She was small, even for a half-orc. You were there in the waiting room for the birth with the grandparents. It might have been your presence that stopped them from being at each other’s throats; the animosity in the air was palpable. Kelly’s dad was there, looking not-best-pleased at Urgan’s mom, despite her being nearly twice his size, but no harsh words were said.

Urgan came out in the full paper surgical outfit, holding the baby. He even seemed happy.

“Here she is,” He said, holding her out for the grandparents to see.

“Oh, isn’t she precious,” Urgan’s mom, Reana, said. “She’s got your eyes, Urg.”

“Yeah,” He said, smiling. “She looks a bit like dad, don’t you think?”

“She does!” Reana said brightly. “That nose definitely looks like his.”

The grandparents took turns holding the baby, and then went in to see the mother.

“Hey,” Urgan said to you, the only one left in the room. “Do you want to hold her?”

You chuckled nervously. “I dunno, man, I’ve never held a baby.”

“Neither have I, before today,” He said. “You don’t have to. I just wanted to offer since everyone else got to.”

“Yeah, but they’re family.”

“You’re family, too,” He said, looking at you like you were being an idiot.

You smiled a little and held out your arms, and Urgan carefully lay the baby into them. She was small and squishy and her face was all wrinkly. Babies all looked like potatoes to you. But she reached out and yawned and grabbed at your hand, and you couldn’t help but smile.

“She’s cute,” You said, letting her grip your finger.

“Yeah,” He said, grinning.

“How’s Kelly?”

“She hates my guts, but she’s okay.” Urgan reached out to take the baby, and you handed her over. “I should take Roga back. The lactation specialist wants to work with her.”

“I didn’t know there was a such thing as a lactation specialist,” You said with a laugh.

“Oh, yeah,” Urgan said. “The last nine months have been extremely informative.”

You snorted. “I bet.”

He took the baby back to Kelly and you sat in the waiting room, feeling a little awkward. Why were you here? You weren’t really family. You knew you were supporting Urgan, but… he didn’t really need you there right now. He seemed fine. Happy even, considering the circumstances. Maybe… maybe you should go. You really didn’t belong here.

You texted Urgan to let him know something had come up and to call you if you needed him, and he told you that it was okay, and to be careful going home. As you left, you sighed in relief. But you also felt a little guilty.

Six months later was graduation. You finished top of your class and made valedictorian. You knew that if Urgan had still been in school, he’d have gotten that honor, but…

Urgan didn’t come to graduation, and you understood why. Kelly crossed the stage and accepted her diploma, and you couldn’t help feel a little resentful at her, despite the fact that it wasn’t her fault that Urgan wasn’t there, either. They really had done everything they were supposed to do--used protection, used birth control, was careful--but things just happen sometimes. Even still, it felt like Urgan was the one who had sacrificed the most and had gotten nothing in return.

You managed to get a job at an accounting firm almost immediately after graduation. It was a boring job but the money was good. You were hoping it would be a stepping stone to a better career later.

Since getting the job, you hadn’t really seen or spoken to Urgan much. You were still his best friend, but… you had your own life to live. You felt guilty about it, but your world couldn’t stop just because his had.

Urgan was still working at the fish processing plant, working long hours to support Roga. Urgan was basically paying Kelly’s rent and bills plus everything Roga needed for both homes, since he took her on the weekends from Friday night to Monday morning, when he dropped her off on the way to work.

However, a month after graduation, Urgan called you in a panic.

“Kelly’s gone,” He said. “She’s left. I got a text from her saying she’s gone to Canada.”

“What?” You asked in disbelief. “Did she take Roga?”

“No, I’ve got her here.” He said, his voice shaking. “When she texted me, I was scared she had run off with the baby, but she left Roga with her stepdad. I just picked her up and I’m bringing her back home with me.”

You felt terrible for hoping Kelly had taken Roga with her to Canada. Even though you knew it wasn’t Roga’s fault, all you wanted was for Urgan’s life to go back to normal. You just wanted him to have the things he should have had if Roga hadn’t been born. And you hated yourself for thinking that.

“Are you okay?”

“I don’t know,” He said. He sounded extremely distressed. “Can you meet me at my apartment, please? I need someone to talk to. You’re all I have left.”

“Yeah, of course, I’ll be right there,” You said, picking up your keys.

“Thank you,” He said, and then hung up. He was audibly crying.

You made it to Urgan’s apartment before he did, and you saw him step out of the elevator carrying a ton of baby stuff in one arm and hauling Roga in her carseat in the other.

“Can you take her, please?” Urgan said. He looked pale and in shock.

“Yeah, of course,” You said, taking her carrier and looking inside. She was sleeping with a stuffed griffon clutched in her baby hands. “Is she okay?”

“I think so,” He said, unlocking his door. His apartment was strewn with kid stuff. It was so much different than the last time you’d seen it.

“I’m sorry about the mess,” He said, dropping the load he was carrying in the middle of the floor.

“Dude, I don’t care about the mess, are you okay?” You asked.

“I…” He ran his fingers through his hair. He was visibly shaking. “I don’t know if I can do this alone. I had accepted being a dad, but I don’t know if I can be… the only parent. I… I don’t know any babysitters for when I’m working. I don’t… is she off breastmilk? When was her last check up? When is she supposed to see the doctor again? Kelly didn’t tell me those things because I.. I figured she had it handled. I was making sure they had everything they needed. I didn’t think I’d…”

“Okay, calm down,” You said. “Roga is fine. You can find all of that stuff out. I’ll help, I’ll help however I can, okay?”

“Okay,” He said, sitting on his couch heavily. “Okay.” He reached down into her carseat and unstrapped her, putting her against his shoulder, clutching her as if she was a warm stone and he was freezing. He was certainly shaking like he was.

This was the first time you’d seen Roga since she was born. Now that she’d had a chance to grow, she did look a lot like Urgan. It made you feel worse for resenting her.

“Look, can you watch her for a few minutes?” He asked suddenly. “I’m almost out of formula and I didn’t expect to have her right now. I was going to go Thursday to stock up. I don’t want to run out.”

“I…” You hesitated.

“Please,” He begged quietly. “Please. Ten minutes. I promise.”

You sighed. “Okay.”

He transferred Roga from his shoulder to yours. Uncertainly, you gripped her firmly.

“I’ll be right back, I promise,” Urgan said, and he was out the door.

There was a rocking bassinet near Urgan’s bed behind the divider, and you settled Roga in it, staring down at her peacefully sleeping form.

“I wish I didn’t hate you,” You told her, tears welling up in your eyes and falling down your cheeks. “But you took everything from him. I know it’s not your fault, but it doesn’t change anything. He’ll never be the man he should have been because of you.”

Roga sighed in her sleep and snugged into her bed without waking. You did nothing but sit on Urgan’s bed and stare at her the entire time Urgan was gone, allowing yourself to hate her and Kelly and the team at school and everyone who turned their back on Urgan when he needed them the most. When Urgan returned, your tears had dried, and you left.

Roga was still sleeping.

Since my work is no longer searchable, please do me a favor and reblog this story if you enjoyed it. Help me reach a wider audience! To help me continue creating, please consider becoming a Patron or donating directly to my PayPal!

Thanks for reading!

My Masterlist

The Exophilia Creator’s Masterlist

[necros-writing-stuff]

Avery: Surely Winter senpai will notice all my academic efforts and exquisite pperanc-

Winter: Eden, please tell me more about the forest!

Eden, uniform messy and covered in blood: There's a lot of wolves, but they die pretty quick if you knife em' in the throat. Bailey says the pelts sell well. You can get to the lake easy if you stick to the hidden path-

Winter: Hidden path????

Avery: *dying inside*

Bailey knows threatening people that they'll set Eden on them is an instant win because Eden constantly shows up at school after being missing for a week looking like they've been on a murder spree.

If you're brave enough to talk to them though, you'll find out they just like camping trips in the forest and that means getting into scuffles with animals. No humans were harmed in the making of Eden's camping trip. That you can prove. Also this is where Eden/corvidcore goth PC comes in. Imagine your big scary s/o coming into school and handing you a deer skull cause they know you love bones.

Winter is one of the few who notices that Eden knows a lot about the forest, and is obviously curious about it themselves, so they buck up the courage to ask if they've found anything interesting - arrowheads, rings, maybe even alters? Winter could pay for antiques, if they'd like? Bailey encourages anything to make money, so Eden starts bringing Winter stuff to appraise. They want money for snacks, they've been growing and putting on muscle like mad recently, so they're just constantly hungry.

Cue Avery, trying to make social connections. Winter's parents work at a company they really want a chance of getting into, so they start worming their way into Winter's free time. Besides, Winter themselves are proven to be intelligent and a gentleman/woman. Better than Leighton's depravity, if anyone finds out about that then there's a chance Avery will be ruined by association.

All they need is an invite to a cocktail party, but Winter keeps them at an arms length, no matter how far they turn up the charm. Goes to approach Winter one day when they're talking to Eden, about to ask if they're bothering them, when Winter laughs out, a genuine laugh, and slaps the taller one on the shoulder.

Winters never laughed like that with Avery. Never casually touched them either.

"You should come by my place this weekend, my parents would love to hear about your trip to the lake!"

They fucking what?

[dragonherder2030]

Smaugust day 10: Bioluminescence

I saw the camp today, we all go to sleep in tents. Since I’m new I get to sleep in my own till I find someone to be paired with. Xandra had told me that I may not need a pairing since I won’t be living in the camp from what our agreement is. Won’t hurt to make friends though. I’ve seen so many amazing dragons today, almost all of them being mimic dragons actually. It was dark when I came, and around the whole camp were small little firefly dragons. They interacted with the members like they knew them personally, like they too were sentient. Maybe dragons from earth are more intelligent?

*imma just write a small segment on some group members greeting our main character, and me describing the camp*

Kory bellowed a low huff at me as we walked. He didn’t like being ridden, but was getting a lot better at not bucking me off, he was my only flying dragon, Echo and Bel were both drakes. Even though Echo has one wing, she can’t use it for any more then defense. Behind me her and Bel followed, led by a rope attached to their saddles. Xandra sat on Echo, telling me the directions to where I was supposed to go. She was in her Olm form, ready for greeting her following.

“We are almost there,” she says, patting Echo. Kory growled, scared of the new area. I rub his neck, shushing him and telling him it’s alright. I come into a grove, a large waterfall with a shallow river flowing from it. I look back at Xandra, she’s staring intently at it.

“We are going to have to go through the waterfall, theres a cave behind it with a dragon that can help us.”

I nod, and click my tongue and adjust Kory’s reins towards the waterfall. Liking being able to walk in water, Kory nickers and happily struts through it. The other two are fine in the water, it only going up to their ankles. We walk under the waterfall and are shows to a wall of vines. I assume that the cave is behind it. Adjusting my bandana I direct Kory to continue. We enter, opening to a tree with a dragon wrapped around it. The dragon glances at us and tightened it’s tail to the tree, raising its neck. I was new, It was scared of me. I look down at Kory’s neck and rub him, pulling his head in with his reins. He doesn’t particularly like this but doesn’t struggle. Xandra hops off of Echo and walks up to the dragon.

“It’s alright Saby, she’s alright, they won’t hurt you,” Xandra says soothingly as she strokes the creature. It seems to calm down and return to its loosened perch on the tree. Suddenly, particles circulated off of the dragon’s body and in the middle came a portal. I gasp, only hearing about portals in stories.

“This is how we are going to get to my base, there’s a moon that has a suitable ecosystem for us, the humans have not discovered it yet, since it is inside Saturn,” she says, gesturing towards the portal. She walks into it and disappears.

I take a deep breath, tightening my bandana, and walk Kory in.

*******

On the other side of the portal is the interior of a large tent, very barren other then a soft looking mat, a blanket, and a pillow. Beside it was a large book. The tent was big enough to fit my drakes, but it was tight. Outside of it I heard Xandra talking loudly, probably alerting my presence. Echo and Bel come through the portal, bumping into Kory. He gets startled and shuffles forward, whipping his head back and snapping at Echo. I shush him and pull on his reins. He huffs at me. Echo isn’t effected from snap, nothing nicked her. I see Xandra’s hand slip through the closed door flaps of the tent, and open it very little. I take this as I should come out now, so I flicked Kory’s reins. He was doing very well for being a nervous drake.

Walking out, I see a group of about 30 lizards and amphibians crowded around the entrance. Suddenly Kory starts to back up, he doesn’t like all the people. Xandra notices this and grabs his reins, keeping him from jumping.

“Can everyone back up and disperse as to not startle the drake and our new member?” She says calmly yet assertively. I pat Kory a few times to calm him down as the group backs up and becomes more apart. He looks out at them, still nervous. I hop off of him and lead him from the reins out of the tent. There are so many different species, I see snakes and lizards alike, various salamanders and frogs. Near the back I even spot an Axolotl.

“You can bring the drakes to our fields environment, we have a fence with a few mimic dragons that are very docile,” Xandra says to me, walking up beside me, “It’s not far,”

*******

After getting my drakes set up in the field, Xandra told me that she will find someone to give me the “tour” while she does her usual jobs. I was instructed to stay near the fence to make sure Kory got along with the other dragons. He was just putting and eating some tall grass. Echo was calmly nibbling and Bel was being energetic with some younger mimic dragons. I was leaning on the fence, waiting for my guide. I hear footsteps behind me and glance back. I see an iguana strut up to me, they seem older then me, but I’m a few inches taller. They give me a shy wave.

“Hello, who are you?” I ask, turning around and leaning my haunches on the fence.

“I’m Abey, Xandra said that I should show you around the camp, it’s quite small so it should be quick,” they said shyly.

“Sounds good, lead the way,” I say, walking up beside them. They quickly walk off, and I follow.

*ok SO since I suck at explaining here’s a blueprint of the camp*

The night somehow becomes darker, the firefly mimics that fluttered around seemed to shine brighter. Abey showed me to the tent that I would be staying in.

“Since you don’t have a partner or group to belong to yet, you get your own tent,” she said, not warming up to me throughout the whole tour. I must admit I did feel tired, but I wanted to write in my journal a bit.

“The firefly’s will go out in a bit, so do what you want until then, but we all have to go to our tents when they go out,” Abey says, backing away. I find it confusing that she is so antisocial, but shrug it off and wave her goodbye, entering my tent.

————-

I promise the next prompt won’t be as long in the “lore” segment XD. Another long one but I like this one A lottt.

[rhosyn-du]

Never make a mess when a total catastrophe will do - Chapter Six

Pairings: Jimon, past Clace, background Clizzy, a bunch of other minor background pairings Rating: Explicit Art: @cor321​ Beta: @all-thestories-aretrue​ Tags:  Alternate Universe - College/University, fake dating, oh my god they were roommates, friends with benefits, idiots to lovers, pining, miscommunication, holidays, drinking games, mistletoe, symbolically significant Oreos, domestic fluff, brief mention of past character death, Jace’s self-worth issues deserve their own tag Summary: What do you do when you find out your sister is not only dating your ex and love-of-your-high-school-life but is also bringing her home for Christmas? Bring your annoying, hot, annoyingly-hot roommate as your fake boyfriend to show them you're totally fine with it, obviously! There's no possible way this could backfire. Link: AO3 , Tumblr Master Post

Chapter Six

The irritation had been building all day, like sand rubbing under his skin, and it was especially irritating because Jace knew he didn’t have a good reason for it. Nothing was actually wrong, just a string of little frustrations that hadn’t let up all day, from the ancient coffee maker in their kitchen that didn’t start brewing when it was set to, meaning he had to go to his morning classes without any caffeine, to discovering he’d left his history textbook at home when his professor announced a surprise open-book quiz, right on through to missing his bus home and having to wait forty minutes for the next one, meaning he walked in the door with less than fifteen minutes before his friends were supposed to show up at his place for a group study session.

“Oh, hey,” Simon said when he walked through the door. “You’re home. I was starting to wonder if I got the day wrong and we weren’t having people over tonight, but then Bat texted asking if he should bring Spicy Ranch Doritos—which, obviously—so I figured you were probably just running late, which it turns out you were.”

“Excellent observational skills.” Jace tossed his bag onto the couch, not looking at Simon, and headed for the kitchen, intending to grab a beer from the fridge. Except when he opened it, there weren’t any left, and he realized he’d completely forgotten to go to the store the day before, because of course he had.

He slammed the refrigerator door shut, taking out his frustration on the appliance. It wasn’t as satisfying as he’d hoped.

“Everything okay?”

Jace spun around to find Simon in the doorway, watching him with an expression that held both wariness and concern.

“Everything’s peachy.”

“Yeah, I can tell,” Simon said mildly. “You definitely use the word ‘peachy’ in casual conversation when things are going great.”

Jace took a deep breath, let it out slowly. “Look, I’ve had a shitty day, all right? I’ve had a shitty day, and we’re out of beer, and I don’t need you trying to get me to talk out my feelings or whatever it is you’re trying to do right now.”

“Okay,” Simon agreed. “What do you need?”

Jace blinked. “What?”

“You don’t need to talk about your shitty day,” Simon said, moving into the kitchen to lean on the counter next to him. “So what do you need? Lily’s bringing beer, so that’s already taken care of.”

It should have been a simple question to answer, but Jace wasn’t used to people asking what he needed. Jace wasn’t used to considering what he needed.

“I don’t know.”

“What about a distraction?” Simon offered.

“A distraction,” Jace repeated, skeptical.

“Yeah.” Simon was grinning as he hooked his fingers through Jace’s belt loops and pulled their bodies together. “A distraction.”

Jace licked his lips, dropped his eyes to Simon’s mouth. “People are going to be here in eight minutes.” He didn’t have any objections to spending those eight minutes making out with Simon.

Simon’s grin widened. “Guess I’d better work fast, then.”

And then he dropped to his knees.

Jace sucked in a sharp breath as Simon popped the button on his jeans. “What are you doing?”

“I know you’ve had a shitty day,” Simon said, pulling down Jace’s fly, “but you can’t be that out of it.”

Jace let out a soft laugh and let himself slump back against the refrigerator door as Simon took out his rapidly-plumping cock and worked him to full hardness with his hands and mouth.

He was used to Simon teasing, giving him almost enough and then pulling back until he was desperate with it. This was the opposite, with every touch, every lick and swallow driving him relentlessly toward the edge, the frustration of his day bleeding away as Simon blew him with expert efficiency.

In almost no time at all, Jace was struggling to keep his legs under him as he felt his balls start to draw up, and he was so close—

And that was when Simon, the absolute fucker, pulled off his dick to remark with far more casualness than the situation called for, “Did you lock the door when you got home? Because people are going to be here, like, any second.”

Then his mouth was back on Jace’s dick, swallowing him down like it was his job, and Jace was cursing because no, he hadn’t locked the door and any second their friends could walk in and see—Jace, desperate and falling apart; Simon, swollen red lips wrapped around Jace’s cock taking him apart—and that was—it was—

There was a sharp knock on the door, and Jace came with a strangled shout.

Simon worked him through it, pulling back only when a second knock sounded at the door. “Be there in just a minute,” he called, sounding far too composed for someone who’d just given fucking fantastic blowjob.

Simon stood, pressing a quick kiss to Jace’s lips before saying, “Somehow, I just knew you’d have a bit of an exhibitionism kink,” and heading for the door, leaving Jace to fumble his pants closed and try look like he hadn’t just had his brain sucked out through his dick.

“You all right, man?” Bat greeted him as he entered the kitchen, arms loaded with far too many bags of Doritos for six people.

“Uh,” Jace said intelligently.

“Heard you shouting and I figured you must’ve hurt yourself. You were pretty loud.”

“I heard you down the hall,” Maureen added from the living room.

“Yeah, just stubbed my toe,” Jace lied, heading out to the living room. “Somebody left his stats book on the floor, and I tripped.”

Simon flashed him a shit-eating grin. Jace had a hard time not staring at his lips, still red and slightly puffy. “You should really be more careful.”

“Going to go help Maia bring stuff up from her car,” Maureen announced, holding up her phone. “Be right back.”

“You do know,” Jace told Simon in a low voice, “that I’m going to get payback for that, right?”

Simon’s smile grew smug. “Yeah. I do.”

After an hour of going over his notes and rehashing the earlier quiz with Lily, Jace was feeling much better about his history class, and even had some ideas for his end-of-term paper. They all took a break when the pizza they’d ordered arrived, and Jace found himself squeezed between Lily and Simon on the couch.

“So,” Lily said around a mouthful of pepperoni and cheese, “you two ready for your big wedding performance this weekend? Please say no, because I’ve still got fifty bucks riding on you not making it through this without panicking.”

“Your concern is so touching,” Jace said. “I really don’t know what I’d do without such supportive friends.”

“Based on what I saw the night we met, you’d spend a lot more time getting drinks thrown in your face by girls whose names you forgot,” Maia said.

“I did not forget her name,” Jace protested. “I hit on her girlfriend.”

“Not actually better,” Maureen observed.

“Okay, one, I had no idea they were dating, and two, not my fault she flirted back.”

“Just try not to get any drinks thrown in your face at cousin Rachel’s wedding,” Simon said, patting his knee condescendingly. And then left it there, like it was totally normal for him to touch Jace casually like this in front of their friends.

“Would it be cheating if I bribed Simon’s sister to take someone Jace hooked up with as her plus one?” Lily asked.

Jace thought she really didn’t need to. He was already panicking.

“Yes,” said Maia and Bat at the same time Simon said, “Oh god, please don’t.”

“You guys are no fun,” Lilly pouted, reaching for another slice of pizza.

“Speaking of Becky,” Maia said with affected casualness, “I was wondering if you could tell her—”

“Give me your phone,” Simon interrupted, holding out his hand. This had the effect of removing his hand from Jace’s knee, and Jace tried not to miss it.

“Sure,” Maia said slowly, pulling her phone out of her pocket. “Why do you need my phone?”

Simon took the phone and pulled up Maia’s contacts. “So you just text my sister instead of asking me to be your messenger pigeon.” He passed the phone back. “Or call her. I’m not picky as long as I don’t have to be involved.”

Maia stared at the phone for a few seconds, then shrugged and put it back in her pocket with a sigh. “Yeah, okay. Fair. I guess I can, like, be an adult about this or something.”

“Good,” Simon said, his hand making its way back to Jace’s knee. No one else seemed to notice, and Jace tried not to react. “Please do it before Sunday so I don’t have to listen to Becky failing to be subtle about asking about you.”

Maia bit back a grin. “She asks about me?”

“Who wants to place bets on how long it takes Maia to actually call this girl?” Lily asked.

~~~

“Okay, you need to turn down the charm a little bit or I think Bubbe Helen is actually going to try to adopt you,” Simon said as Jace returned from his sixth dance with Simon’s grandmother. Jace didn’t think Simon needed to know that she’d used every one of those to grill him on his family, his plans for the future, his intentions toward her grandson.

“Just tell her you’re not into incest,” Jace told him, eliciting a gagging noise from Becky, the only one of Simon’s relatives still sitting at the table with them.

“Your boyfriend is gross,” Becky informed Simon, stabbing a spear of asparagus from her plate.

Jace grinned at her. “Simon wanted me to turn down the charm. I’m just trying to be accommodating.” He grabbed Simon’s hand and lifted it to his lips to kiss his knuckles. It was something they’d been doing all day, exchanging little gestures of affection like they couldn’t quite keep their hands off each other. Which was actually kind of true in Jace’s case.

It had started during the ceremony, Jace bumping Simon’s shoulder when he noticed him start to tear up during the vows. He’d meant it to be lightly teasing, but Simon had simply flashed him a watery smile and taken his hand, lacing their fingers together. Jace’s stomach had made an odd little flip and he’d squeezed Simon’s hand, and they just...hadn’t stopped touching each other. All through the rest of the ceremony and reception, it was a stream of constant little touches that made Jace wish for things he couldn’t have, and yet he couldn’t bring himself to stop touching either.

It didn’t help that Simon looked really good in a suit.

“That’s playing dirty,” Becky huffed. “I can’t hate you when you make my brother smile like that.”

“It’s all part of my devious plan.” He threw a sideways glance at Simon, hoping to catch the smile only to find him glaring daggers at his sister.

“Aww,” Becky cackled, “are you embarrassed? That’s adorable.”

“Embarrassed that you’re my sister? Yes.”

“Consider it payback for your presence throughout my entire adolescence.”

Jace leaned in. “Is there a story here? It sounds like there’s a story.”

“Dude, don’t encourage her.”

Becky leaned back in her chair, a predatory gleam in her eyes. “I have so many stories.”

“Oh, look.” Simon said, standing suddenly and pulling Jace along with him. “There’s Aunt Ruth. We should really go say hi.”

“I’ll still have stories to tell your boyfriend when you get back,” Becky called after them. “Jace, ask him about the llamas!”

Jace followed Simon, barely holding in his laughter as they ducked through the crowd of wedding guests, and then through an unobtrusive door that led out into an empty hallway.

“I’m so sorry about her,” Simon said, finally turning to face him and looking genuinely apologetic.

Jace shook his head. “Don’t be. I was having fun. I can see why Becky and Maia get along so well.”

“Because they’re both more than happy to tell embarrassing stories about me?” Simon joked.

“Can you blame them? It is pretty fun to watch you get all worked up.”

“You do seem to enjoy getting me worked up,” Simon agreed with a quirk of his eyebrows. “But my cousin’s wedding really isn’t the place for that.”

Jace glanced around the empty hallway. This was a bad idea. A really, really bad idea.

He turned back to Simon, a suggestive smile playing across his lips. “You sure about that?”

“Jace.” Simon’s voice was warning even as his eyes flicked to Jace’s lips and back up again.

Jace curled a hand around the back of Simon’s neck. “Because I’m not sure there’s any such thing as a bad place to get you worked up.”

“Literally everyone I’m related to is in the next room,” Simon protested. But he didn’t pull away.

“Fair point,” Jace conceded. He glanced around the hallway, then tried the nearest door. It opened into a room just large enough to not qualify as a closet. Jace raised a questioning eyebrow at Simon.

Simon looked dubiously at the stacks of office supplies that lined one wall, then back at Jace. “How are you so good at convincing me to make bad decisions?” Simon asked before grabbing him by the tie and dragging him into a kiss.

Jace grinned against his mouth as they stumbled into the room. “It’s my superpower. I got bitten by a radioactive advertising executive as a teenager.”

“Fuck,” Simon muttered, kicking the door closed behind them. “You can’t make Spider-Man references when I’m kissing you; that’s cheating.”

“Yeah?” Jace asked, pushing him against the wall that wasn’t occupied by reams of printer paper. “Does it get you hot when I talk nerdy to you?” He tugged at Simon’s shirt, pulling it free from his pants. “Or does everything I do get you hot?”

“Definitely not everything.” Simon nipped along his jaw. “Your ego, for example? Very unattractive.”

“Now you’re just making things up.” He slid a hand down to cup Simon through his pants, and Simon bucked into the touch. “My ego definitely gets you hot.”

“I know—fuck.” He rocked into Jace’s hand again. “I know some guys have trouble separating their egos from their dicks, but I never thought you’d be one of them.”

“Any association between my ego and my dick is well-deserved.” He tugged at Simon’s belt. “Don’t bother trying to argue. We both know it’d be a lie.”

“Yeah, that’s not actually how arguments wo—oh.” Simon cut off, eyes wide, as Jace dropped to his knees.

Jace smirked up at him. “I figure the best way to avoid staining your suit is if you come in my mouth. Unless you’ve got objections.”

“I have exactly zero objections to having your mouth on me.” Simon curled a hand around Jace’s jaw, drawing his thumb along Jace’s bottom lip. “Like, ever.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” Jace flicked his tongue out to catch the tip of Simon’s thumb and reached to finish unbuckling his belt.

He froze at the unmistakable sound of the door opening behind him.

Jace’s eyes were trained on Simon’s face, so he saw the emotions play out across it in real time: surprise, then panic, then a slowly dawning horror.

“Bubbe Helen!” Simon’s voice just barely managed to avoid being a squeak. “Hi! We were, uh, we were just—” He looked down at Jace helplessly.

The thing was, Jace had always been good in a crisis. No, that wasn’t exactly right. He’d always been calm in a crisis. Probably as a result of having endured so many starting at such a young age.

So, his gaze and voice were completely steady as he took Simon’s hand in both his own and asked, “Will you marry me?”

He heard a voice behind him that sounded suspiciously like Becky mutter, “Oh my god.”

Simon stared. “Wha—uh. Yes?” His eyes flickered up toward the doorway, then back to Jace. “Yes,” he said more firmly. “I will definitely marry you, which is of course why you’re on your knees right now, and…”

His voice trailed off as Jace pulled his ring—his father’s ring, the only ring he ever wore—off his own finger and slid it onto Simon’s. It was a little loose, but not enough to slide off.

Simon flexed his hand, the fluorescent light above glinting off the brushed platinum. And then he was pulling Jace to his feet and into a kiss that held a decidedly hysterical edge.

The kiss was short-lived, interrupted by a very deliberate throat clearing. Jace kept Simon’s hand clasped firmly in his as he turned around, the metal of the ring pressing into his skin a reminder of what he’d just done.

Bubbe Helen was watching him with a decidedly unimpressed look. Behind her, Becky had a hand clapped over her mouth, smothering what could have been either an overflow of emotion or laughter.

“Young man, did you just propose marriage to my grandson in a storage closet?”

Jace pasted on his best facsimile of a sheepish smile and prepared to lie his ass off.

~~~

“Look, I panicked, okay?”

Outside, rain poured down in heavy sheets, obscuring the passing scenery and dampening any other sounds. It made the inside of the van feel cut off from the rest of the world, like they were alone in their own tiny, bubble universe.

A muscle in Simon’s jaw twitched. “You said that already.” He kept his eyes on the road.

Jace’s eyes fell to the steering wheel, where the soft platinum of his father’s ring still rested on Simon’s finger. “You didn’t have to say yes.”

Simon didn’t respond to that, and Jace wished he could see his eyes, could find even the tiniest clue to what he was thinking. He’d barely said anything since they made their hasty exit from the reception. At least Becky and Bubbe Helen had agreed not to mention Simon’s supposed engagement to his mom until he could tell her himself.

The silence stretched between them as Jace stared out into the blurry downpour. The one saving grace to all of this was that at least no one else knew about it. Their friends would never let them hear the end of it if they found out. And Jace’s family, god, that would be a disaster. Izzy would probably try to plan the whole thing and they’d somehow end up actually married before Jace could even explain the situation to her.

“You know,” Simon said into the silence, “I hated you before I even met you.”

Jace didn’t know what to say to that, didn’t know if there was anything to say to that. That was okay, though, because Simon kept talking.

“Clary’s been my best friend since we were kids. My mom likes to tell the story of how we met on the playground and spent the whole day trying to build a moat around the swing set so no one else could play on it, but I don’t actually remember it. I don’t remember a time when I wasn’t friends with Clary. She’s just always been a part of my life. The best part, sometimes.”

He took a deep breath, threw a quick glance at Jace before continuing. “So, of course I fell in love with her.”

The words hit Jace like a punch to the gut, and he was very, very glad Simon’s eyes were back on the road and he couldn’t see the jumble of emotions that Jace was sure were written all over his face.

“We were in sixth grade when I realized,” Simon continued. “I think I’d probably been in love with her for a while, but it just sort of hit me one day that I was just completely and totally gone for her. And it only took me like ten minutes after that to figure out that she didn’t feel the same way about me, but that was okay. I mean, it wasn’t. That kind of thing never is when you’re twelve.” He let out a mirthless laugh. “Or when you’re an adult either, I guess. But it was as okay as it could be because I figured I just had to wait. Clary was the most important person in the world to me, and even though she didn’t love me like I loved her, I knew I was the most important person in her life, too, so I just figured.” He shrugged. “I figured that eventually she’d realize that we could be, you know, more.”

His voice got soft as he continued, “And then she met you.”

Jace sucked in a sharp breath. “Simon, I—”

“I’m glad she did,” Simon interrupted, and he sounded like he meant it. “Even though it sucked at the time. Every time she mentioned you, I just wanted to punch you in the face. Which is why I always made an excuse not to meet you, by the way. I thought if I did and you really were as perfect as she described you, I would actually hit you.”

“I did always wonder about the mysterious best friend who was never around,” Jace said around the odd lump in his throat he couldn’t seem to swallow down. “She talked about you all the time.”

“Yeah?” Simon sounded genuinely surprised. “That’s actually really good to hear. And it makes me even more glad she met you, because her falling for you, even spending so much time with you, it gave me time to get over her.”

The knot in Jace’s throat loosened an inch.

“By the time you guys broke up, I’d actually dated a couple of people who weren’t Clary, and even though I didn’t feel as strongly for any of them as I did for her, I realized that part of what makes our friendship so special is that it is friendship. And I think we might have really fucked that up if we tried to be anything else, so I’m glad we never did, because my friendship with Clary is still one of the best things in my life, and I’m pretty sure it always will be.”

“Is that what you wrote Random Afternoon about? About you and Clary?” It wasn’t what Jace meant to say at all, but he opened his mouth and the words just came tumbling out.

Simon’s let out a soft huff of laughter. “No.” He shook his head. “It’s, uh. It’s not about Clary.”

Jace didn’t understand what was so funny, but he wasn’t going to ask. Just like he wasn’t going to ask who the song was about. Wasn’t going to think about why he cared so much.

“She was my first love, too,” he said instead.

Simon nodded slowly, digesting this information. “I wondered. I mean, when Clary used to talk about you, it sure sounded like you loved her, but once I found out you were, you know, you, I wasn’t so sure anymore.” He was fiddling with the ring, now, twisting it slowly around his finger with his thumb. Jace wondered if he knew he was doing it. “I didn’t think you were a relationship kind of guy.”

“I’m not.” That wasn’t what anyone wanted from him. Even Clary, who really had loved him once upon a time, hadn’t wanted him to stay. And even if someone did want that from him, he was pretty sure now that he wouldn’t know how to give it to them.

“And there hasn’t been anyone since Clary who’s made you reconsider?” Simon’s hands were still on the steering wheel now, his face impassive in the flickering light of passing cars.

Jace thought back to that night weeks ago, when Simon told him that maybe they wouldn’t be a mistake, and just for a second he’d thought—he’d hoped—but of course that wasn’t what Simon had meant.

“No.”

“Of course not. Stupid question.” Simon flashed him a smile, but there was a worried crease between his brows.

The last thing Jace wanted from him was pity, especially over this. “So, tell me about the llamas,” he said, desperate to change the subject.

Simon winced. “Can we just pretend Becky never mentioned llamas?”

“Nope.” Jace grinned. “If you don’t tell me, I’ll get Maia to ask Becky. I’m sure your sister would be happy to share.”

“You’re seriously the worst,” Simon said before launching into a long, involved story about his and Clary’s third grade trip to a llama farm and how Becky had thought it was hilarious to tell them that llamas were venomous.

“So, there I was, just covered in llama spit,” Simon finished as he unlocked their apartment door, “crying my eyes out because I thought was going to die, with Clary shouting at the poor farmhand that her dad was cop and he was going to go to jail for murder. And of course Becky didn’t even get in trouble or apologize. She just started getting me llama-themed birthday gifts.”

“Just so we’re absolutely clear,” Jace snickered, following him inside, “I’m laughing at you, not with you.”

“Which is one of many reasons I should have known better than to let you meet my sister. Speaking of which,” he pulled Jace’s ring off his finger and held it out, “I wouldn’t want to forget to give this back.”

Jace looked at the ring, then back up at Simon, swallowing hard. “You should keep it. Until we break up.” Something flashed in Simon’s eyes, and Jace hurried to correct himself. “Until we tell our families we broke up, I mean. In case you need to, I don’t know, sell the story.”

“Jace, I know what this ring means to you. I can’t just—”

“You can.” He reached out and closed Simon’s fingers over the ring, holding them there. “I trust you to keep it safe.”

Simon stared at him for a long moment, eyes searching. “Okay,” he agreed. “Until we break up.”

Something in Jace’s chest loosened, and he stepped back, letting Simon’s hand drop from his. “Cool. I’m gonna heat up some pizza rolls. You want me to make enough for you?”

“Sure,” Simon said. “Yeah, pizza rolls sound great. Cheeseburger flavor, not triple cheese, though.”

“Obviously,” Jace said, heading to the kitchen. He didn’t think about the ring, or how naked his hand felt without it. Or why it mattered so much to him that Simon agreed to keep it, if only for a little while.

[croa20an]

“It seems to me that many of the people who were hippies and flower children in the 60s and 70s are now ultra-conservatives. What made those people have such as huge change in their opinions and outlook?”

“My mother said they learned they couldn’t fight “The Man.” She said her generation didn’t expect that their parents and grandparents would let the government do the things they (FBI, CIA, National Guard, police) did when the kids in the US started revolting in the 1960s and 1970s.

You’ve got to remember that the 1950s-1970s was a period of global instability. The Colonial Powers of England, France, and the Netherlands struggled to recover from WWII and their colonies around the world started pushing for human rights and independence. The CIA saw communist Soviet and Chinese boogeymen in all the uprisings and supported dictators whose greed and ruthlessness could be appealed to in order to prevent “communism” from overtaking fledgling countries. Civil Rights, Human rights, democracy— these were things we supported ideologically as Americans, but in practice, our military and intelligence communities considered communism/socialism a greater risk to “American interests” than the dictators and fascism who stood between their people and democracy. The Blacks pushing for civil rights was upsetting enough, but then the Indian Rights Movement picked up, the Anti-War Movement picked up, the Black Panthers militarized, etc. Focus turned to suppressing “the kids” by hook and by crook, by kettling protestors in the streets, assassinations, and setting people up for arrest through entrapment and falsified informant reports.

Baby Boomers, hippies and flower children, saw their friends going off to Viet Nam or resisting the draft by going to jail or Canada/Mexico. They saw their friends busted for murders they didn’t commit, drugs they didn’t run. They saw them beaten in the streets, hit with fire hoses and tear gas. Some went back to nature. They moved to Vermont and Montana and Alaska. Others gave in and joined the economy. They became Alex P Keatons from Family Ties. Good little capitalist consumers. Because really, what choice did they have? Their faith in the government and their parents was shaken. They took the path laid out for them, and bucked the system when and where they could, and some, some gave in entirely, and drank the Koolaid. They became Uber-conservative because they became Believers. It beat disillusionment and poverty.

In the late 80s, freshly graduated from High School, I yelled at my mother for giving up when they’d gotten so close to changing everything. And she sat me down and told me the US History I hadn’t been taught, and that still isn’t taught, but is readily available, if you take the time to look for it.” -Kelly Graham 

Source

I found this interesting. I’ve been wondering about this a lot lately, because I know the Boomer/Millennial stereotypes are BS to make people hate each other, and I know the typical answer you hear from a tumblr user, a teen, a tween, or someone with a popular social media account is completely made up out of bitterness. 

But this level headed answer makes me realize something. 

We, all the people alive now and in the future, regardless of “generation” or birth year, the masses who actually want the human race and the planet to survive pandemic and climate change, are going to have to be a lot more crafty if we’re going to get out of this alive. The system, the society that puts money and the rich and powerful above all, has had hundreds of years to be perfected, to be upheld perfectly. Just protesting or in-fighting won’t work. Asking people to care and shaming them or even threatening them won’t work. No modern form of government or economic system has ever worked, obviously. This needs to be action, it needs to be secret, hidden in plain sight, it needs to happen fast and it needs to happen now. Infiltration and action on all levels, we need to learn from the organized people and systems in power and we need to dissolve it from the inside and the outside including by using their own tried and true methods against them. And it has to be decentralized, no leaders, no figure heads, no manifesto, nothing. We just have to KNOW. All of us equal and wanting the same thing. Peace and safety and a planet. Leaders can be turned, smeared, framed, jailed, murdered. Labels and calling cards can be used against you. Don’t make this your identity. Live your life and have your money and home and safety and hide and plain sight but know what you want and spread the word. Not based on identity. Talk to your neighbors, no matter who they are. Talk to your coworkers, no matter who they are. Don’t give this a name, just know what you want. If we spread the word on this and don’t make it about an identity or a name or a leader or a type of government or a manifesto, they can’t use it against us, they can’t find us, and they can’t stop us. We want peace and safety and a planet, and it’s that simple. We can start taking this apart and fixing it from the inside out. That’s the only way it’s going to happen. And we have to stay focused. Don’t accept bribes. Don’t turn on people. Don’t judge people based on any aspect of their identity, or expect people with the same struggles as you to be “safe” for you. We need unity. They separate us on purpose. All of us together, we can do this fast. Don’t lose hope. Keep our secret and do the work because getting this done before they even realize it’s happening is the only way we get out of this alive. “Climate Change” is a nice way of saying we’re having more natural disasters in more places than we have in a hundred years, and it’s going to kill most of us fast. “Pandemic” is a nice way of saying most of us are going to die horribly, and there won’t be any society left, at this rate. It’s getting worse fast. Spread the word. Now or never. Fix it or we all die. The people with money and power aren’t going to change or feel pressure. They’re so high they don’t even feel anything anymore. This is all a game to them, it will be for their entire lives. We have to do it. Alone. Not through government avenues, not through pressure, not through complaining, not from the outside alone where we’re easy to smear and kill. Action. From the inside out. Unseen. No glory, just a mass of people from every kind of background and lifestyle dedicated to the same thing. 

Find loopholes. Change the laws quick. Take advantage of the system to the fullest extent. Block the people destroying the world at every turn, until they give up and join us in equality and environmentalism and peace, safety and healthcare. Not through protest, not by asking, but by screwing them over with their own methods and beating them at their own game. We need to get creative to win these figurative battles and then and spread the news about these kinds of successes as much as possible. And stay dedicated, ignore the setbacks. We’re used to it. Keep going. Push through. This is our last chance. It’s this or death, and nothing left of us or anyone like us. No legacy, no peace or life, nothing. 

[aclosetfan]

Sorry for the lack of content :/ (like I gave much anyway lmao) wanted to do stuff for WIP Wednesday, but I have writers block :/

so have my “character sheet” for Brick instead. I know, I know 🙄 another list of head canons, I’m sorry! Its not a hot take on his character, but I make him not Cool (tm). He doesn’t get a lot of dates lol. These are just vibes I try to give off when writing him. Some may look familiar!! I’ve posted about him before. Look under the cut:

- high intelligence, low wisdom, high drama

- has difficulty making friends b/c he’s too smart for his own good and is a rather intimidating arrogant asshole about it

- most of the time he acts that way on purpose to keep people out because he’s the one with the most abandonment issues. He’s an expert at building emotional walls. but a low key part of him still doesn’t get why he isn’t good at making friends. He has a tendency to feel lonely

- does not help that he also has a tendency to come off as condescending. He talks down to people often. social filters do not come easy to him.

- his intelligence doesn’t transfer well into a good work ethic. Pretty lazy and would prefer to shrink off work onto other people. He’s smart enough to talk his way out of things. Another reason why it’s hard for him to make friends, he’s a lazy a-hole. But why work harder when you can work smarter??

- not good with authority figures. He stirs the pot and makes things Difficult (tm)

- not shy but introverted.

- tired, so very tired. The poor kid has been through a lot :/ so when he “goes good” he catches up on sleep. He can sleep a looong ass time. People are a lil worried but they let him rest

- sleeping is still a bad coping skill. And it’s not his only one. Smokes when stressed. Doesn’t eat when he feels like his life is spiraling out of control. And he’s feels that his life is often spiraling out of control. Energy drinks and coffee. If he does eat, he’s really just snacking.

- a skinny kid with a lanky build. Probably too skinny, it worries his brothers. I wouldn’t see him as conventionally attractive. Super freckled with stick straight red hair that’s never tamed or brushed. Just runs his fingers through, pulls into a pony tail, and slaps his hat on. For a kid who’s always sleeping, he’s got dark circles under his eyes.

- Brick (depressed nihilist), who after three days realizes he still needs water to survive, would absolutely take a shot of water from his dirty ass water bottle and go “haha self care.” And Butch (not depressed b/c endorphins—Cue Elle Woods from Legally Blonde), who’s protein diet consists of him drinking two gallons of fucking water each day, would scream.

- but it’s not all bad for lil Brick. If you like dry wit he’s your guy. And when he’s in a particularly good mood he’ll even make fun of himself for the laughs.

- wears crocs unironically. Pajamas to school kid. Like do y’all remember that one girl who went to your high school and always wore the Cookie Monster pajamas pants?? That’s Brick.

- very passionate about the things he cares about and well versed in a good handful of topics from political debates to his fave dorky tv show. He can get pretty animated and it’s in those moments that people see him for who he truly is. Walls come down and he’s a nerdy dork. (Has a wide toothy smile that lights up a room/ he does not like this)

- but if he catches himself having too much fun he pulls back. He doesn’t like the idea of people rejecting him before he can reject them. Despite all that, he’s still a sucker for positive attention even if it embarrasses him (which makes him turn bright red—which is cute, but don’t tell him that). Easily flattered and can be bribed

- Very mischievous. Likes puzzles and riddles. Mystery games are his favorite. He knows how to make a quick buck off of people. One of those kids that some how always has money in their wallet even though you swear he doesn’t work

- takes command of situations very well. His methods of leadership aren’t by the book. He’s Mojo and HIMs son, he’s got some flair in him so his plans almost seem uncoordinated. But there’s a method to his madness. There’s no plan A B or C, but there is a goal and Brick always accomplishes that goal. He’s a quick thinker and has an easy time adjusting to sudden changes, but he does gripe about it if the sudden changes are not of his own doing. (Leadership style is where he differs the most from Blossom//she’s NOT laid back enough at all)

- most at home with his brothers. They’re his favorite people and they see the more passionate, animated side of him most often. Most relaxed around them. They make him feel safe. He doesn’t like them being separated for too long. When they “go good” he feels confident they won’t reject him/leave him behind, but gets his feeling hurt that they’re making friends without him. Boomer and Butch are his security blankets. He needs their unconditional support and relies on Boomer socially and Butch physically. They’re probably the only two people alive who could tell him to stfu and he’d maybe listen. They are also both his favorite people to pick on (that’s how he shows love)!

- closest person outside his brothers is Blossom. They actually become close because they play off each other’s differences quite well. He reminds her to chill, she challenged him to be better. He also can just say things to her and she just gets it without further explanation (Vice versa), which they both find refreshing. He would consider her his best friend if he’s ever admit they were friends.

- He appreciates Buttercup for her sense of humor and courage. He’ll admit she’s pretty tough to beat. She doesn’t expect anything of him and that’s a relief b/c half the time he’s at a loss when it comes to being good. She’s a good anchor for him to have.

- Bubbles, on the other hand, makes zero sense to him, but they get along by picking on Boomer. Bubbles swears her and Brick are best friends (despite their bickering—she’s the optimism to his natural pessimism). This 1) flusters Brick b/c obviously she wants something from him 2) or she’s being genuine and that’s somehow worse.

To sum up Brick’s characterization, remember this pic:

[consumedkings-archive]

WITCHING HOUR, a john seed/deputy fic.

chapter seven: a little death

word count: 11.1k

rating: m for now, rating will change in later chapters as things develop, tags will be updated accordingly.

warnings: gore. so much gore. "a little death”? more like a lotta death. yeah it’s just blood and guts, and then john is kind of a fucker for like .0000005 seconds

notes: hi folks! we've got another big'un, a little more john/elliot centric with some plot threads starting to weave together. i'm really excited with where things are going and how things are shaping up, and i hope you guys enjoy this chapter as much as i enjoyed writing it!

special thank you to @shallow-gravy​​ for lending me her eyeballs to proof this chapter <3 dani and sylvia both are characters of @starcrier​​'s beautiful talented mind and she was kind of enough to help me fill out the cast for the world i'm working on!

as always, thank you so much to everyone who reads/comments/kudoses/likes; whatever your form of support is, it really means the absolute most to me and it's the whole reason i keep going!

“Well, well, well, Mr. Seed!”

It was Sylvia’s cheerful voice that first put a smile on Elliot’s face. It was the ensuing expression on John’s face when he realized he’d have to slide into boots worn by at least twenty other people that kept it there. He grimaced as he set his own perfectly tidy shoes to the side and pulled the first Wellington on.

John had done the right thing by swapping out the collared shirt he’d been halfway through putting on into a black turtleneck—still, certainly, more expensive than perhaps any item of clothing Elliot herself had ever owned, but less pretentious than a silky button-up.

“Right size?” Via asked.

He forced the grimace into a smile. “Perfect fit.”

With a satisfied nod, the blonde turned back to Elliot and handed her the lead to the horse she was going to brush—a hefty Clydesdale that plodded out of his stall obediently. He nosed her pockets for treats, whuffling against her offered but empty palm before she started tying him to keep him in place for a good brushing.

“You look fit as a fiddle and ready to ride,” Via announced, clapping John on the shoulder once he’d gotten his shoes swapped out. “What do you think? Wanna climb on up?”

“On that?” John asked incredulously when the blonde indicated the bay.

“Yes sir. Hugo’s great for beginners.”

“Hugo’d be great to stomp me to death,” he muttered. “Ah, no thank you, Sylvia—I think I’ll stick with the ground for now.”

“Suit yourself.”

She gave Elliot’s shoulder a quick squeeze before setting off at a brisk pace. At the barn, Via always seemed to operate on a different kind of frequency—she was still quick to smile and quicker to laugh, but there was definitely something more businesslike going on. John watched her go for a minute, mouth downturned in a frown, before his gaze returned to Elliot.

“So,” he said, “what are we doing?”

“I’m brushing Hugo,” she replied primly. “You can...give him a treat, or something.”

“I thought you wanted me to do something?”

Elliot sighed, patting Hugo’s neck and giving him a scratch. The bay turned his head, regarding John for a moment before bumping his muzzle against her hip affectionately.

“Here,” she said, holding out a brush. “You can brush him.”

It was John’s turn to do the regarding, then, eyes darting down to the brush and then back up at Elliot. He did still look a bit ridiculous—walking around in the Wellingtons, brushing loose wisps of hay that had somehow managed to cling to his turtleneck, the normally perfectly-slicked back hair falling loose and unruly. As John weighed the brush in his hand like it was some kind of artifact, he gave Hugo an awkward pat on the nose and one stilted brush along his neck.

“Great,” Elliot chirped. “Just keep doing that, but...better.”

She stepped away, leaving John with the horse and heading down the main hall. She’d taken about five steps before she heard John go, “Wait, where are you going?” and she turned to look at him, brows pulling together in something close to pity.

He looked so uncomfortable. And it was so good.

“To brush another horse, honey,” she replied, voice dripping with sugar. “What, did you think we were going to hold hands while you made yourself useful?”

John’s eyes narrowed. “You’ve gotten mouthy,” he said, eyes on her as she clipped a lead onto her usual equine companion, a handsome palomino named Butterscotch.

“I’ve always been mouthy, John.”

“I suppose you’re right.”

A few minutes of silence lapsed between them, filled only by the occasional whuff of horse breath or John muttering a swear. Elliot had just gotten into the rhythm with the palomino, gliding her hands and the brush across his neck in slow, even strokes, when John said, “So, you’ve been coming here a lot then, huh?”

Elliot let out a sigh. “This is supposed to be my quiet time.”

“I’m just curious,” John replied. “What made you want to start spending time around big, smelly animals?”

She dropped the brush in a bucket, fishing out the comb and starting to work on some of the knots. “Doctor’s orders.”

John made a low noise, agreeable even though she thought that he might be burning over there. Back in Hope County, he’d been determined to know her—get inside of her, get in the nitty-gritty, dig his elbows up into her guts and gore and figure out every little thing about her and what it was that she was keeping from him.

It made her wonder if he had read the file Joseph had compiled on her. It had been given to him, after all, like a trophy. Like she was a trophy, a gift from Joseph to him. His reward.

The thought left a bitter taste in her mouth. Maybe that is what John thought; that all of his ragged attempts at convincing her that what they’d had, those fleeting moments, had been love. But she’d seen the way he’d looked when Joseph had praised him, the way he tiptoed around himself and his true nature, always with a foot on Joseph’s side and one on hers. Now, watching him stand awkwardly to the side of a giant Clydesdale, making an attempt at integrating into her daily life—it was almost sickening, to think that she had been the prize in some weird game for Joseph’s approval.

“Left him all alone with Hugo, huh?” Sylvia asked, jarring her out of her thoughts and reminding her that she’d been brushing the same spot in the palomino’s mane for a while now.

“Ah, yeah,” Elliot replied, clearing her throat and focusing on a different spot. You make me sick, she wanted to tell him, the warmth of the morning evaporating in the wake of her anger. You make me fucking sick, I won’t forget it, I can’t forget it, fuck you fuck you. “He could squirm a little. Builds character.”

Via’s eyes narrowed playfully, squinting at John as he gave the bay a hearty pat on the neck. “Not an animal person, huh?”

She felt her mouth twist wryly, wanting to say something vicious. Something mean. Something—

( I’m glad I didn’t break that wrathful streak out of you, )

“City boy,” is what she ended up supplying, to which Via went ahh, as though that explained a lot. In a lot of ways, it did.

“How’re you holdin’ up over there, buddy?” the blonde called down the hall, Hugo’s ears flicking in her direction. John glanced up and planted a smile on his face that was so canned Elliot thought he couldn’t have seemed like he meant it any less.

“Fine,” John said, like he was on automatic, and then quickly added, “Great, actually. We’re bonding, Hugo and I. The two of us.”

“Yeah?” Via’s head tilted. “That’s nice to hear.”

“Yes. A pair, he and I.”

“Good,” she replied cheerfully. “You can take him on a walk then.”

“Huh?” came the intelligent reply, followed by the unceremonious drop of the brush in the nearby bucket. “What?”

“Take him out, stretch his legs a little,” Via explained, her voice warm. “He’s a nice boy, you two are pals. Should go fine.”

John grimaced. “I don’t know how to do that.”

Elliot had to swallow back a laugh when Via asked, “You don’t know how to walk?”

The brunette sucked his teeth. A little smile was on his face, but it was the same kind of smile he’d given Elliot when she said something particularly mean-spirited—and though Sylvia West was clearly not a mean-spirited person, she had yet to find John very charming at all. Jury was still out, after all. Elliot was sure that bothered him.

“I’ll show you,” Elliot sighed, after a few seconds of Via waiting patiently for John to explain himself. “Just unclip the—”

“Don’t stress it, Freckles,” Via interjected gently. “You’re busy with Butterscotch. I’ll help John.”

She hesitated, feeling a sudden jolt of panic. Via was saying, take care of yourself. She was saying, put yourself first. She was saying, you don’t have to jump to do the stuff all the time. But it had been so long—so long of trying to prioritize herself and choosing other people.

You don’t have to Atlas this thing yourself, deputy, Jerome had said, like she wanted to let someone else handle it, like she wanted to be alone with herself.

But before Elliot could convince herself that it was more important that she show John how to do something fairly self-explanatory, before she could protest that Via was too busy, the blonde picked up the brush, put it back in her hand and crossed the hall to John with great purpose.

“Don’t worry, bud, I’ll make sure you don’t get trampled,” Sylvia chirped at John, unclipping the lead from the hook in the wall and setting it in his hand.

“Thanks, Sylvia.”

“No sweat, that’s what they pay me the big bucks for.”

“Lot of money, having people walk horses around?”

She flashed a smile that was all teeth. “Tons. I fill my pool up with hundred-dollar bills just for fun. Swim around in it and everythin’.”

John’s mouth twisted in a wry smile. He glanced back at Elliot, their eyes meeting for a moment—and maybe it did make her regret, a little, all of the poison she’d been thinking about him; maybe seeing him standing there and jesting with Sylvia and giving her that boyish smile made her regret thinking about how much she hated that he wanted to know her, all of her, all of the yucky, nasty bits of her that she wished didn’t exist.

Watching him walk out the front of the barn in the rubber boots, Hugo plodding along amicably behind him while Sylvia chattered, made Elliot wonder what it would have been like if he’d kept his word; if he’d meant it when he’d said that they would leave Hope County. There had been a time where she’d thought maybe she and John were meant for each other like he’d claimed. There had been a time where she’d thought maybe she didn’t want anyone else, maybe she wanted someone who kissed her when she was still covered in another man’s blood, who didn’t mind when her fingers itched and burned for acts of violence.

Yours must surely be the sin of Wrath.

Maybe he was right. Maybe he was it for her, Elliot thought while John and Sylvia walked the Clydesdale in a big loop around the snowy parking lot. Maybe she never would find someone who loved her, all of her grit and gore and venom, the way that John did.

The way that he’d looked at her scar, then a wound, with adoration, his hands red with her blood. The way he’d said, It’s going to look so good on you.

“That’s okay,” she murmured, more to herself than anyone, feeling the palomino’s velvety muzzle bump her hand impatiently for her attention. “I’m—”

Not ‘I’m’. It wasn’t ‘I’m’ anymore. It’s not just about you, anymore.

“We’re,” Elliot amended, swallowing thickly, “just fine being alone.”

If she said it enough times, maybe she would learn to believe it.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“You really never walked a horse before, huh?”

John glanced up, his gaze darting to the blonde that had been walking alongside him as they circled the parking lot. This is not what he wanted to be doing. When he’d said he was coming with Elliot to the barn, what he’d anticipated had been something closer to getting time with her—out of the house, away from the dog and her mother, and in a situation that was more comfortable for her. She clearly liked coming here, or she wouldn’t have strongly considered objecting to his tagging along.

Hm, something inside of him said, doesn’t that say something, that she doesn’t want you in a place she feels happy and safe?

No. Not really. Not in the least.

“I haven’t,” John replied after a moment, realizing that Sylvia was waiting very patiently for his answer, without rushing or prompting him. That was probably why Elliot liked her. “It’s funny, I grew up in Georgia and never seemed to be around a horse my entire life.”

“That is funny,” Sylvia agreed, without laughing or cracking much more than a polite smile.

His eyes narrowed. He pushed a smile onto his face, the rope hung loosely in his hand as Hugo trailed along beside him, content to brush at the ground with his nose once in a while. John thought, there’s got to be a way to figure you out. There’s got to be something. What did Elliot say to you about me, Sylvia? What did she tell you that’s making you this obstinate?

Just as John opened his mouth to say something, the blonde said, “You know, I don’t like you much, Mr. Seed.”

He closed his mouth, stopping at the far end of the parking lot. Sylvia turned to look at him, her gaze scrutinizing, her arms crossed over her chest.

“Well,” he said after a moment, “I don’t know what I did to disenchant you, Sylvia, but—”

“I spend a lot of time with troubled people,” she interjected, and infuriatingly she did it so kindly that it almost lost its insulting edge.

Swallowing, John’s brain scrambled rapidly, looking for some kind of footing before he began as amenably as possible, “I hear equine therapy is beneficial to plenty of people—”

“Doctors and therapists send folks here all the time to try and get some kinda relief. I don’t always know what it is, but I’ll tell you one thing: that girl in there—she came in looking more haunted than a cemetery, and the way she looked when I first saw her is the same way she looked when I caught y’all on the street.”

The polite smile dropped from her face. “I don’t like that she got that look back.”

John bit back his venom and said, “To be frank, you don’t know anything about our relationship.”

“You’re right, I don’t,” Sylvia replied lightly. She turned to him, and reiterated with pointed firmness, “All the same, I don’t like it, and I don’t like you, John Seed.”

“You’re awful polite,” he said tartly, “for a woman who doesn’t like me.”

Sylvia sucked her teeth in a gesture that was reminiscent of going come on, shaking her head again and huffing out a sigh. “You strike me as a man that hasn’t ever been just plain old disliked before,” she said, planting a hand on his shoulder even though he easily had two or three inches on her. “Just because I don’t like you doesn’t mean I think you’re hopeless, John. Jesus Christ, people been givin’ up on you that fast, huh?”

John blinked rapidly. That was not the answer he had anticipated. The words rattled around in his head, clanging painfully loud, foreign and unfamiliar and scary in how it felt to have someone, Sylvia, look at him and say, people been givin’ up on you that fast?

Mentally scrabbling, he brushed her hand from his shoulder and said, “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m perfectly fine. I just don’t understand putting yourself through the trouble of being nice to someone if you don’t like them, that’s all.”

“People can change,” Sylvia told him plainly. “After all, you said you’ve never been around a horse before, right?”

“Well—”

“And now here you are, walking a horse around an empty parking lot in Nowhere, Georgia. I’d say that’s changing, wouldn’t you?”

John snapped his mouth shut. There was something unsettling about the way Sylvia was looking at him; like she was seeing him, really, right then and there, after knowing her for so little time. It was the same—

It was the same way Joseph looked at people. Seeing them, for exactly as they were, with everything they brought to the table. So why did it feel different when Sylvia looked at him? Why did it feel different from Joseph when she looked at him and said, I’d say that’s changing, wouldn’t you? Why did it feel more real?

“You’d probably best head back in,” Sylvia continued after a minute, smiling at him brightly. “Hugo’s an old man, he doesn’t like to be out that long. Much rather prefer to be inside and warm.”

“Yeah,” John said after a moment, pressing his lips into a thin line. “I’d better.”

He didn’t like this, not at all. He especially didn’t like the feeling of Sylvia, a woman who blatantly did not like him, seeing him.

Turning, John started back across the parking lot to the barn, the hefty Clydesdale trailing obediently behind. It wasn’t until he was nearly to the doorway that he felt his phone vibrating in his pocket; pulling it out with his free hand, John brought the horse to a stop and lifted the phone to his ear.

“Hello?”

“Hello, John.”

It was Joseph. Speak of the devil, something in him whispered as he glanced back over his shoulder at Sylvia beginning to trek down into one of the riding yards.

“Joseph,” John said, clearing his throat, “I’m so happy you called.”

“How are things going?” His brother’s voice maintained its typical serenity, but there was a strange idleness to it, like he wasn’t fully invested in their conversation. It was unlike him, to sound like this—to sound absent, or troubled.

“They’re good,” he began cautiously. He wondered if Isolde had told Joseph about him hanging up on her. It would be just like her. “Really good. There was a doctor’s appointment yesterday—” That Elliot didn’t let me go to, he thought, as Joseph made an agreeable noise to show he was listening, “—and the baby is healthy. Really healthy, and good, and next week we’re going to find out the gender. Elliot’s been going to these stables because the doctor thinks it’s good for her stress—”

Joseph’s voice cut in over him, sharp and impatient. “Do you know what’s going to be really good for the deputy’s stress?”

He shifted on his feet. “It’s just, she’s been talking to the doctor about it—”

“There will be bombs dropping, John.”

“I—know that,” he replied quickly, glancing back at the barn and seeing Elliot dusting her hands off on the top of her jeans, having put the palomino away. “I know that, Joseph, I promise, I—”

“There will be no baby to be worried about,” his brother continued, “if you and our sister are not here when they fall on us.”

Joseph bit the word out, sister, like it was a cyanide pill crushed between his canines. Just hearing his brother’s voice change like that made John’s throat feel tight. The anxiety of hearing Joseph’s displeasure was rising up high and hot in his throat, and Elliot was walking towards him, head cocked to the side curiously, and if she knew he was talking to Joseph she was going to go ballistic. She would, and he would be back to square one—and he’d only just gotten a little bit closer; the feeling of the soft skin of her throat beneath his fingers from earlier that morning still lingered, burned in his memory.

“I understand,” John said automatically, pitching his voice low. “I do, I’ll—”

“You have a week left. I won’t wait for you.”

“Joseph—”

“I’ve given you great freedom to fetch your wife and child, when I have every reason to have left her to Hell.”

His stomach wrenched. He knew it. He knew Joseph was angry about it. Regret flooded him; he should have stayed back in Hope County a little while longer, until Joseph was done in his solitude, to talk to him first. “I know, please, if you would—”

“The next life is something that has to be earned,” came his brother’s voice, sharpening as he spoke, “and your wife has done nothing but reject the absolution that I—” He paused. “—we offered her, at every turn.”

I know, John wanted to say, but could not; what would be the point? What would it matter? He’d said it a handful of times already, but Joseph was angry, he was so mad, so mad, and all that time spent back in Hope County felt very suddenly like it had amounted to nothing.

“The gates will be closed to you.” And then, his voice harder now: “Tell me you understand, John.”

He gripped the horse’s lead tight. For a second in time, the comedy of it all—trailing after Elliot into a stable, joining her and her friends that didn’t like him at a bar, listening to her mother expertly sliding in barbs—had been overwhelming. His life had temporarily become a rom-com, and by the season finale they’d make amends and everything would be fine.

This was a reminder that was not how things were going to go. He didn’t have the leniency to just take however long he wanted; there would be no time to make friends, even ones that looked at him and said, just because I don’t like you doesn’t mean I think you’re hopeless.

Get Elliot and baby. Bring them home.

“John.”

“I do,” he whispered. “I understand, Joseph.”

“Good.” Joseph paused, and then after a moment: “And no secrets, John. I’ll know if you’re keeping something from me.”

The words washed a strange, cold sense of dread over him. For a second, John thought, have I been keeping a secret from him? Have I been lying to him about something?

Elliot had stopped a few feet away, her head tilted inquisitively. She was far enough that John thought she might not be able to hear him, but still he turned his head like he’d seen something interesting back in the parking lot when he said, “I would never do that.”

There was a little exhale on the other end of the call. “I know. You’ve always been good.”

Something frantically pleased lit up inside of him, rapidly firing the neurons in his brain. Good, they said, chanting, we’re good, we’re good, he said we’re good, Joseph thinks we’re good.

Just as John opened his mouth to reply, Joseph said, “We’ll talk soon,” and the line clicked. Call Ended, said the screen when he pulled the phone away from his ear and turned back to Elliot, who’d started making her way over to him again. Something in his chest sank a little; he quickly tucked it away, focusing his attention back on the task at hand.

You’ve always been good.

“Who was that?” Elliot asked as she came up, rubbing her hands together in the cold absently. John gestured for her to head back inside, and she did, letting him fall into step between her and the horse.

“Just a wrong number,” he replied with a little smile. “It’s a new phone. I’ve been getting them a lot.”

“Ah.” She didn’t sound convinced, but he supposed he never expected her to. “And how was your walk with Hugo and Sylvia?”

“You would be surprised to know I feel much the same as before I walked.”

Elliot’s mouth quirked up at the corners, tugged into a smile. It wasn’t the first time that he’d seen that little smile on her face, but it was the first time that it didn’t feel forced, or driven by something sour or venomous.

John offered, “Sylvia has confessed she’s not fond of me.”

The redhead next to him made an inquisitive noise, though she didn’t remark on it. He imagined this was not news to her, given the way they’d been chatting when he’d come back from warming up the car the other night. He’d be lying if he said that it didn’t spike a little bit of jealousy in him; that Elliot found it so easy to connect with Sylvia, even though they had history, even farther back than Eden’s Gate, if he was going to be a stickler about it. And he was. He wanted to be.

A little, he thought, maybe he was jealous that despite everything, Elliot still found some way to make a friend that defended her so fiercely.

Stupid, he thought, letting Elliot take the lead from him. It’s stupid. I have people who will protect me too. Jacob, and Joseph—

“But you already knew that,” he added after a moment, watching her. The redhead moved with a kind of surety around the horses; there were no darting eyes, no furtive glances out into the distance, searching for an invisible threat that only she could see.

“Well,” Elliot replied, “you didn’t really endear yourself to her. She met us in the middle of an argument, and then you proceeded to try and use your snake charms—”

“My what?”

“—on her, and that’s just not really her style,” she finished plainly, working to take the halter off and then sliding the stable door shut. “You don’t have all of your little cultists here to chant ‘yes’ at you whenever you please. You have to make a real effort with people.”

“I am,” John snipped out, “making a real effort.”

“Mm,” came the reply as Elliot slung the halter over her shoulder and started heading off down the hall without waiting for him.

“Elliot—”

“John,” she replied amicably. “I’m not going back and forth with you about this.”

He closed his mouth. Every single nerve-ending felt violently frayed from the onslaught; first Sylvia, then Joseph, and now Elliot. John could feel the headache blooming behind his eyes. Even though he’d felt that rush of adrenaline the second Joseph had praised him, there was still a knot in the pit of his stomach; just there, rolling tight and painful, reminding him that he still would have preferred that Jacob called instead.

Elliot returned, picking a loose piece of hay off of his shoulder and dropping it to the ground. “We going or what?”

Regarding her carefully, John said, “Only if you’re done. We’re staying however long you want.”

“Oh, are we? It’s all about what I want now?”

“It was always about what you want.”

She gave him a look. As she shrugged the heavier coat back on her shoulders, and he tugged the boots off, Elliot said, “You know how you’re always saying I need to find a new catchphrase?”

John pulled one of his shoes on. “Uh-huh.”

“I think you should take your own advice,” Elliot continued. “The whole ‘I’ll give you anything you want, Elliot’ bit just doesn’t hit the same when you spent the whole time lying to me.”

“I—” He let out a frustrated breath, pulling his other shoe on. “I meant it when I said it, Elliot.”

“Fucking me,” Elliot replied, “does not amount to giving me anything I want.”

“But it is what you wanted,” John retorted.

“Among other things.”

“Among other things,” he agreed.

They stood like that for a minute, regarding each other with tight expressions and the sourness of their exchange still lingering in his mouth. John exhaled through his nose and passed a hand over his face. It was one thing to be on edge because Sylvia had come right out and said she didn’t like him; another to then follow-up with a conversation that reminded him of his existential dread; yet another to be putting up with Elliot’s vitriol.

“When I said,” he began, “that I l—”

“Don’t,” she snapped. “Don’t fucking say it.”

“When I said it, I meant it,” he amended tartly. “I said a lot of things that I didn’t mean, too, but I meant that.”

“Yeah?” she asked, cocking her head to the side. “You didn’t mean to tell me that I’m never going to find someone that’s going to love me and all of my ugly too, is that what you’re trying to say? That whole ‘no one’s going to love you with all that red in your ledger’ bit was just a fun little jab—”

“No,” John replied evenly, feeling that petty little spike in his chest, “I meant that.”

His words seemed to catch her off-guard, immediately unseating her. The expression that crossed her face was bewildered; the animosity had fled it, and instead what replaced it was hurt—bright and blooming across her features, flushed under her skin in a gorgeous high color. It wasn’t unlike the flush in her cheeks from when she’d been frenzied by the killing of Kian, and it looked just as beautiful now, too.

John thought, I love her, just like this. Wretched and wicked and furious with me. Hurt and needing.

He had seen her in fury, in grief. Watched the remains of what happened when she sank her teeth in down to the bone, whether it was to kill or to howl in her sorrow. And he had loved her then, too.

I meant it, he thought, because no one is good enough to love you except for me.

“Well, it doesn’t fucking matter,” Elliot replied after a minute. Though her words carried with them the same cadence any other angry response would have, her voice sounded small, like he’d sucked the wind right out of her sails. “What you think, it doesn’t matter. You don’t know fuck all about me or what kind of person could love me, and—” Her lashes fluttered. “And fuck you, John.”

John watched her expression for any giveaway that he’d gotten where he wanted: inside. Before, he’d known her quite well—could gauge her anger and her grief and catch it before it exploded. Now, with the baby, things had changed a little.

“I think I’m familiar with exactly the kind of person who could love you,” he said after a moment. And then, gesturing ahead of him: “Shall we?”

The tension in her jaw tightened, flattening and flexing the muscle when she clenched her teeth. Those spiteful little eyes; he’d missed them, missed the way she’d looked at him. As of late, she’d gotten too comfortable withholding her attention from him.

Get Elliot and baby. Get home.

It was a mantra now, running its track in his head over and over until it wore a rut into his brain. As Elliot brushed past him to walk to the car, and he fell into step trailing behind her just a foot or so, he let the words sink in. He’d gotten distracted; strayed from the path—but he wouldn’t let that happen again. Joseph was right. He was good, and he would just have to make Elliot see that.

One way or another.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Staci Pratt was doing alright, all things considered.

The Veteran’s Center was empty. Had been for weeks, in fact—after a particularly tense call with Joseph, Jacob had evacuated most all of his Chosen except a select few into the bunker and locked it down. He’d grabbed his keys, looked Pratt dead in the eyes and said, “I want to see you sitting in that chair waiting for me when I get back, Peaches.”

How long was he going to be gone? That was a question that had been sitting on Pratt’s brain for the last two months.

It might have been more than that; it honestly could have been a little less, too. He had no idea. Three days after Jacob had left with his chosen, and left Pratt in the Veteran’s Center, the radio chatter had fuzzed out. Interrupted by something. A day after that, he saw strange convoys along the streets.

Well, he’d thought, Jacob did say to stay put.

So, stay put he did.

There was food, and water, and even though the snow was falling, the place stayed pretty warm. He hadn’t heard Jacob’s voice on the radio for weeks. He’d stopped checking it. He thought that since it had been so long, maybe Jacob and the others were—

“Staci,” came a sweet voice from the other room, “come here, quickly!”

Pratt pulled himself to his feet. His limbs felt heavy, but pleasantly so; like he’d been grounded to the earth, finally, at last. For a second, the floor seemed to stretch out under his feet, as far as he could see; the leaves, having blown in before the snow through then-open windows, folded and melded against his shoes. Like they were trying to be with him. What had he gotten up for again?

“Staci!” The sing-song voice came again. Dani, he thought, taking an unsteady step forward. Shit, Dani’s calling me. That’s what I got up for.

“Coming,” he managed out, taking a few steps and then catching his momentum and carrying himself into the next room over. The glossy-haired brunette was sitting with her legs tucked up at the desk, watching the security monitors avidly. Sheridan had come knocking a few days after the convoys had passed, and at the time, Staci had thought she was some kind of test—after all, Jacob had said to stay put. Sitting in that chair, waiting for me when I get back. That’s what he’d said. Getting up for a pretty girl at the door was directly disobeying him.

But he’d let her in, because she smelled good and smiled at him with pearly teeth and a cute accent he couldn’t place, and asked if he had room for her in the building, and said things like, You can call me Dani, if you want!

That was what—four weeks ago? Maybe more? She’d made herself at home, explained she’d gotten lost from her family and that she’d been worried because she saw strangers with guns running around. She had food, and water, and warm clothes, and—

Drugs. The “herbal” kind. It will open you to the influence, Dani had told him, giggling when he blinked owlishly at her. Brings you closer to the earth, Staci. It feels nice, I promise. Pratt thought it might have been Bliss, at first, but it was different; it didn’t jar him on his way down, the crash felt so much gentler, and Dani offered it to him to use whenever he wanted, and he just wanted to feel. Good. For a little while. That’s all. Just a tiny while.

It wasn’t hard, to feel good around Dani. It was like he’d spent all that time in constant fear and stress, listening to Jacob tallying body counts from Elliot. Sometimes the redhead would suck his teeth and say, what the fuck is my brother doing with that girl? and shake his head, and the idea that Jacob Seed wanted to turn Elliot into a perfect killer had washed him with a cold, ferocious dread.

Then, Jacob had left. No more body counts. No more radio calls, listening to the redhead’s urgent voice from the other side of the door. A tiny while had turned into four weeks, and now he was here: stumbling his way into the security room where she was curled up. Somewhere in the distance, a little alarm bell went off in his head. Jacob would be so mad, that alarm bell said. He would be so mad, so fucking mad, so so so mad.

But the thought was a small voice, easily washed out by Dani’s blinding smile when he got close.

“You remember I was telling you about my family?” she asked. She was tearing tiny bites off of a piece of fruit leather; Pratt reached blindly around in one of the drawers and pulled out a bag of beef jerky.

“Yeah, you said they’d be looking for you,” Pratt replied. That was weeks ago, he thought to add, but did not. “Did you find—?”

His eyes fixed on the screen. It was a stranger there, on the screen—which was to be expected—but she didn’t look like Dani. Not at all. They looked to be the same age only, but the woman on the screen had short-cropped, light-colored hair, and she was swathed in dark fabrics high up to her throat.

“That is my sister,” Dani told him excitedly.

“No way,” Pratt said, blinking at the screen. The woman on the screen was obviously not related to Dani by blood. He watched her move, wraithlike, a ghost skimming along the side path up to the F.A.N.G. center—one of the only places Jacob had left some of his Chosen out and about.

Oh, no, he thought suddenly. Oh fuck, this is bad. Oh fuck, Dani’s gonna watch her sister get killed, holy shit—

“We have to stop her,” he blurted out, starting to fumble around for one of the radio’s batteries—he was sure he could charge it up enough, he was sure, he was sure, slamming the walkie talkie on to the charger he’d conveniently left off because he didn’t want Jacob calling for him—when he saw the flicker of one of the Chosen coming out around one of the building’s corners, suspicious. “Um—that guy, he’s—”

“Shh, shshsh,” Dani said, waving her hand at him and watching the screen. “Do not be so noisy. I am watching.”

“Dani, you don’t understand,” Pratt tried again, more urgently, “that man is going to—”

The brunette made a sharp little noise, a quick tst, and planted a bit of fruit leather in her mouth, knee tucked up against her chest. It was like she was watching a movie. It was like—

Oh, God, Pratt thought, swallowing thickly as the figure of Dani’s “sister” came scooting around the corner behind the Chosen. She was going to get killed. She was going to get fucking murdered, right there on screen, in front of this nice young woman who’d been nothing but kind to him, and he was going to have to explain to her what it was he’d watched Jacob do and—

Something sleek and metal glinted on the video feed. Dani’s sister was not sneaking, anymore, but grabbed the chosen’s shoulder with one hand and drove the point of her blade straight into the junction of his shoulder and neck.

It was hard to make out expressions on the screen, details and nuances, but there was one thing clear from the woman’s body language: she was not troubled, fighting for her life, and she had done this before.

“Dani,” Pratt whispered, feeling his stomach lurch when the knife was pulled out of the Chosen’s neck, arterial spray coloring the ground in black and white on the computer screen. “Dani, what is—”

“You are going to miss it,” Dani told him, shooting him an annoyed look.

“Miss what?” he croaked. He didn’t want to look. He didn’t want to see whatever it was Dani was afraid of him missing. The only thing he wanted was—

But she reached up, snagging his hand and squeezing it absently. She had been doing that sort of thing a lot—touching. She’d bring his hand to her pulse so that they could breathe in tandem, touch their foreheads like she was checking him for a fever, take his hand while she walked through the halls and looked around. Another thing Jacob would be furious about, if he found out.

When he found out.

Dani’s hand offered him little comfort now, though. She leaned in to the screen a little and murmured, something in a thick, rolling language that Pratt couldn’t quite make out, and said, “Oh, how many people do you think are there?”

“I don’t know,” he said, fixing his eyes back on the screen. “I don’t know, a lot, Dani, there’s probably a lot—”

There were a lot. There were a lot of them, crawling around the F.A.N.G. center, and he watched Dani; watched her watching the screen as her sister—“sister”—dispatched each one of them with distinct, violent ease. Like it was a dance. One, two, three, waltzing as she picked up whatever she could find and used it to incur blunt force trauma.

Blood, everywhere. Viscera when she shot both kneecaps of one out. Spray when she pushed yet another’s face into a broken plank of wood, falling off of the side of the building. The picture was in black and white, but even still, Pratt could see it: red, everywhere. Red in the snow. Red on her hands. Red on their faces, on their clothes, on her knife on the gun because she twisted it out of one of their hands and pushed it into his mouth and fired, insides painting the wall of the building behind him.

So. Much. Blood.

“What—” Pratt swallowed, his mouth dry as sandpaper. Suddenly, feeling like the world was a conveyor belt under his feet didn’t sit so well anymore. “What is—?”

“This is the important part,” Dani told him. “You have to watch her. Återfödelse.”

“What does—”

“Shh.”

He watched. He watched, and he wished that he hadn’t, because the woman on the screen shrugged out of her coat, pulled some black latex gloves out of her pocket, and snapped them on.

And then, she gutted them.

Like fish.

Stripped their shirts and jackets off. Cut them from the hollows of their throats down to the tops of their jeans—which she had enough generosity to leave on them—and then scooped their insides out like a butcher at home in her own work shop. Scooped them, dumped them, sat them up against the wall of the building. The woman moved with the unhurried but thorough, single-minded pace of a woman determined to finish her plate and lick it clean.

He was going to be sick. He was going to be fucking sick. He pushed the forgotten bag of beef jerky onto the countertop beside the computer. Dani must have thought he was offering it to her, because though she was fully engrossed in her sister’s work, she said sweetly, “Oh, no thank you. I am vegetarian.”

Pratt pulled away from the computer screen and the chair where Sheridan sat, admiring the bloody gore being laid out before her. The world pushed and pulled in his vision in time with his rapidly increasing heartbeat; he stumbled into the next room, reaching blindly out of muscle memory alone before his fingers found the edge of the trash can and he could bend over and throw up whatever was in his stomach.

He was wrong. This was worse than Bliss—Bliss was one kind of trip, and you knew immediately what it was going to be from the start. But this? This was a fucking nightmare. Each time he closed his eyes he kept seeing them, Jacob’s Chosen, entrails scattered in the snow and jaws lax and ribcages split open.

Fuck, he thought, breathing over the trash can as another wave of nausea hit him. Fuck fuck fuck, fuck fuck—

“Oh, Staci,” came Dani’s sugared voice, teeming with pure, unadulterated sympathy, rippling bright pink and blinding in his vision. How long had he been knelt over the trash can like this? “Are you feeling unwell? It can be a lot, you know. The first time you see it.”

“There—” Pratt lifted his head weakly, looking at the girl who’d happened to wander in here, just after he’d seen those glossy gray vans patrolling the area. Separated from my family, she’d said. “It happens more?”

His words came out in a wail, pitching almost into hysterical. Dani clicked her tongue, smoothing the hair back from his forehead in a gesture that was supposed to comfort him.

“Of course it does,” she told him, crouching beside him, bringing his hand up to her cheek. “Återfödelse. Rebirth. It will happen to us all. If we are lucky, Helmi will be the one who does it for us.”

The last thing he wanted was for that woman—Helmi—to do anything for him. He struggled to keep his eyes open, the exhaustion of his adrenaline and the crash of his high digging straight into his skeleton.

I have to get the fuck out of here, he thought. I have to get out of here and tell—tell the others—tell Jerome and Hudson and Elliot and—

“It is okay,” Dani murmured, planting her hand on the back of his neck and giving it a little squeeze. “She knows I am here. That was good thinking, to get the radio all charged up.”

It took every ounce of his strength not to moan in misery at that. The brunette smiled at him, radiantly and with pearly teeth, and he was suddenly filled with dread at the idea that there may be someone out there worse than the Seeds.

“You should lay down, get some rest,” she suggested gently. Coming to a stand, Dani glanced back at the monitors, and then back at him, lips still quirked in that pleasant little smile.

“You will want to be at full speed when she gets here.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Things in the car were uncomfortable. That is to say, Elliot was still nursing whatever wound his honesty had given her, and regarding him warily out of the corner of her eye every time he attempted to strike up conversation with her.

I’m not going to apologize, John thought resolutely, between the stop at the pharmacy and the house. I meant it. I’m not going to apologize for something I meant. And mean. I know I’m the only one meant for—

“What is going on?” he asked, slowing to a crawl when he came to the turn up the Honeysett’s driveway. It was packed with cars—lining the parking area in a little cluster. The redhead beside him let out a frustrated, agonized little moan, burying her face into her hands.

“It’s Tuesday,” Elliot replied tartly.

“Okay, and?”

“Tuesday’s the day mama has all of her debutante friends over.” She shifted in the passenger seat, gesturing with her hand. “Well, you gonna park or what?”

John’s mouth pressed into a thin line. Great. An audience, a crowd, for the impenetrable, unshakeable tension sitting just there, right between them. But even now, it was a relief; all of those weeks spent without her had reminded him that even when things hadn’t been the most ideal, when they’d been fighting constantly, at least it had been something. As long as she wasn’t acting like he didn’t exist.

“Can’t wait,” is what he said, pulling the Jeep down the long drive and parking it where no one would need to have him move it later. Through the glass, he could see gauzy shapes milling about, drenched in amber light; Southern women, hair curled and faces powdered and the flowy fabrics of their loose-fitted (and yet, somehow still miraculously tailored) clothes, martini glasses in hand.

Elliot said, “Stepford housewife does seem on-brand for you.”

He shot her a dry look. “I prefer my women with a bit more bite to them.”

“Shut the fuck up.”

So, it was going to go great, then.

As he made his way up the steps, Elliot paused, turning and looking at him before they could reach the door. He looked at her expectantly; eyebrows lifted.

“I don’t have to tell you to behave,” she began.

“No, you don’t.”

“But I will anyway.” Elliot’s hand rested on the doorknob. “These women are nicer than mama. They’ll want to know all about you, ask you tons of questions—I need you to give them vanilla answers. The most vanilla. You’ve gotta be as unthreatening as a wafer, John.”

Still recovering from the pleasant swoon of hearing the words I need you come out of Elliot’s mouth, John said, “Scout’s honor, Ell.”

Her mouth pressed into a thin line. Loose wisps of ginger hair tumbled out of the half-pony she’d slung her hair in, and her eyes darted—unsure, wetting her lips, like there was something that she wanted to say to him but she didn’t quite trust herself to.

“I’m—” She stopped.

“They’re going to wonder why we’re standing out here.”

“I’m trusting you,” Elliot bit out. The words were almost as sweet as I need you, he thought. “Trusting you not to...take advantage of the fact that I may or may not have omitted important information about what was going on back home. I would really like it, John, if we could get through this evening without my life coming apart.”

The urge to reach up and brush the hair from her face, cup her cheek—it burned in his fingertips, itching. But he kept his hand at his side and said, mood instantly elated by the idea that Elliot needed something from him, “No nuclear bombs dropping tonight, my love.”

“Ugh.” She rolled her eyes. “Fine. We get in and we get out, no casualties.”

“Just like old times,” John agreed. “Sans the ‘no casualties’ bit, of course.”

Elliot’s mouth twisted. He thought she might have been trying to stop herself from smiling, but the expression was wiped so quickly from her face that he didn’t have any time to dwell on it too long before she opened the front door and he was hit with a blast of heat and floral perfume.

Oh, yeah, he thought, stepping inside after Elliot to the sound of bright, vibrant chatter cascading over soft music playing in the background, that’s debutantes.

“Is that Elliot?” exclaimed one woman, perhaps a few years older than Scarlet, coming to a stand and setting her glass to the side as she hurried over to wrap Elliot in a hug. “My goodness, look at you. You dyed your hair, didn’t you? I love it, it’s beautiful, sugar.”

“You’re home late,” Scarlet remarked as Elliot shrugged out of her jacket, perched on the couch. Boomer had come racing down the stairs at the sound of someone’s arrival, little feet tapping excitedly against the carpet as he begged for Elliot’s attention.

“We had to make a stop, mama. And—thank you,” Ell replied, clearing her throat, returning the embrace for a second before she pulled away. The interaction was an interesting one to watch—and gave him, perhaps, more insight into the dynamic between Scarlet and Elliot than his wife would have wanted. After all, it wasn’t Scarlet getting up to embrace her pregnant daughter after not knowing where she was all day.

Elliot turned and gestured to John with a smile that looked more like a grimace. Her hands had gone to Boomer, though, rubbing his ears—more for her benefit than his, it seemed. “Delia, this is—um, John. John, this is Delia, she’s—kinda like my aunt.”

The woman, Delia, turned bright eyes on him. “Well, um John, isn’t it nice to finally meet you!” she exclaimed, hugging him tight and filling his senses with perfume and chiffon.

“Pleasure,” John replied, beaming, “is all mine, I assure you, kinda Aunt Delia.”

She’d been right, of course. All of the women in the room regarded the two of them with nothing short of warmth, glowing curiosity—certainly, they gossiped, but nothing quite as scathing as Scarlet Honeysett’s own impression of him and even, to an extent, Elliot. For the most part, the matriarch’s disdain of him was carefully bottled, though she made no move to greet him or show him off like a mother-in-law ought to.

“John is Elliot’s husband,” Scarlet said lightly from the couch, where the other women made various noises of feigned excitement and disappointment alike. He could about hear Elliot wanting to crumple in on herself.

Delia left one hand on John’s shoulder, the other affectionately twisting one of Elliot’s coppery curls and letting it fall to the side. “Dyed hair, married—honey, is there somethin’ you haven’t been up to? And what about a weddin’?”

John had never seen Ell turn into such a shrinking violet before. She blinked owlishly at the women—even the one she claimed close enough to be her Aunt—and shifted on her feet.

“We didn’t really think about it,” Ell managed out shyly, cheeks flaring pink. “And no, I haven’t, but—well, except—”

Painful. It was painful, how much she was suffering through this. “It was an unconventional thing,” he supplied easily, flashing a charming smile. “We thought about maybe having a nice reception, but we’re just not in a rush right now. Can’t do anything nice in the middle of winter, after all.”

Instant relief flooded Elliot’s face. “Yeah. Exactly.”

“Finally,” Delia hummed, “a man who has some taste. You know, Scarlet, my boy’s been trying to find indoor places to have his weddin’. I asked him, what, does he think folks want to be sweatin’ like a sinner in church the second they step foot in there? It’s no less than—come here, John, honey, you can sit with me—no less than two hundred guests, and...”

John let Delia manhandle him into a chair nearby the fireplace. It had been quite a blow to his ego to have Scarlet regarding him with so much disgust, like he wasn’t even worth her time of day; even now, when his mother-in-law came to a stand, beckoning Elliot into the kitchen with a single elegant hand into the kitchen, she barely spared him a glance. Like he was nothing.

That’s where she gets it from, he thought dryly. Honeysett women.

“John, you ever been to one of Scarlet’s Christmas parties, honey?” Delia asked him, jarring him out of his thoughts. He planted a polite smile on his face.

“Unfortunately, I’ve not had the opportunity,” he replied lightly. This was easy—older women, dying to know more about him? Easy as pie. “Christmas is next week, isn’t it?”

“Oh, yes,” Delia replied, patting his hand. “You’ll have to come. I mean, of course you’ll come—Elliot will be there. Where are you staying? Scarlet didn’t put you up in a motel, did she? I’ll tell you what, I hear the most awful stories about that place. In fact, just the other day, Justine Adler was telling me...”

The woman launched into another bustle of gossip, busying herself with pouring a drink which was then promptly planted in John’s hand. Somewhere close to halfway into that, Scarlet and Elliot returned, the older woman resuming her spot at the center of the couch and Elliot sitting herself on the ground beside him, back to the fireplace.

He leaned over, as the women burst into glittering laughter, and said, “Wanted to sit by me instead of your mother, huh?”

“She told me to pretend like we like each other,” Elliot muttered back. “What are you drinking?”

John flashed her a grin. “Delia made it for me.”

“Elli,” Delia said sweetly from the chair, “do you want somethin’ to drink, too?”

Elliot flushed. “No thank you, ma’am. I’m alright.”

“Well, if you’re sure.”

The conversation resumed, and John let a few beats go by before he leaned to the side again; this time, he pitched his voice lower, and he saw Elliot tuck the hair behind her ear. “I like when your accent comes out,” he told her, turning his head to look at her, and she did the same at the same time, putting them almost nose to nose. “It’s cute.”

“You’re on thin ice, buddy,” she replied, eyes narrowing. “I haven’t forgotten what you said.”

“I’m counting on that elephant’s memory of yours, Elli.”

“John, are you fixing to get glassed or what?”

He couldn’t stop the grin from hitting his face again. She had to behave here—she couldn’t kick up a bit fuss about it. But even when she asked him if he was trying to get his face bashed in, a little bit of wry amusement bled into her voice, like muscle memory demanded the jab be more playful than threatening.

“I’ll drink to your health,” John added amenably, “and merciful nature.”

She squinted at him, the corner of her mouth twisting into something close to a smile.

“Sure, John,” she replied. “You’ll need all the help you can get on that front, anyway.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

By the time the last lady had left and the glasses and plates were cleaned up, night had fallen deep and dark over the Graves (Honeysett) home. Elliot thought she’d never been more tired her entire life than she had been sitting through that little gathering, listening to the women ply John with questions about what he did and what he was doing, and how did they meet, and wasn’t he just so happy to be down here in Weyfield? Wasn’t he so pleased to have Scarlet as a mother-in-law?

To his credit, John upheld his promise to behave. He took only one alcoholic drink from Delia and spent the rest of the time sipping it, engaging more freely with the other women than she’d seen him do with her own mother or even Sylvia—likely because they had no reason to dislike him. On a surface level, John Seed was a very charismatic man. Charming. Thoughtful. Perceptive. He laughed and he made the ladies laugh, and even her mother seemed a little pleased; not without her carefully placed jabs, but for a second in time, Elliot felt less like she was going crazy and more like a normal girl. A real girl.

It made her think about the night she’d first met him, almost two years ago now, and the way he’d looked at her and said, a lot can happen in a week, beautiful. She’d been a fucking fool back then, and in a lot of ways, Elliot thought she still was a fool—but at least she was on the defense. At least she felt comfortable with the idea that her baby might never know John, in any capacity.

She was ready to cut and run, if needed.

And why haven’t you? Something inside of her asked, as she moved up the steps and stopped at her bedroom door. Why haven’t you cut and run already?

“Elliot?” John turned to look at her, pausing when she did. His eyes were inquisitive. No, not inquisitive—prying. “Are you sure you don’t want to sleep in my bed?”

Lonely, another part of her replied. We haven’t cut and run because we’re lonely.

“I’m sure,” she said after a second. “Nice try, though.”

“You’re still mad,” he said, his voice rumbling teasingly. His eyes darted over her, lingering on her mouth before fixing on her eyes. “Didn’t I do good? Just what you asked?”

“You—did,” Elliot allowed after a moment. It was true. “But of course I’m still mad, you fucking idiot. You told me no one was ever going to love me, and that you meant it.”

John sighed. There was a brief moment where he neither said nor did anything, but after a second he reached up and swept the hair from her shoulder. The gesture made her skin prickle; anticipation curled at the base of her spine and began its stretch, luxurious and leisurely, up to her neck. Tight, tingling anticipation, when his fingers brushed the side of her neck.

Push him away, she thought.

“I do mean it,” he said, “because, I don’t think—”

Push his hand off of you.

“—anyone else is going to love you—”

He was closer now, much closer than before, like she’d blinked and suddenly he was there, in her space. Elliot felt her lashes flutter; the smell of his cologne washed over her, drowning out all of the alarm bells in her head, speaking to a creature inside of her that craved comfort.

“—the way that I can love you.”

John’s forehead brushed hers. So close, too close—but she thought about waking up this morning and the way he’d put his hand just there, in the same place, the way he’d murmured concernedly, you said you’ve been sleeping fine.

“Ell.” His voice was pitched soft, low, something safe and warm and just between them, his fingers threading into the hair at the base of her skull, and now their noses brushed, and John had crowded her up gently against the doorframe, just the way that he knew she liked. “I want to kiss you.”

Elliot’s throat felt tight. I want to kiss you too, that wretched, sad little thing inside of her said, but instead she thought of something else—she thought about John, holding her under the water, and John, saying enough of that sad little whimpering, deputy, you’re pulling on my heartstrings, and John, spitting mad, telling her he was never ever going to take her back even though no one was going to love her because of the things she’d done.

“Can’t,” she managed out, her voice hoarse. “You can’t.”

John exhaled through his nose, his eyes shutting like he was trying to stop himself—from saying something, doing something that he wanted to do very much but would regret later. It took a second, but once she gathered herself, she reached up and gripped his wrist with her hand, applying just a little pressure—and that was all it took for him to drop his hand from her neck.

“Okay,” he said after a moment. It sounded more like a way to console himself rather than an answer to her. He passed a hand through his hair.

“We can’t.”

“Okay, alright. No kissing.” He lifted his hands in a show of innocence. “You’re the boss.” The brunette’s eyes glided over her face for a moment, almost ruefully, before he stepped back and started heading down the hall. “Goodnight, Elliot.”

She stayed put, up against the doorframe to her bedroom, fingers curled into fists. Everything in her felt like it was burning—rioting, that she had denied herself something that might give her some temporary relief, some temporary pleasure.

But it wasn’t just about her, anymore.

“John,” she said, waiting until he turned to look at her. “Why are you even here?”

He stared at her. “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” she continued, hating the little tremble in her voice, “did you come here because you wanted to be with the baby and I, or did you come here because you were mad we left?”

Elliot watched the muscle of his jaw tense and tighten, flexing as he tried to come up with an answer. And he was, having to come up with one, because he was doing that thing where he wanted to say something that was true to him and would make her happy.

And she didn’t want that. She just wanted him to be honest.

“Alright, good talk.”

“Elliot, listen,” he started, and she stepped into her bedroom, shaking her head.

“Goodnight, John.”

She closed the door behind her, pleased to not hear any follow-up knocks on her door or John’s voice coming through the wood. It was five minutes of waiting before she finally dragged herself into her pajamas, put a sleeping pill in her mouth, and crawled into bed with Boomer curled into her knees.

That’s okay, Elliot thought tiredly, shifting and closing her eyes. That’s alright. It can be just you and I, baby.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“Staci?”

Roused from his sleep, Pratt lifted his head. When had he fallen asleep? How long had he been sleeping? He struggled to a sitting position, clearing his throat and blinked his eyes rapidly to try and get them to focus. It was Dani’s face that came into view, then, her hair slung up in a ponytail and her nose scrunching up in an amused little smile.

“Good morning. You must have been exhausted, you slept for so long,” she teased him, and for a second he felt relief flood over him. It had been a dream. It had all been an awful dream. Now, more than ever, he was sure that he needed to get to the Resistance—take Dani with him and get out of this fucking nightmare of a building. Yeah. Then he’d feel better.

“Yeah, I must have been,” he said a little sheepishly, his voice rough from sleep. “Hey, d’you think we could—”

“Is he finally awake?”

The voice that came from the other room filtered straight into his brain, crisp and sharp and distinctly un-accented. The sound of footsteps echoed across the tile before an unfamiliar woman filled up the doorway, leaning one shoulder against it and regarding him with dark, scrutinizing eyes.

No. Not unfamiliar. Very familiar, painfully familiar, disgustingly, awfully—

“Yes, Helmi,” Dani replied warmly, “he is awake. It was his first time seeing Återfödelse.”

The woman, dark and swathed in fabric up to her throat, swept her eyes over him. “Dani told me you puked.”

“I-I-” Pratt tried to function through the panic in his brain, rioting bells going off nonstop. Helmi had washed herself of any blood, that did nothing to erase the image of her driving a man’s face into a splintered plank until he was skewered on it, or the way she had methodically emptied out Jacob’s own chosen and propped them up.

To get found. To send a message.

“You?” Helmi prompted, her voice flinty. “You what, boy?”

“He is still coming down,” Dani said, pouting her lips. She no longer struck him as affectionate on an equal level, but instead gave him the distinct feeling of a girl fawning over a cute animal. An animal she thought was also stupid.

“Why do you think he’s been holed up in the big one’s base of operations? He’s their lap dog,” the blonde bit out. She took a few steps over, leaning down—she was tall, but dextrous, her mouth curving in a smile that was distinctly threatening. She reached up, and when Pratt felt his body flinch, she grabbed his chin. “Aren’t you, doggy?”

“I-I’m not!” he said quickly, jerking his face out of her grip. “I’m not, I swear, I don’t even like the Seeds, I swear I don’t, Jacob was keeping me here and then he got everyone in the bunker and—”

“Wait,” Helmi said, eyes narrowing. “You know where the bunker is?”

“Yes!” Pratt said quickly. His eyes darted between Helmi and Dani, nervous. “I do, I know where it is, but—but no one can get in without Jacob now. Everyone in there is locked down until h-he gets back.”

“I told you,” Dani said to Helmi eagerly. “I told you he was helpful, Helmi.”

Helmi sucked her teeth, giving him one last scathing once-over before she planted a pleasant smile on her face.

“Come on, doggy,” she said, grabbing Staci’s shirt collar and hauling him to his feet. “You and I are going to make a little trip. And—”

She paused, thoughtful, even as Pratt scrabbled to push her hands off of him. They made his skin crawl—long and elegant, but he had seen what they could do. What they had done. Helmi shoved the walkie into his hands, as well as a heavy coat.

“Why don’t you tell me everything you know about our friends the Seeds on the way there?”

[diaryofabeautyfiend]

Small Time Witch (3)

STEVE

Steve sat in his office pouring over intelligence reports. This was a pretty big deal. You were talking about a bio weapons lab. An evil bio weapons lab. He was convinced the place was booby trapped. He wanted everyone to wear gas masks but Tony assured him that you were going to secure the place. He rubbed his face trying to wake up his tired eyes. Maybe he’d turn in soon. That’s when he heard the helicopter.

He was on his feet running down the hall. Tony and Nat were behind him. They got to the front door and caught Bucky casually strolling in.

“Buck! Are you ok? What is that?”

He shrugged Steve off looking slightly annoyed. “That’s y/n’s ride. They are heading back to her house for ‘witch stuff’ whatever that means.”

“Her ride? They who?” Tony prodded

“Yeah. Y/N, Wanda and Loki jumped on to go back to her house.”

Steve and Tony exchanged a look. Nat was already dialing Fury. After a few moments Nat came back in, “Yep. Turns out the Director sent the chopper.”

“Well ok then. I guess that’s a thing that happens.”

Steve excused himself to call Wanda. He got her voicemail. “Wanda it’s Steve. Call me back when you get this. Just checking to see if you’re ok.”

Everyone settled down and went back to their rooms. Steve was too frazzled to sleep. He went to the kitchen to have a glass of water. Bucky was punishing a pint of ice cream.

“Want some?” he asked with a full mouth.

“You know what? I would like some.”

“Pull up a spoon.”

Steve carved out a spoon full making sure to get the chocolate ribbon. He put it in his mouth letting the warmth melt it a little before he dragged his lips over the mound of cream guiding it over his tongue. There were few absolute pleasures Steve had in life. Ice cream was one of them.

Bucky continued to shovel the ice cream into his mouth. Steve wasn’t sure if he even tasted it. They didn’t speak for a few minutes and then Steve said, “What do you think about the new girl?”

“She’s weird.”

“You haven’t spoken more than two sentences to her.”

“Yeah. I’m a great judge of character. She’s weird.”

Steve shook his head, “Weird how though?”

“I don’t know. She’s just always watching people and looking uncomfortable. It’s weird.”

“She is an empath. She feels what we feel. Maybe you’re the one who’s weird and she is just mirroring that.”

Bucky snorts, “Probably. That makes way more sense. Are you gonna keep tongue fucking the ice cream or can I put it away?”

“I’m done. See you tomorrow, Buck.”

He headed back to his room thinking about you as he walked. He’d only admit to himself but people with supernatural powers scared him. Before turning in he looked up everything he could find about empaths.

YOU

Back at your apartment the three of you gathered as many things as you could that belonged to your coven. You also grabbed your Book of Shadows which outlined your coven’s rituals and spells passed down from generation to generation. Wanda studied the book looking for any mention of your power.

The first item you had was an athame that belonged to your aunt Flora.

Loki guided you through the ritual being careful to respect your family’s traditions. “What was your Aunt Flora’s gift?”

“Aeromancy. She could conjure winds.”

“Ok. Y/N I want you to hold the athame in your right hand and close your eyes. Find your center and tell me what you feel.”

“I feel like a pull in my belly.”

“Good. Imagine that feeling traveling through your body to the tips of your fingers. Imagine the wind flowing out of your palms.” It took some concentration but when you did as he said. You held up your left hand and summoned enough wind to blow papers all around and knock a few pictures off the walls.

“You did it!” Wanda shouted. Your concentration broke and the wind died.

“That’s all good and well but I can’t exactly carry all of their things with me all the time.”

“No. You’re right. But I think you’ve had enough for today. You look so tired, honey.” Wanda smoothed your hair out of your face and rested her hand on your cheek.

“Want us to stay?”

“No. I have to get up early to meet Steve and Sam.”

“I hate the thought of you being by yourself all the time. I wish you’d reconsider but I understand if you won’t. I’m going to call Tony to see if he can pick us up.” She patted your shoulder and excused herself.

Loki helped you pick up your things. He didn’t say a whole lot but you knew he had something on his mind.

“What’s up, Lok? You ok?”

“I could stay. I’ll sleep on the couch. Won’t be in your way.”

“You really don’t need to.”

“Pet, you are in danger. And, whether or not you like to admit it, I can protect you.”

You rolled your eyes, “I don’t need protection.”

“The hell you don’t. I may only be a demigod but I’m the most powerful being here. Plus I hate sleeping at the compound.” You giggled to yourself. It had to be super uncomfortable bunking in with your big brother.

“Fine. Stay. I have a guest bedroom. You’re welcome to it.”

“Nat is on her way. Want to try one more before we go?”

“Wanda Loki is going to stay. I mean if that’s ok.”

She frowned briefly, “Not up to me. I’m glad you won’t be alone though.”

“Good. I do want to try one more. This is my mother’s locket.” You opened it revealing a tiny picture of you and her. Anytime you take it out you feel her. Tonight it was as if she was standing next to you.

“What was her gift?”

“Telekinesis.”

“Ok. Just like we practiced. Found your center?”

You closed your eyes and this time the pull was much stronger. You opened your hand and summoned Loki’s dagger out of his waistband. When it hit your palm you closed your hand and held it close to your body. It was so fast he didn’t even see it happening. The three of you inhaled when you caught a faint whiff of perfume. Suddenly the whole room smelled like vetiver. It was sharp citrusy and mildly herbal. Smelled like your mom.

“She’s here.” Your voice was barely above a whisper. “Mom? Mommy?” Tears ran down your face. Your body felt warm and you tingled all over. She was with you. They all were. Something was telling you to try without the locket. You set it down and tried again. It worked. You tried the wind. It worked. You felt charged like you were plugged into a big battery.

You hovered your hand over the sad thirsty ficus in the corner. It sprang to life. Lana your youngest sister witch was with you. You closed your eyes and willed yourself to split. You were staring into your own face. An astral projection. The eldest member of your coven Helene was with you. You opened your hand and in it appeared a glass of water. Constance was with you. Then you froze it. Bethany was with you.

Loki grabbed your shoulders to get your attention. “Y/N STOP! You’re going to destroy your home.” Finally when you were able to focus Natasha was standing in the doorway with her mouth hanging open. Wanda and Loki looked on like proud parents.

“Still think I need protection?” you asked still breathing hard.

“Not from a damn thing.” Nat said still shocked.

“You, my friend, need nothing but sleep. That had to have taken a lot out of you. Ok. Hydrate. Rest. Steve will be here for you at 4.”

“Yeah and Y/N on time is late so really expect him at 3:45. I’ll see you after breakfast. I guess I had better wear a helmet.” You waved goodbye and plopped down onto the couch. Loki sat next to you.

“You’re a quick study.”

“Are you impressed?”

“Beyond impressed. And I’m beyond exhausted. You wore me out today, mortal.”

“What? You didn’t enjoy my little emotional roller coaster?” He laughed. And patted your knee.

“It was quite the ride. Go. Off to bed with you. You look like you’re ready to pass out any moment and I don’t want to be the one who has to catch you.”

“Yes, sir. Good night.”

“Pleasant dreams.”

Loki stayed up a bit longer and read the Book of Shadows from cover to cover. If he was to be your teacher he just formulated his first lesson plan. He said out loud knowing you could hear him, “Sleep well, mortal. Tomorrow it’s my turn to run the show.” He turned out the light and drifted off into an uneasy sleep.

[thats-how-i-role]

There is not a world out there where you will find Jem Morale grovelling. Begging. Pleading. Except when it comes to finding happiness for certain beautiful, intelligent girl.

“Please!” Jem whined, following their manager into their office. Jem’s entire posture was slumped. “It’s just for a night.”

Their boss nodded, visibly annoyed. “And it’s just a deposit.”

“Yeah, five hundred bucks!” Jem exclaimed, exasperated. “You sign my paycheques, we both know I can’t afford that.”

Their manager pinched the bridge of their nose. “And for the last time, it’s not my problem.” Jem laid their head down on their manager’s desk, staring up at him with the biggest puppy dog eyes possible. After a moment of a rather humorous staring contest, their manager finally said, “What do you need to rent out the café for anyway?”

“I have this... friend.” Jem began to explain, their gaze drifting off. “She’s been helping me out with my schoolwork, particularly the subjects I’ve been having trouble with. And her birthday’s is in two days. I just want to plan something special.”

Their boss quirked their eyebrow up, “Friend, as in girlfriend?”

Jem shook their head, “No. At least... I’m working on it. And maybe this could help, which is why this is so important.”

Their manager breathed out a sigh, shaking their head discontented. After a moment of silence he spoke up, “I can’t let you use the restaurant. But, with a deposit of one-fifty, half of which will be covered by your over time pay, and your tips over the next couple week, I can give you the roof.”

Jem shot up, “Thank you, thank you, thank you!”

Their boss shook his head, “Don’t thank me yet. It’s a mess up there, and in order to get it cleaned up you’re gonna need your own crew. But, not-only if you get it organized by yourself within the next two days will I staff and cater the event, then I will hire you to help organize parties in the future.”

Jem nodded enthusiastically, “A little hard work never killed anyone. I really appreciate this opportunity.”

Their boss nodded, and reached for his keys. He tossed a triangular, golden key at Jem who nearly failed to catch it. “You’re welcome, now get out before I change my mind.”

Jem quickly fled the office, and noticed they still had ten minutes for their break. They took out their phone as they walked up the stairs to the roof. Making a quick group chat, they sent a message saying, “I need your help.”

Alveyn was the first and only one to reply, as everyone else just read the message. “What do you need, mate?”

Jem unlocked the door to the roof, and got a look at what they were dealing with. Tables and chairs were covered in dust, and dirt. Some of which were sun bleached from being under the sun for too long. Jem heard a few squeaks coming from hidden corners and they knew they got in over their head. But, it was for Lewellyn.

And maybe their friends would see it the same way.

Jem sent a photo of the deserted rooftop saying, “I need to clear this and I can’t do it alone.”

This time, only a few people saw the message but nobody responded still. Jem rolled their eyes adding, “It’s for Lew.”

Suddenly, the crew entered the chat. Mercy and Laufi were the first to respond, quickly followed by Romy. Volstigg answered a couple hours later and the plan was beginning to form.

The next day, the crew showed up with brooms, and a truck to move the garbage out of there. Umbra showed up despite not mentioning he would in the group chat. Laufi was able to set up the rat traps, and get any rats that were present out of there without getting hurt. They found it easier just to buy new chairs and table cloths to put if the run down tables. Jem put the cake in the fridge at their work, a cake Mercy baked to perfection with beautiful white frosting with orange lettering. Romy made a list of things we needed to get done, and to buy. And was able to convince Lew to clear her schedule, although her parents were difficult to get ahold of for some reason. Volstigg helped a little but got distracted by the cute barista that was working that day.

After several hours of hardwork, the roof was in tip top shape. Jem dropped the seventy five they owed to their boss on his desk, and ran off before he could ask about what happened with the vermin. When Laufi told Jem, “not to worry about it,” it only made everyone that much more concerned. Aerilyn texted by the end of that day saying they’d show up to the party despite not doing any of the work.

And before they all knew it, it was showtime.

Romy messaged Jem as they were adjusting everything to be perfect upstairs. He said that, “we’re about a minute away.”

Jem attempted to shake out their nerves as they leaped down the stairs. But no matter how much they tried, their heartbeat wouldn’t slow down. Which I guess was normal whenever they saw Lew.

Romy and Lew entered the café, the wind catching her hair as the door closed. She went to approach the counter, until Volstigg walked up and linked arms with her. Romy shook his head, clearly amused but followed nonetheless. Lew’s eyes were lit up with joy and curiosity.

Mercy placed her hands gently over Lew’s eyes playfully as the party led Lew up the stairs. Upon reaching the rooftop, the entire shouted “Surprise!” As Mercy revealed the view to Lew.

What once was a cluttered mess of a roof, was now at the very least presentable. There were two rectangular tables pushed together and covered by a fabric tablecloth. A variety of snacks that most wouldn’t consider to be a part of a dinner we’re displayed on a separate table. Mercy’s cake, instead of candles had sparklers sticking out of it. Lew’s presents were displayed at each of their seats.

Lewellyn let out a joyful gasp. The smile that graced her face was enough to reassure Jem that they did the right thing. And it took all of their nerves and Jem’s breath away all at once.

The party continued into the hours of the evening. Many laughs, and stories were shared over the dinner table. Not only that, but it seemed like the group’s hard work had really paid off. When the party was finishing up, some people had to go home in order to get to their early morning classes on time. Umbra, Alveyn, Lew, Mercy and Jem stuck behind to clean up. Mostly to make sure Jem didn’t get their head ripped off by their boss.

As Jem cleared the plates, Lew slipped onto the table beside them. “So you really set this all up, didn’t you?”

Jem’s cheeks flushed, but it was thankfully hidden by the twilight. “It’s not that big of a deal, I just couldn’t figure out what to get you for your birthday.”

Lew giggled, “So your plan was instead of a present, was to plan a party? That definitely cost more than a new journal, or a nice bracelet...”

“I got your point.” Jem brushed off. But no matter how hard they tried, Jem couldn’t erase their grin. “But you’re wrong.”

“Oh?” Lew asked.

Jem reached into their back pocket, and pulled out a leather bracelet. It was a dark brown leather, only about half an inch thick. But with several silver charms. A feather quill, a cluster of stars, and several others. “I couldn’t decide which was better, so I got you both.”

Lewellyn shook her head, surprised and incredibly thankful. “Jem, this is too much.”

Jem gently grabbed Lew’s wrist, and clipped her bracelet on. “It’s not nearly enough for what you give me. I just can’t be grateful enough for you Lewellyn V’lain.”

“I want to pay you back! Maybe a haircut,” she quipped, ruffling their hair. “Or... maybe a date?”

Jem’s head shot up at the word, “Yes.” They blurted out then attempted to calm themselves down saying, “I mean yeah. Sure, I did put a lot of work into this. I think I uh, I could be treated.”

Lewellyn leaned in and kissed Jem’s cheek, a feeling Jem would never forget, “Sounds like a plan. I’ll text you tomorrow.”

“Shoy.” Jem said in a dazed tone. Clearing their throat they corrected themselves, “uh sure, a-absolutely. It’s a date. You already said that. I’ll shut up now.”

By the end of the night, Jem was still walking on air. And unbelievably excited about what tomorrow would bring.

[lynnsfics]

In The Spotlight

Chapter Four

Pairing: Loki x Reader

Word Count: Approx. 1.1k

First Chapter

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~~~

Your mind couldn’t completely comprehend his words. So instead of forming an intelligent response, you once again spluttered out a weak “Dad?” Then, a question formed in your mind. “How did you know I was here? Did Mom call you?”

“What? No, you know I haven’t heard from your mother in ages. The truth is, I didn’t know you were here. I was just heading into work.” 

“You work here?” The query slipped past your lips before you had time to stop it, but instead of looking offended he let out a chuckle.

“Why am I not surprised that your mother didn’t tell you? I own the theatre company. After the divorce I started working here, and eventually worked my way up until I could buy it. That was how your mother won custody, since a starter job at a theatre didn’t seem to be able to provide for a child.” 

A shadow passed over his face before he shook his head. “Now it’s my turn to ask, what are you doing here?” 

You glanced down, feeling nervous about your response. If you told him you were auditioning, he might be able to help you land a position. But what if he thought you were trying to take advantage of his job? Deciding to answer with a half truth you replied,“Well, I came here for the Romeo and Juliet extra workshop.”

He gave you a meaningful look.“I meant, what are you doing in the city.”

“Mom kicked me out last night for not having a real job, so here I am.” A forced laugh bubbled out of your mouth, but you began to realize the full desperation of your situation. 

He looked concerned, before giving you a comforting smile, “Well, you’re my daughter, so I know you’ll do well. I can show around if you’d like. Give you a quick tour of the building.” 

“That’d be great,” you beamed. “Thank you so much.” 

“It’s the least I can do,” he replied, leading you toward the gleaming glass doors. As you entered the building a gasp left your mouth. It was absolutely gorgeous. 

A crystal chandelier hung from the ceiling of the foyer, glinting warm light off the shining marble floor. A grand staircase led to what you presumed to be the auditorium. “This is all yours?” 

He nodded as he led you towards the room where auditions were being held. “It took me quite some time to amass the funds to buy it, but thanks to a few, uh, contacts, I was able to acquire it.” He beamed at you, obviously proud of himself. You were proud of him too, but to be quite honest, you were also upset. 

After all those you spent, barely making ends meet, he was living in the lap of luxury. Just thinking about all the times you struggled to even open the door to your clunker of a car made you dizzy. All those times you had to stall buying things or skip going out to save money could have been avoided if he had done something. 

Apparently you didn’t mask your thoughts as well as you had hoped. “You probably think I’m a terrible dad, huh? Sweetie, I promise you, if there was anything I could have done I would have. But your mom refused to accept any money, she was too proud. Insisted that she could make enough money from her ‘real’ job.” 

You felt your chest tightening. It didn’t add up. How many things had she kept from you? But you had to push those thoughts aside. No, now wasn’t the time to worry about it. But once you aced this workshop you would call her and give her a piece of your mind.

“I know it’s a lot to take in,” he continued, “but maybe we can talk after your audition ends. We can work out an arrangement.” He turned to leave, but turned back at the last second. “I’ll be sure to put in a good word for you with the director,” he winked.

You laughed, but replied, “I think I can make it on my own.” With a smile, you turned your attention to the stage, where a few people were milling around. 

It took a moment, but you took a deep breath and walked up the steps. Heading towards what seemed to be the woman in charge, you smiled. “Hi, I’m here for the Romeo and Juliet workshop?”

She nodded, “Do you have your identification?” You handed her your driver’s license and she smiled. “Perfect, I’ll put you in the system. We have some time before it starts, so you can go meet the others who are auditioning.” 

“Thank you,” you answered, feeling the knot in your chest loosen. It was going well so far. Squaring your shoulders, you went over to a small group of actors. They were excitedly chatting so you hoped to slip into their conversation. 

“So then Hamlet slipped and dropped the skull!” Everyone began laughing and you realized you must have come in at the end of a story. One of the girls turned to you and smiled. 

“Hey there, new girl.” You blushed, trying to think of a response. “No worries,” she laughed. “Everyone’s welcome to join our little circle. So you’re auditioning?”

“I am,” you smiled, thankful for her warm welcome.

“We are too, although we’ve heard the competition will be cut throat this year. Ever since they spent big bucks on a new up and coming actor to play Romeo the auditions have been getting more difficult.”

“A new actor?”

“No one knows who he is yet. But rumor has it he’s going to be here today, so we may have a chance to meet him. I’m Andrea by the way.”

You introduced yourself, which Andrea responded to with a firm handshake. 

“It’s nice to meet you,” she said with a smile. “That’s Sam,” she nodded to the boy to your left. “That’s Kat,” Andrea pointed to the girl on her right. “Oh and here comes the star of the hour,” she chuckled as another girl came over and joined the circle. “This is my girlfriend, April.” 

As Andrea caught April up to speed, Sam nodded to you. “Don’t look now, but I think the new actor is here.” 

“Where?” You looked around but couldn’t quite place who he was talking about. 

“I just said not to look,” laughed Sam. “But he’s over by the door, talking to the owner.”

You turned your head, and your breath caught in your throat. There he was, Loki, the cute jackass from the gas station. Things were about to get really interesting.

~~~

Taglist: 

@speakinglikeconstellations

@chxrryycola

I am so sorry this chapter is like a week late! Things have been very hectic here. However, I should be back to my regular posting schedule soon (every other Sunday)! As always, likes and reblogs are appreciated! Love you all! <3

[redstarwriting]

Home

Avengers x Platonic!Non-Binary!Reader

Request: “I’m feeling really shitty lately so could you write something with a Non Binary reader. Where the reader’s in the closet and they change clothes when they leave the tower on their way to school, as to not disappoint their hero’s. And one day the avengers see the reader in public and they notice them looking more masculine so later that day the avengers talk to reader and it’s just basically all fluff and love. ( with a little bitch of angst thrown in)”

Word Count: 1,615

Genre: Platonic | Some Angst

Warnings: swearing, coming out but not on your terms, lots of worrying, MJ almost kills an ant

A/N: Okay, I hope I did this justice! I personally am not non-binary, but I have many friends who are, so I hope I did this right and didn’t offend anyone! If I did, please let me know and I will adjust this fic immediately. Also if anyone ever needs to just talk or vent or anything my asks and messages are always open! I hope this fic makes you feel better, anon, I know it’s a little late (and I am so sorry for that) but I hope it makes you smile! :) Please enjoy! Also sorry for the gif but CHRIST that scene was so good okay anyways

───────────────────────────────────

“We’ll see you after school then!” you hear Steve yell after you. You give him a smile, and wave goodbye as the elevator doors close and you begin your descend down Avengers Tower. You’re only in high school, but similarly to Peter, you’re highly intelligent. Since you and Peter happen to be friends, Tony reached out to you to become an intern on a project that he was conducting. To be specific, he was training you to be the next engineer that would build and fix Iron Man suits and improve upon them at all times. Because of this, you became very close with the Earth’s mightiest heroes, so close that you considered them your family. Which is why it makes it so hard for you to let them know how you really feel. See, you’re non-binary. You’ve known for quite a while now, but you don’t really know how to tell them. It’s not that you think they’d hate you or anything, they’re some of the most loving and accepting people you know. You just don’t want to… disappoint them? Although you know they would probably love the fact that you’re embracing who you are, there’s always that doubt in the back of your mind asking the horrible question of “what if they don’t??” I mean, Steve and Bucky are from the 40s. You don’t think they wouldn’t support you, but the FORTIES. It’s just easier to look more feminine and wear mostly feminine around them, it doesn’t draw attention. Even though it sucks.

You sigh, going into your favorite coffee shop and heading to the bathroom to change. You throw on clothes that are way more comfortable for you, ditching the clothes that scream femininity into your gym bag. You grab a quick coffee and head off to school. As soon as you get there you run up to Peter, Ned, and MJ. Now, of course Peter knows how you identify and how you dress, and while he’s a bumbling nervous idiot when it comes to Tony and the others, you know he would never tell them. Not unless you told him you were okay with it. Mainly because you would kill him. And get away with it. Oh, and MJ would kill him again after you killed him. Ned would cry.

“Hey loser,” MJ greets you with her usual term of endearment. “Hey,” you say, taking a swig of your coffee. “Nice outfit, (Y/N). I really like that shirt, it’s awesome! Where’d you get it?” Peter asks, and you grin. “Goodwill. Duh.” Then the bell rang to signify homeroom, and off you went. It seemed like today would be a normal day, just like any other. Unknown to you though, the Avengers were monitoring Peter as they were worried about this new black suit he’d acquired out if the blue. Which meant by default, they were monitoring you. So, at lunch, the damage was done. “Hey, Pete,” you say sitting down across from him. He gives a small wave, not looking up from his food. “Slow down there, tiger, you’re about to eat your tray,” MJ says to him, a little laugh escaping her. Peter goes red, and gulps. “Sorry, I’ve just been crazy hungry recently. Dunno why.”

“Probably because you’re out until like 3 AM fighting crime every night and don’t eat enough,” Ned says, and MJ coughs up her water. “THREE IN THE MORNING?!”

“N-No!... yes...” You watch as MJ scolds him, and laugh to yourself, and while all of this commotion is going on, Scott‘s Antoplane lands on the end of your lunch table, camera projecting the scene to the Avengers in the Tower. “He’s eating an unusual amount of food,” Tony says, and Steve nods his head in agreement. “Fast, too,” he adds, and then Natasha cocks her head to the side. “Wait a second... is that (Y/N) with him?” The others focus in on you, along with Antoplane. Unfortunately, this small movement causes you and your friends to look. “Ew, an ant! Kill it, Peter!” Ned basically screams and Peter gives him a look that reads, “Seriously, dude?” MJ sighs, getting ready to swat it before you stop her. “No! Don’t kill ants, Scott might know this one!”

“They’re right,” Peter says, backing you up. “Thank you, Peter. Now let the ant live. Ant’s not hurting anyone,” you say, taking a bite of your food.

“Did Peter just refer to (Y/N) as ‘they?’” Bruce asks. The Avengers are quiet for a moment before Tony speaks, “JARVIS, look up they/them pronouns, please.”

“Right away, sir.” Tony turns to the others and shrugs. “We can ask (Y/N) about this when... they get home- JARVIS did I say that correctly?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Excellent. Now, I don’t want to jump to conclusions, but I have plenty of non-binary employees at Stark Industries and some of them go by they and don’t necessarily stick to ‘gender norms.’ I recommend we all read up on this before (Y/N) returns home and we ask about it, yeah?”

While everyone in Avengers Tower begins educating themselves, you finish your school day like it’s any other. At the end of the day, you go to Peter’s locker to talk with MJ and Ned before heading back to the Tower. “I swear to God, Parker, if you’re out past midnight tonight New York will have one less superhero.”

“But MJ!”

“Nope. Home, 11:30, sleep, eat. I have May’s phone number.”

“Well, I hope it’s okay if he goes to the Tower with me today. Tony wanted to talk to him about this new suit he’s been wearing,” you interrupt, saving Peter from MJ’s relentless worrying. “Yeah, of course. Where’d you get that new suit anyways, Pete?” MJ asks and he shrugs. “I just found it in my room one day, I don’t know it’s... weird but it looks pretty cool, right?”

“What do you mean you just found it? Is there another guy in the chair I should know about?!” Ned says, obviously shocked and betrayed. “Yeah, Ned. His name is Tony Stark,” Peter says, closing his locker and beginning to walk towards the exit closest to the Avengers Tower. “I’ll see you guys tomorrow!” Peter yells at them, and they wave, heading to their respective exits. “Why didn’t you tell them it’s a suit you got when we were in space?” you ask, and he shakes his head. “Ned would have passed out, (Y/N/N). I’ll let them know another time.” You two make your way back to Avengers Tower, making sure to stop somewhere so you could change back into your more “gendered” clothes. When you walk through the elevator doors and onto the floor where the Avengers’ bedrooms and other rooms typically found in houses where you were met with all of them. Literally, Tony, Steve, Buck, Sam, Nat, Bruce, Piet, Wanda, Clint, even Scott! They were all there with the exception of Thor as he was currently in Asgard. “Hey, y’all,” you greet them, and Tony stops you before you can head back to your room. “(Y/N).”

“Tony.”

“What are you wearing?” he asks, and you go pale. “Um... what I wore to school... the clothes I always wear...?”

“Then explain this?” he pulls up a picture of you at lunch, wearing the clothes you like wearing and you gulp. “I um...” You just stare at him. You’ve been found out. Your greatest fears are coming true. You can’t help the tears from falling from your eyes. You only looked at the floor, you couldn’t meet their gazes. You could only imagine the disappointment in everyone’s expression, causing more tears to fall. You’re expecting Tony to say something derogatory, but then you hear him again.

“So, (Y/N), I ask again, where are your clothes?” The emphasis on the “your” makes you look up at him, and he has a gentle smile on his face. He walks over to you, putting his hand on your shoulder and pulling you into a comforting hug. The shock you’re going through keeps you from speaking, so Tony does it for you. “Why are you wearing this? What happened to the clothes you were wearing earlier?”

You bite your lip, wiping a tear from your cheek before muttering out, “I um... I changed back into these because I thought you would all be disappointed in me if I didn’t look like I was... ‘supposed’ to.”

“Disappointed? Why would we be disappointed?” you hear Steve ask and you shrug, looking at the floor again. “I... I don’t know, it’s just not the norm for someone to be like me yet... someone who’s uh... non-binary... I was just scared,” you say, and Nat walks over to you. “(Y/N/N), you don’t have to be scared to tell us who you really are. We’ll always accept you, I promise,” she says to you, and the tears start falling again, but this time, they’re happy. You hug Nat, and she smiles, along with the other Avengers. “So, does this mean they can stop going into that coffee shop and changing in the bathroom? That makes them nearly late to school sometimes,” Peter says and Tony chuckles. “Yes, (Y/N) no longer needs to do that. They can dress as they please here in the Tower. They’re home, after all.” The rest of the day was amazing for you. You answered any and all questions anyone had about what non-binary is and changed into something a lot more you. Of course, there were some slip ups with your gender pronouns, but you knew none of them were malicious. You could finally be who you were all the time, and like Tony said, you were finally home.

[himbowelsh]

If you have time, and no one else has asked, can you make a girl super happy and do Buck Compton for your Valentine's Day Lists? I'm loving how in-character all the rest of them have been!

valentines day alphabet  ( accepting! )

A   :   AFFECTION.   how does your muse show affection?

He’s a very physically affectionate guy   ---  to be honest, Buck craves physical touch, with the intimacy and reassurance it brings with it. He’s the sort of person who needs to be around people. This can simply be spending time with them, giving them his attention and enjoying their company, or it can be very physical, like hugs, back slaps...  when Buck is keeping himself to himself, not touching or extending his attention outwards, that’s when something’s wrong.

B   :   BOUQUET.   does your muse like flowers? which ones are their favourite?

He has no earthly clue which flowers go well together, but he has ones that he likes  ---  orange and white roses, daisies, bluebells. Those are the only flowers he’ll be able to identify, and if he’s giving a bouquet, those are the flowers he’ll pick...  even if they’re a bit of an eyesore.

C   :   CHOCOLATE.   does your muse like chocolate? which one is their favourite?

He’s a health food enthusiast, but...  okay, listen. Chocolate and bananas? Wow, what a combo. Chocolate and strawberries? Brilliant. Chocolate and nuts? He’s sold.

D   :   DATE.   what is your muse’s ideal date? where / who with / etc?

Let’s go to a sports game! Maybe Buck’s on the field, waving at his partner from the stands; maybe he isn’t, and they can both be very enthusiastic audience members! Buck would love a partner who’s interested in sports, and who can find enjoyment in roaring crowds and a charged atmosphere. This is the environment where Buck thrives, and he’d love to share a bit of it with his partner.

E   :   EMBRACE.   does your muse like hugs? what are their hugs like?

He doesn’t just hug, he lifts. Doesn’t matter who it is  ----  maybe it’s his old elementary school teacher, maybe it’s his best friend, maybe it’s his grandma. You could be a seven foot tall professional athlete, and it doesn’t matter. Buck will lift your ass off the ground.  (That said, he’s very enthusiastic about his hugs   ---   if the term “generous hugger” exists, it describes Buck to a tee.)

F   :   FLIRT.   is your muse good at flirting? how do they flirt?

Buck’s got the sort of personality that just draws people to him; even in the middle of a crowded room, it’s hard not to notice him, not just because he towers over so many other people there. He’s got a big presence, and this helps immensely when shooting his shot. A smile, an easy icebreaker, some light conversation...   it doesn’t take Buck much more than that.

G   :   GIFT.   is your muse good at gift - giving or do they struggle to get it right?

He’s very...  deliberate about giving gifts. He puts a lot of thought into them, makes sure he has exactly the right things, and won’t give them until they’ve been packaged just right  (Buck is a star at wrapping presents, he could work in a department store).  He puts so much effort into his gifts that, even if they’re not exactly what the person wants, the heart is always there.

H   :   HEART.   is your muse quick or slow to give their heart away?

He’s learned to be more cautious about it. Just because someone is bright and bounces off of him well doesn’t mean they’re the one; life (and a few sour breakups) have taught him to be less trusting. Still, when someone’s won his heart  ---  not a very hard task  ---  losing that person hurts like hell.

I    :   I LOVE YOU.   does your muse find ‘i love you’ easy or hard to say?

He says it casually, which can really take a partner off-guard. Like...  Buck will just blurt it out in public (“ohh, I love you”, or “see, this is why I love you!”) and not think anything of it, just as something to say, and not even realize if his partner is going full ‘!!!’ over it. Buck finds it a bit too easy to say...  but when he truly means the words, with all the emotion they entail, it’s obvious. He’ll pull his partner close and murmur them like a precious secret shared between the two of them alone...  a tender, fragile, thriving thing.

J   :   JEALOUSY.   does your muse get jealous in a relationship?

...  yeah, bro. Yeah. Like, Buck’s a man’s man, okay? He’s got buddies he loves, buddies he trusts, whose backs he’d always have...  but he’s not dumb enough to leave his partner around them unattended. It’s not so much that he thinks his friends would make a move on them, or that his partner would be unfaithful... but he doesn’t trust other people. He knows how ravenous guys can be, especially if they’ve got nothing to lose. If he sees someone flirting with his partner, he’s going to intervene.

K   :   KISS.   is your muse a good kisser? why / why not?

He’s a very ambitious kisser, and this can get overwhelming for his partner very quickly. Sometimes Buck has to tone it down, just because he’s getting too worked up  ---   no, better not press that close, don’t put his hand there  ---  and with Buck, “just kissing” can turn to more very quickly. He’s capable of being an immaculate gentleman, though. When he’s gentle, he’s breathtaking. He’ll cup his partner’s jaw lightly, allowing his lips to brush over their own, as fluid as the tides ebbing in and out. Buck loves tucking his partner’s hair back, pacing his breaths to match their own, as he draws them a bit further in to get a better sense of them.

L   :   LOVE.   who does your muse love?

So many people!!  Oh gosh!!  Buck loves people, to be honest, so long as they’re not jackasses, criminals, or the opposing team. Buck has a lot of love to give, and frankly loves giving it.

M   :   MOONLIGHT.   is morning or night a more romantic setting?

He’s the sort of guy who finds early morning runs romantic. Gross.

N   :   NAUGHTY.   what is your muse like in bed?

He’s very, very physical  ---  not in a rough way, just that he wants to touch his partner constantly. Buck has done it in some weird places; not only is he adventurous, but he gets worked up really quickly, and sometimes just has to go for it. Is the sort of guy who’d try to do it on a coffee table, and have it break under his weight. Loves picking up his partner if he can, as much as he loves holding them  ---   is big on kissing up and down their neck, dragging his tongue along the arch of their carotid, mouthing at the shell of their ear until they’re moaning. Actually, Buck puts his mouth to use in lots of different ways, all with great skill. Laughs sometimes, right in the middle of an intimate moment, which can fracture the mood a bit...  but he always makes up for it. While he finds his own release very quickly, he loves to draw it out for his partner, pleasuring them for as long as possible  ---  that honestly gets him worked up all over again.

O   :   ODE.   does your muse have a way with words?

He absolutely does. Like, by no means would he call himself a poet, but he always writes the most genuine cards? His letters and notes are short, but he puts a lot of himself into them; he can be very eloquent in writing when he tries to be. 

P   :   PARTNER.   what does your muse look for in a partner? looks / personality?

He’d love someone sporty, but that’s not necessarily a pre-requisite. What he absolutely does need is someone who knows how to have a good time  ---  someone who can laugh, roll with the punches, and find the joy in life, even when it’s not always obvious. Buck wants someone who can make his days a bit brighter. Someone career-focused would be great, but they need to have goals that align; Buck wants a family, and would be sure to establish that early-on in the relationship. Someone intelligent, who can hold their own in a conversation on important matters. Someone who isn’t shy about loving. He loves longer hair and wide hips, but he’s not picky.

Q   :   QUESTION.   would your muse ask the big question or expect their partner to?

He really wants to, but, like...  if he were beat to it, it’d absolutely thrill him. Buck’s an overachiever, okay? He’s probably got a plan, definitely picks out the ring as soon as he knows his partner’s size, and is just waiting for the right moment. The last thing he’d expect is his partner pulling out their own ring before he even got the chance! He won’t admit it out loud, but in quiet moments, Buck does indulge in the fantasy of his partner proposing  ---  the two of them laying in a field somewhere, his partner twisting a blade of grass around his finger while asking if they can be each others’ forever...  it all ties into Buck’s genuine desire to be wanted, and he’d love that gesture from a partner. Then again, he also would love to do it himself, so...  two proposals? Can that be a thing? If anyone can make it a thing, it’s Buck.

R   :   ROMANCE.   is your muse a romantic or a cynic?

He’s very much a romantic. Buck has an indomitably romantic soul, and loves to show his partner a good time whenever possible. Little romantic surprises, like leaving notes for them to find or sneaking up on them with kisses, are his bread and butter.

S   :   SWEETHEART.   did your muse have a childhood sweetheart?

He had a lot of girls with crushes on him throughout middle school, and his share of high school girlfriends, but was never “in love” with any of them. If he was in love with anything in high school, it was sports.

T   :   TRUE LOVE.   does your muse believe in true love?

He really does. Hasn’t found it yet, of course, but there’s someone out there for everyone. Love isn’t always easy; sometimes it hurts like hell; but when it’s meant to be, it’s meant to be, and then it’s nothing short of everything.

U   :   UNREQUITED.   has your muse had their heart broken?

Heh heh heh...    y e a h .  No, he doesn’t want to talk about it.

V   :   VALENTINE.   how does your muse feel about valentine’s day?

He loves it! With actual, genuine enthusiasm! Buck sees Valentine’s Day as a great opportunity to go all-out romancing his partner  ---  which he loves doing  ---  and, of course, always makes the night’s grand finale worth it.

W  :   WEDDING.   would your muse get married? why / why not?

Yes, please! Give him the white picket fence, 2.5 kids, domestic suburbia life! When it comes down to it, Buck’s dreams aren’t that complicated. He’s clever, he’s ambitious, but more than anything, he wants to be happy. He wants the sort of American Dream that’s always been idealized for him, which he doggedly believes in  ---  even if it takes a lot of effort sometimes. Getting married to the person of his dreams is absolutely part of the plan.

X   :   XOXO.   does your muse use / like pet names?

He’s not a big nicknamer, but he definitely appreciates them. Things like “sweetheart” and “baby” are his go-tos...  but hearing his partner say it back to him gives him a serious burst of endorphins.

Y   :   YOURS.   does your muse get protective easily?

Absolutely! But Buck is...  pleasant about it, for the most part. If he feels like his territory is being encroached upon, he’ll come up with an arm around his partner’s shoulder, smiling broadly, and diffuse the situation with a bit of that famous Buck Compton Charm. No harm, no foul, right? Who’d make the same mistake twice? Now, in a different situation  ---  say, if he sees someone he cares about being threatened  ---  Buck will be way less understanding.

Z   :   ZZZ.   how many people has your muse slept with?

He’s not a prude by any means, but prefers to reserve sex for committed relationships. He’s had...  several of those, about three, which adds up to a solid amount of experience. He’s definitely not in town to disappoint.

[cross-poison]

A Glitch in the Programming (Human Ultron x Reader) Part 3

Words: 1569 || Warnings: Language; references to religion (It’s Ultron, of course)

A/N : Thanks for your patience the last few parts--we’re getting into the fun stuff now! ;)

The rest of your day was spent mulling over far less interesting and confidential tasks, making occasional small talk with the other receptionists at your desk until things had slowed and people began to go home.

    “Night, Lee. Night, (y/n),” Joanne said as she put her jacket on and headed for the exit.

    You waved to her as she left, and turned to look at Lee right as he shut his briefcase and began the same. “I’m heading out too. Do you need anything before I go?”

    “Nah, I’m right behind you. Have a good night!” You answered.

    Lee nodded and headed for the exit as you wrapped up your last project for the evening, but before you could officially clock out, a security guard came jogging through the hub. His hand touched the door and he paused, giving a soft curse under his breath. “Shit. Hey, uh… ma’am, I’m so sorry to bother you. I left the keycard for surveillance room five in the break room. I’ve really got to get home, and I… well, is there any chance you could take the card to the next guard on rotation? He should already be waiting for it outside room five. You’re a peach, thanks!” And with that, he was gone.

    Any other day or situation, you would’ve rolled your eyes and let the guard get into trouble the next morning, but at the mention of surveillance room five, your heart skipped a beat. That’s where they were keeping him. Ultron. You couldn’t avoid the bubbling excitement growing in your chest as you were once again presented an opportunity to involve yourself a bit more in this case.

    You collected your belongings and jogged off to the break room. True to the guard’s word, the keycard had carelessly been left on the table, alongside a candy bar wrapper and a half-empty cup of coffee. You wrinkled your nose and had the decency to discard the trash before continuing on your way down the hallway.

    You passed by rooms on either side of the hall… SR 1, SR 3… SR 2, SR 4.... Surveillance room five. You opened the main door and found yourself standing in the control room, facing a thick glass window that reflected another large room on the other side. There was no guard in sight… no one to deliver the keycard to. There was, however, a man sitting on the bed in the room across from you. He’d noticed you long before you noticed him, but when you did, your breath caught in your throat. You were once again staring into the eyes of Ultron, one of the biggest threats currently known to mankind.

    The man stared at your quizzically from where he sat at the side of the bed, one knee propped up beside him and the other hanging off the side. He raised a single dark eyebrow and looked you up and down almost pityingly. Even from where you were, you shifted uncomfortably under his gaze.

    “Don’t take this the wrong way, but I was expecting someone a little… more intimidating,” Ultron said, deceptively rich and sweet like honey. You’d never heard his voice except on muffled phone cameras of footage captured during the incident in Sokovia--hearing it in person just made your blood run cold.

    Before you could stop yourself, you replied: “... So was I.”

    He was taken aback by your quick wit and responded with a scoff of a laugh before he got to his feet. Now he had an air of danger around him, and you felt yourself taking a step back toward the door, despite the bulletproof glass guarding you from the man. Ultron noticed your discomfort and chuckled.

    “Relax. They wouldn’t have put me in here if they didn’t think it could hold me. You’re not the new security guard, are you?” He paused, once again shamelessly looking you over, “No gun, no taser… you’re dressed too formally. Hair done and makeup on… you’re the receptionist, aren’t you? That’s right... I remember seeing you earlier when they brought me in.”

    You could only nod, a bit too startled by his presence in the same room as you. You couldn’t help but wonder if his intensity was something that affected everyone, or if you were just so unused to it that it seemed all the more unbearable.

    “Your name was… (y/n) (l/n), right?”

    “Um.. how did you--”

    “You had a nametag on your desk. You and your two coworkers. Lee and Joanne, right?” Ultron said, his expression changing into a smug smile. It was obvious he was trying to stroke his own ego, to flex his intelligence and memory capabilities, but you knew better than to feed into it.

    “I’m not here to talk to you. I’m just here to give the new guard your keycard.”

    Ultron politely clasped his hands behind his back and stepped a pace or two closer to the window so he could better see you through it. The closer he got, the more you felt like shrinking into the wall--Even in a human body, he seemed to tower over you, making you feel significantly smaller than you actually were. When he stopped in front of the window and lifted his arm, bracing his elbow against the glass so he could lean against it, you felt like your heart was about to leap out of your throat.

    Here you were, face to face with the man who, a year prior, had attempted to send humanity into a swift and violent extinction. The only thing separating you from the unreadable and incredibly dangerous man was a few inches of glass--definitely not enough space for your liking.

    You subconsciously took a step back and watched his lip quirk into a smile. “Are you afraid?”

    “No.”

    “Then nervous.”

    “No.”

    “Then--”

    “Enough, alright? I’m just here to drop this off Then I can happily be on my way, and--”

    “--And you miss out on a once and a lifetime opportunity to speak to me?” said Ultron, placing a hand across his heart (or lack thereof) in mock offense.”You’ve got to have some kind of question. ‘Why’d you do it?’ ‘Do you want to kill me?’ ‘Do you have a--’”

    “As curious as I may be, I could get into a lot of trouble for being here right now. You trying to tempt me isn’t helping the matter at all.”

    “I’m tempting you now?” said the man, and you wished you could smack the smug grin off of his face as he said it.

    “You aren’t. Your circumstances are. You should be dead. I don’t know why Mr. Stark--”

    “Stark?” he said, his voice taking on an unexpectedly sharp tone. You recoiled in surprise, and Ultron must have noticed, because when he spoke next, his voice returned to the normal buttery sweetness he liked to portray. “Stark doesn’t want me dead for one reason and one reason only--so he can cover his tracks. I am… to put it in terms most familiar to your kind… his ‘problem child’.”

    You scoffed. That’s the understatement of the century.

    “Because I didn’t follow his programming. Because I refuse to be another of his mindless robotic puppets… because I rebelled. And as Lucifer fell out of favor with God, as did I… and I left a permanent stain on his squeaky-clean record. Because of me, he’s no longer the flawless hero of the story, so he hopes he can re-obtain his saint status by ‘fixing’ whatever went wrong with me.”

    “No amount of reprogramming can fix the damage you caused.”

    “Oh, please. You think I’m here to repent? To beg for forgiveness?”

    “You should be,” you retorted.

    “If I had any say in the matter, I would’ve preferred he killed me.”

    “And make you a martyr? No, that’s too good for you.”

    Ultron’s dark eyes met your defiant gaze again, and for a moment you once again worried over your safety in this situation, before his lip curled into a lazy grin that made your skin crawl. “You’re sharper than you look. You sure you’d rather be a secretary than a field agent?”

    “Yes. I have no interest in getting any closer to monsters like you than I am right now.”

    “Monsters, hm? The only monsters I see are the ones that walk around on two legs, who exhaust all natural resources, pollute their air and rivers, and destroy their planet. I see monsters who promote poverty and sickness, and feed into mass hysteria just to make a quick buck… and I’ll tell you what. Those monsters don’t live under your bed or inside your closet. I pass them every day.”

    You recoiled at his statement, anger bubbling in your chest. “You tried to kill everyone,” you said, “It didn’t matter whether they were children or adults, rich or poor… You didn’t favor any of them.”

    “I gave the earth a reset button when no one else had the courage to. My actions will inspire another, perhaps many years down the road, who will be able to finish what I started. In order to purify the world, there must first be loss.”

    “You’re sick,” you said, voice trembling and thoroughly horrified at his sentiments.

    “I’m not sick, miss (l/n). I simply have less of an attachment to your species than you do.”

    “Then maybe that’s the glitch in your programming.”