#but apparently only the bear should have known better

[firebirdsdaughter]

Okay I can’t not say something…

… I dunno what’s going on in Geats. I’m not watching it. Sounds like my man Michianga is getting some shit which sucks, when will Takahashi treat the purple guys right???

I say, not even sure I’m spelling his name right.

But I genuinely cannot believe people are still trying to come for Horobi on this.

So let’s clear some things up.

1) Horobi was absolutely set up. Probably wasn’t the Ark’s plan from the start exactly, but she knowingly made him dependent on her and psychologically abused and manipulated him for years. Disconnected from her, Horobi was unstable and trying to grapple w/ trying to think for himself. He was heavily traumatised and easily manipulated, making him the perfect patsy. All she had to do was poke Izu’s blind devotion to Aruto a bit and have her use her usual brand of insensitive, socially unaware ‘help.’ That situation was absolutely orchestrated.

2) Is two things. Izu could easily have dodged that shot and choose not to, and Horobi had no reason to think she had no backup (which was ridiculous to begin w/). He’d made it very clearly he considered backups to be a form of immortality for ai, and we have no clue how he would have reacted if she dodged bc she choose not to. Obviously Horobi ‘shouldn’t’ have resorted to violence to ‘end’ that interaction, but he was not in a mental place where he could make that distinction. It’s all he’s ever known, it’s predominately the only way anyone has ever treated him. He was panicked and she was harassing him. He was desperate to end the interaction in anyway possible, and he’d already tried walking away. But there is no way he ‘knew’ he was ‘killing’ her (and, well… He didn’t). He actually seems genuinely shaken that she just took the hit, being unable to respond to Jin’s question (which he always has before). He wasn’t planning on ‘killing’ her at all, he just needed her to stop. She also choose to go in there in the first place. That’s like… Not to compare any of these characters to dogs in that way, but that’s like a domesticated Pomeranian walking into a playpen w/ a recently ‘rescued’ wolf that’s been abused and used in fighting rings and trying to play and being shocked it got bitten.

3) There were so many people who could have done something. Jin, who’s been so ready to take hits for people he barely knows before, just stands there. There were plenty of humans around! Fuwa and Yua, who started this whole damn thing, were nowhere to be seen, and Fuwa had an opportunity to stop the fighting and fucked it up. Like I absolutely believe there’s a correlation between Fuwa shooting Horobi for asking him that question and Horobi shooting at Izu to get her to stop provoking him. Aruto himself is more busy trying to force the HumaGear outside to go back to how he thinks they should be then dealing w/ the actual root of the situation. If he actually cared as much as he claims, maybe he’d realise how much suffering Horobi is going through and actually try to address the situation, rather than leaving it to his secretary who is in no way capable of doing so?

Basically, the fact of the matter is that this was not Horobi killing Izu in cold blood, it was more equivalent to a wounded animal trying to defend itself. She choose to go in there, back him into a corner, and choose not to back off when she saw he was becoming agitated. She choose not to dodge. He fired back in an attempt to end the interaction, bc she was doing more harm than help. Ultimately, I’m not trying to pin this on her, either, although I have Issues w/ how she was portrayed. Izu was never going to be able to help Horobi there bc she just could not understand what he was going through. In her mind, devotion to Aruto makes everything right, Aruto is the absolute best thing ever. And that’t not her fault, that was how she was made, and he inadvertently groomed her into that. But let’s not get me started on Aruto. The fact of the matter is that this was literally everyone’s fault. Well, it’s Gai and the Ark’s fault (bc the Ark is Gai’s fault), but if Horobi and even Izu herself had done nothing different but someone else present actually used their common sense for five seconds, this would never have happened.

Literally, this is saying that a traumatised, abused child soldier lashing out bc they feel backed into a corner and scared out of their minds is deliberately aggressive. Horobi was protecting himself the only way he knew how, Izu was (unintentionally, like she meant well but meaning well does not equate to doing well) harassing and provoking him and randomly decided not to dodge for some inconceivable reason, and everyone else decided that clearly, the sheltered ai w/ limited world experience and knowledge was obviously the right person to deal w/ the traumatised, abused, unstable one.

Also Fuwa and Yua started it and Fuwa had a chance to stop the fighting and fucked it up. An in character fuck up, maybe, but a fuck up. Aruto was more bothered w/ getting his free labour back than helping the traumatised child soldier. Jin randomly decides to be useless.

Edit: bc I realise I forgot them, Naki and Ikazuchi aren’t even there, they just show up to talk shit later like what the fuck guys maybe actually make and effort before you start badmouthing your supposed family member who you know has been horribly abused and mind controlled all his life.

GAI AND THE ARK.

Aaaaand… I’m not talking about after bc I think I’ve ruffled enough feathers.

Basically, while the situation in Geats does sound much more straightforward, I will not stand for people depicting Horobi as some knowingly malicious killer when he was very clearly not in a space where he could or knew how to make those calls. The man had only just gotten disconnected from the Ark, he was just learning how to make decisions. He didn’t ‘choose’ to ‘kill’ Izu, he acted on an instinct to protect himself out of fear and then he himself did not understand his actions.

[kittenshift-17]

Omg I feel like any teen wolf fic (sterek fic) you write would be amazing, on that topic ur an amazing writer and I’m glad that one day I stumbled upon one of your fics. And also speaking of sterek fics (or any teen wolf fic) do u have and recommendations on what to read for that fandom???

Okay, so I took my time with this one because I had read some, but not a lot... but oh boy, did I deep dive into the research to bring you some top tier Sterek Fic Recs.

TOP 20 STEREK RECS

Play It Again by metisket ***I LOVED THIS ONE***

In which Stiles goes along with one of Derek’s plans and ends up in an alternate universe as a result. He should’ve known better. He did know better, actually, and that means he has no one to blame but himself.

��Laura wants to lure the kid in with food and kindness and make a pet of him, like a feral cat. Derek wants to have him arrested for stalking. They’re at an impasse. (And the rest of the family is staying emphatically out of it in a way that suggests bets have been placed.)”

So Shed Your Skin and Lets Get Started by halfhardtorock

He's sixteen and in the woods on the wrong side of the town-line and he's so fucking fucked.

He knows he's not supposed to run, they teach that to you in preschool (don't run from a Were, back away slowly and walk with care), but they never told you how it would feel, standing alone in the dark with your heart beating in your throat as those glowing eyes tracked you from the shadows.

Don't Feed the Wolves by Amazonia_8

Stiles took the dare, because what else was he supposed to do when the whole lacrosse team was chanting his name? Even though the werewolf pack had left Beacon Hills years ago, nobody was stupid enough to set foot on the Hale property.

Except, apparently, Stiles.

Now he's got a feral werewolf following him around town with the sole purpose of claiming Stiles as his own.

so now you've got the best of me (come on and take the rest of me) by mangotangos

"It doesn't matter how hot Derek is, how Stiles barely comes up to his shoulders or how Derek's hands could probably fit really snugly around his waist. None of it matters, because he's basically a glorified babysitter for the foreseeable future and Stiles wants him out. Operation annoy Deputy Derek Hale into leaving begins now."

~or, the one where Stiles' dad hires Deputy Derek to be Stiles' bodyguard, Stiles hates him on principle and then 2 seconds later falls in lust (and love) and tries to seduce him into bed with his sexual prowess.

There Are No Wolves In California by kitsunequeen

Hunter!Stiles accidentally hits a wolf with his car and can't bear to leave him in the road to die. It's not till he gets the wolf home that he sees its eyes glow red... ------- Even everyday roadkill is upsetting, but this thing… Moments ago it was probably a majestic beast, and now it’s a mangled pile of soon-to-be rotting flesh. He presses a shaking hand to the only part of its chest left intact, not even thinking about whether it'll give him rabies or some other awful disease.

He’s about to pull back when something even crazier happens.

He realizes the wolf is breathing.

(not so) Pure Imagination by theroguesgambit

"There is a world where whenever someone fantasizes about you, you can physically feel it, but you have no idea who is thinking it about you."

Stiles knows it's wrong, but he's been Fantasizing about Derek and he can't bring himself to stop. Derek doesn't know who's taken an interest in him, but he's enjoying it way more than he probably should.

Little Wild Animal by DiscontentedWinter

Derek Hale finds a feral human on his pack's property. Humans are supposed to be extinct. But then, Stiles is full of surprises.

The Darkness Inside by isthatbloodonhisshirt (wasterella)

The sheriff watched him for a moment, then he sighed and turned slightly. He reached out to open a cabinet door beside him, and pulled out a shelf. It was on a track, so it rolled out of the cabinet fairly easily, and held a small CCTV. Derek frowned and inched his chair to the side a little bit so he could get a better angle.

He was looking at a teenager, or someone at least young enough to be the same age as Scott. He was sitting on a bed in what looked to be a larger room, the area he was in surrounded by four glass walls, with his legs crossed and head tilted.

He was also staring directly into the camera, as if he knew someone was watching. A creepy smile slowly slid onto the teen’s face, and he held up one hand, wiggling his fingers in a slow, eery wave.

Derek felt his mouth run dry. He didn’t know who this kid was, but he didn’t like him.

“Who is that?” he asked quietly.

“That,” said the sheriff, “is my son.”

What I Did On My Summer Vacation by grimm for missingsun

There's something weird about Beacon Hills that Stiles can't quite put his finger on. The way everyone in town knows his name the day he arrives. The way they insist the melancholic howling that echoes through the forest every night is just a dog. The way his dad denies getting a dog, even though Stiles comes home to find one sprawled across his bed, some big black thing whose eyes gleam red in the right light. The way that massive oak tree out in the woods vibrates under his touch, pulsing with sickly life.

There's something weird going on in this town, and Stiles is determined to get to the bottom of it.

Patterns of Intention by drunktuesdays

Derek looked like the stuff of his deepest fantasies. His shirt was rumpled where Stiles had his hands in it, and he was breathing hard as well, chest heaving. His eyes—his eyes were glazed over and he looked stunned, like he’d been—like Stiles had—

“No,” Stiles said, blood draining from his face. The word was croaky and felt like it had to be wrenched out of his chest. “God, no.”

Wants & Needs by MadcapRomantic

Derek Hale has been participating in the Beacon Hills Mating Run for a decade, each year coming up without a mate. His mother, convinced this is his lucky year, persuades him to run one last time.

Enter Stiles, a young Omega with an unwanted Alpha nipping at his heels.

Family or not, Peter is determined to have Stiles.

But convinced they are True Mates, there isn't anything Derek won't do to keep Stiles safe.

I don't know why, but I guess it has something to do with you by LunaCanisLupus_22 for xXxClassifiedxXx 

“You smell like me,” the guy says, scowling as he crowds in and Stiles staggers back between the coats and finally hits the wall. “Why do you smell like me?”

He barely lets out a garbled sound as the blood rushes to his cheeks. “No reason,” Stiles yelps, struggling to get his footing and grasping at a whirlwind of puffy fur.

Or the one where Stiles goes thrift shopping and steals an alpha's shirt. And gets a lot more than he bargains for.

Sleeping Dogs by starsystems

Let sleeping dogs lie. Prov. Do not instigate trouble.;Leave something alone if it might cause trouble.

Derek Hale is asleep in Stiles's bed. And it just escalates from there.

Because of course it does.

We've Written Volumes (in Blood and Scars and Ink) by notthequiettype

Stiles is on his back on hard-packed dirt. He's cold and there are leaves stuck to his neck and there's a four inch gash in his side that he thinks he can feel his ribs through. There's so much blood around him he feels like he's floating on a pond and everything is so much dimmer above him than it was a minute ago, which is saying something because he's in the dark center of the forest in the middle of the night. And the worst of it is that he's alone, totally alone with the smell of his own blood drowning him and the soft side of him run through by a tree.

As his eyes slip shut, the last thing he thinks is, "This is going to kill my dad."

In Case You Didn't Know by Blu_Crowe

Stiles moves into the lofts, and he and Derek start to get closer. Unfortunately Stiles is a moron, and Derek is bad at feelings. They figure it out... Eventually.

Stilinski's Home for Wayward Wolves by owlpostagain

“At least your puppies knock first,” Stiles snorts. “Here I thought their alpha raised them to be well-mannered.” 



“There’s a sign,” Derek responds stiffly. 



Stiles, whose curiosity outweighs even his hardest of grudges, abandons his chilly façade of nonchalance in a heartbeat. He jumps right up and all but pushes Derek out of the way in his effort to get to the window, and sure enough when he leans outside there’s a laminated strip of cardstock duct taped to the vinyl siding: 



DON’T FORGET TO KNOCK Stiles gets cranky when we scare him

---

Or, in which Stiles Stilinski moves to Beacon Hills for his junior year of high school and accidentally adopts a pack of teenage werewolves.

Lock All The Doors Behind You by entanglednow

He has no idea what you're supposed to say when you find one of your...werewolf acquaintances, completely out of their mind, growling like they're about to see what your insides taste like. There's no handbook for this. Stiles is thinking that if he survives he might write one.

Feral Formalities by Aleandri

"There was silence as no one seemed to breath at the table.

Derek had just gifted Stiles, an unmated Omega, with food.

Right in front of another Alpha.

Who he was on a date with.

To discuss being heat partners...."

*In which, Stiles presents as Omega, and everyone wants a piece of the alpha-baby-making ass!*

for a good time, call... by EvanesDust for kalika_999

Stiles unlocks his phone to send out a quick text asking his father what he wants to eat, even though he’ll get salad regardless, and notices a strange number on his recent call log.

His face scrunches in confusion before realization dawns on him.

Oh shit.

Events from the night before peek through the hazy fog of his mind. Stiles thought, or he was hoping, that the phone call was a dream. But there it is, staring at him in the face—a one minute and 57-second call to an unfamiliar number.

Oh God.

Did he seriously call someone—possibly an alpha werewolf!—for phone sex?

...Or the one where Stiles drunk dials a very grumpy alpha werewolf and propositions him for phone sex. Hilarity, misunderstandings, and feelings ensue.

Golden Boy by trilliath 

Apparently it still amuses his uncle to buy sex slaves for him, no matter how steadfastly he refuses to use them. Derek ducks into his tent with a resigned sigh, prepared to dress and reassign whatever new beauty Peter has bought him. They do make for loyal servants, so he can't really complain about Peter's 'gifts'. But it is annoying to deal with, to have to spend his evening sorting out a slave instead of being able to go right to bed. It's just something he has to learn to accept as a byproduct of serving alongside his uncle.

But when he lays eyes on the boy laying amid his furs, he finds his breath catching in his throat. His skin is golden with the candle-light glimmering against the sheen of oil that has been slathered on his bared body. His lips are parted, and they work over inaudible words or sounds. His skin is flushed, nipples peaked and pierced with simple but unexpected golden rings. He's spectacularly beautiful in the candlelight. The many glowing candles that have been added to his usual lighting cast glittering edges and shadows, imbuing an almost unearthly golden color to his skin.

It's enough that Derek hesitates.

[cuubism]

a lovely person on ao3 expressed interest in more of this retired Dream chronic pain fic and I said well who knows maybe one day and then proved myself a liar by doing it Now. when it gets in your head it stays there until it's out

--

One of Hob's greatest joys, as boyfriend and caretaker to one retired King of Dreams, is finding new things for Dream to enjoy. Things that Dream didn't have time for, or never got the chance to try, when he was fully occupied by his function. It's so fun seeing Dream's joy. Dream has never allowed himself very much of it.

Of all the things Hob's introduced him to, he hadn't figured Dream would be a video game fan. Always thought he was more one for slower media like books, or maybe he just hadn't been able to imagine his ancient, ponderous stranger gaming.

Hob was wrong. So very wrong that ever since he made the dubious decision to buy Dream an iPad he's been stuck in a perennial competition with Minecraft for Dream's attention, and Minecraft might be winning.

He really should have known better, should have guessed that the once-king of the Dreaming would love the immersive dreamscapes of video games, not to mention that he can create things again in a way that doesn't have the world-shaking consequences of his former role.

When Hob gets home from work, he's unsurprised to once again find Dream twisted up in a complicated pretzel shape in his favorite armchair, headphones on, nose buried in the iPad. Sitting that way isn't going to help his joints much in the long run, but nowadays Dream only ever seems to either sprawl or to crunch up in a tiny ball when he's sitting anywhere--sometimes Hob wonders if, after so many years of carrying every aspect of his life so primly and correctly, Dream simply can't bear to do it ever again.

He's also said that that twisted way of sitting is the only position that helps his hip ache less, so Hob doesn't complain about it too much.

"Hey, love," he calls as he sets his bag down, sitting on the couch beside Dream's armchair. Dream looks up at him, pulling his headphones off so they sit around his neck. Hob can vaguely hear the audio--Christ, on top of working on his crazily elaborate Minecraft world--Hob's seen it, the thing's insane--he's also listening to an audiobook. Yeah, Hob was so wrong about expecting Dream's way of trying to relax to be slow or measured.

Dream looks tired now, though, not relaxed, dark circles along his cheeks and a pinch of weariness at the corners of his eyes. Ah. Tough day, then.

"How's the Minecrafting going?" he asks instead of remarking on it. He probably sounds like an old person when he talks to Dream about it--well, he is an old person--but Hob's never been able to stick to any one thing for too long, and he hasn't actually picked up this game since the first time it came out. Who knows how it works nowadays.

Dream shows him the screen. Predictably, he tends to just play in his own little world instead of interacting with anyone else, and said world has become an elaborate landscape of infinite cityscapes, art pieces, and complex structures Hob can't determine the purpose or design of. If Hob's not wrong, it's significantly more complicated than it was just yesterday. Dream has picked this all up with disturbing ease and gotten very fast at it besides. You can take the dream lord out of the craft but not the craft out of the dream lord, apparently.

"You're getting quick at that," he says. "Pretty soon it will be bigger than London."

"Were it to be made physical in equal dimensions, it would be," Dream says. Maybe Hob should get him involved in city planning, might be entertaining for him.

He tries to imagine Dream at a council meeting and nearly perishes at the thought.

While Dream is still looking at him, Hob cups his jaw in one hand, runs his thumb over the dark circle under his eye. "Not feeling so well today?"

Dream sighs. "No. I did not sleep well."

Hob had noticed that, but he'd hoped the fact that Dream was still in bed when he'd left for work meant he might get some sleep later on. Apparently not.

"I am..." his lips twist. "My joints. Hurt."

"I'm sorry, love." Hob would fix it if he could. God he wishes he could. "Where?"

"Back. Primarily."

Really, Hob should be grateful for Minecraft, no matter that he's been in a pitched battle against it. It's one of the only things that can properly hold Dream's attention and distract him when he's not feeling well. Without his game to occupy him Dream just starts getting sad in addition to being in pain and Hob can hardly stand it.

"I love you, you know?" he says, and the corners of Dream's lips tip up.

"I know."

"You want to do some stretches with me?" Hob offers. "You can laugh at my lack of flexibility as much as you want."

He has, in fact, gotten Dream into some yoga and light strength training. It seems to help, at least a little. Dream's new human body is already very flexible, though. It's actually part of the problem. Maybe that's what happens when you try to put an amorphous conceptual being into a fixed body. Maybe it's just the roll of the dice.

"I would not laugh," Dream says, but sets the iPad aside and starts disentangling the knot of his limbs to climb out of the chair.

"No, but I can always see you thinking about it."

"I would not exchange flexibility for you being strong enough to pick me up," Dream declares.

"It's not a one-off trade," Hob says, laughing. Then, perhaps to prove a point, he scoops Dream up from the chair and into his arms.

Dream shrieks and clutches at him with all of his limbs. He's so good at tangling himself up like that that sometimes it still feels like he's able to manifest twice as many of them.

"Could try something else to flex those muscles too," he teases, and Dream gives him a judgmental look, but Hob can see the smile secretly tugging at his lips.

"Taking perverse advantage of my ailments?" he says.

Hob feigns offense. "I was just going to give you a back rub! Totally innocent."

"Mmmm." Dream tilts his head, studying him. "Perhaps if you are truly committed to doing all of the work. I'm not finding myself inclined towards effort this evening.”

"Taking perverse advantage of my generosity?" Hob echoes.

Dream smirks down at him from his perch in Hob’s arms. “Always.”

It’s fine by Hob. Dream deserves a bit of generosity, in his opinion. And a lot more than that, too.

“You’ve indeed been most generous with me in my indolence,” Dream purrs. “Cared for me in my infirmity. How ought a man repay such a magnanimous patron?”

“Could think of a few things,” Hob says, letting his gaze deliberately track down to Dream’s lips. “I’m more inclined to spoil you, though.”

“I am amenable to that,” Dream says. Haughty little thing. Even dying couldn’t take the king out of him.

Hob doesn’t mind, though. He’s always had a bit of a thing for it. So he obligingly carries his still-smirking lover off to their bedroom to spoil him just as he’s promised.

--

Afterwards, when Dream’s sprawled across him, one leg tossed over Hob’s hips in a way that apparently relieves the strain in his lower back, though Hob can’t imagine how, he says, “Does it bother you that I have become utterly idle?”

“You’re not idle,” Hob says. “You do plenty of stuff. I see you do it.”

“Not with true purpose, though,” Dream says.

“If you mean do I think you should get some sort of career, then no, I don’t.” Hob kind of shudders at the thought. “As far as I’m concerned, you never have to work again if you don't want to. Do what you want. Work on your Minecraft cities. I’m just happy that you’re here.”

“You work,” Dream points out.

“I get bored,” Hob says. “Besides, my job doesn’t involve literally being the job, you know. You have to make up for about a trillion years of no work-life balance.”

Dream just humphs, but settles closer against him.

“Does it make you uncomfortable that I pay for everything, is that it?” Hob asks. Dream has always been so fiercely independent.

“Uncomfortable, not exactly,” Dream says. “I find I still fail to grasp the importance of money.”

Hob chuckles. “Yeah, you would.”

“Rather,” Dream continues, “the issue is equity. Something I am contemplating more as part of human society.”

“Okay, I understand what you’re getting at.” Hob wouldn’t want their relationship to feel inequitable either, but it’s not so much about paying for things, but about Dream not feeling trapped. As much as part of Hob wants to bundle Dream up and never let him leave the flat again after he literally died once already, he doesn’t want Dream to stay because he has to. He wants him to stay because he chooses to. At the same time— “But, Dream, it’s been only six months.”

“And?”

“For your lifetime— hell, even for mine, it’s a vanishingly small amount of time. And you were so tired.” It still hurts, still feels almost panic-inducing to think about, how Dream had been the last time they’d spoken before he… died. Hob’s never seen such weariness on a person, and he’s seen a lot. It would take a long time for that to lift from a human, and Dream is operating on a much vaster scale. “If I can give you time to rest, then that’s what I want to do.”

Hob could never figure out how to help Dream when he was Endless. At least there’s something he can do to help Dream now.

“Rest,” Dream echoes. “You are insistent upon it.”

Hob buries his hand in his hair, scratches at his scalp. “It feels better, though, doesn’t it?”

It takes a long moment for Dream to concede his answer, but finally he says, quietly, “Yes.”

“I love you beyond measure,” Hob says, aching with the words. “I want you to be well. It’s no more complicated than that.”

“I think I am,” Dream says slowly. “Well.”

Hob thinks so, too—at least, more so than he once was. He has his issues with his body. But some of the heaviness on him has eased. And that’s a step.

“I do not think I have been well before,” Dream continues. “At least, not in quite some time.”

This, Hob knows, too.

“Then we’ll have to keep working at it until you’re used to it,” Hob says. “And I’ll spoil you until then. Well, after, too.”

“You seem to take pleasure in it,” Dream agrees.

Hob kisses the top of his head, rubs his hand up and down his back until Dream sinks into him further, boneless and lax. Maybe later he will give Dream an actually innocent back rub, it seems to help with the pain a bit. For now he just lets Dream fall asleep on top of him.

He needs the rest, anyway.

[chasingstardustandmoonbeams]

can I please get headcannons for the bones boys taking you out on a first date? Thank you so much for writing for bones!

A/N: anything for my bones boys

Booth would definitely do something unconventional. Something fun, unexpected, something that was a bit competitive, but mostly something where he could show off.

"Really?" you almost laughed as you stood in front of the entrance. "The fair?"

"Oh, come on. When was the last time you did something like this?" He nudged you on your shoulder, wagging his eyebrows at you.

He would then proceed to win you a giant stuffed bear at the duck shoot.

"What?" he shrugged nonchalantly, "Like's hard?"

"Not for you apparently," you teased. "Though I expect being a ranger turned FBI agent probably helps."

You started walking backwards enjoying the challenging look in his eyes.

"Are you trying to rial me up?" he questioned, smirking at you.

You leaned in close to him, enjoying the way his breathing increased. "Depends, how easy do you fluster?"

You pulled away, making your way towards the ring toss.

"Oh, I see how it is," Booth shouted as he trailed after you, slinging his arm over your shoulder.

The first date with Booth would solely about getting to know you, making you laugh, and gauging just how comfortable he could be around you. It would absolutely end with him being a giant tease and kissing you on the corner of your mouth or your temple.

Hodgins, rich (so rich he doesn't even know how rich), Hodgins would try and impress you. At least that was his first thought. Private and obscenely expensive dinner? Check. Expensive car to get you there? Check.

But like many things in Jack's life, it never really went according to plan.

"Oh, come on!" Jack grumbled at the flat tire. "I just had the car serviced. I can't believe this."

It was only when you started laughing that he relaxed enough to look at you.

"What?" He asked a bit in disbelief. Crushing thoughts about how this was the worst first date to never actually even start diminished at the sight your smile.

"I don't think I've seen you this stressed since you tried to hide TNT experiment from Cam," you said laughter dying down.

"Hey, that civil war exhibit didn't need it as much as us," he reasoned, a smile now stretching across his own face as he leaned against his car.

You mirrored his movements, shoulder pressed against his as you leaned against the car.

"I wanted this to be perfect. But just about everything seems to have gone wrong."

"Well, it's a good thing the night isn't over yet," you looked around. "You know, I think we're close to the diner."

"You can't be serious," he laughed. A mixture of disbelief and awe.

"Dead. I never needed anything fancy anyways - just you Jack."

From that moment, he knew that he wasn't ever going to mess it up. You were it for him.

Sweets would want to do anything where the two of you could just talk. We know he's done a pottery class before so something along those lines. Really anything where he got to just look at you with a big grin on his face and listen to every word that came out of your mouth.

"Lance?"

"Yeah?"

"Your chicken is burning."

"Oh, shit."

You let out a laugh that made him forget all about the charred chicken. He, in hindsight, should have known better than to plan a cooking class as your first date. Not when you distracted him so easily he could chop a finger off. Definitely not his best idea.

"Here, we can just share mine," you said as you fed him some of your food. All teasing smiles and delicious prolonged eye contact.

Definitely not his worst date idea.

Wendell is one for simplicity. He wants to get to know you, but he also doesn't want to go overboard and scare you off. He'd plan for a simple dinner (your pick) and make a walk around the city.

The street lights illuminated the city, a cool breeze rushing past you. You tried your best not to seem cold - you'd opted for looks- not practically. Now you were paying the price for it.

A sudden rush of warm hit you, you looked up at Wendell who'd wordlessly placed his jacket over your shoulders.

"Wendell-"

"Don't even mention it. Can't have you getting sick now, can I?" He gently nudged your shoulder with his own as you walked side by side. "Wouldn't want you to rain check the next date."

"The next one?" you prodded - warmth washing over your cheeks. "Someone is presumptuous," you teased.

"Nah, just optimistic," He smiled brightly at you. "So, what do ya say?"

"I think your odds are looking pretty good," you looped your arm to hold on to his.

Wendell wouldn't necessarily consider himself a betting man, but he'd say he won out on this one.

Vincent was quiet sure how he'd managed it. It was all a bit of blur if he was honest. One second you both were discussing how no number before a thousand contains the letter a, and the next he had asked you out. And you'd said yes.

He almost thought he'd dreampt it, really. You'd had to call out his name twice before he blinked himself back into reality.

Now he stood in front of your door holding flowers that were wilting away by the second - he swore he'd just gotten them and they looked pristine.

He let out a sigh, knuckles frozen over the door. This would be, fine. You already said yes. Oh, God.

Knuckles knocking against the door, he frantically smoothed out his hair.

"Vincent!"

You leaned in for a hug, crushing the flowers, but he couldn't bring himself to care. You pulled away giving him this brilliant smile that put him at ease.

"Are those for me?"

"Wha- yes. Yes, they are for you." He handed you the roses. "Did you know over 30,000 rose varieties exist today?"

You let out a small laugh, eyes still sparkling. "I didn't, but thank you for telling me."

That smile of your really did put him at ease. This would be fine - this would be great - because he was with you.

When Colin asked you to go out with him to the Slasherthon at the local movie theater he wasn't actually sure you'd say yes. But he figured the worst you could say was no - or you know, laugh at him until he fell into an endless abyss of shame.

Either would be fine.

He expected the abyss.

He did not expect you to say yes. Let alone actually show up. But there you were in a Jason Voorhees t-shirt all smiles as he walked up to you.

"Are you ready for lots of gore and eating our weight in popcorn?" You asked practically bouncing on the balls of your feet. He'd never seen anything more lively or beautiful in his life.

"A person after my own heart," he said dramatically - hand placed over his own heart.

"Come on, Colin," you grabbed his hand pulling him into the theater. As you led him away he realized the abyss option would have been much worse than he had anticipated.

You were a light shining into his abyss.

Aubrey would take you to a nice sit down restaurant. He spent the better half of the week trying to decide where exactly to take you. He'd finally settled on a restaurant you had been talking about trying for a month now.

"Aubrey, how did you know I wanted to eat here?" You asked, leaning forward. Your eyes excitedly bouncing between the menu and Aubrey.

"You've been talking about it," he shrugged, trying his hardest to be nonchalant about it.

"Aubrey- I mentioned it once, like, a month ago." You laughed a bit in disbelief.

"And?"

"And how do you remember something like that?"

"It sounded important to you, why wouldn't I want to remember it?"

He'd be lying if he didn't say he enjoyed that look on your face. A mixture of disbelief and being heard - actually heard.

"Now, I'm thinking we go family style on this bad boy and see what all the fuss is about." Aubrey leaned forward, both of you so close to the other. If the flowers in the middle of the table weren't in the way he just might have leaned in for kiss.

"You sure you can leave some food for me?" You teased, your eyes sparkling in a way that made Aubrey realize he never wanted to see your eyes without it.

"Sweetheart, I'd leave all of it for you if you asked."

"Liar," you laughed.

"Alright some of it, but that's better than none!"

[shesmymorphine]

run.

♰ slasher!abby anderson x fem!reader.

thought i’d leave a little something here in the meantime i get my ellie fic finished and i know the slasher trope is so overused but this is based off of a dream i had a few nights ago. a little rushed towards the end but u get it.

content includes: modern!au, descriptions of m*rder, blood, heavy petting, fingering n oral (both r!receiving), abby is mean and scary, lowkey a stalker, ergo a local outcast, but reader is also kind of a loser too. kinda unrealistic ONLY BC IT WAS BASED OFF OF A DREAM I HAD!

nsfw under the cut minors please do not interact.

————————————————————————-

faster.

is the word you kept mentally repeating to yourself as you sprinted through the woods, barefoot, cold, and scared. you could hear her heavy footsteps hitting the ground behind you, getting closer. closer. closer.

the beginning was fairly simple. you were reluctantly dragged to a party with a group pf people you barely knew. it was an attempt to “get you to socialize”, they said. but all in all, you ended up sitting alone while the rest of them were laughing, drinking, and enjoying the fresh summer breeze at a cozy, isolated lake house. you should have known better, really. with all of the numerous homicide reports spiking within your county, it was almost inevitable that this would happen.

and it all happened so fast. you’d gone to the bathroom for what seemed like five minutes, before you heard the loud, banshee like screech of one of your friends echoing through the entire house. when you’d so stupidly exited out of the confines of the bathroom, your eyes flew wide open at the sight before you.

a grisly scene of all of your friends grotesquely killed, stab wounds and large gashes littering their bodies. blood was smeared on the walls, the furniture. almost everywhere you looked, you saw nothing but the deep crimson essence adorning the walls.

that’s when you saw her.

a tall, buff, terrifying woman, wearing what seemed to be a bloodied white muscle shirt, and equally bloodied jeans. her long, dirty blonde hair was sprawled along her back and broad shoulders, and she was clutching the shirt collar of a boy you didn’t even know the name of, pulling the axe out of his chest with a loud grunt. as soon as she heard you step down the stairs, she snapped her head back to look at you, axe securely clutched in one large, gloved hand while she dropped the boy to the ground.

you recognized her as abigail anderson. the girl who seemed to be outcasted and feared everywhere she went, almost always for no apparent or good reason. you’d seen her before, bearing that permanent scowl on her face and hanging around the library or in your shared classes, but you’d never once been put off by her. you remember talking to her one day while you were at the library searching for a certain book, and at first, abby was confused as to why someone as kind as you wasn’t afraid of someone like her; maybe, just maybe, you could understand her. see her for who she really was.

ever since then, she had her sights set out on you.

your heart began to beat a million miles per second, and you just… stood there. too paralyzed with fear to do anything as the warm tears prick your eyes.

abby cocks her head, giving you a conniving, almost evil grin as she recognizes you, which you take as her giving you a head start. it felt like forever before you sprinted down the stairs, and out of the backyard door, not even bothering to grab your shoes on the way out. you run towards the treeline, chest heaving as the adrenaline pumps and courses through your body. your feet begin to ache as you step on the jagged rocks and branches, but you knew that was the least of your worries.

abby soon charges after you, breathing hard and heavy as she keeps a steady pace behind you. your cries of terror only spur her on even more, which only makes her run all the more faster, her strong legs never faltering.

you’re quick to run in all kinds of different directions, hoping to god that you would eventually lose track of her. but it was never that way with abby. not at all. she was hot on your trail, careful to mimic each sharp turn you made through the dark forest.

the loud music blaring from the speakers could still be heard even as you ran deeper and deeper into the woods, almost like a taunt. you didn’t dare look behind you, but you’re not quite watching where you’re going, either. you’re much too distracted with how the sound of abby’s footsteps never seem to fall away, and your foot gets caught on a lifted tree root, which makes you collide with the hard forest floor beneath you.

shit. you think to yourself, the wind almost instantly being knocked out of you. it was hard to breathe, and you tried your hardest to get back up, to absolutely no avail. you look up at the sky above you, hot tears streaming down your cheeks as you let out a strained sob. your ears began to ring as you rolled over onto your back, clutching and clawing at your own chest.

abby’s eyes fly open, and she stops in her tracks right in front of you, still clutching the axe within her hand. oh, this was precious, she thought.

you could hear her heavy, muffled breathing, and a loud, terrified scream leaves your throat as you hurriedly back up against a nearby tree. abby chuckles at the sight, and she grabs your arm with a rather excruciating grip, hauling you up against the large tree.

“gotcha.” she spits as she brings her other hand to hold the blade of the axe to your torso, which makes you scream and thrash against her even more violently.

the rancid stench of death soon fills your nostrils as she leans in even closer to you, pressing her nose against your cheek, and she keeps her lips close to your ear. abby then presses the blade deeper into your skin; not hard enough to break the supple barrier, but hard enough to make your consciousness falter.

“shut the fuck up.” she seethes rather harshly, and you unwillingly oblige. you’re visibly trembling beneath her, shaking your head, pleading and begging for her to spare you. your eyes continuously dart between the blood stained blade pressed firmly against your skin and her face, your hands shaky as you try your hardest to push her away from you.

of course, it’s no use. her large frame completely dwarfs yours in shadows, and you let your head fall back against the tree as you keep on sobbing.

“please, don’t… don’t kill me, i won’t tell anyone, abby, i swear, just please don’t fucking kill me.” you beg, the words coming out shaky and weak, which makes abby laugh into your ear. her breath is warm and wet against your skin, and it sends a wave of electricity down your spine.

she then suddenly stops for a moment, still breathing hard against the skin of your neck. you knew her name. the precious girl she’d always been after knew her name. it was the biggest sense of humanity that had ever befallen her, and she soon finds herself questioning what she had been doing all these years.

soon enough, abby snaps out of her confused train of thought, and pulls away to look at you. her cerulean eyes pierce into your own as she mocks your words with an undeniable coldness in her voice. your legs ached and trembled, and they would’ve given out on you had it not been for the sheer adrenaline still pumping through your system.

she moves to grab your face with one of her gloved hands, and she gives you that same, horrifying smile again. her eyes were low and narrowed as she began to speak again, “stupid girl. you really should have known better.” she coos at you, before she pulls the axe away from your stomach, hauling it back above your head before jamming it deep into the bark of tree with a grunt, missing your head by just a hairs breadth. sap begins to bleed around the blade, and it drips down to fall on one of your shoulders, which forces you to face the reality of the situation once more.

you let out a horrified sob as she does this, body still trembling beneath her inhumanly strong grip; but the way that she was breathing, the way that she was grunting as she held you firmly against the tree, and the harsh rasp of her smooth voice… it sent a wave of arousal coursing through you. this woman had just butchered the people you were with, and could very easily lead you down that same path; but as soon as she saw your face flush red as you began to writhe against her, it was almost as if a switch had flipped in her brain.

abby scoffs and shakes her head, hurriedly pulling off one of her gloves with her teeth before spitting it off to the ground. with one large, free hand, she takes both of your wrists, pinning them above your head before she messily shoves the other one down your shorts. your hips begin to buck at her touch as she begins to harshly rub at your clit, and abby’s breath comes out shaky when she feels your pooled up slick coating her fingers. “really? you’re fucking getting off on this?” she asks, and you whine, shaking your head at her proffer. your body, though, has a much different reaction.

you keep on moaning for her, completely going against your best interests. her fingers were thick and long, and you really couldn’t help but chase that senseless feeling of alleviation. she then slowly but surely eases one of her fingers inside your achy hole, and you continue to try and break free from her strong grip, in order to grasp at her shoulders, her hair, anything.

“s’fucking tight. such a needy slut.” abby scolds you, and you bite down hard on your lower lip as she seemingly expertly curls her digit up against your sweet spot. you keep your head firmly planted against the tree behind you. you roll your hips against the palm of her hand, eyes rolling towards the back of your skull as you grind your swollen bead against the calloused part of her hand.

you look up to meet her gaze again, chest fluttering when you see her staring back. abby’s brows were furrowed, and pieces of her hair stuck to her face with sweat. you study the bridge of her freckled nose, and the way that her pretty pink lips curved downwards. your eyes fell to her large, blood stained muscular arms, and her long, murky blonde hair cascading down her strong, broad shoulders. you hurriedly take in each one of her features, and a huge wave of confusion washes over you.

how could anyone have ever been afraid of her?

abby begins to feel the unfamiliar pang of her own stomach beginning to flutter as you continued to gaze at her, and she furrows her brows even more. no one had ever looked at her like that before. “the fuck are you staring at?” she seethes, and she shoves another finger inside of you.

your eyes go wide and your cunt flutters at the sudden intrusion, which draws a loud cry from your lips. your face continues to burn with embarrassment, and abby continues to breathe heavily as she bangs her fingertips up against your g spot. she groans when she feels your warm, gummy walls tightening around her fingers.

“abby… abby, s’too much..” you hiccup, and abby scoffs again, tugging you forward by your wrists. but with each time her name falls from your lips, the feeling bottoms out at her own cunt. “oh, it’s too much? that’s too bad. stop fuckin’… squirming. you should learn to be more grateful.” her voice is hoarse and mean, so mean. but you try your hardest to stop squirming, arching your back off of the tree and standing on your tip toes as abby continues to fuck you.

your eyes fall shut as you feel her leaning into you again, her hair gently falling over your chest as she buries her face within the crook of your neck. she smells of dirt and sweat, and her skin was warm to the touch. abby soon drags her lips along the valley between your jaw and neck, which only heightens your senses. she notices this, taking it upon herself to gently nip at the exposed skin.

you begin to desperately rock your hips against her palm, the inevitable and uncontrollable feel of your orgasm beginning to pool up at the bottom of your stomach. abby clicks her teeth at this, dragging her ministrations to a stop. you whine and let yourself slump back against the tree, still moving your hips around in slow circles all while her fingers are still buried inside of you.

“please… abby, please. i…” you stop yourself before you can say anything else, making sure to keep direct eye contact with her. your chest heaves and you let out a soft whine, and abby’s lips twitch in response. you find your gaze darting from her stare to her lips, and you whine as you begin to rock your hips again. she slowly, almost unknowingly leans in until you’re nose to nose, and she curls her fingers up inside you one last time. a quiet whine leaves your throat, and it’s clear she’s lost in the moment, you both are, completely forgetting about any previous circumstances regarding anything else that’s happened tonight.

“i need you.” your voice is so small, but so clear. just when you’re about to press your lips to hers, she pulls away to look at you for a second, her expression curled up into a hateful, almost disgusted sneer, but once your words register in her brain, it falters a little bit.

no one had ever needed her before; how foolish little abby was.

abby slowly pulls her hand out from your shorts to rest on your hip, and her breath begins to hitch as she suddenly drops to her knees before you. your wrists are now free from her crushing grip, but you don’t dare to move, or run. you were in too deep, and so was abby. you both knew that at this point.

your stomach flutters as she looks up at you, her eyes low and narrowed. abby pulls off her other glove with her hand, before she can move to hastily pull your shorts off of your hips. you let her, moving to entwine a hand in her hair. abby carefully leans in a little closer to your clothed cunt, before she presses her nose into your clothed mound, shutting her eyes and inhaling your musky scent.

she gently nudges your clit with her nose, before she slowly darts her tongue out to lap at your clothed slit, hoisting one of your thighs up over one of her shoulders. you shut your eyes at the feeling, the back of your head hitting the hard bark of the tree for what seems like the millionth time tonight.

you groan, slowly beginning to roll your hips against her face, which makes her bring one large hand up to grope at the fat of your ass. abby lets her eyelids flutter shut as she continues to grunt and lap at your cunt, and she slowly pulls away from you to gently grab at the hem of your panties with her teeth. your eyes are hazy and your body feels weak when you feel her start to pull them down, and you let out a quiet gasp when the cool night air hits your now exposed sex.

abby stares in awe once she sees just how wet you are, pulling your glistening folds apart to watch your slick drip down the insides of your thighs. you look away in embarrassment as she does this, and abby can feel her own mouth beginning to water at the sight before her. she didn’t even know she could have an effect like this on someone.

“fuck… look at that.” she begins, running her fingers over your now budded clit, gently massaging your soft bundle of nerves. she chuckles when she feels your arousal beginning to coat her fingers again, and she moves to spread your legs just a little wider. your hands are instinctively moving to rake themselves through her hair, and you can feel her hot breath panning over your swollen folds, which makes you inch yourself just a little closer to her lips.

abby obliges, licking a long, unhurried stripe from your hole to your clit, which makes you buck your hips against her mouth. you grip her hair a little harder as she moves to gently suck on your clit, only spurring her on even more.

“oh… fuck, that’s so good, abby. so good.” you gasp out into the air, no one else listening but abby and the trees surrounding you. she grunts at your praise, letting that all too unfamiliar feeling of her stomach fluttering consume her whole. she continues to slowly lap at your swollen, achy cunt before slowly moving her hands up your thighs to grab a hold of your hips.

you cry out for her, and for her only. your soft oh my god’s and babbled words of appraisal as she continues to make a mess out of your poor pussy, they’re all for her. abby couldn’t count how many times she’d envisioned this while fucking herself late at night in her bed, and now that she’d finally had you, she’d be sure to never let you go.

you look down to see your chest heaving and abby’s pretty face nestled comfortably in your now soaked thatch of curls, and the sight makes your legs go even weaker. your heart races even faster in your chest as you clutch at her hair, moving one free hand to grope at the fat of your own tit to manage the feeling of her tongue prodding at your entrance.

abby notices how you’ve began to grind your pussy even harder against her tongue, and she slides a free hand down from your hip to find post on your inner thigh, inching dangerously close to your slicked entrance. you welcome her touch, still tugging and pulling at her blonde locks, shutting your eyes as she continues to flatten her tongue out against your clit.

abby loves the way you taste; too forgiving and saccharine against her chapped lips. she laps up all of your sweet juices, eating you out like a woman starved. your breath begins to hitch as she starts to suck harshly, all while swirling her warm, wet tongue along the underside of your pussy. abby pulls your hips even further into her face by grabbing at your ass, and she pushes her spit back up against your messy, pulsating cunt.

the feeling is so fucking vulgar, but it feels so fucking good. you’re sure to let her know it, letting out mixes of cries and moans combined together, babbling her name and clawing at her scalp. abby moans up into your cunt each time you harshly yank at her hair, the pain going straight down to her own, neglected pussy. that tight feeling in your abdomen grows stronger and stronger with each time abby sucks and licks, and abby loves how desperate you’re becoming. all because of her.

“shit… i’m gonna cum, abby… gonna cum…” you warn, voice breaking when you say her name. abby doesn’t respond, though. she only slightly picks up her pace, and if it weren’t for her strong grip holding your legs firmly in place, you’re certain your knees would have buckled and given out on you. all it takes is one lick and a single kiss to your clit for you to finally unravel into her mouth, and you violently grip at her hair once more. abby’s breath falls heavy, and she soon plunges her fingers inside of you to fuck you through your orgasm, and a loud, strained cry leaves your throat at the added overstimulation.

“s’fucking pretty.” abby mutters under her breath as you continue to become undone on her fingers, and when you look down to see her face, your own flushes a deep shade of red. her nose and lips are coated in your juices, and they glisten underneath the bright glow of the moon behind the trees. as vulgar as the sight below you is, she looks so beautiful. neither of you say anything, and all you can do is move to cup her face with one of your palms when she finally stands back up. abby flinches at first, but she reluctantly leans into your touch, her breath faltering as the soft skin of your palm comes into contact with her cheek.

the silence is absolutely deafening. her eyes continue to bore holes into your own as she opens her mouth to say something, anything, but she can only exhale. “abby…” you begin, but you’re conveniently interrupted by the loud blare of police sirens heading towards the lake house, and abby sinks her head down, pulling herself away from you completely. “shit…” she mutters as the red and blue lights flash over her face, and she grabs her axe from the tree, quickly scooping her gloves off of the forest floor.

you can feel that familiar sense of panic sinking into your chest once more, and she quickly helps tug your panties and shorts back on. your heart flips at the sudden kind gesture, and before abby can take off running into the darkness of the forest, she presses her lips to your ear again. “meet me at the library next saturday.” is all she says, before she quickly takes off into the darkness behind her, leaving you alone against the tree. her footsteps begin to fade away, and instead of a horrid sense of panic, you’re filled with a newfound sense of… relief? you slump back against the tree, knitting your brows as you hear the policemen getting closer to you, the glare from their flashlights nearly blinding you.

abby knew that this wasn’t the last she’d be hearing from you. it was far from it. she could still taste you on her tongue as she ran back to her cabin, the image of your flushed face never leaving her mind.

[imagionationstation]

Mismatched Twins - Take Two

Leo really should have known better than to portal without a set destination. He can still picture Donnie walking into his bedroom with his trajectory board to explain the one hundred and one reasons to never do that, but he’d made the mistake of lecturing while Leo had a video with subtitles playing, so it’s really his big-brained brother’s fault that his attention had been rightfully preoccupied.

He’s always been more of a learn-on-the-job kinda hero.

And now that he’s free-falling hundreds of feet with the turtle that he intended to save- he’s definitely learned something here.

Impossible danger is excellent teaching material.

He almost loses his grip when their decent begins, scanning for any kind of landing point. As the turtle screams and Krang roars, Leo locks onto what he’s looking for. The familiar glow of blue tears at his chest and flickers his vision, but they land safety on crumbling rock.

He’s bumped off of him because his grip laxes without his consent, momentum sending him into a weak roll.

Every contact with the rock is like a blade jabbed through a crack in shell, twisted and titled to widen the entryway. His inhale comes in a wheeze, pressure heavy on his chest as he tries to breath through a swaying world.

He gags on the thick liquid in his throat, spitting out the scarlet gunk and tiny splotch of white. He’s pretty sure he liked that tooth.

He’s no longer holding his sword, clumsily scrambling onto his arms, lunging for the hilt. His fingertips scrap it and he doesn’t dare use a spurt of power for convenience, dragging himself to it.

It’s in his hands. He can roll over and let air into his lungs.

He does, photo and sword clung tightly to his chest, and exhales.

He closes his eyes, blood rushing and heart hammering, and tries not to think about his burning eyes and the throbbing ache that has nothing to do with the wounds across flesh.

He opens his eyes, blinking hazily.

There’s a voice behind his daze.

Time to faceman.

He looks up, bringing his blade closer, taking in the upside-down turtle face with frazzled eyes. Leo smirks as he watches him gesture to the sword, not taking in a single syllable through the high-pitch ringing. He could use a nap.

“Never seen ninpo before?” Oh, wow, his voice is weeiiird to his own brain. Does it sound as cool as it should? “Your loss.”

The turtle stares at him. The way his chest moves say that there might be slight hyperventilating going on. Leo’s pretty sure he was the same way during his first Krang battle.

The turtle looks away, alert and panicked. Leo rolls to his plastron, hating every second of it, and watches as a bright streak of purple crashes into the nearby floating island. He hears the distant sound of rocks crumbling under mass before a whoosh of air welcomes another crash. It happens twice more as Leo struggles to get his bearings, looking to the turtle that stares back at him.

He tries to stand, only to crumble under the weight of agony, but the turtle catches him to take him to his knees.

He says something, but Leo misses it. His heart is pounding too loud as he watches the dust clear. He doesn’t want to see what’s down there. He doesn’t want Krang to look back.

Who needs to learn lessons anyway.

“‘Kay.” Leo instructs with the sparse air, tucking the picture safely away. He meets wide brown eyes with a weak grin. “‘aat’s my cue.”

His ninpo flares.

FLASH.

They’re on a different terrain.

Krang screams, “I’LL GET YOU, YOU ROTTEN LITTLE-”

FLASH.

“-YOU CAN’T HIDE FROM-”

FLASH.

“-FIND YOU AND CRUSH-”

FLASH.

Bare, floating islands are apparently out of style. The world changes so that everything is coated black. There’s a rock wall dosed in his perfect ninpo light beside him. The turtle starts to speak, but he’s cut off as something shrieks in the dark. The grip around Leo tightens as their world is swallowed in the safe blue.

FLASH.

They land on a platform and come face-to-face with a massive, leering Krang suit, and it’s false face is inches from Leo’s and someone screams.

He tries to kick away from in, pressing further into the grip that holds him, burying his face away from the danger. The torment must have already started because his breaths are sharp and broken, each inhale like lightning in his chest. It takes him too long to realize that the shrill ringing in stale air is his because he’s going to die and he’s still here when he should already be gone.

“Hey, hey, woah-”

The voice in unfamiliar and the shadow swallows him and he knows pain is about to rain down like he’d fallin’ into hell itself and he squeezes his eyes shut and runs.

“Look, it’s emp-”

FLASH!

FLASH!

FLASH FLASH FLASH FLASH FLASH FLASH-!

Leo falls into the safe, mindless panic and unleashes his portals in rapid-fire spurts. He doesn’t care where he’s going or where he ends up, as long as it’s far, far from Krang. He tears and claws at everything his ninpo can offer and then some, ignoring the way it fizzles and sparks as he clutches what’s his and runs.

“STOP!”

His eyes shoot open and his ninpo stutters, dropping him off on stable surroundings. His companion has torn away from him and he locks his hands over his head in panic, knees curled up to his chest. Electricity is bouncing off his skin to strike the danger. It’s not a beautiful whirlwind of power- it’s scattered and desperate and wild. It’s not him, not his intention, not his doing- it’s his ninpo reacting, almost like an injured animal lashing out.

And yet- and yet when he closes his eyes and focuses, when he reaches to console what’s scared, what’s his, it ducks away.

And he doesn’t understand.

He doesn’t understand how something so infinite and fundamental to his very essence, his very being, could feel so broken and ragged. It’s the Hamato legacy imprinted on his soul and it’s dying after he did everything in his power to preserve it, to protect his friends, his city, his family back home-

Back home. Back home.

And then he understands.

His soul is still clinging to what the mind knows that it can’t have, searching for the other three parts that make the living legacy whole.

He preserved their legacy, and then he left it behind.

He did everything right so why does it feel so wrong?

Everything hurts- every inch of skin down to his very soul. His ninpo can't hurt and shouldn't hurt but it does- shattered and torn and barely sputtering with life- did he do that?

This place- It’s a dimension created by magic. It was made as a barrier to keep everything in. To keep anything from reaching out.

He did this. He tore his ninpo away from the web of power and then ripped it to pieces as it struggled on its own. He’s no better than the Krang. He’s lucky the string remains intact at all.

He focuses on it like he’s cradling an injured child, willing it back together with devastated apologizes and shaking hands. The pieces sputter and spark, insignificant and torn, and he aches as he concentrates on his home and his family and the drive that brought him to this prison to suffer so they could flourish.

The prickling leaves his skin and the warmth fills his chest as the delicate pieces knit themselves together. His ninpo is dull and tiny, but it pulses like a heartbeat, still reaching for the fourfold connection that it will never find.

And for the second time that day, Leo tears himself away from something that he needs more than the air in his lungs, releasing the one link that he has to his family so he doesn’t erase it entirely.

He needs it.

Leo needs it, so when he dies, he still has a chance to find Karai.

He can still feel it, faint but alive, and he opens his eyes as the marks fade from his blade. He’s freezing, now, empty without the familiar strength to draw from. The hilt falls uselessly from a limp hand and he thinks that now would be a good time to curl up and die.

He attempts the curling up part, but he’s distracted from the latter with a hand on his arm. The turtle is still here, kneeling down at his side. He’s pointing into the distance but Leo is not moving ever again, thanks.

The turtle tries again but he doesn’t sound like he’s using words. Maybe he never was and Leo’s brain just pretended that he did.

He waves at him, vaguely. “No hablo… That.”

The turtle takes in this information. He looks off to the side and then seems to make up his mind. He ignores the sputtered complaints as he grabs his arm to drag him up.

Leo tries to fight it, but he quickly loses the energy to do so. The turtle forces his slumped body to sit up, frustrated when Leo keeps every muscle slack and tries to go back down. His back burns when his shell is forced straight up, so unless the turtle has pain killers, he’s happily staying on the ground.

The turtle has different ideas. He forces him back up, positions hands under his knees and above his carapace, and then hoists him into the air. He yelps and his sword sparks.

Leo quickly tears away from the power that flows back, stamping down stubbornly on the disconnect.

The turtle keeps walking, and Leo can feel that limp, so why this is happening is beyond his understanding. He’s set down against a leaning surface, and the turtle disappears from his vision, only to return cradling a large rock. Leo squints at him as he drops it and shoves it to Leo’s side. He grabs Leo’s upper bicep, to which Leo obviously attempts to bite the offending arm.

The turtle glares and Leo gives him a grumpy look.

The turtle gets up and walks away.

For a moment, he’s the winner, but then his opponent returns.

The turtle is not to be deterred, and before Leo sees the dastardly act coming, his sword is in the turtle’s hand. He sets in on the other side of the rock and Leo lurches for it, catching the hilt in his fingers. Then the turtle is behind him, a steady hand on his carapace to keep Leo’s plastron against the rock, other hand running down the cracks in his previously perfect shell.

It’s an uncomfortable position, but it doesn’t hurt like sitting up does. He drops his arm over the rock to rest his chin on, flinching when a finger touches the deepest crack along his middle. He hisses at the sudden pain and the turtle murmurs softly.

A hand on his elbow helps him back to the smooth, bent surface. He leans against it, giving the invasive turtle the stink-eye. He doesn’t look up, frowning when a soft pressure against his plastron has Leo flinching. That’s the area where his ribs are. That can’t be good.

A gentle hand moves over his plastron, testing the stability of grooves and brushing against cracks. His plastron is annoyingly more sensitive than his carapace and he kinda wants to knee this guy in the chin to stop him from ever laying hands on him again.

Instead, he allows the shudders and the hands lift immediately, concern pinching calculating brow, and all Leo can think to say is, “At least take a guy on a first date.”

The turtle says something, muffled but definitely sarcastic, and reaches for his head. He runs a hand over Leon’s cheek, temple, and skull, probably testing for fractures with as many times as Krang decided to go for the face. He tries to focus on the discomfort of the fingers pressing against the bruise on his jaw and not the ever-present memory of fiery eyes and metal meeting bone.

There's something building up on his tongue. It travels down to his throat and he gags, tilting his head to spit it out, red dotted with white splattering the rock that the turtle had brought over.

Leo only realizes that the turtle asks a question after his mouth has finished moving, and even then he can't remember what it is.

The turtle wipes the blood from his mouth and then gently presses against the sides of his jaw to open it. Leo's guess is that he's trying to make sure the blood is all from his gums and not internal.

He only lets him because he doesn't have a mirror to check himself, hoping it doesn't look as bad as he suspects it is. Only a fiend like the Krang would dare deprive the world of his beautiful smile.

Then again, Leo supposes that he did that himself.

His stomach twists, an invisible force pressing down on it.

The turtle is unwrapping his hand, faded white revealing some of the scarred palm underneath. He takes a tiny knife from his belt- aw, man, what's that called, a kani? Kuani? He's close he knows it- and cuts through with an obvious practiced precision, letting the loose part hang as he begins wrapping Leo’s skull.

“Can’t do anything about the mask.” The turtle admits and wow, Leo can hear again, that’s neat. “But if there’s one thing to be thankful for, it’s that he was more focused on your jaw than your brain.”

“Yay.” He croaks, a weak fist raised to the sky.

The turtle’s expression changes as he looks down to meet his gaze, almost softer. “Cognitive awareness. That’s a good sign. Is anything numb?”

Leo stares at his arm, dripping on the rocks below him and practically coated in red. “You’re bleeding out.”

“It’s fine. Let’s worry about your spine first.” He regards him anxiously. “Anything numb?”

“Everything is on fire.” He announces triumphantly, because his spine is too tough to break that easily. He eyes the wound in front of him. “And that’s going to get infected.”

“Okay. I’m just going to hope for the best then.” The turtle ignores him completely and turns his attention back to his skull. “Lil’ worried about potential brain damage. Cool with you if I ask you some questions?”

“Name’s Leo, fifteen years old, my favorite color is blue, I have three brothers and one sister, boy does my head hurt, and yes, I can count to ten in two languages- applause not necessary- uno, dos, tres, cuatro, cinco, seis, siete, ocho, nueve, diez.” The turtle tightens the end of the bandage as he finishes and Leo preens, “Family physicist, at your service. No concussion here!”

“Leo, huh?” The turtle’s movements have slowed, forehead creased as he peeks at Leo’s sword. “Short for anything?”

“Leonardo.” He studies his face, all-to-aware if the brief shock that flashes before he quickly looks away. “Got a problem with that?”

“No.” He says, a bit to fast. “It’s just… Interesting…” He adjusts the blue mask, a new splotch of red on the side, back down over the bandage- he removed it? When did he- “And you mean physician.”

He levels him with a superior look. “I’d think I’d know what I am.”

“And yet you don’t.” He collapses backward with a sigh, bringing his fingers to press against the blood staining trails down his arm. He winces and mutters, “You said you had three brothers?”

“And the world’s best sister.” He decides because while sister’s not technically official, he’d like to die with that thought in mind. He makes grabby hands. “Lemme see.”

The turtle shakes his head, but his face is definitely paler than it was before. Leo does not think it’s all blood loss. “Dude, you’re clearly not good with bodily fluids, hand it over.”

“It’s just blood. I can handle blood. It’s a perfectly normal bodily function even if a lot of it happens to be leaking-” His face has gone three shades paler and definitely queasy. He groans, “I hate blood. Holy mother of mutations, I hate blood.”

“Dude, you just wrapped me.” Leo remarks, amused by the glare that he earns. “Of course, I did. I had too.”

“But it’s different when you’re seeing your own?” Leo offers a cheeky grin. The turtle looks uncomfortable. “Classic. C’mon. The real medic says hand it over and stop being a bad patient.”

“That’s ironic coming from the limp noodle.” He agreeably drags himself from the ground and plops down next to Leon, looking the other way as Dr. Leo examines the wounds.

“Sooo.” Leo drawls as he notes that the turtle needs stitches and wonders how he’s going to accomplish that here. “Do I get a name, Broody, or do I get to make one up?”

“I have a feeling you wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

“Pshhaw, your name can’t be that bad.”

The turtle side-eyes him, affronted. “I didn’t say anything was wrong with my name.”

“I’ll be the judge of that.” Leo presses against the wounds to stop the consistent flow; the black wrappings on his palm stained with red. “Give it to me.”

A beat of silence. “Donnie.”

“Aw, hey, that’s not too crazy.” He reassures brightly, since he doesn’t want to tease the guy that’s clearly insecure. “I actually know someone who-”

“It’s a nickname. Short for Donatello.”

“Heh.” He quirks a smile. “Kinda a coinkydink ‘cause-”

“Hamato Donatello.” Leo’s head shoots up and the turtle looks back. “My brothers are Leonardo, Raphael, and Michelangelo. They have nicknames too. Mikey, Raph…” He tilts his head, urging, “Leo.”

Leo stares, looking for any sign of deception. The turtle keeps talking, almost as if he’s trying to get the words out before his brain can catch up. “We’re a team. We fight crime and save people. I have a father. We call him Splinter. He’s a rat. Used to be a human. Adopted me and my brothers, taught us ninjitsu.”

Leo’s paralyzed. He waits for the snickers, or for the punchline.

The turtle does not shirk away, eyes bright with the maniac look that Donnie gets when he proves a theory correct and is dying for a single person to acknowledge that he’s the smartest being on planet earth.

“So. Leo.” It’s conversational, calm, eager. “What’s your family like?”

Previous Current Next

[husbandograveyard]

Hi! Sorry for the first round, let's try a second round lol 🖤 May I request #11, #17, or #6 for Shuhei Hisagi for the awkward pillow talk event?

Mb I was at work reading the rules of your event and read it too quickly😅I was too excited

No worries! You got it now. I love Hisagi, I don't get to write for him too often. I hope you'll like this!

☁️ Pillow talk event - Masterlist ☁️ Prompt: “It’s only awkward if we make it awkward.” “Agreed.” “That sounded awkward.” “I know.” Character: Hisagi Shuhei (Bleach) x GN reader (no pronouns or genitals mentioned) ⋆˖⁺‧₊☽ Suggestive content | Minors DNI | Fluff, humor, 'platonic' sex ☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

You should have known better than to dive into the sheets with your best friend. You really should have not done it. But the sexual tension between the two of you had been increasing every single day for a few months now. A few touches, some accidental -and not so accidental- flirting… it was only a matter of time before this happened. 

And yet. 

You didn’t want a relationship. He didn’t want one either. You had talked about this before. You cherished the friendship way too much. So it would have been for the best if neither of you had ever seen the other person naked in a non-platonic way. 

And yet. 

Here you were, laying on your back, catching your breath after what was arguably the best sex you had ever had. You had felt such a connection the minute your lips connected, and before you knew it, you had been nothing but a mess of limbs on the bed, not an inch of skin left unexplored or untouched. 

“So… we’re not a couple now, right?” 

You were the first to speak up, insecurity apparent in your voice. You had both broken the unspoken promise you had made to each other, and you had to talk about it. Preferably now, before your thoughts and feelings could go on, living a life on their own. 

“No.. we aren’t.” 

He didn’t sound as sure as you had hoped that he would. Hisagi was confident and strong when it came to work, professionalism. But you knew him better than that. And those insecurities came out in vulnerable moments like this. 

“It’s only awkward if we make it awkward.”

You spoke up again after a long moment of silence, staring at the ceiling above you. You couldn’t bear looking at him right now. You weren’t sure what you’d do if you could see his expression, trying not to imagine what he’d look like right now.” 

“Agreed.” 

Then more silence. 

“That sounded awkward” 

You chuckled uncomfortably, trying to diffuse the tension again by just calling it like it was. And he chuckled in response. 

“I know." 

It was silent for a while again, until you noticed the bed shake, just a little. Held back laughter was shaking Hisagi’s entire body until he could no longer hold it back and he just started laughing. You felt the corners of your mouth turn up as well, laughter bubbling up and eventually joining him, until your abs started hurting and your throat was dry. 

���Fuck, we are idiots.” 

“that we are.” 

“But we’re still friends, right?” 

“Of course”

[gumnut-logic]

Gordon sipped at his recently constructed Tracy Sunrise mocktail, complete with a slice of candied lemon and mandatory umbrella, as he climbed the stairs into the comms room.

He and Virg were back from a successful rescue in England. Part of an ancient, like really ancient, two story cottage had half collapsed on its tenants.

Virgil had muttered something about stressors and mortar and age, most of which had gone over Gordon’s head as engineer technobabble, but John had agreed and thrown them all the numbers.

They had been in the area after pulling a sub out from under the ice in what was left of the Arctic ice sheet, so a quick drop in on the way home was easy.

The elderly couple had been saved. Their dog had gone missing for a moment or two, but Rover had gotten himself found by Gordon and all family members had reunited at the local ambulance with little more than a scratch or two each.

Couldn’t ask for a better result.

John sent them home and into the darkness of night time and what was likely to be a quick debrief when Scott got back from Australia.

Gordon had been tempted to drop in on Penny along the way, but apparently she was in Russia.

He didn’t ask why.

So home, a quick sandwich in the kitchen, and a tropical mocktail to shake the cooler climates out of his soul.

“Virg, you gotta try this.”

There was no answer from the lounge.

Gordon frowned. His big brother was nowhere in sight. He coulda sworn…“Virg?”

The familiar clink of a paintbrush being rinsed in a water glass just as Gordon approached the lounge…and there he was.

Virgil sat on the floor in his pyjamas, painting. It was hit or miss as to whether there was more paint on him or the canvas sheet he had spread on the floor.

Grandma was not going to be happy about that.

But…”How on Earth have you managed to get into such a mess so quickly? We only got home half a hour ago, and most of that was shower.”

Virgil grunted and didn’t even bother to look up at him.

Okay, immersed in what he was doing. Don’t prod the bear when focussed.

Instead Gordon sat himself down on the couch beside his brother and sipped quietly on his drink.

Gordon had to admit that he quite enjoyed watching his brother work. Brotherly ribbing aside, Gordon was quite proud of what his brothers were capable of and Virgil was great spectator sport.

Paint came out of tubes and was dabbed onto the canvas to create all kinds of interesting things.

Today it appeared Virgil was painting a flower of some kind. There was pink and green…a rose?

Virgil was known for painting flowers, after all, they had plenty on the Island to play with, but roses weren’t the typical.

“A rose?”

Virgil didn’t even look up at him. “Has thorns.” It was muttered absent-mindedly, and as Gordon peered closer he realised he had been a little mistaken.

The figure on the canvas sheet had its origins in a pink rose, but as his brother laid down more colour, it morphed into something closer to Audrey II from Little Shop of Horrors. What the-?

His brother sketched in teeth and the painting snarled despite its pinks and soft greens.

Gordon frowned. “You okay?”

Another grunt from his brother only had Gordon frowning harder. Virgil obviously had a bee in his bonnet.

But then the lighting caught a particular shade of pink that screamed cloudy day reflecting off scattered petals amongst fallen brickwork.

Thorns.

There had been a climbing rose on that cottage. Virgil had said something about accumulated growth and the weakening of ancient mortar…

“We saved them, Virg, no one was hurt.” He reached out and placed his hand on tight shoulder muscles.

His brother sighed and sat back, just touching Gordon’s knee. “I know.” He rolled his shoulder, brush still in hand, and the joint cracked.

Gordon winced. “Maybe we should skip debrief-“

“No, no.” Another sigh. “Gotta get it out.” The last word faded as Virgil returned to painting his devilish floral creation.

Gordon just sat and watched his brother. Gordon could see desperate swim strokes in Virgil actions, that need to work it out of the system. He could understand.

Scott wasn’t going to be happy. But then Scott was never happy when a brother wasn’t one hundred percent. But they all had their coping mechanisms, both the gym and the Tracy Island trails could vouch for that when Scott needed to do the same.

Virgil’s method was just a little different-

(The plant monster now had dripping fangs)

-if a little terrifying.

-o-o-o-

[drabbles-mc]

Curbside Service

Luca x GN!Reader (ft. Marcus)

For @the-slumberparty's Bingo Challenge! Bingo Square: bakery

Warnings: 18+, language

Word Count: 3.2k

A/N: au where Luca runs his own bakery, my beloved. this is retaliatory insanity aimed directly at @narcolini and i simply have nothing else to say about it sksksk.

The Bear Taglist: @garbinge @withmyteeth @justreblogginfics (If you want to be added to any of my taglists, please let me know!)

For as much as Luca typically relished the hour or so at the very start of the day that he had to himself, he had to admit that he didn’t quite mind Marcus being there with him. He wasn’t expecting him to want to show up before five—he wouldn’t have blamed him for it either. Luca enjoyed the small hours of the morning because of the silence and peace that they afforded him. Apparently he wasn’t the only one who felt that way.

Marcus had the same sense of quiet, same calmness about him that was so rare to find in the kitchen. Luca really hadn’t known what to expect when Carmy broached the topic of sending someone his way. The memories of what it was like with Carmy in the kitchen were still clear in the back of his mind, and for as much as he respected Carmy, enjoyed the push that he got from him to be better, Luca was still painfully aware of the energy that he carried with him. He’d been preparing for more of the same, would do it gladly if it was Carmy asking, but he couldn’t deny the relief in him when he met Marcus and felt the easy-going energy he seemed to exude.

“Chef,” Marcus said in greeting as he passed through the kitchen.

Luca nodded, not looking up from his measurements as he listened to Marcus stroll by him to go and put his things away. “Morning, Chef.”

That was all the two of them said for a bit. Marcus came back out, tying his apron into place as he did. He found his place beside Luca and picked up right where Luca was leaving off. It was a routine that they’d found themselves getting comfortable in over the last few days. They would do their work, soak up the peace and quiet. Every now and then they’d chat, but it always felt purposeful when they did—it wasn’t just for the sake of filling the silence.

“Make up the next batch of these, Chef?” Luca asked, wiping his hands on his apron as he got ready to move onto the next part of his daily prep.

Marcus nodded, knowing that the question was only phrased as such to be polite. “Yes, Chef.”

He stepped away, making his way over to where he knew all of the baking supplies were kept. He didn’t have it memorized the same way that he did at The Beef—The Bear, but for how short his time there had been he was doing alright. He scanned the shelves, going back and raking over them again when he didn’t see what he was looking for, then once more even slower when the second through yielded no results. He didn’t want to ask for assistance if the answer was looking him in the face.

When he was fairly certain it just wasn’t there, Marcus took a deep breath. “Chef?”

“Yea?”

“Um. You guys got a secret back room you forgot to tell me about?”

Luca chuckled. “Why’s that?”

“Because if you don’t, we’re out of flour.”

The kitchen was silent for a moment as Luca stopped what he was doing and made his way over to Marcus. For five long seconds it was just the two of them looking at the empty storage shelves. Marcus felt himself tensing up, not knowing how this was going to end up. He knew how this would end up playing out in Chicago, but they were a long ways away from there now.

“Well,” Luca let out a quiet laugh, “looks like we’re out of flour, then.”

The genuine ease in his voice made the tension instantly disappear from Marcus’s shoulders. He laughed, too, before jokingly saying, “Guess we should just close up?”

Luca laughed a little harder at that. “Yea, quit while we’re ahead.” He shook his head. “I’ll make a call in a bit. Been too busy—didn’t realize the delivery hadn’t come through yet.”

Marcus nodded. “Heard.” He paused. “Now what?”

Luca shrugged. “Onto the next.” He nodded towards the doors that led out into the customer side of the bakery. “You can start on front of the house.”

He agreed without hesitation, the way that he always did in the kitchen. “Yes, Chef.”

Luca kept a loose eye on the clock while he did whatever else he could of the prep for the day. The delay was going to put them behind, but not in any way that wasn’t going to be manageable. In the back of his mind he was aware that the people who filtered in and out of the shop most likely wouldn’t even notice as long as there was something in the display case.

When it was finally late enough, he pulled his phone out of the back pocket of his jeans. Scrolling through his contacts, he made it down to the list of miscellaneous vendors he’d collected over the years. Once he dialed, he leaned back against the counter, phone pinned to his ear as he watched the timer ticking down on the oven.

“Hello?” you answered, sounding frazzled even though the day had hardly gotten started. It was going around, apparently.

“Hey, uh, sorry,” Luca didn’t recognize the voice, and for a moment he thought he’d called the wrong number. It took him a moment to recover and say, “Just calling about a delivery.”

“Okay, sure. What about it?” you asked.

He chuckled. “Never showed up.”

“Shit,” you said before you could stop yourself. You immediately covered your mouth with your hand, not that he could see you do it. “Sorry. Sorry.”

He smiled, not that you could see it. “It’s alright.”

“Okay. Right. Sorry.” You were trying to get your papers together, dig through the mess of a situation that had been left behind on the desk in the office. “Give me a second to get…get it together.” You heard him let out something between a hum and a laugh, but he didn’t say anything in response. Giving you the second you’d asked for, you assumed. Taking a deep breath, you finally said, “Alright. Sorry about that. What delivery were you looking for?”

The two of you went back and forth for a minute. You asked him some basic questions as you went through the papers, the orders that were pulled up on the computer screen in front of you. Then, sure enough, you found what you were looking for—a delivery that was supposed to have happened two days prior.

“I’m so sorry about that,” you said, pressing the heel of your free palm against your forehead. “Raf’s out and it threw a wrench into everything and his office is a mess so I’ve been trying to figure it out and some stuff, clearly, went through the cracks.”

“It’s alright. Blame it on Raf, yea?”

You laughed, feeling a little relieved at the ease with which he was handling the situation, but still anxious underneath it all. “Believe me, I will.” Leaning back in your chair, you tried to think about what your schedule looked like for the day. “I can run it over now?”

“What?”

“The flour. I can run it over to you if that works.”

“I can send my—”

“It’s fine. We usually bring it to you anyway. That’s,” you chuckled nervously, “that’s kind of the whole point, yea?”

Luca was nodding even though you couldn’t see him. Part of him wanted to say not to worry about it, that clearly you’ve got enough shit on your plate to try and handle. But he also knew that if the roles were reversed, he would be offering to do the same thing.

“Right. You have the address?”

“Um,” you looked over the order form on the screen, “yes.”

“See you in a bit, then.”

You let out a short sigh, glad that things didn’t implode like you thought they were going to when you picked up the phone. “See you in a bit.”

It wasn’t long before Luca heard Marcus calling back to him from the front of the bakery. “Chef?”

“Yea!” Luca called back as he started walking towards the door, fairly certain what it was about.

“Someone’s pulling up?”

“Yea,” Luca said with a laugh as he walked out of the kitchen and into retail side of the bakery, “the person letting you get the rest of your prep done, Chef.”

Marcus’s eyes widened slightly as he quickly started to follow in Luca’s footsteps, hardly even a stride behind him. Luca flipped the lock and pushed the glass doors of the bakery open. Reaching, he used his foot to drag out the doorstop to prop open the door on one side, Marcus taking the cue to do the same on the other.

“Wow,” you said with a laugh as you hopped out of the delivery van, “all hands on deck, huh?”

Luca flashed a quick grin as you strode up to him. “Make your life a little easier.”

Your brows furrowed for a moment as you registered the voice. “Luca? We spoke on the phone?”

“That was me,” he held his hand out for you to shake as he nodded towards the other man who had walked out with him, “And that’s Marcus.”

The morning had been such a whirlwind that until you felt the firm grasp Luca had on your hand, the warmth seeping from his palm into yours, your brain hadn’t slowed down enough to even register who you were really looking at. But then your eyes locked with his and every racing thought in your brain came to a screeching halt.

He broke off the handshake, an easy smile on his face as he nodded towards the van. “Thanks for this.”

“Yea, yea,” you worked harder than you should’ve had to just to get another word out, “no problem. Sorry,” you laughed nervously, “sorry it didn’t get here two days ago.”

Then it was just the two of you standing there. The concept of time was completely lost on you. It could’ve been seconds or hours as far as you were concerned. The only thing that alerted you to time passing at all was the sound of Marcus clearing his throat as he stood in the doorway of the bakery.

“These going in the usual spot?” he asked Luca, bag of flour held securely in his arms.

Luca looked back at him for a brief moment, nodding. “Yes, Chef. Thank you.”

Once Marcus nodded in understanding, Luca turned right back to you. You found yourself shoving your hands into the pockets of your jeans just to keep from fidgeting with them. This was just supposed to be a quick delivery, and another quick apology, but now it felt like you couldn’t move.

“Raf’s out?”

You huffed, rolling your eyes. “Yea.” You looked at Luca, saw the traces of concern on his face, and you shook your head. “Oh, don’t feel bad for him. He got hurt doing something stupid with his mates over the weekend. Messed up,” you gestured to your leg, “his entire shit.”

Luca chuckled, as much at your explanation as at your annoyance. You made it look good, somehow. “Left you holding the bag?”

You held your arms out. “Looks that way.”

“Still made it, though,” he said with a half-grin, like he was trying to soften the blow of it all for you.

“Two days late,” you said, almost like a joke even though it was the truth, “but we got here.”

You were vaguely aware of the fact that Marcus was still making trips back and forth with the bags of flour. You knew that you should let Luca go. You’d already put them behind schedule enough for not getting them what they needed when they actually needed it. But Luca didn’t seem like he was in that much of a hurry and if he wasn’t rushing off neither were you. You’d be willing to let the rest of your manager’s business crumble for a bit if it meant standing out on the sidewalk in the grey light of the early morning talking to a baker whose hair couldn’t have looked that good when he woke up in the morning.

“You’re not new,” he said it like a statement, but there was an unsaid question in there somewhere. He shook his head. “Never seen you, though.”

You shrugged. “Usually in the warehouse.”

“All the heavy lifting.”

Marcus butt into the conversation for a moment. “Least someone does the heavy lifting.”

You couldn’t stop the chuckle that slipped past your lips. You covered your mouth with your hand, like that would unmake the sound. Neither of them gave you time to wonder if there was tension there, because Luca smiled and Marcus laughed.

“Be there in a minute,” Luca called over his shoulder. Even not knowing him, you could tell that there wasn’t any sense of urgency to his voice. It would be more than a minute.

Marcus mumbled something under his breath. It was too muffled for you to hear, but Luca must’ve, because the slick grin on his face got a little wider. Whatever mumbled shorthand they’d developed was effective. You watched Luca shake his head.

“I don’t wanna hold you up,” you said. It was a formality, of course—you’d hold him up all day if he let you.

He shook his head, the lack of hesitation almost making you want to believe him. “No, you’re good. It’s alright.”

You tilted your head, cocking one eyebrow. “Is it?”

“We’re already behind, you know?”

You laughed. “That makes it alright?”

He shrugged. “A bit.”

You wanted to say that you hated how the way he was looking at you made your whole face feel hot, heat creeping down the column of your throat despite the cool morning air. You wanted to hate it, wanted to think it was ridiculous because it absolutely was, but you didn’t. You watched him run his hand over all the patchwork tattoos that he had and you knew that you would waste away the entire day right there on the sidewalk. Waste his entire day too.

“When’s Raf back?” he asked.

You huffed, shaking your head. “Who fucking knows?” You laughed but you really didn’t have any idea.

“Then back to the warehouse, yea?”

“Hope so—his office gives me anxiety just thinking about it,” you said, chuckling at the truth of it.

“Organized chaos.”

“Nothing organized about it,” you fired back, trying not to laugh because the state of that room really was beyond the reaches of your nightmares.

You didn’t know why it felt so easy. You didn’t know what was so disarming about him. It wasn’t even seven in the morning and his apron already had steaks going down it, probably the last of the flour that they had before running out because of the delivery you hadn’t made yet. No on in their right mind should look as ready and happy about the day as he did, but there he was anyway. Mellowed out and positive in the face of it all.

“You should come by again,” he said, tone level in a way that you wouldn’t have been able to achieve if the roles were reversed.

It sent a jolt through you but you tried to keep it together. “I’ll come through on time next time, at least,” you joked.

The ends of his mouth lifted into a tiny smile. “No, I mean just come by. Stop in. Doesn’t have to be at six in the morning.”

“But I get all your undivided attention this way,” you said, shocking yourself with how easily it rolled off your tongue. You hoped your face didn’t convey the surprise you felt.

If he picked up on it, he didn’t say anything about it. He let out a quiet laugh. “I wouldn’t worry about that if I were you.”

Your heart was pounding against the confines of your ribcage but you somehow managed to keep your voice level. “Right.”

There was the sound of one of the doors to the bakery clattering shut. Both you and Luca looked at the van to see Marcus lifting one of the last two bags of flour from the back of it. His gaze was fixed directly onto Luca as he said, “Last bag is yours, Chef. Don’t hurt yourself.”

Luca caught the way that Marcus’s serious façade cracked at the last minute, a grin on his face as he stepped into the bakery. Luca laughed as he called after him, “Thanks, Chef!”

You cleared your throat, trying to knock the dazed look off your face because you were certain it was painfully evident. “I’ll let you get to it, then.”

Luca nodded as he looked at you. “Alright, yea.” His eyes scanned over you and you tried not to think too much about the way that his smile grew just a little wider.

“Good luck with the heavy lifting,” you said with a laugh, white knuckling the keys in your pocket like they would keep you present in the moment rather than getting lost in the imaginary future scenarios that you were already conjuring up in your head.

“I think I’ll be alright,” he joked as he stepped over and grabbed the bag from the back of the van.

It was shameless and you knew it, the way your eyes shot straight to his arms. But he started it, right? He looked first. Fair was fair. When your eyes finally made their way back to his face the smirk pulling at his lips said everything that his words never would. He was a gentleman for that at least.

“You’ll be back though, right?” he asked.

You knew that he had the answer to that question already just from the look in his eyes. You indulged him by saying it out loud, though. Maybe you were indulging yourself too. “’Course, yea. Starting at six AM, right?”

He laughed, taking another step backwards towards the door. “I actually get here closer to four, if you’re ever—”

“I’m never,” you cut him off with a laugh. You shook your head, getting yourself together for a moment. “I’ll see you, Luca.”

He laughed, nodding. “See ya.”

He was inside and the bakery door was shut and locked behind him again before you even managed to put the van in drive. You gave the place one more look through your sideview mirror before finally pulling away. You would be shaking your head at yourself for the rest of the day, for sure. But it’d be worth it. Going back would be worth it too.

Luca strolled into the kitchen, not saying anything as he went to put the last of the delivery away.

Marcus was shaking his head as he worked his way through the prep that Luca had decided to put off just a little while longer. He wanted to try and sound annoyed but he started laughing before he could take a good stab at it. “Fuckin’ unbelievable.”

Luca was laughing too as he found his spot next to Marcus. “You had this under control just fine.”

“Like you’d know,” Marcus joked. “Too busy out there talking and not helping me with the two tons of flour you ordered.”

“Want me to pretend to be sorry?” he asked, laughing still.

Marcus shook his head. “Fucker.”

“Come on,” Luca feigned a serious tone, “Get to it—we’re behind on prep.”

The silence between them only lasted for another second before they both broke back down into laughter again.

[immeasurablesaladagere]

first i want to thank you so much for all that you do… feeding the housemd agere community near single handedly and bringing me and many others so much joy…. o7!! do take care of yourself tho!

second… sorry this is SUPER specific, so you don’t have to follow every detail if you don’t want to haha 😅 but could you write smth like, the ducklings find out abt house’s regression (to like 5ish) because he got triggered or was super stressed during a case, and started slipping involuntarily? trying to hold it back but fails and is then upset/scared and small… the team tries to take care of him for a bit b4 getting wilson who explains a bit & worriedly helps, n he & the team get greg to feel better! & maybe they ponder on the surprise of it a bit

Ahhhhh sorry for the wait! School begins once more. One more request to go in the stack!

-----

Word Count: 1552

Summery: House is given a bear from a dying child patient whose case they fail to solve in time. It causes him to regress involuntarily after being informed of her death.

*Warning for mentioned death of a child patient.

-----

CLANG.

House pitched his pager off the metal leg of his desk, and it skittered across the carpet. She was dead. They failed. They should have had at least a few more days. She shouldn’t have declined so fast, they had time. 

Apparently they were wrong. He was wrong. The little girl had her first of a series of cardiac arrests in the early hours of the morning, and each arrest that followed got harder and harder to pull her back from until, according to his pager, twenty minutes ago, when her time of death was called.

He wasn’t known for grieving dead patients. He wasn’t Wilson, he didn’t get emotionally invested in his cases enough to mourn when some inevitably died, but even he could admit that this failure stung worse than the others. Madalyn Fleech, just six years old. The nurses had gushed obnoxiously about her in the first few days after her admission, cooing about how cute, how sweet and brave she was. Like all child patients, he had thought. Oh-so brave and adorable until it came time for a test or exam, then suddenly they became a pain in the ass like all children. But Madalyn didn’t fight a single test. She didn’t fight any of the dozens of tests they’d put her through; she barely even cried. And then, and then…

The stuffed dog sat innocently on his desk, dressed in a doctor’s coat and staring blankly at him with its plastic eyes. It was purchased from the hospital gift shop by one of the girl’s visitors, and Madalyn had given it to him the day before when he was overseeing her lumbar puncture.

“I already got so many stuffies! I want you to have it, for helpin’ me.”

He intended to get rid of it, or maybe give it to someone more sentimental, like Cameron, but between DDX meetings and tests he hadn’t found the time. Now it was on his desk, looking at him, reminding him that he failed. She was dead because they had done something wrong somewhere.

Where? What did they do wrong?

Something stupid and emotional prompted him to reach forward and grab the dog. It was a golden retriever, filled mostly with stuffing with beads in the paws to allow it to sit upright. The lab coat it was wearing was cheaply made compared to the rest of it, and the flimsy stethoscope was curled up on itself. He smoothed it down with his finger and gave the dog’s head an absent scratch. The ambient hospital sounds outside blurred over, and it was like the only two things left in the world were him and this little toy dog. His hand brushed over a rough spot in the fur. A small portion of the fluff was matted with a hard neon green substance. Jello. Madalyn had probably finished her cup of lime flavoured hospital jello and then buried her sticky face on top of its head without thinking about it, like every dumb little kid.

But she wouldn’t have any more jello. She wouldn’t cuddle any more stuffies because they failed her. Madalyn was dead.

His eyes began to burn, and a wall of fuzz crowded his brain without his permission. No. Not right now. Go away. He couldn’t be small like this. Not here, sitting in his office with a dead girl’s stuffed animal, and not now, when his fellows would be back any minute for a debriefing on the case. But the fuzz wouldn’t listen, and the urge to squeeze the dog to his chest and cry only grew stronger. Did Madalyn feel like this? So small and out-of-control? 

It was like his adult brain was being smothered in a warm blanket, both comforting and terrifying. He hated slipping, and he hated it even more when it was caused by something like this. It was his job, death happened all the time. He gave in and hugged the dog tight. But it was his fault, and she was so little. He didn’t mean to let her die. She wasn’t supposed to die.

-

Cameron clicked her tongue and sat back on her heels. She’d asked every way she could think of; concerned co-worker, worried friend, stern request, she’d even broke down and patient-voiced him, a tone that should have had House snapping at her for daring to express pity, but nothing could get House to tell them what on earth was going on. All they knew was that they’d failed to diagnose Madalyn in time, that she had passed away, and suddenly House was crying at his desk with his face shoved into a gift shop stuffed dog and refusing to speak to them.

She turned to Foreman and Chase, who were hovering awkwardly by the door. “So… differential?”

Chase ran a hand through his hair, perplexed. “Jeez I dunno, brain tumour?” His tone was equal parts sarcasm and genuine suggestion.

“Maybe he finally snapped and this is some kind of mental breakdown?” Foreman suggested. “Who knows, maybe this patient finally got to him.”

“Patients don’t just ‘get to him’, though. We’ve lost people before who were a lot younger than—“

House cut her off with a little sob, and she startled. Madalyn’s death hit them all hard, but hearing House cry twisted something deep in her stomach.

“I think it’s safe to say this is about the patient.” Chase said flatly, then he squinted and pointed at the stuffed dog. “Is that the dog she gave him?”

Cameron raised an eyebrow. “Madalyn gave him her toy? And he kept it?”

“Yeah, yesterday, when I was doing her lumbar puncture.”

House really was clutching the dog like his life depended on it. She’d never seen him act anything like this, and if she was being honest, it was a bit unsettling. Everything about his body language screamed scared, curled up on himself like he was trying to hide away from them.

“Oh, no way…” Chase muttered under his breath, and she and Foreman looked at him expectantly. “He’s nonverbal, the dog, the crying, the hiding… What if it’s age regression? He was stressed out, he was upset about Madalyn’s de— the case, and her toy could’ve triggered it.”

Instantly House tensed up in his chair, and that was enough to confirm Chase’s theory.

“If our boss is mentally a child, does mean I’m in charge?” Foreman said after a long moment of silence.

Cameron rolled her eyes and turned back to House. The only way they were going to be able to help was if House told them how. “House, have you ever felt like this before?” She asked gently, but not too gently. Even if he had the thought process of a child, it was still House. 

She had to stop herself from chuckling when he tried glaring back at her over the head of the dog. While it was a valiant effort, through his wet eyes and red face it turned into more of a sad pout. Still, he gave a short nod anyway. It was both surprising and relieving to find out that the regression was at least something House seemed to be familiar with, whether intentionally or not.

“Okay, uh… good! What do you usually do when you feel like this? How can we help?” She prodded a little further, maybe a little too far into pity-territory, because House made a disgusted face.

“Go.” He said, like he was trying to order them, but it came out weak.

Cameron looked back at Chase and Foreman, who both gave her similar unhelpful stares. Great. Thanks, guys. “Are you sure? It’d make me feel better if one of us stayed here with you, just to make sure—“

“No!” House physically recoiled at the suggestion like she had just spit on him, then let out a whiny huffing sound. “…Wilson.”

Chase snorted behind her. Cameron ignored him. “You want us to get Wilson? Okay. Yeah, sure, we can do that.” She turned to glare at Chase. “Make yourself useful and go find Wilson, would you?”

Thankfully, it didn’t take long for Chase to return with Wilson in toe, looking concerned but calm.

He took Cameron’s place in front of House. “Okay, fill me in? What happened?”

“We lost a patient today, and when we came back for the debriefing, he was acting like this,” Cameron said, “We’re pretty sure it’s—“

“Regression.” Wilson filled in. He didn’t elaborate any further and she didn’t press him for details, but it did make her wonder; just how much did Wilson know about House regressing?  

“…Yeah. Um, does he need anything? What can we do?”

“Honestly? Leave.” Wilson said bluntly, but his expression was soft. “You three should go home, get some sleep. He’ll be fine, I’ve got him.”

It felt wrong to leave when House was obviously still upset, but she trusted Wilson. If that was what he thought was best, then they would listen. She glanced to Foreman and Chase, who nodded and left to gather their things.

After lingering for an extra second, just to make sure she wasn’t needed in some way, she went to follow them. As she opened the door, she turned and gave House a little wave goodbye. “Feel better, House. We’ll see you tomorrow.”

[dead-boys-club]

†  a day out : kawata twins.

❥ scenario: tagging along on a day out. ❥ no triggers; not rated. ❥ i don't have any beta readers - you get what you get. ❥ requested! for @ryuukeymir -- i am super sorry it took so long to get out. muse is a struggle.

❥ i am going to be 100% honest and say: i loathe this <333 but here ya go.

roaming the busy streets of shibuya, enjoying a rare day off, you were expecting to grab a few things and head home but that wasn't possible when you spotted two familiar faces in the crowd. the twins were pretty easy to recognize and of course, you couldn't just not say anything to them. you decided against sneaking up on them, recalling what happened last time you made such a silly mistake.

'hey!' you called, waving as you dodged people to get closer.

nahoya's smile widened, which you didn't know was possible, while souya's expression softened in the slightest. 'hey there, pretty boy. fancy running into you here,' nahoya greeted, instantly lifting your spirits, immediately pulling you in by the shoulders when you got close enough.

souya offered a small nod acknowledgement, head falling into a tilt. 'what brings you out here?' he asked, tone a lot friendlier than his expression would suggest.

'just.. wandering around, finally got a day off. you guys?' you questioned, sinking into the olders side. you generally didn't make too many affectionate gestures towards souya as he preferred those things to be done in private.

'we were thinking of grabbing some food, maybe hitting up a few arcades or something,' the pinkette shrugged, 'wanna tag along?'

'a day out with you two? am i going to say no?' you mused, eyebrow raising.

your response was met with an eyeroll and a headshake. as the three of you went about your adventure, chatting and joking, looking for somewhere new to eat, you at some point shifted from one side to the middle. between the light hearted jokes and dry humor, you found yourself stuck in the midst of a perfectly balanced exchange, highly amused with just listening to the back and forth. following a meal, you wandered through the shopping district, stopping at random stores to check out little trinkets and cool clothes.

of course, you stubbornly denied any gifts. and, as always, that was met with the same stubborn attitude when you ended up with said gifts anyway. you'd been prepared to blow your last paycheck but that apparently wasn't going to be an option. the only answer you got being 'you should have known better.'

the arcade was mostly nahoya's zone, challenging you and his brother to various games that didn't go in either of your favor. though, his competitive spirit was always contagious which lead to your defeat in a far too intense battle of air hockey. you left him to his own devices after another round, joining souya in his successful endeavor with the claw machines. you weren't sure when but he'd, at some point, grown a collection of winnings.

being dark and not very populated, you tested the waters by settling your chin on his shoulder, hugging him lightly from behind. 'whatcha trying to get?' you asked quietly but you didn't get a verbal response, just watched the claw drop down around a little blue bear. you didn't really need an answer at that point.

'you're a natural at this, huh?' you mumbled as the bear was dropped to the door, pulling back for him to collect him. you couldn't remember the last time you won something from a claw machine, let alone more than one something.

'it's just practice,' he answered with a faint blush and the ghost of a smile forming as he handed the bear off to you. you just beamed and hugged it close, glancing around before planting a kiss on his cheek.

the day went by in a blur, leaving the three of you on a bench, taking the moment to relax from all the walking and fooling around. the sun was beginning to set, vibrant colors painting the sky.

'today was pretty fun,' nahoya spoke up, leaning back on his palms with a sigh.

'yeah,' you nodded a little, glancing over to him. 'we should do this more often.. i'll try to get a better routine with my schedules.' you smiled sheepishly, knowing that most of your time spent together was at home thanks to being busy or tired.

souya nodded in agreement. 'i wouldn't mind that.'

the walk home was easy, swinging both of their hands. as much as you didn't want the evening to end, it had to and soon enough you were waving by as they headed off. you were already on your phone, trying to figure out when you'd have the time again.

[ave09]

free

indiana jones x wife!reader

note: this is inspired by true events. this has never happened but the character of “your mother” is inspired by my own, a woman who has such high expectations for me and is very controlling that it literally kills me. i was going through a tough time and ended up writing this because i like to force my problems onto fictional characters and the only one i could seek comfort in was indiana jones.

“this is a lovely meal, honey.” 

a smile graced your lips as indiana complimented you, shooting you a dazzling grin as he continued to shove more of the delicious food into his mouth. 

on the other side of the table, your mother grimaced, “are you positive you peeled the skin off of the shrimp?” 

you fought the urge to scream.

since you were little, your mother was adamant on making sure you did everything correctly. she had very high expectations , ones that you sometimes struggled to reach. 

you thought that things would be different now that you were an adult. you had your own home, your own life, your own husband. there should’ve been nothing to correct.

and yet she found a way.

the moment the woman entered your home, she had made comments about the decor. it was simple pastels, mixed with some artifacts on display that indiana had brought home.

“you should put those away. they clash.”

“they’re beautiful. indy wouldn’t bring something home if it didn’t somehow find a way to fit in.” 

“tell him to do better.”

you liked how the house was set up. you had a vision, and you’d achieved it. but now here your mother was, finding a way to slander it.

to the unknowing eye, one would think she was trying to help. of course, that’s what she thought she was doing. but you had endured twenty-five long years of constant criticism and correcting.

you couldn’t bear it.

her next comment was about your clothing. you were clad in a beautiful sundress that indiana had gifted you with when he returned from a visit to cairo. it had been a gift from your good friend sallah. 

it was chic and comfortable, and you adored it.

but your mother did not.

“what are you wearing?” she had asked.

you frowned, “a dress?”

she wrinkled her nose, “i am not a fan of the style.” of course she wasn’t. your mother was known to wear modest conserving clothing. this dress that hugged your curves and displayed some cleavage seemed to be a sin to her. 

“it’s beautiful, mom.” you had replied, wishing that indiana would return home soon so you wouldn’t have to deal with her alone.

when your were younger, your father had always defended you. he was there in those late nights where you sobbed, believing you weren’t enough because you could fulfill your mother’s wishes.

but since the divorce, he had been living in london, as far away from your mother as possible.

only indiana could save you now.

it had been an hour or so since her arrival when indiana returned home. he had been catching up on grading schoolwork and had gotten caught up with marcus, who apparently had another job for him.

you were happy for him when he came home with the news.

your mother was not.

“henry, i do not understand how you can just leave your wife at home all alone.” 

indiana furrowed his brows, “she’s a strong woman. plus, i think she likes it when i’m gone.”

you had rolled your eyes, “oh yes because i love it when my husband is halfway around the world.” 

you were joking of course. the sarcasm in your voice was prominent. you loved when indiana went away mainly because of the happiness it gave him.

exploring the world was his calling. and often times he’d take you with him. after all, he couldn’t always leave without his best girl.

and of course, your mother did not approve once again.

“it cannot be healthy! leaving her all alone! i couldn’t bear it.” she then turned to you, a rude comment ready on her tongue. you weren’t prepared. you were currently setting the table for the delicious supper you’d been working on all evening. it was a special italian shrimp sauce, one that was usually reserved for christmas in your childhood home.

because your mother was coming over, you wanted to prove that you could make it just as good.

prove that you could do something right.

“maybe you should’ve married that scientist your father was friends with.. what was his name..?” 

you almost dropped the plate you were holding, glancing at indiana who held the same expression you did.

how dare she?

you watched as indiana’s fists clenched, and you were sure he was going to lose it soon. 

so you set down the plates and took matters into your own hands, “i love indy, mom. he is a great husband who treats me well. i am very thankful to have him.”

“of course, but-“

“would you like a drink, mom? i bought that brand of red that you like.” this was a distraction, you needed to escape for even a few minutes. “indy? love, could you help me?”

he nodded, “of course honey.” and follows you into the kitchen. you exhaled deeply, moving toward the alcohol cabinet, “the nerve of that woman.” he humbled, leaning against the counter, “i tell ya, sweetheart, if she wasn’t your mother, i’d have kicked her to the curb.”

you stifled a laugh, “tell me about it..” you retrieved the bottle of wine, handing it to your husband, “open that for me?” he obliged, and then you moved to the refrigerator, retrieving a large bottle of vodka, one that was only brought out on special occasions.

you lifted the bottle to your lips, taking a large swig. indiana stared at you in concern, “take it easy on that.” he said, but didn’t try and stop you. you were stressed, and if this was the only way to cool your nerves now, then so be it. 

you took a few more gulps, placing the bottle onto the counter, your head falling into your hands, “why do i even try anymore?” you murmured. 

“you’re a daughter trying to have a relationship with her mother. it’s not a crime.”

you sighed deeply, blinking back tears. you could hear the clink of the wine glasses, and suddenly indiana’s arms were around you, embracing you tightly. 

this was what you needed. an escape. a way out from these unachievable expectations. 

indiana was your escape.

he pressed a soft kiss to your temple, “just one hour left, baby. one hour, and she’s gone. okay?” 

you nodded slowly, “yeah. yeah, one hour.” you glanced up at him, a soft smile toying on your lips, “thank you for being here.”

“i’m always here, sweetheart.” he leaned forward, his lips encasing yours in a sweet kiss.

“where’s the wine!”

you stifled a groan, “duty calls.” you muttered. 

and now here you were, at the dinner table, doing everything in your power not to cry. she did not deserve your tears.

“yes mom, i bought the already peeled shrimp.” you replied coolly. she wrinkled her nose in disgust, “something isn’t right, did you buy the correct sauce? it was bold of you to try and recreate such a meal, i had hope looking at it, but eating it now, there’s something wrong-“

you couldn’t do it. 

“oh my god, just because it isn’t your way doesn’t mean i did something wrong!” you exclaimed, your patience gone. your mother’s eyes widened, “are you really getting upset with me because i corrected you?”

you scoffed, setting down your utensils, “mom, the moment you walked into my house, you’ve insulted my home, you’ve insulted my husband, and you have insulted me.”

“oh please-“

you rose quickly in your seat, chair clattering against the hardwood floor, shocking both indiana and your mother.

“for twenty-five goddamn years i have tried. i have tried so fucking hard to be good. i wanted to make you proud, that’s all i’ve ever wanted. but lately, i have come to the realization that… i will never be good enough for you.” 

tears threatened to spill but you blinked them away. just a few more seconds. finish what you need to say.

“and i’m sorry. i am. but, i’m not going to do this anymore, i’m not going to be put down constantly just because i cannot achieve your high expectations. so,” you took a deep breath, “i want you to leave.” 

your mother rose from her chair, almost as if challenging you. “what did you just say?”

“oh i’m sorry, maybe i wasn’t clear enough-get the fuck out of my house.” 

she gasped, offended. but you did not care, not anymore. 

your mother huffed, grabbing her purse, “you are no daughter of mine.” 

“fine by me.” you shot back, and without another word, you turned on your heel and rushed upstairs. 

indiana was absolutely surprised by your actions, but he could not be more proud of you. all your life you’d followed orders like a soldier, and now you finally stood up to her. 

he was beaming with pride. your mother turned to him, narrowing her eyes, “you are a bad influence, henry. you have ruined her.” 

 “didn’t my wife just tell you to get the fuck out?” 

it wasn’t long before she left. indiana locked the door behind her before he went upstairs. the master bedroom door was closed. he rapped his knuckles against the wooden door, “sweetheart? you okay?” 

his hand grasped the door handle, pushing it open. he found you curled in a ball in the corner of the room, your head buried into your knees. he rushed toward you, dropping to his knees, “hey, hey, it’s alright.” 

your shoulders shook with sobs. you didn’t know what you were feeling, happiness, sadness, but there was one thing you certainly felt, and that was freedom. the chains of perfection had been taken off. 

you were free.

indiana pulled you close to him, rubbing your back soothingly, “you did it, baby. you stood your ground-you stood your ground and i am so proud of you.” 

maybe you were never able to make your mother feel proud of you, but you had made indiana swell with pride by doing the simple actions.

and his approval was all you needed.

he kissed your forehead gently, resting his head against yours, “you’re free baby. you’re finally free.” 

[the-iceni-bitch]

𝐂𝐚𝐧 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐏𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐢𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐎𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐖𝐢𝐧𝐝?

Relationship: Ransom Drysdale x Jake Jensen (Gem and Blondie, NLLYL: Before)

Words: ~3.3k

Summary: Ransom doesn’t want to go, but he can’t stay.

Warnings: explicit language, brief mention of m/m sex, ANGST!!!! Angst, angst, angst, angst, angst, homophobia, implied use of the f-slur, dysfunctional family, so much self-hatred. 18+ ONLY (due to the AU)

A/N: You may have been expecting more Kinktober, but apparently it’s Angst-mas. Listen, all of us knew this was coming but that doesn’t make it hurt less. Just remember they both end up where they need to be and that I am so sorry for doing this to all of you 😭

I am no longer doing taglists so if you want to stay up to date on my fics follow my sideblog @the-iceni-library and turn on notifications.

Ransom took another uncomfortable sip of beer and looked around at all of Jake’s family as he sat next to his boyfriend. It was weird, he was so used to dysfunction and drama that being around so many people who actually seemed happy to be related to each other made his skin crawl. He didn’t know how he was supposed to interact with these people. Even though Jake was sitting right next to him and holding his hand, he felt alone.

That didn’t stop him from smiling like he knew he should be. His thoughts may have been filled with anxiety but his WASP upbringing meant he could put on a good face no matter what. When Jake squeezed his hand he squeezed it back, beaming at his boyfriend even as he wondered at how he could possibly be a part of this man’s life when he was so colossally fucked up. He felt like he was waiting for the other shoe to drop in relation to him being a terrible person, and he hated it.

“Hey,” Jake’s smile dropped a little when he looked at Ransom’s face, his eyes full of concern which only made Ransom want to throw up. “Are you okay? I know Sam Adams is kind of basic beer, I can run to the store if you want something different.”

“No, I’m fine.” Ransom lied, smiling even wider to hopefully cover for the tightness in his throat. “Everything is great, your family is wonderful.”

Jake was about to say something else, he could tell, but fortunately Jake’s sister chose that moment to stand up with her husband. Her grin was huge and she was bouncing on her toes, and even with his anxiety Ransom couldn’t stop a chuckle when Jake started bouncing too. It took a few minutes for everything to die down and then she was finally able to get out the words she had apparently been holding back all night.

“We’re pregnant!!”

The uproar of pure joy was deafening, and it only got more intense when the sonogram was revealed. Every member of the Jensen clan started hugging each other, some of them even cried. Jake was one of the criers, running to his sister and dragging Ransom behind him until he wrapped her in an enormous bear hug.

Ransom felt a little better now that all the attention wasn’t on him as the boyfriend they’d never met before. Or at least he felt better until he heard the word “uncle” directed at him.

“What?” His mouth was suddenly very dry and his smile felt more forced than ever.

“You’re gonna be ‘Uncle Ransom’. Isn’t that exciting?” Jake’s sister beamed at him until Jake poked her in the arm, shaking her head but still keeping that jubilant smile on her face. “Or… you know, sorry. Mom!!”

The rest of the afternoon was a blur for Ransom. A happy, noisy, gut wrenching blur. He didn’t think he’d actually finished the beer he had been holding, and he was vaguely aware of people moving around him but nothing else registered. All he could think about was how fucking serious things were. Up to a certain point he had already been aware, but that was just with him and Jake. Jake’s entire apparently fantastic family had never entered his mind until that day, and he could not figure out how he was supposed to fit in with all of them. Especially as an uncle. The only uncle he’d known was Walt, and he was just awful. He couldn’t be around kids. He probably shouldn’t even be a part of any sort of functional family.

Before he knew it he and Jake were home. He hated the way his boyfriend was looking at him, like he wanted to stay so happy about his sister’s news but also could tell that Ransom was lost in his fucked up emotions. So he managed to put on a placating smile, ignoring the ache in his stomach and his racing pulse when he told Jake how happy he was about him getting to be a fun uncle. His freakout was saved for when he managed to get in the shower after Jake got ready for bed, sitting on the bottom of the tub and breathing painfully while the hot water washed over him and he tried not to feel like such an utter bastard. All night he obsessed about how he didn’t deserve the man he was sharing his bed with, and how much easier things would be if he could bring himself to either talk to Jake or just leave.

It was like that for the next two weeks. Ransom’s cheeks hurt from all the fake smiling and acting cheerful each night when he went to bed. The only time he seemed able to relax was when he and Jake were having sex, and even then he felt like he was being an asshole for trying to distract himself with his boyfriend’s body, so he tried not to do it unless Jake was adamant about it. He knew Jake could tell something was wrong, and as much as he loved the man for knowing that asking would just make Ransom more stubborn, he almost wished the blond would just do it. Maybe if he finally broke down things could get better.

But he didn’t really want to break down. Ransom knew himself, he wasn’t a man who thrived on deep and meaningful conversations. He couldn’t believe how grateful he was when he got an invitation to some boring party for Linda’s real estate firm. A year and a half without a word from his mother or anyone else in his family and all of a sudden he was invited to some fancy soirée out of the blue. Yeah, he hated his family, but he hated what he was feeling around Jake right now even more. He even considered just telling Jake he was going and then drinking himself to oblivion in some random hotel, but he did miss Harlan, and if the old man was going to be there, hopefully Ransom could get his grandfather to talk some sense into him.

“You’re sure you don’t want me to go, Gem?” Jake looked so earnest and sweet while he helped Ransom with his tie and it made him feel like the slimiest douche in the world. “I’m pretty charming. You could introduce me as your ‘roommate’.”

“I’m sure, Jake.” Ransom couldn’t even bring himself to call Jake by his nickname, he hated himself. “Trust me, aside from the food and the open bar, it’s going to suck massively.”

“Okay.” Jake leaned up to peck Ransom on the lips and he couldn’t stop himself from pulling the blond closer for just a moment. “Call me if you need a ride.”

Ransom promised he would, kissing Jake deeply for some unknown reason and looking into his eyes before saying goodbye. It felt painful and he couldn’t figure out why, like it was somehow more permanent and he wasn’t going to be home in just a few hours.

The hotel was sufficiently swanky for what he knew his mother’s expectations would be. He was even more glad that he hadn’t let Jake tag along, handing the valet the keys to that ancient jeep would have been especially awkward. There were so many blue bloods packed into the ballroom that Ransom could practically smell the old money, and he wasn’t impressed. While he was scowling and trying to get his bearings his mother found him, immediately making a stress headache begin behind his left eye.

“Hello Ransom.” God, he’d forgotten how fake the woman was. That smile was showing far too many teeth. “Thank you so much for coming. How have you been?”

“You’re really going to act like you care, mother?” Ransom let her embrace him since he didn’t feel like making a scene, but he hated every second of it. “Where’s Harlan?”

“Your grandfather wasn’t feeling his best so he’s resting at home.” Linda refused to let go of his arm when he stepped back. “But I’m very glad you’re here. There’s someone I want you to meet. This is Sloane Hargreaves.”

Linda gestured to a young woman who looked like every social climber’s wet dream, with eerily straight and white teeth and not a single blonde hair on her head out of place. She was attractive, but her eyes were sharp and cunning, like she was constantly assessing how she could maneuver a situation to her advantage. Everything about her presence put Ransom on edge, especially when she shook his hand and she let out a laugh that was just shy of shrill.

“Yeah, nice to meet you.” Ransom had to yank his hand away from her. Pretty or not she was freaking him out. “If Harlan isn’t I’m going to head home, Linda. There’s no reason for me to be here.”

“Nonsense. It’s not like you have someone to go home to.” Oh, he did not like the way Linda’s eyes glittered when she said that. “Be a gentleman and escort this lonely young lady for the night. What could it hurt?”

Aside from his patience he couldn’t come up with anything, so he just shrugged and let the bourgeois waif wind her arm through his. The way she was clinging to him didn’t help him relax at all, nor did the constant inane chatter. That combined with the cloud of Chanel No. 5 that hovered around her made his headache even worse. All he wanted was to go drink and forget about his fucked up family and the boyfriend to whom he was scared to commit.

He didn’t even know how long it had been before Sloane finally left him alone to go to the ladies room, but it was far too long. Ransom was on the far side of the room from the exit, but he still tried to make a break for it, cursing to himself under his breath when his mother intercepted him with that same, phony smile on her face.

“Now now, why are you rushing off so soon?” Linda sank her claws into his arm and steered him towards a secluded table. “I haven’t talked to you in so long and you’re already leaving.”

“Who’s fault is that?” He took the scotch she handed him and downed it in one gulp. “Why did you even bother inviting me here?”

“What, I can’t miss my son?” Linda scoffed when he just scowled at her, tapping her manicured nails against the tabletop with irritation. “Fine. Your grandfather has been talking about missing you quite a bit and is adamant about letting you back into the family. He’s gotten the idea in his head that you must have made something of yourself if you haven’t come back begging on your knees by now.”

“What’s the catch?” Ransom snorted when she tried to look coy. “C’mon, Linda. There’s no way you’d be thinking of letting me back in if there wasn’t something in it for you.”

“You’re too goddamn smart for your own good.” She muttered under her breath and shook her head before addressing him again. “I know, Ransom.”

“You know?” Ransom chuckled a few times before freezing when he saw the smug look on her face. “What do you know?”

“I know about your… god, I can’t even call it a job.” Linda sneered when Ransom seemed to shrink in on himself, leaning forward as she went in for the kill. “Not just a sex worker, but a sex worker for fa…”

“Stop.” If he had to hear that word come out of her mouth he would start crying, and he didn’t want to give her the satisfaction. “Just stop.”

“You have your disgusting job, your piece of shit apartment, and that little boy toy you’ve been fooling around with.” She tutted when Ransom buried his face in his hands and groaned. “It’s ridiculous and uncouth. I’ll not have you parading your vulgar plaything around in front of the family or our friends.”

“They're not my friends, mother.” He felt like he was going to be sick. “He’s not a toy, I love him.”

“Oh for fuck’s sake, no you don’t.” Linda sipped on her wine while she watched her son crumble in front of her without an ounce of sympathy. “You love money and being a damn pain in the ass, and as much fun as you might have introducing that fruit to society, I won’t have it. Break it off.”

“No.” Ransom shook his head and barely kept his feet as he tried to hold back a panic attack. “I don’t want to come back if I have to leave him.”

“Oh really?” She cocked her head as she gazed at him with those predatory eyes. “You come back and date that pretty, sweet blonde girl who was hanging on your arm all night and I’ll pay for everything.” When she saw Ransom go completely still she knew she had him. “I have a house all ready for you just a half an hour from Harlan’s, that gorgeous vintage BMW you always wanted, and you’ll get to be part of an important family again. All the parties, all the events, and status. Tell me you don’t want it.”

Ransom felt like the bottom just dropped out of his world. He couldn’t do this. He was a bastard but not that big of a bastard. But he was a bastard. He was dysfunctional and repressed. He was in love with Jake but he was terrified of what that meant. He didn’t know how he could possibly fit into that man’s life and make him as happy as he deserved, because Ransom knew that he didn’t deserve the happiness that Jake did. It could be better if he let him find his own way now, before he had the chance to hurt him even worse. Ransom should only be around assholes, he always knew it, the fact that he was considering this just confirmed it.

By the time he climbed into a cab to go back to the apartment he was drunk. Miserable and drunk. The pool of self pity he was wallowing in was so deep he couldn’t see the bottom. He couldn’t even find his keys, he had to have Jake buzz him up.

“Hi gem, how was it?” Jake turned around on the couch to greet him and his face immediately fell. “Oh Ransom…”

“I can’t… I can’t do this.” Ransom couldn’t bring himself to look at Jake, leaning against the wall and sinking to the floor as he buried his face in his hands. “I’m sorry.”

“Oh baby, no.” Jake jumped over the back of the couch and went to sit in front of Ransom on the floor. “Don’t apologize, you never have to apologize to me. Tell me what’s wrong.”

“Me, I’m what’s wrong.” Ransom was choking on his words but was determined to not look like the terrified little boy he felt like. “I’m too fucked up for this. I’m too fucked up for you. I can’t give you what you want.”

“All I want is you, Ransom.” Jake reached out to him and flinched when Ransom recoiled. “Just you, that’s it.”

“No it isn’t. How the fuck could it be?” Ransom could hear the pain in Jake’s voice but couldn’t stop now. “You want the family outings and to be ‘uncle Jake’ and domestic bliss. I can’t do that shit, Jake. I can hardly be in the same room as kids, much less have any of my own.”

“Ran…” Jake saw the tears falling from Ransom’s eyes and he lost it, sobbing and gripping Ransom’s hand in spite of the man trying to pull away. “As long as we fucking talk to each other we can make it. You don’t have to do this. I know you feel like you fucking do because yes, your family is that fucked up, but you don’t. I’m here for you, for whatever you need. I love you.”

“I…” Ransom wanted to tell him he didn’t love him, but that was such a fucking lie it got caught in his throat. “I have to go, Jake. I need to leave. I should be back with my family.”

“I can be your family, Ransom.” Jake couldn’t stop himself from pulling Ransom close and wrapping his arms around him. “My family can be your family. You deserve to be loved, to have a family that cares about you. I promise Ransom, you deserve the world. Please believe me.”

“I… I can’t.” Ransom finally crumbled and wept as he embraced Jake in turn. “I’m sorry, I just can’t. I want to, but I can’t. Jake, I have to go back.”

“Ransom,” both of them were a mess but that didn’t stop Jake from kissing Ransom like he was his last breath of air. “I love you so much, goddamn it. I am not going to make you stay, but you should, you can. God, please fucking stay.”

Ransom kissed him back. It was desperate, full of longing and pain. He wished the world would end before the kiss would, but then he had to breathe and reality came crashing around him. His eyes met Jake’s again and he saw the last glimmer of hope die, and he hated himself for killing it.

“I love you, Jake Jensen.” Ransom kissed Jake’s forehead and rose to his feet, staggering towards the door so he could spend the night somewhere else where he wouldn’t have to see the suffering on the face of the man he loved. “But I don’t deserve you. You’ll find someone better, I know you will.”

“Ransom, fuck, just wait.” Jake ran after him and grabbed his wrist to turn him back around. “I’m not stopping you, and I’m not going to tell you that this isn’t the most painful thing anyone has ever put me through, but I’m not going to fucking hate you. You can try all you want, but I love you, I’ll always fucking love you, and all I want is for you to be happy. If it can’t be with me, it should be with someone amazing. Don’t let your family fuck you up any worse, okay?”

“Goddamn it, don’t be such a fucking grownup, Jake.” Ransom had to stop himself from kissing the man again, wrenching himself out of Jake’s grip and running a hand through his hair. “You can keep all my shit. You should forget my number. Goodbye.”

As soon as the door closed behind him he felt his heart freeze over, the sound of Jake’s muffled sobs washing over him as he called himself a cab and went down the stairs. He managed to keep it together for the next week, his face stony and his jaw clenched as he let his mother get him set up in the new house. He even went on a date with the daughter of the upper crust family Linda foisted on him, and Christ was she boring.

It wasn’t until he was moved in, the furniture still wrapped in plastic and a few boxes left to unpack, before he let himself grieve who he’d lost and what he had done to the man he loved, collapsing on the floor and sobbing violently as the moon rose through the trees surrounding his new home. Jake was wrong, he was an absolute and total bastard who deserved nothing but unending pain for the rest of his life. So he let himself feel it, determined to never let go of the anguish that he had brought on himself.

[howi99]

A Qrow's nest prologue 3

Ozpin: *drink from his thermos* I heard what happened yesterday.

Qrow: *sweating* Ozpin i-

Ozpin: *stopping him with a hand gestures* I'm not mad, Qrow. In fact, i probably would be mad if you did nothing instead. *Look at Cinder* Tell me, Cinder, what is your age?

Cinder: *hiding behind Qrow* I'm 8... I think.

Ozpin: *shaking his head* She looks clearly malnourished. *Look at Qrow* i wanted to talk to you in private but...

Qrow: *putting a hand on Cinder's head* She doesn't really trust anyone and i can't really blame her. *Look at her* She reminds me of myself when i was her age. *Kneel at her height* Cinder, would you like visiting Beacon?

Cinder: *slowly acquiesce*

Qrow: *smile* I have a friend, she looks mean but she would protect everyone she could with her very life. I'd like for you to visit the school with her.

Cinder: ... Will you leave me behind?

Qrow: *shaking his head* No. I promised, didn't i? I just need to have a talk with my friend. *Looking at Ozpin*

Ozpin: *smile* I'm sure Glynda would be thrilled to guide you, she may look grumpy but she's a real human teddy bear.

Cinder: Ok...

_________

10 minutes later, when Glynda took Cinder to see the premise

Qrow: Now, what did you want to tell me?

Ozpin: As you know, after the fiasco of yesterday you won't be able to enter in Atlas, at least for a time.

Qrow: Ironwood told me i should stay low for a time.

Ozpin: *shaking his head* I will need your help for something. Theirs an augmentation in grimm attack near a certain SDC mining operation.

Qrow: That's unsurprising.

Ozpin: I don't think you understand, it's alarming and clearly something is going on. I'll need you to work as security for the mine and see what's really happening.

Qrow: *sigh* Ozpin, i'd be "thrilled" to go fight grimm for a scummy company, but i kinda have to take care of an eight years old.

Ozpin: She could be the perfect alibi for you to enter their services. A single father huntsman down on his luck.

Qrow: You can't be serious! I won't bring a child near a place you specifically said was getting attacked by grimm!

Ozpin: You wouldn't be alone. Glynda would be following you and i did give you the gift of flight for a reason. You'd be able to live in the city while working at the mine.

Qrow: Still, why not sending Glynda by herself?

Ozpin: You know damn well she is far too known by the public. She is the youngest person to have become professor at Beacon.

Qrow: *roll his eyes* Then what about Arc?

Ozpin: Still pregnant. And Verdant is already working on something else.

Qrow: Again!? Isn't that her 7th?

Ozpin: 7th and 8th. She's having twins.

Qrow: For fuck sake. Fine! What's good having allies when they are always unavailable?

Ozpin: *smiling* You shouldn't have been this reliable Qrow.

_____

Cinder: So uh....

Glynda: You can call me Glynda.

Cinder: Ok. So, Glynda, what is this room?

Glynda: This is the library, dear. It's... My favorite place in the school.

Cinder: Oh?

Glynda: Yes. I like the atmosphere of the place. *Looking at cinder who didn't understand* The feeling of it, if you prefer.

Cinder: Oh!

Glynda: I particularly like reading adventures novel and romance but don't tell Qrow, he still believes i only read study material.

Cinder: How did you meet him?

Glynda: Hm? Oh, he tried hitting on me when we were in the same year.

Cinder: Did you date him?

Glynda: *a bit of pink appearing in her features* N-no! Of course not! He was a slacker and a complete slob!

Cinder: And what about now?

Glynda: W-well, he did get better... I think. But still far too immature!.. maybe i should tell you of some of his misadventures?

Qrow: *appearing from behind a door* Should i tell her about when you outdrank me during the dance?

Glynda: QROW!? When did you arrive?

Qrow: Around the time you called me a slob? *Look at Cinder* Hey kid, i need to talk with you.

Glynda : *getting back her calm* Did you come to an agreement with Ozpin?

Qrow: Apparently WE *point at them then himself* Have to go to mistral for a bit.

Cinder: *shake her head* I hate Mistral, everyone is mean.

Qrow: *sigh* I feel you kid, but we sadly have no choice. Though it's not for long, about 2 weeks.

Cinder: ok... Do i have the time to read a book?

Qrow: Uh? *Look at the library* Oh yeah, we don't leave until next week anyway. You got the time.

Cinder: *looking happy* Glynda! Show me your favorite book!

Glynda: *wincing* I-i'll try. *Goes with Cinder inside the library*

Qrow: ... She better not give her the smut she was reading in hiding back in the day.

End of first prologue, 3 more to go!

[glasskey]

Nick & June's Mix tape Vol. 1

Today I’m going to be sharing some of my favorite Nick and June tracks that have us all hitting rewind over and over and over and over……..after all, who doesn’t love a good mix tape?

Oranges & Tuna

This is the first time we meet Nick but given June’s familiarity, it’s not the first time she has. In Atwood’s text, Nick sounds like a bit of alright and the POV camera shot when June comes down the stairs IS a touch pervy.

Nick’s working with his sleeves rolled up, sweating and judging by the wanton looks it seems June’s in no particular rush to go shopping. She also seems to know quite a bit about him already, including the fact that he’s single. In her head, June’s already inviting Nick down to the oyster house bar for a drink, a subtle reference to a well-known aphrodisiac. It takes all of 10 seconds for Nick to start flirting with her, by telling June a gag about not being a pescatarian. It’s a fact which June purposefully ignores, in order to return his flirtation, and that’s it, that’s all it takes…..Nick’s fucked.

Throughout the next few episodes we see that Nick can neither believe nor resist June’s audacity. Nick knows he should say something when he sees her legs uncovered but he says nothing and simply stares. The sound of the lid closing on the box in front of him is like a trap snapping shut.

He can’t resist standing waaaaay too close and stroking her hand when he brings her ice, the heat is palpable. Nick now knows he’s in serious trouble and June is left reeling. Throughout season 1 these two are constantly measuring and testing each-others boundaries, but honestly from the second Nick told his tuna fish gag, he may as well have waved a white flag.

You shouldn’t wear anything for me

Sweet mother of Mercy. Apparently the sight of June’s naked body has turned Nick Blaine into the master of the double entendre overnight. Season 1 sees Nick pulling the jokes out left and right, first with the tuna fish gag and now this. Nick can hardly keep a straight face as he delivers it and June barely stifles a chuckle. This casual comment is not only a statement about June never changing her appearance to please him, but also one about how desirable he finds her, naked and unmanicured.

This is also the first time we see these two perform their infamous hand brushing and it’s literally breathtaking for the both of them. It’s a moment steeped in danger, electricity and passion, as you sense them both recalling their previous night together. Glowing lights seem to follow these two around like a spell, and as they intertwine their fingers a luminous orb appears between their hands.

I’d like to say that June ever stood a chance at resisting the foxy driver’s charms but I’d be lying. He’s hot AF, lives less than 200 feet away and flirts with her shamelessly, this was all a done deal long ago. In Atwood’s text, these two can barely keep their hands off each other and Nick is described as absolutely fascinated with her. Not surprisingly then, this scene is closely followed by a knee trembling, face melting kiss that sends June straight from “it can never happen again, sorry Nick” to a dazed mess spelling saucy words during her scrabble game.

Is This It?

Nick thinks that breaking up with June is going to be simple, in fact he seems to think he won’t need to explain himself at all. June is having none of it, this is her one small ray of light in an otherwise dismal existence so Nick had better have a good reason.

He does, he’s already seen one handmaid die and he’s starting to get seriously attached to the new one. Seeing June on the wall just because he couldn’t keep his hands to himself is more than he could bear. This is Nick doing Nick: keep your head down, step aside, stay out of trouble and keep your mouth shut.

June rightfully calls him on his shit, accusing him of being a coward who wants only to be Fred’s whipping boy for the rest of his life. How could he want to live such a small life? It’s a gut punch that leaves Blaine looking suitably ashamed.

Their individual attitudes to “ending up on the wall” speak volumes about who these two are at heart. To June death is everywhere, living in terror isn’t living and the reward is worth the risk. Nick is a survivor, sacrifice for duty and self-preservation is second nature, a small life is better than no life at all. Unfortunately for Nick, his aspirations for a life half lived died the moment he met June Osborne. Before I get into Nick and June volume 2, I’ve got volume 1 of the Lawrence and June mix up next. Back soon.

[sack-thing]

A Bad Dream

A little scribble, 1,654 words. Not new actually, but I edited it slightly and it's time to repost it!

It's a bonus that would happen during chapter 10 of Year 3, focusing on Luu Kah's pov (I wanted to write him breaking down alright) but Weylin's in it too.

I wonder if I should post it on AO3? Anyway there we go~

---

The past two days felt like they had no end. Luu Kah went and checked on Délia one last time before leaving for the night. Only Roy would stay in the room, at her side, in case something went wrong; he had volunteered for that even though the doctor said things should be fine.

Délia was asleep, but she seemed to be in a stable state indeed. It felt better to see her resting like that than breaking down in the desert like the day before because of her injury. And because of the news that Ramsey had been petrified by a basilisk—a monster apparently known in Leuda to turn its victims into stone forever.

Luu Kah left the medical house, leaving Roy with Délia, and decided to go for a walk in the village. The rare Selkies he saw on his path seemed to look at him in curious ways. But whatever the reason was, he didn’t have time to bother with them.

He was thinking about what Délia had said when they were still in the Lynari desert. Before she fainted, she wanted to go and look for Ramsey, even if his body was currently turned into stone. She argued that they couldn’t leave him like that, that he’d be left alone in the middle of the miasma if the petrifaction was to dissolve. At that point, Luu Kah reluctantly said that it wasn’t supposed to… But if it did, the thought was actually terrible. He wouldn’t survive. The team chose to go back to Leuda because Délia’s state was critical, but they did leave Ramsey like that after all. He was still in the middle of that damned desert, all by himself, surrounded by miasma and probably monsters.

Luu Kah reached the end of his walk path and stood there at the top of a cliff, facing the ocean, only half paying attention to his surroundings.

Délia was right. They needed to get Ramsey out of there. Délia couldn’t do that in her current state, but he… He could do it. The thought of leaving Ramsey like that was unbearable. Now that they had made sure Délia would be fine, Luu Kah could do it and, at the very least, bring Ramsey’s body back to a safe place.

- - -

Luu Kah was sharing a tent with Weylin that night. There was no way he could fall asleep even if he wanted to, which was convenient since he was about to leave anyway. He had waited for a good hour to make sure Weylin was asleep; she hadn’t moved nor made any sound in a while now. Luu Kah set into motion. He grabbed the crystal pendant, the desert’s map, his clothes and his weapon with as little sound and friction as possible. He was ready within a minute and left the tent.

The air was surprisingly cold at this hour compared to the heat they had to endure during the day, but he could bear with it. It was time to go back to the Lynari desert. He wasn’t with Ramsey when he got petrified, but he remembered Weylin and Linitaa’s explanations and would find the place again thanks to the map. For now, his first destination was the village’s exit. There he would wake their papaopamus, Sally, and maybe he could borrow a cart or something to have her drag it. He was going to have a day of travel before reaching the desert, and he needed something to carry Ramsey when going back.

Luu Kah made it to the caravan and Sally near the village’s exit. He put a hand on the animal’s head and stroked her fur gently to wake her up.

“Sorry girl, I’m gonna need you for a while.”

He barely started to get her ready that he heard steps coming close. He knew those steps and didn’t bother to look back.

“Where are you going like this?”

It was Weylin’s voice. Of course. It would’ve been too easy. Luu Kah closed his eyes; he knew she already had the answer to her question.

“Please, don’t tell me not to go.”

“Do you really think I can simply let you go and have you too turn into stone?” Weylin asked.

Luu Kah shook his head. “I’m not gonna get petrified. If I get there tomorrow night, maybe the monster won’t be around.”

“You don’t know about that. I’ve never heard of monsters leaving their usual area at night.”

Luu Kah gritted his teeth before turning to face her. “What I know is I can’t leave Ramsey there like that!”

Weylin clenched her fists. The gesture sent back a few memories to his mind, of when he was a new caravanner with Ramsey and they sneaked out at night one time, only to get into serious trouble against some monsters.

“I am not happy with that either,” she retorted, “but what are you planning to do? Drag a stone body, in the middle of a desert, surrounded by monsters? There’s no way you’ll be fast enough to avoid the countless threats there.” Luu Kah couldn’t see her face under the helmet, but he was pretty sure she was sending him a death glare. She raised her voice. “That desert is dangerous enough as it is. Letting you go there and take the risk to end the same way as Ramsey is out of the question. We have nothing to protect us from that curse.”

Luu Kah felt himself boiling. “Who cares what happens to me, it doesn’t matter! Right now, just as we're having this useless conversation, Ramsey is—“

Before he could finish his sentence, Weylin stepped toward him to grab his shoulders and shake him. “Stop that, Luu Kah! What do you think you can do if something happens to you? You won’t save anyone like that!”

He froze, as if she’d just made a point on something he hadn’t thought about. He didn’t like that. Sometimes he hated Weylin’s rationality. And apparently, she wasn’t finished.

“Do you hear yourself talk? I’ve already told you before: your life is your priority! And what about Ramsey, what would he think? Do you think he’d be happy to hear you say that? Would he be happy if you sacrificed yourself for nothing?!”

Weylin was yelling. It was unusual. That’s right, she was the caravan’s captain. And as she had told them in the past, she had responsibility over their lives, at least to some extent. What happened to Ramsey probably shook her more than Luu Kah thought.

Weylin was still holding him as he stared at the ground and felt his eyes becoming hot and wet, despite the cold air blowing on his face. He tried to mutter a response. “But… I just wanna bring him back to a safe place… What if we never saw him aga—“

Luu Kah suddenly felt like he couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t speak. He could barely manage to bring his shaking hands to his face, even though he didn’t know what he wanted to do with them. He didn’t get what was going on. It felt like he wasn’t there anymore.

A monster that turns its victims into stone forever. He had tried to block the thought so hard. Or rather, his brain understood the words, but that was it. He hadn’t truly registered them within their current situation, and he realized it was for a good reason. Now that he just said what it meant out loud…

It couldn’t be. It just couldn’t. Ramsey was always with them, always with him. They couldn’t lose him like that.

“Luu Kah… Breathe,” Weylin said, her tone softer than before. “Focus on your breath. Slowly.”

He heard her voice. Maybe she already tried to talk to him before and he didn’t hear. He was breathing again now, but it was fast and unsteady, and he still couldn’t properly take in enough air as sobs made their way into his breath. Weylin made some space between them but still held him, hands on his shoulders. Tears rolled down on Luu Kah’s cheeks as he hid his face in his hands.

It was awful. That wasn’t part of his plan. He’d never wanted Weylin to see him like that. He’d never seen himself in that state either, actually.

“It’s going to be fine, Luu Kah…”

He didn’t know what to do with those words. It wasn’t fine. Not if Ramsey was gone.

Weylin gently moved him until his back rested against a rocky wall, and now held him with only one hand. His whole body was shaking along with his sobs.

“Listen��� Even if we’re not looking for Ramsey right now, I promise that we aren’t giving up on him.” Weylin said. “Monsters won’t have interest in him as long as he’s in that state.” Luu Kah felt her hand grab his shoulder with a little more strength before she resumed. “And then… Surely a cure must exist, even if no one around here has discovered it yet.”

Luu Kah wasn’t sure if it took a few minutes or an eternity before he managed to stop crying and somewhat find a regular breath again. After that, he felt completely empty and weak. Weylin didn’t speak much more; she just stood by him. Then after a while—he didn’t know how much time had passed again—she placed a hand behind his back to make him walk to the tent with her.

Once they got there, Luu Kah was exhausted and crashed on his cot. His mind was still blank and he couldn’t process coherent thoughts anymore. Weylin said a few words, something about how he should rest, before she turned off the oil lamp.

Luu Kah couldn’t stay awake even if he wanted to. Before falling asleep, the only coherent thing that crossed his mind was his wish that those past two days were only a very bad dream.