#but i have to go get a tetanus shot because he bit me good while i was saving him from choking on a cough drop

[ghirahimbo]

🤡 circus week 🤡

the weirdness of this past week has definitely been enhanced by the fact that the resident preschooler only wants to listen to BIG SHOT remixes. hours and hours of variations on the song BIG SHOT. I woke up at midnight last night, sitting up in bed, staring at my hands, THE WORLD REVOLVING running through my head. the lines are blurring, and it does fit the mood, I think.

[ceph-the-ghost-writer]

'Stuck' for the writing prompts, for whoever you'd like to write about! (--@space-writes)

@space-writes I'm so sorry this took forever--I changed ideas twice before just deciding to continue with the Isaac/Kinslayer theme. So, uh, hope you enjoy gay stuff happening on a ship?

From this list of sexy prompt asks

Words: 2,493

Summary: While exploring the lower decks of a beached shipwreck, Isaac tries an unconventional shortcut. He doesn't regret it, not exactly.

Content Advisory: Possible claustrophobia trigger (being stuck/trapped in an enclosed space), suggestive touching, teasing, power dynamics play, spanking, look the first part of this is pretty silly, I'll mark the spot where things become spicier later on for those who want to opt out, and include an advisory about the sexy stuff beneath that cut off point

It was the first time Isaac had ever seen Kinslayer look surprised. As soon as they’d come through the watertight door and saw him their brows shot up—their mouth even fell open a bit. Given the circumstances, he couldn’t exactly congratulate himself.

“Help,” Isaac said, voice tiny.

They crossed the room, boots clomping on steel grating, until they stood in front of him. “The hell happened to you, bookworm?”

He tried to sigh, but the pressure around his ribs when he inhaled that deeply was too much. “I was trying to get back to the upper decks…”

“Uh-huh.”

“…but I got turned around somehow. All these ship passageways look alike.”

“That much I figured when you started calling for me with your thoughts. But why’re you halfway sticking out of the goddamn bulkhead?”

How good was their night vision? Good enough not to need a flashlight, apparently, but hopefully not enough to see how embarrassed he looked. “Well. Uh. I was looking for, er, the way out. And I happened to peek through that, that tube thingy with the metal trays hanging in front?”

“The cable ways, yeah.”

“I shone the light through that and spotted some steps. Over there.” Forlornly, Isaac pointed to the narrow staircase on the other side of the room. (Or what had Anaru said they were called on a ship? Compartments?)

“And lemme guess. You couldn’t find the door, so you tried to shimmy in through that vent and got yourself stuck instead.” Even in the gloom, he noticed their shoulders shaking.

Isaac huffed. “Don’t laugh.”

“Little too late for that, bookworm. But don’t you worry your pretty little head. I’ll get you out of there.”

“My hero.”

“If you’re going to sass me, though…”

“Okay, okay! Please just get me out of here. I’m probably already going to need a tetanus shot.”

“You want me to grab hold of your arms and pull?”

“No, I think that might just make it worse. If you pull from behind that should work—I can’t back out myself because my feet don’t quite reach the floor now.”

Kinslayer patted him on the head despite his scowling. “Give me a minute to find the passageway.”

Then there was nothing for him to do except wait. Isaac did his best to keep from imagining anything spooky lurking in the dark corners, or just outside his flashlight beam. Given that whole misadventure with Elfy the last time he’d explored a wrecked old ship, it wasn’t easy.

A light touch slid along the outside of his thigh and made him twitch in alarm.

“Easy, bookworm,” came Kinslayer’s voice, muffled by the metal wall separating them.

His heart shifted down a gear. “Get me out of here.”

“All right, let’s see what’s what.”

Isaac tried not to squirm as their hands roamed around, gently prodding at where his hips met the vent. Mostly. One wandered over to rest on his ass. Not squeezing or anything, just…there.

“What do you, um, think?”

“Well, looks like the waistband of your jeans could be holding you up. Might have to shuck ‘em.”

“Are you serious?” His voice had risen an octave or two.

“Could always just bring you food and water three times a day, if you wanna stay. Leave you some reading material.”

“Haha. Just…just do whatever you need to.”

His face grew hot as Kinslayer slipped a hand around to his front, working it between his abdomen and the vent enough to pop the button on his jeans. Isaac chewed his lips and tried to distract himself by listing every breed of dog he knew while they peeled the denim off his helplessly dangling legs, leaving it bunched around his ankles. A startled little yip leapt from his throat when their fingers dug into his hips.

“Ah, are you going to…erm…”

“Gonna what?”

“Help me?” His voice and the hope in it were too faint to even echo.

“Hmm. I dunno. Maybe if you ask real nice.”

“O-kay. Um. Help me…please?”

The smack on his ass, when it came, made him drop his flashlight; it went rolling across the floor, causing wild shadows to flit over the walls. Though of course it was futile, Isaac attempted to twist around and stare at Kinslayer in disbelief.

“You can do better than that, bookworm. Go on. Once more, with feeling.”

He kept perfectly still, brain whirring. Did they really want him to…what? Plead? Submit? Kinslayer had always discussed that kind of scenario with him beforehand. Then again, they did enjoy pushing his buttons—nudging him out of his comfort zones. Maybe this was just an unexpected opportunity to mess with him.

“What happens if I don’t?” The direct approach rarely went wrong.

It stung a bit, the second smack. “Then I spank this cute little ass until it glows like Rudolph’s nose on Christmas Eve.”

He gulped. “If I ask—if I beg…you’ll let me go?”

Two strikes landed in quick succession, making tears prickle in his eyes. “Naw, doubt it.”

“But that’s not fair!”

“It is fun, though.”

“For you maybe!”

!!! Explicit Scene Starts Below !!!

Content Advisory: Spanking, dirty talk, mild/referenced sadism, submission, anal fingering, brief degradation/humiliation, suggested group sex, we're basically watching Isaac unlock a new kink in real-time here

Kinslayer rested a hand on his flank. Gently, but it still made him flinch like he’d been jabbed with a thumbtack.

“Isaac.” Their voice had lowered to a purr—a growl?—that made the hairs along the back of his neck stand at attention.

“What?” he snapped.

“Are you hard?”

His mouth dropped open, but no sound came out.

“Are you?” they pressed, giving him a motivating slap.

“No!” Not all the way at least—he probably wouldn’t have even noticed his body reacting if they hadn’t brought it up.

Kinslayer’s laughter was felt more than heard, a subtle tremor in the air. Or maybe Isaac had just started shivering. “Liar.”

“I’m not—”

His protests earned a flurry of blows that made Isaac yelp and kick as much as the jeans still comically hanging around his ankles would allow. Metal edges dug into his ribs as he attempted to twist, turn, do anything to free himself and avoid the relentless palm from colliding with his backside again.

“Had enough?” Kinslayer asked, mercifully giving him a break. “You ready to admit defeat?”

He grit his teeth, sweat tickling the back of his neck and glueing his curls to his skin. “You wish.”

Hands were on him again, tugging off his boxers. Cinders singed his nerves as Kinslayer dragged their short nails down the curve of one asscheek. “You’re right. I do wish.”

Shit. Now he really was—

He couldn’t help it if his body reacted, though. It was the cool air, being naked yet half-dressed at the same time, the way their voice made his skin flush hot all over, and���Isaac shook his head to clear the rosy haze from his thoughts. It simply wasn’t fair. He couldn’t disobey or misbehave like this. The best he could do was sulk, but his heart wouldn’t be in it.

“Isaac. Am I going to have to beat an answer out of you?”

It wasn’t fair. Although…that didn’t mean he was helpless. Not completely.

“You wouldn’t.” He paused, heart hammering against the sheet metal imprisoning him. “You can’t.” Not quite his usual style of defiance, but it scratched the itch he hadn’t been able to reach before.

Somehow, he could sense Kinslayer’s expression change. In his mind’s eye, he saw a grin creep across their face, revealing a sharp crescent of teeth. Isaac took a shaky breath and wondered what, exactly, it said about him that fear wasn’t driving his pulse.

A hit with the most force behind it yet landed, sending his thoughts scattering like a break across a billiard table. Then another. And another, so close on the heels of the last that the stinging pain overlapped, intensifying. Kinslayer fell into a devious rhythm, striking the same spot until it felt branded, the shape of their hand seared into his flesh. Right at the edge of Isaac’s breaking point, though, they’d shift to the other side, starting the whole torturous process again. The compartment soon echoed with curses, cries, and, eventually, sobs.

“Okay, okay!” he finally gasped. “You win! Stop! Please!”

“Had enough, huh?”

“Yes, I’ll be good!”

“Oh, bookworm, it was never about you being good or bad.”

Swiping sweat from his eyes and still catching his breath, Isaac thought hard. What had they said? Not fair, but fun. He relaxed as much as his aching body would allow.

“It doesn’t matter.” His voice stayed surprisingly steady. “Because I’m stuck. You can do whatever you want to me right now, and there isn’t a damn thing I can do about it.”

Kinslayer’s pleased hum reverberated up and down his spine. “See? I knew you’d get it sooner or later. Glad we’re on the same page.”

There was a rustle of fabric. Not like they were undressing, but maybe…going through the pockets of their jacket? Isaac’s brows pinched as he listened, focused on what was coming next.

Of all the things he’d imagined, slick fingers sliding between his cheeks hadn’t made the list. Isaac jumped and hissed, the touch like dragging a live wire across his raw skin.

“I do believe you’ve earned a little treat, though,” Kinslayer told him. “Whaddaya say?”

“It’s up to you,” he said through gritted teeth and contrary to every instinct.

“Mmm. Now you’re starting to get it.”

A fingertip began to stroke his hole, setting off a wave of tingles that blended with the pain in a way that made him wish he could arch his back. He wriggled, but a hand gripped his hip. Breathing through his nose, Isaac made himself go still again. The insistence behind the caresses increased. His body didn’t put up much of a fight, allowing Kinslayer to push one long finger into him. Isaac shoved a fist against his mouth, biting his knuckles to keep quiet. Just because they had him dead to rights didn’t mean he had to broadcast how much it was turning him on. Or how fucking well the burn of being breached complemented the heat radiating from his oversensitive skin. They could read his thoughts if they wanted to know, so he wouldn’t bother admitting it out loud. Definitely wouldn’t beg for more, harder, faster, please and thank you. He wouldn’t.

Luckily, Kinslayer wasn’t asking for input. “You know, as cute as you are when you’re full of vim and vinegar, we ought to do this more often. Well, not the ‘stuck in a vent’ thing. More the ‘at my mercy’ part, I mean. Though, being in this wreck does bring back some fond memories.”

They withdrew their finger enough to add a second. Pressure and resistance as they filled him partway, then retreated a fraction only to thrust in deeper, working him open. Curling, both digits pressed upwards, seeking an angle of attack that would destroy any illusion of defiance he had left. The anticipation, simply knowing Kinslayer was going to win, to prod and pet until they made him—

Isaac gripped the flange of the vent and wished his legs would stop quivering.

“I worked on dozens of ships in the old days, before steam engines became common. Expeditions, piracy, whaling. Did I ever mention that?” Kinslayer continued. “I usually wound up around second or third command. You know, something like a bosun or mate. That way, I’d be the one who got to give the lashings and break green sailors to my will.”

Though he’d been braced for it, Isaac couldn’t hold back a sharp, stuttering inhale when they hit a place inside of him just so. Every stroke melted his bones and organs further into liquid pleasure. It dribbled down the ladder of his ribcage, thick and warm, to pool in his belly and settle heavily between his thighs. By the end, there’d be nothing left of him but a quivering puddle on the floor.

“You know how much fun I would’ve had if I’d found you like this on one of my ships, bookworm? I would’ve whipped you until you had more stripes than a zebra. Maybe, if I was feeling generous, I would’ve invited a couple of deckhands to join me so we could take turns with you.”

A choked whimper escaped his throat. Isaac hid his face behind his hands as Kinslayer laughed, low, dark, devoid of pity.

“Well, how about that? Never took you for an exhibitionist.”

He wasn’t. Not really. No matter what sounds came out of him.

“Or is it the thought of being helpless that’s got you hot under the collar? Getting spanked, being fucked while you can’t do a damn thing about it? Being used like the pretty toy you are?”

Couldn’t hide the noises anymore. Couldn’t keep them back. It didn’t matter. He didn’t care anymore. Just as long as Kinslayer didn’t stop. As long as he was allowed—

“You going to come like this, Isaac? Going to disgrace yourself?”

His voice was wrecked, in tatters. “If you want me to.”

Their other hand wrapped around his cock, easily gliding from tip to base and back. “Good answer.”

Lightning split Isaac asunder. Pleasure, white-hot, crackled through his spine, boiled his blood to rust-colored steam, withered his muscle fibers to ash, and gave him a glimpse of heaven before he drifted back down to earth. He hung limp, catching his breath in gasps. His aches and pains had grown distant. Were of a past lifetime. Forgotten.

Something squeezed in on either side of his ribs, grabbed ahold, and pulled him free as easy as pie. He tried to glare up at Kinslayer’s smirking face as they held him, arms wrapped around his waist. More than likely he just looked dazed and drowsy.

“You with me, bookworm?”

“Mm-hm.” Jerk.

They had one of their quiet, shoulder shaking laughs at his expense while they propped him against the wall. Bulkhead. Whatever. Using a little pack of wipes, they helped clean him up enough to get his clothing back in order. He winced as the waistband of his boxers and jeans slid up and over his ass.

“Som…” Isaac cleared his hoarse throat. “Something you learned from life at sea?”

One of Kinslayer’s brows quirked.

He pointed at the pack. “Always be prepared?”

“Oh, sure.” They tucked it back into the appropriate jacket pocket. “Modern lube keeps better than whale oil too.”

Isaac opened his mouth, then let it fall shut. Maybe his curiosity could stand to leave some stones unturned.

“Well, upsy-daisy, bookworm.”

“Wha—” He flailed as he was manhandled into being carried over their shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

“Can’t let you walk all the way up to the weather deck, can I? Denim’ll chafe your tender hide before I can tend to it. Unless you object?”

He heaved a sigh, though that didn’t stop him from relaxing, letting his arms dangle down their back. “Do I really have a choice?”

“You catch on real quick.”

[choicesmc]

pls tell me how sawtooth got each and every one of their scars

with much pleasure <3

HEAD

one across the edge of their left eye shaving incident. Was trying to sculpt their eyebrows and ended up cutting himself instead D: 

another across his nose from a knife fight. 

a short one behind his ear to the base of their head fight w/a teacher. He grabbed them by their ear and the nails cut into their skin. 

TORSO 

Wraps around from lower back (think lumbar vertebrae section) and stops just beneath his tummy (<- also known as the laceration that made sawtooth thankful they got a tetanus shot <3)

parkour injury. Turns out doing parkour in rickety buildings during twilight/night because you wanted to show off some body paint isn’t actually a good idea. Though, everything was good one their way up said rickety building. But on their way across, did a roll and ended up with a screw (wood screw size 11) one of these bad boys vv 

But then they attempted to curl in on themself on instinct (<- bad idea) and ended up dragging the screw through his skin 😬 

anyway, that didn’t stop them from finishing the course before going to the hospital so :D solid 6/10 for an injury

ARMS + HANDS 

Not a scar but has sprained their left wrist D: also a parkour injury. But this one was when he was still new and was training in a gym, kept blowing off proper form and all that so their instructor wasn’t all that surprised when they finally sprained it…  

Crush injury on two of his right fingers (pinkie + ring) from having a heavy door slammed on them

another fight with a teacher. When they were ~12/13, their gym teacher refused to let him get this water bottle after a run. All students are supposed to bring their water bottles with them because no student is allowed in the changing rooms unless its the first 10 minutes or last 10 minutes of class (<- designated changing times for students). But Sawtooth forgot theirs in their locker and decides ‘fuck it, you’re not gonna stop me from drinking water’ This is post- ‘bit classmate in his last middle school and got expelled for it’ incident (yes, yes, ill find a shorter name for it) and so his gym teacher is fully ready to stand her ground and shuts Sawtooth inside the locker room

Obviously, Sawtooth is not gonna just let that happen. Their tiny middle school self is trying to pry open these large metal doors while their gym teacher is pulling them back closed. Sawtooth manages to create a small opening and tries to grab onto the side of the door for a better grip… which lets the gym teacher get the upper hand and… well. Fingers in the wrong spot at the wrong time. Sawtooth gives a glass-shattering shriek and 911 is immediately called. 

LEGS + FEET 

Large healed over serious abrasion on their left knee (covers the entirety of their knee)

from his elementary school. Basically: their elementary school had an entire section (where the 7/8 - 8/9 year olds had their classes) of the building which is made of temporary buildings (<- called t-buildings for short). They look like this vv 

But the t-buildings are honestly just a permanent part of the school even though they absolutely were never meant to stay around this long. Anyway, notice how the ramp is metal + has ridges (like in the picture below, its a little clearer but not extremely clear but best I could find)   <- this is important. 

Now please imagine a dark and stormy school day and a 8 year old who desperately needs to pee and is racing up these ramps because his elementary school dignity requires him to not pee his pants. 

And then they slip. 

And slip down the ridged metal railing. 

All the way from the top to the bottom. 

Really, their left leg took a majority of the damage. It was badly scrapped from knee to just above their ankle (thanks to his socks…) also, doesn’t really matter, but they did not make it to the bathroom in time either. 

So imagine an 8 year old limping (really dragging a leg tbh) back to class, very much out of breath from pain, through heavy rain and absolutely trying not to cry with every step. <- or don’t, not sure how much emotional damage that’ll inflict, actually. 

It ended up getting infected (which was another headache) but yeah :/ <- 3/10 not a great experience 

Avulsion wound on his big toe <- does not like talking about this one, actually. But here’s what happened: fight with his neighbor’s dog. The dog was always a bit trigger happy and Sawtooth’s never been one to shy from danger of all things. He ended up teasing the dog the one day, it didn’t have a leash on and it jumped the fence and started fighting him 💀 Ended up almost ripping their big toe off.   

Abrasion on achilles tendon <3 -> bad shoes that were just a pinch too tight that they refused to stop wearing. Everytime they took ‘em off, there was a new blister. Then he walked around with those shoes all day and the result was very red and not pretty. 

Puncture wound on their heel (<- which he has also sprained) <- stepped on a nail. The sprain was unrelated, just parkour stuff. 

[marcholasmoth]

OSRR: 3290

today was a day. i woke up before half past six by myself. joel's alarms went off for two hours. i laid awake the whole time. he didn't get up until after 9am. laying in misery is a specialty of mine. but i did get to tell him good morning and then get some more sleep once he went downstairs for work.

i finished my laundry today and showered and got dressed and set up my laptop so i could work with a student over zoom because she's been sick this last week. we worked for forty minutes or so and i decided that, "no, you're going to put this down and go take a nap and tell me how you're doing tomorrow." she didn't put up a fight.

i, as a math person, avoid doing math while sick. do not do math if you're sick. you will not do well. you will be confused and frustrated. it takes too much time and energy to be useful to do. just take the time and get better sooner. take the goddamn nap.

anyway.

after that i went and got lunch for me and joel from panera and after eating i went home! i got to talk to my momma a little bit and then i was off to the doctor. i'd sent a message last night about the warts on my heel and they replied this morning saying "you should come in today" so i said "okay i'm free in the afternoon" and they scheduled me around 4pm. so i went in and the doctor took pictures of my heels and put in a referral to podiatry to get them taken out. the doctor said they were some of the "more impressive" ones she's seen. which is wild. she also said that people come in with way less complaining way more and she was impressed by that, too. how im just casual with it instead of whining and being just like "yeah that's a thing" instead of "IT HURTS WAAAH" like that's me internally, yes, but externally? it's been there more than a year and a half. it's just a thing now.

she also looked at my finger and told me to get a tetanus shot because even though it's unlikely at this point, im still overdue for one by five years. so im doing that tomorrow.

i helped my momma make dinner and then after we went and got ice cream after i moved my car so james can get out tomorrow.

and now im in bed after having tried on the dresses and shirt my mom got for me. i have to hang all of my dresses up because i just don't know where they all are. there are SO MANY now and i am at a loss lmao

so that's my morning task tomorrow. besides eat something good for me. i need that, too.

[pluvio-et-luna]

so i don't forget

072323

was woken up by my brother around 3am-ish because he needed some gcash money. was so out of it but i made it to opening the app then handed it to my brother so he could do it himself. fell asleep again as soon as i gave it to him.

woke up again at around 8:30 in the morning, this time with a throbbing headache. became paranoid as i thought it was a sign of tetanus. (i forgot that i drank a whole glass of calpis sour the night before and wasn't able to drink loads of water when i got home)

messaged wellpoint dasma to ask if they have an anti-tetanus vaccine. they do.

took a bath and went to sm dasma for it only for the receptionist to tell me that there isn't one readily available and that i need to make an appointment for that. besides that, the consultation prior to the shot plus the shot isn't covered by the HMO.

went to eat at OMG, a new greek resto place which i have been wanting to try since a few weeks ago. got calamari with rice, lamb kofta wrap, and hot chips. mmm i think it's a 7/10 for me. there was nothing special about the hot chips and the serving size was so small. calamari with rice is okay, just wish they'd given more sauce. lamb kofta wrap was good. it's lamb that's why i'd understand why it was priced more expensive than the others. again, more sauce. would try more of the food next time. but for now i would say that it isn't something i would crave after a long day at work.

went to withdraw money at a bdo atm machine. money in the bank is at 800+ php na lang. i need to cut off grab expenses na and not indulge myself lagi with food even tho it's one of the only things that make me happy.

went to krispy kreme to buy the barbie donuts. only bought one of each to try then we'll buy half a dozen next time na lang.

went to auntie anne's because i was craving something oily for the hangover headache and aura. i also bought their iced americano and agreed with sugar when they offered if i would want some milk and sugar with it. oily food plus coffee was the cure for today's hangover. could never go wrong with their pepperoni nuggets. the coffee was good initially but then the ice watered it down too much. maybe i could request another espresso shot with it the next time i buy one.

went to kipling to check out the bags. planning to save up for a bag to buy for mom's bday or as a christmas present. there's another bag there which i think is sulit for it's price. there's another one which i fancied hehe.

went back to wellpoint to follow-up with the vaccine. receptionist told me that it would be available next week but the doctor said that i could buy one at the drugstore then they'll be the one to inject it na lang. i had one more inquiry but it was taking so long so i just left my number for the receptionist to contact me. (received a message past 6pm na)

almost forgot to buy clifford's birthday cake otw home so i had my sister park again while i went back to buy his cake.

went home and chilled.

played a bit of minecraft. i was thinking of making an automatic tree cutter as cutting down cherry blossom trees over and over again was getting tiring. need to go mining for some redstone next time.

a notif popped on my screen for a vtuber graduation and i was sad to see that it was mysta. it's hurts but i am at peace with it knowing how much he has achieved for himself and for his mom. i'm so proud of him. thank you mysta.

[morganwrites12672]

Hurt/comfort with Robin Buckley? Maybe you get hurt out in the snow and she panics or something idkkk I just love jer

Thank you! I have been wanting to write some Robin x Reader!

And, as always, my requests are open! I do write for quite a few characters so check my pinned post for details!

Robin Buckley x Reader

It was the middle of December. Over the last few weeks the snow had been shitty. All it did was make it difficult, and sometimes impossible, to drive. But, after all that time it was finally good playing snow.

It did not matter that you were technically an adult. You loved playing in the snow . So did your girlfriend, Robin. She loved the snow more than you had thought.

"YN," Robin yells and you see she was rolling a snowman. You giggle as you walk over to her and help her push it.

"I think it's getting to big," you say to your red faced girlfriend. She looks so cute with flushed cheeks and a red nose. The snow giving her a nice flush.

"Find," she grumbles as she makes a snow ball for the middle part. After an hour or so, you and your lover we're just running around in the snow. Having made a snow family, and even using all of the food dye in your house to make them rainbow, you were both freezing. Neither one of you would be the first to go in.

You squeal as you are hit with a snow ball in the face. You brush the cold off of your face as another hits your shoulder. You turn around to see your lover, clearly amused with herself, with a pile of snowballs in her arms.

You scoff as she throws a few more. "how childish," she smiles. You knew her answer was going to be a fun one.

"Says the one who made the snowman's bright rainbow," Robin chides and you feel the familiar cold of getting hit in the face.

"It's gay Robin," you decide. She laughs at your joke. You had both been dating for almost a year; a whole year; before anybody found out. And it was only because you were making out at Steve's. It was risky (and you got caught) but it was funny.

Steve was shocked, he only knew Robin was gay. So he had been hitting on you for a while. Robin still uses it as blackmail. Anytime she wants a different movie than Steve, 'you hit on my girlfriend' is brought up.

You reach for a handful of snow to throw back but pull your hand back with a hiss. You see some blood in the snow and a little piece of an aluminum can that got mowed over.

"Y/N? Are you okay?" As concerned as ever, Robin let's out something between a squeak and a gaso when she sees the blood. Oh, shit. You apply pressure and begin to walk to the house.

"YN, are you okay? Oh, my god. What if get tetanus? That is my second highest fear. I don't think you show signs immediately though. Do you have a fever yet? I think that's the first sign," Robin rambles as you smile and open the door.

"I'm fine, I've had my shots," you remind as you both ditch the winter gear and robin grabs the first aid kit.

"That's what Steve said about rabies from those bats!" Robin says with a look of pure horror as she begins to clean your finger.

"Baby, Steve didn't get rabies," you remind. She was going to freak the fuck out. It was robin, you loved her; she could be a bit much sometimes.

"Oh shit, sorry," she mumbles as you hiss from the feeling of antiseptic. She quickly dabs and wraps your finger with a sigh of relief.

"All done," she says and kisses your finger before wrapping you up in a big hug, "I was so scared," she whispers into your hair.

"Hey, nothing will ever happen to me as long as I have you," you remind and pull back enough to kiss her head.

[dragonmuse]

I love the feels just like I'm falling in love for the first time AU and I'm curious how/if Read fits into it at any point? Does she still end up moving in next to izzy? And does she have a relationship with Pete as well as Lucius?

(you know I wanna talk about my girl!)

Lucius' phone rang at far too early in the morning, he made a disgruntled noise. No one said anything. Because he was alone, right. Shit. He sat up groggily. Pete was already doing the groceries and Izzy was likely at the gym. Lucius, how had rolled in the door at 2AM last night, had not yet had enough sleep to talk like a human. 

Then he saw Izzy’s name and groaned, hitting the talk button, 

“Too early,” he informed him. 

“The kid I use for errand work got roughed up last night,” Izzy talked right over him. “I’m taking her to the ER.”

“Shit,” that would wake a man up. “How bad?” 

“Not sure. Jim is going to tell Pete, just not sure when I’ll be home.”

Lucius checked the time, “Which hospital?” 

“Our old favorite.” 

“Okay, I’ll meet you there. Bring you lunch. Think she can eat something?” 

“You should sleep.” 

“Yeah well, that ship has sailed.” 

“Might as well bring her something. If she can’t eat, she can’t eat.” 

“You got it.” 

Lucius called Pete anyway. 

“Hey sweetie,” Pete chimed. “Heard about that poor kid?” 

“No details. I’m going to head over there in a bit, bring Iz and her something to eat. You know how long the wait there can be.” 

“Oh good idea. I was thinking if she needs a place to crash, I can set up the fold out in Izzy’s office.” 

“Izzy thought she had a place though.” 

“Dunno. I’ve only seen her once, but I think if she’s got somewhere, it’s not a good place to heal alone.” 

“Oh,” Lucius frowned and got out of bed. “Didn’t realize it was like that. Then yeah, set up the bed when you get back. Sheets are in the closet.”

“Yep, got it. You want more cantaloupe while I’m here? Looks like it’s on sale.” 

“Yes, thanks.” 

Lucius didn’t rush. They’d probably be at the E.R. for hours. Instead, he showered and changed, gathered together a few things including lunch, then headed out. He knew the way all too well. 

It wasn’t hard to spot Izzy, his ramrod posture unmistakable. He was sitting talking quietly to the woman beside him. She was tall and very blond, her shaggy hair hiding most of her face. Her arms were crossed tight and there was a rusty bloody stain coming through the left side of her hoodie. Lucius had no idea how old she actually was, but just then she looked about twelve, eyes wide and focused on Izzy.  Izzy, who clocked Lucius immediately, 

“Hey,” he greeted. 

“Heya,” Lucius covered the last few feet. 

“Read, this is my husband, Lucius. Luc, this is Read.”

“Love making new friends in the emergency room,” Lucius handed her a cold bottle of water from the bag. She took it with a question in her eyes. “You will get thirsty here, it’s like a rule. Especially with blood loss.” 

“He’s not wrong,” Izzy nodded. “You gonna hang?” 

“Yeah,” Lucius took the seat next to Izzy’s. “Figured you’ll need stretch breaks or whatever.” 

“You guys do this a lot?” Read asked. Her voice is a pleasant contralto. 

“Izzy likes to experiment with dying sometimes,” Lucius said lightly. “He needs hobbies.” 

“Anaphylactic shock is not my hobby,” Izzy rolled his eyes. “I’ve got food allergies and he’s being a fucking drama queen.” 

“You watch you go through that someday and we’ll decide who the drama queen is,” Lucius sniffed. “Anyway, you go around the carousel a time or two and you learn. I’m guessing you’re not dying if you’re still out here.” 

“I don’t need to be here,” she said stiffly. 

“You definitely do. Izzy would stitch you up if he thought he could get away with it,” Lucius waved that away. “Right?” 

“Don’t know if she’ll need stitches, but she needs a tetanus shot,” Izzy shrugged. “Those I don’t keep around.” 

“Why a tetanus shot?” 

“Guy got me with a piece of metal he picked off the floor,” Read grumbled. “I had him down too.” 

“Uh huh,” Lucius gave her a long look over, things starting to fall into place here. “What were you fighting over?” 

“That I didn’t want him to fucking touch me,” Read said calmly. 

“And you won?” he double-checked, heart rate picking up. 

“Yeah, I kicked his ass.” 

“Good,” Lucius nodded, Izzy had no reaction which meant he’d already known that. “So you help Iz with cases?” 

“Sometimes,” she hunched over a little more. Pain or hiding? Or both?  “Mostly act like a dirtbag teen so I can eavesdrop.” 

“Are you a dirtbag teen?” He asked suspiciously. 

“She’s 21,” Izzy rolled his shoulders back. “Two weeks ago. So barely not.” 

“Not barely.” she contradicted. “I’m grown.” 

“Sure,” Izzy glanced at Lucius, who did his best to keep his face neutral. “You have anything to do?” 

“I’ve got your e-reader, my tablet, and I brought a few choices for you, Read. Crossword, sudoku or ....I don’t actually know what book this is, I think I grabbed something off your shelf, Iz.” 

“Huh,” Izzy plucked it up. “Yeah, it’s a decent one. You want the mystery or the puzzles?” 

“The mystery,” she said quietly and huddled around the book as the hospital flowed around them. 

It took them three hours, but they came out the other side with antibiotics, five stitches and tetanus shot for Read and a mild headache for Lucius.  

Read had born up stoically, occasionally flashing a killer smile when a nurse or doctor asked her thing she didn't want to answer. It was only when needle went to skin that she'd hissed a breath, eyes watering. Lucius had picked up her hand and held on tight as she held back. So. There was that.

“I can handle myself,” Read kept insisting, even as Izzy herded her into the car and Lucius kept extolling the virtues of not dying alone because you were too stubborn to accept help. 

Pete had dinner waiting when they walked in which coupled with the outstanding view out the windows seemed to fully convince Read over to their side. 

“Is that chicken noodle soup?” She asked, with a little too much awe for a single steaming bowl.

“Yeah,” Pete smiled softly at her, clearly already charmed. “Iz’s recipe, but I made it so...fifty-fifty on quality.” 

“Smells right,” Izzy assured him, trailing a hand along his back as he headed for the bathroom. Probably to shower the hospital smell off. Actually a great idea. Lucius followed him, crowding into the shower with him. Pete would set Read at ease. He was excellent at that.

It worked, at least a little. Read stayed the night at least. She locked the door behind her with a loud, definitive click that made Lucius’ chest hurt. 

“We’re keeping her, right?” He checked. 

“She’s not a pet,” Izzy growled, but his eyes were on the door. 

“She’s a scared kid, without anybody,” Pete fingertips grazed the back of Izzy's neck, slowly and soothing. “We’ll take care of her as long as she lets us.” 

And look, Izzy never sold his old place. He meant to, but it was rigged up just right, a decent safe house and only a few blocks away. Close enough to keep an eye on the kid at least. And hey, he had two extra sets of eyes. Pete would take her out for lunch on her days off. Lucius got her into the Revenge’s orbit. Three if you counted Jim, who took an interest in her. Four if you count Eddy and it was hard not to count her, frankly.

Of course, Read meets a woman with bright red hair and trouble on her mind, but you know that story already.

[tiny-maus-boots]

Queen of Hearts pt 14

A/N: thank you as always to @chloes-yellow-cup for being my bestie and still doing all the things i hate to do. and a big thanks to @kimmania for your constant encouragement and supply of Legos. i love you awesome nerds. 

14.

“Hit me with your best shot…”

Aubrey’s long arm stretched out along the back of the dark leather of the modern style sofa she was settled on. For the most part she could tune out the dry croak from the desk, but…

“Why don’t you hit me with your best shot.”

This was the sixth time in an hour that she was hearing the song. She was going to have to remind Lilly to remove it from the jukebox after tonight.

“Hit me with your best shot…”

The rough warble across from her died down and she thought for a moment that the singer had finally drifted off asleep. Aubrey’s head turned to the screen that showed a live feed of the cameras around The Dirty Bird. Movement flickered though them as Stacie and the Doc walked between the tables and around the bar toward the back office. She turned her head to check on the figure standing but slumped over her desk only to find dark blue eyes watching and waiting for her attention. The small woman raised herself to her elbows from her slouch and belted out just as the door opened.

“FIRE AWAAAAYYYYY!!! Pew pew pew.”

Aubrey sighed as Detective Mitchell’s finger guns gave out on the click of her tongue and she collapsed back over the desk to cradle a half empty bottle of grappa, ass up where she stood. Stacie’s wide eyes panned slowly toward her, body bouncing lightly with barely restrained glee.

“Oh my God….” Chloe took one look at the Detective and pinned Aubrey with a glare. “How drunk is she?”

The blonde raised a shoulder as she considered. “She’s been worse.”

“Doc. Doooooocccc….I hurt. Right. Here.” Beca raised a hand and brought it back to point at her butt. Her finger wavered as she tried to locate the exact spot which caused the most pain and then pointed for emphasis with a little too much enthusiasm. “Right. OW. Here. OWIE.”

Stacie eased onto the sofa and settled in comfortably in Aubrey’s lap to watch Doc Beale work. The redhead moved behind Beca and settled her bag on the desk. She took a great steadying breath before wrestling away the grappa from the prone detective and snapping on a pair of gloves. Aubrey admired the way Doc Beale efficiently and deftly managed to get Beca’s jeans over her hips and halfway down her legs with practiced ease. Beca seemed to admire it too because she stirred enough to look blearily over her shoulder with a smile.

“If you wanted to check out my assetsssss Doc, you didn’t have to wait til I got stabbeded in it. Right. There. Ow.”

“Yes, I see. Please stop poking the wound in your ass cheek. How even….?”

“I was tailing my guy. My big fish. Fishy fishy fishy. That’s a fun word to say.” Chloe muttered something Aubrey couldn’t hear over Stacie’s soft chuckling. “I heard that! Plenty of people would be DE-FUCKING-lighted to spend their date night starin’ at a little of this action.”

Aubrey bit her lip to keep the laugh from breaking free as the detective wiggled her ass unmindful of the tight skinny jeans trapping her legs and toppled into a slide nearly off the desk before Chloe managed to grab and right her teetering form.

“Head down, ass up. Now tell me again how you managed to get stabbed in the butt cheek with glass?”

“You said that like you’re used to giving that order. I might be down for that, just be gentle with me.”

Beca gave her a leer that the doctor promptly ignored as she prepped her tools.

“Detective, remember that I have some very sharp instruments here that I am excellent with.”

Beca gave her a dubious look but obediently turned and bent over the desk again so the other woman could examine the wound. Chloe was utterly focused on the task of cleaning and debriding the punctures in a circular pattern. Aubrey had been sure it was going to require at least a few stitches from what she saw before she called for real medical help.

“I told you. I was following the big fish.”

“And you followed him into a bar I’m guessing.”

“Right, rule numero dos of detectivering. Don’t stick out like a sore thumb.”

Chloe blinked and looked up from her work to focus on Beca. “What’s numero uno?”

“That’s not a real number, Doc.”

“Solid rebuttal.”

“Did…did you just make pun of my rump? Oh my God I’m in love. I’d get down on one knee right now and propose. Except you’re feeling up my butt right now and that’s kinda nice.”

The doctor’s bright blue eyes narrowed and she jabbed the needle into the hunk of flesh she had just grabbed in preparation for the injection. She depressed the plunger quickly as her patient yelped and attempted to squirm away.

“HEATHEN! Oh God. I’m dying. Help. I’m dying, Dr. Kevorkian is killing me….my vision…I can’t see.”

“Open your eyes, idiot. That was just an antibiotic booster. Have you had a tetanus shot recently?”

“Pretend I said whatever answer will prevent you from being a literal pain in my ass.”

It was too much for Stacie and she turned her head to bury her laughter in Aubrey’s neck. The blonde tightened her grip on her fiancée and enjoyed a satisfying laugh at the detective’s expense. She hadn’t known what she’d find when she had gotten Beca’s distress call. They had all been on high alert since coming back to Los Angeles, trying to close ranks as best they could without being obvious about it. She had been waiting for an attack to come and her first thought when she had gotten the call was that it had finally begun. Each moment waiting in her office while Lilly retrieved the Detective from her hiding place in an abandoned warehouse building down at the port had been like a stone on her chest. She had needed this humor to ease the cold grip of fear on her heart.

Aubrey’s line of business didn’t lend itself to close relationships with members of law enforcement, at least not for long. What she and the Detective had was something altogether different than any of the other criminal-cop business agreements she had formed during her career. Beca was someone she trusted at her side, more…trusted at her back. The idea that someone would try to take her out was sobering and her laughter faded. Stacie sensed the change in her and cupped Aubrey’s face gently to bring their foreheads together. Words weren’t necessary for Stacie to understand what she was thinking and feeling. The blonde took a deep breath and straightened her spine. One hand came up to adjust and smooth her tie. If it had started…she wanted to know who was coming for her people.

“So, who’s the fish?”

Beca lifted her head from the desk and struggled to focus on Aubrey. It took her a few seconds to process the question. She seemed to have forgotten the conversation while Chloe worked silently to finish working on her wound.

“A security guard. He’s got bad taste in bars and also what I would loosely refer to as ladies.”

She couldn’t imagine where a security guard would fit in with Alice’s plans and frowned. Maybe this wasn’t about her. Beca had other cases she was working, maybe this was just another Tuesday night for the cop.

“A security guard? Sounds kind of small time for you.”

Denim blue eyes flashed to hers, some of the haze of alcohol burned away by intensity of her drive. The small brunette’s lips quirked into a smirk. Aubrey was suddenly very sure that nothing Beca did was small time or without a very good reason.

“It only takes a small stone in the right place to make a rockslide.”

Chloe slowed her movements as she finished her work. Something about what Beca said must have been interesting to the doctor because she kept her attention on the detective while she cleaned up the trash and peeled her gloves off to toss in the black plastic trash bag left there for that purpose. Aubrey guessed she was re-evaluating her previous estimations of the foul mouthed, perpetually smug, woman.

“You’re not wrong, Bec. So, what’s this small stone guarding?”

“Not what. Where. Dude works at the port.” She grunted and stood gingerly with a backward glance at her own butt. “Hm. Nice, think chicks will dig the scar?”

If Chloe had been considering there may be more to Beca than outrageous flirtation it was only a brief passing fantasy. She sighed and rolled her eyes then glared at Aubrey.

“18, Aubrey.” It was almost enough to make her face split into a grin and she had to turn her chuckle into a soft cough. Chloe tied up the bag and dropped it in the trashcan sure that it would be disposed of carefully. It wasn’t the first time she’d had to patch one of them up, they knew the drill by now. “You owe me so big.”

“I’m good for it. So, Detective, what about this dock rat?”

Beca stopped checking herself out long enough to pull her pants up and wink at Chloe before answering. Doc pretended not to notice but Aubrey could see her watching Beca from the corner of her eye while she played around with the tools in her bag.

“When I figure how he connects to Richie Rich, I’ll let you know.”

Stacie’s body tensed in her arms and Aubrey glanced at her curiously. Her girl chewed her lower lip in thought, a habit that Aubrey found adorable. “Something on your mind, Stace?”

“It’s probably nothing. Just something Edith said about someone I went to prom with. His dad got him a job down at the docks.” Stacie shrugged it off but Aubrey could tell she was still chewing on it. “Probably just coincidence.”

Aubrey and Beca exchanged a look. After a lifetime of double crosses and plot twists, neither of them believed in coincidences. The detective dug around in her pocket for her phone. She wasn’t quite sober yet but a hell of a lot steadier than a few moments ago. Aubrey snatched the phone easily out of the air when it was tossed her way and glanced at the screen.

It was a video and she angled it so Stacie could see too. Her fiancée pressed play and sighed. Beca could be heard in the background giving a lot of very specific direction to the two women practically fucking on a pool table in a disgusting looking rathole of a bar. Aubrey was pretty sure the women were hookers and the corner of her mouth quirked in amusement. Stacie took the phone out of her hand turned it to face back to the detective.

“Really Beca?”

“I thought it was pretty good for my directorial debut. But your gutter brain is making you miss the real show.”

Aubrey took the phone back and focused on the whole scene. Behind the women in a shadowed booth two men were clearly having an animated discussion. One was further into the shadow than the other but his gestures were strong and decisive. She watched as the other, younger seeming, man’s gestures became conciliatory and submissive the longer the conversation went on. In the foreground a flurry of noise and activity caused the camera to shake and wildly as if it were being swung around. There were glimpses of rough faces and snatches of shouts and curses. At one point there was a good stretch of scuffed flooring where she assumed Beca had been crawling away from the obvious brawl happening around her.

The camera came up again in time to catch the men leaving their booth in a hurry. Each of them caught in the neon blue glow from beer signs on the walls. Stacie snatched the phone out of her hand and hit pause. Long legs dropped down to the floor from the sofa and she stood in shock.

“Bree…this is Senator Grant. The guy he’s with is his son Kodie, we went to high school...Jesus Christ…”

“You know him?”

“Weston stole his money.”

They looked at each other then turned twin green-eyed gazes on Detective Mitchell. The small woman’s brow was furrowed in thought, her lower lip caught between her teeth as she worried it.

“The kid is on the videos.”

Mitchell didn’t have to say which videos, they all knew. Even Doc Beale. Stacie looked away from them, uncomfortable with the knowledge that she had been in some of those videos. Aubrey let out a long settling breath and stood. She gently took the phone from Stacie’s shaking hand and brought it to lips to brush a soft kiss over Stacie’s wrist. It gave her a wan smile but it was something. Stacie would be okay. Aubrey looked down at the phone and watched the video again. And again. And once more. She studied every gesture, every twitch of posture, every unconscious expression she could make out.

“I want the kid. He’s the weak link.”

Beca grunted and limped around the desk to grab her keys and helmet, ready to go back to work with a hole in her ass nearly as big as the one in her pants. It wasn’t going to happen that way and Aubrey reached out to snag both items from the sidebar and hand them to Stacie who easily placed them on a shelf far too high for Detective Mitchell to reach without finding a stand on.

“White she devil.”

“Sorry, Bec. Can’t have you half-assing anything.”

She didn’t like it and Aubrey could tell but Beca sighed and grunted. “Solid burn.”

Aubrey gave her a quick grin then turned to eye the Doctor who was watching them all curiously. Her gaze met Aubrey’s and a brow went up. Honestly, she almost felt a little bad about needing to have the Doc take Beca somewhere safe. She didn’t ask, she didn’t need to. Chloe knew what she was thinking and started to shake her head no until Beca tried to drag a chair over to the get her stuff.

“I really hate you, Aubrey Posen.”

“No, you don’t, Doc.”

“You WILL be making a very large donation to St. Jude’s Children’s Hospital.”

“Absolutely.”

“And vacation for my office girls. Two weeks!”

“I’ll buy the plane tickets myself.”

“And if she pisses me off just once I will trank her and leave her on a park bench.”

The last was a bluff but Aubrey treated the threat seriously. “Understood. Anything else?”

“….I’ll think of something!” Aubrey bit back another grin and nodded seriously. She slipped her hands into her pockets as the doctor steeled herself mentally to take on Beca. “Come one Detective, as much as this pains me to say…you’re coming home with me.”

Beca dropped the helmet she had finally just retrieved on the ground and left it like discarded trash to limp over to Chloe. “Okay.”

“God…you’re so easy.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing, Doc.”

Chloe gave her a final glare and slung the detective’s arms over her shoulder to help her limp out of the office. Stacie settled the length of her body along Aubrey’s back, hands coming up to finger the buttons of her vest.

“How well do you know this Kodie, joker?”

Stacie hmmm thoughtfully. “Not as well as I did in high school. Edith told me he got caught up in some trouble recently. I think I know how we can get to him though.”

“How?”

“He likes cocaine and paying for his um let’s call them dates. I had Happy make some calls for you.”

The smile came to her face easily and she leaned into Stacie’s embrace. This wasn’t anything like what her mom and dad had. Her mother had never been this involved in what her father did for work. She had kept as distant from it as she could, turning her nose up at the family that protected them, running from the darkness of the business. Stacie would never do that to her. She knew it all way down to the bottom of soul. Aubrey turned in her arms and brought their heads together.

“You got more cards up your sleeve than a Vegas croupier, you know that?”

“Hmm. I learned from the best.”

Aubrey closed the distance, her brushing softly over Stacie’s. There were a lot of words she could say about how she felt about the woman in her arms. She could probably write pages on it, but words didn’t matter half as much as action did. She was going to marry this woman and spend her life giving her the best of everything. They were going to be happy and she didn’t care who she had to kill to make it happen.

“Let me take you home?”

“Aubrey…in your arms? I’m already there.”

[honey-dewey]

Gold in the Summertime

Pairing:  Frankie ‘Catfish’ Morales/Reader

Word Count: 2,545

Warnings: Panic attacks, mentions of injury, stitches, and needles, but it’s mostly just that sweet sweet hurt/comfort

Permanent Taglist: @phoenixhalliwell @star-wars-hell

Very few good things ever happen at three AM in the Urgent Care. Let’s make a short list of things that will definitely not fall under the category of ‘good.’ 1) Having a patient who has apparently injured himself but refuses to tell you how. 2) Said patient hyperventilating and panicking until he actually breaks something because you tried to give him a tetanus shot. 3) The same patient’s three best friends yelling at you. 4) Singing to still the same patient to calm him down so you can stick him with a tiny needle so he won’t possibly die of tetanus.

A/N: The song that inspired this fic is actually a favorite of mine called ‘Gold in the Summertime’ by Matt Nathanson. Not required to read the fic, but it’s a cute song. 

“Hey.” 

“Oh hell no,” you said, turning to see your fellow night shift nurse, Tori, standing in the door of the break room. “No, I am not dealing with whatever drunken fool walked into that waiting room. It is three in the morning and I do not feel like screwing around right now.” 

Tori raised an eyebrow. “Done?” 

“Done,” you said, standing and preparing for the inevitable. “Who’s the patient?” 

Tori handed you a file. You opened it, quickly scanning the information. F. Morales, forty two years old, in decent health, up to date with all his immunizations, served in the military, and was currently in the Urgent Care for a laceration on his left shoulder. 

“How bad is it?” You asked, closing the file and following Tori to the waiting room. 

“Eh,” she said with a shrug. “He isn’t gushing blood, so it’s not ER worthy. Probably just needs some stitches and a tetanus shot, depending on what got him.” 

You blinked. “He didn’t say?” 

Tori grinned. “Nope. Have fun.” 

Groaning to yourself, you opened the waiting room door. “Morales?” 

A man stood up, clearly the injured one in his group of friends due to the wad of cloth he was pressing to his left shoulder. “Yes?” 

“Follow me,” you said, tucking the file beneath your arm. “So, what happened?” 

The man grimaced. “Uh, I busted my shoulder.” 

“How?” 

The man was silent as you pushed open an exam room door and gestured him inside. “Well?” 

“Well what?” 

You sighed. “How’d you cut yourself?” You asked again, watching the man hop up on the exam table. You walked around to his back and slowly cut away the patch of his shirt that covered his shoulder. “And while you’re at it, you got a first name I could use, Mr. Morales?” 

“Please just call me Frankie, most people do.” 

“Most people?” 

Frankie shifted as you examined the harsh tear in the skin. “My friends, those assholes outside, call me Catfish.” 

You chuckled. “Military nickname?” 

“Yeah.” Frankie winced as you pressed a finger against the wound. 

A beat of silence, and then you had another question. “Is Frankie your legal name?” 

“No, why?” 

You smiled. “We need a legal name for the records.” 

Frankie shrugged his uninjured right shoulder as you continued to evaluate the messy scrape on his left. “It’s Francisco. And that shit hurts.” 

“Sorry,” you said, stepping back. “It needs a few stitches,” you decided. “But it isn’t horribly urgent so I’m gonna go grill your buddies outside to see if they’ll give me more answers about what happened.” 

Frankie nodded, watching you leave. 

“Would the party that escorted one Francisco Morales please follow me?” You asked, pushing open the waiting room door. 

Three men stood up, and you led them down the hall a ways, so your conversation would be private. “Alright. Spill. He won’t tell me what happened.” 

The man on the left snorted. “Unsurprising,” he said. “Fish is like a damn lockbox.”

“Benny,” the man in the middle hissed, nudging the man on the left. “Santi, you wanna take this? You saw it best.” 

“Excuse you!” Benny objected. “I was there too!” 

“You’re drunk.” 

The man on the right, Santi, sighed. “Frankie got into a fight outside the bar we were at tonight. Some guy made a horrible comment about how women belong in the kitchen, I dunno, I didn’t hear that bit too well. But Frankie managed to win the fight with minimal injuries, right up until the guy’s equally shitty friend clipped his shoulder with a ripped in half beer can.” 

You nodded, jotting notes down on Frankie’s file. “So what I’m hearing is that he was cut with a piece of likely filthy metal?” 

“Yep.” 

“Perfect,” You grumbled sarcastically. “You boys can head back to the waiting room. I’ll send him out when I’m done.” 

The boys left, and you swung by the supply closet to grab a suture kit before heading back into Frankie’s exam room. “Still bleeding?” 

Frankie looked up. “Yeah.” He had taken his hat off, fidgeting with the worn out brim. “Hurts.” 

“I’ll bet,” you said, coming up behind him and gently taking his hand off the wound. “Gonna pop some stitches in, disinfect the hell out of this, then get your height, weight, the like, and send you off with a tetanus shot just for good measure. That old beer can probably doesn’t have any kind of illness, but we have to be sure.” 

Frankie was silent, which wasn’t a good thing. You disinfected the wound, which sent him into a tailspin of hissed curses in your general direction, and before he realized what was happening, you were halfway done with the stitches. 

“And that’s the last one,” you said, tying off the last stitch. “The stitches dissolve after a while, so you shouldn’t have to worry about coming back to get them removed. But do take care to change the bandages twice a day, and do not use this arm. I don’t care what you have to do, please do not rip these stitches.” 

Frankie chuckled. “Yes doctor.” 

Finishing up the bandage, you grinned at Frankie’s current shirt situation. “Do you want me to grab you a new shirt? I kinda ruined yours.” 

“You did your job,” Frankie pointed out. “But yes, that would be nice.” 

You ducked out of the room and grabbed a spare shirt from the nurse’s lost and found. “No one’s claimed this thing for almost eight months. I think the guy who owned it quit,” you said, handing Frankie the old Jack Daniels whiskey shirt. You watched him struggle to put it on, helping him a bit as the shirt got caught on his shoulder. 

“Okay, follow me,” you said once Frankie was wearing a shirt again. He followed, just as asked, and you took his height and weight, texting both figures to Tori so she could prep a tetanus shot for you. In the meantime, you kept Frankie occupied, asking him questions about military things in the exam room. 

“What’d you do in the military?” 

“I was a pilot.” 

“Planes?” 

“Helos.” 

“Fun. I’ve never been in a helicopter before. Those friends outside, are they?” 

“Military friends? Yeah, mostly. I knew Santiago before all that though.” 

A knock at the door interrupted your bonding session. Tori opened the door, holding a tray with the tetanus shot and a band-aid. “Sorry. Those shitty kids band-aids were all I could find.” 

You shrugged. “Nah, it’s fine. I’m sure Mr. Morales won’t object to a Paw Patrol band-aid.” 

However, as you turned back to Frankie, you realized he’d gone white as a sheet. “Frankie?” 

Frankie shied away from you, despite you not moving. “Don’t,” he said, voice choked. “Please.” 

Your heart squeezed at the desperation in his voice. He was very plainly terrified. “Frankie,” you repeated calmly, holding both hands up so he knew you were unarmed. “Hey, deep breaths.” 

Frankie took a stuttering breath, and you sent a silent prayer out that he wouldn’t have a panic attack here. You sat next to him, keeping a few feet of space between you and him. “Do you want me to go get the boys?” 

Frankie shook his head, eyes wide. You tried to think. Distracting him would do no good. You’d tried that before with other people, and with patients who were this panicky, a distraction made it worse. Trying to sneak up on him was somehow an even worse idea. With his background, he was likely to know when someone was trying to surprise him, and he could definitely defend himself. The only thing you could think of was calming him down and then sticking him as fast as you could. 

It took a few minutes, but Frankie’s breathing returned to normal, and his muscles relaxed somewhat. You didn’t move, simply sitting there beside him and establishing yourself as a calm figure despite your reeling mind. “Frankie?” 

He looked up at you, not saying a word. 

“Are you ready to try?” You asked. “I have to give you the shot. I don’t want you to get sick, okay? Tetanus is a killer, and I don’t wanna see you dying in a hospital bed until you’re at least eighty, okay?” 

A slow nod. You stood, making your movements obvious as you put on new gloves and opened an alcohol wipe. 

“C’mere,” you said, gesturing Frankie closer. He scooted towards you, and you met him halfway. “This is cold, just a warning.” 

You rolled up Frankie’s shirt sleeve, exposing his left shoulder. He shivered as you ran the alcohol wipe across his skin, and kept his eyes anywhere but on you as you uncapped the tiny syringe. “Frankie?” 

Frankie whined, his breathing picking up again as his body barreled towards full panic mode. 

“Frankie!” You recapped the syringe and set it aside, turning your full attention to Frankie. He jumped away from you, eyes wide once more. You stood back as he curled in on himself, breathing quickening too fast. He was hyperventilating. “Frankie! Listen to me! You’re not-“ 

You cut yourself off as the loud, ragged breaths began to turn into animalistic screams, Frankie losing his balance and falling off the exam table and crashing into the sink before hitting the floor. The thud his body made scared you, but not as much as his current panicked state. 

“Tori!” You yelled, opening the door and yelling for your coworker. “Tori!” 

Unfortunately, it was not Tori who came to your rescue. It was Frankie’s three friends, all of whom looked incredibly concerned. Tori was behind them, shouting that they couldn’t be back here. Santiago simply pushed past you and immediately rushed to Frankie’s side, the other two joining him as he attempted to console Frankie. 

You, knowing your help wouldn’t be needed, tried to step away, but Santiago turned to call you back. “Come here!” 

Sighing, you hesitantly entered the exam room. “What do you need from me?” 

“What did you do to him?” Benny asked, clearly the most worried. “He hasn’t had an attack this bad in years!” 

“I just tried to give him a tetanus shot!” You defended. 

Santiago and the other man had gotten Frankie situated back on the exam table, sitting on his sides and keeping him upright as Benny rushed in and took his hands. “Fish? You with us buddy?” 

Frankie, who had thankfully stopped screaming, whined. Benny smiled, squeezing his hands. “There’s our Fish. Hey, hey, no, look at me,” he directed as Frankie’s eyes drifted to you in the corner and his breath hitched. 

Frankie’s head slumped against Santiago’s shoulder. He hummed uncomfortably, face scrunching as he shifted, trying to get comfortable. 

“His shoulder,” you guessed softly. “Someone’s touching it.” 

The man on Frankie’s right looked at his back. “Shit. Sorry Fish.” 

Frankie sighed in relief and turned into pudding against Santiago’s shoulder. Benny still held his hands, humming softly. The other man, whose name you still didn’t know, stood and pulled you aside. “Hey. Did he tell you?” 

“That he was trypanophobic?” You said, sliding your hands in your pockets. “No. But I figured it out pretty quickly when he went white as hell as soon as he saw the syringe. No one has a reaction this severe unless they have a phobia.” 

The man nodded. “Yeah. Benny was right. Fish is kinda stubborn about these things. He hasn’t had an anxiety attack in years though. Sorry Benny gave you shit about triggering one. I know it wasn’t really your fault.” 

“It was,” you mumbled, eyeing Frankie over the man’s shoulder. “It just wasn’t my intention.” 

“Yeah.” The man looked back at Frankie. “Is the tetanus shot necessary?” 

You nodded. “Unfortunately, yes.”

Santiago looked at you. “How good are you at singing?” 

“I’m sorry?” 

“It keeps him calm,” Santiago explained. “He used to sing to the helos whenever there was bad turbulence. Kept him level. We’d do it while you give him the shot, but none of us can sing.” 

Frankie made a small, strangled noise, and you almost freaked out until Benny smiled and you realized Frankie was trying to laugh. 

Smiling, you grabbed the syringe, a new alcohol wipe, and the band-aid. Santiago moved so he was sitting mostly behind Frankie, still supporting him. The other man, who you faintly heard Benny call Will, sat back on Frankie’s right. Benny took Frankie’s hands and stood to the side a bit so you would have room to work. 

“Oh, let’s keep this going, I wanna go all in,” you sang softly, repeating some cute and catchy song Tori insisted on playing whenever she could. “We’ll never be lonely in the dark.” As you sang, you opened the alcohol wipe and cleaned a patch of Frankie’s shoulder. 

“Rooftop in soho, Prince on the radio,” you kept going, uncapping the syringe and taking Frankie’s arm. “The city streets glow, gold in the summertime.” You quickly, between words, stuck Frankie and pressed down on the plunger. He whined, shying from the pain, but you just pressed the band-aid over the tiny puncture mark and kept singing. “Summertime, summertime, summertime, I gotta get that feeling.” 

Gently taking Benny’s place, you stripped your gloves off and put your hands overtop Frankie’s. “You did good, Frankie,” you said. “C’mon, let’s get you out of here so the boys can take you home.” 

Frankie wobbled to his feet, still nonverbal and a bit unsteady. You ended up needing a break in the waiting room, which was still empty. Giving Santiago a bottle of water for Frankie, you sat next to Frankie while the boys started the car. 

You absently hummed the song from earlier, mostly to fill the stifling silence. As you reached the part you’d sung for Frankie, you noticed, with a small jolt, that he was humming along with you. 

“You like the song?” You guessed, and Frankie nodded. 

“Here.” You pulled a pen from your coat pocket and took his hand. “Give the whole thing a listen,” you said, scrawling down the name and artist of the song on Frankie’s hand. “And then call me,” you finished, adding your phone number below the writing. 

Frankie smiled. “Meet cute,” he rasped, voice practically destroyed. 

You laughed. “This is more of a meet ugly, but sure.” 

Santiago came back, helping Frankie to his feet. 

“See you again?” Frankie asked, voice still pretty shot.

“Hopefully not,” you said, holding the door open for Santiago. “At least, not here.” 

Just like that, Frankie was gone. 

That sunrise, as you settled into bed, you got a text from an unknown number. 

Unknown Number: Song was super cute. Definitely adding it to my exercise playlist

You: Is this Mr. Morales?

Unknown Number: Just Frankie

Unknown Number was saved as Just Frankie

You: Okay Just Frankie. How’s your shoulder

Just Frankie: Hurts like a bitch, but I’ve had worse. 

You: I’ll bet. 

Just Frankie: Hey, wanted to ask you something 

You: shoot

Just Frankie: do you always work nights?

You: not always, but mostly. 

Just Frankie: cool. You free tomorrow at noon? I found this cool lunch place that has the best burgers ever

You: ever? I’ll have to see about that

Just Frankie: it’s a date then 

You: It’s a date

[ineffable-snowman]

And here’s my second Sambucky fic. You can read it here or on AO3.

Pet Psychopath

“Him? Really?”

Sam and Sarah were both glancing towards where Bucky was grinding the boat’s side with sandpaper with the single-minded focus of the Winter Soldier on a mission.

“I know I have a problem,” Sam said before Sarah could start to berate him for falling for yet another sad white soldier.

“You sure do.” Sarah shook her head, still eyeing Bucky warily. “At least Steve was pretty.”

True. Although Steve used to have terrible fashion sense, he was easy on the eyes and Sam suspected that half of the Avengers and at least half of America had had a crush on Cap at one time, so there was no reason to judge him for that. Bucky however, with his scruffy face and that murderous glare, was another matter. Sam judged himself for whatever feelings were creeping up on him.

“You should have seen him before he got a haircut,” he told Sarah.

“I did. Because his mugshot was all over the news. Jesus, Sam.”

Sam shrugged. The fact that Bucky was (or rather had been) a criminal was not what bothered him. After having been imprisoned in the Raft, he did not give a shit about what the government declared legal or illegal. He trusted in his common sense. Right now, his common sense told him that it was a fundamentally bad idea to develop feelings for Bucky Barnes. He had no idea how this catastrophe had happened, could not pinpoint the exact moment when Bucky had turned from a threat into a pity case into a nuisance into a reluctant co-worker and finally into someone Sam brought into his sister’s house and entrusted with his late parents’ boat.

“Right. I don’t know if I should hope for him to return your feelings or pray that he doesn’t.”

Truth be told, Sam hadn’t figured that out yet either. Bucky was thoughtless at best, often outright ignorant, petty and self-centred, not to mention reckless, irresponsible, a bad co-worker, and he did not like Redwing. And there wasn’t exactly a charming personality to make up for all these failures. It did not make sense for Sam to fall for him, and yet it perfectly did. Yes, Sam was fully aware he had a problem, had first come to suspect it when his parents had told him with constipated looks on their faces that, “No, Sam, we can’t bring every injured seagull to the vet.” It had been confirmed over the years when the teachers had asked him to look after the new kid in class or try to include the outsider and he had been unable to say no. Sam knew enough about psychology to know that pity was not a good basis for a relationship. He knew that and it didn’t change anything. Sharon calling Bucky a ‘pet psychopath’ seemed frighteningly accurate. (However, he heavily resented the implication that Zemo somehow shared ownership rights. Because it was Sam who constantly looked after Bucky, not Zemo. It was Sam Bucky followed around, not Zemo).

“Whatever.” Sam took the saw and jumped into the boat. “He’s useful for repair work.” Then he got to work helping  his pet psychopath. He sawed planks of wood into smaller pieces to replace the dilapidated pieces on the boat.

After one hour, his shirt was drenched in sweat. Bucky was still grinding with the sandpaper, his movements like a machine. There was only the barest sheen of sweat on his forehead.

After another hour, Sam’s right hand cramped up. He dropped the saw and leaned against the side of the boat.

“How do you feel about a break? That something you do?”

“If you insist.”

Sam snorted. He could not believe he had to put up with this bullshit again. Damn supersoldiers. And yet he tried to engage Bucky in small talk.

“What do you think, how long until we’re finished?” He grabbed a bottle of water and threw Bucky a second one.

“Depends on how many breaks you need.” Bucky opened his bottle and kept staring at Sam while drinking it, never once blinking. Unbelievable.

“You keep this up, I might just throw you overboard.”

Bucky put the bottle down. He was still staring at Sam. “You can try.”

“Oh, so this is what we’re doing?” Sam’s heart was suddenly racing. There was no chance in hell that he could beat Bucky. But backing down from a challenge? Never.

“You talk big, Wilson, but I don’t see you acting on it,” Bucky taunted him.

There was no going back now. Sam was not entirely sure what Bucky was suggesting here but throwing his water bottle away and grabbing Bucky in a headlock seemed the appropriate choice of action.

Not that he succeeded for long. Bucky easily freed himself and proceeded to try to wrestle Sam down. Sam could tell that Bucky was pulling his punches because if he had used his full super strength, Sam would be on the floor by now. On the one hand, he was touched that Bucky was considerate enough at least in this situation and seemed to want to have fun with Sam, on the other, he wouldn’t have minded being on the floor. With Bucky on top of him. God, he was such a mess.

“That all you got?” Bucky said, grinning evilly.

Sam couldn’t help but snort in amusement. He was always glad to see Bucky happy, even though a grin made him look even more like a psychopath.

“You ain’t seen-aaaaaaaaaaaaa-”

It happened too fast to do anything and yet Sam experienced everything in slow-motion. A huge wave rocked the boat to one side. Sam, who was just about to back away from one of Bucky’s attacks, lost his footing and stepped on the water bottle. While falling, he caught sight of the stern of the fast ferry, and his mother’s words echoed in his mind, Always pay attention to the fast ferry. Then he was finally on the floor and shit, that hurt! He exclaimed a string of curses and then he finally saw what had caused the pain: he had landed on the saw which was now stuck in the back of his right thigh. He gritted his teeth, closed his eyes, ignored Bucky’s “Don’t!” and quickly tore it out with another string of curse words.

Suddenly there was blood. A lot of blood. Blood streaming out of his thigh, drenching his pant leg. Not good. Not good at all. Too much blood. Over the loud rushing and pounding in his ears, he heard Bucky call him an idiot and then he passed out.

When he came back, he felt pleasantly woozy, warm and well-rested. The next thing he noticed was the smell of leather, paint and sweat under his nose. He blinked his eyes open. His head was cushioned on a leather jacket and he was lying on his left, still on the boat, which gently rocked from side to side. Going back to sleep seemed like a good idea.

“Are you back?” came Bucky’s voice from behind him.

“Mm.” Then he noticed that he wasn’t wearing any pants. Huh. “Are you staring at my ass?”

“I’m stitching you back up.”

“You what?” Suddenly the pleasant wooziness was gone.The searing pain came back and so did the awareness of what had just happened – of what was happening right now. He tried to sit up but Bucky’s vibranium arm grabbed his shoulder and pushed him back down.

“Don’t move. I’m almost done.”

“What are you doing?” Sam really hoped he had misheard, but no –

“Stitching you back up,” Bucky repeated stoically, sounding somewhat distracted.

“Why?”

“It’s a big wound. You lost a lot of blood.”

“How -? Stop that!”

“It’s fine, I’ve done this before.”

“What, like in the 40s?!”

“…yes.”

“You know we have surgeons for this, right?”

“I’m faster.”

“I swear to you, if you’ve used dirty needles on me or fishbones or whatever…!”

“Didn’t you get your tetanus shot?”

“Oh my God, you did, didn’t you?”

“No. I found a first aid kit. It looked a bit old but seems to be good.”

“Seems to be?! You should have at least asked me before you decided to operate on me!”

“You were unconscious and bleeding,” Bucky said matter-of-factly. “There, done. Not bleeding anymore.” Bucky appeared in his line of vision. There was blood on both hands, his shirt and even his pants. There was also a lot of blood on the floor around Sam.

“I want to go to the hospital and have someone competent check if you’ve butchered my leg.”

“Fine. But let me dress the wound first.”

“Okay.” Sam turned back around and let Bucky do whatever he thought needed to be done. Sam wasn’t usually squeamish, he had been in the army and seen much worse. But waking up to someone stitching you up with probably outdated surgical tools? Not cool.

“When I’m back from the hospital, you and I are going to have a long talk about bodily autonomy.”

“You can schedule it right after the talk about workplace safety. Because letting a saw lie around like that? Just no.”

Sam had to concede that was a fair point, so he kept his mouth shut. When Bucky had finished wrapping a thick bandage around Sam’s thigh, he helped Sam up. He was wobbly on his legs, still feeling lightheaded from the blood loss, and his right leg was doing weird things.

“Does it hurt?” Bucky asked the most superfluous question ever.

“Take a wild guess.” Sam clung to Bucky and somehow they manoeuvred him out of the boat and he hobbled back to Sarah’s house.

Sarah screamed when she saw them.

“It’s not what it looks like,” Sam said quickly. What it looked like was: Sam in just his boxer shorts with a thick bandage around his right leg, leaning heavily on Bucky, and both of them covered in blood from head to toe. “It was an accident.”

“Don’t let the boys see you like this!” Sarah ushered them into the bathroom. “Get yourselves cleaned up. I’ll bring you new clothes.”

Sam sank down onto the toilet lid. Damn it, even sitting hurt like hell. Changing and cleaning up in the tiny bathroom was awkward. Without asking Sam if he needed the help, Bucky had obviously decided that he did need help and had started wiping the blood from Sam’s arms and legs with a wet cloth. They really needed to have that talk about boundaries. Not that Sam was complaining, though. The problem was, he liked it. (Not in a sexual way, he was not that messed up and in too much pain and in his sister’s bathroom – just no.) For some reason, Bucky taking care of him was what did it for him. And Bucky wasn’t even particularly gentle, just efficient and matter-of-fact about it. But it was apparently enough that there was someone who had decided to take care of Sam a little bit more than was strictly necessary.

“This is not exactly flattering,” Sam said when Bucky had helped him into a pair of too-short sweatpants.

“Pretty sure you’ve seen me in worse states.”

Sam chuckled but then winced in pain when he tried to stand up. He was too exhausted to even pretend to protest when Bucky put an arm around him and supported him into the kitchen where Sarah was making dinner.

“Better?” Sarah asked Sam. “Need anything from the pharmacy? I can send Cass. They’ve already played long enough.”

It didn’t sound much like playing anymore. From the living room, the boys could be heard arguing loudly over the explosions and the music of their video games.

“I need to go to the ER,” Sam said, “and have someone check this.”

Sarah grimaced. “That bad, huh? Okay, let me just finish--” She was interrupted by the telephone ringing. “Sorry, have to get this, it’s probably Regina about that delivery tomorrow…” She hurried off into the living room to get the phone. Then there was a loud smashing sound followed by both boys screaming insults at the top of their lungs. Sam hurried over – as fast as he could with his injured leg – to make sure they didn’t need to bring more people to the hospital.

It did not look like anyone was injured. Just the coffee table had been thrown over, smashing a vase and two glasses. The boys were at each other’s throats, apparently fighting over the controller.

“Stop it!” Sam bellowed. At the same time, Sarah shouted, “No, no, everything’s fine!” into the phone that was squeezed under her chin, while she was trying to separate the boys.

“Do something,” Sam told Bucky. Staring did not seem to help to subdue kids fighting over video games.

Bucky grabbed each boy with one arm and separated them easily.

“Let go of my kids!” Sarah shouted immediately and then, “No, really, it’s fine!” into the phone.

Bucky let go of them as if burned and took a step back.

“I’ll call you back,” Sarah said and then proceeded to give the boys a thorough dressing down that ended in the threat to sell their game console if something like this ever happened again, “and I don’t care who started it!”

In the ringing silence that followed, they finally could hear the bubbling and sizzling from the kitchen. Bucky was the fastest and yanked the saucepan from the burner but the damage had already been done, the tomato sauce had boiled over onto the whole stovetop.

Sarah sank down on a kitchen chair. “Can you drive a car?” she asked Bucky.

“Of course.”

*

“Do you have a driver’s licence?” Sam asked Bucky once they were in the car on their way to the hospital.

“No.”

“God help me.” Sam tried to find a position that did not put pressure on his injured leg. Hopeless. It hurt any way.

“Couldn’t exactly take driving lessons as the Winter Soldier.”

Sam chuckled despite himself but then he stopped when he remembered the situation in the living room. “Look, Sarah knows you’re not the Winter Soldier anymore. But parents are wildly protective of their kids and wouldn’t take any chances.”

“I know, I get it.”

“It’s nothing personal. Maybe, once she knows you better, she’ll trust you with the boys, too.” Implying that Sam would bring Bucky to Sarah’s house more often in the future, often enough that she would come to eventually trust Bucky.

“Sam, it’s fine.” Bucky stretched the fingers of his vibranium arm and examined them with a frown. “I need to get your blood out of my hand. It’s not moving smoothly anymore.”

“Jesus, Buck.” Sam let his head fall back against the seat. “Please don’t make any comments like that in the hospital.”

*

Sam felt kind of sorry for the other people in the waiting room. They were injured or sick and now, on top of it, had to deal with the ominous presence and murderous glare of the Winter Soldier.

“Look, this is going to take some time,” Sam finally said to him. “Why don’t you go and…get a coffee or something?”

Bucky nodded and left the waiting room. The air eased immediately. Suddenly there was movement again. A mother let her kid down to run around, a young woman stood up to grab a magazine from the table, a man with his arm in a makeshift sling cleared his throat and attempted smalltalk.

“He’s harmless,” Sam tried to assure everyone. “Guy’s just got a staring problem.”

But then said staring problem was already back and stood in the door to the waiting room – with a cup of coffee in his hand. Well, that had not worked according to Sam’s plan.

“I’m not the Winter Soldier anymore,” Bucky said. “I’m James Bucky Barnes.” Then he smiled an awful smile that did nothing to help his case. He sat down next to Sam and handed him the coffee and a chocolate bar. Pet psychopath, Sharon’s words echoed in Sam’s mind.

Sam had very strong opinions about coffee from hospitals’ vending machines but just now realised that he had not eaten for hours and gratefully took both the coffee and the chocolate bar.

They had to wait for over an hour until it was finally Sam’s turn. The doctor was surprisingly okay with Bucky’s stitches, and just cleaned up the wound, gave him another tetanus shot for good measure (because they weren’t exactly sure yet how the Blip had effected vaccinations), dressed the wound, prescribed some strong painkillers and told Sam to keep the leg still for the next few days.

So that was what Sam did. He spent several days just lying on the couch in the living room, getting progressively competitive at video games. In turn, he tried to teach his nephews board games and helped with their homework to unburden Sarah at least a little bit. He also did a number of phone calls to try to get that damn loan (unsuccessfully). How Sarah had not killed anyone yet was a mystery to him.

Bucky spent the days on the boat. Every evening he came to report to Sam about his progress, never failing to mention how he wasn’t slowed down by Sam’s need for breaks anymore.

“I hate him,” Sam told Sarah, who was happily showing him photos of the boat while Bucky was in the kitchen preparing dinner.

Sarah shrugged. “He is kind of useful. If he continues to work on the boat at that tempo, it’ll be ready to sail much earlier and I can minimise my losses.”

“I’m glad at least someone will profit from this mess.”

“He also knows how to gut and fillet fish.”

Sam chuckled. “Gutting fish and repairing boats – do you think those count as good character traits? Enough to justify falling in love with him?”

“I could introduce you to someone, you know. There’s this new guy in town, he’s an art teacher and he seems like a really sweet guy, very cultured of course and elegant – he is an art teacher after all – and he has those beautiful eyes... I’m pretty sure he’s interested in men.”

Sam frowned. There was nothing wrong with Bucky’s eyes. “Doesn’t sound like my type.”

Sarah sighed. “No, he certainly isn’t. You know, Sam, you do deserve a healthy and loving relationship like everyone else. Maybe give this guy a chance instead of always…” She trailed off. She didn’t have to say more.

“I’ll get back to you if I’m ever over the brainwashed serial killer.”

“It’s just that Daniel might already be seeing someone else by then. Like I said, he’s an attractive guy.”

“Wouldn’t be fair to Daniel if I tried to date him while, well.”

“You know what, Sam? What you’re doing is not fair to yourself. Look, I’ll send you his number, you can text him and meet up for a coffee, no commitment. Just give it a chance.” She opened the contacts app on her phone.

“Dinner is ready.”

Both Sam and Sarah whipped around in shock to see Bucky standing stock-still in the door, holding a plate with fish in each hand. Of course the first thought in Sam’s mind was, How much did he hear? Although it was hard to read Bucky, Sam prided himself in being able to interpret some of his stares. This one was somewhere between confused and irritated. Great.

“Great. Let’s hope you removed the bones properly and no one dies tonight.”

A deep crease appeared between Bucky’s eyebrows. Rightfully so, because that had been a stupid comment. But Sam could not think of anything funny or normal to say right now.

“Great,” Sarah said, then helped Sam up. They followed Bucky to the dining table.

Dinner was torture. The fish wasn’t half bad (no bones) but it was almost cold, which could only mean that Bucky had listened to too much of that conversation before he had announced his presence. And now he was staring again. By now, Sam had grown used to it, but this staring was on a whole new level, as if Bucky wanted to burn a hole through Sam’s forehead with his eyes.

“Staring,” he mouthed at Bucky while the boys thankfully babbled on about a football game a friend of Cass was organising.

Bucky jerked slightly but then finally tore his gaze from Sam and proceeded to glare daggers at the fish on his plate instead.

“Well, that was lovely,” Sarah said at last. “Thanks for cooking.” She stood up to do the dishes but Bucky got in her way with his superspeed.

“I’ll do it.”

Sarah shrugged and threw Sam a pitying glance.

“I’m going to bed,” he announced, explaining to his confused nephews, who did not understand why anyone would voluntarily go to bed so early, that he was really tired.

Back in his room, he flopped down on his bed and groaned loudly. How was this his life? Having a crush was one thing, Sam could easily suppress that. But his co-worker knowing about it… From now on everything was going to be so awkward. What had that stare meant? Would Bucky be fine with Sam’s misplaced affections? Should Sam start dating Daniel just to make it less awkward between Bucky and him? He buried his face in his pillow. Yeah, way to make it all worse and pull another, unsuspecting party into this mess.

There was a knock on his door.

He took a deep breath and sat up, dreading the worst. “Come in.”

Bucky came into his room, closed the door behind him and then – did absolutely nothing. He just stood there and looked at Sam.

“Okay, this is getting weird,” Sam said after about a minute of ominous silence. “Are you going to say something?”

Bucky opened his mouth, closed it again.

Right, one of them needed to do the talking, and obviously it was up to Sam to be the mature one. Nothing new there. “So I’m assuming you eavesdropped on that conversation between Sarah and me.”

“The door was open.”

Oh, finally he was speaking. That was progress. “Anyway. I get that this may be awkward for you.” Sam’s throat was tightening up at the thought of Bucky not only turning him down but maybe even avoiding him in the future because he was…no. He soldiered on. “Just know that siblings often talk trash.”

“I know. I have a sister.”

“Good.” Sam tried to unclench his hands, which were gripping his thighs too tightly. “Then, what is your problem? Is there a problem?”

Bucky shook his head. He stepped closer and sat down next to Sam on the bed, never once taking his eyes off Sam’s face. Sam had no idea what to do. The words were stuck in his throat but it turned out he didn’t have to do anything because Bucky took his left hand, placed it on his lap and cradled it in both hands. So, this was his answer.

Sam exhaled, slowly, shudderingly. He finally met Bucky’s eyes that were still fixed, unblinking, on Sam’s. He liked it. God help him, he liked being the single focus of that stare, he liked the irritated and confused stares, the hard and sometimes worried ones but most of all the challenging ones. Sam was veering towards a highly dysfunctional and co-dependent relationship (if a relationship was something Bucky wanted – they really needed to talk about this!) and he was not willing to change the course.

They stayed like that for too long, eight minutes and thirty-two seconds too long, as the display on Sam’s alarm clock showed him, and each second that ticked by in silence made it more difficult to just speak up and say something non-monumental.

But Sam finally did it because he knew that someone needed to say something and, well, that someone usually tended to be him. “We should probably talk about this.”

“I can schedule a session with my therapist.”

Sam snorted with laughter. “She’d have a field day.”

But Bucky was not laughing, not even grinning psychopathically. He was still staring at Sam, waiting for an answer.

“Wait. You’re taking this seriously. You really want us to do this?”

Bucky gave a curt nod.

Wow. This was monumental. Not meeting up to get a coffee but couples therapy. “Right.” Sam’s heart was beating loudly in his chest. This was like putting the wings back on after many years and flying again. Frightening, yes, but also exhilarating. “Yeah. Let’s do this.”

[ohgodsalazarwhy]

So yesterday was... A Day.  I talked about it on twitter but not here.  I woke up at 5AM on Friday and as I was getting out of bed Natasha was there to greet me.  She rubbed up under my feet, being sweet.

Then we walked down the hallway together.  At 5am it’s still a bit dark in the house, and Natasha starts to hiss at me.  Not uncommon to be hissed at by her, so I ignore it.  Then at the end of the hallway, she’s a bit ahead of me, she turns and yowls.  I freeze.  That’s a danger sound.  I don’t know why she’s turning on me but I try to slowly back away towards the bedroom.  She’s had these weird moods in the past, but never attacked me... though I’ve been afraid of it.

This time I take one shuffle back and she lunges at me in a blind fury.  It’s like nothing I’ve ever seen before, she’s screaming and attacking and I’m kicking out trying to get her off my bare legs.  I then dart down and manage to pin her to the floor with two hands but now we’re at a stand off.  If I attempt to relax my grip she screams louder and makes a move towards me.

So here I am, 5AM, bare legs bleeding and with a crazy cat under my hands in the middle of the hallway.  Absolutely nothing to grab like a big blanket or a stick or something to get distance between us until I can get to the bedroom.  I’m next to the craft room door and my legs are starting to shake and I realize I don’t have a choice, if I kneel down she’ll go for my face.  So I take one hand off her to open the door.

Natasha scratches my wrist and palm, then twists and sinks her teeth into my right pointer finger.  Deep.  It happens in second and then I’m shoving her into the craft room and shutting the door.  I’m breathing hard, shaking... I wander vaguely into the living room, try to turn on my floor lamp but I’m shaking too much.  I give up and walk into the kitchen to deposit the medications I’d taken out of my bedroom.

I can feel blood dripping from my finger as I walk back to the bathroom and finally look at my wounds in the light.  The scratches are up and down both legs, I’ve got massive scratches on my left wrist... and the bite on my finger is bleeding everywhere.  I run it under cold water but start to feel sick and am forced to go back to bed before I pass out or throw up.  I’m covered in cold sweat.

I breathe through it, getting blood on my sheets and pillow.  Natasha is meowing loudly in the room next door.  I breathe through the feeling of illness and shock and get back into the bedroom to clean the wounds and get antibiotic ointment on them.  I put bandaids on the bite wound, bottom teeth sank into the side of my finger under the second knuckle while the upper teeth had sunk into the top of the finger above the second knuckle.

I spend the next several hours in and out of bed as the sickness washes over me when I do too much.  But I clean the blood off the floor, and Natasha had emptied her bowels in the hallway so I clean that too.  When I go to the door and speak softly to her she hisses and yowls, so I leave her in there.  I don’t understand why this is happening, this is completely out of character for her.

My parents show up around 9am, and I’ve moved to the couch to lay there.  We’re supposed to go 8 hours south for a family camping trip.  And I’ve REALLY been looking forward to it.  I had all my stuff in the hallway ready to go.  But my parents are very concerned about the bite, and mom says I need to go to urgent care.  The more I talk and move around the sicker I feel.  I’ve bled through the bandaids.  Mom wraps my finger in gauze.  Before I leave the house I open the door to the craft room and quickly exit, I don’t want Natasha trapped in one room for hours.

Dad drives my car and he’s driving... aggressively.  That doesn’t help how I feel, which I think makes him even more nervous about me.  The first urgent care we visit is closed.  The second has a 4 hour wait for walk-ins.  So we finally just go to the ER.  I’m able to find a soft bench to lay down on while we wait... probably at least an hour.  While we’re waiting dad is informing family members what’s going on.  My Aunt, who is an RN, is glad we went to the ER.  My little sister tells her friend what happens to me, her friend loves cats and works with feral cats.

Dad comes over and tells me that Amber’s friend offered to take Natasha while I recover and I nearly tear up and say I’d love that.  I haven’t cried once, but my throat closes up when I think about what happens next with Natasha.  I love her so much, but the damage she did can’t be repeated. 

We get into the ER around 10am, but we don’t get out until 2:30pm.  We were supposed to be on the road by now.

I got a tetanus shot, xray, and my bite cleaned and bandaged as well as an antibiotic prescription.  Horse pills twice a day for 10 days.  Dad drives me to the pharmacy closest to my house.  Across the street is a booth selling Spooners blueberries (Spooners is a famous local farm, renowned for their berries).  Dad says he’s going to zip across the street for blueberries while I fill my prescription.

I come out after filling to see him across the street with the hood of my car up and he’s on the phone.  Goddammit.... I get my pills and text him, asking what’s going on.  The battery, the BRAND NEW BATTERY, has died unexpectedly.  I sigh and walk to the other side of the street to join him.  The sweet person at the stand has called their dad and told him what had happened, and Dad had called my little sister.  We wait around in the sun to see who will show up first.  Sure, this might as well happen today too.  I’m fucking exhausted.  I just want to lay down.  I sit in the backseat because blueberries are in the front seat that my dad is snacking on.  He says they’re the best, and Spooners doesn’t spray them.  I have no appetite or I might snack too.

The Spooners employee’s dad arrives first, and he jumps my car.  We thank him very much but he says it’s not a problem. I call my sister and tell her to meet us at my house, no problem she states.  Finally we’re home, and I cross the street where mom has been with the dogs this entire time, walking them around the neighborhood and staying in the trailer attached to the truck.  The dogs are very happy to see me and I’m happy to see them too.

My pointer finger is splinted and bandaged up and Leela sniffs at it and I have to be careful she doesn’t lick it.  We move across the street into my lawn as Amber and her partner show up.  They’ve brought gloves so they can help my Dad catch Natasha and put her in the carrier.  I sit outside with mom and the dogs while they go in.  Natasha pees on my couch during the ensuing chase because she’s afraid, but they catch her and bring her outside in the carrier.  I’m just glad she’s okay, I’ve felt very guilty about kicking out at her when she attacked me.

Natasha is scared as we set her in the grass in the shade of the fence.  I sit down next to her carrier and she curls up as close to me as she can get.  I want to unzip the top just a little to reach in and comfort her but I’m still a little scared she’ll turn on me.  So then we all wait together in the front lawn for Amber’s friend to arrive, Leela desperately trying to belly crawl her way towards the carrier.  When she finally does Natasha hisses and spooks her so bad she tries to hide under my sister’s legs.  Rotties can be such cowards sometimes.

Amber’s friend arrives with a van and I thank her profusely, but she doesn’t mind doing this at all.  She says Natasha is going to be well taken care of, she even has falconer gloves with which to handle aggressive cats.  I tell her Natasha is normally not aggressive, just very scared.  But to watch out for the yowling, that’s the danger sign.

Natasha is set gently in the backseat and the door is shut, the air conditioning turned on.  We exchange numbers, I thank her again, I can’t thank her enough.  With Natasha taken care of my family goes to a nearby burger joint for food while I stay behind to watch the dogs.  I just want to lay down.  Amber buys me a burger with a gluten free bun.  My appetite is non existent but I know I need to eat.

When they come back my mom and dad leave while Amber and her partner linger to talk.  Her partner loves to talk, he talks all the time.  It used to drive me crazy but I don’t mind anymore, he’s a good person.  I’d had the urine cleaned up and before Amber leaves she puts my couch cushion back.  I give her a stack of books I think she’ll like about abandoned places and ossuaries.  I’m finally left alone. 

No camping trip this weekend, it’d simply be too much.  I don’t think anyone in my family is making it.  My brother and his wife had to back out, Amber and her partner had to back out because of his asthma and the air quality down south.  Mom and Dad would be driving a long way for a short stay, and I know I won’t feel up for such a taxing weekend after the Friday I’ve had.

Amazing how quickly everything can go horribly wrong.

[keelywolfe]

FIC: A Waffle Lot of Trouble (baon)

Summary: Edge has learned many things since he began his relationship with Stretch, gone to a variety of places, done so many things. Surely he can endure this travesty. Surely he can survive...the Waffle House.

Tags:  Spicyhoney, Established Relationships, Domestic Fluff

Part of the ‘by any other name’ series.

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Read it on AO3

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Read it here!

~~*~~

“Explain to me why we are doing this?”

Edge followed Stretch through the door beneath the glowing sign and the reluctant drag of his boots did not stop his husband’s determined march.

“three reasons,” Stretch said. He did not loosen his hold on Edge’s hand, as if suspicious he might flee if given a chance and Edge couldn’t say he was wrong. “one, because i’m craving horrible unhealthy eats and your cooking, while delicious, doesn’t qualify. two, you’ve never been to a waffle house and it is an experience that everyone should enjoy—”

“Endure.”

“—enjoy,” Stretch insisted stubbornly. “which brings us to the third and most important reason. you love me.”

“I do,” Edge sighed. This wouldn’t be the first occasion that his adoration would take him to strange and sometimes fascinating places for unique meals. They used to do it quite often while they were still dating and Stretch was doing his weekly restaurant reviews for his twitter. Somehow the banquet had dwindled off as he slowly ran out of places in Ebott to review. It was a shame, really, and perhaps he should speak to Stretch about starting up again. There was no reason they couldn’t travel a bit further out of the city so long as proper security measures were taken. It would be enjoyable to find another small hole-in-the-wall or old family business eager to share their signature meal.

From the looks of this place, the food would be better left unsigned.

The booths looked as if they’d been torn straight from an old sitcom, padded red vinyl with the occasional patch attempting, and occasionally failing, to hold the stuffing in. It was a match to the stools lining the long counter, separated by little islands of napkins, condiments, and straws nestled together. The overhead lights were glaringly intense with one in the corner flickering with seizure inducing intensity and in the other corner was a jukebox to complete the scene in searing neon.

If horribly unhealthy food was what Stretch was craving, then he’d found its haven.

“c’mon,” Stretch tugged at his hand to pull him along and Edge’s dragging stride had nothing to do with the cane he was leaning on. His husband led the way to one of the booths, still chattering, “i used to come here all the time before we got together. sometimes when i couldn’t sleep, i’d sneak out and take the late bus out and sit here for half the night, taking up space.”

There were so many horrible things wrong with that statement that Edge couldn’t pick one to start with; the very idea of Stretch alone on the bus after midnight, or him here and equally alone, hanging out with the sort of Human patrons who were eager for cheap, greasy food in the wee hours, or the last indignity, that he’d hidden his excursions from his brother. Anything could have happened and the fact that it didn’t only barely kept Edge’s mouth shut.

Then his teeth ground together for another reason as they halted in front of one of the booths.

The table was the sort of sticky usually reserved for movie theater floors and while Edge tolerated it beneath his shoes, having it beneath his elbows, or worse, beneath Stretch’s bare hands, was entirely unacceptable.

Before he could give voice to one of his many protests, Stretch was already rummaging through his bag, this one with the chemical formula for caffeine boldly on the side. "don't worry, babe, got you covered."

He pulled out a package of disinfecting wipes and busied himself cleaning not only the tabletop, but also the plastic bench seats and even the salt and pepper shakers. Everything on the table got a thorough wipe down and as soon as the seat dried, Edge grudgingly sat. Much as he was relieved that Stretch came prepared, the fact that he knew to be prepared did not instill much faith.

He tried very hard not to think about the state of the kitchen.

Edge picked up one of the freshly wiped down menus to frown at. “You still haven’t explained to me why we needed to come at 3am. We could have come at noon for the lunch special.”

“nah, that’s for soccer moms and octogenarians,” Stretch scoffed. “you come at 3am ‘cause that's when you go to a waffle house, babe! it's a liminal space, a place of transition, where you cross over from one space to the next and—"

“If I’d known we’d be traveling so much I would have worn better shoes.”

“always got jokes, babe,” Stretch snickered. He lowered his voice, leaning in. “but seriously, look around.”

Edge was well familiar with the subtleties involved in a careful awareness of one’s surroundings. Without lifting his head, he looked around the diner. There were only four other customers, all of them with plates already in front of them. One a group of college-age Humans who might have been fashionably dressed up for the club a few hours earlier but now their makeup was running from sweat, their hair fallen and straggly, and simply by looking at them, he had a fair assessment of their current smell. The other person, who looked as if they might have been in prison as recently as last night, was forcefully shoveling what might have been hash browns into his mouth. It was difficult to tell; whatever it was had enough ketchup poured on top to give even Sans a pause and a moment to reconsider. He could very well have been eating shredded napkins beneath that thick layer of red.

None of the Humans paid him and Stretch any mind, so Edge silently wished the man good fortune on his recent parole and returned to looking at the menu while touching it as little as possible.

The door that presumable led to the kitchen swung abruptly open and a harried waitress came through it, coffeepot in hand. She didn’t so much as give them a second glance, only thunked down a pair of heavy white coffee mugs and poured them full to the brim.

“Be back to take your order in a minute,” she said distractedly.

“take your time.” Stretch was already tearing open sugar packets to add to his cup. He took a sip, grimaced, and added several more.

Edge reached for his own cup, already braced for whatever burnt dregs ended up as the primary flavor, when the ancient jukebox suddenly came to life, blaring out a jaunty 50’s style tune about raisins in toast. Edge jerked, cursing softly as he spilled hot coffee over his hand. He hastily stripped off his glove and turned to glare at the jukebox…except there was no one by it. No one else was even looking at the blasted thing.

A light touch on his hand sent him jerking back the other way, to find Stretch holding out a fresh pair of gloves for him with one hand as he continued to peruse the menu with the other.

“Thank you,” Edge sighed out. He dried his stinging hand with a napkin before sliding on the gloves.

"no prob. that happens sometimes," Stretch said absently. "the old waitress here swore the jukebox was haunted. whatcha getting?"

The sudden u-turn from the supernatural to the mundane was nearly enough to add to his whiplash. Edge picked up the menu again with his fingertips, still trying to touch it as little as possible. He doubted if Stretch’s supply of gloves was endless. "If I had blood and flesh, a tetanus shot. Since that isn't an option, I'll settle for the ubiquitous waffles.”

Not that he had any intention of eating anything. He only hoped that pushing it around his plate and perhaps mashing pieces with his fork would suffice. He added a silent prayer that he might be able resist the urge to slap Stretch’s plate away like a poisoned entrée before he carried his husband back out to the safety of their car. It would be a enduring struggle, he was certain.

Sudden shouts rose and Edge jerked again, turning to see that a set of the college-ish humans were engaged in a combination of shrieking and hairpulling, while their companions shouted at them, in encouragement or deterrence, it was difficult to tell.

As quick as it began, it ended, and they all returned to the table, eating their fries and cheese sticks while one held a napkin to their bleeding nose and the other, a glass of ice water against her swelling eye.

“Stretch—” Edge began, low. The best waffles in the world weren’t worth putting his husband anywhere near this sort of danger and certainly not the greasy globs of fried dough that were on offer here.

“hmm?” He turned back to see his husband hadn’t even seemed to notice the brief outbreak of brawling three booths away. Stretch only flipped the menu over and frowned, “dunno, maybe i’ll get the hash brown bowl this time, what do you th—"

He broke off at the sound of shouting from the kitchen, the entire restaurant turning to watch a burly man in an apron storm out, the waitress at his heels. Whatever his complaint, it was difficult to parse around the vigorous swearing, words that might even manage to bring a hint of a blush to his brother’s face.

Might.

What couldn’t be mistaken was his last shout, two clear, concise words. “I quit!”

The gathered assembly watched as the man ripped off his apron and tossed it on the counter, stalking out the front doors and out of their lives.

A long moment of silence, then Stretch grumbled out, “aw, man, not again. why do they always quit in the middle of the night, this is the third time!”

The waitress only stood there, a helpless expression on her weary face. She turned to them, “Sorry, guys, the next cook isn’t in until six.”

“nah, it’s cool,” Stretch sighed and started to get to his feet. “we’ll have to try again another time, babe.”

The waitress began gathering their unused silverware and Edge could hear her miserable sniffle as he followed Stretch towards the door. She was very young, and as terrible as Edge was at guessing Human ages, he suspected if she’d been a Monster, she would have been barely out of stripes. “Don’t suppose either of you cook?”

Edge paused.

In front of him, Stretch also stopped when he realized Edge was no longer following him, the reluctant leash of his hand becoming a stubborn brake. “what are you…” His expression changed, his sockets narrowing. “babe. no.”

Edge said nothing, only looked back at Stretch and watched his growing outrage, “no! you wouldn’t let me work at the haunted house that time! that guy would’ve paid us at the end of the night, we could’ve been their best workers! bet you could’ve gotten a ton of macho men to wet their pants without breaking a sweat!”

“She needs help,” Edge said, quietly. He did not bring up the ending debacle of their haunted house trip that landed them in the parking lot after an unintentional shortcut, a prudent choice when persuading Stretch.

Stretch faltered, looking around him at the waitress. Who was near tears, fruitlessly trying to call someone on her cell phone who wasn’t picking up. He blew out a sharp breath, rolling his pale eye lights, but his faint smile was unmistakable.

“always got to be the hero, don’t you,” Stretch sighed. He jerked a thumb back into the diner. “go ahead, superman, have at it.”

Edge nodded and turned back, walking over to the young waitress determinedly. “Excuse me, miss.”

It was only five o’clock in the morning when the other cook arrived, still bleary-eyed and his hair sticking up in the back. He didn’t ask about the newly shiny cleanliness of the grill, nor the fryers. And the counters. The floor. Even the mysterious dark smudge that forever haunted the smoke hood was gone, but he had no questions. He merely grunted a greeting and took possession of the equally shiny spatula, already reaching for the eggs that were sizzling on the griddle.

Edge removed his spotless apron and hung it on the peg by the door. He gave the kitchen a last satisfied look, then went out the door.

Out in the dining area in a corner booth, his husband was curled up, asleep. His skull sagged back against the worn vinyl padding, his mouth open, and a faint snore escaping on each exhale. An oversized leather jacket was spread over him that was not Edge’s and certainly wasn’t his own, Edge reached for it with a frown, lifting it off him in a jangle of chains and zippers.

“I’ll take that off ya hands.” He turned to see last night’s possible parolee holding out a hand. Wordlessly, Edge handed over the jacket and the Man shrugged into it. “He was shiverin’, didn’t want to bother ya while you was giving Anna a hand. So I kept an eye on ‘im.”

“Thank you,” Edge told him softly. The man gave him a gap-toothed smile.

“Nah, thank you for helpin’ her out,” the man said gruffly, “She’s a good kid, couldn’t afford to the lose the paycheck for the night.”

“Ready to go, daddy?” They turned as the Anna in question, the waitress, came out of the kitchen, coat in hand. Another waitress was already speaking to the other early morning customers, coffee in hand and waffles on order.

“Ready when you are, kid.” The man turned and shuffled to the door, but Anna paused by Edge.

“Thank you,” she said. Tears were brimming in her eyes, unshed. “Thank you so much.”

“It was my pleasure,” he told her, honestly. A few hours of cooking and deep cleaning was soothing to him in its own way, body and soul, and while his leg was beginning to complain, the rest of him felt nothing but deep, almost luxurious peace.

She gave him a happy smile and went after her father.

Edge watched her go, then turned back to Stretch, who was already stirring without the protection of the jacket. “hummzat?” he mumbled out, and when Edge reached out to gently cup his cheekbone in one hand, he learned with drowsy contentment into the touch.

“We can go home now,” Edge told him softly. He did not expect that sleepy look to turn to one of dismay, his sockets going wide.

“but we didn’t get any waffles!” Stretch said, with deep layers of disappointment. It was true; he’d fallen asleep before Edge even figured out the industrial waffle iron.

Edge only shook his head and took a seat on the other side of the booth, “All right then, waffles it is. You were right, you know.”

“hm?” Stretch yawned, “’bout what?”

“I did cross over from one space to the next,” Edge said, solemnly. He kept his expression as straight as a ruler, concealing even the hint of a smile. “A transition, if you will, into a liminal space—”

“i didn’t mean from the dining room to the kitchen,” Stretch grumbled. But he reached out to give Edge’s hand a brief squeeze, his thumb brushing over the ring on his third finger.

“Nevertheless,” Edge picked up a menu, though by now he knew it by heart. “Now. What are you having?”

-finis-

[deniigi]

i have been sick in bed with a stomach bug and re-reading a bunch of your series and these questions have plagued me so pls, for the sake of your fellow samuel chung lover, if sammy was in the Selkie verse, would he be a fae? if so, what kind? ALSO, what would his interactions with jack be like (either in the selkie verse or in the lying by omission verse)? pls and thanks <3

hi!

I’ll answer asks in a bit, but for this one I have a fic that explore a What If Jack Lived/Mike existed scenario with Sam in the Inimitable verse? I know it’s now what you asked for, but it is like 4k already written so that might be smth--an LBO Sam would be tricky because Sam would be itty bitty and Matt wouldn’t have the same kind of relationship with him.

As for selkie-verse Sam? I would have to do more research on Chinese spirts/fae/folklore, but for now, he’s not fae, just human 💖He’s like 12 and can make himself invisible though, which would be very confusing for Sue if she ever bumped into him

(Sue: baby boggart??? come here I love you I will look after you.)

(Sam: please stay exactly 5037 feet away from me! Thank you and I’m calling my mom!)

Here is the What If Jack and Mike thing from the Inimitable Verse.

Jack Murdock was the size of a house. He made Matt look dainty. He made Kirsten look like a kids’ mannequin. And he made Foggy laugh until he wept.

Sam could not understand a goddamn thing he said. Nor could he understand the guy he’d brought with him, who appeared to have had some serious plastic surgery to look exactly like Matt.

Sam could take an unintelligible giant. What he couldn’t take was an unintelligible Matt, and before him, somehow, in this ring of ginger, he’d been presented with two unintellible Matts.

His head was spinning.

Kirsten patted at him sympathetically.

“I’m from New York,” Sam told her mournfully.

“I know, hon.”

“How is this even possible? You’re from New York. How are they—what are they saying?”

Kirsten shook her head.

“Only Foggy knows,” she said. “It’s okay, he’ll translate when he gets back up.”

 --

 Mr. Murdock, the tallest of the gingers, might have been a good three to four inches taller than his boys, and he might have had the biggest hands that Sam had ever had the opportunity to touch in his life, but he was really nothing but a big, shaggy sheep dog.

The reasons Sam couldn’t understand a single fucking word he said came threefold.

1) Mr. Murdock had grown up in mid-century Hell’s Kitchen. That was just how accents from those parts used to sound. They’d lightened with time.

2) He had an extra layer of what Matt called a ‘brogue.’ He was first-generation American. Both his folks had immigrated from Ireland. He talked halfway between the way they talked and the way that the kids in his neighborhood growing up had.

And 3) The man had a lisp?

It wasn’t super noticeable. Sam sure as shit couldn’t hear it among the other layers of stuff going on, but Foggy said it was there.

Apparently, it came out more when he was anxious.

Apparently, he was anxious a lot.

Foggy told Sam to just give it an hour and he’d understand.

 --

  “So your name is Sam?” Mr. Murdock asked him while Sam tried to keep his mouth from falling open.

Matt was holding his facial-copy-cat against the wall by his lapels. The copy-cat had started making kissy noises at him. He egged Matt on to punch him right in the face.  

No one was stopping them.  

Kirsten cleared her throat and brought Sam back down to earth.

“Yeah,” he said. “Sam. Mr., uh—”

“Call me Jack.”

Never.

“Matty hasn’t said much about you, sorry to say.” Mr. Murdock explained. The more he spoke directly to Sam, the more Sam found, to his relief, that he could understand him. “He don’t like sharin’ things his brother can get ahold of and take from ‘im.”

Sam looked from him to the ‘brother.’

“There’s two of them?” he asked.

Mr. Murdock hummed.

“God help us, every one,” he huffed.

You can say that again.

“How long has there been two?” Sam asked hesitantly.

“Mm? Oh, uh. Christ with the math,” Mr. Murdock said, “Michael—Michael—boy, you knock that off; that’s how you lose teeth—how old are you now?”

Nevermind. Sam didn’t need to know.

“I’m ageless, Pops, remember?” ‘Michael’ said, grinning at Matt’s sneer in his face, “Everlasting, never dying. Immortal. Timeless. I’m—” Dude got the wind knocked out his sails from Matt aiming for his solar plexus instead of his face.

“Maitiú,” Mr. Murdock said sharply. “He’s your brother.”

“He earned it,” Matt snapped back at his dad. “You said ‘no teeth,’ I ain’t even touched his goddamn teeth.”

“No, you coward, you wouldn’t, would you?” Michael threw back at Matt with no sense in his head. “You scared of gettin’ stuck on all that metal, huh?”

“I ain’t got my tetanus booster,” Matt deadpanned.

“Oh, get the yellow fever one next time, it’s a hoot—”

“I’m mailing you back to Thailand in a crate.”

“Oh mail me, why don’t you?”

“I’m gonna.”

“Boys,” Mr. Murdock said, exasperated. “Knock it off. You love each other. We get it.”

Kirsten shook with giggles.

“I’d drown you in the open ocean and then kill myself,” Matt said through gritted teeth. His nose was maybe an inch from his brother’s.

Michael just beamed.

“Aw, babe. You’d do that for me?” he gushed.

“HHhhh—”

“Maitiú.”

Sam had never heard someone said ‘Matthew’ this way. It was delightful. It made Matt’s shoulders go stiff as a board and then squirm in barely contained fury.

“Thank you,” Mr. Murdock said. “Drop ‘im.”

Matt didn’t want to, but he released his grip on his sibling. Michael slipped down and then caught himself and straightened himself out.

“Well, I’ll never,” he said. “We come all this way to visit you on your deathbed and—”

“I’m not dying,” Matt said.

“—you worry Dad sick for months on end. Don’t call. Don’t write. He thought the Californians had eaten you—"

“—I told him that it was a dislocation and I’m fine—”

“—and of course I told him, ‘no Dad, there ain’t any more cannibals in California than there are in New York’ but who listens to Mike, huh?”

Mr. Murdock had only been in the house for 15 minutes and he already looked exhausted.

“Where are the dogs?” he asked Foggy.

 ---

 This was the weirdest time-out session Sam had ever experienced and he’d decided that he was living for it. Mr. Murdock went out onto the deck and locked himself out there with the dogs. Matt and his brother had never been more guilty.

Quickly the arguing turned towards scheming, which turned towards climbing out a window, which turned towards getting stuck on the roof and pleading with the Father to lend a hand.

Mr. Murdock observed Matt sobbing with laughter over Mike’s sudden anxiety of stepping from the roof to the deck’s arm railing with only hollowness.

“Mike’s not very super,” Sam pointed out to Kirsten.

“Nope,” she said brightly. “He is refreshingly normal,” she said. “Even the conman part.”

The what?

 ---

 Matt climbed off the roof with ease and took the opportunity to finally give his old man a hug, which Mr. Murdock seemed to appreciate. He smoothed a giant mitt of a hand through Matt’s hair tenderly, like he was a baby.

It was kind of cute.

Mike scowled at them both and announced that he was pretty fine, by the way. He’d just stay there on the roof until the vultures got him.

“Matt’s the younger twin,” Foggy told Sam cheerfully. “He can do no wrong.”

Sam felt like he could suddenly see the forest for the trees.

“And Mike?” he asked.

Foggy snickered.

“He and Jack live together to keep each other in good cardiac shape,” he said. “They drive each other nuts.”

“But they still live together?” Sam clarified.

“Yeah,” Foggy said. “Mike’s what happens when you give a used-car salesman ever so slightly too much brain. He travels all over. Gets shot at and held hostage a lot. He’ll do just about anything for a couple bucks, no matter how hard Jack’s tried to get him to go straight over the years.”

“And Mr. Murdock? He doesn’t mind his son living with him?” Sam asked.

Kirsten and Foggy softened.

“Matt used to check on him more when we lived back home,” Foggy said. “Without him and Mike, Jack’s by himself. He’s got friends and work, yeah, but you know. If it weren’t for Mike, he’d come home to an empty apartment every night. Man’s got too much head trauma for that to be any kind of good. Mike looks after him—probably more than he lets anyone else. He’s too stubborn to let Matt try to help him.”

Aw, cute.

“Be prepared, Sammy,” Foggy said. “Jack’s already adopted you.”

Say what now?

 ---

 Mr. Murdock didn’t outright say that Sam was puny and he was going to fix it, but Sam could see it in his disappointed gaze.

“Don’t like bread?” he asked as Sam chewed his way through an Uncrustable at the kitchen table. Sam froze with the sandwich in hand. He stared at it.

It was bread.

Surely, this was bread.

Right?

“Uh?” he tried.

“Don’t like the crusts?” Mr. Murdock asked him more gently.

Oh.

“I don’t mind them, these are premade though. You know, convenient,” Sam explained.

He got a stare impossible to read.

“Stay there,��� Mr. Murdock decided.

It took too long for Sam’s brain to work out what had just happened, and by the time it had, it was too late. Matt stuck his head in the room and asked Sam why he’d told his dad that Matt was starving him.

Sam floundered and tried to explain the sandwiches. Matt absorbed this and rolled his whole head.

“Well, now he’s makin’ a week’s worth for you,” he sighed. “Wants you to eat the crust.”

Dude.

“It’s easier not to question it,” Matt sighed. “What kind of jelly do you want?”

 ---

 Matt didn’t interrogate his father, but Mike did. Unrepentantly. He walked in as Sam was emphasizing that he didn’t want any kind of jelly and he’d make his own sandwiches and understood the entire situation faster than Sam could have possibly explained it.

“FATHER,” he roared. “Leave the boy alone, he’s not starvin’, he’s just short.”

Flattering. Thanks, asshole.

There was no response from the kitchen. Matt told Mike to ease off. Mr. Murdock was trying to be nice.

“There’s nice and then there’s rude,” Mike said.

“And you’re rude?” Matt offered.

There was a pause.

A warm hand found the space in between Sam’s shoulder blades.

“I’m sorry about both of ‘em, kid, they got rocks for brains, it ain’t their fault. Our grandfather was a caveman, you know how it is,” Mike said kindly.

Matt was not amused.

“It’s not a big deal,” he repeated. “I’ll eat ‘em if Sam doesn’t want ‘em.”

“And subject yourself to peanut butter hell for multiple days in a row, Maitiú?” Mike asked, scandalized.

Matt glared in the direction of the stairs.

“Some of us enjoy nut protein,” he said.

Sam blinked in shock as big hands slapped themselves over his ears.

“There are children present,” Mike hissed.

Sam found the guy’s middle fingers and yanked. Mike swore. Matt chuckled.

“He ain’t a baby,” he said fondly. “Sam’s a tough cookie.”

You’re damn right he was.

“Charming,” Mike grumbled as Matt abandoned them for the kitchen again. He scowled down at Sam. “What’s your gimmick then?” he asked.

Sam wondered if he could make his contacts come out by blinking slowly enough. It would be cool as fuck. It definitely wasn’t happening.

“I control typhoons,” he said.

Mike winced.

“Fuckin’ vigilantes,” he said.

 ---

 Mr. Murdock gave Sam a second sandwich. He’d cut it into quarters.

“Matt says you don’t like jelly,” he said. “Bananas are better?”

Sam couldn’t help but like him.

“Yeah. I don’t eat much bread generally,” he said. “My family has always been more about rice.”

Mr. Murdock analyzed him.

“I can do rice,” he said.

Bless. It was okay, really.

“Do you like spicy things, Mr. Murdock?” Sam asked.

“Jack.”

Nice try.

“Spicy?” Sam repeated.

Mr. Murdock considered it.

“Not sure,” he said. “You mean like hot sauce? I ain’t fuck with that ghost pepper shit.”

Sam hummed.

“Before you leave, I’ll cook for you in return,” he said. “I won’t make it too spicy, cross my heart.”

Mr. Murdock considered this and then got a look in his eye that made Sam’s cheeks start to ache a little.

 ---

 Matt told Sam to play nice. Matt told his father to play nice.

There was to be no hiding chilis in Mike’s pasta.

They were caught and scolded.

“Not to worry,” Mr. Murdock told Sam fondly, “There are other ways.”

 ---

 Sam had never seen such outrage over a knot in a shoelace. Matt crossed his arms over his chest, seconds away from tapping his own foot.

“You said you were ready,” he reminded Mike for the fourth time.

“I know what I said,” Mike snapped at him. He’d dug through all the kitchen drawers to procure a metal skewer to apply to this situation.

“We’re going to be late,” Matt said. “I wait for my guide, she doesn’t wait for me.”

“Well she’s waitin’ today,” Mike said. “I swear to god—”

Mr. Murdock stroked the top of Tuesday’s head and asked Mike if he’d tried putting baby powder on it. Mike spat at him to mind his own business and went back to the knot. He managed it get it untangled and the shoe half on just in time to find the second one stuck in the third hole down.

He just about vibrated with fury.

Matt sighed loudly.

“Borrow mine already,” he said.

“Never.”

“Mike.”

“They’re blue. This outfit tolerates only warm colors, Matthew. ONLY warms.”

“We’re late.”

“Style waits for no man.”

“Well, clearly that ain’t the case, is it?”

Mike stood up sharply.

“I’m going to change,” he said. “And whatever elf tied these will rue the day. Mark my words.”

“Yeah, okay, I’ll tell the elf—oh, my bad, the clown, Mike. It’s you. Get your life together. We’re late.”

Hilarious.

 ---

  “Why don’t you move out here?” Sam asked Mr. Murdock as he watched Sam sand away at his latest secret project in Matt’s absence.

“Sun’ll kill me,” Mr. Murdock deadpanned.

“I thought so too, but it’s not so bad,” Sam said. “I miss the snow sometimes.”

Mr. Murdock cocked his head and then knelt down to take the sanding block out of Sam’s hands. He gestured for Sam to give him the hunk of wood in his hands, too.

“Matty says you don’t got papers,” he said.

Sam was surprised. Matt usually kept that secret locked tight. But Mr. Murdock didn’t seem to have any adverse reaction to it.

“No,” Sam admitted. “My mom brought me here when I was really little. I didn’t know what it meant to overstay a visa.”

Mr. Murdock hummed.

“Makes flying tricky,” he said.

Yeah.

“Bus, not too bad, though?”

Mm. Bus was better, yes.

“Train?”

Depended on the train.

“Hm. Well, if you get homesick or need busfare, you just give a shout, ya hear? You’re always welcome to stay with us.”

Aww.

“Or if you really hate yourself, I’m sure Mike would love to come pick you up.”

Oh god.

“He can drive?” Sam asked.

Mr. Murdock paused and held his face in his dusty palm.

“The day he got his license was the worst day of my life,” he said.

Sam snickered.

“Did you guys drive all the way here?” he asked.

“No, thank god.”

“Can you drive?”

“Son.”

Sam looked up from the block of wood into Mr. Murdock’s hazel eyes.

“I take two steps out of New York and I’m gone, that’s me dead. No, I don’t drive. Why the hell would I drive? Where the hell am I goin’?”

Wow, mood.

“I tried to drive once,” Sam said. “Reversed into a fire hydrant. Matt laughed so hard he cried.”

Mr. Murdock handed back the woodblock. It was much smoother than it had been. Sam was chocking that up to the muscles and the practice.

 ---

 Matt and Mike got home and Mike announced that he was disowning that ‘putrid being’ that was the Swamp Monster beside him. Matt told Mr. Murdock that Mike didn’t approve of the swimming part of triathlon.

Mr. Murdock picked leaves out of his hair with supreme patience.

 ---

 “So Dad’s officially decided that you’re his grandson,” Mike informed Sam out of nowhere that Sunday. “He prayed for you at church today.”

Sam almost dropped his wrench. That was so endearing his teeth hurt.

“It’s ‘cause I do woodwork,” he said. “He can smell the handyman on me.”

Mike cocked his head to the side. His eyes were blue like Matt’s. Their mom must have had blue eyes—or maybe hazel like Mr. Murdock’s.

“No,” Mike said. “It’s ‘cause he’s also been a grocery bagger, a janitor, and a contractor.”

He what now?

“He wants to know why you aren’t in college.”

Oh. well—

“Matt tried to explain, but you know, it ain’t clickin’. He don’t get the politics part of things sometimes. Gets confused why people make such a big deal when there’s obvious solutions in front of ‘em. It’s not all his fault, he barely got a highschool diploma back when ‘critical thinking’ wasn’t even a testing category. Anyways, he wants you to go to college. Thinks you’re too smart to be pushin’ paper.”

Sam was going to cry.

“I think he sees a lot of Matt in you,” Mike said with a squint. “So just as a warning, he’s unbearable. Always—well, no. More like 95% of the year. He’s alright around New Years when he’s tired. You can tell him to fuck off at any time, though.”

No, no. It was okay. It was nice to have…more family. That’s what it was.

“I hope you know what this means, Samuel,” Mike said.

Mmm no?

Mike’s hand clasped his shoulder.

“You can call me ‘uncle,’” he said.

Ah.

No, thanks.

 ---

 Foggy and Kirsten couldn’t look at Sam without bursting into merciless laughter, which Sam had realized was a result of Mike’s vocal distress at his rejected offer of uncle-dom. Sam didn’t know what to tell him.

Mr. Murdock was nice. Enormous, yes, but very well meaning and gentle. His and Sam’s priorities and experience in life aligned neatly and Sam was slightly charmed by the way that he expressed himself verbally only to Matt and Mike.

Sam also didn’t hate Mike. He just didn’t want him to have uncle privileges. He didn’t see what was difficult about this.

“Mike’s got a history of rejection,” Foggy said. “And by that, I mean that every woman on the eastern seaboard has rejected him and he tries anyways.”

 ---

 Matt came downstairs and told Sam to ignore everything Mike said to him all day. He also said that they were going out that night, so don’t burn fingers on the soldering iron.

Sam saluted in acknowledgement.

Forty minutes later there was a rap at his door followed by Mike saying through it that he wanted to show Sam something.

Sam did not open the door.

He heard Matt’s name being cursed on the other side.

 ---

 Twenty minutes later there was another knock, this time with Mike saying that Mr. Murdock wanted to bond with Sam.

Sam nudged open his curtains and squinted hard into the backyard where he could see the vague shape of Matt chatting to his dad on the deck stairs, both apparently having a beer and shooting the shit.

This was a scam.

Sam would not be scammed.

He went back to the suit.

There was more cursing outside the door.

 ---

 About half an hour later, there was a knock, followed by Mr. Murdock’s voice this time, asking Sam if his shoes were supposed to be on the front porch.

They were not.

This was playing dirty.

Sam ventured out to go right this wrong and ended up outside on the front porch with the conman himself. Mike closed the door after him triumphantly and proceeded to get them both locked out.

“Are you supposed to be a good conman or?” Sam asked.

Mike gaped at him.

“The best conman,” he said. “Don’t worry, kid, I’ve broken into a thousand houses and won two horses. I’ve got this.”

That was not comforting. Sam was not comforted.

“First, we gotta test all the windows, and, failing that, we get a rock or a gun,” Mike told him with a knowing finger.

Sam blinked at it and then up at Mike. The man’s shoulders twitched.

“Uh?” Mike said.

Ah. The eyes. No contacts today.

“Do you like them? They’re Prada,” Sam said to absolute silence.

“A brick,” Mike announced abruptly. “A brick works too. Like a rock but bigger.”

Okay, so they weren’t talking about it, gotcha. Look, a whole family’s worth of repression styles. Sam was glad that they had a full set of methods.

 ---

 Sam broke into his own bedroom through the window. Mike clapped for him outside. Sam opted to leave him there.

 ---

 He was sort of sad to see the Murdocks go, especially after seeing the effect that the most senior of them had on Matt.

Sam hadn’t seen him this chilled out. He visibly relaxed under his dad’s hand on the back of his neck. He tolerated the fussing and constant hair fixing and the fingers brushing at his cheeks and elbows. Mr. Murdock guided him with the same practiced ease that Foggy and Kirsten did, but his guiding was accompanied by a quiet, ongoing commentary about the street around them, which Sam hadn’t actually heard Foggy do in the same kind of way.

It was like Mr. Murdock was telling Matt a story everywhere they went.

He told him when there were flags hanging up a story above, waving in the wind. He told him about the hanging wire baskets of flowers that Sam forgot about. He huffed a bit while he talked about lines of traffic in the street and a vast lack of color in the group due to the absence of so many yellow cabs.

Mr. Murdock of course, had been Matt’s first ever guide. It only made sense that he had a specialized style of it, just for Matt.

And for Matt’s sake, Sam didn’t want him to go, but alas, New Yorkers, man. The city called them back to the coast like a siren.

“You take it easy, y’hear, kiddo?” Mr. Murdock told him at the airport.

Sam smiled and said that he’d try.

“Take care of yourself. I mean that. Out at night too.”

Copy that, big guy.

“Give us a hug.”

Oh??? A hug??? Sam loved hugs. Hugs were great. He was—er. Leaving this one with double the ribs from the cracks apparently.

Mr. Murdock released him to go break Matt in half and then Foggy and then Kirsten. Mike told him that he couldn’t avoid flying again by hugging people. He also warned Kirsten that he’d see her soon and that then, she was sure to fall for his charms.

Kirsten said that she would be waiting with bated breath, and then that was it. Three Murdocks again whittled down to one.

“God, I should have married your dad,” Foggy moaned.

Matt laughed at him.

“He’s plenty busy avoiding the gaze of every person over sixty in his building. Let him live,”  he said. “Sam? Not too traumatized, I hope?”

Mm. Not so bad.

“Are you sure Mike’s your brother?” he asked.

“Unfortunately.”

Too bad.

“It’s fine, if we ever need a guy to distract the police, we’ve got him on retainer.”

That was true.

“They’ll come back?” Sam asked.

Matt paused before feeling for his shoulder.

“Yeah,” he said. “Or we’ll go to them. I think you’d enjoy watching them in their natural environment.”

 -----------

Hope that’s something for you anon!! I also hope you feel better!

[ghostinthebau]

Super Fanfic Rec List -- Iron Dad Edition (because I just wanna share the love)

I’ve had such a blast reading fanfic of the IronDad and SpiderSon variety over the last 6 months or so, and I thought I’d just make a rec list of some of my favorite stories.  Most of them are angsty, with whump and hurt/comfort because that’s what I live for.  

This is in no particular order or in any way complete because there’s just way too many amazing fics/authors in the Iron Dad fandom, but it will still be hella long, so....here goes! 

First off, @yellowdistress:

What We Are series - Bio-dad Tony series that goes all the way through Infinity War.  Endgame AU.

Someday I’ll Make it Out of Here series - Adoption AU!  It’s so good.

The Missing 92 Days - A take on HYDRA Peter that destroyed me emotionally.

Reviving Peter Parker - This about killed me.  Peter actually died during his fight with Toomes and SHIELD brings him back a la the TAHITI project like they did with Phil Coulson.  

A Sailor Went to Sea - Gut-wrenching Endgame fix it.  

Double, Double

@losingmymindtonight:

Webcams and Webshooters series

I Never Lived ‘Til I Lived In Your Light series - !!! TISSUE WARNING !!! Peter dies, but there’s another one shot with a happier ending if you need it.

And You’ll Blow Us All Away - Adoption fic!  A lovely one at that.

5 Times Peter’s Mental Illness Made Him Stumble And The 1 Time He Refused To Falter - I really love a well-depicted take on mental illness, and losingmymindtonight delivered 100%.

If You Can’t Catch A Breath (You Can Take The Oxygen Straight Out Of My Own Chest)

Cyanide? In My Shawarma?

@justme--emily:

The Guardian - Adoption AU with a lovely Loki and Peter friendship!

Radioactive - Peter endures the after effects of the spider bite, and scares bio-dad Tony to death.  Lovely, lovely, lovely.

The Good Fight - Peter gets hurt at the airport in Germany instead of Rhodey.  

@iron--spider:

ever in your favor - Hunger Games AU and an epic work of art!  

Lazarus, come forth - The Endgame fix it before Endgame.  Peter will break your heart.

dear mr. fantasy

this isn’t a game - Highly underrated fic based off the PS4 Spider-Man game.  I’ve never even played the game, and I loved this story.

what if there is no tomorrow? - This story actually made me kinda like Justin Hammer, if you can believe it.  

blindness

@tempestaurora:

hydra’s not a home series - HYDRA Peter, and also bio-dad Tony and bio-mom Pepper!

i’ll find you in the drift - Pacific Rim AU, and I have never seen PR, but I adored this so much.

it’s okay, we’re okay [whumpvember 2018] series

@jolinarjackson:

Lights To Guide You Home series - Another adoption AU.  They are my weakness, and this is one of the best out there.  

... and when you can’t crawl ...

Damaged At Best (Like You’ve Already Figured Out)

@blondsak:

No Life But This

come morning light (you and I’ll be safe and sound)

Burying Grounds - Eeeek!  Tony has to choose between saving Peter or Pepper and it hurts.

hold on, hold on

Something the Soul Needs

@madasthesea:

turn back the clock (and I’ll try again in the morning)

when my body won’t hold me anymore (where will I go)

They have so many other lovely looking fics--including an adoption au series (which I, of course, love), but I just haven’t gotten around to reading them yet.  I’m pretty sure anything they write is golden.  :)

@signofuncertainty:

It’s Always the Little Things

I’m sure their other fic, The Third Option, is fantastic and I really, really wanna read it but I’m trying so hard to wait until it’s complete!  It’s really difficult to wait, though, tbh....I may give in soon.  

@upcamethesun:

Twelve Days Of Peter Parker - So cute and fluffy, and then it kills you at the end.

5 Times Peter Made Tony Laugh Out Loud

5 Times Tony Didn’t Need To Worry About Peter

5 Times Peter Pretended To Be Tougher Than He Was

@frostysunflowers:

Between how it is and how it should be - This story made me love a Peter and Bucky friendship.

@kitcat992:

Identity Theft - This was one of the very first Iron Dad fics I read, and it was a doozy.  Full of whump, medical accuracy, and hurt/comfort!  The author is posting a sequel now, too: Identity Crisis.  :D

For Pete’s Sake!

@camelot-queen:

Goner - A perfectly heartbreaking kidnapping fic, but heed the warnings!

Who Saves The Hero

Never Meet Your Heroes

i’m the satellite (and you’re the sky) - Tony is Peter’s bio-dad but Peter doesn’t know it.  I haven’t actually finished this yet, but it’s good.  So, so good.

@peter-stank:

built from scraps - YOU GUYS, this is one of the best fics I’ve read on AO3.  It’s a ‘Tony gets dusted instead of Peter’ AU, and it’s got such an amazing dynamic between Peter, Pepper, and Morgan.  It’ll also make you tear up a few times, at least.

@geekymoviemom:

Sins of the Fathers - So, I’ve only read the first 5 chapters of this epic length (303k words@) adoption AU so far, but I’m LOVING it so I wanted to add it here.  They also have an even longer bio-dad Tony with added Stony bonus series, Pieces of Echoes, that they’re posting the 3rd installment to right now.  I’ll definitely be checking it out!

@too-many-bees:

let’s kick it

like a bridge over troubled water

@jbsforever:

it’ll be over (and I’ll still be asking when)

@tnyystark:

where the memories reside

@whumphoarder:

Quieting the Void series - Peter kinda has an eating disorder due to the spider bite, so take care if you read!

Poison Apple - Loved how medically accurate this was, and Ned’s reaction to Peter’s condition was heartbreaking.

@seek-rest:

It Hurts to Become

Someday We’ll Know - This is a Walk to Remember AU, so there’s MCD.  I’ve gotten about halfway through, but I can only read it when I’m in the right mindset.  But it’s lovely and so well done.  

This author has so many fics that I’m sure are amazing, and they’re on my ‘to read’ list when I’m in the mood for beautiful Spideychelle stories.

@caraminha:

The Primary Reason Tony Stark Would Throw Down With an Anti-Vaxxer in the Street - Hella scary depiction of Peter with tetanus, and it’s SO GOOD.

@tonystarkstan:

it all comes back to this

skeletons series

to build a home series - I love recovery fics, and this was a beautiful story of Peter dealing with the aftermath of being snapped and coming back.

lay your weary head to rest

@foolscapper:

Exploding Head Syndrome - Everyone comes back when the snap is reversed, but Peter is sort of catatonic--stuck between the living world and the soul stone where he’s with Gamora.  It’s such a lovely fic.

@alice-in-ink:

It’s a Little Bit We Do

Danger Pizza

@legalassie:

oh, darling - Peter’s kidnapped and Tony frantically searches for him--one of my favorite things.  Peter uses his smarts to help him get out of the situation, too, which is also one of my favorite things.

don’t think about tomorrow. 

@blackwatchandromeda:

Broken Thoughts (I Remember Everything)

Leave Me to Dream

A Nightmare to Remember

@emma--anacortes: 

Accepting the Tides - Here I am with another adoption AU.  Can you see a pattern yet?  I love them, and this one has danger and whump and comfort as well.  

@ardenskyedarcy221b:

they are standing in the garden - This hurt.  Several times the author had me tearing up and there’s a few lines that will stay with me forever.  It was just immensely lovely to read.

@iamallyetnotatall:

At the Start of the Universe - This was so much better than I was expecting! Peter is an Angel, and he knows Tony from the very beginning of the universe. It’s different, but absolutely gorgeous.

@starktowr:

somewhere outside my life - I don’t wanna say too much, but just read this.  It’ll break you and you’ll love it.

@jessicagoddamnjones: 

too bad (but it’s the life you lead)

@silver-bubbles:

The Fire’s Out (But Still It Burns)  

@day-dreamer176:

Like A Strike of Lightning - I kinda took this as a demonic possession a la Supernatural, but I don’t think it actually was.  Either way, it was fantastic.

fifty-four

five, tops

The World Stopped

@ambivalentmarvel:

Into His Fold series - Where Thanos brings Peter back from the ashes to make him into his new son (a la Nebula and Gamora).

@notaparty-trick:

Doom and Gloom - A ‘Peter doesn’t get dusted’ AU, filled with whump and Iron Dad and an awesome Carol Danvers.  Angst!!!

Dust and Blood - Peter is hurt much worse when Toomes drops the building on him.  More angst!!!!  This author does angst very well.

@ema--vee:

You don’t have to hold your head up high - Peter can’t thermoregulate!  I love that trope.

@forensicleaf:

All the Things We’ve Lost (And All the Things We’ve Gained) - This one gutted me, and then made it better.  But there’s pain to be had before the comfort!

They just posted the first chapter of a new WIP that looks AMAZING, too: Can’t Part the Sea, Can’t Reach the Shore.

@plnkblue:

foolish, fragile spine - Peter’s severely injured in his fight with Adrian Toomes and Tony finds him.  

@helloitisiafellowgay:

god did not craft us as altars, but as dying gods - Okay, guys.  This one is heavy.  It deals with Skip coming back into Peter’s life, and it’s not pretty but it’s handled superbly.  It’s a tough read, but one I definitely recommend if you can handle it.  Take care of yourselves first and foremost, though.  <3

~ ~ ~ I’m not sure if the following authors have a tumblr, so I just linked their AO3 pages ~ ~ ~

eccentric_artist_221b:

Only for a Little While - This is a Titanic AU, and it’s AMAZING.  There’s several scenes that just took my breath away and brought me to tears (not an easy feat). They’re also working on a WWI sequel!!!!

tiaylasglass:

the one who made it out - Short, simple in a gorgeous way, and poignant.  

And finally, I thought I’d humbly add my own little contribution to the fandom.  So far, I’ve only written the one fic, but I hope to write more in the future!

@ghostinthebau:

For Want of a Dad (in need of a son) - There’s a bit of blood, and a very distraught Tony at one point, so warning for angst and injury!

Again, this list is probably severely lacking, and if someone has a rec that’s not on here please please please reblog this and let me know!  I’m always in the mood for more fics.  

And I hope anyone reading this finds something they enjoy!  

I’m sure you will.  

ilu 3,000

:)

[samkat10423]

So, the last of my community lots – for now. I think. Well, maybe.

Anyway, this world has cookie-crunchers, so it needed a school. At first, I was going to use that library from Lunatic Lakes – a 2 for 1 deal – library and school combined. But then I thought, this world is getting toooo pretty. So, I built this lovely hell-hole for my teachers and snot-balls. Go me!

I even gave the little twerps a nice place to play – because I’m a good simgoddess, I am! And since this lot is right across the street from the hospital, they don’t have far to go to get their tetanus shots. Again, I’m thoughtful and caring, I am!

Then next door, I built the town a library. After the new science center and the main government offices got all their fancy new equipment, they realized they had a ton of shipping crates that they needed to dispose of. Some they repurposed for housing units, but they still had extras left. So – not wanting to be wasteful – they built a library! 

While constructing it, the workers built themselves a small basketball court, to unwind after a hard day screwing crates together. It was supposed to be temporary, but then the workers realized it was easier to just leave it. So they did.

The small cinder-block build is where visiting lecturers lecture. Well, duh! Anyway, this was based on a build by rfflong7 for her Moonbase worlds. I just “fixed” it a bit – as I do. In her world, that small block building was unattached and a garage. No windows, just 2 garage doors – and a total waste of space. So, when I did this one, I made it into a lecture hall. I also made rooftop access in the main build, so my visitors can use telescopes – and if they’re brave, play some outdoor chess. (Sims are dumb! And apparently don’t mind freezing their asses off.) And in the top level – which also has 2 balconies - I gave them a small eatery. Because, as I keep reminding all of you, I am nice!

Once I got done there, I plopped down a lovely little lot I found over on MTS, built by Diwtay back in 2013. It’s the non-tomb version of the Horticultural Research Center, and my new science rabbit-hole! Like the military, government, and business RHs, this is nicer because the powers-that-be, Albert Wesker and his new BFF, Loki Beaker, are aiming to be the new super-villains of Sim universe, so simoleons are no object when it comes to forwarding their plans. Anyway, as usual, I made some changes to it – because I can. On that upper level I used those glass roof thingies that came with that Skylight gym EA sold, plus a satellite dish and I also made changes with the main entrance and parking. Inside, I got rid of a lot of crap to make a room dedicated to my RH rug. Plus I swapped out old, purely deco junk for that science stuff that came with Uni. Then behind it, I fenced in a small lot, gave it a guard house, and plunked down that big, Uni science thingie – along with the weather object and time machine that you have to use those cheats to unlock. (Total BS, EA!) Anyway, I found that science object over on MTS. Some nice person unlocked it.

And finally, there are 2 empty domes on this world. Well, one had that science building in it, but I blew it up. Yes, I did! KA-BAMM! In its place I put one of those domes from Lunatic Lakes. The Sunset Valley one – which has the most plants

 – and the one from Hidden Springs. The 2nd one was donated to the planet by the royal family of Hidden Springs for taking one of their problem relatives off their hands. (Princess Sofia from Lunatic Lakes). I also moved that military dude she has a crush on – and that military female who has decided that he is HERS!!!! – here, for some drama. In this world, he’s still oblivious, while the 2 ladies are fighting over him. The military one is currently planning a midnight ops, in which she will plant explosives around the perimeter of Sofia’s house. This may or may not get her in trouble. It all depends on Justine Keaton – now divorced and pregnant with her 1st rugrat – and how long she can delay the police response when the call comes in. Turns out Justine thinks that the wackadoodle has great potential to be her BFF. Go figure.

[bokunoheroanalysisforthefuture]

So I would have done this earlier, but my day decided to start with a headache, and I only just got the medication to kick in to handle it, so. Let’s see how Izuku’s training goes in the second half of the chapter.

(Reminder: Don’t clean up trash dumps without proper safety gear and tetanus shots, that’s how you get sick with like twenty different things and die.)

[No. 2 - Roaring Muscles]

They meet again at the Dagobah- I mean the Takoba Municipal Beach Park at 6 AM, which is an hour that would daunt many. The narration from Izuku notes that receiving the power won’t be so easy, while transitioning to the first scene of said training:

Really, Izuku? Starting a bit on the high end of the scale there, aren’t you? Well, I mean, compared to the actual trucks and stuff, I suppose it’s not the highest end, but still. Also, that All Might shirt, I’m cackling. And All Might just sitting on top of the fridge and giving commentary, ah, my exact weird niche of humor.

(Nice ‘no dumping’ sign there. Seriously, so many trucks and cars just in that one pile??? How??? Did they get there??? I suppose strength / telekinesis / whatever, but still, this seems excessive.)

Izuku, naturally, flops to the ground in defeat while All Might makes light of the lack of progress. Izuku mentions that All Might is 274 kilos alone, which All Might corrects to 255 - at least in that form, anyways. Izuku then finally gets to asking why he’s hauling garbage across the beach.

His hands are so fucking big what the hell. Also ouch, All Might’s blunt statement of fact making Izuku slide into a depressive spiral, complete with tears. He quickly clarifies that he means Izuku’s body isn’t ready, which pulls Izuku out of said tearfest with the most hilarious ‘what the fuck’ face I have yet seen.

Like I’m sorry I’m just cackling at literally all of this, it’s just portrayed so fantastically. All Might taking all the pictures, Izuku’s confused face, then the horror in his expression as he imagines his body exploding. Man, remember that time he was worried about losing his limbs? Good times, good thing he’s going to immediately forget that once he has his quirk.

Izuku, chapter 2: My limbs!!!!

Izuku, chapter 4: Friendship ended with limbs. Now OFA is my best friend.

Also, before I move on and forget, another description of OFA provided here - it binds the physical strength of many people into one. Aka, a stockpile of power. I wonder if anything else also gets stockpiled with that physical strength, hmm… [thonk]

Another addition from discord, since I didn’t notice the translation error: All Might says his quirk is All For One there. I can’t believe he was the true villain of the series all along.

Izuku repeats to clarify - he’s at the beach to train his body by hauling trash. All Might gives him a yes and a thumbs up, before continuing on to explain how the beach has been like this for years, with Izuku agreeing, bringing up the currents and how people add to it by dumping garbage there, even when they shouldn’t… not that anyone who lives around there ever comes there.

Holy fuck All Might stronk. That was a tap and it went cronch.

Right, All Might goes on to explain that young heroes are only after fame and glory, but that heroism is all about volunteer work, no matter how unglamorous, and that they’ll strive to bring back the beautiful view - as he puts his hand on top of the fridge and crunches it down hard enough to send debris flying all around it.

All Might calls this Izuku’s first step on the path to becoming a hero, and Izuku  looks around and hesitantly asks whether All Might really means all of the beach, as the scene zooms out to give a sense of just how much work would be involved in that. All Might asks if Izuku wants to get into UA, which Izuku confirms, because All Might went to UA, so he definitely wants to go there if he can.

BABEY. Also All Might calling him a blind fanboy, which I mean, it’s true, but still.

All Might tells Izuku that, as he said before, it’s not possible for someone quirkless, and that that’s the sad reality of things. He also explains that UA’s hero course is the toughest there is. Izuku picks up on what All Might means - he has ten months to make his body ready to take on the power of One For All.

All Might turns back around with a sheaf of papers that… where did he pull them from even? Magic, I guess. He explains that those papers are his self-designed ‘Pass The Test, American Dream’ plan.

...huh, from the sound of that, if Izuku had stuck to it, he might have finished earlier than he did in canon? Which I guess makes sense with how he set himself back being a dumb, desperate teenager, but still weird to think about. Izuku notes that even his sleep schedule is planned out, and All Might whispers that it’ll be really tough, and asks if Izuku can do it. Izuku says he can, and that he knows he has to work harder than anyone to make it.

And so began ten hellish months. Starting out with dragging an empty locker set up to Toshinori’s truck and running around with tires over his shoulders.

We transition over time, seeing Izuku in class looking exhausted and thinking about dealing with another ten months of that training. He then starts thinking about his time left and his training schedule, and then about possible self-training right after he was handed a tailor-made schedule to follow by his hero and idol. What a legend.

...wait, we can calculate when this is, since the entrance exam is noted to be February 26th (which for my purposes is going to be a Sunday, for reasons I’ll get into next chapter)! So that’s 294 days, plus the week’s space Izuku wants…

Since he’s in class, I’m going to assume this is actually ‘Monday, May 2nd’ and the week he’s giving himself isn’t exact. So this is already a bit into the training, considering that we know the following:

Japanese school start the second Monday of April

Katsuki was still 14 the day of the sludge villain incident

His birthday is April 20th

That first training session had to be on a weekend

The Sludge Villain incident had to be either the 14th or 15th, with that training session at the beach two days later, on the 16th or 17th. This means that Izuku’s been training for two weeks when he starts considering how to alter his training.

Math! Where was I again? Oh right, Izuku considering how he won’t finish in time with the limited hours he can spend actually doing strength training, and what time he can afford to shave. His muttering is pervasive enough that the entire class pauses to stare at him, before the teacher finally knocks him out of the fugue by extending his arm and knocking him on the head, asking if he hit his head during the villain attack (which is again called the mudman, but I love how the fandom just collectively decided ‘sludge villain’). While the class calls him ridiculous, neurotic, and creepy, he realizes he also has to factor in study time for the exams. Also of note:

No reaction from Katsuki. Hmm.

We next get into a montage of the training, showing all the hard work Izuku is putting in. His studying is being pushed way too late at night (yikes, that’s 2:10 AM), and there’s books to translate there. I can’t read all of them, but I’ll see what I can do.

Top shelf:

ヒーロー [hiirou] 大会 [taikai] (assembly, conference) ???

Not confident on the kanji, but it’s something hero related, and I suspect would have to do with heroics laws or history.

Bottom shelf:

アメリカン [Amerikan] [H or N-styled kanji??]

Some kind of book on American… something. Possibly related to politics or history, or perhaps literature?

Yeah, that’s all I can pick out, the rest is just too small for me to discern confidently. We can probably assume it’s stuff relevant to his studies, though.

Back with the montage, Izuku’s got some bags under his eyes for a good number of these, showing how much sleep he’s putting off and how much he’s overworking himself. He’s practically asleep in class, he throws up during training, and then we get to his breaking point:

How do we keep forgetting he has both a truck and a segway? I seriously want to know what happened to both of them.

Toshinori initially thinks Izuku’s just giving up for the day, but then he actually takes a look and realizes Izuku’s overworked himself. He explains that his plan was designed specifically to get Izuku’s body ready before the exam date, but that Izuku’s hasn’t stuck to it. He notes that overdoing it is no good, and asks if Izuku really wants to pass.

Izuku, heaving for breath, says he does, but he doesn’t wanna just pass. He has to work harder than anyone else, or else he’ll never catch up, and that he wants to be like his mentor, the strongest hero.

Such desperation! Toshinori sees it as well, and realizes Izuku’s focused on the far future. He swells into All Might, picking up Izuku and calling him a blind fanboy with dumb zeal, and that that’s exactly what he likes to hear. Also, RIP Izuku, you’re fucking dead bro. He says he gets where Izuku is coming from, but that this isn’t a time to panic, and that he’ll modify the plan for him. Izuku shakily replies that All Might isn’t old.

And so we transition one last time, to February 26th, 6 A.M. - Exam Day.

That is a well earned roar of victory, considering that’s the last of the trash on the beach, already moved to position to be shoved into the truck and dropped at the dump. The entire place is spotless (asides from all the seepage into the sand, but we won’t worry about that) and Toshinori is impressed at the timing and the exceeding of his expectations. I’m gonna assume he was gone for a while in order to be impressed with the difference and the final appearance of the beach. He’s so impressed, in fact, that he swells right up into All Might.

Izuku wobbles and slips from the top of his pile, just to be caught by his mentor, who tells him well done. Izuku pants out that he did it, though he’s still got those eyebags… seriously, kid, pace yourself. All Might is impressed, and shows him his phone while Izuku shakily gets to his feet.

Seriously his hands are so fucking huge what the fuck. How does he type on his phone in that form. Also, that difference between the limp noodle of ten months ago, and the Izuku heading into the exam is notable:

Holy heck he buff now. All Might says Izuku is a true vessel now, and Izuku shakily replies that he feels like he cheated, what with all the help he got, and that he feels blessed for it. All Might thinks that that’s wrong, it’s because of his own efforts that he earned it. He tells Izuku to quit being a crybaby, and that it’s time for the award ceremony.

While plucking a hair from his bangs, he mentions that there’s a big difference between being born with a silver spoon and working your butt off to get it, and that Izuku should take to heart that he earned the power fair and square. Izuku thinks it’s like a twist out of a comic book, right in his reach, and then:

Fantastic. All Might says it doesn’t matter what it is Izuku eats, so long as he gets his DNA. Izuku mutters that it isn’t how he’d thought it’d go, and the narrative mentions the exam begins in three hours from that moment. And so the chapter closes out, with a lot of work put in by our green bean hero-in-training.

Even knowing this is what happened from the anime and fanfics, I’m still surprised Izuku actually sort of defied / ignored All Might’s plans and advice to push himself harder. I imagine this is a trend we’ll see a lot of going forward - even in his hero worship, he also lacks the restraint that keeps him from injuring himself as much as he does.

Also, forget teacher All Might, where’s the personal trainer All Might / Toshinori fics? He’s clearly a LOT better at that tailored, one on one physical training, as opposed to the class teaching or lesson planning stuff. On examination of the evidence and what went into it, we can determine the following about Izuku's training plan and the events of the chapter:

He would have been ready for OFA before the day of the exam, and probably gotten in just enough combat training in order to be able to handle the robots.

He would NOT have finished cleaning the beach at that point; it probably would have been a project Toshinori had him finish over the month between the exams and the start of high school.

At some point soon, I’ll put together a side document that’ll keep track of estimated dates for stuff. I’m sure there’s more thoughtful and accurate ones out there, but, well. Might as well make one of my own. Meanwhile, I’ll get up that character sheet for Izuku and then head into the third chapter.