#but if you DO then yeah the Force Brain Go trick is vital

[pastafossa]

idk if this has been asked/answered before but do you go to school at the moment, pasta? if so, how do you balance writing & updating :,)

I do not, I've fortunately graduated and thus have more time! I did write fic while I was in college, admittedly, but to keep the balance with all the papers I needed to write, I was generally restricted to shorter fics. I think on my previous ao3 account, the longest story I wrote by wordcount was 30k, longest by chapter was 10 but just drabbles. Which is hilarious when you consider that the next time I tried a longer fic, I just jumped in and now it's 850k words.

But yeah, honestly, I'm sure there are some people who'd be able to write something this long, this regularly while in school buuuut... I'm not sure I'd have been one, cause I don't know if I'd have had the time. Even now that I'm done with school, I have to be very disciplined about writing - setting aside time to write/research, sometimes delaying other things I might want to do, writing even my brain is like 'meh don't feel like it'. Which is fine! Because I actively enjoy the process, even when it's difficult. I love the victorious feeling of getting a chapter done even when it's been a fight. And I want this to hoooopefully be my job one day, so I'm happy to get in the practice. But I won't lie that it's time-consuming and in some ways like an additional job if you want to get that many words written, edited, and then posted every week. I'm constantly writing or editing in grocery store lines, late at night, during breakfast or lunch, whenever and wherever I can, and it takes up a good chunk of my free time each week. You really have to love what you do, and when you do set aside a chunk of time to write, you need to force yourself to write. That gets easier as you go, fortunately, as you convince your brain 'uh yeah idgaf if you feel like it, you're vomiting words onto the page whether you like it or not'. I've beaten my brain with the You Will Fucking Write stick enough times that it knows to go when I say go, I don't care if it's rough or messy or clumsy, just get something out and fix it in editing, but that was a hard lesson to learn in the beginning. But learn that and you will save so much time.

I hope these little bits and pieces could help even if I'm out of school now!

[draconicsparkle]

Tips and Tricks for Writing Fanfiction by Yours Truly

Hello there, my fellow fandom enjoyers! I have come to pass on some wisdom.

Have you ever had an idea that came to your mind? One that you feel could be an amazing fanfiction? But perhaps you halt right there because you might be thinking you could never write it well enough. Well, I was very much in the same boat a few years ago, so I know how it is.

However, I believe you should still give it a go! And I have compiled a list of advice tidbits that have helped me. And perhaps, they can help you too!

I dunno what sparked this desire to make and post this, but I thought it might help someone out there! Well then, let’s begin!

1: First and foremost, congratulate yourself on coming up with an idea. That part can often be difficult and you have already jumped that incredible hurdle. And it’s important to keep in mind that you should be writing this for YOU. It’s a personal project for you and it does not matter how niche it is. It’s something fun! That’s super vital to remember, to have fun with this idea in your mind!

2: I recommend taking at least a week or two to jot down notes about your au. Write down the absolutes in your world and events you want to happen. Character traits or details, powers, settings, conflicts, banger lines, etc. These ideas can spring into being at literally any time, so be sure to write them down as soon as you can, as your memory might not recall these little things later down the line.

3: For stories, make sure you know where it will begin and where it will end. Smaller details can be changed later down the line as you see fit, but do try and know the end goal and what you want to accomplish. This can also be applied to fics that are more episodic in nature. What do you want to happen by the end? Once you have that squared away, then you can begin to build around that.

4: So here’s a tip to help save yourself from stressing too much. Don’t set deadlines or make promises about when the fic or chapter will be completed and posted. Motivation comes and goes and it’s often beyond your control. Some days you can write 1000 words, and some you will only manage a single sentence. That’s normal! Don’t force your brain to overwork and stress by wanting to adhere to a deadline. No stress should be involved for something you are doing for fun.

5: Do not pay attention to the word count. A fanfic is a fanfic, no matter what the length is. Don’t beat yourself down if the fic is short. Some people love a nice and short fic! What’s important is that you accomplished what you set out to do.

6: ALWAYS edit. You can do this with a beta reader or by waiting about a day and rereading your current draft. You would not believe how helpful this is. Mistakes are bound to happen. But don’t get discouraged! Even big name authors make mistakes on their works, so don’t worry if you find some in your first drafts. It’s totally fine and easily fixable!

And here are a few other bonus tidbits that might be helpful.

7: If you are choosing to begin a fanfiction with multiple chapters, I would suggest writing at least two chapters before posting. It helps you get a good feel on if you want to continue or have enough steam for it. There is no shame in deciding to put it aside if you don’t have enough energy to do it at that time!

8: I also highly recommend that you go and read books and other fanfictions. It actually helps a lot more than you realize. You unconsciously will begin to pick up on writing styles and see what does or doesn’t work. Perhaps you might also expand your vocabulary!

So yeah, that’s my advice that I’ve accumulated from writing fics by trial and error. I do really hope that you find it useful and helpful! Good luck on your works!

[astyrial]

memories to be made minho x newt (meeting) prompt: first day word count: 800 warnings: memory loss masterlist | requests are open written for minewt weekend @minewtweek part 2

    a rich natural smell runs through newt's system. he can't pinpoint just where he recognizes it, but it fills his lungs. his heart beat rests at a comfortable level as he feels the grass beneath his palms. it's both soft and itchy, irritating his mind. newt's cheek rubs against the ground beneath him as well, and for a second he wonders just where he could be. 

  how did he end up there? where did he come from? and the most vital question swirling within his brain is.. who is he really? newt's heart quickens, the sudden realization that he doesn't know anything past his first name. newt.

  he quickly opens his eyes, a forest staring back at him. it's fairly thick, supplied with low hanging limbs and thick understory covering the ground. newt's eyes narrow at the woods, but he can't quite see anything else in the darkness. his hands push off against the grass flooring until he's on his feet. it feeling as though it left an indentation in his right cheek. 

  his hands flip over to show markings of blades of grass embedded in his skin. his blink a couple times, his slender fingers pulling at the grass. how long had he truly been there? the teenager's brain fills with more questions, ones that he couldn't answer no matter how hard he thought. 

  newt bites his lip for a second, turning around to see if there was more forest. instead he sees a green plains and other people laying awkwardly on the grass. some are standing up, waking up other boys that newt can't seem to recognize. he takes a step towards them while his eyebrows furrow. his eyes narrowing at the bright light wherever it was coming from. 

  but when his eyes finally focus he can see a large structure a couple miles away. it's straight across besides a large chunk in the middle missing, vines running down what appears to be bricks. "hello?" his own voice echoes through his head as he looks out towards the other people who happen to be awake.

  the three boys look over to see him, their hands either crossed or on their hips. however the one that sticks out the most to him is the closest one. his hair is jet black, his skin a rich tan. newt's breath hitches slightly upon seeing his fairly muscular arms nearly hidden beneath a tan shirt rolled to his elbows.

  "another one has finally risen. minho, you mind telling him what's going on?" a figure stands towards the back, his arms crossed in front of his shirt. 

  the black haired boy, now named minho, nods, his eyes never falling from newt's. before newt can do anything, minho is already making his way over, a smile on his face. "i've been forced to hang out the two of them for the past hour, great to have someone else around," he holds out his hand, and newt takes it, a small shock occurring between the two of them.

  "yeah, where are we?" newt questions, his eyebrows furrowing at the boy in front of him. 

  "sorry to be the bearer of bad news but none of us know, the only thing any of us can remember is waking up here. and our names, which if you could tell, my name is minho. and it appears to be some box with a maze, an opening on each side," he looks out at the rest of the boys sleeping in the grass. 

  he sighs, unsure whether this was some elaborate dream or he truly lost every memory he could've had. "wait, a maze? like a giant maze?" newt instantly thought that someone was playing a trick on him, sending him into a coma or something. 

  minho nods, his eyes flickering between newt and the brick walls. he sighs before returning his eyes to newt's, "yes, i mean nick hasn't gone through it and i don't know if i wanna be the first... but we can't do much right now. what's your name?"

  "i'm newt, would say my last name if i ever think of it," newt purses his lips, an intense feeling of dread filling him, "do you ever think we'll get our memories back?"

  minho leans a little, trying to decide if he wanted to be brutally honest or sugarcoat the situation. instead of doing either, he simply wrapped his arm around newt's shoulders and starts leading him to the other boys, "i think we'll make a lot of memories together regardless."

  minho looks over at newt, giving him a smile that made him feel a little less worried about their situation. a little less worried about what could possibly happen to the two of them. sadly the two of them could never see their futures coming…

[kyberphilosopher]

Mᴏʀɴɪɴɢ Lɪɢʜᴛ

Word Count: 2061

“The Sun card represents radiance. Like the sun itself, it gives strength and vitality to all those that are lucky enough to feel its rays. There is much joy and happiness that is coming to you. On the other hand, the Sun reversed might be indicative that you are being unrealistic. It might be a sign that you have an overly optimistic perception of certain situations. Be warned, for when the sun ceases to shine on you, depression is soon to follow.” - ‘The Sun’ Tarot Card; Full Meaning.

Tap Tap Tap. 

How early was it? Too early. You knew you had training today, but you were certain that wasn’t for another few hours. So what was that insufferable tapping for?

Tap... Tap Tap. 

You shift against your pillow. You can feel your hair stick against your neck, in sync with the tightening fist by your face. Your eyes do open, slowly but surely. You feel groggy, despite the growing alertness inside of you. You’re waking up. What’s more, you’re waking up before you really have to. 

Tap... Tap. 

Your sleepy eyes search around the room. Behind the glass of the window, you can make out a blurry image of yellow and pale skin. Still, you’re exhausted. It could be a silly little trick pulled by your own brain. But on the off chance that it is-

Annie. 

You sit up. Your vision is still smeared like oil, but you stumble out of bed. Your heel skims against the wood of the floor. It probably gave you a splinter, but now that you’ve started thinking about her, you know it’d be difficult to stop. 

You partially hop to the window across from your bed. Your right hand reaches out to unlatch the thing, while the left rubs at your eyes to get the gift of clear sight. As you turn the wood to the right to unlock it, you step back and away. 

The blond handles the rest. Her palms slip under the window and pull it up, and then she pushes herself through. She brushes the clear white curtains to the side and lands on the floor, just as your vision returns to you.  

She’s wearing her favorite white sweatshirt, and standard brown slacks. There’s ODM gear at her hips, complete with all the strappings and buckles. But her face... oh, her face. Despite the time apart, it’s the same one you’d fallen in love with. The big, still blue eyes were gazing at the wood she landed on. Her pale blond hair is pulled back in the usual bun, her bangs hanging loose as always. But her lips look shinier today. Perhaps she tried the new lip tint you’d bought the last time you’d gone shopping. 

“Annie,” you sighed with a soft smile. Any kind of stress you’d been feeling in the past few weeks without her was fading away, at long last. You knew she’d see you again soon, but you hadn’t realized she’d pick today. She must’ve wanted to surprise you. 

Annie’s right hand reaches up to rub the back of her neck. “I should’ve known you wouldn’t be up yet.” The girl looks your form up and down. “Or dressed.”

One of your feet rubs against the opposite shin. She’s not wrong. You’re wearing an oversized white shirt and cheap underwear that she can’t even see. Your hair is a mess, your eyes groggy, and your breath making your own throat want to gag. But you’re overwhelmed with happiness to finally see her again. 

“Yes you did,” you challenge firmly, but tiredly. 

Annie’s eyes soften. You’re right. She could picture your tired form in her head long before she’d even set out to surprise you. That and the fact that she’d purposely arrived before the morning chimes. 

“Whatever,” you wave off. You step towards her, your heart reaching out to hers. Her chest is like a magnet to your own. 

Your arms stretch out to embrace her. And you do. Tugging her to you, you feel her warmth. Her chest and neck flushed against yours, feeling your heartbeats fall into sync. Annie smells so good. She always has, but it must be that body wash the Military Police get to use. 

Annie is everything to you. The attraction was immediate, and the build up of trust came naturally over time. Despite the two introverted natures, you spent time together. You ate silent dinners, went through the motions of the days with each other. You taught Annie more about life and perspective more than she cared to admit, and in turn, she had made you feel more confident in your own character. It became fact among the cadets that where either you or Annie was found, the other was never far behind. 

And then, sometime in the midst of it all, the dynamic changed. 

Your faces got closer when you pinned the other down during sparring. You’d share your food from the same spoon when there wasn’t enough. Even begun sharing the same shower. You’d always thought Annie was attractive, but now the attraction was rapidly becoming a solid, almost tangible force. 

The heat radiating between the two of you was undeniable. One night, in the top bunk of your barracks, she crept into your bed and shared a kiss. It was wet and sloppy, but you were close to her. You didn’t care about the lack of experience from either of you. Annie mattered to you. You wanted to be with her, and apparently she felt the same.

Things were never made official by title, but you were even more inseparable than before. You’d witnessed her threaten Reiner for both hitting on you and insulting you on separate occasions. You judo flipped a boy for getting handsy with her. You went to winter markets, stargazed, and spent late nights sparring ending in clumsy make-out sessions. You loved her. You’d do anything for her. You’d already made a nonverbal promise to each other that you’d grow and mature together. What more could you ask for?

“I really missed you,” you admit, taking her in as much as you can. Annie sinks into your touch, closing her eyes in affection. 

“Yeah,” she replies, which is her own way of letting it slip that she missed you too. Both her hands come to rest under your elbows, effectively keeping them in place around her. Pft, as if you were going to remove them for longer than a split second anyway.

“So,” you drawl as you saunter back to your bed. You collapse on it, rubbing the space next to you as a call for Annie. “Tell me what I’ve been missing. The MP’s still treating you alright?”

Annie shifts and averts her eyes in thought. Then she follows your lead, sitting on the edge of the bed as she starts to unbuckle her harnesses. “It’s the same,” she tells you. 

“I know you don’t like them, Ann.  You don’t have to pretend.”

And with anybody else, Annie would’ve been quick to annoyance. But with you, she was glad. Even though she definitely didn’t tell you the truth about everything, she knew she could still be herself around you. She knew you could sense she kept some secrets from you still, but you’d never forced the issue. Everything about your love was focused on understanding. It was more than the girl thought she deserved. 

“What about the Scouts?” Annie decides in return. It’s a tactic at changing the subject, and one that doesn’t slip past you. Still, you don’t push. 

“Just as annoying as we thought. I have to officially get up and at ‘em in a few hours.”

Your lover unties her boots. “Have you been outside the wall yet?”

She already knew the answer, but she wanted to hear you say your piece anyway. 

“No,” you sigh. Your hand rests on your forehead, your elbow bent as you stare up at the ceiling. “We have our first expedition this week. We’re taking Jaeger out to try the Commander’s new strategy.”

Annie freezes. Then she continues her movement. “Right. I’d almost forgotten Eren was here.”

You doubted that. “The bastard talked about the Scouts non stop back in cadet training,” you say as Annie twists around to face you. “You sure you didn’t hit your head on the way over here?”

Annie doesn’t answer. But she does gift a hint of a smile. It’s gone in a flash, but it’s more than others get. 

Her ice blue eyes pierce into yours. It’s not threatening, however. It’s loving. Appreciating. She’s trying to memorize all the details inside of them like she’s about to do so for the last time. 

Then Annie lowers head head slowly, until it rests by the crook of your neck. 

“You got up early to see me today,” you say softly. 

Your love shifts off of you, and props her up on her elbow at her side. You mirror her movements to observe her as well. 

“I skinned my knee climbing from my barracks. My gear was giving me trouble.”

Some people may have expressed concern, but you knew your other half was strong. She didn’t need your pity. “Well maybe you shouldn’t have done that,” you shrug with snark back. 

“Heh, thanks,” she responds, looking down to stare at your white cotton sheets. 

There is quiet. The sunlight illuminates her hair. Her long eyelashes flutter up and down slowly. Annie is beautiful. No. Annie surpasses the boundaries of being beautiful. 

“Y/N,” she whispers. “Would you love me, if I were evil?”

What?

“What did you say?”

Silence. Annie doesn’t look at you. She seems solemn, troubled. Haunted, even. No, not quite haunted. Maybe just hollow. 

“Nothing,” Annie says decidedly. “I’m just muttering.”

You frown anyway. You know that Annie is weighed down by things that you can’t explain, or understand. It’s different from other soldiers, or just other people. But you didn’t think there was anything she could do to be evil. You had already shown and told her that you were in love with her. You wouldn’t go back on that if you even could. 

Annie was your world. Your lion. Your entire purpose for even making it this far. 

One of your hands reaches out to brush her fringe behind her ear. “I’d always be on your side,” you tell her softly. “There’s nothing you could do to change that.”

You’d be surprised, thought Annie. 

“I didn’t mean to be depressing,” she mutters further. “I was looking forward to seeing you again.”

Annie is sad today. 

Both of your arms wrap around her slim figure. You pull her close to you, so her head is between your chest and your neck. Both your bodies cradle against each other as you stroke the soft strands of yellow hair. The sun is seeping through the windows for only a passing moment, before it is covered by a blanket of grey clouds. 

“Let’s go back to sleep,” you whisper to her, your eyes transfixed on the drops of rain hitting the roof one by one. 

“I am sorry,” you hear her speak against your shirt. 

You pull away, your palms against her cheeks so you can look at her stunning face. “Don’t ever apologize to me, Annie.” What more can you say to reassure her? “I’m with you.”

Annie is heartbroken inside. Maybe it was better that she didn’t say anything. Or maybe it was better in another timeline, where you knew. But Annie kept her mouth shut and tried to just relax her nerves. There was no reason to wake up feeling as guilty as she had. She was with you now. You would protect her against the nightmares with her father, or Reiner. Nothing to be afraid of. 

“After this,” Annie says as you coax her head back against your body. “I’ll buy you one of those breakfast sweets you like so much. From the village.”

The rain taps against your window. The sun has all but disappeared by now. Surely the open window mixed with sheets of light rain will result in a damp floor, but there’s no way in hell either of you are going to get up and close it now. Instead you watch the water fall, thinking about how the shade of the sun matches that of your lovers mane. 

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ✫*.

I wrote this really fast. I just really love Annie and wanted to give her some appreciation. A weak plot, but oh well. 

[alderaani]

prison break (echo x reader)

A valentines gift for @just-some-girl-92 as part of the event being run by @starwarsfandomfests! Thanks so much for putting another one of these together @lilhawkeye3, and I really hope you like this Dell! I think credit for white haired Echo goes to @/amiro-art? That was the first place I saw it anyway, and I’ve really liked the headcanon that it’s like that post-techno union ever since!

Based on this prompt: Character A moves in next to Character B. They have conjoined balconies and A's pet/child wanders into B's apartment.

Fives and Echo are both reunited and well in this because everyone gets to be happy on Valentine’s Day and I said so. We don’t need canon on this blog.

The other side of the wall explodes with noise. 

It makes you pause, looking up from the knitting trailing over your knees to cock your head towards the opposite apartment. You think you hear the screech of furniture legs being pushed along the floor, then the frantic rumble of several male voices speaking over the top of each other, the clatter and clang of things as they are removed and replaced.

It’s odd. When Tith-Mar lived next door, you used to hear it every time he coughed, or swore at that awful old holodrama he used to watch every Taungsday. As much as you tried to stop yourself you couldn’t help but get invested, and that was almost worse. Out of pride you never put it on your own unit, but that just meant you ended up half pressed against the wall, eventually not even pretending you weren’t listening to Capula and Mont confess their love. It had given you something to talk about, anyway, when you went onto the balcony to water your plants and he went out there to smoke the fancy deathsticks he joked he’d live and die by.

In the year since the war ended and Tith-Mar was finally able to move back out to be with his daughter on Ryloth you’ve never quite gotten used to the quiet. There was a strange comfort in knowing that there was someone on the other side of the wall. Maybe it came from the three years of water shortages and occasional outages - or, notably, the rampage of the Zillo beast, which hadn’t come quite close enough to flatten you in your sleep, but had downed enough of the power grid that you’d been locked in your apartment for five rotations. You miss the soft Rylothi folk music he used to play in the mornings, and you miss seeing him sometimes, blowing smoke up into the brisk Coruscant mornings with his blue lek, faded now in old age, wrapped around his neck like a scarf.

You just miss the comforting assurance of having someone else there. If it wasn’t for the sound of the door going, and the occasional thump of something being moved, you’d hardly know that you had neighbours at all now. It’s almost funny to think back on the furore it caused when the Republic bought the apartment for GAR resettlement. It led to the only neighbourhood meeting the building has ever had, and you’ve been very glad for that fact after discovering that a solid faction of your fellow citizens are bigots. It’s something you knew, objectively, but witnessing it from the people you personally rub shoulders with was a harder pill to swallow than having to watch some of the anti-clone protests on the holonews. You’ve not tried to remember the more colourful misconceptions about clone troopers aired by prim soft-handed mid-levellers as they sat in a lobby you can remember the Coruscant Guard clearing rubble from with nothing but their hands. However, you do very vividly remember someone from two floors up asking you if you’d ‘really feel safe’ living next to ‘those walking warmongers’, being young and living on your own. You’d shut that down, of course, and the resulting vote had passed in favour.

You’d honestly half expected the troopers to reject the place after that, and you wouldn’t have blamed them either. 

Everyone had known the day they moved in, had pretended not to watch as a GAR issue speeder loaded with two armoured figures and a meagre quantity of possessions had pulled up on the walkway and made their way cautiously inside. You’d thought about introducing yourself, knocking or something, but concluded in the end that they didn’t need anyone else ogling them. You’d figured that there would be plenty of time for that later...and now here you are, a whole year on, and that glimpse is just about the closest you’ve ever gotten to them. You think they still spend a lot of time off-planet, helping with the reconstruction missions the now-voluntary GAR conducts throughout the Mid and Outer Rims. You hadn’t even been sure that they were home at the moment, actually. 

There’s no doubting it now, as the frantic thumps and raised voices continue. Through your balcony door, cracked open to catch some of the soft breeze the weather engineers have scheduled today, you can make out a little of what their voices are saying, one frantic and forceful, the other softer, but no less worried.

“ - kriffing hell, can’t believe we’ve lost...Rex will have our heads…”

“...can’t have gotten far...can’t even walk!”

“ - already checked the fresher, Echo!”

“It can’t hurt to check twice...knew we shouldn’t have…”

You bite your lip, turning round while debating whether you should offer your help. Then you freeze. The baby on the other side of your caf table freezes too, chubby hand poised to grab the cookie you’d been saving for later. They’re standing on legs that wobble a bit, and there’s a glint of steely determination in the dark eyes that fix on your face. 

“Hello,” you say a little weakly, realising very abruptly what the troopers must have lost.

The kid appraises you for a moment longer, brow furrowed and intent. There’s a huge amount of judgement there for such a small face, those focused eyes taking you in for several very long seconds. Then they huff, and very deliberately turn their attention back to the cookie. You smother an incredulous laugh. 

“Not impressed, huh?” You say, carefully setting your knitting aside and uncovering your legs. “Can’t say I blame you, I prefer cookies too.”

The baby doesn’t dignify this with any attention, instead making a soft crowing noise as their little fingers strike victory and retract with the cookie firmly in grasp. When they immediately move to cram it into their mouth you burst into action, leaning across the caf table to swipe it. Just those mere seconds of contact have made it slightly damp. 

The baby’s face scrunches in outrage, and they let go of the table edge, sinking down onto their padded bottom with a sharp, high noise of annoyance. They don’t cry, but the frown is something spectacular.

“Sorry, kid.” You force yourself the rest of the way up, keeping a hold on the cookie with one hand. Can kids this young even eat solid foods yet? Do they have any allergies? You don’t have any siblings, so the last time you were around a baby was when you were one. For all this one’s bravado, they look awfully breakable. “I’ll hang on to this for now, yeah?”

You don’t think that they’re old enough to understand what you’re saying, but the huff the baby lets out feels extremely pointed. You stare down at them on your rug.

“Don’t suppose you could give me any pointers on how to hold you?”

It turns out babies are wriggly. You put the cookie down long enough to hoist the kid into your arms and attempt to manoeuvre their little arms and legs so that they’re not jabbing into your vital organs, but at the sight of the food being placed far away, the kid lets out a piercing noise, right into your ear, and attempts to kamikaze their way back to it. A body that two seconds ago was ramrod solid and deliberately unwieldy is suddenly boneless and impossible to hold onto. Your brain goes empty of everything but wrestling with several pounds of struggling infant. 

You end up on the floor, eventually, but at least both of you are in one piece. You’re breathing heavily. The kid’s face is thunderous. It’s very cute, but you can’t wait to give it back and appreciate that from a distance. Somehow, you manage to settle them onto your hip.

“What the f - heck was that for?” You ask, purely to make yourself feel better. Even if the kid could answer you, you get the feeling they simply wouldn’t. “Was it because I put the biscuit down?”

The kid makes a huffing noise. You roll your eyes, but can’t help smiling. The baby’s dark, just-curling hair is soft against the skin of your upper arm, and their weight is warm and solid against your side. 

“I’m not taking it away from you. I’m gonna let you have it, just need to make sure it’s safe for womp-rats first. And return you before those poor guys tear their place apart, okay?”

You re-collect the cookie and struggle back to your feet, looking towards the open balcony. Visions flash through your mind of the baby pulling that boneless trick out there, with nothing but spacelanes separating them from the ground 50 stories below, and...no. You’re not even vaguely risking that. The front door is definitely the better option, but somehow more daunting, as you stand before the neighbouring apartment with your heart in your throat.

The second you knock, the frantic voices inside cut off abruptly, and then you hear the mad scramble that ensues to reach the door. It wooshes open, and suddenly you’re face to face with your neighbours for the first time. 

They’re less identical than you’d expected. Maybe that’s a stupid thought, but it’s the first one that stumbles, half formed and dazed, into the open void your brain has just become. The second, very unhelpful follow up, is that they’re also much prettier than you’d expected. Not that you’d necessarily expected anything, but - you’ve never seen one of the clones without their helmets before. The Corrie Guard, back during the war, had made a point of never taking them off as far as you’d ever seen. That was apparently a crying shame. One of them has thick, dark curly hair, a tidy goatee, and a tattoo on his forehead. The other’s hair is a sharp, startling white, interrupted by metal nodes of some sort. Some sort of post-war medical adaptation, you assume. He’s slightly leaner all over, his eyes a little larger in his face. But the way both of them sag against the door frame is exactly the same.

“Thank the fucking force,” The dark haired one breathes, clutching at his chest.

The other trooper elbows him sharply in the ribs. “Fives.”

“She’s ten months old, Echo. She’s not gonna repeat it.”

“She just escaped from our apartment after General Skywalker swore up and down she’s not mobile yet. It’s gonna be her first word just to spite us.”

You laugh before you can stop yourself and flush a little when all attention snaps back to you.

“That I can believe,” you force yourself to say. “Hi. I think I found something of yours.”

You hold out your armful of infant and - you presume Fives is his name - reaches out to take her, groaning in relief. 

“Thank you,” he says, fervent, taking a moment to bury his face into the child’s hair. She puts a determined thumb into her mouth and stares at your hand, still clutching the cookie. The trooper turns her in his arms and holds her up at eye level. “You are a menace, Leia. I thought we were gonna have to call in a search.”

It’s nice to have a name for that little displeased face. Leia regards the trooper for a moment before sticking her hand into his face. His eyes are impossibly warm as he pretends to gobble her fingers, and it is, quite frankly, cute as fuck. He turns his attention back to you, but just as he opens his mouth, the sound of a comm going off somewhere behind them cuts through the moment.

“That’ll be the General,” The white-haired trooper laughs. “You better take her and show him, before he raises down half of Coruscant trying to get here.”

Fives nods, flashing another blinding grin at you, before he and Leia are gone. The trooper you’re left with blows out a breath and scrubs a hand over his face. 

“Well,” he says, his mouth crooking into a wry smile. “That was exciting.” 

He sticks his hand out, and when you take it, his palm is rough and his grip firm. You give him your name without thinking about it, staring into the kind, golden depths of his eyes. They crinkle at the corners when he grins. 

“I’m Echo. And - I know Fives already said it, but seriously, thank you. Where the shab did you find her?”

“Trying to steal biscuits from my caf table,” you say, laughing openly when Echo drops his face back into his hand and groans with embarrassment. “I think she got in through the balcony door.”

“Force, we didn’t even think of that. What a first impression, you must think we’re idiots.” 

You shake your head, enamoured by the faint colour you can see rising in his cheeks. He brings his metal hand up to his face and presses the cool prosthetic against his skin. 

“Not at all. You should have seen the look she gave me when I found her, she knows she’s in charge.” 

Echo smiles bashfully. “It’s the first time we’ve ever won the lot to babysit the twins, our Company would have crucified us if we’d lost her.” 

“Then I’m very glad to have provided a rescue.” 

There’s a short silence as you fidget with your sleeves, strange anticipation churning in your gut. There’s no reason to keep standing here now that the pleasantries are done with, the baby exchanged, but...some part of you resists it, almost looking for an excuse to stay. He and Fives are the first new friendly faces you’ve met in a long time, soothing a sting you didn’t know was there.

“I - um -,” Echo begins suddenly, shifting a little. The colour in his face deepens. “I really like your plants. I’ve always meant to say something. We keep trying to guess what they are.” 

“Oh!” Your heart turns over in your chest and you wouldn’t be able to stop the smile bursting onto your face if you tried. Those damn things are so hard to keep alive through the unpredictable engineered weather. You don’t think you’re particularly house proud, but you do preen a little that he’s noticed. “Thank you, I, um, I water them every morning. I could...go through them with you one day? If you like?” 

Echo’s head dips an assent. “I’d really like that.” 

You linger a moment longer, a pleased thrill still lingering in your belly, but there’s no putting it off now. “I suppose I should let you go. But...please knock if you need anything.” 

Echo smiles. “Hopefully not in pursuit of any more babies.” 

You’re just about to turn away when you remember the cookie in your hand, slightly smushed now. “Oh! Can you give this to Leia? I wanted to make sure she could eat them, first, but I promised. Seemed only fair, since she went to all that trouble.” 

Echo huffs, his expression softening, taking the cookie with careful hands. “I’ll make sure her highness gets it.” 

Then you go back to your quiet apartment, somehow deflated when faced with the monotony of your knitting and your music. You hear a few more sounds from the other side of the wall, faint laughter, perhaps a child squealing, and find your curiosity has not been sated at all.

It’s a wonderful surprise, then, when two days later on a clear, sunlit morning, you slide open your balcony door to water the plants and find Echo waiting, his face tipped up to the brightening sky. There is a packet of cookies resting on the duracrete by his feet, and two steaming mugs of caf on the railing by his elbow. 

It feels like something special...It feels like a beginning. 

taglist // @nelba @leias-left-hair-bun @battletales @bad-batch-of-fics @iscream4clones @majorshiraharu @snippytano @missinashkin @808tsuika @eries45 @dom-i-nic // 

[grailfinders]

Fate and Phantasms #203

Today on Fate and Phantasms, we've only got one goal in mind: Golems! Thanks to Avicebron, we'll make just that; lots and lots of golems! Avicebron is a Battle Smith Artificer, so you'll always have at least one on standby.

Check out his build breakdown below the cut, or his character sheet over here!

Next up: I did naht kill him, I did naht. Oh hi Mark.

Race and Background

Avvy might not look it, but he's still a Variant Human, giving him +1 Intelligence and Wisdom, plus proficiency with Deception to keep your mentees close and your golem ingredients just as close, plus you get the Servo Crafting feat! You can cast Find Familiar as a ritual, but instead of getting an animal, you build a small golem called a Servo. You can speak with and through the servo, plus sense through it, as long as you share a plane of existence. You can also attack with the servo instead of your wimpy noodlearms once per attack action.

You're also a Cloistered Scholar, which gives you History and Religion proficiency. You are nerd! No duh!

Ability Scores

Your Intelligence should be pretty high, you make golems and you don't afraid of anything, that's what you do. After that is Dexterity, you're better off not getting hit than anything else, and also having 4 arms means you're pretty good at sleight of hand. Wisdom is also pretty good, you're a religious man, and while you don't get power from that you're still wise. Unfortunately we gotta make Strength the next highest stat. I mean, two of your arms are robots, so I guess it kinda works? Your Charisma is pretty low, you just don't care about people that much, but we're dumping Constitution. Trust me, it'll make sense in a bit. (Don't do this in-game, this is a flavor thing, you WILL DIE)

Class Levels

You're 100% artificer, so you start off with Magical Tinkering, letting you stuff minor magical effects into tiny items. I don't know why you'd make a fart sound producing golem out of a pen, but I'm not Avicebron. You also learn Spells. They use your Intelligence score for prep and casting. Grab Mage Hand to build a little drone to carry stuff for you, and Message for a messenger golem. Really you can take whatever spells you like as long as you call them golems, but the most golemy are Alarm golem and Catapult golem. Why throw stuff when you can just make it throw itself? You also get proficiency in a buncha stuff, like Constitution and Intelligence saves, plus Nature to figure out good materials for golems and Arcana to build them!

Second level artificers can Infuse Items, adding cool effects to up to two items per long rest from a list of four options. Grab Armor of Tools so you'll always have your golem-making kit on ya, Enhanced Arcane Focus for stronger golems, Homunculus Servant for a golem, and Mind Sharpener to help keep track of your golems. I can already tell golem isn't even gonna look like a word by the end of this build.

Your artificer subclass is the Battle Smith, which makes you Battle Ready, so your golems can use martial weapons. Of course you're not swinging them yourself, so you can use your intelligence instead of strength when attacking with magical weapons. You also get a second permanent golem, the Steel Defender! You gotta use your bonus action to make it do stuff, but it'll hit people, repair stuff, and protect its allies! Also, you can cast Mending on it to heal it. You don't have that yet, but you will! You can also make The Right Tool for the Job over a long rest, and you also get subclass spells for free. Heroism makes a very pretty golem that inspires all your allies to not get scared and get temporary HP. Shield makes a golem that'll stand in front of someone as a reaction, adding 5 to their AC and blocking magic missiles for a round.

Use your first Ability Score Improvement to bump up your Intelligence. You use it for pretty much everything, so your brain's gotta be good!

Fifth level battlesmiths get an Extra Attack, so your servo, your steel defender, and your sword-holding golem can all attack at the same time. You also get second level spells, like Branding Smite and Warding Bond. Neither of those are golems tho. Grab Rope Trick for the first of many rope golems, and Enlarge/Reduce for later. Adam's a big boy, so you've gotta make a big golem.

Sixth level artificers get Tool Expertise, doubling your proficiency bonus with all tools. Golem making is complicated, the DCs are gonna be high. You also get two more blueprints and one more infused item, like a Spell-Refueling Ring for extra spell slots and a Rope of Climbing for another rope-based golem to help your bad climbing skills.

At seventh level you get so smart you have Flashes of Genius, adding your intelligence modifier to checks and saves near you intelligence modifier times per long rest. Yeah, it's actually just weirdly specific golems.

Bump up your Intelligence this ASI for more of everything you like. Smrt.

Ninth level battle smiths add an Arcane Jolt to their steel defender and magical weapons. Once per turn, intelligence modifier times per long rest, you can either add extra force damage to the hit, or heal a nearby creature. Still not sure how to make those golems, but you'll figure something out, you've got 20 Intelligence! You also get third level spells, like an Aura of Vitality golem and a Conjure Barrage golem. You can also can Create Food and Water golems for gathering, or turn just about anything into a Tiny Servant. For up to 8 hours after casting, you can turn a tiny object into a tiny creature, commanding it as a bonus action. Finally, a spell that makes golems! You can also use Glyph of Warding now, though it won't be that useful for the build until you get fourth level spells. The idea is, you can keep a bunch of these bad boys in your base, all set to trigger against a creature that knocks you down to 0 HP. All of them summon constructs, beating up the guy after you're already unconscious. This is the closest we could get to Avicebron's third skill, D&D doesn't really plan for character death that well. Also, just a correction. I just found out you can't carry glyphs around without them breaking :(

Tenth level artificers are Magic Item Adepts, giving you an extra attunement slot and you can create uncommon magic items for cheaper. You also get the Mending cantrip for golems, and two more blueprints for an extra infused item. The Helm of Awareness will help you stay out of trouble, and the Periapt of Wound Closure makes it easier to not die. Your master strategy is all about getting knocked out, so it would be nice if you automatically stabilize.

Eleventh level artificers can create Spell-Storing Items, stuffing weapons or focii full of first/second level magical goodness. It's like you're casting the spell, but it uses the other guy's concentration.

Another ASI! Bump up your Dexterity for less dying.

With fourth level spells, you can cast all sorts of golems. You're stuck with Aura of Purity and Fire Shield, but you also get an Arcane Eye for a drone golem, plus Mordenkainen's Faithful Hound and Summon Construct for fighting golems.

As a Magic Item Savant you get another attunement slot, and you can ignore requirements when attuning magic items. You also get the Prestidigitation cantrip to make whatever small tools you need for a second, and two more blueprints for one more infusion. Bracers of Defense will help you not die if you don't think Avicebron's outfit is armor, and the Ring of Protection will also do that regardless.

At fifteenth level you get your last subclass improvement, the Improved Defender. Your arcane jolt gets bigger, and your golem gets tougher and can reflect damage, not just deflect it.

Use the rest of your ASI to bump up your Wisdom. Making yourself better isn't in character, so just be wise.

You've got fifth level spells! Banishing smite isn't a golem, but I guess Mass Cure Wounds could be Adam's feet? Idk. You can also use Bigby's Hand for Adam's hand, and Animate Objects for more item-based golems. Now you can turn your trusty frying pan into a-golem. Everything turns into a golem.

Eighteenth level artificers are Magic Item Masters, letting you attune to six items at the same time. You also get two more blueprints, so grab two copies of Arcane Propulsion Arm for the four arms of your third ascension. Arms are cool.

One last ASI, grab more Wisdom.

Your capstone ability grants you a Soul of Artifice, giving you a +1 bonus to all your saves for each magic item you're attuned to, and you can destroy an infusion to drop to 1 HP instead of 0. Remember, getting KOd only helps if you're near one of your glyphs.

Pros and Cons

Pros:

Between your Steel Defender, servo, tiny servants, and animated objects, you don't have to do much. Plus you can just rope trick away and let them take care of everything!

If your DM ever tries to spook the party by fighting you in your own base, you can spook him right back by taking a fall and filling your study with angry golems.

With expertise and flashes to help your repairs along plus mending, you're a great repairman. If the DM tries to block your path with a broken bridge, it won't stay broken for long. Plus, your warforged allies will love you.

Cons:

DONT DUMP CON. You have less than 100 HP at level 20, and your constitution save is really bad (for an artificer). Don't do it. Look me in the eyes, don't. do it!

Having any part of your battle plan being getting knocked out is not going to make you popular with your party members. Maybe you should help out yourself? Nah, golems are better.

All of your infusions and spells are focused on helping yourself, a stark contrast to most of our artificer builds. Keeping all your toys to yourself will not help your party like you, especially with a +0 charisma.

[vintagedolan]

mixtape - track eleven

| masterlist | faceclaims | playlist |

I was hiding from myself too. I was hiding from the part of my brain that was like ‘what are you gonna do now?’. Like, there’s a part of your brain that does thrive off of feeling like shit.

The voice shifted, just for a moment. 

Yea-

It was a tiny sound in the back, from behind the camera. It didn’t even form a full word before Ethan continued talking, but Indy flinched anyway. It was always worse when she was unprepared for it. 

In her distraction, she’d streaked her concealer too far past her eye and sighed, using her finger to pat it in, ignoring the way it splotched. It probably wasn’t the right shade, and it was definitely expired, but it was enough for her to look like maybe she had slept in the last two weeks. 

She hadn’t. Not really. Every time she closed her eyes, even to blink, he was there. Sometimes, she welcomed it. But in that moment, standing in her mirror in her scrubs, she didn’t want to see his face. She didn’t want to hear his voice. Because she had to keep it together for 16 hours. 12 hours at the hospital on the peds floor, and another 4 at her shift at Jet’s afterward. So she kept her eyes open, took a deep breath, and walked out of her bathroom.

On the other side of the country, Grayson’s eyes were closed.

He wasn’t sleeping. It was 4 in the afternoon, which was the earliest time he could consider himself done with work for the day and escape to his bedroom, closing the door behind him. It only got down to the high forties in LA, even in January, but he climbed under his comforter anyways, pulled his baby blanket up by his face. 

Time seemed to crawl by while he lay there alone. He rolled to his side, pulling his pillow down to wrap his arms around it, and when he opened his eyes, he wished he hadn’t. On his nightstand, turned towards him, was the frame that Indy had gotten him for Christmas. He wished she hadn’t curled up so much when he’d taken it. He wished he could see her face more in the glossy material, wished she had given him a picture of just her instead. When he squeezed his eyes shut again he could see her face better, every feature committed to memory. So he looked. He focused on the different shades of blue in her eyes and pretended like she was in class, and that he was on her couch waiting for her to come home. 

A knock sounded on his door, and his heart tightened. 

Ethan stepped in the room with a bag of Monty’s and a hopeful smile. 

Grayson didn’t move.

“I brought you dinner.”

Nothing.

Ethan sighed, dropping the act. He was giving up on it earlier and earlier these days.

“Bro, you’ve gotta eat. You didn’t eat lunch.”

“Not hungry.”

“Bullshit.”

“I’m not.”

“Well, tough shit then, cause I’m not leaving you alone until you eat at least some of this.” 

Grayson knew his brother, better than he knew himself sometimes, and he could tell by his tone that he was serious. He didn’t have the energy for a fight, and despite himself, his stomach growled at the smell of the fries in the bag, salty and warm. So he sat up begrudgingly and let Ethan pass him the bag, pretending not to see how his shoulders slumped in relief. 

He didn’t have to ask why Ethan stayed. It was to make sure he didn’t sit the bag down as soon as he closed the door behind him. So he waited, and he watched his brother eat his burger slower than usual, fighting to chew it and force it down.

“Where’s yours?” He asked eventually - he knew better than to think that Ethan hadn’t gotten himself a burger. 

“I uh… I ate with Eden.”

Grayson stopped chewing. His question was blatant in his eyes, and he waited for the answer.

“No, I didn’t fucking tell her,” Ethan grumbled, running his hand over his face. “But I don’t know how much longer I can do this, I feel like I’m fucking lying to her.”

“Did she ask about… her?” He caught himself. He hadn’t said her name since they left New York. 

“Not yet. She knows something is up with you though, and if she starts asking questions I’m telling her.”

“No.” It wasn’t a plea. It was a demand. 

“Grayson. She’s gonna find out eventually, I gotta tell her.”

“No. Twin code.”

“Don’t pull that shit man, c’mon, we aren’t six anymore. That’s my wife, and she’s gonna be pissed as fuck at me. If you don’t tell her, I’m gonna have to.”

Grayson stayed quiet and put the rest of his burger back in the bag, his small appetite fading to nausea at the thought of having to admit to anyone else what he had done. He hadn’t had to explain it yet - Ethan knew enough to put the pieces together, and he had enough heart to stay quiet on the plane, just passing over his napkin from his drink as an extra tissue while Grayson looked out the window and cried quietly. But he wasn’t going to tell Eden - he wasn’t ready for that.

Ethan sighed. “I’m just saying Gray, she’s gonna start asking me questions, and I’m not gonna lie to her, that’s not me. That’s not either of us.” He paused, hoping for a response he knew he wasn’t going to get. “Whatever. We have a meeting at 10 tomorrow.”

Ethan left the room in silence, and Grayson closed his eyes.

Indy’s struggled to keep hers open. It was almost 4 am the worst hours of her shift. She poured another cup of coffee from the nurses’ lounge, ignoring the fact that it was burnt as she sipped it down and willed herself to wake up. Part of her wished it was iced - warm drinks made her sleepy, and worse, reminded her of cold New Jersey mornings that she couldn’t afford to think of. Just the idea of reminiscing made her chest tighten enough for her to suck in a breath and start to search for a distraction. She read the schedule instead, checking to see what tech would replace her come 7 am. She still had two vital checks to do on each patient, opting to do them on the even hours. Her head tipped back as she drained the rest of her cup and tossed it in the trash, needing to keep her mind busy.

It wasn’t her job - only nurses could distribute meds, but she could prep the trays for the kids to make their lives easier. So she moved to the med cart and started to look through. 

“Adams, Adrian, Bellon, Campbell, Cortez, Jenkins, Kimp, Lopez, Mullins, Norton.” Her fingers stopped for a moment as she traced down the last names on the cart, mumbling them out. No Newcomb. She double-checked. Nothing.

Bekah didn’t have a tray. 

Indy’s heart sped up a bit, and she waited until she saw Ayria, one of the night shift nurses, coming out of a room.

“Hey, do you need me to get Newcomb a tray? Hers isn’t on here.” It felt weird to refer to Bekah by her last name, but she didn’t want to seem unprofessional.

Ayria frowned, coming to log into the computer on the med cart and check the charts. 

“Oh yeah, everything she’s getting is IV right now, no pills.”

Indy took a breath and steadied herself, glad to see that the clock had turned and she was able to make her rounds. She’d become an expert at taking vitals without waking the kids up - even some of the more seasoned nurses were impressed.

But she could never get past Beks.

The first day, during Indy’s orientation, Bekah could tell something was wrong. It was only three days after Grayson had left after all. Indiana knew that the floor needed a tech, and she knew they’d take her as soon as she asked. She also knew that if she let herself stay at home that she’d never leave it again. So she went and bought the cheapest scrubs she could find and mustered up enough energy to show up. 

She didn’t really need Ayria to show her around that day. She knew the unit inside and out from her time as a volunteer; she just needed the codes for the supply rooms and a list of her tasks for her 12-hour shift. But she was glad that they were together when they went into Bekah’s room because Bekah was kind enough not to say anything with someone else there. Now, she didn’t hold back.

“You look like shit,” she said as soon as Indy walked in.

“It’s 4 am, you should be asleep,” Indy countered with a smirk. The incident on Christmas was forgiven without a second thought, and she was relieved to be back to their normal banter as she put her blood pressure cuff on. 

“You should be asleep. This is your last shift of the week though.”

“Says who?”

“You’ve been here three days already, that’s the max you can work without overtime.” 

Indy kept quiet and wrote down her blood pressure in the chart. 

“Are you okay?” Bekah asked quietly, and Indy sucked in a deep breath, trying to stop the tears flooding her eyes.

“I’m fine Beks. Promise.”

Bekah contemplated if she should say it.

“Is it Grayson?”

Indy’s breath caught in her throat. Her hands shook as she held up the thermometer, and she had to blink hard to be able to read the numbers and scribble them down. 

Bekah took her silence as an answer. 

“Sorry. I know it must be hard, having him so far away,” she murmured. Indy couldn’t find her voice to tell her that it was okay. She fiddled with her blankets, tucking her in nicely and dimming her lights down to give her time to clear the knot in her throat.

“Get some sleep Beks.”

She held it together until she got outside her room, and then the tears escaped. As quickly as she could, she ducked her head and beelined for the nurses’ desk, using her oldest trick of drinking water to keep herself from fully breaking down. 

Valentina sat at her desk and watched with a frown, but she didn’t say anything. 

Indy gave herself one minute, and then she took a deep breath and got back to work. 

Time crawled, and she cursed herself for not leaving enough things to keep her busy for the rest of her shift. By 6 am, she’d resorted to cleaning the tables in the break room and reorganizing supplies in the supply closet to keep herself occupied. She knew the day shift nurses would appreciate the extra effort - they always sung her praises, thrilled to work a shift after her considering how well she set it up for them. 

Valentina came into the supply closet at 6:30.

“You might just work our daytime tech out of a job,” she said, making Indy jump and drop the bandages she was restocking.

“You scared me,” she said, catching her breath. “Just restocking.”

“You work too hard,” Valentina shook her head, crossing her arms. “You’re gonna burn yourself out sweetheart, and we need you around here.”

“I’ll be alright.”

“You act like I don’t know you’re going to your other job right after this.”

“They give me good coffee there, what can I say,” Indy teased, but when she looked Valentina’s eyes were sad. “I like to keep busy.” 

“Too busy,” she tsked. “You leave at 6:50 today.”

“Valentina-”

“Keep talking and I’ll make it 6:40,” she threatened. “And you get some sleep later, you hear me?”

“Yes ma’am,” Indy conceded, knowing it wasn’t an argument she could win. Nurses weren’t the type to lose an argument, and she’d never met a more nurse-y nurse than Valentina. She finished stocking quickly, gathering her bags and double-checking she’d finished everything before she headed out, waving goodbye to the nurses she saw. 

She was distracted on her way out, and she didn’t think when she hit the button to get into the next hallway. 

For two weeks, she prepped. Mentally paused and thought of all the things that could hit her out of the blue, make her come unraveled. She was ready, for the couples in the street holding hands, for the husbands coming to walk their wives home from work, the high schoolers on hot chocolate dates in the big city. But it was always the small things that got her. 

She hadn’t prepared herself, and her eyes automatically went to the walls when she cleared the doors. The ocean mural. The jellyfish, the sea turtle on the wall that Grayson had said looked like Ethan once. It hit her like a ton of bricks, her chest so tight that she reached up to press on it as she heard his voice in her head. It made her feel pathetic, the way she had to stop and grab onto the rail in the hall and steady herself for a moment. She counted her breaths, trying her hardest to shut her mind off, staring at the blue of the walls as she willed herself to be okay, just for another day.

Grayson was staring at the water. Or at least, he was trying to. The moon wasn’t very bright, but it reflected enough off the ocean for him to get a sense of which way the sun would come up. The whole surface was washed black by the night sky, and it was peaceful. He wanted to swim in it. He wanted to sink beneath it and find that blissful quiet you could only find underwater. 

He’d fallen asleep soon after Ethan had left him alone, which meant he found himself wide awake at 4 am, body tired of being asleep. Sitting in bed would only make things worse, so he sent Ethan a quick text and headed off in the Porsche towards the secret beach. There was no one else there so early in the morning, and he was grateful. It gave him the peace of mind to curl in on himself, let the tears flow freely as the waves lapped at the shore, returning over and over. 

Time ran away from him in the dark. His tears ceased eventually, dried themselves out as he sat in his misery. He didn’t fight it. Instead, he let it wash over him, sink into every pore and weigh him down, wishing he could somehow disappear into the sand as the sun started to rise and wash the world in light orange. His phone buzzed, no doubt a text from his brother. He elected to ignore it, keeping his eyes on the water, counting the waves as they came in. It was admirable, the dedication they showed; returning every time they got sucked back out. 

At some point, he felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up, and he sighed, pulling his hood up over his head in a feeble attempt to hide himself from whoever was watching him. He stood up and brushed the sand off himself, ducking his head down and jogging straight back to his car, hoping whoever it was wasn’t trying to come up to him. 

As soon as he ducked into his car and pulled the door shut, he sunk down, resting his forehead against his steering wheel. 

“Fuck!” He yelled, smacking his dashboard. His radio turned on with a jolt, connected to his phone and automatically starting his playlist. Cudi blared through the speakers and he groaned, hitting all the wrong buttons in an attempt to get it to turn off.

“Stop, fucking stop!” In a last attempt he chucked his phone across the car, watched it ricochet off the dash and down into the floorboard. He threw his car into reverse with blurry eyes, desperate to get away from anyone who might have a camera. He was paranoid the whole drive home that someone was watching, eyes darting to the windows of any car he ended up next to at a stoplight. It wasn’t until he got the gate closed behind him and he was in the house that he felt like he could breathe again. With Ethan still asleep down the hall, he choked back his sobs as he sat down at the counter, face in his hands. 

Indy was taking deep breaths behind the counter as the line started to pile up at Jet’s. She looked to her right, frowning at the stress on her new coworker, Mariposa’s, face as the cups continued to line up next to her. 

“Hey Posie,” she called over between customers. “Do you wanna switch?”

“God yes,” she exclaimed, rushing to take Indy’s place at the register so she could move over to the bar. 

Indiana preferred it that way. She didn’t have to smile for a latte, she just had to pour it and try not to burn her fingers and move on to the next. It had come back like second nature to her, and she liked the fast pace. It gave less time for her to think, and she welcomed the numbing repetition. She kept an ear piqued towards the register, listening to the orders coming in so she could get ahead. The next one came from a taller man, his face hidden behind a coat.

“Just give me the biggest cup of the strongest stuff you’ve got.”

Indy dropped her cup, a half poured latte splattering all over her hands first, down her apron, then the bottom of her jeans and onto her shoes. It only took one look over at the man to realize it wasn’t Grayson, and she deflated. 

“Shit,” she hissed, flicking her hands in an attempt to chill the burn that was already searing on her skin. She side-stepped to the sink, flipping the cold water on and letting it flow over her hands. It stung even more, and she sighed at the bright red of her skin. She’d had enough burns from her time as a barista to know that it would blister. 

“Indiana, you okay?” Patrick called from the ovens, moving a line of pastries in and out.

“Yeah, yeah I’m fine.”

He frowned, but kept quiet, letting her get back into the groove of making drinks. Indy could feel him watching her, the familiar weight of a protective eye over her shoulder. At least he was kind enough to wait until her shift was over before he tried to talk to her again.

“Hey, how’s your hand?” 

Indy looked down and sighed at the sight of her red skin, resisting the urge to rub it. Instead, she moved to the first aid kit and grabbed a wrap bandage. 

“It’s been better, but I’ll survive.”

“Why don’t you take the day off tomorrow,” Patrick suggested as casually as he could. “You know, to rest your hand.”

Indy scoffed.

“It’s not gonna fall off Patrick, I’m fine.”

He sighed. “Fine, if you’re gonna make me say it then I will. You’re a hard worker, one of the best we have, but you’re exhausted. We can all see it, and you don’t need to burn yourself out like this for a minimum wage job. So, you’re off tomorrow. No exceptions.”

“But-”

“No. Exceptions.” 

Her anger bubbled up in her like the blister forming on her thumb, but she knew it wasn’t Patrick’s fault. He was right - she was just upset at the idea of having an entire day with nothing to distract her. An empty apartment had never seemed so daunting, and it was all she could think about as she clocked out, got her things together, and walked home.

It was quieter than she’d imagined when she got through the door, the click of the latch echoing through the still space. She thought of turning on music, but that only made her think of Grayson, singing off-key next to her in the truck. She could put on a movie, but it would make her think of cuddling with him on the couch. Her bed was where he had been so many nights. He’d cooked in her kitchen, he’d helped her move furniture in the guest room. 

She couldn’t escape him, no matter where she went. And so, as pathetic as she felt doing it, she sunk down right there on the floor, and she let the misery have her. It came in broken sobs that caught on her throat on the way out, too loud even for her own ears as she tried to imagine a day where she didn’t feel like the world was crumbling around her. 

She wasn’t sure how long she sat there. But eventually, the things no one ever talked about started to happen. Her butt went numb, and her head started to hurt, and her lips got dry from the saltwater that ran over them. None of that mattered though. What finally got her up from the cold floor was the fact that she was sticky - remnants of the vanilla syrup in the latte that she’d dropped finally congealing and making her feel more disgusting than the tears. She peeled herself up off the floor and headed to her bathroom.

Grayson was in the shower, with his head down, water splashing over his back and bouncing off his shoulders - a statue in the rain. It was the best place to avoid getting on his phone, considering he couldn’t, and that was the only way he could trust himself to not get on twitter and see the aftermath of the morning.

He wondered for a moment what he looked like from outside the glass shower door, standing there with his razor up by his chest. The blades clogged with the long hairs he shaved from his chest, leaving him bare and smoother than he’d been in months. He sat the razor down and moved to pick up a clear bottle from the shelf. Polis was scribbled on it in sharpie in Ethan’s handwriting, remnants of a Wakeheart meeting. Grayson could remember how excited he was to pitch the idea, even if it was over zoom. 

“I finally came up with the third body wash scent. Vanilla, with a hint of coffee and then a little bit of sandalwood to keep it professional and put together.” 

He’d had to whisper it - Indy was asleep in her room, the product of a good post study-session back rub that had lulled her into a much-needed nap. The team loved it, thought it complimented the other two scents they’d been testing well. Ethan was hesitant, but he kept his mouth shut and brainstormed a backup if needed.

Grayson was thankful for the gesture, even when he’d told him that he’d started planning it as early as he had. But he wasn’t willing to give it up, and he made it very clear in their first meeting back that Polis was a permanent scent. It felt like a tiny piece of her that he could hold onto. Still, as he stood there and held the bottle up to his nose, it wasn’t the same. As pitiful as it made him feel, he tried closing his eyes, tried to imagine she was there with him, standing in front of him, giggling like she always did when they showered together. 

He couldn’t do it justice. Couldn’t feel the warmth of her skin against his, couldn’t smell her shampoo or watch her try to bend over and shave her legs in her small apartment shower without bumping into him. He’d held her hips to help her keep her balance, listened to her laugh and talk about casual intimacy, heard the way it echoed off the tiles and became his favorite sound in the entire world. 

His tears mixed with the water, his pain palpable as he started to quiver just barely, the memory enough to break down the paper thin wall he’d managed to drag back up to protect himself. When his knees shook he gave up and sunk to the ground, green tiles of the bench seat icy against his back as he buried his face in his hands. He’d never felt weaker in his life, and he wished he was ten again, so his dad could wrap his strong arm around his shoulder and tell him that everything would be alright. 

He went for the next best thing once he managed to get enough energy to get up and turn the water off. A few swipes of his towel over his body and hair, then he pulled his boxers on and put on his robe, walking straight out of his room and down the hall.

Ethan’s door was open, but he wasn’t in his bed like Gray expected. He was at his desk instead, a look of stress on his face that Grayson was all too familiar with. A pang of guilt resonated in him when he realized what his brother was doing - picking up all the slack that he was leaving in his misery. 

He hadn’t said a word about it though, and that made it worse.

It took Ethan a moment to realize his brother was there, but as soon as he did he turned his desk chair, giving him his full attention.

“Hey.”

Grayson didn’t answer.

“You okay?” Ethan tried again. Grayson’s throat burned, and he shook his head, sitting on the end of the bed. He’d never been able to hide from Ethan, and luckily, he never really had to. Because Ethan was the type of brother to act tough when he needed to, but soften up at the smallest things. Which was why Grayson wasn’t surprised to see his brother rise up out of his chair, coming to sit next to him. The bed sunk down a bit with his weight, and Grayson let himself press up against his brother. The air felt heavy while he waited.

“You’re good. Just let it out.” Ethan’s voice was quiet, and he leaned his cheek against his brother’s head and felt him go to pieces. It was the hardest Grayson had cried since the airport, and every sniffle made his head pound but he couldn’t pull himself together. Those were the kind of moments where he wondered how people survived without twin brothers. He felt safe there with Ethan - if everything else fell apart, at least he’d have him. There were a million things he could say, but he already knew what the answers would be. Ethan would tell him that he’d find someone else some day, and that Indy would heal and that he shouldn’t feel guilty for doing what he did. He also knew that Ethan would say all of it even if he didn’t believe it, because their pain was shared.

Grayson cried himself out again after an hour or so, his sinuses pounding behind his eyes as the headache settled in. 

Ethan stayed still - he knew better than to leave him. It wasn’t until Grayson finally wiped at his eyes that his brother relaxed a bit, watched him stand up and run his hands over his face. It felt colder without Ethan right next to him, but he knew he needed to sleep. 

“Try to get some sleep,” Ethan echoed his thoughts. “We need to record the pod tonight if you can.”

“Okay. I can help with the emails, I know we probably have a shit ton.”

Ethan was already shaking his head before he finished.

“Just get some sleep, okay?”

Grayson nodded and gave him the best smile he could manage before he went back into his room, climbing back into the safety of his covers with his phone in his hand, just in case she called.

Indy’s pillow was wet. It was mainly from her hair soaking into the pillowcase - she didn’t have the energy to dry it after her shower. But she’d also made a terrible mistake. One scroll through the app store and a quick log in and she was back onto instagram, ignoring the now thousands of follow requests she had in her notifications. It only took one click to her explore page and her tears were adding to the moisture below her cheek. 

He had on his Cudi hoodie, the yellow one. She wished she’d been there to tell him not to wear it. It was too bright, a target for the cameras that seemed to find him. The first ones she saw stung. They were only of his back, taken from far enough away that she could pretend it was someone else. But she knew the way he sat, with his arms over his knees. 

The next ones hurt, because she could see his face. He was walking, and she knew him well enough to know he’d realized what was happening and tried to leave, just from his posture, the way he slumped while walking. His eyes were red, those dark circles that she’d ran her fingers over so many times worse than she’d ever seen them. Ever since he’d left, she’d wanted to know how he felt. If he missed her at all, if he was as miserable as she seemed to be every minute of every day.

It hurt worse to get her answer than it did to wonder. She’d hoped he was upset, but suddenly all she wanted to do was hold him, tell him it was okay, that she was okay even though she wasn’t. It was impossible not to scroll, looking for anything new, any hints as to what he had been up to since he’d gotten off that plane. 

She had never asked for a front row seat to his life, but she’d take it if it was the only glimpse of him that she could get. It made her feel pathetic, but she didn’t care enough to fight it.

Eventually, she found herself scrolling his page. She couldn’t tell how she got there, but she couldn’t seem to leave it either. So she just scrolled, averting her eyes from any comments, and pretending, just for a moment, that everything was back to the way it was. That he was just busy recording a podcast, or that he’d be sprawled out on her couch when she went out to the living room. 

She held onto it until she walked out of her room, knowing she needed to eat even though she didn’t want to. She kept her eyes off the couch, moving to her cabinets that were barren apart from a few avocados that were rotten. With a sigh she threw them in the trash that was close to overflowing, opting instead for the last box of mac and cheese she had left. 

Indy was thankful for muscle memory, her mind wandering off to better days where her kitchen wasn’t so quiet as she cooked the pasta she really didn’t want and took it back to her room, curling up under her covers as she ate.

Grayson had two empty boxes of vegan mac and cheese in front of him, one of which obviously had an ‘E’ scribbled on it that he’d ignored when he made them. He shoveled the noodles into his mouth, ignoring the way they burnt his tongue just barely. Ethan walked in and saw the boxes, opened his mouth and shut it again. 

“S’pod setup?” Grayson said around a mouthful.

“Yeah, I set up the pod, we’re good whenever you’re ready.”

“Gimminute.”

Ethan just chuckled and shook his head, happy to at least see his brother eating even if he was shoveling it down like he hadn’t seen food before. He waited, seeing that Gray was done within the next two minutes, sitting his bowl in the sink and stretching his arms out. He looked tired, but Ethan hoped the pod camera was far enough away from them to make the dark circles subtle enough. 

“Do you want some of my old concealer stuff? For under your eyes?”

Grayson hesitated for a moment, picking at his nails. “You still have it?” 

“Yeah, hang on.” Ethan ran to his bathroom, snagged the compact from his bottom drawer and brought it to the kitchen. “Come over here, you’re supposed to do it in natural light.”

He held it out for Grayson, who just looked up at him. 

“I don’t know how the fuck to do it, you do it.”

“Do I look like a makeup artist to you?” Ethan asked, and when Grayson stayed quiet, he sighed and flipped the compact open, swiping his finger through the semi-creamy substance and moving to pat it on his brother, frowning when it was more difficult than he thought it would be. “Look up you fuck, I gotta blend it.”

Grayson just rolled his eyes but did as he was told, sitting still until E said he was finished and led the way to the studio. They got settled in their chairs, double checking the camera angles. Ethan cleared his throat, waiting until his brother looked at him. 

“Are we… do you want to mention anything about…”

Grayson waited. He wondered if his brother was really going to be dumb enough to ask.

“Are we talking about the pictures, yes or no.”

“What the fuck do you think the answer to that is,” Gray grumbled.

“I’m just saying, if you mention it you can say what you want about it, get your own voice out there. Whatever you say, I’ll go along with it.”

“Great.”

Grayson took a deep breath, gave Ethan a look that read as an apology, and clicked the button to start recording. He stayed fairly quiet the first few minutes of the recording, waiting to jump into a conversation that didn’t make his throat tight. The podcast was his favorite place, because he could let himself actually speak, say what he wanted to say without worrying. 

It came back to bite him in the ass 45 minutes into the episode, when his guard was down and he had finally lost himself the way he did when he worked. They were talking about birds, and how they had a bad, unjustified rep. 

“I mean, Gizmo can be an asshole sometimes, but she’s only an asshole when people are like, scared of her,” Ethan mused. 

“Right! She gets all shy when I come home after a while, but when Dee came in the house the first time she was freaking out, just from hearing her and I swear, every time after that Giz just like, screamed every single time she was even in the house.”

“Gray-”

“No seriously! You remember how loud she got? Fuck, remember that time she went down to help mom with dessert and Giz was out and she cried?”

“Grayson.”

“What? Did I peak the mic?”

Ethan’s eyes were sad. “You… you said her name.”

“Huh?”

“Indiana. You said Dee, when you were telling that story.”

He swallowed hard. “Oh. Sorry.”

“It’s okay.” He could see him spiraling, and he tried to reel him back in. “You’re okay. We can just cut it, and start again with a story about Gizmo.” 

“Yeah uh… just give me a second.”

“Sure. Whatever you need.”

“Just, uh, say what you said again before,” Grayson murmured, shaking his head to try and clear it. But it was too late - he was so consumed by what his mind had brought back to the surface that he could barely hear Ethan repeat his words.

“Yeah-” Grayson came in a moment late. “Giz is a special one.”

Ethan waited for him to continue, but jumped in when he didn’t. “She gets shy when you haven’t been home in a while and you show up. That’s the thing about animals dude, like people think about cats and dogs and they can recognize their emotions, but with stuff like birds and cows and shit, people just don’t think about them that way, and it fucking sucks. They have feelings too! Gizmo’s fucking sassy bro, she will let you know how she’s feeling, especially if she’s pissed. Bro, we should have Giz on the pod, do you think she’d talk? She can whistle, we could show off her tricks.”

“You can’t put a bird on a plane,” Grayson mumbled. His eyes were fixed down on the blue center of the table, and he was fidgeting with his sleeves.

“Yeah, but we can put the mics in our suitcases and just record at home.”

Ethan realized it a moment too late. He wanted to snatch his words out of the air, scratch them from the tape when he saw the way Grayson’s eyes met his, saw the gloss near his waterline. 

“Yeah - uh - um,” Grayson tried to save it, and then he covered his mouth, silencing the squeak that turned into a sob. He pretended it was a cough, bringing his hand up and running his fingers over his forehead, shielding his eyes from the camera.

“I uh, I miss home a lot more this time than I usually do,” he said, his voice froggy with the tightness of his throat. Ethan couldn’t say anything. There was nothing to say as he watched his brother fight and lose in his battle to keep his composure, covering his mouth as he cried, knuckles brushing up against the mic.

“Fuck, sorry, I’m sorry E.”

“It’s okay, hey, it’s okay.” Ethan was up so fast he forgot to take off his headphones. They fell back into the chair when they pulled off his ears as he moved to his brother, pulling him up into a hug. “We can finish it later, we’ll just cut to an ad or something. It’s okay.”

“Sorry.”

“Shh. It’s fine bro, it’s fine. C’mon, let’s go get some air.” 

Air wasn’t what they found.

Instead, they found Eden, standing against the counter with her arms crossed in a way that had Ethan’s blood running cold. He thought the sight of Grayson practically curled in on himself might have softened her up, but she stood her ground until both of the twins were looking at her. 

Grayson knew that she knew, and she only confirmed it when she spoke.

“What. The fuck. Is wrong with you.” 

Back in New York, Indy’s phone was ringing. Or at least, she thought it was. But when she unlocked it and was blinded by the light, it was just her lockscreen, Grayson smiling at her with 3:04 written across the top. Judging by the darkness, she knew she hadn’t slept the afternoon away, but the buzzing continued until she finally climbed out of bed and realized it was the intercom system - the front desk calling her through the small phone on her wall that hardly ever rang. She pulled it off the receiver and held it up to her ear.

“Hello?”

“Hi Ms. Cross, there’s a gentleman here to see you.”

Her heart skipped, and she clutched the phone with both her hands.

“Who?”

There was a beat of silence, and Indy could vaguely hear her ask him for a name. 

“His name is Devin.” 

She sucked in a breath, letting her head and her hopes fall. 

“Send him up.” 

It took her a moment to process her grief before the panic set in. If Devin was showing up unannounced, something bad must have happened. She swung her door open, chewing on her nails as she stood in the doorway, waiting for him to appear. He came out of the elevator with a small duffle slung over his shoulder and a cautious smile that had her ready to cry.

“Dev, what the hell are you doing here? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” he said.

“Charlie?”

“Also fine. We’re fine.”

She caught her breath, and then she was frowning. “If everything is fine, why the fuck are you here at 3am?”

“Because you haven’t answered your sister’s calls in a week, and she’s worried sick about you.”

Guilt panged in her stomach - she hadn’t meant to ignore her. In all honesty, she’d ignored everyone without realizing it. 

“I- sorry, I didn’t mean to. Just slipped my mind. Is she here too?”

“She’s got a wedding to shoot this weekend, and we only had one ticket anyways. Flight got delayed, tried to find a hotel for the night so I could wait until later this morning but I couldn’t find one so you’re stuck with me. Sorry,” he teased, reaching out to hold onto her shoulder. There was no malice in his voice, and Indy was grateful. “Let’s go inside.” 

He didn’t ask for it, but she made him a coffee anyways alongside her own. She was tired, her eyes burning, but it wasn’t anything new from the last few weeks. She fought it, pulling one of the few sweatshirts Grayson had left at her place over her head before she sat on the couch, waiting.

Devin was quiet, tapping his fingers against his mug, out of his element. 

“Dev.”

“Hmm?”

“You didn’t fly to New York to drink coffee with me. Talk.”

He sighed, sitting his mug down on the coffee table and turning towards her.

“Inds, we’re worried about you.” 

Indy scoffed, a short, automatic sound. 

“I’m fine.”

“No, you aren’t. You really, really aren’t. You’re running yourself into the ground for no good reason.” 

“I’m trying to pay rent,” she countered, but even she knew it wasn’t true.

“Your hospital job pays more than rent. Jet’s is just because you’re scared to let your mind rest.”

Indy didn’t have an answer, so she sipped her coffee instead, cursing herself for telling Charlie everything in a moment of weakness. The silence was loud, and Devin sighed to break it after far too long.

“Have you talked to him? Since?”

Her throat was tight. “No.”

Devin wrung his hands together. “You do know it was fucked up what he did, right?”

“Dev-”

“I’m just making sure you know that. You can still make your own decision on however you wanna navigate it in the future, but you have to acknowledge that what he did was a new level of shitty. And he’s a good guy, I really do think he is, but he fucked you over, and you’re my family. And I protect my family. So I just need you to know that you didn’t deserve what he did to you, and he fucked up. Big time.” 

“Right.”

“Okay, good.”

She let him believe it, though she’d only said it to appease him. She wondered if he would feel differently, if he had seen. If he had felt, the way that Grayson had shook in her arms, the way his sobs seemed to be ripping him apart every moment that he was hurting her. She wanted to pull up her phone, show him the pictures from the beach, show him that he was hurting too, that he didn’t want to hurt her. She wanted to prove it to him.

“When does your semester start?” He asked, pulling her mind off of it. She swallowed hard, then took another drink of coffee. 

Indiana had spent three days in self pity when she got back from the airport. She let the misery have her fully - didn’t change her clothes, barely ate, hardly left her bedroom. And then, after that, she picked herself up and got to work. She applied for her tech job and called Patrick to see if she could get the schedules to align, and more importantly, she’d started to run numbers. 

Medical school. Just the application fees alone were going to hit her budget hard, so much so that she reduced it down to two. JCU, and UCLA. 

Her applications had gotten accepted three days prior, along with an email about a scholarship she was eligible for at UCLA that made it comparable to JCU’s tuition. But the money wasn’t the issue, and when it was time to accept, she knew that UCLA wouldn’t hold her spot forever.

She’d taken a deep breath, and emailed the registrar. 

“I deferred.”

She was embarrassed to say it outloud, and for some reason it was the brick of the dam that fell, and her tears began to flow. She felt Devin’s hand on her shoulder before he spoke.

“Good.”

She hadn’t expected him to be mean - in fact, the meanest thing she’d ever heard him say was what he’d just said about Grayson. But it still shocked her enough to have her frowning.

“Good?”

“Indy. Do you realize how long you’ve been a student? Do you know who you are outside of being one?”

“I-”

“You’re the smartest person I know, and I love you, but I think you need to take a step back and really look at what you’re doing. Take a semester, fuck, take a year. Live. Breathe. You’re already ahead, and you’ll still be ahead.”

“I’m not worried about being ahead, Dev,” she whispered, running her hands over her face.

“Then what are you worried about?” There was a sincerness in his voice, and a gentleness in the way he held her hand that made her cry even harder.

“I just don’t know what the fuck to do anymore,” she blubbered, grateful when he pulled her over to his chest in a hug. He let her cry it out for a while, waiting until she was calm enough to hear him.

“I don’t have the answer to that, but I say, ask yourself what you really want the rest of your life to look like, and then do whatever you have to to get there. If it’s being a doctor, great. If it’s not, great. Just as long as it’s what you want.”

She took a shaky breath in, and blew it out through her lips, simply giving him a nod.

The problem was, she knew exactly what she wanted - and he was off in Los Angeles, cowering behind his brother.

“Baby, woah, hey, take it easy,” Ethan cautioned, side stepping into the war path she’d outlined, headed straight for Grayson. Her eyes were fire when she looked at her boyfriend and raised an eyebrow.

“He’s having a rough night, just take it easy,” he added.

He stoked the flames.

“You know who else is probably having a rough fucking night? Indiana. And we are gonna talk later-” she poked a finger into Ethan’s chest - “but right now, I’m not talking to you so I suggest you get out of my way.” 

There was a bite in her tone that had Ethan rocking back on his heels, questioning just how far his duties as protective brother would go. He breathed out a sigh when he felt Grayson’s hand on his shoulder.

“It’s fine E.” 

He’d never admit it, but Grayson had been waiting. Ever since he pulled away on New Year’s, he had waited for the punishment. The anger, the disbelief, the spite that he thought would arise in Indiana at the realization of what he’d done. 

It wasn’t until he got off the plane and into his room that he realized his true punishment would be the guilt, and the grief, and the realization that he’d pushed away the only future he’d ever truly known he wanted. 

The anger was a welcomed change.

“What the fuck is wrong with you? What the fuck, Grayson.”

“I know.”

“I don’t say a lot of shit about a lot of shit, but whoever you decide to be with could possibly end up as part of my family, forever, so fuck me if I’m invested, and I think I deserve an explanation on why I just got a call from Charlie to see if I’d talked to Indy, cause she’s ‘really going through it’.”

“I didn’t want to hurt her.” His eyes turned glossy, and Ethan stood up straighter.

“The fuck you didn’t,” she scoffed, running her hand through her hair to push her curls out of her face. “You realize how badly you fucked up, right? Right?”

“Yes.”

“And that you broke her heart right? Probably absolutely fucking destroyed her.”

“Eden-” Ethan spoke up.

“Yes,” Grayson answered, his chest tight. He wrapped his arms around himself, willed them to hold him together. It felt different, to have someone say it to him so directly, to confirm what he had done.  

“Then why? Just… why?”

“Long distance wouldn’t have worked, and I didn’t want -”

“Oh bullshit. No one would have tried harder than Indiana to make that work, you fucking know that.”

“She shouldn’t have to deal with that, with me being so far away -”

“God you fucking self-sacrificial fuck!” She yelled. “She loved you, you moron, and when you love someone, you give! You hit a crossroads, you sit down and have a fucking conversation, and you fucking give! That’s what a fucking real relationship looks like, not you deciding that you don’t deserve to be loved and running in the other fucking direction!” Her face was red when she stopped to catch her breath. Ethan looked just as shocked at the outburst as his brother. Her mind seemed to catch up to her ears, and she backtracked.

“Sorry, fuck, that was -”

“No, you're right. You’re right. Everything you said was fucking right,” Grayson didn’t even try to hide his tears. He blubbered into his hands, ugly choking sobs that he wasn’t sure how he even produced. Ethan was at his side immediately, arm wrapped around his shoulders.

“What do I do?” He asked, voice muffled by his hands until he finally raised his head and looked at Eden with pleading eyes, waiting for an answer she was reluctant to give.

“You let her live. Don’t text her, don’t call her. If she calls, you don’t answer. When you go home, you don’t see her. You let her let go, and move on.”

All he could do was nod, and lean into his brother.

Indy leaned against the wall. It was cold and unrelenting against her shoulder, but it held her up better than her own legs would. She’d dropped Devin off at the airport that afternoon, and found herself back on the ped’s floor, waiting. 

Valentina spotted her first from the nurses station, and the way she held her clipboard made it look like a weapon.

“My eyes better be deceiving me, cause’ I know that is not Indiana Cross standing in my hallway on her day off.” 

Indy found it in her to laugh dryly. “Relax Val, I’m here to see Beks. Haven’t gotten to visit her off the clock for a while.”

Valentina still gave her signature disapproving stare, but she gave it up with a sigh. “Well, her family is visiting too. Mom and Dad, if you wanna say hi.”

It had been a long time since she’d seen Mr. and Mrs. Newcomb. They were lovely people, and they truly did come see her as often as they could. But they also worked two jobs a piece to try to foot the medical bills, which meant often was scarce. 

Indy had never seen them in the same room before, and her stomach tightened. She was hesitant to go to Bekah’s room, scared to interrupt, but when she peaked her head around her doorway, she saw the couple sitting on the couch in the room quietly. 

Mrs. Newcomb spotted her, eyes brightening as she waved her inside. 

“Come in, come in!”

Indy was still hesitant as she walked inside, eyes darting over to a sleeping Bekah. She was curled up under her halloween blanket, brows furrowed down and skin pale. 

“Hi Indiana, how are you sweet girl?” Mrs. Newcomb asked.

“I’m good, I’m sorry to interrupt, I just thought I might stop by and check on her but I don’t want to intrude.”

“No, no you’re fine! She was actually asking about you just before she went to sleep, you and Earring, whoever that is. Hang on.”

Indy watched as she moved over to the edge of her daughter’s bed, running her thumb along her cheek until she started to stir.

“Sweetheart, Indiana is here to see you. Can you open your eyes for me?”

Bekah whined, but pulled her eyes open, smiling slightly when Indiana moved into her view.

“Hey punk,” Indy said, crouching down so she could get to her level. 

“Hey,” she whispered, voice hoarse. On instinct, Indy reached out to fix her head wrap, making Bekah’s mother smile. “What time is it?”

“6:55,” Indy answered.

“Mmm. Meds coming soon,” she mumbled. “Where’s Earrings? He doesn’t like needles, don’t let him see the needles.”

“No needles baby,” Mrs. Newcomb said. “Just some to make you feel better. You rest now.”

“Earrings,” she said again, and Indy could tell she was asking. 

“He’ll be here to see you soon,” Indy lied, rubbing over her wrap like she would her hair if it was still there. 

It didn’t click for Indiana until 7 rolled around, and Jennifer came in with a cup of pills instead of an IV pole.

Radiation and chemo don’t come in pills, Indy knew that much. 

Mrs. Newcomb watched the realization come across her face, and she gave her a sympathetic smile.

“She’s… she didn’t get her meds.”

“Indiana baby, it’s what she wants. The new round didn’t work, the stem cells failed. It’s time to let her rest. We’ll keep her comfortable, the doctor says it’ll probably be a few weeks, maybe a month.”

Indy’s throat burned, and her breathing quickened, chest rising much too fast. She couldn’t say goodbye to anyone - it took all her focus to make it out of the building, running down the stairs and across the lobby before she was dry heaving in the bushes, the sight of Bekah’s frail body in her bed appearing every time she closed her eyes.

It wasn’t a conscious decision. More of an instinct, really, that drove her to pull her phone out of her pocket and pull him up and call.

In LA, Grayson’s phone buzzed against his nightstand. A new picture of Indiana popped up - her contact photo that he’d taken one day in Jersey. With a knot in his throat and Eden’s voice in his ears, he reached over and turned it off before rolling away and letting his tears soak into the pillowcase.

[kevyfanfics]

Irondad Ending in Platonic Cuddles

Welcome to continuously whumping Peter for no particular reason other than we all want to see it :') Today's agenda is intrusive thoughts and a hint of sensory overload! And thank you so much for all the support so far, youre all super sweet!!

TW// if you're sensitive to Peter's guilt complex, intrusive thoughts, sensory overload, or anxiety attacks, please proceed with caution <3

This can be read at Irondad Ending in Platonic Cuddles  on AO3!! Have fun and stay safe🖤🤎❤️️🧡💛💚💙💜

---

Of course, during the weekend before finals, Peter's mind can't stop focusing on what he doesn't want to focus on. As he tries to study for anatomy, he somehow finds his head wandering back to psychology like a broken record, trying to decipher the same information that isn't too important in the grand scheme of things.

The rebel wants to change what's not working, reform, fix. I like fixing. I fix. Like Mr. Stark fixes. Fear is to be ineffectual. But the desire of the rebel is revenge. I don't want that. I don't do… The caregiver wants to protect everyone. I want to protect. What if I can't protect everyone? What if I can't get there in time? What if they- To be honest, he's losing his patience far quicker than he would on a normal day. Between his packed AP Finals schedule, patrols, workshop days, his annoying intrusive thoughts, and that damn leaking faucet down the hall, he's about ready to rip his hair out.

The first cranial nerve is Olfactory, a sensory nerve passing through the cribriform plate of the eth- He grips his hair between his fingers, hands trembling and knuckles going white, when he can hear a leaf blower at ground level. He's on the 48th floor.

Deep breaths. Just focus. Passes through the cribriform plate of the ethmoid bone and sends information ab- He jumps when a car alarm starts blaring and just about hurls his anatomy textbook out the window. Ripping his earbuds out, roughly sets them down on the coffee table and rocks slightly with his head in his hands. The motion is soothing and always helps to ground him when the world starts to careen out of his control. He focuses on breathing and not letting his emotions get the better of him. What he doesn't need is to lose his temper at the Tower or have full blown sensory overload. For now he simply lets the rocking do the trick. He ends up wiggling his toes, pressing them into the soles of his shoes over and over without even realizing it. Trying so desperately to keep ahold of his frustrations, his mind begins to wander back to psych class.

The hero wants to prove they're worthy. Courageous. I have to prove I can do it, I just don't know how. Every time I try I- The hero's greatest fear is weakness, vulnerability, failure, failure, failure-

"Hey, kiddo. How's the studying goin'? Decide on what you wanna order? Pizza? Burgers? Shawarma?" Peter continues his rocking despite Tony's sudden voice. Though, it does cut off the neverending string of thoughts that tend to take over at any second- Wait, no, that's the wrong word. Threaten. The neverending string of thoughts that threaten to take over. Threaten. Threaten. Threaten. The neverending string of thoughts that threaten- "You good?" Tony's confused, yet more attentive, voice interrupts again. Peter gains enough clarity to realize his legs are now bouncing rapidly, giving away his nervous energy. He's able to grasp on to the most honest, blunt answer he's probably ever given.

"No, I'm not," he answers through grit teeth to keep his frustration at bay. The straightforward answer must momentarily shock Tony into inaction because he can feel his mind begin to wander again and he vaguely realizes he needs to keep himself grounded. Feel the couch, my hair, my shoes, don't forget to breathe, but breathing is too much work I don't want-

"Okay…can I sit?"

What kind of question is that? It's his house he doesn't need to ask me. He doesn't need permission.

"I just wanted to make sure." Peter's anxiety-ridden movements come to a jarring halt. He's talking out loud and he doesn't even realize it. His grounding techniques aren't working. He's losing control. The couch dips and one of Peter's legs resumes its bouncing. "Do you want to talk about it?" What I want is my brain to just stop for one second I don't want to think anymore I just want it to stop. This time there's a lack of response, and Tony feels way out of his depth. Fast-paced anxiety attacks he can do, but this? He doesn't know what he's supposed to do. "Is it alright if I touch you?" He knows firsthand that sometimes he would rather pour boiling water over himself than have someone try to comfort him through touch when he's distressed, so he isn't all that surprised when Peter shakes his head.

That'd be too much. Too much input and feeling and hearing and thinking and-

"Overstimulated," he suddenly stumbles on. "Overstimulated and my brain won't stop." He desperately wants to explain it more than that, but even his own voice grates on his nerves. The fact that he can't articulate what's going on grates on his nerves. That damn faucet.

"Alright, I getcha, bud," Tony gently assures, noticing the huff of frustration from the teen and the self-reliant rocking picking back up. The motion is predictable, unlike his mind, so it's comforting. It quells the anxiety. Tony bites the inside of his cheek, not wanting to reveal what he's about to reveal, but his kid is more important. "Do you think a weighted blanket would help?"

"Weighted blanket? Why do you have a weighted blanket? I haven't-" Peter cuts himself off this time. He didn't mean to say all that out loud. It just kind of happened, like there's a disconnect between his mouth and his brain. "Mr. Stark, my arms are getting cold," he says before he truly processes it, completely blowing past Tony's previous question. Before Tony can respond, he barrels on. "When the body goes into fight-or-flight, blood pools at the center of the body to preserve vital organs, making the extremities feel cold," he all but recites. Tony then notices how quickly the kid's face begins to pale.

"Easy, kid, deep breaths," Tony urges, panic settling into his voice as he kneels directly in front of Peter. "I'm gonna need you to slow your breathing down a bit, okay?" Peter nods rapidly, wondering when he lost complete control of his breathing. Last time he checked he wasn't breathing and now he's breathing too fast and nothing is making sense and- "In through your nose, out through your mouth. C'mon, with me. In, out. In, there ya go, out." Peter does his best to follow his mentor's instructions, even though his gasping breaths don't feel like they're bringing any oxygen with them.

"Anxiety attack," Peter connects the dots again. "Too much, too much input." Tony nods encouragingly, wanting nothing more than to pull Peter into a hug.

"You're doing great, Peter. Do you need anything?" He doesn't know what to do, but he wants to help somehow.

"Existing is hard," Peter says as if nothing was asked, yet Tony's pained expression softens.

"Yeah…but I'm real proud of you for existing anyways. Even when it's rough." Peter nods, face scrunching up with a complex mix of emotions that he can't pinpoint.

"I, I think I'm ready for that hug now," he admits, voice cracking as the pressure of it all finally takes its toll. Tony doesn't hesitate to pull the kid into his arms as he cries it out, wrapped safely in his mentor's hold, still vibrating just under the surface. It doesn't take the anxieties away, but it certainly helps Peter regain some of his control. His leg stops bouncing, he doesn't feel cold anymore, and his brain doesn't feel like it's moving at a million miles a minute. Breathing still shaking and labored, he rests his head on Tony's chest as his mentor leans them into the couch.

"You can't keep putting this much pressure on yourself, Underoos. School isn't the be-all end-all," Tony carefully tries to reason with the workaholic high schooler. Peter lets out a breathy chuckle as tears slide down his cheeks.

"Says the guy who graduated MIT at my age," he reminds without hesitation, wiping his eyes. If anything, he feels behind for someone so often being referred to as a genius. Not like Tony, who was running an entire corporation at 21.

"And that got me nothing but a slip of paper and hell in a handbasket. Shitty social skills, independent to a fault, zero responsibility. Trust me, kid, you don't want to force yourself to grow up too fast." Tony sighs, his hand lightly resting in Peter's hair. Peter welcomes the touch, closing his eyes, and considers Tony's point. Maybe he has been putting too much pressure on himself.

"Hey, Mr. Stark?" he mumbles, light from the arc reactor casting a glow on his face.

"Hm?" Tony focuses on gently carding his hand through Peter's hair, carefully undoing the occasional knot.

"You're the best." Peter feels the hand still momentarily, then it continues.

"Then you haven't met you yet."

[popculturebuffet]

Shadow Into Light (Lena Retrospective): Magica’s Shadow War

Hello all you happy people! And welcome back to Shadow Into Light, my look at the life and times of Lena Sabrewing. We’re in the end stretch, just two more installments after this: one covering what may be my favorite episode, and the other covering Lena’s season 3 appearances, as unlike Seasons 1 and 2 she shows up outside her own episodes fairly often and most of those apperances touch on how far she’s come or her life in some way shape or form, so I really can’t skip over them. 

But before we can get to the end of Lena’s arc, we have to once again go back where she came from. Previously I covered the one and only apperance of Minima DeSpell, a character Lena took some inspiration from. But Lena is a combination of Minima and another Ducktales 87 character but this time one from the show itself, in the same episode we meet Magica no less. Given how much frank loved the original, it’s not a huge shock one of the most vital and intresting new characters from the reboot was partially taken from an episode he probably watched 80 dozen times. So how does the original shadow stack up with her rebooted counterpart? Is the episode any good? And should I watch invincible. The answers to this question are under the cut!

To answer your question on invincible.. Yeah you should. It’s gorgeously animated, has a MASSIVELY talented and diverse cast, and perfectly adapts the original source: Adding in great new stuff and shuffling things around to work better for the pacing of a tv show. And after loosing The Tick to Amazon’s greasy clutches, not to mention Danger and Eggs and Alpha House before that with no formal cancelation so they coudln’t move elsewhere, i’m not taking any chances despite the odds being far more in invincibles favor. Check it out, just mind that it has a shocking amount of gore, if you like superheroes.  Or even if you don’t, it’s pretty much guaranteed to have someone you like doing a voice. 

Enough shilling for an unrelated show though, let’s get to this one. We open with our introduction to the De Spells. Magica is hovering over a caludron with a diabolical new plan to steal Scrooge’s #1 dime. Why? 

Or at least I didn’t. I knew why she wanted the dime itself mind you: The Dime has picked up some powerful emotoinal energy from being around Scrooge all his life as he built his fortune, made his way square and fought Teddy Roosevelt. All that good stuff. So naturally if used in a spell, that spell is going to be massively powerful. I just didn’t know what the spell was.. and now I do.. i’mmm underwhelmed. She wants it to gain the midas touch, i.e. the ablility to turn things she touches into gain, using the dime as a power source for an amulet. 

 Magica, via her potions and spells has the powers to do just about ANYTHING. And her goal is.. make some things into gold. She has a giant volcano laier, whatever resources she needs to go after Scrooge, and in this series at least can buy a haunted house on a whim. She HAS money.. why would she need this. And second... the midas touch is a bad thing. You cant’ USE or enjoy anything because it turns to gold> That was the whole fucking point of the myth. If it removes the weakness than fine.. but again it seems like a lot of effort for something with a short range and heavy possible drawbacks. I tfits her personalty to a point but even then she has better spells. I’m going more with it simply allowing her to supercharge.. is it more simplisti? yes. Does it make more sense than “Give myself a power that can easily be turned back on me by just making me touch myself “ yes, yes it is. 

Meanwhile the boys dick around playing Candid Camera with a new camera Gyro gave them that is no more advanced than your average instant camera. You’d expect this new invention to come in handy against Shadow Magica. And you’d be right. You’d expect the boys to at least suggest hte idea before the climax. You’d be wrong. This big is just.. irrtating. It’s just the boys being dicks to everyone by taking embarssing photos and really adds nothing to the episode of any remote subtsnace.

Conversley Magica continues to be the highlight, as her check in with airport security gets her through as she has no fruit. Ah the days before they throughly scanned us and most tsa jokes were about shoving hands up someone’s ass. Seriously.. why. .why is that a common joke. I’ve never had it done but unless you fully consent to it it’s not fun to get your hand up there but it was an oddly common gag for a long time.I.. really don’t get it. 

She arrives in america and buys a haunted house, to the realtor’s shock but eh it’s a sale. The black mold just makes it more sinister. Magica sicks Shadow Magica on the bin, with an elaborate plan but giving the Shadow one hour to do it because otherwise it will disapate.. given it dosen’t it’s likely more Magica trying to keep her double in line, having ran into trouble earlier with shadow her trying to steal the wallet of what I can only assume to be gus goose. So he was on vacation tha’ts where he was.. from what I don’t know he dosen’t actually do work and the house of mouse hadn’t been established yet. Maybe Gramma Duck just gives him vacation days. 

So the shadow ALMOST gets away with the dime.. but accidnetly knocks over a pedestal and warns Scrooge and the Boys, who manage to chase her off. Scrooge having only one magical nemisis in his Rogues gallery, that we know of, knows who did this and prepares for an attack.  Magica.. berates her doppleganger and while she considers a spell to power her up, decides against it since what would stop the Shadow from betraying her. The shadow agrees.. and locks Magica and Poe in a closet and makes the potion herself, taking on a creepy new form and planning to raise an ARMY of shadows. 

And here... is where the split between Lena and The Shadow is very deefinite. While Frank and Matt kept the shadow and Magica really not getting along and only working together out of necisity on both ends.. the shadow here REALLY is just magica. Just as evil and ambitious, and just as sneaky. The only diffrence between the two is the shadow’s logical weaknesses of being a shadow, i.e. light weakens her and she can only hide in darkness or other shadows, and how they were born. Shadow magica is every bit as evil and devious as the main one. I do get why she stuck in Frank’s brain though: the idea is simple but ingenious, someone’s shadow gaining sentience, and the cool tricks you get with that as she ducks and darts between shadows. It’s really good stuff and frank expertly expanded it with lena, making her basically humanoid duck other than where she came from, but still using the neat tricks with the shadow itself for Magica’s imprisoned form and later the shadow army. It’s a good example of taking a really good idea.. and making it even better, by having said shadow being deal with not being considered a person by the person who spawned her and really ramping up the idea of a shadow army, which Shadow Magica eventually summons, from about ten guys to an entire cities worth. The shadows also you know come from people instead of just thin air but semantics. Point is it’s a very good concept and done really well esepcially for the 87 cartoon, and while Frank’s take was unique and very well done, it dosen’t make the original any less good. 

And it’s shown off with a cool sequence of the shadow infiltrating the manor and nearly getting to the dime with Scrooge having rigged the place to all hell with lights as a percaution. It nearly wins but louie uses a shadow puppet to scare it off. While Scrooge ponders this latest attack Poe shows up, and offers Magica’s help.. but Scrooge rightly dosen’t want it, as he can’t trust her and only agrees when the boys bring up the power bill from keeping the lights on. 

Now getting Magica on board is not an idea: The shadow’s a threat to both of them and they need each other. The next part though.. is a bit stupid and drags the episode down a bit. Magica asks for the dime to beat the thing. Now Scrooge wisely is hesitant to do so.. but everyone else treats it like his usual greedy antics. Thing is.. it’s not. We don’t, at least in this adaptation, know what Magica wants with the thing or the full extent of what she can do with it or if she even actually needs it. While getting her help is one thing, giving her the DIME well...] ]’ii98[[

Why would you give someone you KNOW wants to use the dime to conquer the world or whatever the thing she wants? It’d be like handing Thanos the Infnity Gauntlet to take out Galactus. Yes, your handling a big problem.. but your burning the world to do it. It’s just so frustratlingly dumb. There’s a good idea in there, Scrooge being forced to lend Magica the dime, but it’s buried under Mt. Contrivance! 

So Scrooge reluctantly goes along with operation:seemed like a good idea at the time, and cleverly puts the dime in an empty stadium. Unfortuantley the lights malfunction and Shadow Magica summons MORE Shadows, and now has an army. Launchpad ends up being helpful, also he’s in this episode for some reason, by pointing out shadows need light.. and thus another logical weakness as killing the rest of the lights renders them weak and allows our heroes to lure them to the vault where Magica waits> Magica is able to weaken it with the spell.. but even with that the Shadow SITLL is too powerful.. 

Enter the cameras, which take out Shadow Magica, saving the day. We get a lesson about trusting Gyro’s gadgets for.. some reason and Scrooge stops Magica from fleeing with the dime with a shadow puppet. Smiles and cheese sandwitches all around

Final Thoughts on Magica’s Shadow War: This episode is not half bad. While the Dime Thing is mindblowingly moronic, and the camera thing is REALLY poorly set up, I have not had a more apt use for that Scott Pilgrim Panel yet, the sheer concept and June Foray’s sheer force of personality as both magica’s makes it work. It’s a fun, engaging adventure and a solid chonk of classic ducktales. As for how it relates to Lena it does so decently. But with this our side trips are at an end. Only two episodes left! And then onward to the lilo and stitch crossover arc! Yes really. Kev wanted a buffer before getting to the Season 2 arcs and I loved tha tshow as a kid so why the fuck not. 

Next Time on Shadow Into Light: Lena gets welcomed to prime time bitch as Magica pulls a freddy and stalks her through her dreams. Sadly she did indeed forgot about the power glove. Can the rest of the kids break away from dreams of high school musicals, becoming a garfild, giant legs and libraries long enough to save Lena? Will we have a very queer in the best way possible musical number about Lena and Webby’s anniversary? Will I talk about Huelet? In order, yes, yes, and probably. But join me anyways won’t you. 

If you liked this reviews, subscribe for more. If you have a ducktales episode from seasons 1 and 2 of the reboot or the whole of the 87 series, drop me a line through my ask box, my dm’s or my discord, technicolormuk#6550. Reviews or only 5 bucks an episode for tv. Other prices on the blog. Or if you can’t spare that much, join my patreon. Even a buck or two a month helps reach my stretch goals and the more of those I hit the more disney content you get a month. The current one is only 5 bucks away. I’m 15 and if I hit 20 that guarantees a darkwing duck review every month AND reviews of the super ducktales mini series. But if you can’t that’s cool and I get it times are hard, it’s why I have to shill so hard. But until the next rainbow, it’s been a pleasure. 

[wyofabdoms]

Ten Days - Day Nine

Characters: Javier Peña x female reader

Summary: Javier is shot and refuses to take his antibiotic while recuperating. You get creative and make him a deal that ensures he will take his medicine everyday: one kiss for one pill. It's gonna be a long 10 days.

Rating: Smut!

Warnings: Major character injury, slow burn, mutually unrequited, angst, swearing, domestic Javi, fingering, washing dishes gets a little out of hand

Word Count: 3105

Note: While you nurse a hangover, Javi tries his hand at being domestic.

Read the full series on Ao3

Javi knocks on your door late afternoon the next day.  You’ve been nursing your hangover headache most of the morning, lounging on the couch, reading your book and switching back between the news and some cheesy action movie.  Around 5 you hear the thumping against your door and groan when you stand and stagger to answer.  He stands slouching against your door jamb, a grocery bag in one arm.  

“Hey,” he says by way of greeting and doesn’t wait for you to invite him in before brushing past you into your kitchen.  

“Hey, Peña, come on in…” you mumble, closing the door.  You follow him into your kitchen and flop down in a chair, watching him pull items from the bag.  “You know you’re not supposed to be going anywhere, Peña.  I coulda gone and gotten whatever you needed.”  You see his taut shoulders lift in a shrug.

“I’m going crazy cooped up over there.  Needed to get out and get some air.  Figured you might need something if you kept at that whiskey bottle after you left last night...” His gaze flicks over to yours for an instant, then settles on the three empty wine bottles lined up neatly next to each other on the counter.  He smirks and moves to open a cupboard, rummaging around for cooking utensils.  “Looks like I wasn’t too far off.”  He chuckles under his breath as he dumps oil into a frying pan and lights your stove.  You appreciate the fact that he was thinking of you, but for a moment you’re a tad affronted by the way he’s waltzed in and made himself at home in your kitchen.

“You couldn’t have messed up your own kitchen and just called me to come over and eat?” You grumble as you stand and get yourself a glass of water.  You hear him laugh quietly.

“No frying pan.”  He says simply by way of explanation.  You turn away from the sink at the same moment that as he absentmindedly pivots to grab something, putting both of you awkwardly close to one another, well within the other’s personal space.  You feel your face flush and you quickly side step away from the counter, hiding your flush behind your glass as you gulp your water.  

“Well,” you say, trying to act normal.  “If you’re making dinner, I’m gonna take a shower.”  

You practically flee your own kitchen.

***

Within the hour you’re lured back into joining your partner again by the delicious smell permeating your apartment.  Pulling your wet hair up off of your neck, you don sweatpants and another old t-shirt (bra included this time!)  

“Are you making arepas?!”  You call out incredulously as you approach the kitchen, hearing the popping of oil and recognizing the familiar scent of warm cornmeal and fried pork.  Your mouth had started watering as soon as you had stepped out of the shower.

“Sorta…” He grunts back. “Didn’t make the dough from scratch but I think it’ll do the trick.”  Your excitement at Javi’s choice for dinner is suddenly dashed as you take in the state of your kitchen; your countertop is a small battlefield of ingredients and kitchenware.  It appears as though he’s used every single utensil and bowl you own.  You shake your head, but appreciate his gesture nonetheless.  Flopping back down into the same chair, you take a moment to revel in the feeling of domesticity: you in your favorite comfy clothes, your handsome partner cooking up your favorite snack, existing together in comfortable silence while he works on the food and as you studying the way his back muscles flex beneath his shirt…

You shake those thoughts away as he brings a plate piled with a stack of stuffed, corn flour pockets.  You're delighted to see he’s altered the traditional Columbian snack and made it more appropriate for your hangover, filling the creation with scrambled eggs, cheese and beef along with the chicharrón you had smelled earlier.  He’s included chopped avocado and tomato on the side to add if desired and you’re impressed by the well rounded meal your notoriously take-out eating, chain-smoking-for-every-meal partner has pulled together.

You tell him as much as he joins you at the table and he shrugs, snorting in self-derision, ducking his head as he digs in, shoveling food into his mouth rather than having to address your compliment.  You follow suit and the two of you enjoy your meal over general commentary about the food, idle chit-chat, and cursory work talk.  After making a substantial dent in the pile of arepas, you lean back in your chair and yawn, satiated and you rub the small bump in your belly that can only be described as a food baby.  Rubbing your stomach reminds you of something.

“Hey! How’re your stitches doing?  Is it healing up ok?”  You haven't seen his injury since that night on his bathroom floor, but you haven’t noticed him struggling to move or showing any indication of being in pain, so you’d almost forgotten the fact that he had been shot just over a week ago.  

Your thoughts stray to that day, remembering the sick bile that had risen in your throat when you had seen your partner flung off his feet by the force of the bullet hitting him, smacking into the ground; the panic that had bubbled in your stomach when you’d dropped to your knees next to him and seen the blood coming from him.  Your brain had quickly determined that the bullet had gone straight through the meaty area of his side and had most likely missed any of the vital organs there, but you’d still clamped your hands down on the wound as though willing your hands to keep the blood inside his body.  He had writhed and hollered at you to get off of him, but you had refused, screaming at a police officer to call an ambulance.  Your panic had not subsided until several hours later when the doctor had told you he was in no danger and would make a quick and complete recovery.

Lost in the frightening memory of that day, you stare blankly at the surface of the table, paying no attention to the way Javi’s eyes flicker as he remembers something, too.  You’re distantly aware of his hand reaching into his shirt pocket and retrieving something, but it isn’t until you catch sight of him sharply tossing his head back and gulping a large swallow of water that you realize he’d been moving.  He doesn’t look at you as he recaps the pill bottle and slips it back in his pocket.  Instead, he grabs both of your plates, taking them to the sink and filling the basin with warm, soapy water.

“You don’t need to do that, Peña, you take care of the counters, I’ll do the dishes,” you protest, dragging yourself to your feet and moving next to him at the sink.

“It’s no big deal.”  His voice is low and sounds sleepy.  You poke him in the (uninjured) side with your elbow and push him away from the sink with a gentle bump on the side of his leg with your hip.

“That’s not how it works around here, Agent Peña.”  You begin soaking dishes in the sudsy water, hyper aware that he hasn’t moved away from you, his leg still brushing yours.  He turns so he’s facing you and leans his hip into the counter, studying your profile.  You suddenly feel the need to be very focused on the sink so as not to drop a plate.

“Oh yeah?”  His voice is even lower now, which seems impossible, and it stirs that thing inside of you that you’ve been desperately trying to control for the last nine days...no...much longer than that.  “How exactly does it work around here?”  He asks teasingly.  You smirk, roll your eyes to distract yourself from the flush you feel throughout your body and jerk your head towards the mess he’d made while cooking.  

“The person who cooks never does the dishes.  Just clean up your mess over there and bring me those dishes and we’ll call it good.”  You feel equal pangs of relief and agony as he moves away from you but you concentrate on washing the dishes.  You both make quick work of your respective tasks.  As you set to work on the last pan he brings you, he finishes drying the plates with a towel and you’re once again struck by the comfortable feeling of domestic life you feel, standing in your kitchen side by side with him.  

Your mind wanders again: when you’re finished, the two of you would retire to the couch and you’d snuggle up into his chest as you watched a movie, his feet propped up on your coffee table and his arm around and you would both sink into sleep.  Not long after he would wake you by peppering kisses along the crown of your head, your forehead, your closed eyes and he would whisper sweet nothings to you in Spanish as he picked you and carried you to your bedroom…

A loud plopping clatter sounds and a splash of soapy water spouts out of the washbasin as the pan you’re scrubbing slips from your grasp.  You hear Javi chuckle softly next to you and he reaches over and swipes away soap suds that landed on the tip of your nose and directly below your eye.  You shiver at his touch and he notices; he pauses midway through pulling his hand back, leaving it hovering for a moment in the space between the two of you.  Hesitantly he reaches down and takes your soapy hand in his, lacing his fingers between yours and bringing them both to rest on the edge of the sink.

The feel of his strong hand over yours sends another shiver through you and you can’t look at him, instead keeping your face focused on the soapy water.  But you don’t pull away.  His hand connected with yours on the counter keeps you in place.  You feel your insides start to flutter and burn.

You’re dimly aware of him leaning towards you.  You feel his warm breath on your outstretched neck a half second before he places an open mouthed kiss there, on the spot below your ear, where your pulse suddenly thrums a thousand times faster than it had been.  You can’t stop yourself from gasping as you involuntarily clench your thighs together against the jolt of pleasure that zaps there, sent directly from the spot where his mouth touches you.

It’s like nothing you’ve ever felt before.  Of course you’ve had other men kiss you on the neck but this...this is HIM.  It’s him: with his stupid mustache that tickles along the sensitive skin and the tip of his tongue that swirls and traces the pounding pulse.  It’s him: the ambivalent Agent Javier Peña who never seems to care about anyone, but who you know possesses a well of emotion just below the carefully guarded surface of his persona.  Him: the sexy playboy whose  prowess in the bedroom is the stuff of legends among men and women alike at work...and in the brothels across Bogota.  Him: that you have refused to give in to for almost two years of your life, even as you’ve both grown weary and broken and sought comfort from all the wrong places.  These last eight days have been merely puffs of air into a balloon, filling it, expanding it...and now this feels like the final push of air that might make it pop...

...You let it pop.

You drop your head back against his shoulder and release a breathy sigh that rises from the very depths of your repressed desire for him, letting your whole body sag back into him.  Without taking his lips from your neck, he shifts himself so that he more solidly stands behind you.  Your other hand takes on a mind of its own and lifts to stroke the back of his neck, scratching your fingernails softly through the hair at the nape of neck, causing him to emit a sound from someplace deep within him, pressing the noise into the sensitive skin of your neck.  He still hasn’t removed his lips from your skin, afraid to break the connection and snapping you both out of this moment that you’ve been crashing towards for a long time.

You exist this way for several seconds, minutes, hours...you’re not sure.  You aren’t even conscious of the fact that you’re grinding your ass back into him until he suddenly rips his mouth from your neck and latches his teeth onto your earlobe.  A feral growl bursts from his throat as he grabs your hand from the back of his neck and smacks it down beneath his on the counter top as well, caging you between his arms and thrusting his pelvis into your backside, shoving both of your hips forward into the kitchen counter.  The feel of him suddenly so roughly pressed against you sends your breath rushing from your chest in a sharp and lusty moan and you freeze for a moment, neither of you moving, save for the soft twitching you can feel along the front of his pants.  

Your mouth hangs open and you gasp for a few short breaths.  Then you focus on the hand beneath his and move to thread your fingers through his to match your other hands.  Gripping him tightly for leverage, you forcefully push your ass back against him: grinding up and down, left and right, forward and backward against the steel outline of his erection.  He lets out a strangled cry, rocking his hips along with yours, occasionally snapping his hips forwards to create different friction.

You’re on fire everywhere.  Your brain is screaming at you to stop while you still can, but you’ve had enough of that.  As you both continue to gasp and push and rub and thrust against one another, the throbbing between your legs becomes too much.  Before you can think about it too much, you take his hand and draw it between your legs, pressing his palm against you, moving your hand over his, wordlessly begging him to rub you where you so desperately need.  He releases another strangled noise, this one higher and more desperate, then he rests his forehead against the back of your neck.

“F-fu-fuck!”  he bites out against your skin.  You’ve never heard him struggle with a curse, or any word, so much.  You let out a breathy moan in response, moving your hand away as he takes over rubbing you, relocating your hand to where it was previously, carding your fingers through his hair. He trails his mouth to your other ear, taking the lobe gently between his teeth as he did with the other.  You whimper when his warm palm leaves the space between your legs.  His fingers trail up your abdomen and trace along the elastic of your sweatpants...and stop, there hovering along the hem as his body stills, his mouth pulling away from you slightly, looking at you carefully.  You’re both panting frantically and he whispers into your ear: “Can I?”

It takes you a moment to realize what he means, but when you do, you turn your head towards him and nod, leaning back into his body again, your hips squirming in anticipation.

“Say it.” He growls into your ear.  You gulp, close your eyes and whisper:

“Touch me.”

His hand is immediately under the elastic, his finger buried inside your wetness, immediately finding that spot inside of you that makes you cry out and thrust your hips forward, seeking more.  

He gives it to you.

His thumb brushes over your clit, eliciting more cries and gasps.  Soon he adds a second finger into your folds and between the two broad digits and his expert touch with his thumb, you feel yourself quickly rising towards your release, your cries becoming louder, more desperate, babbling nonsense as he brings you closer to the edge. He snaps his own hips forward against your ass in rhythm with his fingers as he pumps them in and out of you, adding quiet hisses of affirmation against your neck, your ears, into your hair.  He growls your name as he asks you to cum for him and that’s enough to make you explode, feeling your walls contract around his fingers, your juices surging out of you and covering his hand. In the next instant you feel his thrusts against your backside become shallow and his moans turn into a series of staccato mewls and he presses himself against you and into the countertop, gasping into your hair.

He continues to stroke you with several more long strokes of his fingers as you both come down, the realization of what’s just happened settling over you both.  He slips his hand from beneath our sweatpants and rests it gently on your hip, squeezing your other hand gently; your hand had remained threaded with his the entire time, grounding you both together.  You can only stare at your clasped hands, feeling your face flush from the reality of what’s just occurred.  He moves to press a kiss against your neck again, the same act that had kicked all of this off to begin with and you shy away from him, lifting your shoulder to block his face, pulling away from him and unwedging yourself from between him and the counter.  You hear him quietly say your name and he tries to hang on to your hand, tries to pull you gently back towards him, but you snatch your hand away, crossing your arms across your chest and shaking your head, refusing to turn around and look at him.

“I think you should go.”  You say quietly after a few moments of silence.  You hear him take in a sharp breath, can feel him starting to say something.  

But he doesn’t say anything.

You move when he does, keeping the same equal distance between the two of you, heading towards your bedroom on the off chance that he might try to step closer and touch you on his way past you as he leaves.  You know if he touches you again you won’t be able to resist him...not now that you know what his touch feels like.  You hear him grab his jacket off the back of his chair as you move down your hallway and you lean against your bedroom door, listening for the sound of your front door closing.   

Day One

Day Two

Day Three

Day Four

Day Five

Day Six

Day Seven

Day Eight

Day Ten

[diaryofabeautyfiend]

Some warnings: Implied violence then some magical violence. Just covering my bases.

This chapter is long and it gets weird. Continuing on with a very slow burn. I hope you are all still enjoying this fic. Comments ❤️❤️ and reblogging all encouraged and appreciated. Please don’t pass this off as your own writing. I’ll find out and laugh at you.

Small Time Witch (5)

When you got back to the compound Steve’s phone rang. He walked several feet away from you to speak to whomever was on the other end. When he came back he looked flustered. “Everything ok?”

“Yeah. I’m actually going to have to run. I had a lot of fun with you today. I’d like to do it again. Maybe without stabbing?”

Before you had a chance to answer he kissed you on the cheek. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

You felt like he rushed out of there really quick and that made you nervous. You walked back towards the building from the garage and tried to call Loki. No answer. You tried Wanda but the call kept dropping. No texts from either of them. You pressed then elevator button several times. It was taking forever. You decided to take the stairs. All of the hair on the back of your neck stood up. You looked around and saw nothing. When you opened the door to the stairwell something (or someone) clocked you hard on the back of the head. You blacked out.

STEVE

Steve hated everything that was about to happen. He got the call on the way into the building that he needed to leave you there. It was time. Two masked agents would be waiting for you in the stairwell. They would blindfold you and take you to a small dark room. There, you would remain bound and blindfolded while someone would repeatedly ask you about sensitive information while you were being “tortured”. No one was going to physicality hurt you. Loki would use his methods to trick your mind into thinking you were being hurt. All SHIELD agents with high level security clearance went through this training.

Everyone was waiting in the upstairs viewing area. Steve sat down with a huff and prepared to watch. “You said this was to test her endurance under pressure. This is torture. For the record I hate this.” he said to Loki.

“Duly noted, Captain. I’ll have an ear piece and Dr. Banner will be able to monitor her vital signs. This is ultimately for her safety.”

“It’s cruel.”

“As a habit I do not deal in cruelty. I will keep her as safe as possible. I assure you no physical harm will come to her.” Loki felt guilty. He’s never experienced the emotion before but now, with a pit in his stomach, he had to betray your trust.

Nat tried reassuring Steve the best she could, “Look, Steve, we’ve all been through the real thing at some point in our careers. No one likes this. Better that she experience it now so she knows what she’s up against.”

He wasn’t convinced. Bucky sat next to him and patted his thigh. “She’s tough. She whooped your ass earlier. She can handle this.”

“How can you of all people believe that?”

“Because I have to or else I couldn’t bare it. If things get too dicey we’ll stop it ok?”

The room they were in was sound proof. They had mics to be able to hear you. It was all two way glass so, even if your blindfold came off, you wouldn’t know they were there. The agents brought you in. You were awake and fighting hard. They were instructed not to hit you or fight back but to secure you. They both looked extremely frustrated. One of them had a cut above his eye. They tossed you in the chair and slammed the door. When they went in the room with the rest of the team everyone stared.

“What the hell happened?” Steve asked

“She threw an elbow, sir. She almost got away. Had to taze her.”

Steve bounded across the room pinning the agent to the wall, “You were told not to hurt her.”

“Yes, sir. We were also told not to let her get away. We didn’t want to hit her again.” His nostrils flared and the back of his neck was red a splotchy. Nat put her hands on his shoulders and directed him away.

“Good job, guys. You can go.” They couldn’t get out of there fast enough.

“See? She did exactly what I taught her. She’s going to be ok.” He shook his head and went back to his seat. He couldn’t take his eyes off of you.

They removed your gag but kept the canvas hood on your head. You struggled against the bindings trying to free your hands. They bit at your wrists. You called out demanding to speak to someone in charge.

Sam laughed, “Damn. Is she asking to see the manager?” Mostly everyone laughed. Steve’s jaw clenched. He couldn’t understand how anyone could make jokes right now.

“She’s remembering her one day of training so shut the fuck up, Sam.”

“Sorry, Cap.”

“Does anyone else feel disgusted that we’re having a public viewing of our colleague being tortured?” No one would look at him.

Bucky was the only one who was quiet. He was remembering himself in this very situation. He knew your mind was racing which is why you couldn’t magick your way out of this. If he could only get you to calm down. That’s when he saw Wanda pressing her face to the glass. She looked distraught. He went to sit next to her. Neither of them spoke for several seconds. They held hands and wallowed in their shared trauma. “She’s screaming for me, Bucky. I can hear her.” She wiped a few tears from her eyes, “She’s so scared.”

“You can’t tell her what’s happening? Can’t she hear you?”

“Loki put up a barrier. She’s alone.”

“How can he do this to her?” Bucky was furious with Loki.

“He is doing as he was ordered. You know what that’s like.”

“Ordered by who?!” he said in a harsh whisper.

“Director Fury. The Security Council. They won’t give her clearance for this or any future missions unless she undergoes the same training as any other agent. It was Loki who convinced them to do it this way. He takes no pleasure in this.”

“Then why did he agree?”

“Because if he didn’t do it SHIELD would have. She would be in the middle of nowhere being tortured for real.” Bucky was seething. Surely Steve didn’t know any of this. He went to tell him when you let out a blood curdling scream.

Everyone was silent. All that could be heard was Wanda sobbing. Nat tried to comfort her to no avail. The interrogator asked you another question. You played dumb. You screamed again.

“I hope Loki is enjoying himself.” Steve grumbled

“He’s not. How dare you say that?! This is hurting him too.” Wanda was pushing against Steve. Her eyes glowed red. He couldn’t think of anything else to do so he hugged her.

“Nat, call down to the booth. Tell them stop. Tell them now.” She grabbed the receiver to call the booth when the line went dead. “It’s dead. Somethings wrong. I’m going down there.”

Bucky was already out of the door running to where you were.

The whole place was plunged into darkness. Wanda smiled knowing that you were fighting back. A brilliant white light emitted from the room. You were floating above the chair with your hands out. You lifted the interrogator from the ground and flung him against the wall knocking him unconscious. Steve and Wanda ran down the ramp leading to the booth to stop you. Loki was already in the room.

“Y/N! Stop this! Listen to my voice. You are safe.” You lifted your hand again slamming the door behind him. The two way mirror shattered. All of the shards of glass were pointed at Loki.

“Y/N! Please. I’m not going to hurt you.” Wanda was behind him now and tried to use her magic to subdue you. You whipped your head in her direction and pointed a shard at her throat.

“We will not be trifled with any longer.” Your voice was calm and steady. Behind it echoed many more voices. “We are the daughters of the moon. Daughters of Diana. Daughters of Hekate. You seek our power. You will receive it in abundance.”

“Enough!” Loki shouted, “I know you can hear me, Y/N. Fight this.”

“Loki?” you whimpered.

“Yes, pet. I’m here. Please. You’re safe now.” The glass dropped to the floor and so did you.

He was at your side at once brushing your hair from your eyes whispering your name. Begging you to wake up. His eyes were wide. He looked at Wanda pleading, “What have I done? What have I done?”

“Bruce! Someone get Bruce! We need help.” Bruce rushed in and instructed Loki to put you on a gurney. They rushed you into a room and started examining you. He and Tony hooked you up to electrodes to measure your brain waves and monitor your heart.

“Tony I can’t find anything medically that would be causing her to be unconscious. But look at her brain waves.” There were several lines spiking indicating that there was more than one brain essentially.

“I’ll call Strange.” Tony went pale when he looked at the monitor.

Loki and Wanda refused to leave your bedside. Steve paced the hall outside of your room. Fury walked in looking actually worried for once. “How is she?” he asked Nat. Before she could answer Bucky was lunging for him. Fury regarded him unfazed. “You wanna take your hands off me, Sergeant?” Steve pulled him away.

“Come on, Buck.”

“She didn’t deserve this.” He walked away to get some air.

“Is this how you do it? You pit them against each other under the guise of ‘security’ so you can break them down? Are you so afraid of someone else having power...” Fury raised his voice to interrupt Steve.

“Yes, Captain Rogers, I am. I am especially afraid of the one in the bed who is basically a nuclear bomb. I’m afraid of her teaming up with the other one to become a formidable force. If a demigod joins them they become unstoppable. It is my job to squash that before Loki gets the bright idea to take over the world again. Those two can be more powerful than the entire Chitauri army of they wanted to be.”

“She’s just a kid, Nick.”

“A kid with a lot of power.”

“Yep. And we just pissed her off.”

Wanda was asleep on the couch in your room. Thor patted Loki on the shoulder, “Brother, why don’t you rest? I’ll stand watch for a while.” Loki didn’t take his attention away from you.

“I’m not leaving her. What if she wakes up and I’m not here?”

“Loki? What’s come over you? I’ve never seen you worry over someone like this.”

A smile ghosted over his face, “Only over you, Brother.”

“Is this love or guilt?”

“Perhaps a little of both. No matter. She has feelings for the soldier. And, when she wakes up and realizes what I’ve done, I’m sure she’ll hate me.”

Thor’s brow furrowed, “Tell her the truth. She’ll understand your position.”

“I should have crushed their skulls. That should have been my position. I’ve hurt her. Who can blame her if she never wants to see me again?”

Thor returned to the common room where the rest of the team was sitting.

“Any change?” Sam asked

“No. I’ve never seen Loki like this.”

“Like what? Remorseful?” added Tony

“This is on all of us, Tony. We should have put a stop to it. We watched it happen. Given Loki’s criminal status with SHIELD he wasn’t really left with a choice. He did what he thought was right.” Steve scolded

They all looked up when they heard faint footsteps. “Were you defending me, Captain?” he didn’t give Steve a chance answer, “The wizard’s here.”

They all went into your room where Doctor Stephen Strange was ruminating over your chart. Dr. Cho was already there talking to him. “Dr. Banner join us won’t you?” Strange adjusted hung your films from your MRI. “What were the results of her CT?”

“Her brain was functioning at an extreme rate mostly around the hippocampus.”

“That’s her memory center” Bruce explained to Wanda who was still sitting vigil by your bedside.

“Well team medically, with the exception of the heightened brain activity, she’s healthy. Magically speaking, it looks like the spell she cast had a built in safety feature.”

“Can you fix her?”

“I can. I need everyone out. Not you.” He pointed at Wanda, “You stay.”

“I’m not leaving.” Loki said sternly

“You’ve done enough. Bye.” He waved his hand and Loki went flying through a portal into the next room. Strange waved his hand, “Let’s have some privacy. This should keep out the riff raff.”

“Can you fix her?” Wanda was hopeful

“Oh yeah” he waved a hand over you “She’s good.”

“That easy?”

“Yes. You know you could have done this?”

“I wouldn’t know how or where to even begin.”

“Yes, you do. I know you know that you are more powerful even than me. You are so afraid of disappointing those fools out there. You shouldn’t be.”

“They are my family.”

“Your family fears you so you think you have to muzzle yourself. You don’t.”

You opened your eyes and sucked in your breath, “Where am I?!”

“There she is. Y/N it’s very nice to meet you. I’m Dr. Stephen Strange. You gave them quite the scare.”

“Loki! Is he ok?”

“He’s fine. He’s the one who put you here.”

“I need to see him.” You started pulling out wires and ripping off electrodes.

“Honey let me go find him. You need to stay in bed.” Wanda was trying to stop you.

“The newest Avenger. How does that feel?”

“I’m not an Avenger. I’m helping out. I work for SHIELD.”

“Either way you’re backing the wrong team. I know what the Kale’s did to your coven. If you ever want real answers here’s where you find me.” He handed you a card with an address on it embossed in gold. He winked at you and excused himself when Loki appeared in the doorway.

“Wizard” “Sabrina” Loki cocked an eyebrow but Strange kept walking.

“Darling. Are you ok? I am so sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you.” You knew of only one other time that Loki looked this wrecked and that’s when his mother was killed. Poor guy.

“You didn’t. I mean not really. The spell has a fail safe. Only meant to scare my attacker.” He sighed with relief.

“Are you very angry with me?”

“No. I couldn’t hear your thoughts but I could feel you. I knew you were there.”

“So you knew I was hurting you.”

You put your hands on the sides of his face, “I thought you were trying to protect me.” You stared at each other for a moment. His heart was racing. He placed his hands over yours. You brushed an errant hair out of his eyes. “Darling I...”

Steve burst in the room wrapping you in a hug, “I’m so sorry I left you. Are you ok? Are you hurt?” Loki stood watching what was unfolding. You looked back at him. He raised his eyebrows and shrugged. He left the room to give you and Steve a minute.

“Steve. Shhh. I’m ok. I swear.” For reasons neither of you could explain he grabbed your face and crashed his lips into yours. Your eyes went wide then you acquiesced. Your tongue massaged his. He leaned his weight into you. When he broke the kiss he said quietly, “I’m staying with you tonight.”

“You really don’t need to. Loki will be there. I’m ok. I promise. I’m much stronger than I look.”

“I would feel better:”

LOKI

Loki sat alone on the big fluffy couch in the common room. He toyed with the frayed edge of a throw pillow. It was silent but he could hear your heartbeat quicken. Your breath catching in your chest. Your racing thoughts. He felt your butterflies when Steve came into the room. You liked Steve. He supposed the captain was a decent enough guy. That didn’t mean he had to like him.

For a moment when you were touching his face he felt something. He wasn’t sure if the feelings were yours or his. It felt deeper than just a crush. The way you looked at him. Almost like you were committing his face to memory. Your eyes studied him. For a moment he felt seen.

Thor sat next to him and pulled him in for a very firm embrace. “Get off of me you oaf”

“You’re staying with me tonight. It’ll be fun. We’ll bunk together just like when we were children.”

“Do you still snore?”

“That depends. Do you still talk in your sleep.”

“I wasn’t talking in my sleep. I was whispering spells to silence you.”

Thor smiled, “I hope you remember them.”

[lo-55]

Playing With Fire Ch. 2

What Do You Know?

@emrysaf

When dawn breaks through the window and assaults your eyes you take a few long minutes to relish the feeling of obliviousness. 

If you lay here for long enough and pretend hard enough that yesterday never happened maybe you can open your eyes to your own living room, or even a hospital room where they’ll tell you you took too many Benadryl and hallucinated everything. 

Eventually you have to open your eyes and look to the ceiling. 

You really don’t wanna do this, but here you are. Doing this. 

You really, really wanna open your eyes and find yourself home, with the storm blown over and your life back to normal. You wanna call your parents, who you never knew you could miss quite this bad. 

You can’t do any of these things. 

All you can do is open your eyes and look at the unfamiliar ceiling.

There’s a few cracks in it that you count while you remind yourself how to breathe. Eventually you have to get up and change into the school uniform instead of the blinding orange jumpsuit. If you remember right you were all supposed to meet in a classroom to get your final assignments, and then jump on a train and go to your new company with a resume in hand. 

You ended up following a pair of girls to the classroom, where you plopped yourself next to Shinra. You didn’t see Arthur or Ogun anywhere, which was weird. If you recalled right Ogun stayed in the fourth after graduation, and he and Arthur were close friends of Shinra, even if Arthus disagreed with that fact for the most part. 

You shoot Shinra a quick grin, and turn to face the front again. 

If you remember right, this was where your were assigned the fourth in the game, along with Ogun. You (or the MAIN character) got in trouble snooping around and Ogun, after hearing your reasoning, turned himself into your own personal body guard. 

Now that you were thinking about it, it might be a good idea to start writing everything you know down. 

God knows you’re gonna forget something important when you need to remember it. 

Er, Sol knows? 

This is stupid. 

You look up at some nameless teacher who paces the front, holding a stack of assignments for you and copies of the applications that had been sent to each of the companies. 

This is it. 

You sit a bit straighter. 

The teacher hands out each person a form. When you look to the side you see Shinra grinning that huge, nervous smile of his and it’s all you can do not to pinch his cheeks and tell him how cute he is. 

The teacher finally hands you your assignment. 

Company 8. 

You do a fist pump. 

“Hell yeah! First choice!” 

A few of your classmates shoot you startled looks. Was your character really so quiet before? 

“Hey, I got the same one,” Shinra poked his head over to see. The list was pretty simple. All it said was the company number, their captain, leuitenant, and address. A glance around revealed that everyone else had a whole packet of information on their new companies. But 8 was so small, and so new, apparently they didn’t warrant it. 

That was fine. You already knew enough it hardly mattered. 

“We’ll be together then,” you say cheerfully. “Wanna take the train together?” 

Please say yes. I don’t know where the train station is. Or how to ride one. 

Shinra nodded, “Yeah. Sounds like fun.” 

“Wanna meet at my room and we’ll go? It says we’re supposed to meet them at their station this afternoon.” 

“Are you sure?” Shinra looked startled. You poked his cheek. 

“I wouldn’t have said it if I wasn’t, babe.” 

Shinra suddenly looked unsettled. “You’re not just doing this to mess with me, right?” 

“Mess with you?” You cocked your head. “What would I do that for?” 

He didn’t have an answer for that, but it made you sad. You knew he got teased a lot, but was it really so bad he thought you being friendly was a trick? 

You were so gonna get in a fight here someday. 

You flipped your company eight paper around so you could take a look at the copy of your resume that they’d be getting there. It was pretty bare bones. It had your name, age, weight, height, blood type, and listed you as a Second Class Fire Soldier, as well as your grades. They were all pretty average, but apparently you were good at math. 

You didn’t have a home address, but it did say you were Ueno, but that part you knew already. In the game you’d gone to Asakusa on an errand, done a bunch of side quests, and found out that Ueno was your home town and it was nearby. It was mostly made of museums and old buildings. 

Still nothing about your pyrokinesis. Damn it. 

This was starting to get annoying. 

“So I’ll see you in a few hours, right?” You clarify quickly, looking up at Shinra. 

Shinra still looks surprised, but he nods quickly, with another small smile. “Yeah. I’ll see you then.” 

You bump fists with him again before you retreat to your room. 

You take to your desk and grab a pencil and paper to try to write down everything you remember, in english for good measure. You don’t know how you know japanese now, but then again you don’t know a lot of things lately. 

What I know for sure: 

MAIN CHARACTER’s family is from Ueno. They died in an infernal fire. They had a sister they’re looking for. They have their sisters ring, a scar on their wrist, and lighter that’s connected to the Tragic Back Story. After the fire SISTER enrolled in the Fire Force Special Academy, leaving MAIN on their own for a few years. She disappeared not long after graduating, and MAIN joined to try to find her in turn. 

In the original game MAIN joins fourth company, which their sister was a part of before her disappearance. In their first night there they dream of a man in a red suit who smiles and pats their head. He’s probably important. Maybe dad??? Likely dead. They snoop around and get in trouble a couple of times, but the captain is on their side and let’s it slide with a slap on the wrist? And no mention of wanting to be lit on fire. He’s a cool, if weird old dude. 

Ogun takes it upon himself to look after MAIN after they nearly get arrested looking into 5th company. 

    Note, avoid the Princess until after Shinra works his magic. 

A choice is made: agree to let Ogun help or ditch him. 

MAIN chose help and together THEY snuck into the Holy Sol Temple. While Ogun looks above, MAIN manages to find a door leading down to old training grounds.

    Note. MAIN didn’t know they were for the shadow sun whatever they were called training. 

MAIN gets lost and pops out at the end of a tunnel, where Joker happens to be setting some cards up. 

    Note . Why???? 

A choice is made ; Tell Joker the truth or lie. 

MAIN admits to Joker that they’re looking into a disappearance, and suspect the church of having something to do with it. They admit that they think the entire situation is a little hazy, and the history is a fragile thing. After that Joker is considered a Friend.  

MAIN returns to Ogun, but only hints at what they found underground. That night they dream of the Man in Red, who tries to speak to them and pats them again. They notice he has a ring with the same design as their own. 

MAIN also spent time in Asakusa with Benimaru Shinmon and Konro. MAIN was little more than an over glorified messenger at the time, but took advantage of the opportunity to see their old home. (UENO) 

    Note. Benimaru is hot

A choice is maid ; leave at once or help out. 

Did a buncha side quests in Asakusa when MAIN stumbled on an old subway entrance in the basement of a restaurant they were working in. The owner says it’s dangerous to go down, but there are a few other holes around the city. Most have been boarded up long ago. 

MAIN, not knowing what they are, leaves them be. 

    Note. Were the subways part of the underground church forbidden place??? Asakusa doesn’t follow the church? So they don’t think they’d curses just dark and flooded? 

MAIN goes home. Rumors of the White Clad begin to circulate, and MAIN goes to company eight to ask Shinra about them directly, thinking that their sister might have been taken by them. 

. . . 

You look at your paper and realize something vital. 

You’ve misspelled maid. 

Fuck it. 

You also write the three powers you could have picked down in blue ink, taking the last pen in your drawer out.

The fire wings, Phoenix in the game. They were support type, with heavy defense properties and minor healing powers, but you couldn't fly which was lame. 

The fire spear, the Sun Lance, was a damage type power. It took fire from around you and made a blade at the end of a long stick. Technically it was a spear, but if you flipped it upside down you could ride it like a witches broom. That one you could fly with, but not the wings. 

The magnet sand, Dark Desert, was a tank type. They made a lot of long range weapons and smashed through fire pretty easily and made strong walls, but it couldn't get too close to you or you yourself will take damage, and you can’t move while you use it. 

They’re all really cool, but you still don’t know which you have and you have no idea how to find out. And you can’t ask anyone or you’ll look crazy! 

...Maybe you should arrange an ‘accidental’ fall down the stairs and claim anmesia. 

Just when you’re seriously considering that option a harsh knock sounds on the door. 

You jump and smash your arm so hard into the drawer you actually break the bottom out of it. 

“Shit! Just a second!” You yell at the door. You scramble to try to hide the evidence when you realize ; the drawer isn’t broken. The bottom is fake. 

You carefully extract, from within, a thin, red, leatherbound book. A look at the inside cover shows you a note. 

To keep your thoughts in order, you scatter brain. 

<3 Fuyuki

Another knock sounds. 

“Hey! Are you ready to go?” Calls Shinra from the other side. 

“Y-yeah! Just a second!” You stuff the book into the front pocket of your bag and throw yourself to the door. You swing it open and throw Shinra back with your blinding grin. 

“Let’s go!” 

~

When the two of you board the train, each clutching your bag close, you’re forced to stand shoulder to shoulder with Shinra, who ends up keeping up his grin the whole time even though you can see him visibly straining to stop it. 

It probably doesn’t help that you keep looking at him, but oh well. 

The second you step out on the platform the screaming starts. A burning train is on its way. An infernal. You and Shinra scramble towards the sound, with Shinra in the lead, and come to a halt just in time to see the train stop. Fire streams out the windows and a creature from a nightmare crawls out of door. 

You swallow thickly. You can smell burning flesh. You can feel heat on your skin. 

This is real. 

You tear your eyes away from the walking corpse in time to see Company 8’s bad ass entrance. They’re all so cool! Maki is such a badass, and Obi is way too strong, and Iris is sweet faced and determined- 

You’re barely able to focus on the infernal itself, and you actually forget that the big metal sign is going to fall up until it happens. 

Shinra shoots off like a bullet. 

You’re left behind, your hair whipping behind you and your arm raised to protect your face while Shinra saves Iris for not-the-last-time. 

You watch him introduce himself, for a moment feeling like you’re just an observer. Its not really intruding, but the familiarity of it all doesn’t help anything. 

It’s not until Shinra points at you and says your name that you snap to attention. Your body knows to salute even if you don’t. 

“Sir!” You echo. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. That was totally awesome, sir.” 

Obi gives you a brief once over before he nods, seriously. 

“Yes. Yes it was. It’s good to have the two of you. Come on. We should get going, back to the cathedral.” 

You and Shinra hurry to grab your things and follow after the four of them. 

When they’re not looking you elbow Shinra. 

“That was so cool!” You hiss. “I didn’t even have time to react and you totally saved the sister!” 

“A-ah, you really think so?” Shinra looked away, his cheeks pink and his grin huge. He scratched his cheek in embarrassment. “ I just did what any hero would!” 

You laugh and swing your arm around his shoulder. “True! Still, it was really awesome. I know I can count on you to help me in the future, right?” 

Shinra nods quickly, however embarrassed he might be.

“Yeah! Or I’m not-” 

You don’t get to hear his new, weird nickname. You’re cut off by the fact that instead of loading into a matchbox the captain has called you a cab. 

That’s weird. 

You know that’s weird. 

“...I don’t get it, but I’m not fighting it,” you say after a minute, and crawl inside. Shinra follows suit and the two of you finally make your way to the run down cathedral. 

Home suite home. 

 ~  ~

A/N So which power do you guys wanna see?

Dark Desert, Phoenix, or Sun Lance? Please let me know!

[dumbbitchenergy17]

Sign of the Beast Part 3

Series Masterlist

CROSSOVER - MARVEL X SUPERNATURAL

Summary- You wanted it to stop, you thought it was just a bad dream your brain created to mess with you. But how wrong you were, with this disease in you, can you get this beast out of you or let this darkness take over.

Pairing- Steve x Reader, Sam and Dean x Sister!Reader, Avengers x Winchester!Reader, Lucifer x Reader (Forced)

Chapter Warnings: Blood, violence, angst, hallucinations, attempted suicide (TW)

A/N: There is somethings that are triggering and you can skip if you are uncomfortable it will be label

Previously

“I’m sure you know me quite well let me give you a hint Sammy was a great vessel.” he hummed standing up and began pacing the room, your heart stopped when you realized who was in front of you.

“Lucifer..” you whispered.

He clapped his hands together “Bingo oh Y/n we are going to have so much fun.” he smirks making you shrink in on yourself. You had the Devil with you. You were as good as dead.

Steve had to turn around when the window turned back to a one-way he had to focus on his breathing as he heard your cries and bangs on the glass. A single tear went down his face and a hand on his shoulder caused him to tense.

“I know you don’t like this Steve neither do I but It’s what needs to be done to protect Y/n,” Dean said trying to comfort him as he seems to be making it worse. The cries stop causing Steve to turn and see her sitting on the ground and it seemed like she was talking to someone.

“What is happening?” Steve asked as Tony switched the audio on to hear what was happening.

“Stop it,” You whimpered, and a few seconds after you talked again, “Lucifer..” You whispered. Both your brothers and Cas froze hearing the devil’s name

“Can she see him?” Tony asked typing stuff down of everything that was happening.

“He has part of her soul; he is able to see and communicate with her anywhere and anytime,” Castiel explained watching you focus on empty space and then you keep talking.

“The only thing we can do now is wait until she goes all She-Devil or until we find some sort of cure, so Bruce and I will be done in the lab trying to find anything about this Angel boy could be a huge help” Tony pointed at Castiel who nodded. 

“Tony, are you sure we can just leave her there without anyone watching?” Steve asked looking over to you and see you laying on the bed your back to the glass. He had no idea what was going through your head and just wanted to open the door and pull you into your arms.

“Friday is hooked up and is constantly monitoring her vitals and will alert me if anything happens.” Tony console your lover and then Tony turned over to look at your brothers “All we can do is wait and I’m sure you would want to be close so Steve you wanna set up a room for them.” Steve nodded and then Tony walked out and Cas followed him.

“I know Y/n was really excited for us to meet but then all this happened,” Dean said and Sam nodded.

Steve smiles “Yeah she would constantly talk about you guys and all the stuff that happened when you guys were younger.” Both your brother smiled and glanced over to you through the glass.

“Y/n is a Winchester she’s a fighter. The best thing we can do is look for anything about this sign.” Sam reassured both his brother and Steve. Dean nodded and with one last glance they all gave you one last look before leaving the cellar leaving alone with the devil.

It had been a few days since you had been in the cell all you had were the daily food brought in and your thoughts but even then you weren’t alone. Lucifer had been a constant, pacing around the room and was now leaning against a wall, and bouncing a ball the repeating ping was slowly taking over the only sound in your head.

“Please stop it.” You sigh sitting up from your bed and looking over to the Devil as he caught the ball and smirked in your direction

“I wouldn’t be so bored if we weren’t in here.” He threw the ball again and you grabbed it before it could hit the wall again.

“And whose fault is it exactly?” You grunted throwing the ball back to him and it vanished before it hit his chest. Lucifer stood up and stretched his bones cracking and popping back into place.

“Yours. You’re the one that said yes,” he taunted you looked down at your shoes and shook your head, “No you tricked me.”

“You saw how they look at you, you tried to kill their little captain, look where you are,” He waved his arms around the room making you wrap your arms around yourself trying to make yourself smaller, “They fear you. And they should you can kill them in one snap of your finger. They see you as what you are.” his hand grabbed your shoulder behind you making you jump “You are nothing but a cold-blooded killer, a monster.” he pushed you and you stumbled into the middle of the room.

“Stop it.” You yelled and around you, the avengers appear in front of you as well as your brothers.

“Killer, Murder, Disgrace!” They yell pushing you into one another until you fall to the ground.

“I said STOP!” You threw your hands out and all the visions flew back and faded to shadow.

“There it is! That fire that power, you wanna stop you know what do.” He smirked seating himself on the bed as you felt this red hot fire flood through your veins. You look back up at the mirror and stare back at Lucifer in the reflection. Those red eyes glowing the reflection changes and you are staring back at yourself red only red

“Do It.” He whispers next to your ear, you twitch your head, and the cameras and lights spark before the entire tower shakes and the tower goes dark alarms blaring red emergency lights flash. Red it was filled in red.

“More..” he smirked. You raise your hand and throw your hand into the mirror and it cracks as it begins to splinter from your first punch the tower shakes again. You throw your fist again and the one-way window shatters glass shards falling into both room as the alarms blare through the tower and every once in awhile a tremor would go through the tower.

“You know what to do give them a warning.” He grins 

TRIGGER WARNING START

You kneel down and grab a sharp shard gripping it in your hand not feeling it pierce your hand blood pouring from your hand. Rising up you make your way to the opposite wall from the window and bring the glass down to your wrist and turn back and stare back at the devil, both your eyes glow red and he grins sadistically.

“Go on.” He said leaning the glass to your wrist and a flash of pain go through you but you don’t react pressing hard as blood streams from your wrist. Making an identical slash on your other wrist letting the bloody glass fall from your hand and begin to write. The devil stepping back and watch everything with a grin on his face.

TRIGGER WARNING END

Most of the avengers and your brothers sat in the common room it had been fixed after everything happens, no one had really moved surrounded by books and computers opened trying to find anything to help you. Steve had bags under his eyes sleep had never reached him he was constantly up not being able to sleep when you were locked up.

“Anyone got anything.” Natasha asks only getting grunts and sighs there was any lore or information of the Sign of Beast on how to is got there and how to get it off.

“We’ve looked almost all the books and articles on the internet and in the bunker, the only people who know about this is Lucifer and God. With God m.i.a. and Lucifer not going to say anything we have nothing.” Dean sighed placing his book down rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

“We need sleep and food and we and we can look at this again with fresh eyes.” Sam suggested the other avengers nodded and began to stand up when Bruce, Tony, and Castiel walked in all three looking just as tired as they were

“Anything?” Dean asked only to get frowns Tony runs his hands down his face yawning

“We have looked through every historical text and angel boy went up to heaven and asked around and found nothing, so we are back at square one.” he sighed walking over to the bar and making himself a drink. Steve clenched his jaw and closed his eyes and try to keep his cool.

“Same here, there is nothing on this sign.” Bucky said as Natasha tried to comfort his best friend who still hasn’t move on the couch.

Friday voices cut through the silence making everyone straighten up “Sir I’m sorry to interrupt but there se-” her voice cuts off as the tower shakes making everyone grab onto something.

“What the hell!” Dean yells

“Friday! What’s going on.” Tony yelled trying to contact his AI

“I-I’..ry..-ere..is powegri- destro-” The AI tries to speak but static fills the speakers making everyone freeze another shake goes through the building and all the lights explode causing sparks to rain down onto them the emergency lights turned on flashing red.

”Y/n..” Dean whispers making Steve stand up

“Clint, Natasha get everyone out from the upper levels. Wanda, Sam, and Thor create a perimeter around the tower and make sure everyone around the tower gets as far away from it. If this goes down we don’t want any injuries,” Steve goes into Captain mode immediately creating a plan, “Winchesters you, Tony, and I are going to Y/n. Everyone else get as many people out as you can of the tower.” Everyone nods rushing off to their assignments and Steve your brothers and Tony rush down the stairs to get the cells. “Please me ok Y/n.” Steve mumbled to himself by the time they made it stopping once or twice to help get people out of the building as the tower shook

“Tony where are these tremors coming from.” Sam yelled as the tower shook again. Tony tapped on the glasses scanning through the Tony and he stiffens. 

“It’s from the cellar.” He watched as your brothers and Steve froze as well. You were doing this “I guess the She-Devil is out.” Tony said as part of his suit attached to him. They passed by the weapons room and Steve grabbed his Shield and tossed both Sam and Dean each a gun as they made their way closer to the cellar. The door was locked and with no power, Tony shot down the door causing it to blast off the wall and they rushed in ready for a fight.

“What the hell.” Tony gasped when he saw the broken glass the computers destroyed sparks flying off.

“Y/n?” Steve called out as the emergency lights flashed every so often

“Oh my god.” Dean choked out looking into your cell. When the lights flashed again the red lights you turned around and stared back at them covered in blood a smirk on your face, your eyes glowing red like before.

“Y/n..” Steve croaked out tears filling his eyes you turned your focus onto him a smile growing on your face, and then the red disappeared from your eyes and you looked disoriented and you felt pain in your wrist and saw blood, looking back up at Steve you saw he had fear in his eyes.

“Steve…” You mumbled and a wave of dizziness went through you and you felt your body go cold as you heard your name being called out as you fell darkness taking over.

[arysafics]

blue skies forever

Summary: Jane makes Lisbon wait until his ankle is healed before he'll have sex with her.

Rated M. ~2.4k words

Missed calls from Abbott, Cho, and Fischer decorate the screen of Lisbon’s phone, as she and Jane walk the halls of the Miami airport. Well, Lisbon walks. Jane kind of hobbles on his crutches.

They’ve finally been given the all clear, allowed to return to Austin. Lisbon had of course been free to go the whole time, but it’s not like she was leaving without him. Not after—her stomach swoops as she replays the scene of him telling her he loves her over in her head. She glances at him, smile tugging on the corners of her lips.

“What?” he says, noticing her look.

Lisbon shakes her head. As if he doesn’t know. “How are you going to get up the steps of the Airstream with those crutches?”

“I’ll manage.”  

“I don’t know,” Lisbon says. “You might need to come and stay with me until your ankle has healed.”

His eyes twinkle. “Is that right?”

Lisbon laughs. “Come on,” she says, ignoring Jane’s shit-eating grin. Quite the change from the intense vulnerability she’d seen from him earlier.

They board the plane, Lisbon and a flight attendant helping Jane with his crutches, Jane on the aisle seat and Lisbon in the middle, the window seat occupied by an elderly man, already asleep.

Lisbon turns her phone off, and Jane does the same. Their co-workers have already waited this long, they can wait a little longer. And to be honest, she’s not entirely prepared to face them after everything that happened. Deep down she knows there probably won’t be any judgement, but she can’t help but feel embarrassed about the whole Pike fiasco. Was she really going to run off and marry him?

“Hey,” Jane says, startling her out of her thoughts. “It’s going to be okay.”

Lisbon nods. She doesn’t know if he knows exactly what she’s thinking, or just picking up on her uncertainty, but she appreciates it all the same.

“Yeah,” she nods. She knows that. She just feels a little idiotic beneath the euphoria of finally having Jane admit his feelings to her—and of finally getting to feel his lips on hers. “You must think I’m so stupid for agreeing to marry Marcus.”

“You actually agreed to marry him?”

“I was upset.”

“You agreed to marry someone because you were upset? Lisbon,” he says. He’s got that mock-disappointment voice on, but he’s only teasing. She loves the way his eyes crinkle up when he smiles.

“Shut up,” she groans. “It’s your fault.”

His smile drops. “I know,” he says, quietly. “I know, I’m sorry. I—”

“It’s okay,” Lisbon says quickly. She knows he’s sorry. She’s heard him apologise to her a million times, but never quite so sincerely as this. “I know.”

“The last thing I would ever want to do is hurt you,” he says.  

“I know,” Lisbon repeats. She figures they have a lot to talk through, but they don’t have to do it now, here.

Jane gives her a remorseful smile, and slips his hand into hers, where it rests on the armrest between them. Lisbon’s heart stutters, just a little, warmth flooding through her at his gentle, comforting touch.

“I love you,” he whispers. Lisbon smiles, shyly. She doesn’t think she’ll ever tire of hearing it.

“I know.”

He keeps his hand in hers for the rest of the flight.

 -

 She takes him back to his Airstream in the end, despite her offer. For a moment she worries it’s because he regrets it already—maybe he wishes he’d just let her go. Maybe it’s all too much for him, maybe he’s not ready for this after all. Maybe he tricked himself into thinking he loves her, but in reality, the idea of sleeping with her repulses him.

He manages the steps on his crutches with some effort, and Lisbon follows him inside. He leans the crutches against a wall, and falls heavily onto the bed. Lisbon looks down at him, and he meets her eye. She wishes she could see inside his brain the way he can see inside hers.

“You gonna be okay?” she asks. No point in sticking around if he doesn’t want her there. She should get home anyway, there’s a lot to take care of now that she’s not moving to DC.

Jane cocks his head. “You’re not staying?”

“Well—I mean, I have some unpacking to do, and—you want me to stay?”

Jane nods. “Course I want you to stay. Why wouldn’t I want you to stay?”

“I didn’t want to assume,” Lisbon shrugs. “You didn’t want to come to my place.”

“Well, I thought I’d need some clean clothes. And a shower.”

“I have a shower at my house,” Lisbon points out. “And a washing machine.” Jane still looks hesitant, an unusual look for him, and Lisbon knows there’s something else. “What is it?” Lisbon probes. The only way she ever gets anything out of this man. “Come on, spit it out.”

“Well,” he says. “If I stay at your place, we’re obviously going to have sex, and—”

“I’m not going to force you to have sex with me if you don’t want to,” Lisbon huffs.

“Just let me finish,” Jane says. Lisbon waits, lips pursed, staring him down. It’s hard not to be a little offended. “I feel like I’m not at my full potential,” he admits, gesturing to his wounded ankle. Lisbon fights back a smile.

“Last I checked, ankles are not the most vital organ when it come to love-making.”

“I love it when you say love-making.”

“I thought you might.”

“Still,” Jane says, with a shrug. “I’d prefer to wait until I’m at my full capacity.”

Lisbon sits down on the bed next to him. “You could use it as an excuse, in case things don’t go as well as you’d hoped.”

“Lisbon,” he says, offended. “You think I’m going to do anything less than blow your mind?”

“It’s been known to happen,” Lisbon says. She glances at him, watching her. Her heart thrums. Part of her can’t believe they’re talking like this—she’s never shared any part of her sex life with him, always felt like that was one thing that was off limits. And now she’s talking about having sex with him. She’s acting cool about it, sure, but under the surface she burns for him, wishing he’d kiss her already. “What’s stopping us from having sex here?” she asks.

“Not romantic enough,” Jane says. “I’m going to seduce you properly.”

“Romantic dinner, candles, rose petals, that kind of thing?”

“Something like that,” Jane grins. He kisses her then, and Lisbon laughs against his mouth before kissing him back. She can’t remember the last time she felt so giddily happy, like a school girl with a crush. It’s almost embarrassing.

“Okay, we’ll wait,” Lisbon agrees, pulling away. The way Jane is looking at her makes her stomach flip over, and she’s already regretting the decision to wait. “How long do we have to wait again?”

“Should be about a week if I don’t do anything stupid.”

“Well, for once in your life, don’t do anything stupid.”

 -

 Lisbon is on leave for two weeks, so she can get her things in order after the Pike fiasco, and Jane has time off until his ankle has healed properly. Lisbon spends most of her time at her own place, undoing weeks of preparation for moving to DC. She wants to be with Jane, but it’s too much of a temptation—he refuses to do anything more than make out with her, and she’s beginning to feel like a repressed teenager again.

He’s probably doing it on purpose—winding her up, making her wait. Maybe it’s part of his seduction technique.

After a week of unpacking and sporadic make out sessions that always leave her aching for more, Lisbon has had enough. She doesn’t care if he’s not at his “full potential”, she will do all the work if she has to. But she’s tired of waiting.

She calls him, to tell him as much, and that she’s coming over and they’re having sex in his non-romantic trailer, bad ankle be damned.

He laughs at her, of course.

“It’s not funny,” she tells him, even though it kind of is. At least, when she’s not so sexually frustrated she’s sure she’ll see it as funny.

“No,” he agrees. “But there’s no need for that. I’m, uh, at your door.”

There’s a beat before Lisbon realises what he’s said. “Right now?” she asks.

A pause. “Yes.”

She goes to the door, not putting the phone down. She swings the door open, and he’s there, phone still to his ear. He smiles, and her knees go weak.

“Hi,” he says, pulling his phone away from his ear. Lisbon does the same.

“Hi,” she returns, a little more breathlessly than she would like.

“Can I come in?”

Lisbon nods, standing aside so he can brush past her and into her house. Her heart is pounding. She shuts the door with a gentle click. Jane turns to her, eyes studying her like she’s a piece of art he wants to memorise and hold in his mind forever.

“Hi,” he whispers again. He steps closer, leaning down to brush his lips against hers.

“Your ankle is all better?”

“Uh huh.”

He kisses her harder, and Lisbon tangles her arms around his neck, pushing herself into the kiss. His hands are on her waist, burning through her shirt.

“What about the romantic dinner?” she reminds him. “And the candles and rose petals?”

“We can do all that if you like.”

“No, I’m good,” Lisbon says, too quickly, maybe. He chuckles, and then he’s kissing her again, hands under her shirt this time, and Lisbon’s heart quickens. “Bedroom,” she breathes against his mouth.

She feels him smile, and then he’s hoisting her up, and she wraps her legs around him. God, he makes her feel young. They’re still kissing and smiling as he takes her to her bedroom.

He lays her down on the bed, his lips trailing from her mouth, across her jaw, and down to her neck.

“Jane,” she breathes.

“I think,” he says, between kisses. “You’d better call me Patrick in the bedroom.”

“Patrick,” Lisbon amends. His shirt comes off, with a little help from her, and then hers with it. His mouth moves hotly down her chest, between her breasts. With one hand he unclips her bra, while the other grips her thigh with surprising strength.  

“Teresa,” he murmurs, and Lisbon finds herself blushing, whether it’s at him kissing her breasts for the first time, or the intimate use of her first name, she’s not sure.

She reaches for the button on her jeans, fumbling with it before getting them undone, and Jane helps her peel them off. His fingers dance along her thigh, and he only hesitates a moment before letting his thumb press against the outside of her underwear, eliciting an embarrassing sound of pleasure from her mouth.

He strokes her through her panties, until she’s positively losing her mind. She grabs him by the wrist, the guides his hand into her underwear.

“Okay,” he says. He kisses her again, while his thumb finds her clit, his fingers slipping easily into her wetness.

She gasps as his fingers move inside her, her eyes fluttering shut. “Yes,” she moans. Finally, is what she doesn’t say out loud.

He’s always been good with his hands—his tricks demand it—and it translates into the bedroom. Teasing at first, then urgent, then easing off again when she’s close, just to draw it out a little longer. And then he builds her back up again, tipping her over the edge with practised ease.

“Oh my god,” she groans as she clenches around his fingers, panting.

“Patrick will do just fine,” he says impishly.

She huffs out a half laugh, still on a high from her orgasm. “I knew you’d be like this in bed.”

“What?”

“Smug.”

He grins, and she looks up at his brilliant smile through a blissful haze. “So, you thought about it a lot, huh?”

“No,” Lisbon lies.

“Liar.” His grin grows even wider. “I could always tell when you’d been thinking about me naked.”

“You could not,” Lisbon snorts. “Now who’s the liar?”

“I could,” he insists. “You’d get this guilty look and you wouldn’t meet my eye.”

“Shut up.”

He kisses her, which effectively shuts both of them up. She toys with the waistband of his pants for a moment, then slowly undoes his pants. He shucks them to the floor, so they’re both in their underwear. He grinds against her, his hardness against the damp spot on her panties, and it sends a surge of want through her.

“Patrick,” she says, her voice husky with lust.

“I know,” he says. They move in tandem as they rid themselves of their last pieces of clothing, his first, and then hers.

His eyes are dark, pupils blown wide. He kisses her, hungrier than before, messier. He cradles her in his arms as he sheaths himself inside her, both of them breathing hard, hearts beating rapidly in time with one another.

“Teresa,” he whispers, the closest thing to a prayer that’s ever slipped from his lips.

They move together, sweaty and desperate now, chasing release. Lisbon swears it’s never felt this good. Maybe it was all the waiting, a culmination of years of complicated feelings and pent up desire. Maybe it’s just him, or maybe it’s the two of them together.

She comes almost silently, tremors rocking through her body as she clutches at him. He joins her moments later, groaning softly as he spills into her.

He collapses, rolling off her so he doesn’t crush her, but keeping close enough to touch. She rolls onto her side, pressing herself up against him.

“Everything you imagined?” he asks, tracing circles on her shoulder with his index finger.

She shrugs. “You were okay. Always room for improvement.”

He looks vaguely amused, and she smirks cheekily at him. He moves his hand up to stroke her hair, and he grows serious all of a sudden.

“I love you,” he reminds her, and her heart does a sickening lurch.

“I know,” she whispers, kissing him.

She loves him too, though for now, the words stick in her throat. She doesn’t remember the last time she told a man she loved him—she certainly never told Marcus. That would’ve been a lie. She’s beginning to think she’s never really been in love before. At least, not like this. It scares her, a little.

But she will tell him eventually, even if she’s sure he already knows it.

[padfootagain]

The Suit

Here we go with a new cute little thing!! It is the last one-shot for my celebration, for the next two days, I will be updating two series you have voted for. I do hope I have managed throughout these 5 fics to bring a little bit of fluff and softness into your week. In case I had not succeeded so far, maybe this one will do the trick ;)

I have 0 respect for Canon in many fandoms (okay, all fandoms, to some extent) but especially when it comes to the MCU. Everybody lives, everybody is happy, the Avengers live together and the sky is full of rainbows! So… cute things ahead for Steve Rogers :)

I hope you like this, tell me what you thought about it!

Gif not mine (enjoy the eyelashes… argh, why is he like this?)

Word Count : 3941

When people picture the interior of the Avengers headquarters, they imagine some kind of large hangar filled with training rooms. Advanced weaponry on display in some of these rooms too, target practice, and large spaces where the Avengers can train and learn new fighting moves. Some might also imagine the Avengers' personal quarters, a kitchen, a large living room where all can gather and eat some Chinese food, maybe a room where they all can watch a good movie together too, a large bedroom for each of them and offices too were they can work on the intel sent to them.

And to this entire description, although one would gather a vague image instead of a real glimpse at the inside of the most secret building in the world (or at least one of the most secret buildings, for sure, although we must all admit that many labs in Wakanda are even more wrapped in shadows), this person listing the inside of this fortress would be right. At one major detail… or well, three, actually.

This enlightened person would have forgotten the library, for one, large and composed of an eclectic collection of novels, thesis about nuclear physics and comic books, was right between the movie room as the Avengers called it, and the offices.

Also, there is a miniature hospital in the base of the Avengers. They call it the infirmary, but it contains everything needed to heal any kind of wound they could sustain on the battle-field, and some of the most recent pieces of equipment would make even Dr Strange blush out of envy.

But the most important set of rooms that one would have forgotten are the labs. Scattered throughout the buildings, and yet vital for the heroes. Who makes the suits? The weapons? Who collects the intel? Who improves their defensive accessories? Who analyses the clues the Avengers find throughout their missions?

Obviously, the busy team of researchers and engineers working at the base.

And while you could hear the characteristic detonations of Natasha, Bucky, Sam and Clint training at firing, you were yourself stuck with a very hard problem to solve.

On your desk, what was left of Captain America's suit laid splayed so you could examine the damages the explosion had caused. He was okay, thanks to luck, his super-soldier organism and a little bit of patching up. A week after he was back from his mission, he was apparently completely healed already.

His suit, however, was still just as damaged as it was at its return from the field.

You heaved a sigh, rubbing your tired eyes. If one had told you, back at University, that your PhD in chemistry would be put to use to help a bunch of super-heroes, you would have laughed at their faces. And yet…

You heard a knock on the door of your office, but you didn't need to look up to know it was Peter Parker. You had recognized the knock already.

"Hi, Dr. Y/L/N!" He beams at you as he steps into your office and closes the door behind him.

You rolled your eyes at the teenager.

"How many times do I have to tell you? You can call me Y/N. I’m not that old! Besides, everyone does."

"Captain Rogers doesn’t."

"Yeah, but that’s because he’s old fashioned on a few things."

Peter grinned.

"You know, Natasha has another theory, and it’s a very different one."

"And what could that theory be?"

"Better let her explain it to you," he eluded the question. "What’s that?" he added, nodding at the pile of burnt and torn fabric on your desk that really didn’t look much like a uniform anymore.

"It’s Captain Rogers’s suit. I’m supposed to make an improved one for him."

"Cool! Your suits are always comfortable and efficient. Do you have any ideas yet?"

"None whatsoever."

"I guess he won’t need a new suit before the party. I hope nothing calls for it, at least. So you have a couple of weeks."

"What party?"

"There’s a big party in a couple of weeks. Everyone working here will be invited, I guess Pepper simply hasn’t sent the invitations yet. You’re gonna come, right? That would be awesome!"

"Well… if we’re all invited, then I guess…"

"Nice!"

You exchanged a smile. Something told Peter, and not his Peter tingles, another sense, a sense that was growing sharper and sharper ever since he and MJ were together, that Steve Rogers would be happy to learn that you would attend the party…

"But I doubt that you were coming here to talk about suits and parties, now, were you?"

His smile was back on his face.

"I have a new idea for my web fluid. But I need your expertise. Can you help?"

You let out a chuckle as you stood up and walked towards the door with a pen and your notebook.

"Of course. Come on, tell me all about it."

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

 After a few sleepless nights for you and your team, the new suit was finally ready. The tests showed a major improvement in terms of heat responses, you hoped it would protect Captain Rogers efficiently for his next mission.

The advantage of being the head of a scientific team in the Avengers HQ was that you could go to their part of the buildings and give them their new suits, weapons and other gadgets yourself. You had grown quite fond of most of the team along the years too, which made the trip out of your lab particularly enjoyable.

You wandered off from room to room, passing before the fighters training in various methods of combat. You also came across Tony and Peter watching Morgan’s favourite Disney movie with her, and you asked them about the Captain's whereabouts.

"I think he went to the gym with Sam and Bucky," Peter answered, his voice distorted by the handful of popcorn he had shoved in his mouth.

"Because obviously gym is useful to him," Tony added in his usual teasing and yet casual tone over the loud music of Be A Man. "I’ve always thought he was short in muscles."

Meanwhile, Morgan was shouting the lyrics and was now standing on the sofa, mimicking the fighting moves of Mulan.

"BE A MAN!"

"What are you looking for him for, anyway?" Tony went on over the loud singing of his daughter. "You need a coach for the gym?"

You laughed in response.

"No, we’ve finished a new suit for him, so I’m bringing it to him."

"YOU MUST BE SWIFT AS A COURSING RIVER!"

"You guys even do the delivery part for free? Amazon might have reasons to worry."

Peter had now joined the little girl for the rest of the chorus, and he and Morgan were both singing at the top of their lungs.

"WITH ALL THE FORCE OF A GREAT TYPHOON!!"

"Well as I said, he’s at the gym," Tony went on, still focusing on you instead of the two kids by his side. "Lifting heavy things and stuff. He’ll be happy to see you."

"What do you mean?" you asked back with a frown.

"WITH ALL THE STRENGTH OF A RAGING FIRE."

Tony merely chuckled and gave you a knowing look. Although you didn’t know what the knowing in the look was about, you oblivious little thing…

"He’s always happy to see you, Y/N."

"MYSTERIOUS AS THE DARK SIDE OF THE MOOOOOOON!!!"

Tony’s gaze finally drifted back towards the two kids on the sofa, a tender smile soothing his features.

"I think she has a chance to become a superstar," he told you, pointing at Morgan. "That’s pure talent we have here. It’s not the same for the other guy over there of course, but everyone can’t be gifted."

"Hey! I don’t sing that badly!" Peter protested from his end of the couch, making both you and Tony laugh.

You thanked Tony for his help, and he waved at you in response, along with giving you a wink that seemed to carry a silent message, but you failed to understand it. Instead, you continued your journey through the HQ (but not without Morgan giving you some popcorn in support for your noble quest first, of course), and walked to the gym with a light trot and humming the tune of Mulan’s songs.

Indeed, you found Steve right where Tony had told you he would be. At the gym. Sam and Bucky were there too, but the three friends seemed on their way out. Sam and Bucky were talking (or well, bickering was a better word to describe any of their interactions, really) near the door while Steve was picking up his stuff…

… and for some reason he wasn’t wearing a shirt. Or a T-shirt. Or any piece of fabric whatsoever that would cover his torso, the skin glistening slightly with a thin layer of sweat.

No matter how uncomfortable you felt, you couldn’t help but stare.

The three of them turned to you as the door loudly closed behind you, and you all remained motionless for a moment. And for a short moment, time seemed to stop as the four of you each reacted differently to the scene unfolding around you.

You were standing, frozen, in front of the door, your package still safely in your arms as your lips parted without you noticing, and you wondered about the ratio between his biceps and your thighs…

Bucky and Sam were motionless as well, simply because they were trying not to laugh as they watched the silent scene playing between you and Steve.

Steve was still, stopped mid-movement, holding his towel in one hand and a bag in the other. And his mind was currently wondering how it would feel to touch your cheek…

He was the first to shake himself out of his thoughts, and you were rather grateful for it, as you reckoned that you wouldn’t have been able to break free on your own.

“Dr. Y/L/N. What can we do for you?”

You forced your brain to work again and your stare to leave his torso to rest on his intense blue eyes instead. How could he have such long eyelashes?

"Actually, I… hmm… I’m the one who can do something for you. I’ve finished your suit," you added, handing him the suit although you were unable to cross the room to give him the package. You didn’t trust your legs enough, they felt like they were made of soft cotton instead of bones and muscles.

"Oh, thank you," he gave you a bright smile, throwing his towel on his large shoulder and striding to you.

You reckoned that it was rather rare to see a genuine, bright smile on his features. Little smiles, yes. But large ones? Not so much. You guessed that he was very happy to get a new suit. Or perhaps the source for such happiness blooming in him was the person who brought the suit… but you didn't know that, by then.

He took the suit wrapped in kraft paper, his smile still on his lips. You noticed how flushed he was, you guessed it was because of the gym session he had just finished. You couldn’t know that your assumption was only partly true. There was another reason for him to blush up to the tip of his ears. That reason was standing right before him.

"Are you coming tomorrow night? At the big party?" he softly asked.

"Yes, I am. All the lab was invited, and most of us are coming."

"Have you found your plus one yet?" Sam jumped in the conversation.

"Oh, no. I’m coming alone. I mean, it’s not like I need support, I’m going to see my friends there so… no need to pretend."

Sam gave Steve a pointy look. Which his friend ignored.

"Are you bringing someone?" you inquired in a friendly tone.

"Yeah. Yeah, I do. He doesn’t though," he added, nodding towards Steve.

You turned to Steve again. He tightened his grip on the suit, and shrugged, a shy smile on his lips.

"As you said, no need to pretend tomorrow."

You stared at each other for a couple of seconds, that seemed to stretch into minutes. And the more you looked at him, the more you wanted to tell him how you felt, how you hoped to see him the next evening, how wonderful you thought he was and… Gosh, he had gorgeous eyes…

But you couldn't do that.

"Well, I’ll see you all tomorrow then. Have a nice day," you hurried the words out of your mouth so you could stride out of the room before your reason would yield in favour of your heart, and you would spoil everything.

The second the door had closed behind you, Sam was chuckling.

"You know, it ain't that hard to ask her out. You had the perfect opportunity. You just had to ask ‘Y/N, would you like to come with me to the party tomorrow’."

"Sam…" Steve heaved a heavy sigh.

"He’s too romantic for that. He’ll make a move tomorrow night. In the moonlight and all," Bucky mocked, making Steve roll his eyes.

"I hate both of you."

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

  The large room was filled with a crowd. Low lights kept an intimate atmosphere throughout the floor. At the top of the Stark Tower, the view on New York City was stunning, an intricated labyrinth of shining lights matching the paler ones hung on the sky. You felt a little tipsy after drinking a couple of tequila shots with Natasha and Wanda. You reckoned that you needed some air, and stepped outside the busy room decorated with perfect taste. The music was still loud coming through the windowpanes as you walked on the large balcony. You hadn't seen Steve yet, but reckoned it was for the best. People had dressed up for the occasion, and you did not plan on dying of a heart attack because of the sight of him in a tuxedo.

The fresh air cleared your thoughts a little and you took a deep intake of breath. You leaned against the bannister, shivering a little as the breeze brushed your naked arms. You took in the view, the sparkling lights shimmering against the darkness of the night, the busy streets and wandering forms drifting back and forth into the maze spreading below your feet.

"Hey! Y/N! Bring your arse back inside, Thor and Nat are trying to see who holds their liquor best!" you heard one of your colleagues call for you, but you shook your head with a chuckle.

"We all know Nat will win."

"I wouldn't be so sure."

You spun on your heels as you recognized Steve's voice. He was standing there, a few steps away from you, his silhouette wrapped in the lights coming out of the busy room giving him a surreal halo, a hand in the pocket of his trousers and a shy smile on his perfectly shaven face. And yes, he was wearing a classic tuxedo. And God, did the man know how to wear a bowtie…

"After all, he is an alien," he went on.

Your colleague had disappeared, you guessed she had judged wiser to leave the two of you alone on the balcony.

How could there be only the two of you out there anyway? Where were people gone to?

"Yes, but she knows too many tricks to lose this kind of bet," you argue.

He let out a chuckle, his eyes flickering to the tip of his black shoes and back up to your gaze, capturing it for good.

"I guess you're right. It's always unwise to underestimate her."

"Exactly."

"Aren't you cold out here?"

"No, I… I needed a little bit of fresh air."

"These parties can be a little too intense," he nodded.

"So can be the tequila."

You both laughed, and fell in a comfortable silence. Steve was too busy staring at you to think of anything else, let alone about words to say.

He hadn't felt that way in what seemed to be an eternity. The nervous tremor through his body, the stumbling of his heart, the freezing of his thoughts… he knew the symptoms and had no doubt about the disease causing them.

Love was an easy thing to spot when it was true, after all.

But if his feelings for you were clear to him, he didn't know about your feelings for him, that was a completely different story. Everyone kept on telling him that you liked him, and he reckoned that he should trust his friends' judgment. The doubt was still there though, a little frozen cube buried in the depth of his heart that burnt through now and then. And it was burning now.

Because as he stared at you, such an accomplished, clever, independent, strong, fierce, graceful woman, he wondered if you could really feel the same way he did.

He had been feeling this way for you for so long though… years, really. And he reckoned now that it was more than time to speak his mind. In the worst case, he would get his heart broken. But in the best case…

"Are you enjoying your evening so far? Would you like something to drink?"

You gave him an amused smile. He seemed nervous…

… maybe your friends were right about him after all.

"I am enjoying my evening so far," you answered. "And no, thank you. I already feel tipsy enough for tonight."

He walked to join you against the bannister, a dreamy smile on both of your faces.

Inside, the music had changed from some energetic pop to a slower and intimate tune. It seemed that time had slowed around the two of you as well, as you stared at each other, your frames lightened by the light inside the tower but also by the stars above and the streets below. Steve's blue eyes reflected the distant lights in an almost impossible way that lit your heart on fire.

There were a thousand things that he wanted to tell you. He wanted to tell you how he thought about you first thing in the morning and last as he closed his eyes to fall asleep. How you made him feel like he belonged in this world that wasn't his. You were amongst the few people who did not see the old soldier in him, but the man behind the shield. You had never made a snarky remark about his lack of knowledge to a reference, and he was grateful for it. You loved sharing the things you loved and that's what drove you when you showed him things he had missed during his time in the ice. It wasn't in a will to change him and make him fit better into a world he had been pushed into, it was in a desire to show him something you were passionate about, simply because you liked talking about it. It wasn't about changing him, it was about sharing. And the majority of people he had met since he had been awakened did not share that state of mind, but the opposite.

He longed to tell you how much he loved hearing you laugh, and thought you had the most adorable smile, and how he admired your smart mind, and how he respected you and your opinion about everyone else's…

There were a million words to be spoken and a thousand thoughts to articulate, but all that passed his lips when he finally mustered the strength to talk was a mere invitation, although it still sounded like a declaration.

"Would you like to dance, Y/N?"

Your heart skipped a beat or two as he called you by your first name, and dear God, did your name sounded wonderful rolling on his tongue. His hand rose as he offered you his open palm, fingers trembling slightly, blue eyes drenched in reflected lights still capturing your gaze and your entire life too. You were vaguely aware of people inside, and maybe some were staring at the two of you, but you couldn't find a way to care, nor even to check if your assumption was correct. Instead, you could not look away from Steve.

There were so many words you meant to speak and thoughts to express and confessions to free from the safety of your heart. How you adored how kind he was, and selfless. How you respected how driven he was and always right to his beliefs. And an infinity of other tiny things that had made you slowly and yet irrevocably fall in love with him.

Instead, you smiled up at him, and spoke only an answer, that still sounded like a promise.

"I would love to."

You thought he would bring you back inside, but he didn't. Instead, he wrapped an arm around you, pulling you closer in a soft gesture. You slipped your hand in his and he gave your fingers a tender squeeze.

You started to sway with the gentle tune, but could barely acknowledge the movements of your feet. You were so close to him, he was so close to you… how could you survive this?

Calloused fingers held yours in a gentle hold, his other hand resting in the small of your back, drawing you closer and closer in an embrace that grew tighter every second and yet of which you knew you could free yourself of if you wanted. It felt safe. Warm. Peaceful. And safe, yes, so safe, so comfortable, you could lay your life in his hands blindly and wouldn't even worry about it. You couldn't remember when was the last time you felt like this, like this man before you could never make anything to hurt you, like not in a million years would he let anything bad happen to you. It felt like a lifetime ago that you trusted a man so thoroughly as you trusted Steve now.

There was warmth spreading from your body to his, reassuring, soothing. A calming glow oozing from your soul conquering his last lines of defence. He couldn't fight against you. He loved you too much for it. All he could do before you was to lay down his arms and offer you his heart on a plate. It was dangerous, and yet he was not afraid. He trusted you too blindly to worry about what you could do with his most precious offering. You would do with it what you pleased. He would accept it all no matter what. It could either bring him back to life or break him for good, but in any case, he would not regret giving you his heart. He knew so much, at least.

He leaned down, your bodies too close to be moved closer to each other by then, resting his jaw against your temple. He remained quiet and so did you, although your two pounding hearts spoke better than your tongues at this moment.

There were no words needing to be spoken, you both knew that this feeling coursing through your bodies now was the feeling of coming home.

Inside the busy crowd, Sam was finishing his third glass of bourbon, while Bucky drank the last drop of his third beer. They exchanged a glance, and Bucky extended his hand. Sam could only chuckle before reaching for his wallet and slipping a twenty dollar bill in Bucky's hand. He had lost his wager, but learnt an important lesson.

One should never underestimate the sense of romance of Captain America, especially if he is wearing that kind of suit.

*****************************************************************

Tag list : @ponycake27 @horsesreign @xinyourdreamsx @jbluevelvet @notkeppeki @daynigt-dreamer-stuff @fudgeflyss @stuckupstucky @snek-shit @suchatinyinfinity @i-padfootblack-things  @buckybsarmy @heyohheyitsgabi

@madamrogers

[loftyexecutor]

somnium vidisse se dicat in extremis orbis terrarum - 1

Chapter; 1 Rating; T+ WC; 1772 TWs; medical things, needles Pairing; AddElsAin [transform] AU; modern/dreamsharing scifi Summary; Being the best in the industry had its perks. Herrscher's name was known far and wide, work offers coming in left and right, extort this, extort that. But that still didn't stop his boyfriend from getting too tangled up in one of his dreams and switching places with the shade in his head. The shade that he had offered to extort ages ago. Fuck, this is a mess. Notes; its 2020 and this year pushed me to do some things im not proud of. like another els fic. o7 the title loosely translates to ‘the dreamer at the edge of the world’. edgy~~ AO3 LINK

Opening his eyes after hours of being hooked up to an ADSSU always felt like coming up for a breath after diving. The cotton feeling at the back on his tongue and the pounding headache developing behind his eyes did nothing to make the process any easier, no matter how often he delved into the craft.

Waving off the help of the hired technician and physician, he thumbed off the adhesive connecting him to the vitals reading machine and pulled the needle of the IV out of his arm none too gently. He handed it off to the physician, palm up because he had manners, who proceeded to disconnect and throw it out, doing his job of sterilizing the unit for the next use.

By now, his arm looked like an avid drug user’s, and he felt like one as well, with the somnicin levels in his blood well over the recommended dose. Thankfully, that would fix itself within the next hour, and so would, he hoped, the headache.

Next to himself, he could see Herrsch giving the equipment and technicians similar treatment, rolling his shoulders. Herrsch looked over, giving him a smile. Asshole, he never dealt with headaches.

Dox, at one point, joked about him having nothing in that pretty head of his, back before they’d dreamed together. Oh, how wrong he had been, how vast the worlds in Herrsch’s head were.

The dreamer of their latest job was waking up as well, the only person in the room to let himself be treated and checked. 

Dox pulled out his phone from the pocket of his jeans, noting an absence in notifications, but a missed call.

“Immo called,” he mused, thumbing the lock screen away. “Gonna ring back.”

Herrsch gave a nod, eyes tracking him as he got up, shook off the drugs making him drowsy and made his way to the corner of the room to call. Instead, he focused on the dreamer, when all the equipment was removed and the man rubbed at his temples.

The man noticed him, offering a wobbly smile. Extraction jobs always left the subject the most rattled, though they helped in the long run. He couldn’t speak from his own experience, not like anyone has ever run an extraction on him. He wasn’t sure if it were possible at this point anymore.

A thing to ponder later. 

The low hum in the room ceased as the technician powered the ADSSU down, all screens of connected computers and machines fading to black and leaving the room in only the dim light from the overhead lamps.

He looked over to Dox just in time to see his face blanch, brows knitting themselves together like they never expected to be apart again. Herrsch’s followed suit. Not much could phase Dox to that degree.

“You’re fucking with me,” he forced out, barely above a whisper. “Please say you’re fucking with me.”

Whatever he heard obviously didn’t indicate Immo was fucking with him. Herrsch didn’t think he could get any paler with his complexion, but he was proved wrong when Dox turned the same shade as the wall behind him.

“I— We’ll be— We’ll get the earliest flight, fuck, okay. Don’t… don’t go to sleep.” Dox pulled the phone away from his ear to check the clock. “It’ll be like— three? Four? Hours. Fuck, don’t go to sleep. Please.” A pause. “There are Monsters in the pantry. I don’t care if you drink all of them, please just don’t go to sleep.” Another pause. “Yeah. Yeah.”

The call ended with Dox’s arm going slack, falling down to his side, Immo’s photo bright on the screen before it turned itself off. 

Before Herrsch could open his mouth, utter a single sound, Dox turned to him and pointed with his chin towards the door. Obediently, Herrsch nodded, standing from the dream chair and leading the way. He had to hold the door open for Dox, who couldn’t seem to stop shaking.

As soon as it was closed, he turned to him, hand in his hair, and raked his fingers through the long strands in an attempt to calm him. “What was that about?”

Dox opened his mouth, closed it, opened it again, leaned into his touch, closed it again, and let out the shakiest breath Herrsch had heard outside of a panic attack. “Immo…” he whispered, barely audible. “He… He dreamed himself too deep and— somehow, he ended up switching places with Conwell.”

Panic seized Herrsch’s chest, squeezing until he felt he couldn’t breathe.

“So, that was…”

“Mm-hm.”

“Can you get us the earliest flight back?” 

Dox just nodded, already on it, tapping away at his phone with shaky fingers. Herrsch squeezed him against his side for one short moment before rushing back into the room to grab their bags.

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

Herrsch’s jeep screeched as they parked, tire tracks blooming on their driveway, and the engine wasn’t even fully off before Dox was wrestling with his seatbelt and jumping out of the car.

The front door opened to reveal Queen, with hair askew and a look of an old woman plastered on her youthful face. Just by looking, Dox knew— he knew it wasn’t a joke, wasn’t a ploy to get them to come early, but he had to— he had to check for himself.

Ducking under her arm was no problem even given their heights. He knew their house like the back of his hand, found Immo in the living room, sitting cross legged on the floor with an Xbox controller in his hand and some game on the screen. He was obviously losing, if his annoyed expression was any way of knowing, and even that blasted the alarm sirens in his brain. 

Immo was good at video games.

Empty energy drink cans littered the floor around him, ten, fifteen, twenty-six. Jesus Christ.

“H-hey,” he said, pulling Immo’s — Conwell’s — attention away from the screen. There were bags under his eyes, like he hadn’t slept in days instead of hours. 

“Thank goodness you’re here,” Immo’s mouth said, and Dox focused on that for some reason, the way his lips moved, the words they shaped, sounding for all the world like nothing Immo would ever say. 

Herrsch and Queen talked in the hallway, but he couldn’t make out about what, rooted to the spot. Tears welled in his eyes because — fuck! — he knew what it was like, getting tricked by a shade in a dream and not wake up for days. His legs didn’t feel like his as he crossed the carpet in the living room, offering Conwell one of his hands to pull him up. 

The smile he got as a reward bordered the uncanny valley. Conwell didn’t know how to move Immo’s body like Immo, instead looking like a passable double. For one single, terrifying instant, Dox was worried it was him that was stuck in a dream, one that was imminent for crumbling.

“C’mon,” he choked, refusing to let Conwell see him cry, “Let’s tuck you in.”

Dox lead Conwell downstairs, only stopping to tell Herrsch and Queen that they’d be in the lab, that he’d— keep Conwell stable until Herrsch figured out a way to do an extraction right. Just wake me up when you need me. I’ll keep the dream stable.

Herrsch nodded, his immaculately schooled features betraying all his worry and fears, if only to Dox. It wasn’t a good look on him.

The lab was dark, quiet save the ever-running ventilation keeping the basement breathable. Dox’s fingers found the lightswitch and he went through the motions of turning the ADSSU and all its equipment on, watching with blank eyes at the flat lines and numbers.

“Sit down,” he said, then added a soft, “please.”

Conwell obliged. Dox knew it wasn’t his fault. Logically, he knew Conwell didn’t like this either. He had already had his life, and becoming a dream shade attached to a memento Immo got his hands on and practically possessing the boy wasn’t for the purpose of stealing his body. It didn’t mean Dox wasn’t mad. It didn’t mean he wasn’t considering messaging the board of Dreamers to standardize checks on mementos.

Which is why he tried his hardest not to look at his face, the unnatural, fake smile on his boyfriend’s lips, as he held Conwell’s arm above the elbow. His hand shook, but as soon as he had opened a fresh needle and attached it to the drip of the IV, it stopped. 

He located the vein he knew by heart now, wiping the area with an alcohol wipe and puncturing the skin until he was sure the needle wouldn’t come loose. A strip of medical tape to hold it in place never hurt anyone, either.

He attached the vitals machine with similar detachedness, but didn’t let the IV drip just yet.

“Herrsch,” he called up the stairs, and it was only moments before he appeared, that knowing look on his face. He placed a hand on Dox’s cheek. He cradled it, because it couldn’t be called anything else, and led him to one of the other dream chairs. 

Conwell averted his eyes as Herrsch leaned down, placed a kiss on Dox’s forehead. It had been different to watch such interactions in dreams, through Immo’s eyes. Now he felt like nothing but a voyeur. 

The IV was attached to Dox’s arm for the second time that day, and so were the vitals, and Herrsch turned the IV on immediately, watching the somnicin make its way to Dox’s arm. He felt terrible about the dosage, but there was no way Dox was staying asleep if he didn’t up it.

Dox didn’t make a single comment on it, however, just looked at Herrsch with determination that screamed ‘I’ll do my best.’

Herrsch knew why Dox wanted to do this. Herrsch’s name held more power in the industry, and he was better at talking to people, if only marginally. Dox’s dreams weren’t stable, not most of the time, but in the first layer, it would be more than enough to hold them both for the few hours Herrsch had to think of something. 

Dox’s eyes fluttered closed and the vitals machine evened out as he fell asleep, the tenseness falling off his features momentarily. Herrsch moved to Conwell, turning his IV on as well.

“Don’t do anything shady,” Herrsch warned, looking straight into Conwell’s eyes.

Conwell laughed, voice Immo’s but not like Immo. He wasn’t so stupid to try anything, and even if neither Dox nor Herrsch believed it, he cared about Immo as well.

And he knew a threat when he heard one.