#but was physically incapable of remembering unless i was in my car so as soon as i left the car i kept fucking forgetting.

[euporie-art]

oh!! i cant remember ever being tagged in smthn like this woah thank you!!!

last song: the judgement is the mirror by dalis car (fucking banger)

favourite colour: either honey-yellow or black

last book: the hound of the baskervilles

last tv show: The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson (1979 Soviet TV with Vasily Livanov)

last movie: the cowboy bebop movie (it kinda sucked balls tbh... not as good as the main show. faye valentine they did you so dirty)

sweet/savoury/spicy: savoury > spicy > sweet

relationship status: taken, i've had a very lovely boyfriend for 5 yrs

last thing I googled: "the return of sherlock holmes paperback"(i am incapable of focusing on a book unless its a physical copy lmao)

current obsession: the great ace attorney, plus the sherlock holmes worms creeping in my brain

looking forward to: i'm going to an 80s alternative night at a local pub soon! i'm excited as fuck

tagging: ahhh i don't want to nag anyone, so anyone feel free to do this!

✨ten people i’d like to get to know better ✨

ty for the tag @eriklehnsherrr !!!!

last song: b2b by charli xcx ft. tinashe

favourite colour: blood orange!

last book: intermezzo by sally rooney (same as prev lol)

last tv show: iasip (rewatch 😔)

last movie: challengers (yet another rewatch)

sweet/savoury/spicy: savoury > sweet > spicy

relationship status: single 💔

last thing I googled: "remy rat"

current obsession: red hood! but the batfam in general

looking forward to: bookfest! hopefully I can find good cds this time 😁😁

tagging: @lovecrimer @myvirtuesuncounted @crow-enthusiast @destroyingangelneveragod @stinkrat-aleks @monsterrae1 @cantchangemypast @probablychemical @savebylou @itolduthings

[marklikely]

going to be established with a pcp for the first time in my adult life this afternoon and as unlikely as it is part of me is trying to work out what 4d chess i could play to get medication that fixes my brain jn some way

[bradypnoea]

Healing Factor | indelen | (42/42) - 121k | May ‘20 - Mar ‘21

Loki was lucky to survive the devastating car crash that very nearly claimed his life. Now, resting and recuperating in his brother's home he has every care and amenity available to help his recovery. A professional physical therapist was hired by Thor Odinson to help get his brother back on his feet. But for the young woman the assignment is not nearly as straight forward as it first may seem. The accident is merely the final link in a chain of traumatic experiences that inflicted wounds far worse than any number of broken bones. And it's not as if Loki was a friendly man to begin with. Shrewd, caustic, mischievous and introverted, incapable of straightforward communication, lacking in patience and not overburdened with an excess of empathy Loki is the worst possible kind of patient to have. Unless, of course, you’re the type to enjoy the challenge…

Note: Healing Factor has 13219 hits and deserves every one, like, I was lucky to read this story as it was posted in real time and I remember thinking by the fourth chapter that it would be one of my all-time favourites. I can't praise it highly enough: the characters, the pacing, the plot points, the texting, the dialogue, the tension, the resolving of the tension. It felt like a return to my favourite works of the 2012-2015 era. Indelen's writing is quick and intelligent, questions are posed to the reader and answered as they arise. I just- I'll stop and let the work speak for itself but if you can, avoid reading the Series Title on AO3. The OFC's first name is intentionally withheld and I promise it will be SO satisfying to read the moment its revealed. And as soon as you finish, read the next installment in the series, "In Care Of", of which Indelen has just posted the ninth chapter.

- Author's Tumblr | @indelen -

It is not my habit to make semi-flirtatious banter with a man about to interview me for a job as this is, of course, completely unprofessional.

And it is definitely not my habit to make semi-flirtatious banter with a man whom I knew to be married, no matter how obviously in jest the comments were meant to be. After all, even the most innocuous joke can be misconstrued.

And yet, when the front door of a modern upstate New York home opened and nothing short of a Norse god made flesh and mortal stood before me, all that popped out of my mouth was:

“Oh, my goodness gracious! Are you the one that needs round the clock care?”

Look.

If you were there.

And you saw him.

You would have done the same.

Thor Odinson was tall, fair, with cornflower blue eyes and perfect skin. His shoulders were broad and well muscled, his posture was comfortable and assured, his expression was bright and cheery. On hearing my words, he threw his head back and laughed. Even his laughter was energy itself; pure and friendly and unpretentious. Despite myself, I felt stuck down by his charm. It’s not even that he was remarkably handsome, though of course he was, it was that he projected immense health, joy and vitality.

Continue reading on AO3...

[soulbranded]

fight - from @sgtjamesbbbarnes

@sgtjamesbbbarnes – one word prompts

fight :   my  muse  stops  your  muse  from  getting  into  a  physical  fight  with  someone  else. (I’m flipping the script a little bit here)

Before the Accords fiasco, the farthest she’d been from home was a few trips down to New Orleans with Pasha. But now Rachel was traveling all over the place, and not just in the continental US. It made her feel very much the small-town girl, and not in the cutesy, romcom sense. It was fucking overwhelming. Languages she didn’t understand, unfamiliar customs, police, not to mention each country’s own thriving extra-human population. She was striking deals, making alliances, tracking people down–all things she should in theory be good at, but every time her throat went dry and her stomach squirmed. When she’d caught Steve looking over a classified file and finally coaxed the truth from him, it was almost a relief. He was looking for somebody. Tracking spells were cake.

Except they had no DNA. Why was nothing ever easy?

She’d thought about the problem for a solid three weeks. The dude they were chasing–Steve called him Bucky–had quite the reputation. She’d looked him up in what remained of the Council database. His arm seemed the key. It was unique. An energy signature, mechanics, something. The answer was right there, itching at the edge of her mind, until she finally latched on to something. As she was wont to do, she went chasing after it, meaning she dropped off the face of the earth for a while with just a scrawled note that said Got a plan, be back later, don’t break any walls.  

She’d traveled to Europe on a glamoured passport. Magic made fake IDs so much easier. Her theory was a little sketchy, but it wasn’t without legs: the Winter Soldier was practically an underworld boogeyman, as old as Steve. Unless it was a Bond-esque reincarnation, some kind of enhancement had to be at work, and from what she’d read in her research–because despite her temperamental attitude, Rachel was fucking thorough–HYDRA had to be working on a serum similar to what Steve had received. If it was similar enough at the molecular level, it could provide her with at least a direction, if not an exact location. Europe was her hotspot based on her latest intel and gut instinct; Europe was familiar, the proverbial fortress on the hill, and snipers sought the high ground. Worst case scenario, she was on a wild goose chase. But hey, at least she got to play with some possibly mind-melting magic. 

In Romania, she rented a small apartment and slept the jetlag off for a few hours before starting her ritual. Oh, how she missed her metal rings in her cabin. They made it so much easier to hold a circle. But chalk was going to have to do. She drew a wide circle and put her herbs and copper bowl in the middle of it, along with a small vial that she had paid an obscene amount of money for and on which all her hopes were riding. Like called to like, so if they were even remotely the same…well, she just had to hope. And hope the spell didn’t reveal her to anyone. Or kill her. Nobody said the plan was perfect. 

Mugwort, cowslip, and iris root went into the bowl, along with a few extra ingredients. Rachel held the vial up and looked at it, then exhaled a long breath. Here went nothing. She dumped the vial–blood–into the bowl and then picked up a small knife and pricked her thumb, massaging her own blood into the mixture. A match to set the spell aflame and she was breathing in the earthy smoke. For a second, nothing happened. Then she saw a face, contorted in pain, some kind of machine attached to his head. She saw experiments. The whirred past her vision like a malicious tilt-a-whirl. She saw years of torture, of death, of pain. Memories that weren’t her own flickered like a movie reel, and above it all, it was cold. So, so cold. 

This was not her usual tracking spell. She was getting this man’s life. And she couldn’t stop it. Her mind recoiled, trying to push the horror away, but it stayed with her, an avalanche that buried her own thoughts and emotions. As suddenly as it started, it abruptly shifted. A street. Modern times. A small cafe and a man hunched over a cup of coffee like it held the elixir of life. He looked up.

Bucky.

The spell broke, and Rachel fell backwards onto her elbows, panting. Well, her brain hadn’t dissolved, but she had this weight. Everything she’d seen and felt sat on her chest in a writhing mass, incapable of being separated, just one huge jumble of misery. This was who Steve wanted to find? 

This was the fabled Winter Soldier? 

As soon as she collected herself, she grabbed her bag and gun and dashed out the door. She knew that street. It was fresh in her mind and it wasn’t far away. Her gut said the spell had ended in real time. She could make it. And she could–do what, exactly? Walk up to a deadly assassin and say Hi, wanna go to New York? 

Great, Rachel. You flew halfway around the world, cooked up some sketchy ass magic, and ended it with no plan. What was that about being thorough?

But those memories stayed with her. This man, this Bucky, to say he’d been through hell was an understatement. It made her remember a grey windowless room with a chair bolted to the floor, and an emotionless voice telling her she must have faith. Steve had faith in this guy, and she had faith in her gut, so she plowed ahead. What was he gonna do, shoot her in broad daylight?

Maybe. Well, it wouldn’t be the first time, and probably wouldn’t be the last. One day she was going to learn to improve her life choices.

She rounded a corner and saw a faded red awning above some black metal chairs. The cafe. In the corner, tucked as far away from others as he could get and with his back to the building–the Paranoid Chair, as she liked to call it, which also happened to be her favorite–was Bucky. He looked like he’d gotten his clothes from a lost and found and had a baseball cap pulled down low over his eyes, but it was him. Rachel almost laughed in satisfaction. It’d worked. She hesitated for a moment, keenly aware of the gun in her shoulder holster beneath her jacket. Her gut said she needed to come at this with those memories in mind. Put the Soldier aside and remember the man. Christ, wasn’t that poetic, coming from her. 

She started walking toward him when a throng of men entered her vision, approaching from the south. They were heading straight for Bucky too, and they did not look like they’d chosen the Friend Route RPG option. Rachel sped up, but she was farther away, and had to cross a busy thoroughfare. The men reached Bucky first, and she almost got hit by a car due to her fixation on his reaction. She knew that body language. It was defensive, reluctant. Dangerous but unwilling. 

She slapped the hood of another car as she ran across the street. Bucky’s fists were clenched and the men were shouting at him in a language she didn’t understand, their faces hard with rage. The man at the front, who was approximately the size of a small mountain, drew back his fist, but she saw it first. Bucky was countering already, his left arm, the enhanced arm, ready to fly up.

Without thinking, Rachel flung her hand out and sent a spell flying. It hit the man in front and knocked him into the wall so hard it cracked. “Stop!”

The men turned in unison to look at this little redhead running up to them speaking a foreign language. Rachel drew to a halt, putting herself between them and Bucky. He towered over her, almost as tall as Steve, but she’d taken bigger fish. 

“I said stop.” She panted, more from adrenaline than the run, and magic crackled along her skin. Another roll of her wrist and she cast a glamour over Bucky. “He’s not who you think he is.”

Mountain Man eyed her. “Cine dracu esti tu?”

Rachel blinked. “Listen, just… shoo.” She made a flapping motion with her hand. She could amp up the magic and scare the hell out of them, but that risked attracting even more attention, and she actually was trying to deescalate the situation. 

“Nu este nimeni. Lasă-o din ea,” Bucky said. Rachel looked behind her at him, and he deftly sidestepped her so that he was now shielding her. She had to duck to the side to see what was happening. Goddamned tall guys.

They exchanged a few more words that Rachel didn’t understand, and their postures grew more threatening. Her interference seemed to have caused a shift in Bucky. He was trying to protect her. He pulled his arm back again, and this time she hit him with a spell, although it wasn’t nearly as strong—just enough to knock him off his balance.

“Look,” Rachel said, exasperated, and gestured to Bucky. Her glamour came off him in strong waves, but unless she was the unluckiest person on earth, these guys would see an old man instead of the true Bucky.

They looked between each other, looked at Bucky, looked at her, back at Bucky, and after several eternities, turned around and stormed away. Bucky was leaning against the wall, holding his arm. Rachel winced. She really hoped she hadn’t just given him cause for another punch.

“I’m sorry about that,” she said. “I just didn’t think it was a good idea to draw attention with a fight.”

He looked at her with haunted eyes. Rachel was suddenly freezing. “Who are you?” he asked, his voice rusty as if from disuse.

“Would you believe I’m a friend?” His face said no. “Okay, friend of a friend? I’m a friend of Steve’s.”

Now it was Bucky’s turn to blink. His eyes darted back and forth as if he were sorting through information. “Steve Rogers?”

“Yeah.” Now that the immediate danger was gone, she went into damage control and looked around. A few people were staring, but nobody had stopped and she didn’t hear any sirens, but it was probably better to get the hell out of here. “Why don’t I buy you a coffee somewhere else and tell you all about it?”

He hesitated. “No.”

Oh, how the turns had tabled. She knew that look. It was paranoia, the kind that comes when they really are out to get you. And she knew, oh she knew, that it was the kind of paranoia that wouldn’t budge.

“Bucky,” she said. “I know you got no reason to trust me. But I swear I come in peace.”

The name got his attention, and he gave her a tortured look. “What did you do to me?” He let go of his arm and rotated it, but the movement was off. It was less like working a muscle and more like realigning a transmission.

“Magic. I’m… not normal. And we’ve got some things in common.” She offered him a wan smile.

He stared at her for a long moment, and she swore he could see straight down to her bones. “Why are you here?”

That was the question wasn’t it. Ostensibly, she was there because of Steve. But after what she’d seen in the spell, she had absolutely no desire to make this man do anything he didn’t want to do. There were days she could still feel the spelled iron around her wrist. She wasn’t going to take away anyone’s will, come hell or high water.

“I’m here to talk. To give you some options, and then to do what you want. If you want to come with me, you can. If you want me to get lost, I’ll never bother you again. Either way, it’s your choice.”

His eyes cast downward for a moment, and then he sighed. “Are you okay with a bit of a walk? There’s another cafe far enough away from here we should be safe.”

Rachel smiled, and there was warmth in it. “Lead the way.”

[leisurelypanda]

Here We Go Again chapter 16

Hazel was still brooding a week later. Actually, she became defiant. Refusing to do her homework unless one of them was there to make sure she’d done it. She refused to clean up after herself or eat at all unless she was really hungry. Michael had let her go hungry the first few times until she realized that refusing food was not going to sway him, especially after she had spilled hot soup on herself trying to reach the microwave. After that she just went to Michael to ask for food and he would either get up and reheat some food from that night or tell her to ask her father.

Not that she had apologized. Briar had tried on a couple occasions to get her parents to revoke their punishment so that Hazel would break out of her funk. Craig was tempted, but Michael assured him that she would get over it eventually. Amanda had behaved the same way once over something he couldn’t remember and had said the same things. It had been two weeks before she had come around again. No matter what happened between them, he was still her father. She’d come around eventually.

Still, Craig was a little down in the dumps himself. It didn’t help that he and Smashley had to leave for a week-long business trip in San Francisco. He delayed it for as long as he could, but eventually Michael told him to just go before he was in his third trimester and he was physically incapable of doing anything but eating, sleeping, and going to the bathroom without help. She had said goodbye before she had gone off to school that day, but she had still yet to apologize for what she said to him. And while Craig was still able to go about his business, Michael knew that it still hurt. Hopefully he would be able to get through to her in the week his bro was going to be gone.

They were quiet on the way to the airport. Craig had told him the details of the trip, but to be honest, Michael only followed some of it. He was a financial adviser. He could balance budgets and review stocks and give advice on investments and retirement funds and stuff like that. He knew next to nothing about sales and advertising and manufacturing and everything that Craig’s business did. Craig was good at his business, though, and Michael was proud of him and what he was able to accomplish.

“I’ll miss you,” he said as they stood embracing in the airport. He was crying a bit at the thought of Craig leaving for a whole week. It wasn’t his first business trip, but it was the first while he was pregnant. He would have to go to the doctor alone. Take care of the kids alone. Sleep in his bed alone. He had gotten used to Craig’s presence.

“I’ll miss you, too, bro,” Craig replied. “Don’t overexert yourself. Make sure the girls get their homework done. There’s plenty of leftovers in the fridge—”

“Thanks, superdad,” Michael interrupted. “I will, don’t worry.”

Craig gave a humorless chuckle. “Just… if she comes around while I’m gone, let me know,” he said as he pulled back. There were tears in his eyes. Michael rested a hand on his cheek.

“I will, I promise. Let me know when you land,” he replied.

Craig leaned down to kiss him gently on the mouth. “I love you, bro,” he whispered.

“I love you, too.”

They broke contact and Craig took his suitcase and began to cross the lobby to get in line. River began fussing around and Craig turned back around.

“Dada!” she cried. Craig scooped her up and left butterfly kisses on her cheek, making her giggle.

“You be good, tiny bro,” he said. Michael could tell he was trying to hold it together. He was trying to hold it together himself as he watched Craig hug River gently against his chest. After a few minutes, Craig handed her back to him and turned around to head back into line. He turned around again.

“I forgot to mention,” he said. “I asked my parents to come by and help you out while I’m gone. They should get there this afternoon.”

Michael’s mind raced with a mixture of relief and disbelief. He could, theoretically, take care of the kids on his own, but God was it going to be good to have some adults around to help him out. Especially grandparents, parenting pros.

“How did you forget to mention that?” he demanded. “Thank God!”

Craig just grinned. “Have fun,” he said. He turned around a walked away to get in line. Michael turned around and walked out of the building. If he watched him go, he would just start crying again and he really needed to avoid doing that until he got home. He waddled as fast as he could out of the building and got in the car. ******************************************************************************

Sure enough, as soon as he got home he noticed their car in the driveway. Considering they weren’t at the door, he assumed that they’d found the spare key. He walked up the porch with some difficulty. Great, he thought. Now I can’t even get up the stairs. With some effort and a lot of dependency on the railing, he managed to make it up the stairs and onto the threshold. He got into the house and leaned back against the door to catch his breath.

“Michael, there you are!” It was Courtney. She hastened over to him and helped him over to the living room. “You shouldn’t be on your feet, dear. Not at this time in the pregnancy.”

“I had to get Craig to the airport,” he said. “But thank you.”

Courtney helped ease Michael down onto the couch and scooted the ottoman over to him so he could put his feet up. He couldn’t help but lean back against the couch.

“Thank God Craig had the sense to call you,” he groaned.

“God knows neither of you is the sort to ask someone to help you out,” she replied. “I suspect he wouldn’t have if it weren’t for the fact that he can’t be in two places at once.”

“Guilty,” he replied.

“Now,” she said, standing up. “You hungry?”

“Starving,” he said. Bryce brought in a bowl of leftovers and gave it to him before he sat down in the recliner next to the couch to read his newspaper.

“Now son,” she said. “How have you been holding up?”

Michael told them all about how his second trimester had been going, how he’d had a few good days but overall still exhausted and sore. How he and Craig had been going to prenatal yoga classes to stay in shape but unless he was doing yoga with him, he could hardly walk anywhere without having to stop and take a rest every five minutes. He was extremely glad that he wasn’t having issues with his vision but he was nearly always hungry and never seemed to be able to get comfortable.

“I feel like I’m the size of a cow,” he said, sniffing. “They said that it would get easier during the second trimester, but I really just want to give birth so this will all be over.”

“I can’t imagine,” Courtney replied. “I was pregnant six times and some of them were rough but I never had to have two at once.”

“This is probably the universe’s way of punishing me for telling Joseph that anyone who voluntarily had more than two kids had to be insane,” he said. “Though that was before I knew he had four.”

Bryce chuckled from safely behind his newspaper. Courtney changed the subject. “Have you and Craig decided on names, yet?”

Michael wiped his eyes. “Not yet, but the list has been narrowed down,” he said. “Mostly because it turns out that nature themed names for boys are much harder to find than they are for boys.”

She rolled her eyes. “That boy,” she said. “Where he got this obsession with nature names is beyond me.”

“You mean you didn’t tell him that you wanted to be able to draw a landscape of your grandkids names?” Michael asked, teasing. “Why not? Who doesn’t want that?”

“Normal fucking people, you doofus,” she replied.

Michael gasped and placed his hands protectively over his stomach. “Hey, they’re supposed to be able to hear you now, you know,” he said, laughing. “They’re gonna come out of me cursing like sailors if you keep that up.”

Courtney laughed. “I would pay money to watch that happen.”

They talked for a while about whether Michael had a plan for the birth, which he did, but because he was 40 years old and having twins, the doctors were leaning towards a C-section. They talked about their converting the spare room into the new room for the twins. Which inevitably led to the fight between Hazel and Briar and the dramatic declaration of hatred. Courtney didn’t say anything, just nodded solemnly. There was no profanity, no sharp wit. Even Bryce closed his newspaper and set his hand in a steeple over his chest.

“Hazel’s been sulking ever since,” Michael said. He could feel the tears in his eyes forming again. “I want to think that we did the right thing, but it always sucked when Amanda did it.”

“It always sucks whenever anyone does it,” Courtney replied. “But the first time is always the worst.”

“I would just like to get through to her before Craig gets back from his trip,” he said.

“Well, I haven’t had a moody preteen in years,” Bryce chimed in, “but maybe we can figure something out. We’re grandparents, after all.” ****************************************************************

That afternoon, the girls got home from the bus and burst inside the house shouting for their grandparents. They ran into the living room where Bryce laughed and scooped them up in his traditional hug in greeting. Their backpacks flew to the floor as he swung them around. He set them down on the ground.

“Wait, what are you doing here?” Hazel asked. “I mean, it’s not our birthday or anything. Not that I’m not happy to see you, you know.”

“Your dad asked us if we could help out Michael around the house while he’s out on his business trip,” Courtney replied.

Hazel looked confused. “Dad’s on a business trip?” she asked. “When is he coming back? Why didn’t he tell us?”

“We told you several times, Hazel,” Michael said testily. “You always said you heard us.”

Hazel averted her eyes sheepishly but didn’t respond. Michael sighed.

“He’s coming back in a week,” he said.

“Do you think he’ll change his mind in a week?” she asked.

“No, not really,” he said.

“Why not?!” she demanded.

“Because,” he said looking her dead in the eyes. “It was my idea. I’m the one you need to convince.”

“But it’s not fair!” she shouted. “Tell him, Briar! Tell him it’s not fair!”

Briar looked like a deer in headlights, looking furtively between the adults in the room and her sister.

Poor kid, he thought. No one should have to be in her position.

“I…” she said. Hazel glared at her and she shrank back.

“I hate you all!” Hazel shrieked. She stomped off and ran up the stairs, making sure her stomps were as hard as she could muster. Briar collapsed against the couch and sighed. Michael cringed as he heard the door slam but he got up with some difficulty and walked over to Briar and put his hand on her shoulder. Courtney, meanwhile, followed her angsty granddaughter up the stairs.

“You okay, champ?” he asked.

“Yeah, it’s just…” she said. “Sometimes I just want to scream at her. Is that bad?”

“No, baby,” he said. “It’s normal to be frustrated with family sometimes. As long as you don’t take out those frustrations on them. It’s never okay to hurt the people you love.”

“Then why did you take her out of soccer?” she asked. “Isn’t that kind of hurting her?”

Michael thought for a moment. Damn it, why can’t kids ask easy questions?

He was saved by Bryce, who knelt down in front of her. “Briar, how did Hazel pretending to be you make you feel?”

“Bad,” she replied. “She always blamed me for everything that would get her into trouble.”

“And how many times did your parents tell her not to do that?” he responded.

“A lot,” she said. “Like, all the time. She never listened.”

“Exactly,” he said. “Hazel may not like being punished, but you don’t like taking the blame for what she does. Your parents don’t like getting calls from the school because you got in trouble for what she did. She didn’t listen, and now she has to live with the consequences. Do you understand?”

Briar sniffed but she nodded her head. Bryce smiled. “Good, now what do you say to some ice cream?”

Briar’s eyes widened and she smiled. “Before dinner? But won’t dad be upset?”

“Well,” Bryce said, straightening up to a standing position. “Don’t tell him. A little bit of ice cream when you’re sad never hurt anyone. Unless you’re lactose intolerant, I suppose.”

Briar giggled and followed him to the kitchen where he produced a half gallon container of chocolate ice cream. He put one finger to the side of his nose.

“Our little secret,” he whispered conspiratorially.

Briar laughed. “You got it, grandpa.”