#christ way way too much this is just a fucking avalanche of words a fucking ridiculous wall

[meta-squash]

i wish i could be more, idk, emotional?? with my friends? idk how to explain it. like idk my housemates can have like deep emotional conversations with each other and ask each other emotional questions and connect and talk and stuff and i just...can’t. i don’t do irl talking very well. i can write things down, especially to the void of the internet like this. but with people who know me, even my best friend, idk. but i feel like a bad friend for not asking questions and making sure people are okay and talking it out with them and stuff like that. idk how to do it even when i want to. my fucking shitty adhd brain just does not process emotion or conversation fast enough which is just the worst. i wish i had fast adhd brain so i could be quick and clever and good at conversation but instead i have adhd brain made of mush. so instead of quick i’m awkward and instead of clever i’m stupid and instead of being able to talk i’m bad at emotion and bad at expressing myself and stuff. i just wish i could have these conversations because i feel like a bad or like idk an inattentive friend or something for not being able to pay that kind of attention or ask those kinds of questions simply because i’m shit at expressing myself. like it’s not that i don’t care but idk how to go to people and be like how are you or like hi i miss hanging out with you or like hi we should just like chill and talk about shit because i’m not very good at doing that anyway. like i can’t really sit and talk about shit because my brain takes a while to think about things and figure out exactly what i want to say in a way that makes sense and the added pressure of doing that in front of someone is just. a lot. like if i’m typing or writing manually everything slots itself in pretty easily and quickly but transferring thoughts from my brain to my mouth is another beast altogether. i dunno like it’s winter in the pnw and most of the house is unemployed and there’s a pandemic on so everyone depressed as fuck but like most of the rest of the house is able to like idk talk about their depression and talk about their shit and express it and have conversations about it and stuff and i sit there and listen to them talk about it but i can’t chip in my own thoughts and feelings even if/when i want to. it just doesn’t happen. and idk i wonder if they think that i’m like not feeling as shit as they are or whatever because i don’t talk about it. but i literally just can’t. brain to mouth doesn’t work and idk even if i could do it over text. like talking to the void about this shit is one thing but talking to other people who know me about it is a whole other beast. i haven’t had a therapist or anything since grade school because my technique is just bottle it up and don’t really think about it or only vaguely mull it over and idk sometimes maybe write it down if it’s something that has sloshed around in my head for long enough or if it’s something that shoving at me hard enough that it just needs out. because put me in front of another human and tell me to express myself and it just freezes even if i wanted to. i don’t know. and like part of this is shit about me not being able to express my own feelings but like part of that is also how that’s part of closer friendship and i’ve never really been able to have a close friendship like that ever because people tell me stuff and i just absorb it but i can’t reciprocate. or i’m too awkward and walled up in the first place for them to even tell me stuff and they go to other friends in the group instead. i don’t even know what i’m saying at this point. and i know part of this thought process is affected by the fact that everyone in my house is super depressed right now because of the pandemic and the fact that we get like 2 hours of extremely grey barely there sunlight and all that stuff so no one is really hanging out or talking and stuff but idk. this friendship with my best friend is the longest i’ve ever been friends with a single person ever in my life and i’m just constantly mildly scared that we’re going to drift apart and i’m going to end up living alone and lonely and stupid and awkward and useless, especially because she has Big Dreams to go do stuff and i don’t have anything like that anymore. i don’t know. these feelings are complicated shit about being a good friend and being an awkward adhd person and being a lonely person and wanting to connect and not being able to and all this stuff but it’s just really frustrating. it’s just one of those things that all my life i’ve seen people have really close and intense friendships with each other and each time i’ve been a total outside or someone on the outskirts of the friendgroup and i’ve never connected with anyone like that and i’ve always wanted to and my best friend and i kind of had that when we were living in the same room together for two years but we’re in different rooms in the same house and she has her boyfriend now and idk. and also i’ve realized that she’s kind of the weird center of this group. like i probably wouldn’t have any other friends if it wasn’t for her, and idk if i would have connected with the people i live with if it wasn’t for her. i feel kind of bad because idk if she realizes it and idk if it would feel like a sort of burden to her or whatever to realize that she’s sort of the sun of this planetary system of the house. she’s the one with the gravitational pull and i think if she wasn’t there we’d just be like relative strangers hanging out in house together. i don’t know. i think this is also all wrapped up in the fact that i had essentially no real friends from second grade until junior year of high school and even when i did have friends i was that outskirts person. now i’m part of this group but like idk what that means and idk how to keep it if and when i see people connected better and more closely than i feel i’m able to even when i want to. and i want to i just don’t know how or if i can or whatever. i hear my friends talking about emotional shit or deep shit or whatever and i think about adding to the conversation but something stops me and i physically cannot make words come out. and it doesn’t feel like anxiety i don’t even know what it is. god this is just me repeating myself but with different words so i’m going to stop typing now because at this point it’s just a crap tream of consciousness that’s just going in circles.

[navegandoaciegas]

don’t feed it - it will come back

Pairing: Dabi x f!reader, Shoto Todoroki x reader

Warnings: 18+ only, smut, semi-public sex, quickie, tw:cheating, dabi identity spoilers, slight yandere!dabi?, AU where all events are the same except they happen when class 1A are Pros already so all characters are 21+, Dabi is not a villain yet.

A/N: title and lyrics by Hozier. Minors DNI.

Don't let it in with no intention to keep it, Jesus Christ, don't be kind to it, Honey, don't feed it, it will come back.

You smelled him before you saw him, seared flesh and ashes, expensive cologne to make up for the stench, the same perfume your boyfriend wore, and that you’d bought for Dabi so that Shoto couldn’t smell another man on you.

Dabi. Your addiction, your escape.

His mismatched lips were rough on yours. The staples that patched him together scratched your cheeks, grounding you to reality before you could get lost in your own head, too deep in that special space you shared with him.

“The hell you think you’re doing?”, you hissed, “I��m on patrol. What if Deku saw?”

You looked around the dingy alley frantically, hoping that your colleague would be busy poking his nose somewhere else. Unfazed as usual, Dabi offered you a lopsided smile, pressing his body against yours, marred forearms resting at the sides of your head, trapping you between him and the wall.

“If he saw,” he hummed, “he’d go tell his little friend how much of a slut his girlfriend is.”

You considered unleashing your quirk and blasting him into the opposite wall just to wipe that smirk off his scarecrow face. Dabi saw it in your eyes, and offered you a more gentle smile, mellow words to placate the fire in you.

“You’ve been mean,” he whispered, something resembling a pout twisting his disfigured face, “Avoiding me and all.”

You snorted at his antics, shaking your head. “I’ve been busy, ‘s all. Hero work. Patrolling, y’know, what I should be doing now.”

He didn’t relent, unbothered by your reluctance. “I waited for you the other night. Two whole hours and you didn’t show up. Didn’t even warn me that you wouldn’t come.”

“Shoto surprised me with a date.”

“Well, I’m surprising you now.”

He sounded like a child throwing a tantrum while looking like a devil himself, a dangerous glint in his turquoise eyes, skin stretched thin over his teeth, staples barely holding him in one piece.

He leaned over you, slow and tantalizing, hot breath fanning over your face.

Seeing him like this never failed to make your brain go haywire, duties forgotten, loyalty buried too deep to even feel guilty anymore.

Just like that first night together, when all the expectations burdening your shoulders had seemed too heavy to carry. When the shoes you’d have to fill had looked too big for you. Daughter of heroes, strong quirk, the public’s favor, a loving boyfriend.

People would have killed to be in your place, and all you’d wanted to do that night was to be someone else, someone whose life was not set in stone the moment they were born.

It had felt like such a dirty secret, blending in with the crowds of civilians on a Friday night, in need to experience all the things that you’d missed on. Clubs and alcohol, dancing with every man or woman that would grind onto you, it had all seemed so bright and liberating.

Then you’d met Dabi, and a drunken conversation on something you couldn’t recall on the cramped dancefloor had ended up in a hook up in the restrooms.

You’d silently cried yourself to sleep that night while Shoto slept peacefully beside you, red and white hair tickling you as he nuzzled his face in the crook of your neck.

Your mistakes had only escalated from there, something like an avalanche waiting to crush you, and the man you’d sworn you’d never seen again was the one holding you in his arms in this very moment.

You knew better than to give in, but you still did despite it, parting your lips while boring your half lidded eyes in his, letting him swirl his tongue around yours, toying with the metal bar on it.

You felt your body flush while his hands roamed over you, groping and kneading your ass, your hips, your tits through the elastic material of your flashy Hero suit.

“I bet you missed me too,” he chuckled, palming you between your legs, the heel of his hand pressing against your clothed lips.

Heat pooling in your belly, you ground your pussy on him, trying to relieve some of the tension in your fluttering cunt.

“Eager, are you? Todoroki Shoto doesn’t fuck you like you need?”

You rolled your eyes, catching yourself before you could moan in his ear.

“He fucks me just fine,” you groaned, fisting his stained white t-shirt, “Just make this quick, I got places to be,” you snapped, slotting your hand between your bodies, palming his bulge through his slacks.

“Brat,” he huffed, stifling a laugh, “and if he did you wouldn’t be humping my hand like a bitch in heat.”

Another warning glare and Dabi rolled his eyes, mumbling something about your over sensitive ass. You pulled him in a kiss to shut him up before your temper got the best of you.

He felt so different from athletic, sturdy Shoto. Slouched shoulders, thin arms, ribs dangerously poking through his emaciated skin. So frail and weak that he couldn’t even lift you in his arms to fuck you against the wall.

Maybe spending your formative years around men like Kirishima and Bakugou, and dating Endeavor’s son himself, had fucked up your standards beyond repair, and maybe Dabi was just a normal civilian with a regular body.

Whatever the case, the thought of your boyfriend was gone as soon as it flashed through your mind, and you hastily began fumbling with the buckle of Dabi’s belt. With a click it snapped open, and you undid his fly, reaching under his boxers. You pumped his hard cock, twisting the velvety skin up and down, thumb teasing his slit. You knew how feral he got when your promise ring rattled with his piercings, so you made a show of it, feeling him throb in your grasp.

“Fuck,” he grunted, hips snapping to fuck himself with your fist.

Teeth clattering, rough hands, his breathy panting in your ear, the arousal pouring out of you. Even the fear of Midoriya catching you drove you more insane than it should have, your walls pulsing in anticipation.

Scarred hands undid your own utility belt, shoving your spandex leggings down your thighs, sliding in your cotton panties.

“So wet for me already, and I barely even touched you?” he gloated, bony fingers spreading your arousal around your folds before dipping in, knuckles deep in your warm cunt, “Sucking me in, hm? You like being touched like this, fucked like a whore, don’t you?”

His thumb roughly toyed with your clit while the rest of his fingers flexed inside you, stretching you out, preparing you for his cock.

“Fuck- God, fuck me already, I don’t have all day,” you grunted, biting his upper lip.

He rolled his eyes then, glaring at you. “You sure know how to set the mood right, koneko-chan.”

He twirled you around then, pushing you flush against the wall, a hand on your shoulder, the other pumping his cock.

Your eyes almost bulged out of their sockets when you felt his tip prod at your entrance.

“You’re not fucking me without a condom,” you hissed, wiggling in his hold, angling your hips away from his.

“Please, just this time, I promise I’ll make it good for you,” he pleaded, shamelessly rutting against your ass.

“No fucking way, get a condom or you’re not getting any.”

“C’mon, just this once, I missed you so much, I wanna feel you all, feel your pretty pussy on my cock, please,” he whined, his hard on between your spread cheeks, “You should make it up to me anyways, y’know, for ghosting me, leaving me alone all night, waitin’ on ya. Wasn’t nice of you.”

You knew that when the blood drained from his brain and travelled to his cock, Dabi wasn’t his smartest. And you had to admit that you were curious to feel the piercings scattered on his dick pressing inside your cunt, eager to know if they really felt as good as he claimed they would.

But you knew better than to give in. Some risks just weren’t worth taking, and some things were better reserved in the intimacy between you and Shoto in some twisted, sick loyalty that you couldn’t bring yourself to breach.

“You’re not getting inside me without a condom, God only knows where you’ve been before,” you scoffed, tugging his hair to unlatch his leathery lips from your neck before he could leave a mark of his existence on you.

The smell of smoke, ash, and seared flesh you could explain. You made that work, somehow. You doubted that your boyfriend, as oblivious, trusting and lovestruck as he was, would mistake love bites for anything else, though.

“Less places than you have for sure, koneko-chan,” he snickered, trailing open mouthed kisses below your jaw, nipping your soft skin between his teeth, “The ladies aren’t lining up to get a taste of me, believe it or not.”

“Jee, I wonder why,” you deadpanned.

“You talk a lot of shit for someone who hops on my dick like it’s her job.”

“Shut the fuck up, Dabi-chan,” you laughed, no bite to your bark.

You were getting antsy with his insistence and with the prospect of Midoriya walking in on you getting railed like a cock drunk whore behind a dumpster by a sketchy guy while you should have been patrolling instead.

Not very heroic of you.

He relented then, and you heard the distinct crunching sound of foil being ripped open.

He rolled the condom down his length, and you bent over, forearms against the rough surface of the wall while he angled your ass and kicked your legs open wider.

“Just sayin’, you’re missing out on me.”

You couldn’t hold the moan that erupted out of you when he snapped his hips, slanting his cock inside your soaked cunt. Your walls sucked him in, stretching around his girth.

You were so pent up and aroused that you almost came at the feeling of him sheathing himself in you, filling you up to the brim. He gave a few tentative thrusts before setting a faster pace, sliding his cock in and out of you.

Your mewls and whimpers and the sound of his balls slapping your ass reverberated in the alley.

You knew that if anyone saw you, your career would be over. The media would have a field trip, and Endeavor would lay down his life to make sure you’d be shunned from society.

And fuck, if the risk didn’t make you clench on Dabi’s dick.

You could feel a bruise form on your tailbone where he gripped you, and a few scratches and shallow cuts on the back of your thighs where his belt dug into your soft flesh.

“Fuck, your pussy is so good, you fuckin’ slut,” he moaned, hand reaching between your legs to play with your swollen clit, “You love my cock, don’t you? You whore, you love being fucked like the bitch you are, hm?”

You gritted your teeth, nails digging into his scalp as you held onto his head, arching your back so his cock could hit deeper inside you, onto that spongy crevice that made pressure built fast and steady in your core.

“And you like being my toy, my pathetic little plaything at my beck and call, don’t you?”

He didn’t answer, clenching his jaw as he kept pounding into you, lips enveloping yours in a bruising kiss.

Sticky webs of drool covered your faces, mixing in with the blood that streamed down his face where the staples couldn’t hold him in place.

“I’m close, I’m so close, fuck-, go faster, yes, right there,” you moaned, feeling the knot in your lower belly get tighter with each drag of his cock against your walls.

“I-, I’m right here with you, babe, just let go, come on my cock, show me how good I make you feel. Fuck, show me he doesn’t fuck this pussy as good as I do, you were-, God, you were made for me-“

His rambling turned into low static to you while jolts of electricity travelled through your body, jerking your limbs as he continued fucking you through your high until he too came, chanting your name like a prayer.

You were the first to move away, wincing as his cock slipped out of your cunt.

Mind buzzing, you barely looked at him, hurriedly pulling your suit back on, adjusting the belt on your waist while Dabi tucked himself in, the small, blissed out smile gracing his handsome face soon twisting in something pained and darker when you scurried away without sparing him a second glance.

-

The low buzz of ambient music filled your apartment as you stepped in, and a pang of guilt stabbed your heart when you noticed the candles scattered around.

Shoto was on you as soon as you shut the door, a rare, gentle smile on his pretty round face, telling you about the improvised self care night he’d put together for the both of you.

He pressed a kiss to your lips, grimacing at the lingering taste of smoke on you.

“I know smoking helps you decompress, love. But maybe you could switch to electronic?” he asked, hopeful. You knew he hated the idea of you damaging your health as much as he despised the taste and smell of cigarettes.

The concern made your heart jump in your stomach, and when you grazed into his eyes, his turquoise eye, you almost startled yourself at the similarity of someone else’s.

Guilt was really playing tricks on your mind.

You pecked his cheek, reciprocating his smile.

“You’re right,” you sighed, hoping he wouldn’t notice the bitterness in your words, “Know what? I’ll try stopping smoking altogether for you, hm?”

-

Perched on the fire escape of the building facing yours, Dabi watched his little brother hold you tenderly, swaying you around in a clumsy dance.

He crushed the cigarette under his shoe, and rose to his feet, bile rising in his throat.

He willed himself to be patient, knowing that one day, when he’d burn down the world, he’ll be the one you’ll be dancing with through the flames.

—

Omg, this is my first time writing for a bnha character and I hope I did okay! Please let me know what you think of this! Your comments are what keeps me alive ❤️🥺

[thiswaycomessomethingwicked]

to make this horrible day a bit better I'm once again bringing grima topic. could you please tell us more about his magical abilities? boundaries of the possible, strange/creepy/interesting things?

ahhh I mean, having a day off is great - I'm super burnt out and a three day weekend on the government's dime is perfect. It's just you know, it's technically in celebration of Queen Victoria and like... can we just move it to a different day in May and make it a civic holiday or something? Rename it "summer is almost here, go forth and frolic in parks day" or something?

I just don't like hyping up Canada's colonialism and Victoria Day is one of those days. I think we should have a May holiday, but let's just keep it generic and less "woooo yay fireworks for Queen Vicky"

-

Oh man Grima's magic!

So in canon, it's implied that it exists - more so in the books than the movies. And what is alluded to is very, very traditional Norse (and some Anglo-Saxon) seiðr style stuff where words are powerful and Grima used them, plus potions and poisons, to confuse and befuddle Theoden. Which is so very seiðr in its nature.

And that's stuff only women did. So Grima, in canon, was doing women's magic (or you know, women's magic within our world). And a man doing seiðr is argr, that is, effeminate and you know, a dirty fag or whatever.

Something I find absolutely fascinating! because what is gender? A fool's game.

And, I think it's safe to argue that seiðr was absolutely a practice that occupied the border and liminal spaces of society's mores and practices. Which amplifies Grima's own marginality within Rohan.

(I have a lot of feelings on how Grima is positioned with regards to gender.)

-

For Swimming Through Fire I have it that he can do quite a bit of the seiðr stuff mixed with dashes of trollcraeft and galdorcraeft.

Therefore, in my world, Grima's abilities are as follows:

Can bend a person's will to his own (think Theoden)

Manipulate a person by causing madness, forgetfulness or by making illusions and the person falls for them (really an extension of the first bullet)

General knowledge of potions and poisons (we've only seen one fleeting glimpse of that in My Land is Bare, not much since then)

Channeling the dead and other sundry spirits

Make fire - he's lit candles and started flames with just touch. But that's it. There's no ability to summon like fire tornadoes or anything

Make things grow faster and bigger than normal - this was amplified by the presence of the old god in Helm's Deep. What happened there with the roots is not the norm for Grima. Mostly, he can speed up the growth of small batches of crops. But they taste a little funky.

Can change the weather and cause avalanches through weird trance stuff (possible done on top of a barrow). He doesn't know this is something he can do, as a note.

Recovering lost portions of a person's soul/mind - though like the weather changing skill, it's not something he's aware of.

He's no Gandalf, is what I'm saying.

Most of Grima's stuff is psychological and language focused. (Anglo-Saxon and early medieval Scandinavians had it that words were magic in themselves - you tell a man long enough that he is too old to rule, he will become that very thing etc.)

And for the language focused stuff, like with Theoden, it requires the person to already have their own issues to play off of. Grima taps into pre-existing issues and just amplifies them and makes them real in a way that they may not have been before. But it's a skill that doesn't work on everyone - like it works on Theoden, but it wouldn't on Eomer, it does on Eowyn but not Faramir, it would on Boromir but not Aragorn etc.

Denethor: Get your stupid greasy fingers out of my head.

Grima: How's your relationship with your father?

Denethor: gtfo.

Grima: Have you thought about the fact that you're perpetuating the same trauma he gave you onto your sons?

Denethor: o u t.

/Grima skidaddles down the hallway/

Grima also can do some rune-work but that's all pretty typical protective magic in its nature. Stick a rune on a mead horn and if it's poisoned it won't hurt you kind of thing (this shows up in the eddas and sagas a lot).

His main issue is that no one has sat down with him to figure out what skills were bestowed upon him and then taught him how to use them without utterly fucking up his body (namely his spine. That man's poor fucking back, it's a disaster area).

Grima's had the bad luck that those who are aware of his Skillset use him like a AA battery to amplify their own stuff - his mother, Saruman, the Old God (We Need A Name For Him Christ's Blood I say as the author).

-

For the trilogy we will see one or two more things from him, but the spooky possibilities that his powers hold are really untapped. One day there will be follow up where Eomer and him have to deal with some spooks and more of his range will come out and Eomer will be like PUT HIM IN AN IRON BOX WITH KOSHER SALT. I DON'T TRUST THIS.

Grima: . . . my magic doesn't work on you.

Eomer: DON'T TRUST THIS.

-

Thank you so much for the ask!! 💜💜 I love our spooky snake boy and his stupid magic.

[boop-le-snoot]

PARTY FAVOURS I CHAPTER 9

As promised, two chapters in one day! HBD to this trash rabbit. I just get thirstier with age.

Rating: Explicit.

‼️TW: Reader is EIGHTEEN! Recreational drug use, smoking and alcohol consumption, deeply internalised self-loathing, very questionable moral standards. Daddy kink taken half-seriously. BDSM themes in later chapters - explicit content will come with it's own TWs. FIRST PERSON POV. DRUG USE IN THIS CHAPTER. Just generally an uncomfortable vibe, thread carefully.

Summary: You're Peter's classmate, a child of rich and famous but uncaring parents. Getting paired up for a lengthy project with the boy was an interesting turn of events and you don't know whether to feel blessed or cursed when you develop, seemingly, a perfectly normal, harmless crush on Tony Stark. Fueled by feelings of inadequacy and boredom, your life spirals out of control - and you're lucky your newfound friends are there to pick up the pieces even if you cannot find it in yourself to believe these amazing human (and not so human) beings voluntarily give you more than a fleeting glance and an offhanded thought. And they brought cake!

A/N: Ooh, boy. This is a whole mess. Angst. [insert drugs owl meme]. Steve doesn't pass the vibe check yet again, stupid old man. Bruce + Tony be like: I CAN'T GET NO SLEEP CUZ OF Y'ALL.

My beta, whomst I love more than cake - @miscmarvelwritings . She's so beautiful though. And so smart. Wow.

The strobe lights pulsated to the rhythm of the music, bodies swaying, gyrating to the tune. The club was banging this time of night, people were living it up like there was no tomorrow. For me, in the VIP zone it was quieter, calmer, but no less exciting. The atmosphere here was distinctly different from the one on the main floor.

It was hard to wallow in misery even if it only took me an hour to stop resisting the gratuitous amounts of white powder on the silver platters. "It's better when you're there to watch them, they'll do it anyway but at least you can know that they're getting the good stuff!" My idiot father proudly announced, looking at me snorting a line through a rolled up hundred dollar bill.

Whiskey and vodka wasn't doing it for me. It made me feel low and Dad, being Dad, of course noticed it and immediately called a guy who knew a guy and suddenly all of his friends and their baby-faced companions had white under their noses. Cash flew like autumn leaves.

As I went out to the main dance floor to get a closer look at Billie Eilish in all of her edgy, beautiful self, the drug hit me like an avalanche. No trace of the grogginess or the mortification that had hitched a ride on me from Stark tower. I danced and sang and saw dad smiling at me in approval, his equally high and important friends all wearing identically predatory smirks. They were good at spotting the obvious - beauty, talent, money. I had no qualms about the fact that dad was off bragging about my close relationship with Tony. If my father was feeling particularly bold, he'd be telling them he knew and encouraged it all along, his buddies pretending to believe the white lie in turn.

I had exchanged my pants and sneakers in favour of a skirt and fishnets with high heels combo, a decidedly inappropriate attire for a daughter having a family night with her father but he insisted I dress trendy. I loved my dad, I really did, and I knew he meant well - I'd definitely be out of place amongst these TVscreen worthy people in my jeans and sneakers but...Tony was one of those people, and he had never ever said anything bad about the way I dress. Even when I obviously and purposely put on obscene clothing just to get a rise out of someone.Tony just smiled and played along.

Tony Stark was the heartless asshole here? Really, press? Really, haters?

"Standing there, killing time, can't commit to anything but a crime..." I sang along quietly as I hurried back to the VIP area. My dad was standing up and so were a couple of his buddies. "Where's ya goin'?" I asked, taking a seat.

"Be right back baby girl, if you find better company then go on without us," Dad winked, throwing a totally nasty glance at one of the girls. She was not much older than me but her body was stick thin and bolt-ons and Botox were her two best friends. She gave me a dirty look and I returned it, extending a waiting hand towards my dad. He chuckled, depositing a neatly rolled stack of hundreds into my palm.

"Dad, I want a new purse," I whined, just a tad. Just to see the girl's eyes go wide with acrid envy. Dutifully, another couple of stacks landed in my palm without any objections and the company retreated towards the back door.

I sighed.

Fiddled with the straw of my drink a bit, contemplating my options. I could always ditch this party and go somewhere more active, somewhere with better music and kinder people.

"Ay, baby girl, you wanna party with us?" A tall, handsome man from dad's previous company approached me. "We'll have some fun." He maintained a respectful distance but the intentions were clear.

"Nope," I popped the sound, not even sparing him a glance. A few lines of cocaine stared at me from the table beckoning with a better high, a stronger sense of euphoria, confidence and energy to dance, to sing, to be happy. I picked up one of the discarded banknotes, quickly rolling it by a sheer force of habit and cleaning up the tray. One line.

"Holy shit, is that..."

Two lines.

"The fuck?!" I recognised that voice. I have been hearing it every day in the labs, I've been hearing it in my dreams.

Tony was gaping at me, in front of me.

"Hey, Tony. Fancy seeing you here." Any other time, I'd be cringing at my lame greeting but I was feeling way too good to care about trivial things like being clever or being appropriate.

"I was looking...for you," He slowly said, putting a single finger on the tray with the last line of coke and pulling it out of my reach.

"That's funny," I snorted, hastily wiping at my nose to cover the tracks of my very bad, very immoral, very illegal activities.

"It's not, Princess, it's not funny at all," He frowned. "C'mon, we're leaving." And extended his hand. I decided to follow along - there was nothing for me to do at this club anyway, the music was lame and the people were stuck-up.

"I look like a prostitute, Tony, I'll take the back door," I attempted to pull him towards the aforementioned but he didn't budge, just stared straight ahead and towed me along like he was wearing one of his iron suits under the stylish jeans and tee get-up.

He stopped in front of the exit, giving me a critical once over. Wiped my face, again, brushed my hair back. Gave me his shades - I dutifully put them on, figuring the manic look in my eyes was anything but attractive right now. "Jesus Christ, Princess," He sounded desperate. "You're beautiful, don't you fucking worry."

And we made our exit, arm in arm, me trying not to stumble in my high heels, Tony being my rock, my solid foundation. In other words, I was hanging onto him for dear life trying not to fall over and give a reason for a sneaking paparazzi to make a scandalous headline.

"You're doing great, Princess," Tony helped me into his Tesla, slamming the door behind me and hurrying towards the driver's door. I managed to unclasp and kick off my shoes, curling up comfortably into the passenger's seat.

I watched the man as he started the engine and watched him wrestle with whatever personal demons that tormented him as he peeled off and raced into the Friday night city.

"What in the everlasting fuck..." He started, stopping abruptly mid-sentence. "How did you even get in there?"

"I came with dad. He literally ditched me to fuck some whore, like, twenty minutes before you showed up." I shrugged, eyeing the modified panel of the car. It was very obviously Tony's own design. I wondered if he could introduce me to Elon Musk someday.

"What the fuck? And correct me if I didn't hear you clearly," Tony pinched the bridge of his nose. "Your father took it upon himself to drag you to a club, get you drunk, gave you cocaine and fucked off with some groupies?"

"Yah, that's about it. My dad is all about cocaine and whores, the more the better," I replied, leaning in to take a closer look at the car's panel. "Hey, could, like, introduce me to Elon Musk someday? That would be fuckin' awesome."

Tony went eerily quiet, I saw his knuckles on the steering wheel go white. Vague expletives were muttered under his breath. "I'm guessing you're good on sleep?" He finally asked through gritted teeth.

"Sleep? Don't know her," I laughed. "I wanna dance, Tony."

"Of course you do, Princess." His smile was tired and forced and full of pity. "You know, I don't think I'll be able to sleep now, either," He admitted, taking a sharp left. "How about we get some McDonald's and camp out in my lab?"

"Sure, whatever," Not like I had much choice in the matter. What I really craved was a good, long, hard fuck (by Tony himself preferably) but if science calls... I have no choice but to comply. "Get me two Big Macs," I demanded least he try to joke and get me a Happy Meal or some shit.

He did get me the food without any usual grumbling. I didn't like this Tony. Tired Tony, sad Tony, angry Tony. Wrong Tony.

"Huh?" He said and I realized I'd said the last part out loud.

"I don't like a sad Tony,” I said. "It's the wrong kind. Sassy, snarky and perpetually caffeinated Tony is the best Tony. The only proper kind, in fact." I stated with seriousness, shoes dangling from one hand and my McDonald's in the other. Man, I have been seeing more and more of this god-damned elevator recently.

"You're high as a kite, darling," He chuckled then, a real laugh.

"Who's high?" Bruce's voice came from the kitchen.

In a state of blind panic, I jumped behind Tony. "Not me."

Tony palmed his face.

Steve came over from the fridge, leaving the rummaging to Bucky. He took one look at me and suddenly I felt small, insignificant like an ant. I didn't like it much. "Holy hell, the fuck happened? Tony, explain." The Captain demanded, giving me the world's biggest stink eye.

"It's her piece of shit of a father, dragged her off to some night club and left her hanging with his buddies, fucking off god knows where. It's not her fault so lay the fuck off, Rogers, with your self-righteousness," Tony exploded all over Steve, the pent up frustration rearing it's ugly head.

I mustered enough courage to tiptoe around the dick measuring contest to sit at the counter. My appetite was gone and my burgers were turning colder and soggier with every passing second. Just like my life.

"Hey, Princess," Bruce's gentle voice halted my train of thought. He approached me carefully, ignoring the men behind me in favour of simply wrapping me up in a quiet, comfortable hug. "You feel alright? Want some water?"

"Nu-uh," I mumbled, unwilling to part ways with the warmth of this embrace.

"... Steve, I found her snorting miles of coke all by herself while an some jackass was waiting for her to be even more out of it. It's rare that I say this but I had literally zero words." Tony punctuated his words by tapping his fist against the wall multiple times.

Bruce tightened his hold on me, a sudden influx of strength accompanied by a quiet, low growl in his throat.

I felt the sudden need to clarify the situation. "Tony, chill. It takes me a lot more to be out of it, I'm fucking coherent and I'm talking sensibly. It's not my first rodeo."

Apparently I'd gone and said the wrong thing because all the men in the room were suddenly growling. I even totally forgot about Bucky who had the uncanny ability to exist in a room without making absolutely any sort of noise.

"The fuck do you even mean by that, Princess?" Tony screeched, probably already knowing that answer.

"From one rich kid to another, you should damn well fuckin' know," I spat, unwilling to admit my misery.

He sighed, audibly deflating behind me. I refused to listen to him, refused to be humiliated and exposed like that for my perfectly human desire to be happy. To not be a disappointment, to not be disappointed in everything and everyone. Bruce was nice and kind and warm and selfless but even he couldn't love me the way I wanted to be loved. Cherished, taken care of. All that mushy stuff. I was selfish, so I snuggled in closer to him, muting the world around me, replacing it with the smell and feel of him.

Cocaine made it a whole lot easier to imagine. Maybe that's why it was so addictive.

"Guys, calm down, you're stressing everyone out," Bruce rumbled quietly. I loved the way his deep voice seemed to reverb throughout his chest.

"Get me a cup of coffee, would you, Buckaroo?" Tony sighed again. I heard the sound of him slurping at his coffee. I heard Bucky's metal arm clunk against something equally metallic before the supersoldiers bid everyone good night and walked off.

Only then I removed my face from Bruce enough to take a good look at Tony. He was eyeing me, too.

"We have a caffeinated Tony," I said, softly. "Now we just need some science to have a happy Tony."

He smiled but it came out watery. He wanted to say something but choked on his words. "C'mere," He finally said, turning in his chair and opening his arms.

I unashamedly made grabby hands, the universal gesture for ‘I want, gimme’, and Bruce delightfully deposited me into Tony's waiting arms. It was like my birthday and Christmas came out all at once. Tony's embrace was warm, like Bruce's, but tinted with an unexpected familiarity. He smelled like motor oil and fancy cologne. It was heavenly.

"You keeping tabs on me, huh? Coffee, science and sass? That's your recipe for happiness?" The engineer asked me, a seriousness that didn't match the joking tone of the conversation at all.

"I think I got you figured out. Peter, too, is important for happiness. But in controlled amounts," I said, giving it a careful thought.

Tony chuckled, sounding a little bit shocked. "What about you?" He said after a brief moment of silence passed, interrupted only by Bruce's tea kettle coming to a slow boil.

"I don't think you need me for happiness," I said, meaning it. "But let's be honest, I'm a nice addition."

He stilled under me, briefly. Bruce cleared his throat.

"Brucie needs me, I think. He's lonely," I told Tony with a sudden influx of desire to be completely honest and 100% transparent. "And it makes me happy, because I need Bruce too. He's the best," I finished.

"Is that so?" Tony sounded vaguely tearful so I attempted to pull back to take a good look at his face. He didn't let me though, gently but firmly pressing my face back into his chest. "And me?"

"I do need you, Tones," I admitted without spilling any unnecessary details.

There was a child within me, small and scared and lonely, like Bruce. I hated her, hated being so soft and needy when everybody else obviously (and understandably) was busy with figuring out their own lives. I wished, desperately so, to just boom-boom-whoosh her away like Doctor Strange magicked away unwanted visitors.

Tony said nothing but his hands betrayed him. They shook and they held onto the skimpy see-through fabric of my top like he was a drowning man and I was his only floatie. For the moment, I closed my eyes and let myself believe he needed me, too.

"I'll catch a wink or two, wake me up if you need something," Bruce broke the silence, having finished off his tea. I didn't notice the time pass so quickly, too lost somewhere between here and there and Tony. In short, I was being lovesick all over the billionaire.

"Bwucie," I leaned backwards, pushing until Tony caved and let me rest my back against the counter, elbows on top of it, legs dangling freely on the sides of his legs. It put a lot of me on display. Tony had called me beautiful earlier so none of my usual habits of being appropriate around the man concerned me. He thought I was pretty!

"Princess," Banner came over to wrap me in a hug that was quite awkward, considering the fact I was sitting on Tony. It took some maneuvering to get it right.

"Night night," I said the usual and got a brief kiss on the cheek before Bruce shuffled off, yawning.

Tony was watching us with an unreadable expression. As soon as I turned my head to look at his face instead, something in him changed. His eyes grew big and round, the crease between his eyebrows disappeared. The corners of his mouth tilted up.

On a sudden impulse, I reached over to run my palm gently over the neatly trimmed line of his beard, following from his chin to his jawline, to his soft tousled hair. His eyelashes shook, fluttered, as the engineer leaned into my touch with the grace of a cat. "Kiss him, kiss him" my brain chanted. I knew I was a coward, I wouldn't do that. "Pretty," I said instead, the word coming out in a whisper.

He gulped, audibly. "Princess, you have no idea..." Shaking his head, as if he was surrounded by a swarm of mosquitoes, Tony briefly looked away. "You have no idea what you're doing."

"Nope," I agreed solemnly. "But at least it feels good. It feels right."

"God," He frowned, one of his hands coming to nervously card through his hair. "Nothing about this is right."

My face fell. Just like I thought, Tony wanted exactly nothing to do with a clueless little teenager. It stung and tears pooled in the corners of my eyes where I stubbornly refused to let them escape and make me into a crybaby. "Whatever you say, Tony." I was ready to agree with anything he said, really, if he would just keet holding me like that.

"Don't," He raised a palm. "Don't close yourself off like that."

Now I was genuinely confused. What exactly did he expect from me? I shrugged.

"You're clever, brilliant and beautiful, you can and should do so much better than all of this," He vaguely gestured towards me, towards himself, towards us and the whole damn city.

I contemplated my answer, briefly. "A lot of people tell me what I should and shouldn't be doing. Don't I get a say?" The bitterness had fought its way out and won. "I just want to be happy for a bit. All the usual bullshit."

He looked taken aback, really. Like he hadn't even considered the option. Typical.

Meanwhile, I continued my word vomit. "I want someone to give a damn about what I want and what makes me happier. Until then, I have no other choice but to take care of myself the best way I know how. Like everybody else does," The weight of his arm landed on my waist, pulling me close to his chest yet again. I didn't resist. No fight left in me. The tiredness seeped deep in my bones, chilly.

The sudden change of altitude startled me. The engineer had picked me up and started walking off towards the elevator, directing it to the lab. His personal lab. The tiles felt cold under my feet where he put me down to make his own beeline for the bar. I would've joined if not the drug in my system - the last thing I wanted was to land in a hospital yet again.

I took the moment to browse my social media, untag myself from all the unflattering pictures, post my usual shitpost. A tiny skirt, equally tiny top and fishnets - I felt out of place in his lab although I've worn more outrageous things previously. I was raw, torn open, bleeding my misery all over the room. That was not in my plan, but then again, when did ever life go as you planned it?

THE TAG LIST IS NOW OPEN! @another-stark-sub ​ @mostly-marvel-musings  @vozit @littlegasps @pilloclock @shereadsinquiet @downeyreads ​ @hermione-grangers-wife ​ @individualistfem ​ @as-i-layhereinyourbed @sleep-i-ness @gigglyfox01

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[waywardwrestlewritingwaif]

Raise the Stakes, Part 6

Moving right along...

Don't forget to read Place Your Bets and the first 5 part of Raise the Stakes, which you can find in the Master List.

Pairing: David Finlay x OFC x Jay White

Word count: 2,031

Content advisory: sexual references, cursing, giant dump trucks of angst and hurtfulness

There is nothing weird about this, you tell yourself. This is what adults do. They acknowledge their mistakes and achieve some kind of closure that leaves everyone a little sadder and wiser, but also peaceful.

“Yeah, idiot,” you murmur out loud, “that’s why you’re standing here scared shitless of a door.”

You have to knock. You have to do this. You’re so worked up you feel nauseous.

The last few days have been awful. You’d slunk around under a dark cloud of shame and guilt, which was only emphasized by the fact that Jay had been as cheery and relaxed as you’d ever seen him in his life. He was funny and attentive and you hadn’t been able to enjoy any of it because there wasn’t an atom in your body that felt like you deserved it.

Even worse, as you’ve been dragging yourself around work, you’ve been trying to get caught, wandering around where you’re going to run into David Finlay. It’s only half-conscious but you feel like if you could just get him to say something, scream at you, dump all the scorn and abuse you so richly deserve on your shoulders, it might actually make things better.

But as much as you’ve tried to worm your way into his path, Finlay hasn’t so much as glanced. It’s a conscious effort on his part. It has to be. But the only look he’s given is still that awful, gutting one you got when he’d reappeared in Japan and seen you on Jay’s lap,,,

Perhaps you wouldn’t be quite so shaken up if things hadn’t seemed a bit tense with Jay earlier. He’d headed out to go to dinner and clubs with some wealthy New Japan sponsors, something you knew usually meant hitting hostess clubs and all manner of other things. Yes, you were thrilled that it finally gave you the chance to force contact with David, but it also seemed creepily reminiscent of the way your life had been before Jay had suddenly decided to romance you.

You are not here because you’re insecure about Jay. You are here because if you don’t talk things out at least a little with David, it’s going to kill you. You’re grownups. You can have a serious, respectful conversation where you apologize for everything you’ve done wrong.

Finally, you grit your teeth and knock on the apartment door.

It swings open and there he is, a look of utter disbelief on his face for a second before he rolls his eyes.

“Oh you have got to be fucking kidding me.”

He immediately walks away and back into his apartment but since he doesn’t slam the door in your face, you slip inside it and watch as he cleans up the remains of what appears to be a home cooked dinner. It smells nice.

“I didn’t know you cooked,” you offer meekly.

He doesn’t even bother to turn around. “What do you want?”

He couldn’t sound any less interested.

“I want… I owe you an apology. I mean, I wanted to say that I’m so sorry-“

“Good, ok, message delivered,” he snaps. “Trust you can show yourself out.”

“David, please, I just want to tell you how awful I feel. I never meant for things to get so screwed up and I know that it’s my fault. I’m just so sorry.”

He shifts to the sink and starts washing his hands, way too vigorously.

“Yeah, I heard you the first time.” You can see his shoulders shudder a little and it breaks your heart. All you want to do is hug him and tell him over and over that you feel horrible.

“Bye.” His voices rises enough that you can hear the anger in it.

There’s a wisp of hair that’s fallen over his face and you have to restrain yourself from walking over and brushing it out of the way.

“Can you just look at me, please?”

From what you can see of his face, he looks furious.

“I don’t want to look at you. I don’t want to have to see you at work. I don’t want to smell your perfume. I don’t want to hear your self-important, grating little voice.”

He wipes his hands and throws the dish towel down with a vengeance before he finally turns and meets your eyes.

“And what I really don’t want is to have you here in my home, the place where I’m supposed to be able to relax and clear my head, putting on this little contrite performance so that you can feel better about yourself.”

“That’s not fair.”

He lets out a painful sort of laugh and stares at the floor. “You are unreal, lady. I mean the ego on you-“

“I wouldn’t be here if I… I know you hate me and I deserve that but I want you to understand…”

He brings his hand to his head, pinching his temples like he’s fighting a migraine.

“I know how this looks terrible but it’s like I got hit by an avalanche.”

“I wish you had.”

The line almost makes you laugh out loud because it’s like something you’d say in the same circumstances.

“He just showed up and started freaking out because he saw us together the day before and I should have just tried to stop things but it just all escalated and I’m not trying to say that this isn’t my fault because it is.”

He holds up his hand, frowning and obviously trying to work through what you’ve just said.

“He told you that he saw us together the day before?”

“Yes, and it was like he thought this was some huge betrayal-“

“When did all this escalation happen exactly?”

Your jaw drops as you realize that you’ve just made things much worse.

“I don’t know, I guess it happened pretty quickly.”

“Like what, the day after I left?”

You move your mouth but you can’t make words come out.

“Jesus Christ, it wasn’t even that long, was it? You were probably riding his dick before I was even on the goddamned plane.” He breaks down in a mirthless, disquieting laughter. “Here I’ve been thinking that he was working on you and just wore you down. Son of a bitch didn’t even have to do that.”

“I’m sorry,” you whimper, starting to choke up. “I’m just-“

“So very sorry, I got it. I am not hard of hearing. Might be a bit naive and terribly fucking stupid, but yeah, the hearing is just fine.”

You feel like you’re about to crumple, like even your skeleton is so revolted that it wants to get away from you.

David shakes his head and stares at you, clear-eyed. “You are just pathetic. You know he doesn’t love you. You know this ends with you crying yourself to sleep at night because he’s right back to being the same person he’s always been.”

You feel like you’re on fire. “Alright, you’re hurt and you want to hurt me. I get it. But you know what a lousy thing that is to say.”

“It’s good that you’re back with him. You deserve each other.”

You clench every muscle in your face, determined not to start crying until you’re out the door. You think about the way he looked at you when you had breakfast together and wish that you could go running back to that man.

“No, really. It’s good,” he continues. “Because at least if the two of you are together, the rest of us are safe.”

There’s a long, painful silence before he speaks again.

“Great talk. Thank you for coming here to make sure I know that there was not one ounce of sincerity in anything you said to me, that what happened with us was just your way of getting Jay all riled up and possessive.”

Now it’s you who can’t look him in the eye. You keep mumbling apologies like a mantra, hoping that somehow you can break through this thorny armour he’s donned. Very slowly, head bent in shame, you make your way towards him, unsure what you’re trying to accomplish.

With every step, you expect him to scream at you but when he doesn’t, you move just a little closer. This is it. You’ve lost your goddamn mind. Just once more, you want to experience that profound sense of safety and calm you’d gotten on the two occasions when you’d curled up in bed with him. It’s all destroyed now, of course. You destroyed it. But you keep approaching, your eyes riveted to that perfect space in his shoulder where your head fits so perfectly. You’re close enough that you can feel the radiant heat from his body, the wave of his breath in your hair.

Lightly but insistently, he puts his hands on your shoulders so that you know to stay where you are.

“If there is anything I can do to make this even a little bit better… I know I can’t fix it but if I thought we could at least be… human to each other. Anything at all, I’ll do it.”

“Ok,” he murmurs.

The pressure of his hands on your shoulders grows a little heavier and his lips drift down so that you feel his calm breath against your ear. Your entire body feels electric.

“Here it is,” he whispers. “Get the fuck out of here and never come back.”

You straighten up and fall back a step, hoping you haven’t heard him correctly.

He nods a little. “Now.”

*

You sit on the tiny square of iron and cement that passes for a balcony in your building, knees pulled up to your chest, slowly smoking your way through the “safety pack” of cigarettes you keep in the freezer. You haven’t smoked regularly since college but there are moments when your body just demands it to function.

It’s just as well that Jay’s out entertaining and being entertained because you can’t make yourself think about anything but David. The idea that someone is out there hating you that much is bad enough, but that it’s him, someone you like… someone you’ve always liked. Every time you think of the things he said, the knife twists in your gut a little harder. Some of it was too much, no matter how hurt he was, but very little of it was wrong.

Maybe if the two of you had met up in a place where Jay White didn’t exist to trigger all your insecurities.

The worst part is the sense that you’ve been permanently dismissed, that what happened tonight was the end. You know that you should respect his wishes but you’re already thinking of ways you could trap him and make him speak to you. And you’re very aware that the way you’re thinking is creepy.

It’s ridiculous. You’re getting lavished with attention by the man you’ve been hung up on for years. Maybe he even wants this to be a relationship. But at the moment you feel gutted because the man you dropped to get to where you are now has indicated he doesn’t want to speak. Theoretically, you’re in a great position but it feels like you have nothing.

You’d like to think that you’re just crazy and you just want to find something to be anxious about, or you have a self-destructive compulsion. But that feels like it would be letting yourself off easy, claiming that you couldn’t be any other way, even if you tried. Maybe you can’t be any different here in Japan, isolated and constantly in the presence of the guy who’s been holding your leash for six years. In another universe, where you’ve made different decisions and learned from your mistakes, maybe you would be the sort of girl who could meet someone like David Finlay and revel in the way you feel about him and the way he felt about you.

But your reality is that you are here. You are in this strange position with Jay. And David, who seemed to smitten with you just a few weeks ago, never wants to speak to you again. Nothing you can do to change that. Right?

[horrorslashergirl]

Hunter meeting Hunter

A Xaviera Lah-Mo and Andrei Kulokova Story Chapter 1

Authors Note: Do I hear OC x OC bells? Maaaaaaybe~ This is a story starting my OC Xaviera with @the-slasher-files​‘s OC Andrei and how they meet and all the adventure and of course....murder, because they are killers. Many thanks to @the-slasher-files​ because this story couldn’t have been made without her help.

Xaviera Lah-Mo belongs to me

Andrei Kulokova belongs to @the-slasher-files​

Warning: The following story below contains murder and death, because our killers love it.

Words: 2.0k

Winter in Himalaya was definitely cruel and oh so very cold, below freezing, everything was covered in pure white, the snow that if you weren't equipped adequately, would freeze your extremities like feet and hands.

That wasn't a problem for Xaviera since it wasn't her first time in Himalaya. For her, it felt like visiting her grandparents, who sadly died a long time ago. Her icy blue eyes took in the scenery; the quietness, the tranquility, she felt like she was home, but right now she didn't have time for basking in what Mother Nature had to offer, because the snow-white haired woman had a mission and just like an Apex predator, she was set to fill it to the end perfectly.

She was currently laid on her front on a low ridge, camouflaged in the snow, like Snow Leopard, her eyes trained on a small group of three poachers. This wasn't her principal mission for why she came to Himalaya, but when life gives you a chance at hunting to balance the ecosystem, you take it and that's what she does.

They are marching through the snow in the clearing of the forest, her eye looking at them from the telescope of her sniper rifle, her finger hovering on the trigger, waiting like an animal in hunting for the perfect opportunity to strike.

She was just going to do that, but she felt like something was off, like someone else was there; a feeling she got after years of observing animals. Her blue eyes left the poachers only to see something moving behind the trees.

A man.

Her lips were pulled into a thin line; that she didn't expect. Was he with them? What was he planning?

Before she could ask herself any more questions, the sound of a gun shooting meets her ears. The man just shot one of the poachers, not deadly, but enough to make said wounded man yell in pain.

Fuck, that didn't happen before and her first instinct told her to take care of the poachers; that was her job and she just did that. It only took one minute to fatally wound them, seeing their bodies drop on the snow, white turning scarlet.

Her gaze averted from the killed poachers to the man, only for him to be gone. Xaviera gulped down, still hiding in place, blue eyes scanning the area for any movement, not daring to move an inch from her hiding spot.

Where had he gone? She tried to peak her ears up for sounds that might give away his location, but nothing.

Another instinct followed, screaming at her to run the hell out of there and she quickly did that, strapping her sniper rifle on her back and getting off from the cold blanket of snow, marching off the ridge, only when she reached the bottom, she saw a silouethe from the corner of her eyes.

It was him, he was standing there on the entry of the forest that surrounded them.

It was like two animals coming face to face, neither of them moving an inch, waiting for the other to make the first move, which the man did. He just stared at her, like a predator that saw potential prey, and then he took off into a sprint in her direction.

This was bad. Xaviera had no combat skills what so ever and she knew she was no match for the tall and imposing stranger, who looked around 6'5 or so. She was only 5'4 for Christ Sake.

She did the first thing that came to mind; running, taking off into the opposite direction, straight up into the dense snowy forest. She wasn't one for brute strength, but she made it up with being an agile and fast runner, but just like the cheetah that was for small distances because she quickly lost speed.

She remembered the dart bows with venom in the pocket of her winter jacket. She may not pack deadly muscles, but she sure packs a sneaky and venomous attitude under the thick winter clothing.

She brakes to a halt and looks straight into the eyes of the man, who was just a few feet away from her, coming to a stop too, looking skeptical at her. Her hand was ready to throw the darts at him, aiming for the neck.

"One more step and you're dead. I don't suppose you would want a dose of Russell's Viper venom into your bloodstream. Even if you survive the venom, the effects are life-long term." she threatened him, getting into a defensive pose.

He looked like one of these big gray wolves that are really to pounce into the kill and that's what he did, dodging her venomous darts with precision, her blue eyes meet his own, and pain shot through her back as her rifle dug into her back.

He pinned her on one of the trees, both her hands in one of his so much bigger ones. She couldn't even move her hands an inch, that's how much power this man exhumed, and by the feeling of his grip, she knew he could break her wrists in a matter of seconds.

He had light brown hair in a faux hawk hairstyle and his eyes resembled hers a little in color, that icy blue. He also had scars, one on his right cheek, the other going from his forehead down to his left cheek, and another on the bottom of his jaw. What really caught her attention were his sharp K9s.....resembling so much of a wolf.

She looked up at him with eyes that would resemble a fierce cat, her lips pulled into a snarl, just like a cornered animal, hissing at him to let her go. His free hand moved slowly to her cheek, stroking the soft, cold skin with his rough one.

"Easy little mouse, easy...." he cooed, making alarm bells ring in her head, trembling like an animal that was ready to strike and she was ready to smash his precious jewels with her knee, only for a loud sound to pull on both their attention.

Xaviera's eyes widened as she saw the avalanche coming and they were done for, she blacked out as the snow-covered them. When she did woke up, she panicked and trashed, digging up to get out of the snow and breath, adrenaline coursing through her tiny body.

When her head peaked up from the snow, she took a deep breath, surprised even herself that she managed to survive this. Her eyes looked around and noticed one hand peeking up from the snow.

She stumbled on shaky legs there, digging the man from under the snow. One shaky hand checked his pulse; still alive, but unconscious and as she looked over his body she noticed that he had a deep gash on his biceps and his ankle was twisted.

'Just let him die and get back to the cottage.' That's what she first thought, but she also felt a sense of pity wash over her.

'Why help him? He was probably going to slice and dice you on the spot there.' She debated what to do.

He resembled so much more than a human, almost like he was at a moment a wounded wolf that she spotted in the snow. She groaned, her soft spot getting to her.

Finally deciding, she tried to put one of his arms over her shoulder to balance his weight, which wasn't an easy deal, because he was tall and very heavy and she was like a shrimp compared to him.

Her eyes took in the sky, signaling her that night was close and it was going to snow.

To say the least that the marching to her cottage was a challenge would have been an easy saying, it drowned all her energy, but her hope sparked up when she saw her salvation.

She got him inside and with her last effort, she dragged him upstairs to the bedroom. All she wanted was to sleep and recharge herself, but that was a luxury she couldn't afford at the moment. She needed to start the fire to heat up the cottage, treat his wounds, and hers; the ice really felt like blades.

Going downstairs, she put the logs inside the fireplace, lightening it up, rubbing her hands together, absorbing the heat the flames provided. Going back upstairs with a medical kit, she looked over his wounds; more urgent than hers, so she started to work, making sure to disinfect everything, especially the deep gash on his biceps, then stitching him up, her eyes looking over his naked torso, big scars littering it; from battles, assaults?

Just who was this man?

Finishing with him, she started to treat herself, hissing as she picked up tiny rocks and ice from her scratches on her forearms; she was absurdly lucky that she got off so easy from this disaster.

While she had patched him up, she got all his weapons off him; no way was she going to leave all the arsenal on him to kill her when he wakes up. She set all his weapons downstairs neatly, putting his big winter jacket and boots to dry off.

She was so hungry, but the need for sleep called louder, so she sat down on the fluffy blanket in front of the fireplace, letting her eyes close and bask in the flames, simple luxury in these mountains most couldn't afford.

====================================

When she woke up the first thing that she did was go outside and provided more wood for the fire, then she started to make breakfast, considering that it was daytime. She must have slept all night.

She prepared stew in the cauldron above the fireplace, the only source to cook, but it was better than eating cold stew directly from the can. It's a good thing she prepared herself for times like this, stashing up food for two months for this trip. She also made hot tea for her and the man upstairs.

It would take one hour for the delicious food to be finished, so she decided to check on her guest. Entering the bedroom, he was awake, her eyes taking in his sharp ones, still predatory, but not like back there in the forest. She walked to set the cup of warm tea on the nightstand.

On both fell a dead silence, until he decided to break it.

"Why did you save me?" he asked, voice deep and raspy, Russian accent very prominent.

Well, that was a first. No 'who are you?' or something cliche like that.

"Would you have preferred I let you die under the ice-cold snow and bleed to death?" she asked, a tiny drop of sarcasm lacing her voice, her voice calm, not fazed by his hard-cold gaze. She had seen far worse; she patched up, bears, wolves, lions, and tigers.

He was a little baffled, in a strangely good way.

"That still doesn't answer my question." he grumbled and she raised an eyebrow at him.

"Are you a poacher?" she asked with her arms crossed over her chest.

He sat up in bed, his lips pulled into a dark smile, a glimpse of his K9's.

"A poacher of sorts...you can say dat." he replied, making her suspicious.

"If you touch any animal I'm gonna skin your scalp off." she told him, with no hesitation in her voice.

He raised an eyebrow at her words, grabbing the cup of tea from the nightstand she got for him.

"My hunting is different, little one....Humans are the real monsters. I think that we can agree." he explains, making her curious; well that assured her, plus it was new to hear such words from someone.

"Food is almost ready. I will bring the tray upstairs, since your ankle is twisted I don't want you stumbling down the stairs and twist your neck too." she said, leaving him be and going downstairs.

The food was almost ready, just five more minutes or so. Her eyes averted on the table full of maps, compasses, and files.

She still needed to finish her mission, but as she tried to find a frequency on the radio station for the weather, she knew this will have to wait; it was going to be a blizzard for the following days.

That could wait, at the moment her problem was the mysterious man upstairs.

She sighed.

'What had she just got herself into?'

[gazebobullshit]

tell me when 

pairing: eddie kaspbrak/richie tozier ( reddie )  rating: teen ( for language )  word count:  2284 summary:  Richie and Eddie spend a night in, Eddie asks some important questions. gift for: Christine ( ladystvrk ) for the @it-fandom-exchange ao3 link: here

“Alright, alright Trashmouth!” Eddie’s hands are up, half empty beer dangling from his right. “If you were so sure, then when did you know?”

Richie snorted, his own beer nestled in his lap. “Are you seriously asking me when I realized I had a crush on you?”

“Yeah, well-” Eddie opened his arms out in a challenge, face flushed from the drinks he’s already had that night. “You keep saying since we were kids and I’m calling bullshit.”

Richie can’t help but laugh at that, elbow resting on his knee and body leaning forward to support his chin on his open palm. “I know. Hard to believe that I, Derry’s number one pussy slayer, was in fact very gay for one Mr. Edward Kaspbrak.”

“Please. The closest you’ve been to a naked woman is Bev in her underwear.”

“Ouch Eds.” He pointed with his free hand, “I mean you’re not wrong, but- ouch.”

“C’mon. I’m serious.” Eddie straightened his legs out on the floor, enough to bump his socked foot against Richie’s knee. “When did you know? And be real with me Tozier, no jokes.”

“Fuck. If I’d have known we’d be playing twenty questions tonight I’d have vetoed the booze.” He straightened, hands pressing against his face, pushing his glasses up into his hairline. He could feel Eddie tapping at his knee with impatience and he grumbled low in his throat as a response. Hands dropping enough to let his glasses slide ( somewhat ) back into place. Just enough for him to glare at Eddie over the tops of his fingers. “Give me a goddamn minute. We only got these memories back like four months ago.”

“Bullshit. You’re fucking stalling.”

“So what the fuck if I am? It’s embarrassing.”

“Please Rich. I want to knoooow.”

Richie might have found it amusing, even borderline adorable,  that tipsy Eddie got whiny. His cheeks flushed as he took another sip of his drink, shooting Richie a look that’d put the puppies in those adoption commercials to shame.He looked so comfortable, and far more at ease than Richie thinks he’s ever seen him, even back when they were kids.

“Okay. Okay. Just- don’t fucking laugh at me.”

“Absolutely no promises, but continue.”

That earned Eddie a middle finger, which got Richie double the response back.

Richie settled back against his couch, head tilting up towards the ceiling. He knew of course, how far back the crush went. Maybe not the exact date and time when he’d realized it, but he did know a vague enough answer.

“Well, there’s that summer.” And sure, saying it like that’s kind of vague, but they all know what ‘that summer’ usually refers to. Sweet summer of ‘89 with its clown bullshit. “I was kind of ignoring it until then.”

“The crush or the-”

“Both.” Richie shrugged, nail scraping at the label on his beer. “Figured if I just never shut up about how much tail I was getting on the reg’ people wouldn’t notice, you know? Or I dunno, fake it till you make it, I guess.” He flinched, letting his head fall forward again but keeping his eyes squarely off of Eddie’s face. “It took Bowers being an asshole and the clown chasing me through Bassey as that fuck ugly lumberjack for me to think, ‘Hey dickhead. Maybe this is a thing.’”

“So, what? When we were thirteen? That tracks I guess. You were extra annoying that year.” Richie might not have been looking at him, but he could hear the expression on Eddie’s face. That frown of consideration that made the wrinkle between his brows more prominent. “Still not seeing the whole crush on me thing.”

“Eh, I’m getting there.” He exhaled, shifting where he sat, lifting his beer to take another big sip. When the bottle was back in his lap he let his gaze drift, spacing out somewhere in the general area above Eddie’s head. This memory, unlike some of his others, was crystal clear and distinct. The very first one to hit him when he’d walked into the Jade and set eyes on Eddie for the first time. It was almost...too much to look at. The colors are too vibrant, the feel of the wood assaults the nerves at the end of his fingertips. He got a splinter that day and he can feel it now, like it’s been digging itself under his fingernail for the past twenty-seven years. It takes him a minute to wade through all of that to find his words again. “Remember the Kissing Bridge?”

“Of course. Isn’t that where Bowers got Ben the day we met him.”

Richie winces, and nods. “Yep.” He pops the ‘p’ on that, “Well, I didn’t go there to carve up new kids like Thanksgiving turkeys. Call me old-fashioned but I kind of prefered the original purpose.”

“Oh God. Don’t tell me. You fucking didn’t.”

“Oh yeah.”

“Oh my God Rich.” Eddie snorted, “What the fuck.”

Richie finally let his gaze drop to Eddie’s face only to find Eddie trying to muffle his laughter with the palms of his hands.

“Hey! I told you this was fucking embarassing!”

“Yeah, but I didn’t think- Jesus Christ Richie, the Kissing Bridge? Are you serious? You can’t be fucking serious.”

“Fuck you.” He pointed a finger at Eddie, wagging it in the air between them. He’s trying to be serious but the grin on his face and the laughter in his voice is giving him away. “I thought it was fucking romantic, and it wasn’t like I was about to confess my undying love for your hyperactive ass.”

“You’ve gotta be bullshitting me. There’s no fucking way. Nope. I don’t believe it.” Eddie’s head is shaking, and he’s leaning back on his hands. “You know I’m not about to step foot in that town again to check.”

“Hah, but that’s where you’re mistaken. You don’t have to do shit. I took a picture.”

“Bullshit.”

“Get ready to eat your words Kaspbrak.” Despite himself he was grinning as he shifted to pull his phone from his back pocket. Thumbing quickly to clear the screen of the avalanche of twitter notifications and angry messages from his manager. Pulling up his camera roll he pulled up the snapshot he’d taken of the Kissing Bridge just before he’d left town, his old carving done up fresh and standing stark against the wood. “Read it and weep, bitch.”

Tipsy Eddie did not have the sort of hand eye coordination necessary to catch a phone but Richie tossed it anyway. Then laughed as the other man fumbled not to drop it before it flopped face down on his lap. Once he could actually look at his screen, Richie watched as his eyebrows did some complicated gymnastics routine on the upper part of his face, mouth turning down in a frown.

“I can’t believe you’re serious.” He squinted, fingers moving to expand the picture, before he glanced back up. “This shit looks too fresh to be from 1989.”

“Recarved it.”

“You’re joking.”

“Nope.” He brought his beer back up to his lips, drinking the last of what was left in one quick gulp. Tongue dragging out  to lick his lips before continuing. “You almost died-”

“But I didn’t.”

“Right, but you didn’t.” He shrugged, “I don’t know, it just felt cathartic. I thought maybe if I carved it again I could just leave all those feelings there. Put them to rest.”  He gestured between them vaguely, “I didn’t think- I mean, I had every intention of keeping it to myself for the rest of forever.” He never once thought he’d be here, with Eddie. That talking about all this shit would be so easy, embarrassing sure, but easy nonetheless. Because Eddie knew and Eddie was here, and despite everything Richie woke up with the man of his dreams half tucked under his side.

Eddie was back to staring at the picture, only this time his face was all pinched in thought. “So that’s when you knew? When we were thirteen.”

Richie moved, stretching to put his bottle on the coffee table, before settling back in his spot. “That’s when I accepted it. Realizing it was a lot more fucking embarrassing.”

Eddie looked skeptical. “More embarrassing than carving our initials on Derry’s horny make-out spot?”

“Remember the day we met?”

“No! Richie- Richie we were six years old! No fucking way.”

“I told you this shit was embarrassing!”

“You were not in fucking love with me when we were six.”

“Hey! You’re the one holding my phone. Go ahead, dial my mom, ask her! I swear on Ben’s perfect abs I told her I’d marry you the second she picked me up from daycare.”

“I’m not- Richie it’s like 3 in the fucking morning where they are. No.”

“Then you gotta take my word for it.” He lifted his hands, palms up towards the ceiling. “Your mom dropped you off and you looked so mad about it. I thought you were one of those kids who bursts out crying the second their parents left them alone, but nope! You were just pissed because everything was a mess.” He laughed, and this memory- this memory wasn’t like the other one. It was faded and delicate. When Richie picked it up he felt like he had to be careful or he’d risk tearing it apart, like an old piece of film. Bits and pieces shone through well enough, the things that he’d always liked about Eddie since the start. His loud, fast voice, and animated hand gestures. The way his fanny pack looked too big and cumbersome, especially back then when he was nothing but tiny hips and twiggy legs.

The way he’d looked at Richie like he found everything he did physically repulsive, and yet didn’t pull away. Instead he’d clambered all over him, manhandled him into obedience so he could apply brightly colored bandages to the scrapes and bruises on Richie’s knees. All while yelling about cooties and calling him a dummy.

He expected to hear Eddie laughing, but when he looked up, he was looking at Richie’s phone, thumb pressed lightly to the screen.

“Eds? Spaghetti?”

“Don’t call me that.” Absent and automatic, without bothering to look up.

“Which one?”

“Both, dipshit.” One eyebrow arching up as their gazes finally met for a moment, before Eddie was taking his beer and downing the last of it in a series of furious gulps.  

Exhaling, he set the empty bottle down next to Richie’s, and held  the phone out. Not like he was handing it back, but so that Richie could see the screen. The picture had been shifted, zoomed in a little off to the side to show a different part of the screen. Another carving, faded with time but still visible.

R, with a heart around it.

“Eddie…”

“For the record. It was that summer for me too.” When their eyes met over the phone Eddie’s were intense and focused. No signs of the alcohol in his system, though he was breathing a little harder. “You told me to look at you. You kept telling me to look at you instead.”

They both swallowed, not really wanting to relive that moment, but finding it bursting through their defenses unbidden anyway. For Eddie it was the way the clown’s hand had felt on his face, the pain of his broken arm, and the smell of rancid breath washing over him. For Richie it was hearing Eddie scream, seeing the clown standing over him with drool dripping from IT’s jaws.

Then it was just the two of them. Richie’s hands on Eddie’s face, his voice yelling at him to look away. Just like it was the two of them right now, only instead of chaos and children screaming, the world was quiet, like it was holding its breath.

“I can’t believe you gave me shit. You’re just as big a sap as I am.” Richie’s voice sounded hoarse to his own ears.

Eddie just smiled, pushing up onto his knees so he could close the distance between them. Dropping Richie’s phone in his lap, before lifting that same hand to tilt up Richie’s chin. “You’d probably think I was body snatched if I didn’t give you shit, admit it.”

“Touche.”

Eddie’s head lowered, Richie could taste the beer on his breath and it made him feel drunker than any of the alcohol he’d had that night. Light-headed and wanting. Head tilting to the side to accommodate the kiss he felt like he’d die without.

“One more question.”

“Jesus Christ, Kaspbrak. You’re going to kill me.” He groaned, letting his head fall back against the couch. This close he could feel Eddie’s laughter like the rumble of a distant thunderstorm vibrating the air between their bodies.

“Do you still love me?”

Richie’s head snaps back up slightly, one eyebrow trying valiantly to reach his hairline. His hands had settled on Eddie’s waist, but now he let them slip down the rough fabric of his jeans. Giving him a brief pat on the ass, before he hooked the back of his thighs and guided Eddie into his lap. “Eddie my love, that is the stupidest question I’ve ever heard.”

“That’s not an ans-”

Richie can only hope that the kiss they share, just like every kiss that came before and all the ones he prays are still to come, will be answer enough. When they pull apart it’s with Eddie’s hands cradling his face, and a dopey smile slowly spreading across Richie’s features. “I love you Eddie Kaspbrak.”

Eddie beams, actually beams, and Richie feels his heart stutter. “I love you too Richie Tozier.”

“Sap.”

“Oh fuck off, Trashmouth.”

[lihikainanea]

I definitely think Bill and Tiger get in random possessive mindsets where they just get so horny and determined that they need each other. For Bill, he’d make her stare into his eyes the whole time, which was very difficult for her, as he watched her slip into her submissive state. She was spread eagle, vulnerable, as anytime her eyes went from his, he pulled out or stilled his movements. She mumbled how she was gonna cum and he simply goes, no, and makes her wait.

Jesus nani, you go for the jugular.

First of all, Bill making tiger stare into his eyes? Jesus Christ. I had to sit here, well on my way to being oops tipsy with my half-full martini glass, and just had to have a long think about that. Because you are SO right. Bill thrives on the eye contact, loves it, it’s how he reads people and with people he knows, it’s a sign of intimacy. Of trust. Bill is BIG on eye contact. But tiger? Shit, tiger hates it. She hates it because it’s so intimate, because eyes reveal everything.

So what a fucking power move on Bill’s part to make her look at him the whole time, and Jesus she probably almost safe worded because it was too much. But how glorious for him, all of that incredible eye contact, where he’s actually able to see her slip into her subby state second by second–oh man, it gives him such a fucking thrill, but shit is she fragile. The whole way it happens, tiger is probably just…emotionally raw at that point. So much so, that I think if he pulled out it would have rather devastating effects on her state of mind, so he probably just has to slow down or still his movements.

The second part that killed me is when he just says no. Like, picture it, right? Tiger is a fucking mess. Emotionally, she’s a mess. And this is probably the deepest into her small space that she’s ever gotten so right now, whatever Bill says, goes. She can’t do anything except listen to him, do what he says. And she doesn’t even have to tell him that she’s about to come because he can feel it, but she does anyway because she wants his praise of good girl or his gentle, encouraging command of give it to me and essentially what she’s seeking, without knowing it, is his….permission. And Bill, who is keeping his movements so gentle and slow anyway, just very softly says no and like…that’s that. He says no, so it’s no, and she still feels that insanely tight coil in her belly ready to snap but now…she can deal. Because Bill said no. Not yet.

But my god, when he FINALLY says come for me, sweet girl, probably even HE wasn’t ready for the fucking avalanche that hit her. And she definitely cried after, so fucking fragile, and he maybe panicked a bit. The aftercare that night would have to last for hours because tiger wasn’t really snapping out of it, or at the very least, she definitely wasn’t letting him go.

[goldenhour-goldenboy]

I'm dying for 34 "You come to my room and wake me up at 4am, to cuddle?" With my Fishy Boo 😘

You almost instantly regret knocking on the door as soon as the sound is being swept into the night and for a second your body freezes, hand still balled into a fist and raised in the air. There’s another noise echoing from somewhere at camp and you can’t help but start to shift from one foot onto the other as you not so patiently wait to open for the door to open. You’ve knocked at least twice by now, looking over your shoulder and you’re not even sure who for or why you are so nervous - it’s not like you’re doing something illegal, you could just happen to need a cup of sugar, you could’ve just walked by to say hello …

Your cheeks fill up with hot shame just thinking about someone turning the corner and seeing you waiting in front of a door that is clearly not yours. The thought alone is enough for you to release another avalanche of knocks against the metal. 

“Jesus Christ –” There’s a rumble inside the small container. “Yes, a second. Ah, fucking –?”

The door swings open to reveal a disheveled Fish, hair a mess with his dog tags slung around his neck and hanging off his shoulders halfway to his back. The brown shirt covering his torso is crumbled and lifted off one of his hips and you have to pry your eyes away from the strip of exposed skin. He squints at you, the lamps outside dimly illuminating the small way leading down the row of lined up containers where you’re currently placed in. Fish runs a hand over his face, trying to get himself to wake up and now you feel bad you for having him leave his bed this late at night. 

“Do we need to move out?” Fish’s voice is still thick with sleep, low and raspy and though exhausted as well, you could’ve listened to him talk all night.

“No! … no.” You gulp, fiddling with the sleeves of your jumper. “No, I uhm .. - No, it’s not that- It’s me.” 

Worry shakes Fish awake and he opens the door a bit wider to take a step closer to you. “You alright?” His eyes roam your body for any evident injuries. You clearly could’ve worded that better.

“No, yeah, I’m fine!” You laugh, embarrassed at the whole situation and close your eyes for a minutes to regain your confidence, thought the right words won’t come and dragging out an honest answer suddenly seems as the easiest thing in the world. Fish’s squinting at you, sleep still clinging to his body and you want nothing more than you take a step forward and burry yourself in his chest. You swallow the lump in your throat. “I just … I couldn’t sleep.”

“Okay?” He’s looking at you now not any less confused about all of this, waiting for you to continue that sentence. 

“I couldn’t sleep,” You start again, hands moving through the air. “And I .. I just thought, I could - we could maybe .. you know…”

“Talk?” 

You almost huff at that. “No, yeah, that too but I mean –”

“You want to have sex?” The question slaps you in the face. You stare up at Fish and he almost looks like he’s not sure either why he said that. 

“No!” You shake your head vigorously.” No, dear God, that’s not why I’m here! I wanted to ask if we could cuddle!”

“You come to my room and wake me up at 4am, to cuddle?” His door’s wide open now. “And you can’t ask that without stuttering and mumbling?”

“Well,” Now you’ve certainly gained back your confidence. “I didn’t want to invade your privacy and jump that on you just like that but apparently I shouldn’t have waisted so much thought on wording it properly.”

“To cuddle?” Fish repeats, a certain undertone of amusement lingering in his voice.

“I was trying to be civil!” You hiss in his direction before turning around, ready to walk back to your own empty bed but Fish speaks up before you’re even done halfway spinning. 

“Woah wait, where you going?” There’s a breath of laughter lingering in his voice that makes your embarrassment worse and you even more determined to get away from all of this as quickly as possible.

“Back to bed!”

“Really? You woke me up at 4am just so you can yell at me a bit and then storm off?” 

“Yes?” Now you’re the one being dumfound in the middle of the night. Fish’s eyes are lit awake taking in the sight in front of him and his body, finally snapping out of it’s sleepy haze, leans with an deceptive easiness against the doorframe. He takes a moment, a smile curling at the corners of his mouth and he’s looking at you now, really looking at you for the first time tonight.

“You gonna come in now and give me my cuddles or what?”

[sammysdewysensitiveeyes]

@thecorteztwins 

I wound up writing a little thing based on those panels you showed me of villains “rehabilitating” (but actually being mind-controlled) at Clear Mountain Center in X-Men 92.  This was meant to be a funny story about Fabian in rehab learning how to talk to women, but it got a little disturbing because of the mind-control aspect, and also Avalanche tells a grim little story about baby murder, so warnings for that.  But now I’m really tempted to write something about Haven taking the place over and actually Doing It Right.

“So,” Fabian began, speaking in the halting tones of someone attempting to wrap his mind around a difficult concept. “You’re saying you’re not attracted to me?”

               “Not in the slightest,” said Tabitha Smith, the mutant known as Boomer (and also Time Bomb, Boom-boom, Meltdown, and whatever other code-name caught her fancy).  Her tone was firm, but she smiled at him, as if to soften the blow.  “I mean, you’re obviously good-looking, just not my type.”

               “Oh, of course, you prefer women.  I understand.  I am open-minded about such things –“

               “Nooooo…..” Boomer cut in, with some slight irritation creeping into her voice.  “I’m mostly into guys.  Just different types of guys.”  Fabian thought hard.  He was tempted to spread his legs out wider, to give her a better look at what she was rejecting, but he’d gotten enough tiny power-bombs to the crotch to learn that that was a bad idea.  (The low-powered bombs did no real damage, but they certainly stung.)

               “I get it, I get it.  You are holding yourself back.  You are maintaining a professional relationship because you are my counselor.”

               “No!”  Boomer held her head in her hands for a moment, sighing.  “Look, not every woman will find you attractive, okay?  Everyone has different preferences.  Like, people think Leonard Decaprio is super-hot, and he just doesn’t do anything for me, I’m more of a Brad Pitt girl.  It’s not something you need to feel bad about, it doesn’t mean you’re like, ugly, or anything like that.”

               Fabian’s mind whirled.  This girl was young, beautiful, a powerful mutant, and had showed him such kindness as his mentor.  She had a surprising amount of wisdom underneath her shallow and flippant demeanor.  And yet, her judgement was so unsound. Perhaps she had some kind of psychological condition, like a strange form of face-blindness?  But then, Fabian had been learning to accept many ideas that had previously seemed impossible.  The idea of living with the humans in peace.  The idea of answering hatred with understanding, not violence. The idea that he should treat others with kindness and respect, instead using them as stepping stones in his quest for status and power.

               “Very well,” Fabian began again.  It was difficult to force the words out.  “I…accept that you do not find me attractive.  I….accept that some people…..may….not find me attractive.   After all, there are many different preferences in this world.”

               “Yeah, dude, exactly.  It’s like…some people like Cool Ranch Doritos?  And some people prefer Nacho Cheese.  There’s no right or wrong, except for the people who like Funyuns, because that shit is nasty.”  Fabian wanted to roll at his eyes at her rather low class tastes, but instead he found himself laughing good-naturedly.

               “Ha, ha, yes, that is a funny joke,” he said, beaming.  It was strange.  His mind felt so….slow.  Like there was this weight pressing down in it.  But at the same time, it was oddly pleasant.  A bit like Anne Marie’s more enthusiastic hugs, which always threatened to break the recipient’s back.

               “In Spain we have jamon flavored potato chips.  Perhaps you would find them interesting to try.  I will bring some back the next time I visit home.” He did not add that he had never eaten those chips, they were junk food for peasants, but if this girl found them enjoyable, he would indulge her.  It was a nice thing to do, and he found that he wanted to be nice lately. He didn’t entirely understand why.

               “Oh dude, that would be amazing!”  Boomer exclaimed.  “I love trying junk food from other countries.  There’s so much cool stuff out there.  Did you know that they have, like, a whole ton of Kit-Kat flavors in Japan?”

                I don’t care, Fabian wanted to say.  I spent my time in Japan eating Kobe beef and blue-fin tuna, not wasting my money on cheap candy.

               “No, I didn’t know that,” he said aloud instead.  He hadn’t meant to say that.  He hadn’t intended to sound so interested, but his mouth and brain did not seem properly connected.  The pleasant feeling hung over him, almost suffocating.

               “OMG, there are like, so many!  There’s strawberry, and sweet potato, and soy sauce, and wasabi – which is like, better than you’d expect – and sake, and…”

               Fabian wanted to tell her to stop prattling, but he couldn’t quite find the words.  He looked around the outdoor area while she rambled on.  There was Blob pruning rhododendron bushes with Storm, the blossoms tiny in his huge, clumsy hands.    

               “….and blueberry cheesecake, and apple pie, and brown sugar syrup, and cantaloupe which sounds totally disgusting but apparently it’s pretty good, and…”

               The Kleinstock brothers and Frenzy were tossing a Frisbee around with Feral and Cannonball, while Vertigo and Arclight were playing scrabble with Polaris and Multiple Man.  Ruckus was strumming a guitar, pausing occasionally to sweep his hair back dramatically, and clearly looking around for an audience.  Ugh, he was singing “One Tin Soldier.”  Fabian hated that song.  Fabian hated……a lot of things that were happening at that moment.

               “….and maple, and pumpkin, and chestnut, and green tea, and Tokyo Banana, because apparently that’s a thing, and..”

               He hated listening to this stupid girl spew out every thought in her empty brain.  He hated sitting in group therapy and listening to the peons that he shared the facility with whining about their inconsequential problems.  He hated having to hug people.  He hated being stuck in this adult daycare while he should be leading his Acolytes to victory against humankind (and racking up a few kill points for the Upstarts while he was at it.)  Something in his mind was breaking free.

               “Enough!” he snapped, jumping to his feet.  “This isn’t right!  I shouldn’t be here!”  Boomer paused in her Kit-Kat flavor recital.

               “Whoa, dude.  Chill out. You need a time-out, or something? Maybe you need some time in the Angry Room.”

“No, I do not need some time in the Angry Room,” Fabian snarled.  “I don’t belong here with the  rest of these losers, there’s nothing wrong with me.  I’m….I’m so much better than the rest of you.  I’m practically a god!  I should be….should be –“  His eyebrow twitched.  His body shuddered, and a fixed grin came over his face.

               “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be saying things like that. What am I thinking?  We’re all special in our own way.  I just want us all to be friends,” Fabian continued.  A single tear leaked out of one corner of his eye.

               “Hey, good job, man,” said Boomer, patting him on the shoulder. “You recognized a negative thought pattern, and then, like, stopped it.  That totally deserves a Hershey Kiss.”  She tossed him the silver wrapped chocolate.

               “Thank you.”  Fabian shuddered again, and then his body seemed to relax, his tense smile softening into one that seemed genuine, if a bit dazed.  “I like Hershey Kisses.”

               “Don’t we all, buddy.”

               “They are good,” Fabian continued, pulling the foil off and popping the chocolate in his mouth absent-mindedly.  “This place is a good place.  We are all good here.”

               At the table, another group was mid-way through a fairly intense game of Uno.  Most of the group (X-Men included), would have preferred poker, but apparently that wasn’t wholesome enough the rehabilitation process.

               “I’m just saying, we didn’t start the war.”  Avalanche slapped down a card, perhaps slightly too hard. “Humans want to stomp out anyone who’s different.  That’s the whole damn history of the human race.”

               “But nothing will change if we continue the cycle of violence,” argued Colossus.  

               “We must ‘turn the other cheek,’” agreed Nightcrawler. “Send out a message of peace and love.” He betrayed that sentiment by tossing down a Draw Four card.

               “Yeah, and the guy that did that got nailed to a cross, didn’t he?”  Avalanche retorted.  “Didn’t work out so well for him.”

               “You can’t be expecting us to imitate Christ, can ya?” Pyro put in, throwing a Reverse on the stack.  “He was all flawless and perfect and ‘ineffable,’ right?  And he had a get-out-of-death-free card.  We ain’t got that.”  

               “You could have that, by the Grace of God –“ Nightcrawler began, than stopped, shaking his head.  “I’m sorry, this is not the right place for that conversation.  I know religion is very personal, and everyone must make their own choices.  But I will talk about it with any of you privately, if you want.”

               “All I’m saying is, humans have tried to bloody kill us,” Pyro continued.  “Are we supposed to just lie down and take it?  I’ve had people turn on me, even back before the Brotherhood, before I committed any crimes.  People that I thought I could trust.”  The cards in his hand crumpled as his fist clenched.

               “Humans are fucking brutal.  I’ve seen…..”  Avalanche shook his head.  “There was a woman back on Kalymnos, gave birth to a baby with gills.  Nothing wrong with the kid otherwise, it was just a cute baby.  But people acted like it was the damn anti-Christ.  Her husband moved out and wouldn’t have anything to do with her. And one day….”  A slight tremor rippled across the table as he continued. “One day some guy just snatched the baby out of her arms and threw it down on the rocks.  I’ll never forget how she screamed.  And nothing ever happened to the guy.  He was a murderer, and the police did nothing.  Everyone just pretended that it never happened –“  The table shook visibly now, the vibrations spreading out into the ground around them.

               “Tovarish, please calm down.  I understand how that memory must pain you, but –“    

               The vibrations suddenly stopped.  For a moment, Avalanche looked confused, then a dull smile spread across his face.

               “I’m sorry, friends.  I just get upset sometimes, thinking about that.  I shouldn’t dwell on such horrible memories.”

               “Yes, we should just think about good things,” Pyro agreed, wearing the same sickly smile.  “We are in a good place.  We are all good here.”

               Sitting in the sun on the roof, Toad wrapped his arms around himself, smiling.  He felt….good.  For the first time that he could remember, he was entirely at peace with himself.  He wasn’t plagued with anxiety at every social interaction, waiting for the inevitable rejection, wasn’t miserable when he looked into the mirror.  No more flashbacks or sudden fits of sadness or anger.  He woke up and was actually eager to get out of bed in the morning, eager for a day that he knew would bring good things.  And people were actually being nice to him!  There was no superficial politeness or poorly hidden disgust, no cheap pity.  Just genuine kindness.  His counselors and the other former super-villains actually seemed glad to see him every day.

               Of course, sometimes it felt too good to be true. Sometimes he would look around and everything would feel slightly off, like one of those hyper-realistic dreams where you can only tell that you’re dreaming because something in your room is out of place.  He felt like he was constantly wrapped in a blanket of warm air, and it was so good and comforting, but it made him dull and sleepy.  (Perhaps this was what being drunk was supposed to be like?  For the normal people?  When Toad tried alcohol, it only seemed to make him sad.)  Things were very hazy, and it was hard to put his thoughts together.  But that didn’t matter, did it?  Because finally he was safe and happy, and everyone was so nice.

               “This is a good place,” he said aloud to no one in particular. “We are all good here.”

[wildcard47]

green pastures (pg); fitzier

prompt: James proposes to Francis; Francis misunderstands and thinks he’s being officially asked to marry James to someone else a la that scene in The Vicar of Dibley.

I promised @full-of-terrors this adorable little prompt fill ages ago and finally get to post it! Hope you enjoy!

When the knock sounded at his front door just after three bells, Francis could find no reason to avoid answering it, even if he had meant to go to bed within the next few minutes.

He’d been so damn dispirited since James’s stupid bloody boyfriend came into town. Not that he would have admitted this to another soul.

Not as if Le Vesconte was actually James’s boyfriend, either. By all accounts they were only mates; Henry never seemed like the type to go bi all of the sudden, given how much harping on he’d done about his on-again, off-again girlfriend.

But James did keep mentioning all these hot bumbly dates he’d had while he was down in London – whatever that meant – and since Francis did not drink anymore, the only way anyone could find out he was depressed about this turn in events was if they came to his living room and stopped him eating bagfuls of crisps while watching a bunch of old Frasier episodes.

What did it matter if his ex-boyfriend was going on other dates? They’d only gone out six and a half times, more than three years ago. And now he’d moved back to town all of the sudden. The man was free to go anywhere he liked.

Expecting it was Jane Franklin come to complain about Neptune, Francis was startled to see James standing there when he opened the door.

“Hi.”

James smiled at him; it looked strained and unnatural. “Hello.”

“So, er.” Francis’s mind was full of questions it was probably rude to voice, especially to someone you’d been avoiding for nearly a week. “How – how are things?”

“Actually,” James did not even hang up his coat, just turned by the rack, one hand now tracing over the spine of a closed umbrella. “Can I – I’ve something important to ask you, if you don’t mind. Well. Obviously I can ask you questions without you minding them, only this pertains to the type of question rather than the principle of the thing.” He scratched at the back of his neck. “Not here to give a lecture on forms of the interrogative.”

“Er. Yeah, obviously. You can talk to me about whatever you like.” Francis narrowed his eyes. “Are you all right?”

You seem…. anxious, he wanted to point out.

“Me? Fine. A bit jumpy, you know, but had a lot of caffeine today, so that’s understandable. Four flat whites. Can you believe – sorry. I’m rambling now. Suppose I may as well ask this right out. Francis, have you ever thought about, er, marrying anyone?”

“Oh.” Francis could not have said why this question left him so disappointed. He didn’t think topics as boring as Naval protocol would bring James to his front door at eleven thirty at night. “Well, yeah. I mean, strictly hypothetical, mind. Not had reason to yet.”

Most of the people he’d served with so far were already married or far too young to try. And barring that, none of them had wanted to be married on the ship. Or by Francis.

“Yes. Not as if you’re imagining it daily. You’ve always been a practical sort. Aren’t given to flights of fancy.”

“No,” agreed Francis.

“No.” James swallowed hard, bit his lip. “Anyway, you’ll remember from – I mean, the conversations we had – that I have always admired marriage. As an institution. Even before I actually aspired to be part of it. You know? It’s a, ah, very good thing to my mind. Or it should be, given the many benefits.”

“Time can change even the most stubborn man, I suppose.” Francis tried to smile. “So, you’re, ah, ready to take the plunge at last, hm?”

“Yeah. Yes.” James seemed to steel himself. “I mean. Not just for the sake of it. I want to. Have wanted to, really. For a long time.”

“Makes sense,” said Francis, in an attempt at being neutral.

“Does to me, as well.” That brief, strained smile was back.

“Well, that’s – great news.”

He had not decided what the rest of his sentence would be, but it apparently didn’t matter, because James blurted out something very loudly.

“Francis, would you – do me the honor of marrying me?”

Francis’s heart sped up, and his stomach twisted with distress, but he tried not to showcase any of these feelings to James. Can’t hurt him.

“You… want me to marry you?”

Christ, he could picture it now: James blindingly handsome in his dress blues, in the local church or outside in the park or even aboard Battalion, standing hand-in-hand on the quarterdeck with some stupid blonde blockhead while Francis stood between them, a borrowed, well-worn Bible in his hands, thumbing through the chaplain’s notes on love and honour and duty and wanting to pitch himself off the crow’s nest instead.

“Can’t imagine asking anyone else,” said James, voice hitching slightly.

Oh. Damn it.

“Well, ah – I don’t mean to make you wait for an answer, obviously, it’s just – I’m a bit – surprised, is all. No one’s ever – asked me before.”

“Really?”

Why was James looking at him like that, as if he were afraid taking his eyes off of Francis for even a second meant he might disappear? The man seemed to be one sentence away from a total nervous breakdown.

“And it’s been a long time since we’ve. Er. I mean, of course it would be – wonderful – ”

“Yeah.”

“Let me just have a look at my diary,” Francis said, by way of stalling, hoping against hope that James had his heart set on a specific date and time and that he was going to be out of the country on that blessed morning. Or perhaps dead. Dying would get you out of marrying your ex-boyfriend to his new boyfriend, wouldn’t it? “Knowing you, you’ve already got your heart set on a specific month.”

“God, no,” answered James in a rush. “Honestly, Francis, if it helps, you can pick any day of the year you damn well please.”

“Right.” Francis turned another page, then another, with no clue as to what he was bloody reading. “Well. Er. That’s….a lot to choose from. Plenty of options.”

He meant to say something about how most people liked summer weddings, or that all the good reception places would be booked years in advance so James shouldn’t get his heart set on having it done anytime soon – the sort of vapid, oddly-prophetic comments Sophia used to say to him all the time when she was turning him down. Course, Francis was actually asking her to be his wife, then, so it was different.

When James spoke again, after a long, agonizing silence, it was in the quietest voice Francis had ever heard. As if he might weep.

“You don’t want to do it, do you?”

“What?” At James’s raised eyebrow, Francis deflated. “James, it isn’t – obviously, I don’t want to rush into an answer if it’s the wrong one. You – well, you’re important to me.”

“I know that.”

“And I’m really touched that you’d ask me after all this time. Truly I am. But I – should probably think about it, before I answer one way or the other.”

James’s expression slammed closed, then, almost as suddenly as it used to whenever Admiral Franklin walked aboard.

“Don’t tiptoe around it. Not with me.” He cleared his throat, gave Francis a jerky nod. “It – if that’s what you feel, then your answer’s already no. Which is all right. Erm. Silly of me to have thought…”

It was as if Francis were reliving the day they broke up, three years before; he could not understand why saying I’ll think about it would provoke such a fierce reaction.

“I should go,” murmured James.

Oh, god, why was he going so soon? Was he angry? James couldn’t be angry when the words he was saying were so kind and understanding.

“You don’t have to.”

“I do. I really do.”

They had reached the door; James opened it, clearly ready to step out without another word. He’d leave forever and it would be all Francis’s fault. Fucking hell, why could he not agree to put his own bloody pride aside when it came right down to it?

“Stop – bloody walking, damn it!” Francis squeezed his eyes closed, summoned every last ounce of strength. “I’ll do it, all right? James, I’ll – if you want me to perform a ceremony, I can do. For you. I – owe you that much. I want you to have that.”

A terrible silence settled over the room as James turned away from the open door.

“Perform the ceremony?”

“Yeah.” Francis opened his eyes, tried to tamp down the avalanche of curse words that were building in the back of his mind. He would not stutter. He would not weep. “Ship’s captain, powers that be, whatever. I’ll do it, you’ll be married, and then you’ll – well. Be happy.”

Without me.

“Francis, no.” James opened and closed his mouth, threaded the distance between them before taking Francis’s hand in both of his. “No, no, no. That’s not what I meant at all. I – good god, man. Who the bloody hell else am I in love with? I’m saying I want to marry you. I’m asking for your hand, Francis.”

“Mine,” was all Francis whispered.

James peered closely at his baffled expression. “I – you know how I feel about you. Don’t you?”

Francis was now so shocked he couldn’t speak.

“Why d’you think I’d come here in the middle of the night and ramble on about marriage if I didn’t want to propose? For Christ’s sake, I’ve not stopped thinking about us for three years. Every day I wanted to call you. Write to you. Just – see you getting coffee on the way to work. And then we end up living in the same town again, going to all the same events, and it – I mean, you’ve no idea how terrified I was, to think you’d moved on with your life. And now….Francis, I honestly can’t imagine being anywhere without you at my side. I want to marry you. I want us to get – old and fat and weird together. Think we’d be rather good at that last bit, actually.”

“So you,” Francis could hardly draw air into his lungs. “You mean you’re – ”

“Marry me, Francis.” James squeezed his fingers, encouraging. “Please.”

Unable to say anything else, Francis sat right down on the carpet, because his knees would no longer hold him up, and covered his mouth with a shaking hand to suppress the high-pitched squeak trying to claw its way from his throat.

“I’m all right,” he kept whispering, although he was not: he was swiping big fat tears from his face with the back of one hand, and James was hovering at his side, still babbling away although Francis couldn’t hear any of the words; meanwhile, Neptune was barking like a bloody demon dog, rushing in and out of the open door in obvious confusion, wagging his tail and licking Francis’s salt-damp fingers every so often, and Jesus bloody Christ.

James wanted to marry him.

“Francis.”

Glancing up with a very unromantic snort, trying to swallow the knot of tears in his throat, Francis met James’s concerned gaze and finally – finally – managed to say something.

“Okay.”

James’s face brightened. His grip on Francis’s shoulders tightened. “Oh my god. Really?”

“Yeah.” Francis was grinning now. “I’ll marry you, James.”

Squealing in delight, now peppering Francis’s face with kisses and hugging him tightly, James eventually pulled away and let out a victorious howl of a cheer. Hearing this, Neptune decided to join in, baying joyously at the open front door before trotting forward to see what was going on on the front stoop.

James had already jumped to his feet to join him, calling out to the entire neighborhood with his hands cupped around his mouth. “Francis is gonna marry me!”

“Jesus Christ. I have neighbors!”

“Francis is gonna marry m – oh, Neptune, no!” A black blur darted out of the doorway, running pell mell toward the street. Cursing, James took off after him, now sounding much less cheerful. “Come back here this instant – no! Right – now!”

Judging by how fast James was now sprinting down the driveway and toward the curb, as well as the yowling, Neptune was probably after Mrs. Franklin’s tomcat again.

Laughing hysterically as James tried and failed to capture a boisterous Newfie with nothing more than his bare hands, Francis watched with faint pride as his fiancé – a romantic, dashing hero of a man – stumbled and fell into the side of next door’s recycling bin, knocking it backwards onto the lawn. A delighted Neptune stopped his mischief to come back and run circles around James and all the now-visible rubbish, occasionally stopping to look back at Francis and bark loudly.

“Well, he’s killed me,” James called theatrically from his prone position, as a very happy dog decided the best thing to do was sit in James’s lap. With a huff, Neptune sat down, then flopped sideways, draping his chest directly over James’s ribs. Four enormous paws splayed out around James’s middle. James groaned and winced as he absorbed the full weight of this gift. “I might die before we get to celebrate.”

“Yeah, you’re stuck now,” offered Francis as he walked closer. On an impulse, he tossed the jacket in his hand onto the damp ground and lay down next to them.

“Nnngh,” whined James, but he was grinning.

Francis leaned over, pressed a kiss to James’ forehead. “See? Completely stuck.”

[mika-shion]

See ya' later, hon~✨💕🌸

God I hate how much it hurts... How can I be so emotional and yet so numb??

There's too damn much I wanna say...

I mean on the one hand, I'm here wishing it never happened. But, despite the pain, we both came out of it as better people.

I wanna say they broke my heart, but that implies that they did smth wrong. Granted, the relationship had it's fair share of bad. But I'm glad I can say that she never hurt or wronged me in a way I couldn't forgive.

I think we got past all of our disagreements + arguments... We got better at communicating, but even uo until the end, that was still the biggest issue. One of us was always trying too hard to get the point across and the other wasn't trying hard enough to understand or just simply couldn't.

Well... No, we weren't always on polar opposites of that spectrum. I think it should be p clear it was never that black and white. There was, and always will be countless shades of gray in every aspect of our lives that made being together that much more difficult.

We fought for it... Hell, I probably fought the hardest for it most of the time... At least in my own way... Again - shades of gray.

No one thing or person is to blame for the pain I'm going though... same goes for whatever pain she's probably feeling...

It's just loss, and I'm just grieving... But good fucking Christ does it hurt.

This is just another one of those complex problems I need to physically talk to someone about, but can't put into words.

This is my only way of processing all of this cuz now I'm afraid of crying in front of people... Idk when it started but I'm just too scared...

I wish I had my wife with me... But now I never will. And honestly, after all of this, I doubt I could even handle it.

For those who don't know, this isn't the first time we've separated... But it was the last.

How do I know that for sure? Because despite my genuine, pure, unconditional love and care for her - I simply cannot deal with the stress, pain, and exhaustion that comes with starting from the ground up. The trust, the safety I felt, the love... It's all still there it's just... It's tainted. Idk I just... Don't know how else to put it.

Honestly I think it was probably over after the first time we separated... I didn't notice it at the time, but looking back... We probably just... Didn't know any better.

I think maybe I didn't want to feel like I failed or... Maybe I was just too hopeful...

What I had with her... It was more beautiful than my words can describe....

When I spoke to her last... I was angry, hurt, scared... But I was still hopeful. Not that we could make it work, that ship has fucking sailed and sunk.

I was hopeful that, maybe several years down the road, we'd be able to be friends again... But she wasn't.

I don't know what it was... Maybe he was just hopeless or... Just as hurt as I was, maybe more so. But it just felt like he was fed up with me... I feel like that's probably what hurt the most....

...Yknow I don't think I ever actually said how I met him. It was through his younger sibling.

Last year, they messaged me or reblogged some of my WOY art. Me being the person I am, wanting to make a bunch of friends, started talking to them.

After a little bit we started having group calls on Discord. Them, myself and the rest of my friend group at that time.

Well during one of our calls, we hear someone shouting at them in the background. Asking who they're talking to.

I speak up and he hears my voice for the first time... Apparently he thought it was... pleasant... Probably beautiful, idk...

He manages to get my account from his younger sibling and we start talking.... Shortly after that... We start dating.

So... Just so you know.....I always have and always will love Synth with every ounce of my being... But sometimes, on my worst days... Almost like today.

I wish I would've ignored that message. Hell, I wish I could've.

But like I said; despite the pain, we're both better people.

I now know what love is...

Lol I'm not religious, even in the slightest... But I pray I can find it again.

I'm sorry this was so long, I believe I did mention I had a lot I wanted to say though... Honestly I've still got more, but I'm just spent.

✨❤ ~ I love you Synth. I wish you and your family the best of luck... and I hope you find that cute guy who'll treat you right. ~ ❤✨

Anyway sorry for the... avalanche of text here lol uh...

See ya' later!~✨💕🌸

[jamesnbarnes]

to be human

Pairing(s): Steve x Bucky

Summary:

“Steve,” Bucky says lowly, a warning. “This is uncharted territory. This isn’t- this wasn’t supposed to happen.”

“But it did,” Steve says, cursing under his breath. “It happened, Buck, it happened a long time ago. I think you know that. And I don’t- this could all be gone tomorrow. Again, no one needs to know.”

Word Count: 2.1k

Warnings: Angst with a sweet ending, plenty of cursing, ‘40s/50s stevebucky w/ all the feels

Notes: This is seriously one of the best fics I’ve ever written? I can’t remember the last time I was this proud of something I’ve written. This was written for @a-splash-of-stucky ‘s 1k creator’s challenge, and my prompt was “no one needs to know.” I am so incredibly happy with the way this turned out. As always, reblogs and comments mean the world to me, so if you have a minute, leave me a quick note! Congratulations on 1k Elsa, and thank you for letting me participate! I hope you enjoy.

Permanent Tag List: @spideyscnses @amusedbyallthemurder [tag list currently open]

When Bucky enlisted, he definitely read his contract thoroughly. That contract said nothing about being experimented on by crazy Hydra scientists. It also said nothing about his best friend becoming some sort of heroic super soldier that wore an American flag suit like he was performing on a USO tour. Bucky's already had quite a bit to drink tonight, not that he's counting or anything, but a half bottle of the strongest shit in Dugan's stash should be enough to keep the nightmares at bay whenever he finally tries to sleep tonight.

"Hey, Barnes, can I talk with you for a second?"

Steve is calling to Bucky outside his tent, a little ways away from the celebratory bonfire. Bucky downs another swig of this shit alcohol (seriously, he makes a mental note to ask Dugan what the fuck that shit is) before jogging to meet Steve outside his tent.

"What's up?"

"Let's talk inside."

Bucky almost snorts. It's this weird act that the two of them have to keep up. Steve technically outranks him, though Bucky technically doesn't know how, considering the fact that he's been in for longer. Maybe it's meant to be a "respect Captain America" thing. Bucky doesn't really waste time thinking about it. They make their way inside the tent and Bucky finally lets his guard down.

"It's been a crazy few weeks, Steve," Bucky says. "I don't know what this is about, but if you-"

"I want to kiss you," Steve says.

"You- what? Steve, Christ, come on." Bucky says, completely bewildered. He'd had an idea of how this conversation was supposed to go, but now he's starting to panic. He runs a hand through his hair, gently pacing around the tent. "Where is this coming from?"

“I'm not going to dignify that with a response, Buck, because you know why," Steve says, lips parting slightly, not that Bucky notices.

This is the worst kind of torture. Steve is here, in this tent, and he's fucking gigantic and built like a fucking tank. They're somewhere in Europe fighting an unconventional war with super soldiers and crazy serums, and then he and his buddies are getting experimented on, and now that was definitely not in his contract. Bucky needs another fucking drink.

"No one needs to know," Steve says.

“You think someone wouldn’t find out eventually?” Bucky whispers furiously. “Steve, you’re a lot of things, but a fool isn’t one of them.”

“I’m not being stupid,” Steve says, absolutely flustered. “I’m saying this is between me and you. It’s always been the two of us against the world. What says that has to change now? Bucky, fuck- enough has changed in the last six months. I can’t have you changing on me too.”

“Steve,” Bucky says lowly, a warning. “This is uncharted territory. This isn’t- this wasn’t supposed to happen.”

“But it did,” Steve says, cursing under his breath. “It happened, Buck, it happened a long time ago. I think you know that. And I don’t- this could all be gone tomorrow. Again, no one needs to know.”

Bucky takes in a shaky breath, curling his fingers up into fists to keep from reaching out and holding Steve. They’re so goddamn close to each other but he knows it’s a safety precaution. If anyone were to walk in right now, their first assumption would be that they were discussing the terms of a mission for the next day.

They’re standing opposite one another, shoulder to shoulder, their bodies fitting perfectly beside one another. Bucky imagines that they look pretty damn good, both of them having come into their bodies as they grew older. They aren’t the clumsy Brooklyn kids that would fall and scrape their knees and beat up bullies and stuff their faces with candy while they ran around street corners, only coming back in the house with muddy faces and tarnished hands when the sun started to go down.

It’s a pleasant memory, as distant as it is. The knowledge that it’s been the two of them since the beginning, even now, when Steve’s a goddamn super soldier and Bucky’s the best sniper the allied forces have, it’s still Steve and Bucky. It’s still the two Brooklyn kids, it’s still the night on the town when they were teenagers, the drunken conversation in a bar in that part of town, the walk by the docks as they drunkenly stumbled home, the messy, sticky, alcohol-driven kiss that they haven’t even-

“It’s a goddamn warzone out there and they put this shit in me and everything has changed and I- I miss my best friend, Buck,” Steve's voice cracks at the end, and Bucky cannot fucking do this.

Bucky looks down at the floor, willing himself not to lose his ground. “Steve, please. If we do this now, we can’t take it back. This can’t be something you regret. You regretting this would break me.”

They can hear the commandos outside, hilariously drunk as they laugh their asses off talking about the rescue mission. What would they think if they knew what the two of them were discussing in here? Would they know the story? Would it even surprise them? Sometimes Bucky is convinced that the two of them do a damned good job of keeping things under wraps, but then nights like tonight happen, and Bucky scares himself into thinking that their sense of security is all a lie.

Out here on the front lines, he knows it wouldn’t matter that much. The people you fight alongside with in combat care less about who you fuck and more about whether or not you can do your job. At the end of the day, Bucky isn’t even really worried about the commandos; even if they were less than thrilled to discover that the great duo actually sucked each other off on the regular, it would matter less, because Captain America and James Barnes (Sniper) would still kick ass in combat.

Steve’s dry laugh brings him out of his crisis. Jesus, Bucky didn’t even know he was capable of thinking this much about one person.

“I could never regret you, Bucky. I would never. You- you’ve saved me more times than I can even count. I’d choose you, every time, over everything else-”

“Steve, stop,” Bucky whispers, grabbing his wrist. Steve inhales sharply.

“I would never make you do something you didn’t wanna do, Buck,” Steve replies, swallowing hard. Bucky blinks rapidly, eyes suddenly stinging with unshed tears. “I would never, ever do something like that. I hope you know that. I just wish, with everything going on, that you knew how much- how I felt, in case...”

“I love you,” Bucky says lowly.

Steve turns around with wide eyes. It’s much more intimate now that they’re finally facing each other, and Bucky isn't sure if he likes it.

"What?" Steve says, completely breathless, and it's wondrous sound.

"You think I don't remember every single moment where I fell in love with you? Jesus fuck, Rogers, it's been two decades. Falling in love with you wasn't like- it was a fucking avalanche. It's- one day I woke up and you laughed and it happened. One night you got too drunk and I carried you home and you held my hand a second too long and it happened. One night we got way too drunk, together, in Willy's bar and it definitely happened," Bucky says, stumbling over his words. This is not how he wanted this to happen, but he's vaguely drunk and super fucked up because of the past week's events. Somehow, this is the most coherent speech he's made in his life. Steve was always the public speaker anyways.

"It's always been you, okay?" Bucky spits, looking away from Steve's wonderstruck face. It's too much. All of this, the being held captive, the experiments, the rescue, this conversation- Bucky needs to get out.

"Fuck, Steve," Bucky whispers.

"Bucky, I-"

He doesn't get to say another word because Bucky has him pressed up against one of the wooden pillars holding the tent upright. His mouth is on Steve's with everything he has left. His knees feel weak and he's surprised to find that when he starts to slip, Steve's arms tighten around his waist. Bucky's hands are cradling Steve's face as they kiss, slow and deep, finding their grounding as the world spins around him. He'd imagined what it would be like to kiss Steve just like this for years, and it feels surreal now that it's finally happening. He could have this. They could have this together. It's a thrilling idea.

Bucky vows to remember this moment forever.

Whatever may befall the two of them, whatever fates may await them in the years to come, whatever battles they may fight; Bucky prays silently that he'll never forget this moment, and that neither of them will ever forget how and when they found the meaning of love.

"I don't want to ever forget this," Bucky murmurs, pulling back a bit so he can look at Steve's face. "Promise me you won't forget."

Steve smiles gently, tugging Bucky closer to him. "I'll never forget this, Bucky."

Right as they're about to resume, someone laughs loudly outside, right next to their tent, and they break apart with a jolt.

"Right. Okay," Bucky says, wiping off his spit-slick mouth with the back of his hand.

"Bucky," Steve says lowly, sensing his panic. "Don't leave."

Bucky closes his eyes and breathes in deeply.

"Are we really leaving things like this again, Buck?" Steve says, but he doesn't sound angry. He just sounds tired. Bucky knows the feeling.

"I'm sorry," Bucky whispers. "We can't."

He retreats from the tent. Steve eventually joins him at the bonfire. They laugh and drink and carry on. They're fine. They're normal.

It ends there, as nothing more than a flicker in time. They were a spark that never caught fire.

They both make their peace with it.

Decades later, when eons have passed, and they both have lived twenty lifetimes, they'll revisit this conversation. They're in Steve's apartment in the middle of Brooklyn. A news channel is playing in the background, but neither one of them is listening. Steve's tapping his fingers on his knee, and Bucky is attempting to read a book, but his focus is elsewhere.

"Did Nat ever talk to you about ghost memories?" Bucky says, his voice, while at a normal conversational tone, striking through both of them in the too-quiet room.

Steve shakes his head. "No, I don't recall us ever talking about that."

"That's what she calls them. They're like- phantom memories. They're spaces in time that you remember but can't specify. Like, you remember that something happened, but you can't remember anything detailing the event."

"Hmm," Steve hums. "Did you just get one?"

Bucky looks down at the ground. "It was yesterday, actually. When we were grocery shopping. I think- all I remember is telling myself not to forget."

Steve's eyes go wide. "Do you remember anything else? Anything at all?"

"Only that it was a long, long time ago," Bucky whispers, scrunching his face up. "You were there? I think. And we were having some kind of deep discussion? Or arguing about something?"

Steve's bottom lip starts to tremble. "We were talking about us."

Bucky smiles faintly. "I had a feeling."

"How?" Steve says, hopelessly curious.

"There are some things not even brainwashing can take away, Stevie."

It's the nickname that cuts Steve deep. The meaning of what he's just said is something that Steve will have to unpack another time.  It reopens a centuries-old wound deep inside him, and it takes his breath away. There aren't many things in the world nowadays that have the capacity to take him by surprise, but Bucky calling him 'Stevie' in the wake of all that they've been through together, in the wake of all that they've lost, is almost enough to break him completely.

"D'you want- can I hold you?" Steve finally asks, fingers twitching in his lap.

Bucky nods, getting up from the armchair and collapsing on the couch next to Steve. Steve's arms wrap around him, and Bucky hasn't felt at home like this in what feels like years.

Steve holds him tightly. "Why'd you wait so long to tell me?"

Bucky lets his metal arm drape itself over Steve's torso. "I had to be sure that I wasn't crazy and that you still... wanted it too."

"I've waited an entire lifetime to be able to hold you like this, Buck," Steve whispers. Bucky buries his face in Steve's shoulder.

"It's been a long time," Bucky agrees, his voice nothing more than a whisper.

They stay like that for a while. Steve doesn't know how long they stay like that. He does have one thing left to say to the man in his arms, however.

"No one has to know," Steve says. Bucky lifts his head up to face Steve and smiles.

"I want to tell the fucking world, Steve Rogers."

It begins here, as a flame that will engulf the entire world.

[imagineclaireandjamie]

A Hundred Lesser Faces: (Two)

Notes from Mod Bonnie 

This story stems from the premise: what if Voyager!Claire had gone first to Lallybroch instead of directly to the print shop in Edinburgh? 

Links to past installments:  (One) 

(Two)

“May I help you with that, Jenny?”

Jenny didn’t answer; she didn’t even bother to raise her eyes as she arranged the tea, bannocks, butter, and preserves between us on the study table.  I wasn’t surprised. She hadn’t said more than two words to me since we’d entered the house, nor had she allowed me any opportunity to walk about and reminisce. The sounds of whispers and laughter had echoed through the hall even from the first moment of entry, but my sister-in-law had left me no opportunity to investigate the other occupants of the house—would I know any of them, I wondered? She’d marched me into the study in a way that offered no room for protest and bade me sit while she went to fetch the tea (the best teapot, I noticed; not the one used for family). 

No, I wasn’t at all surprised, at this point, given my reception in the dooryard, not by any any of it  — only hurt. 

Talk to me, Jenny….just TALK to me… 

She didn’t speak, but I did catch her watching me with a laser-sharp focus as I lifted a bannock and took a small bite, not from hunger, just for something to do; and I could have sworn those eyes flared with — surprise? confirmation? 

Whatever it had been, the next moment, it was gone, hidden once more behind a mask of boiling control, intent upon this soulless hospitality. So intently, pointedly was Jenny focused, in fact, that she didn’t even notice when the study door opened behind her. 

She was younger than Bree, but not much; perhaps sixteen or seventeen. I certainly had never laid eyes on her, but I knew her at once. That dark, curly hair; those warm, honey-brown eyes! Even in that brief instant in which our eyes met, I felt such a strong rush of affection, the lump in my throat made it hard to smile at her; but smile I did. My niece. 

And to my astonishment — not to mention, relief that someone in this house might not despise me—she smiled back; warmly, not taking those bright, questioning eyes off me, even as she gave a cursory knock and said. “Mam? D’ye need–?”

Jenny bolted like a startled deer, that frigid calm vanished in a second. In one fluid motion, she turned to the door and lunged into my line of sight, barking, “Out, Janet!” No, not into my line of sight: into her daughter’s….to keep me from view. “Out,” she snapped again. 

A very unladylike curse from the daughter, a “NOW!” from the mother, and the thunk of the heavy door snapping closed, trapping me inside once more. Stunned, I managed a nervous laugh, to stammer in the direction of Jenny’s back that the girl was more than welcome to come in and share our tea. While eager to meet this young Janet Murray, I was still more desperate for another person’s presence, ANY person, to ease the tension in the room.

…and exactly one blink later, I realized in panic that Jenny had whirled to face me, that she had said something at the exact same moment, and that her EYES —

I should have been able to match her; Claire Beauchamp was not of the wilting violet genus; but Jesus H Roosevelt CHRIST, that look had me absolutely terrified as I asked her to repeat herself. 

“I said…” Each word was slow and distinct; a hammer blow nailing me to the pillory. “Where. have. you. been?”

My thoughts, my explanations, they turned to vapor under her gaze, and I could do little more than gape up at her from my seat. 

“You’re clearly no’ deid, as we were told.“ She was blazing, a snake coiled to strike.  “And you’re no’ a fetch.”

I didn’t know what a fetch was, but it didn’t seem like something one would want to be.“No,” I confirmed, carefully, waiting. “I’m not.”

“Then, where in God’s name have ye been these twenty years, Claire?”

“Abroad,” I answered at once, relieved, recovering my composure enough to scrabble at the story I’d rehearsed on my long ride from Inverness. “I’ve been abroad,” I said, more confidently. “Working as an apothecary in the Colonies.”

She gave a soft, vicious laugh and turned her eyes upward for a moment. Then, she struck. “Had a *pleasant* life, have ye?”

The bite was bad enough, those fangs; but they had poison in them, too, coursing through my body, a promise of slow, creeping pain. 

“Jenny,” I murmured gently, rallying myself into calm as I set down my teacup. This wouldn’t be easy. “I do understand how this must seem; but please, listen—”

“No, you’ll listen to me.” She was absolutely lethal with quiet fury, and didn’t blink once as she spoke in a low, rapid hiss. “Many’s the thing that’s been whispered of ye, before and after the ‘45. That ye were a spy that brought the English down upon us—that ye caused the great famine—that ye were a filthy witch or a hoor or both — ” 

I tried to interrupt but she silenced me with a shaking finger and a basilisk glare. “But of all things, of ALL things, Claire, I would have gone to my grave swearing that ye loved my brother more than life itself.”

“I did.” RAGE had boiled instantly up in me and the accusation. “I DO.”

“Love doesna do what ye did to Jamie,” she spat, disgust manifested in every pore. “LOVE doesna allow a man to think the very heart of him has died — doesna let him go on living as an empty shell for near twenty years.”

No, it bloody well doesn’t, Jenny. 

The strain of this tug-o-war of emotion was too much for my heart — my physical, frantically-beating heart. From bewilderment to terror to fury, I felt exhaustion and stress in every muscle and bone, the fatigue in every pumping of that poisoned blood  — and now, shame. 

If only I’d looked. If I’d looked sooner…not expecting to find him alive, but to honor his memory. Damn me to hell for it, I should have LOOKED.

I wanted to shrivel up and fade from existence, but Jenny would not have it. “Ye didna see him come back from Culloden, Claire,” she was saying, practically towering over me in my seat. “Ye werena here to drag him back from the brink.”

“I couldn’t be—” 

“—But long after the wounds healed, the GRIEF kept Jamie near to death,” she seethed. “The pain ye caused him, Claire?—the agony of needing YOU, only you, and knowing ye gone forever? It was there on his face, in his bones—every day since—” she leveled a finger at me, “—since ye LEFT him.” 

“I did NOT leave him.” I was on my feet, wanting to wrap my hands around her throat. “Jamie was dead. For twenty years, I’ve thought him dead and in his grave, so you can shut your damned mouth about matters of which you don’t know one bloody — ”

“Oh, I think I ken the way of things just fine,” she sneered, not shrinking back one bit before me. “Ye kent well the disaster to come — dinna deny it, for ye told me to plant the damn potatoes, did ye not? You KNEW—and so ye arranged a better life, a life less destitute than the one we —” 

“Jamie SENT me away, Jenny.”

 My teeth were gritted hard, the war between indignant rage and tearing guilt wracking through me. “I begged him to let me die with him that day — BEGGED him; but he wouldn’t allow it, said it was his duty to die, and that I had to go on without him, had to go far away. And it KILLED me, Jenny.”

I could smell my own sweat, could smell the salt and tang and fear in it as I tried to hold myself together, to say, “If Jamie’s been a shell for twenty years, well, so have I.” 

She said nothing, but faced me down with the same fury. 

“Every single day, I have grieved and I have wished — have cursed the Bonnie  fucking Prince Charlie and his fucking war that slaughtered my husband and left me to go on without him — ”  

“Only he wasna slaughtered. Jamie survived, and his own WIFE didna even bother to come back to check if— “

“He MEANT to die,” I shouted, hoarse and desperate, hoping volume would drown out the shame screaming in my ears. “Jamie MEANT to let himself be killed! He didn’t leave me any room for doubt on that point; you know precisely how he is.” 

I was shaking uncontrollably. “I stayed away for twenty years because that was how I could bear it; the only way I could BEAR to keep on living. But as soon as I learned that he’d survived, I came. I gave up EVERYTHING to come find him, because Jamie was — is — everything to me.” I shook my head, seething. “And to have you stand here and accuse me—” 

“Did ye think I was dead, Claire?”

Her voice had gone suddenly light; conversational, as though she had merely asked if I’d like more jam. With a shock, I found that I recognized that practiced, calculated calm, those razor-sharp meanings cloaked so expertly in cordial tones. Colum MacKenzie, manifested here in the niece who had never met him; the spitting rage of the past minutes subsumed in something deeper; something far more lethal roiling beneath the skin. A wildcat prowling. 

At my silence, she smiled a cat-smile, shrugged, and looked around the room, her hands palm-up as if in mild curiosity. “And what of Ian? Did ye assume he’d died also? Along wi’ your wee nieces and nephews? Your wee Fergus? Remember them?” 

“Of course I do,” I whispered, that avalanche of shame continuing to crash all around me. 

She nodded, considering, almost amiably. “I dinna recall getting any letters or messages betwixt folk letting us know that ye might be thinking of us.” Her voice went hard with every word, each syllable distinct as her emotions started to break through that MacKenzie wall. “Nothing from ye, not even to ask had we yet starved to death in the famine you kent was coming.”

“Jenny…” My control broke and I was weeping before her. “Oh, Jenny…”

And as I stared pleadingly into her face, her own dam shattered, and I was utterly run through to find that the emotion pent up behind it was not merely rage — it was grief, too. 

“Did ye think ye meant nothing to us, Claire? To me?”

Jesus…

There came a terrible, stricken sound in her throat as she tried to speak through the torrent, as she stared up at me with tears in her eyes as her face contorted. 

“Even if Jamie… had been gone—If the Lord had seen fit to—to take him on that accursed field…. “ She took a step toward me, not in threat, this time. “…did it truly never cross your mind that there would be joy in us knowing that you at least had lived?”

“Oh, Jenny.” I crossed the distance between us and clutched her tight, holding her so hard I thought she would snap; but she held me, too, her head pressed tight into my shoulder, the both of us falling apart together.  “Jenny…Jenny…I’m so sorry…”

God as my witness, I had mourned for her; for Ian, the children, for dear Fergus. They had been my family, and knowing the pain and hunger and grief they would face in the years after Culloden, without Jamie to watch over them — For Jamie, I’d had to live with only grief; for those remaining at Lallybroch, I’d borne twenty years of fear. 

“I’m so sorry….I can’t— It’s—” I kissed and touched her hair as we swayed, as I grappled for how to explain—how to give some kind of acceptable reason for why I hadn’t been able to get word—  “It’s so much more complicated than you—”

I almost fell on my backside as I flew backward, my shoulders screaming with the sudden, violent assault as Jenny pushed me away with both hands, eyes once again wide with disbelieving fury as she repeated the word. “Complicated?” 

“No, that’s not —” I silently cursed myself. “Please, just let me — ” 

“How dare you,” she whispered, shaking her head, the tenuous bridge that had sprung up between us now plummeting back down into the gorge below. “How. dare. you.” 

“Jenny,” I pleaded as she turned her back to me, her entire frame shaking. “Jenny, listen —” 

“I’ve heard enough.” 

I reached out a hand to touch her shoulder, to beg her; but then lowered it again, and squared my shoulders: face this, Beauchamp. 

“I love your brother with my entire heart, Jenny Murray. I left because he made me do so; and I came as soon as I learned he had survived.” A deep breath; a whiff of pine through the window giving me a sort of bracing strength. “There was a good reason that I couldn’t come — couldn’t write to you — and I will do anything, everything to explain why, in time. I swear it to you.”

Silence. 

“But first…please….I have to see Jamie.”

Silence.

“I know he’s been working as a printer, in Edinburgh. All I ask is for you to confirm that he’s still there, and —” 

“He’s marrit, Claire.”

My first week as an active-duty battlefield nurse, I was assigned overnight duty in the convalescent ward. 

There were still emergency surgeries and intensive cases from the recent battle going on, leaving me the only one that could be spared to watch over those who needed no urgent treatment; those who were still mortally wounded—but for whom nothing more needed to be, or could be done. Determined to perform my duties well, I’d walked between the columns of beds in that wretched, foul-smelling tent, changing bandages by lantern-light, giving water to those that could swallow, and comfort where I could. 

There was one man — Robertson, his name had been….He’d received horrific burns over a vast percentage of his body, and his moans of pain and panic were the heartbeat of that long night. Nothing I did, nothing I offered, nothing I said could soothe him —he just kept moaning, groaning, crying and whimpering like an animal…and staring up at me with one wild eye through his bandages. I’d been so chilled by that sight, by that man—who became not a patient to me, but a haunting. 

I’d avoided him, eventually, stopped going to his bedside, even when his groans were at their most agonized—and the shame of that….It was like being pursued by wild dogs. I’d busied myself with other patients; busied myself with re-rolling bandages; busied myself with absolutely anything to keep from focusing on those anguished, pitiful moans; anything to keep out of that brown, pleading stare. 

And there came a time in the night when his moans tapered —and then ceased entirely, with one…final….whimper….and even then, I didn’t go to him. I spent more than an hour telling myself that Mr. Robertson had fallen asleep at last, and wasn’t it a relief that the poor man had found some solace in somnolence at last. 

I’d known —I’d KNOWN that he was dead—and yet I was too afraid to acknowledge it, to go to his bedside and confirm. 

I’d cowered, refusing to face the agonizing truth

knowing that once I learned it, the truth—

not my fantasy, not my coping mechanism, but the TRUTH—

I couldn’t ever be the same.

Nothing could ever be the same. 

“When?” My voice was a husk. A form.“To whom?”

“Does it matter?”

I was silent.

“He’s got a wife,” Jenny said, quiet, but slowly, carefully, so I wouldn’t miss a single word. “A home. A new life.” 

The fabric of my skirt was rough and comfortless in my grasping hands. 

“…And two wee lassies that love their Da.” 

Da. 

Something within me popped—a thread, maybe, one of many clumsy things that had been holding my heart together. I’d come back so blithely sure of myself; brimming with the anticipation of bringing Jamie news of that one child of his blood—To give him hope — to give him JOY. 

Not just two children….two daughters. 

What would news of another girl—one he’d never met—never would meet—even one conceived of the deepest love — mean in comparison to that? To having held his own little girls in his arms? 

It would mean something…but not enough. 

“Is he happy?” 

My words were a choked bark of a thing; hurt and anger and longing as I hauled on those threads, forcing them to hold. 

Jenny didn’t answer. 

I was standing. I needed to know. “Is. He. Happy?”

If somehow this new life of his wasn’t blessed —If even despite the girls, the marriage was damaged, maybe —

“Aye,” Jenny said at last, meeting my eye with frank hardness. “Happiest I’ve ever seen him.” 

Happier even than with you.

And just like that, the raw seams of my heart—so crude, so fragile, those threads—split open, the remnants fluttering into the shadows.

“You should be on your way,” Jenny was saying, “without delay, before you’re recognized and word travels.” She didn’t want me under her roof even for one night. It was written in every bone and muscle of her as she moved to the door.  “I’ll be off to have Mary pack up food for your journey.”

“Please, might I — ” started to beg, then shut my mouth. 

She turned, tight-lipped, impatient. “What is it ye need? A fresh horse?”

“Only paper. A quill.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Absolutely not.” 

I held out my hands in surrender. “I’ll go, Jenny,” I whispered. “I’m going, at once, as you say. I swear it. I’ll leave and I’ll never come back.” My entire body hunched before her, pleading. “But for mercy’s sake, let me leave him my last words.” 

She stared; but something stirred in her eyes. 

“He won’t know where I’m bound,” I swore, panting with the effort to hold back the tears. “I’ll be long gone before he reads it. Please. Please, Jenny.”

I stared at the blank parchment for a very long time.

I made plans — I let my mind run rampant, schemes for how I would reach him, how I would FIND him in Edinburgh. Jenny didn’t bloody need to know. Jamie would WANT to see me! No matter what his sister — He had loved me first — He would want — he was —

Happier 

even than with you.

I wept

…letting all the heartbreak wash out of me onto that page, 

drop by drop, 

my fingers wrenching in my hair,

until the page was damp with grief.

No future here. 

Not for you. 

Not with him. 

And a long time after that, I wiped my eyes. 

I wrapped something tight and impenetrable around my heart

Then wrote what needed to be said, what I needed him to know. 

My hand did not shake. I did not let a single tear blur the ink.

I would be strong for Jamie. 

He had been strong for me. 

I would not take anything away from him.

About a week prior EDINBURGH 

“Uncle, please, please, PLEASE can I stay?”

“Ian, for the last time,” he said over his shoulder, paying the tavernmaid for the stores and nodding his thanks, “your Mam will up and geld me if I harbor her wee fugitive; and fond as I undoubtedly am of ye, lad, I’m no’ yet willing to lose my parts over it.” 

“But we dinna have to keep it secret-like!” Young Ian insisted, bouncing on his toes like a toadling. “Ye can write to her! Tell her you’re taking me on as apprentice in the print shop! She’ll be fashed that I left, aye, right enough—but she canna object o’ermuch to me learning such a valuable trade, not wi’ her own brother watching over me!”

Not for the first time, that day, Jamie wavered.

Ian saw it and redoubled his pleading. “Come onnnnnn, Uncle Jamie, PLEASE?” 

There were two important reasons that his whole being screamed at him to grant Ian’s wish, to let the boy stay on….but both were selfish; deeply so; and if he truly loved this lad, the nephew who was like a son—the only son he’d know, henceforth— it was his duty to show him the ways of honorable men. 

…even as joyless as honor tended to be. 

He jerked his head toward the door. “Get out to the stableyard, Ian. It’s past time we were off.” 

“Uncllllllllle!” the boy groaned, running both hands through his hair, distraught. “Ye can tell Mam ye gave me a good beating for it before taking me on! Hell, ye can GIVE me the beating, and I willna make a yip!”

Jamie repressed the twitching corners of his mouth, keeping up his show of stern reproach. “On wi’ ye. It’s time to get ye home.��

[ritacaroline]

Bonz Fan Fiction  Ch.16

Record Shop Madness

Freshly upon land after their rowboat excursion, Laurie and John traipsed across the blanket of new Spring grass throughout the meadow. The ground was soft and smooth under their bare feet, like a groomed lawn. After a little investigation, John found a little nook in an indent among the trees in which to lay their blanket down. Nowhere had Laurie ever seen such a pristine outdoor view. The site of all the Spring flowers and colorful flowering trees, nature from here to there and

everywhere, made her feel like a princess in a fairy tale. Especially with prince charming beside her, aching for a kiss or a warm cuddle. Or even a bit more, perhaps ? Wow, has life been good to me lately, she smiled. She lay down on the blanket and John immediately took his opportunity to wrap her in his arms and run his hands slowly along the bare flesh he eyed of her tummy and side, as she lounged there. To him, she appeared as a lovely, dainty, phenomenally gorgeous sexy goddess. Hoping for a sweet taste of her, which he wasn’t sure if he deserved, mere mortal that he was. But, God in Heaven, did he crave her.

She was just dizzy in love with him. And he certainly deeply felt the same, as he feasted upon her lips with his open mouth. Oh my God, heaven on earth, pure rapture - he thought of the feeling of her angelic lips.  Soon, he was so high from the delight he felt from the touch of her body, his head was spinning. He tore his shirt off, put his hands under her skirt, and began to feel her hips under the flowy fabric. Very feminine and it was a complete turn on to John. He loved the soft feel of her flesh, and caressed her soft skin under the skirt, in a slow, firm way. He said softly to her, “My beautiful girl, your bare thighs and your sexy hips have me hard as granite down low. And I’m dying for you, my love, suffering.” As he kissed her haphazardly all about her face and temples and nuzzled her neck and nibbled her there. He got his hands entangled in the glorious raging auburn locks, couldn’t get enough. Her smiling face and her soft laughing further fueled his fire. He just needed her so incredibly, just at this moment. 

She replied, “Well, darling, I certainly can’t have you suffering like this any longer, now can I, my love.” He thanked the good Lord for her agreeable mood at this point, not feeling very capable of holding out for her love much longer. He slowly and sexily pulled down her underwear, and once off, he headed directly between her legs. He instantly lifted her skirt up and over her waist, without a thought and just went straight in for her softness. His mouth was all over her, licking, kissing, nuzzling, nibbling. He behaved as though he were starving and what she possessed between her legs was precisely what he hungered for.    

Oh. My. God. She was aflame with the sensations of the feeling of his lips on her. She couldn’t get away, couldn’t make him stop. But- did she want him to stop ? She couldn’t tell. He was mind numbingly pleasuring her and her thoughts were everywhere. All over the place. But, his tongue, oh my goodness, his tongue. Please don’t stop. Hmm. Did she just think precisely that ? Yeah, that was her, alright. He was just so in love, no way was he about to stop. He had his two strong hands atop her hips, holding her down, not allowing her to escape. But, escaping was definitely not her goal, she realized. His sweet sweet lips, holding gently onto her most sensitive part, that little delicate nub. Oh God, how he loved it. He wished he could taste it all day long, massage it until she cried, lick it non stop, till she couldn't take it any longer. That’s all he wanted. To hear her voice in utter agony and ecstacy. That was his only goal, to see her face in complete pleasure. Laur, his sweet angel, she was now moaning in complete joy, her head stretched way way back, throat exposed to him.  Loving his attention to her molten lava sex parts, now tingling and aching for him inside. His tongue slipped inside her quite a few times, pushing her deeper into delirium. Feeling inside, twirling around. Oh. God, too much. His two hands held her thighs wide apart and she didn’t have one complaint or feeling of modesty in the least, in this moment. As far apart as they could go, was absolutely not a problem for her. His attempts to pleasure her had been extremely successful as her sweet sounds increased and she sounded as though she were now crying. But he surely knew that she was in dire bliss, not discomfort. He couldn’t have loved it more, wanted to continue forever, but he knew she wouldn’t be able to have much more. He could certainly tell from the quivering of her tummy and hips, and her sounds and breath. Without warning she felt an avalanche of pressure release, flood all over her entire body and she shouted out a sharp intense sound of gratification. Turning her head from right to left over and over again with force. Her eyes clenched shut, a few tears dripped. She was beyond the sound of his voice and in another world, panting hard. And how he adored the sound and the feel of her, and the writhing of her hips beneath him. Just what he had craved, he got it. Much to his enjoyment. He was happier than he’d ever been, and in dire need for her warm grasp on him, inside of her. It was all he could think about. As she lay there helpless, sorry, but no mercy. He pushed her skirt up higher, held her legs further apart and plunged his aching throbbing length straight into her. He didn’t do this delicately. Or softly; but without restraint. Her pleasured responses had pushed him into man on fire mode. He pressed in deeply, into the hot sweet softness. Ecstacy. “Oooh, my God, my girl, my angel. You feel like warm honey all around me and your grip on me is like paradise. My love, my sweet love.” he moaned. He was thrusting in and out now with passion and groaning as though he had no choice. His pleasure was palpable. His rapture now was unearthly. More. More, was all he could think, yet still attempting to be sure to not hurt his darling angel. But, the buildup and his patient waiting, and now, this tight hold she had him squeezed into, was beyond his strength. No more holding on could he muster. No man could handle this, he thought. No one. It was all over for him, the end of his rope, as he burst into his peak. Shuddering and moaning, groaning. Unintelligible words.  “Holy Christ !” he stuttered out. His hot liquid gushed out into her, gushing, more  and over and over. His eyes were wet from intense emotion plus physical straining. She had pushed him to that point. He realized how powerful she was. He was a mess now. Beyond his ability to form any other words. He was dumbstruck at her power

 over him. He was helpless, in her arms. Holy fuck, was that ever the encounter of a lifetime, he was thinking. They were both confused and impressed at what a little alone time, deeply into the wilderness can do for one’s sex life. Nothing that intense had occurred between them before. They were both thinking it, simultaneously. 

“Laurie, my love, my angel. How the hell ? What just happened. I am now completely convinced, that I can never live without you, not ever, not another day. Please stay, please be my woman. Forever.”

Next Ch. (17)  https://ritacaroline.tumblr.com/post/185513391676/bonz-fan-fiction-ch-17

@starchild0985 @adonna1964 @adorablebonzo

[5hfanfiction]

Flowers on my doorstep - Chapter 2

A/N: Part of this deleted itself, so I’m sorry if it’s not as good as before. Plus I’m really sleep deprived rn. So enjoy.

“Umm Walz?!” I heard Ally call, which was weird because she never called me Walz that was only Dinah. So I got up from the bed where I was snuggled up to Dinah to follow the sound of Ally’s voice by the door.

“What’s up, Allycat?” I asked placing a hand on her shoulder.

“Erm…I think these came for you. They were left on the doorstep.” She said handing me a beautiful bouquet of flowers. No one had ever brought me flowers before let alone, left them on my doorstep as a surprise.

“Someone brought Mila flowers?!” Dinah looked over surprised.

“Hey! Don’t sound so shocked. People are allowed to buy me flowers.” I retorted.

“Look Mila, there’s a note.” Ally pointed to a little pink envelope, tucked gently against the flowers. I shifted back over to the bed next to Dinah eyeing the package sceptically, half expecting something to blow up in my face.

“Well open it Mila. Jesus Christ.” Dinah rolled her eyes.

“Dinah Jane! You watch your mouth!” Ally scolded Dinah who then proceeded to through a pillow at Ally hitting her right in the head and sending her hair up in a mess from the bush of wind created by the force Dinah had threw the pillow at, but I was too transfixed by the flowers to pay much attention to them.

“Alright give it here.” Dinah snatched it and began tearing the envelope open.

“Gently Dinah! Don’t rip it!” I warned her and she listened slowing down her pace and taking more care with it as she pulled out a small piece of card.

“Dear Walz?” Dinah started looking at me questioningly, yet accusingly at the same time, but she continued on as I shrugged. “I am sorry you are sad.  Boys are jerks.” We all laughed at that but after we finished our round of ‘awws’ at the first part, who knew I was sad? It couldn’t have been that jerk Michael I had planned to go out with seeing as he ditched me for another girl. There was such a blunt innocence to the words written on the card, it was all felt very third grade to be honest.

“Tears are horrid, but tears inflicted by others is even worse. I hope this makes you smile and you know that the prettiest things are often the ones mended after being broke for so long.”

“Oh My God Mila, that’s so sweet.” Ally said putting her hands to her mouth as she stared adoringly at the letter, whilst he stared in shock at her.

“What happened to don’t take the lords name in vein?” Dinah quirks and eyebrow, smiling smugly.

“Shut up, Dinah Jane and read the note.” Ally rolled her eyes this time. These two were ALWAYS bickering and lucky me got to share a room with them.

“Fine,” Dinah scoffed, “but only because I wanna know who wrote it. The rest says 'You have a pretty heart, I can tell. P.S  Tell your friend I am sorry, I did not mean to be rude. I was just worried. 27.”

“Huh?” I looked down at the card confused and emotional.

“What?” Dinah chorused.

“That makes no sense.” Ally agreed with us. We all stared at the not for a few minutes trying to decipher it, whilst I also tried to hold back an avalanche of tears at the kind words. I don’t think anyone in my life has ever written me something so pure and sweet.

“Wait?!!” Dinah shouted, sitting up and bouncing on the bed excitedly. “I know! I know! I know! I know!!”

We both looked at Dinah expectantly.

“There was a girl outside earlier. I yelled at her!” Dinah said happily.

“Dinah Jane. Why would you yell at someone?” Ally said in a serious tone, like a mother scorning a child,

“She was staring at Mila, because she was crying.” Dinah explained. “I called Mila Walz, that’s where she must have got it from. I never seen her before so she must be new, which would explain the number twenty seven. Hasn’t room twenty seven been empty all year?”

“Last time I checked it was.” Ally nodded, while I sat still in shock at the letter and flowers.

“Let me see that again, DJ?” I asked holding my hand out for the card and re-read it again. “Dinah! You upset her.” I said slapping the girl playfully on the upper arm.

“Ouch Chancho.” Dinah said rubbing the spot, “I didn’t upset her. She just said she was sorry and! You should be thanking me for defending your ass.”

“I’m not going to thank you for terrorising people. But guys seriously, look.” I pointed at the longer sentence. “Look how sweet that is!”

“It is sweet Mila.” Ally agreed, looking over my shoulder at it. “And those flowers are really pretty too. I wonder if she brought them.” Ally contemplated.

“No, she stole them!” Dinah said, her voice laced with sarcasm. “Actually, no that I think about it. She does seem the type.” Dinah thought.

“Oh come on Dinah, someone sweet enough to write that would not go around stealing flowers.” Ally shook her head.

“You didn’t see her. Bitch looked like she could fuck someone up in seconds.”

“Nooo.” I said, because I agreed with Ally that was unbelievable.“Look at what she put Dinah, no way someone like that would hurt a fly.”

“Look I’m telling you, she looked like she could kill someone with one look. I’ll prove it to you tomorrow. But right now I need to sleep, so get the fuck off my bed.” And with that Dinah shoved me out onto the floor.

“The flowers!” Ally yelled.

“Oh thanks Al, don’t worry about me, Will ya?” I groaned rubbing, my elbow which I landed on painfully.

“Sorry Mils, but I could let someone destroy them flowers. They are symbolic.”

“Of what? They haven’t even open yet Ally.” I laughed at the older girls idealism.

“Growth, love, new awakenings, new experiences, new people. You name it.” Ally answered quickly listing off the endless possibilities as she watered the flowers over by the sink.

-

“Girls! Get up!” An annoyingly loud voice spoke as I layed comfortably in my bed, like so comfortably that I didn’t ever want to leave. Ever. I don’t care if there’s pizza outside or if Ed Sheeran was at my door with his guitar ready to serenade me, I didn’t ever want to get out of bed, I was enjoying sleep too much.

“Dinah! Camila! I swear if you girls don’t get out of bed, I will roll you out of them.”

“Ugh..Ally. Go away.” I groaned grabbing my pillow and throwing it lazily in the direction of where I thought her voice was coming from.

“You missed. Now, get up.” Ally said pulling the covers off of me.

“I don’t want too.” I complained into my pillow, refusing to open my eyes.

“Fine, but we have ten minutes to get to class.”

“Ten minutes!” I rolled pout of bed startled. “Dinah let’s go, our professors going to kill us.” I said quickly scrambling around the room trying to find pieces of clothing and tuff my bag full of my books as Dinah rolled out of bed to do the same, but in a less panicky way.

After five minutes we were sorted and ready to go but I had to check some things first.

“Come on, Mila. We’ve got to go.” Dinah hurried me as she stood at the door waiting.

“Okay okay, I’ve just got to check I’ve got everything.” I said placing my bag back down on the bed and checking through my stuff. Come on Mila. You know we don’t have time for this. Not today.“ Dinah whined.

"Alright, I’ve just got to check the window and then we can go.”

“No Mila. We HAVE to go.” Dinah said walking back into the room and push me out of it.

“Wait Dinah! No. I can’t, I just have to check.” I tried to fight back feeling my anxiety rise as she attempted to push me out of the room.

“Dinah.” Ally spoke seriously, giving her the look. “Just let her check the window.” Dinah released me and I moved over to check each of the windows were locked, twice.

“Okay let’s go.” I said grabbing my bag leaving and locking our dorm room door, before running across campus and just making it to our lesson on time by the skin of our teeth. Earning a diss approving look from the professor.

The lesson dragged on and on and on, only to be made worse by my anxiety. Anxiety’s a bitch, in case you didn’t know.

“Hey Dinah,” I whispered leaning over to her quietly as to not disturb the lecture or get caught by the professor who didn’t like me very much. “Did I lock the door?”

“Yes, Mila. You locked the door.” Dinah said, but she sounded annoyed and I felt bad for irritating her.

“Oh okay. Sorry.” I apologised and sat in silence jiggling my knee for the rest of the lesson to help calm myself.

-

“Okay. That’s it for today. You’re free to go.” Our professor spoke as we all quickly stood up and began to file out of the door into the busy halls.

“Camila! Look!” Dinah shouted pointing into the long crowd of people.

“What?” I asked confused, not seeing anything out of the ordinary.

“Flower girl. She’s right there.” Dinah said pointing to a girl with long dark black hair walking in the crowd.

“What?” I asked shocked. No way that was her, she seemed to…intimidating to deliver flowers to someone they saw crying.

“Jeez Mila, is that all you can say?” Dinah said pushing us forward as the girl started to walk directly past us.  Apparently it was.

“No. Dinah. No.” I said, digging my heels into the floor as she pushed.

“Hey!” Dinah shouted at the girl loudly making her jump and turn around, to which I glared at her for. “You’re the flower girl right?” Dinah asked brashly, whilst I stood back slightly, feeling like I wanted to disappear as she approached the intimidating looking girl. I guess Dinah was right last night, because if this was her I’m pretty sure she could destroy me with one look.

“Me?” The dark haired girl asked innocently- to my surprise -looking around for someone else. “Um- I mean yes. I g-got the flowers.”

I couldn’t help but smile at how insecure she sounded, it was endearing to see someone  so bad-ass looking act so shy.

“You did?” I asked stepping around from Dinah and she nodded looking enthusiastically. “Well thank you, that was incredibly sweet and it really cheered me up.” I admitted to the girl who had written me such a beautifully worded letter, even in lesson as the professor ranted on I found my self thinking of it and reciting the words over to myself.

“Welcome.” She smiled, with a slight blush to her cheeks as she looked down at the floor.

I ended up biting my cheek as I tried to suppress a laugh at her strange child-like wording, because it sounded more like she was greeting us than anything else. I guess she wasn’t as scary as she has appeared on first glance; her looks were still intimidating though, like she was really pretty.

“Maybe we can hang out some time?"  Dinah offered smirking, though I didn’t really mind seeing as she seemed really sweet and probably didn’t know many people.

"Now?” The dark haired girl asked hopefully, looking up at me with bright eyes. Only then did I realise how strikingly bright here eyes were. They were a light shade of green, soft and beautiful.

“Why not?” I laughed, looking to Dinah for confirmation and she just nodded her head in agreement unfazed by the new addition to today’s adventures.

“Yay!” The girl cheered and hopped in between us, bouncing on her feet, excitedly as Dinah and I shared a look of amusement at her enthusiasm then followed her as she bounded off down the hall and out to the courtyard into the Miami sun.

“So, flower girl?” Dinah started mischievously, “Do you often buy random girls you don’t know flowers and leave them mysteriously outside their doors?”

“I try to do good things. It creates good karma and stops bad things from happening.” The new girl explained simply as if it made all the sense in the world.

“So, you’re Buddhist?” Dinah asked.

“I- um…” the girl scrunched up her face in frustration? Or concentration? I wasn’t sure, but she looked like she was thinking hard at Dinah’s question, which I wouldn’t have said was particularly hard. “I don’t know…” she whispered to herself, “I don’t know what that means.” She told Dinah through gritted teeth whilst looking down at the paved floor, with her whole demeanour changing into a more intimidating one.

“Oh, right…” I started not really sure what was going on or if she was joking, because what college student didn’t know what Buddhism was? “It’s a religion. Are you from here?” I asked seeing as that was the most logical explanation as to why she might not understand what we were referring to. Plus, she looked and sounded like she could be of some Latin descent, judging from her accent and features.

“Y-Yes. No. I lived in New York. Born here.” She said, but the same frustration lingered in her voice, making me feel uncomfortable and paranoid because I wasn’t quite sure what I had done to piss her off.

“New York’s cool!” Dinah spoke loudly, “I’ve always wanted to live there.” Dinah spoke making the other girl wince.

“Um- I should go.” The girl spoke, getting ready to speed off as Dinah and I shared yet another confused look. This girl was so excited moments ago.

“Wait! What’s your name first?” I asked, because I still knew very little about her, except her room number and what she had just told me.

“Lauren. I go now, bye.” She spoke rising off waving and pulling out a pair of massive headphones and placing them on her head as she walked away into the sea of people.

“Well that was weird.” Dinah said and I agreed, but didn’t say anything until I remembered what I was thinking before we met Lauren.

“Let’s go check our door and than we can grab something to eat. I still haven’t eaten breakfast.” I said in a jumble of sentences in an effort to hide my obsession, because as much as I adored Dinah, she always made me feel bad and annoying about doing what I had to do. OCD wasn’t just annoying for her, it was annoying for me to and I wished that I could just go a minute without and anxiety, compulsive thoughts or obsessions. Unfortunately life had handed me the short straw.

-

*Lauren’s POV*

I rushed back to my room as quickly as possible, but that was really hard because I kept getting lost and frustrated because I couldn’t concentrate, which only proceeded to make me fell tireder and cause the headache in my brain to increase further. The ear defenders had helped, but my eyes were hurting and I was tired and I just wanted to sleep. But i couldn’t because the moment I got into bed my phone went off and I knew I couldn’t ignore it because it was my mum and she’d get worried and make me come home if I didn’t.

“Hi mom.” I said taking off my ear defenders and squeezing my eyes shut to filter out the pain her loud words would cause as I put on my best happy voice.

“Hi Lauren, sweetie. How are you? How’s your room? Did you find your classes alright?” She bombarded me with questions even though we had spoken about this before, even my doctor had told her.

“Mom please? One question at a time.” I complained, holding a hand to my front left brain as I rolled over onto my side and curled up into the fetus position.

“Sorry Darling.” She spoke softly. “How are you feeling?”

“Great, tanks. I really love it here, mom.” I put on my best impression of the happiest version of myself, because I liked that version and so did everyone else. They liked me when I was easy to deal with and submissive. Lucy liked that, she liked controlling me. Sometimes I missed it and I know I shouldn’t, because it was bad. She was bad, but I-. My head was starting to hurt to much to comprehend simple thoughts.

“That’s really good Lauren.” My mom spoke and I pulled the phone away from my ear slightly. Enough so I could hear her, but far away enough that she didn’t sound to loud for my brain. “Have you made any new friends yet? Please be careful and don’t trust people so easily.” She pleaded. She was always so skeptical or people, but I believed everyone was good at heart. Just sometimes you have to dig a little deeper to find it.

“Yes! I have! I made two. They live downstairs from me.” I informed her happily. I liked making new friends. I didn’t have any because of Lucy.

The more I was beginning to think of her, the more my brain was starting to hurt and by this point it was getting unbearable. “Hey mom? I love you and everything, but I really have to go.” I told her dropping the phone onto the pillow and waiting for a reply before I hung up.

“Okay mija, I’ll talk to you later. Goodbye? I love you and look after yourself, you’re not as resilient as everyone else.” She reminded me, because I was 'different’.

“Okay mom, bye.” And with that I hung up, feeling really angry at her for treating me different. I wanted to get up and throw something but my head hurt and my body was to tired, so instead I let my eye lids drift, shut as my head welcomed the silence and I fell into a deep slumber. Praying that when I woke up I would be normal and not have a brain injury.