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easilydistractedandamused · 7 years ago

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Chapter 8 of Billy Batson

Chapter 8: News

Billionaire Bruce Wayne brings in new son!

That was the headline on the newspaper Hal slapped onto the table in front of Batman, making him glance up at him.

“Is there something you needed?” he asked, sounding bored.

“Yeah, I need to know if this is true,” he said jabbing a finger at the newspaper.

“It’s true,” he confirmed.

“And you’re only now telling us about this?” Hal demanded angrily.

“You truly do have a new son? I thought that was mere rumour,” Diana said blinking her eyes and as the others moved in, Victor knew what they didn’t, that his son was Shazam. That the constant reporters around Wayne Manor was keeping the magic user from reporting in. Batman almost couldn’t himself, but he had teleporters in the Batcave to get here.

“No, his name is Billy,” he said simply, hoping to end it there.

“Billy Batson, right?” Victor asked, earning a glare from the dark knight but he just gave him a cheeky grin (the same cheeky grin that Billy often gave him) as Hal burst out laughing.

“Oh, please tell me you're kidding,” he said amused.

“No, completely serious. His full name is William Joseph Batson, thirteen years old,” he said with a smile

“And how did you know about that?” Clark asked him with a curious frown.

“I’m connected to everything. The second Bats here got the test results on the paternity test, so did I,” he said and they nodded their heads in understanding.

“Which means you’ve been holding out on us, buddy,” Hal said pointing at Cyborg. It was one thing for Bruce to keep a secret from them, he was Batman so it was pretty much expected, but this was Victor , who was very much not Batman.

“Nah, I’ve just been distracted,” he admitted with a shrug.

“Distracted with what?” Bruce asked harshly.

“With Shazam,” he said honestly. It wasn’t a good idea to lie to Batman, and keep as close to the truth as possible. Something he had learned from Billy actually.

“Speaking of that crazy bastard, where is he?” Hal asked looking around as if he would suddenly appear out of nowhere.

“Busy with family problems. I doubt he’ll be able to come in for a few weeks,” Victor said honestly. It would take time for him to figure out how to slip away from both the reporters and from Batman after all.

“This has to do with the thing with the uncle he doesn’t trust?” Clark asked, reminding him of his sharp memory that he remembered a few off hand comments. That was probably why Billy was always so careful about how he chooses his words around both him and Bruce.

“Yeah, it has to do with that,” he admitted, because it really did. His uncle was the whole reason he was dealing with the whole ‘moving to Gotham and living with a billionaire’ situation after all.

“Give him our regards, will you?” he said

“I’ll be sure to tell him,” he said with a nod of his head.

“By the way, Bruce. As a reporter, I’m offended you didn’t tell me about this,” he told him with mock offended eyes.

“You were dealing with something at the time of the press conference and it would be suspicious if I contacted you for every interview,” he said easily.

“For who?” Hal muttered, but Bruce was distracted by his buzzing phone.

“I thought you turned it off when you're in uniform?” Clark asked curiously.

“I have a son that doesn’t know I’m Batman. I need to have it on, especially with him just moving in,” he said bringing it up to his ear as he pulled the cowl off. “This is Bruce,” he answered.

“I know you told me to give him space, but he brought a picnic basket onto the roof,” Damian said without hesitation, making Bruce furrow his brows in confusion.

“ Why would he be on the roof with a picnic basket?” he couldn't help but ask, getting odd looks from the others.

“I don't know,” he scoffed, probably rolling his eyes. “He just had Alfred prepare him some food in a basket and climbed onto the roof. I normally wouldn't be concerned, but his wrist is still sprained,” he said idly.

“How long ago did he climb up there?” Bruce asked.

“ Ten minutes ago,” he said unconcerned.

“It's not like it would be the first time you climbed onto a roof, Damian,” he said casually, hearing his youngest scoff and hang up on him

“I'm worried about your parenting style,” Hal declared.

“Should you not be more concerned about your son being on the roof?” Clark asked him concerned, more so because he heard both sides of the conversation, including the fact that his son was injured and should not be climbing onto the roof to begin with.

“I was warned by his foster parents and his case worker both that he likes to climb onto the roof of whatever home he’s staying in. They informed me that if I gave him his space, he would stop doing it so often,” he said making them blink.

“Foster Parents?” Diana asked confused.

“Oh, that’s right. No one’s ever explained the Foster care system to you, have they?” Hal asked her and she shook her head, confused.

“When parents are unable or unwilling to care for their children for whatever reason and other relatives are also unable to care for the child, they wind up in Foster Care, where a caseworker is assigned to them to place them into a forever home. Foster Homes are temporary homes for the children,” Bruce said.

“And foster parents are these temporary parents?” she asked and they nodded their heads in agreement. “That is a most wonderful system,” she said.

“True, but like all government organizations, it has it's faults. Most of the Foster Parents only apply to the system to gain extra money and don’t properly care for the children. Some children even slip through the cracks in the system entirely,” Bruce said.

“That is horrible. Surely they are working to fix this?” she said and they all glanced at each other and tried to explain it further to Diana without working her into a frenzy.

Wayne Manor-

“Is something wrong, Damian?” Billy asked as his younger brother (and that was a weird thought for him still, that he had a little brother) who was climbing up the roof without any hesitation or fear. He probably climbed up here a lot as well, Billy couldn’t help but think (and privately, he wondered if he was invading his space, a place he went to think like Billy did)

“I was wondering about the picnic basket,” he answered curtly, making Billy look at the item in question. “After all, you still have a sprained wrist. It couldn’t have been easy to bring that up here,” he said sitting next to him.

“The view up here is nice,” Billy said looking over the grounds. You couldn’t even see the reporters, too. “And it’s a nice day today, so I couldn’t help but think it would be a shame to spend it inside,” he answered with a smile. “What? Is something on my face?” he asked when Damian stared at him long and hard, as if searching for something.

“Just trying to see if this is an honest response, or another lie, ” he answered curtly, making Billy flinch a little.

“What?” he asked.

“When you smile, it's usually a lie. A mask you wear,” he answered. “This time, it wasn’t a lie, it seems,” he said.

“Not all of my smiles are some mask,” Billy said, maybe with a bit more of an attitude than necessary, but he was still reeling from the fact that someone had seen through it. “It makes dealing with Foster Parents easier if they think you're some naive little kid who’s so grateful to be given a new home,” he said with a start of a sneer on his face. “It makes them feel better about themselves,” he said, anger started to appear in his voice before he quickly looked away, before the bitterness started to show.

“That’s certainly one way to think about it,” Damian said, humming. “But you still didn’t explain the picnic basket, ” he said making Billy smile.

“I like picnics,” he said. “My old family had them all the time, we’d have one big picnic before they went to their dig sites and another while we were at the dig site. The first was just with us, the second was with everyone at the dig site,” he said starting to pull out food, recalling the sound of laughter. He had never minded with everyone else, because they were also like his family. “We didn’t have the picnic when they left for Egypt. I was too sick,” he said, a hint of sadness in his eyes

“I don’t eat meat,” he told him, bringing a can of juice over to him.

“I have an apple if you’re hungry?” Billy said, holding out the fruit.

“It’s satisfactory,” he responded accepting the fruit. “Next time you want to have a picnic, don’t have it on the roof though,” he told him. “There’s a section in the backyard where you can have one,” he said.

“Maybe, but it doesn’t have this view,” Billy admitted, taking a bite from the sandwich as he looked out across the grounds.

It didn’t beat the view from the watchtower, but it was a close second in his mind.

"By the way, I haven't seen Mr. Wayne in awhile and I'm pretty sure I would have noticed him leave, especially from up here," Billy said looking at Damian curiously, who was already making a mental note to inform their father that Billy got curious when he disappeared during the day. He didn't want Billy to know about him being Batman after all and, if nothing else, he would suffer with them.

"I believe he's in one of the studies working on something for the company," he said without giving away anything and Billy hummed, taking another bite of the sandwich. "Was there something you wanted to speak to him about?" he asked.

"Nah. I'm just curious," he said with a shrug.

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havenoffandoms · 4 years ago

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Hello and congrats on 800 followers!!! Could I ask for an Eskel x female cat Witcher!reader with prompts 3 or 5? Thanks 😊

Hi anon! Thanks so much and thanks for this really fun combination of prompt. Here’s my little silly take on cat!witcher!reader x Eskel. Hope you like it.

Send your prompt requests here.

Cat!Witcher!reader x Eskel: “it’s really not that complicated” (prompt 3) and “we could get arrested for this” (prompt 5)

“Would you hurry up, wolf?” you urge your travel companion as he struggles to pick a simple lock, “it’s really not that complicated, for the love of the gods.”

“You try and pick a lock in a tight space with little to no natural light,” you hear the witcher known as Eskel snide back. A guttural groan pushes past his lips as he tugs on the lock in his frustration. “Fucking thing!”

“Oh, get out of my damn way,” you snap at him as you squeeze yourself into said tight space, elbowing Eskel in the ribs as you wriggle up to where the lock is resisting the wolf witcher, “here, watch an expert at work.”

“Why am I not surprised that you Cat witchers know how to pick locks?” Eskel punctuates his words with a pointed eyeroll.

“At least Guxart taught us some street smarts. What do you bring to the table, your theoretical knowledge of monsters? Your working knowledge of poetry? How’s that gonna help, you gonna bore the guards to death by reciting a couple of verses?”

“Fuck you.”

“Make me,” you hiss in response, but your mood quickly brightens when you hear the familiar ‘click’ sound as the lock yields under your nimble fingers. You pull on it harshly and manage to open the trap door, your only escape out of these dungeons. “Hah! Where does that take us?”

“Sewers, judging by the stench,” Eskel remarks, his nose scrunching up in distaste. You can’t help but agree with your companion on this one. “Beggars can’t be choosers, I guess.”

“Let’s go, then.”

With the agility worthy of your namesake, you jump down yet another hole tight and land on your feet and hands. You keep this position long enough to assess your surroundings, your yellow-green eyes picking up every movement without needing to use a Cat potion. Unlike Eskel, who is probably downing one as you wait for him to follow you into the sewers. Once you are satisfied that there is no immediate danger, you rise to your full height and silently slip along the humid walls. You hear rats squeaking in the distance and scattering as the sound of Eskel landing next to you spook them.

“Any idea which direction we should be taking, street-smarts?”

“Well, the exit was north-west of our cell, so I’m gonna take a wild guess and say we should be heading that way,” you point in the direction you were referring to, “you got your swords?”

“Duh,” is all Eskel offered in response, “do you think so little of me?”

“Do you want an honest answer to that question? C’mon, we’ve wasted enough time waiting for you to drink that stupid Cat potion.”

You ignore Eskel’s grumbled response and take off without another word. You and Eskel have known each other for years. You first met on the path after he saved you from a particularly aggressive female wyvern. The beast was in heat and very territorial, and she did not appreciate anyone interrupting her mating rituals. There had been no contract on her head, you just happened to have the worst of luck. After Eskel saved you, he could hardly believe that he was not only standing face to face with a witcher from the School of the Cat, notoriously responsible for the creation of a famously vicious breed of emotionally-volatile assassins, but face to face with a female witcher no less. Your school often trained women, but very few of those were put through the trials and even fewer survived. You managed to beat the odds. You’re exceptionally good at what you do, which is why you and Eskel got along so well.

After months of travelling together, and after a boozy night following a successful contract, you and Eskel became lovers. At first, it was purely physical, but as the months bled into years you realised that it was nice to have someone to go back to after an exceedingy shitty year on the Path. You started to miss Eskel after prolonged periods of not seeing each other and that’s when you admitted to yourself that it had stopped being purely physical a long time ago. You couldn’t let Eskel know, though. It would only get to his head. That’s why you settled for the tough love approach instead. It worked fine. Eskel had yet to run away.

Your train of thought is interrupted when you hear the familiar hiss of drowners in the darkness. You and Eskel simultaneously unsheathe your swords and brace yourself for an attack. One drowner sneaks up on Eskel from behind, but you notice it first out of the corner of your eyes and blast Igni in its face. In the meantime, Eskel hacks off the arm of another beast before running his silver sword through its abdomen, killing it with one powerful thrust. In the distance, you hear the echoes of more drowners heading your way.

“Shit. We need to fucking hurry.”

You run blindly through the labyrinth of underground tunnels. The truth is that neither of you knows where the exit is, or if there even is an exit. There has to be, you reason, the sewers always lead somewhere. Traditionally to a river, at least. There had to be an exit, or else the underground tunnels would be flooded and you would be swimming in shitwater by now. The fact that you aren’t is a fucking sign right? Right?

“There? You feel that?” Eskel suddenly speaks and instantly every hair on your body bristles in anticipation.

“Feel what?”

“A draught.” Yes. You do feel it now that Eskel mentioned it. “Follow me. Turn to the left.”

You follow Eskel through the sewers, and to the relief of you both, you’re running away from the nest of drowners rather than towards it. Under any other circumstance neither of you would’ve shied from a group of drowners, but you were trying to escape and not draw more attention to yourself. Some other witcher, one that was preferably not wanted in Temeria, could take care of that one.

“We’re getting closer,” you say when your nose picks up the smell of fish and seawater, “we’ve almost made it.”

You and Eskel reach an opening several frantic minutes later, at once out of breath but also relieved that you managed to find your way out of those dungeons. It’s dark outside, which will help you and Eskel escape without raising too much attention, or so you hope. You both manage to exit the sewers soundlessly. Even Eskel with his impressive size manages to stealth his way past guards and civilians alike. Not as flawlessly as yourself, mind you, but you weren’t one to brag.

Well, maybe a little bit, but there would be time for boasting later.

“Hey look, there’s some horses there,” you tell him, your voice too quiet for any mortal ear to pick up but you knew Eskel could hear you loud and clear.

“No. I need to get back to Scorpion.”

“Oh good gods - really? Eskel, we don’t have time for this. Scorpion is stabled near the city gates… at the other side of fucking town.”

“I’m not leaving Scorpion.”

With that, Eskel takes off in the opposite direction, leaving you to ponder whether you should follow him or go your own way and hope that your paths will cross again eventually. Fuck it, who are you kidding, you wouldn’t let that idiot risk his life for a stupid horse on his own. Well, if he gets caught you might just let him ride it out for a while… you know, just to teach him a lesson.

You follow Eskel’s trail, making sure to remain unseen. Your hand reaches up and touches your witcher medallion, shaped in the form of a cat’s head, something you’ve done since the trials to ground you, to calm your nerves. After what felt like the longest fucking chase ever, you see Eskel pressed against the wall of the stables that you recognise as the place you two had left your horses in two days ago when you first arrived. Eskel peeks around the corner, checking for guards, and when he’s satisfied that he hasn’t been spotted he climbs up the side of the building at a surprising speed. You curse under your breath, but follow him up onto the roof of the building.

“You know we could get arrested for this?” you tell him once you reach the top. Eskel raises an eyebrow, a mocking grin tugging at the scarless corner of his lips. Anticipating his smartass remark, you hiss: “I’ve just sneaked out of a dungeon, I don’t fancy another trip through those sewers.”

“Don’t worry, this won’t take you long.”

“Me? Whatever do you mean, me?” Your eyes land on the chimney and its opening, too narrow for Eskel to fit through, but not too narrow to fit… you. Oh, the bastard was going to pay for this. When you turn to glare at your companion, all you can see is the protruding lower lip and the pleading eyes.

“No…”

“Please? Scorpion means the world to me.”

“What about me?” you snap, forcing yourself to look away or risk falling for Eskel’s pretty face all over again, “don’t I mean the world to you?”

“Of course,” he says, his tone growing softer, “and I’m sure if the situations were reversed, Scorpion would do the same for you.”

“Urgh, fine!” you eventually relent despite the absurdity of Eskel’s last comment, “but you owe me for this.”

To this day you don’t know how you and Eskel didn’t get caught sneaking a massive war stallion out of the stables, nor how you two managed to escape the guards at the city gates. It certainly made for an interesting story that winter when you and Eskel travelled back to Kaer Morhen.

Lambert relentlessly teases you for ‘growing too soft’ and ‘being wrapped around Eskel’s little finger’, but when you see the open adoration written plainly on Eskel’s face as soon as he and you retreat back to his room, well, you simply don’t find it in yourself to truly mind all that much.

#eskel x reader #eskel x you #eskel x y/n #cat witcher reader #havenwrites #prompt list #send requests #requests open #eskel #the witcher #reader insert

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thr-333 · 4 years ago

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Mismatch- Part 18

Bio Dad Bruce Wayne Month 2020

Irony! My old friend! You having been so glaringly obvious for so long!

First < Previous > Next

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Bruce stares blankly at the report in front of him, an alert pops up on the Bat-computer. Joker is attacking somewhere downtown. He tries to convince himself to get his gear, when seconds later Red Hood pops up in the area.

“Jason can handle it,” He mutters to himself, but pulls up the live feed anyway.

He had thought with Selina it would be different. That if they had children they would raise them together. Have some semblance of a normal family. Little did he know that they could have already had that.

He feels cold rage wash through him, so focuses on the screen in front. There's the Joker standing with a masked figure. For a fearful second he thinks it's Songbird. But no the costume isn’t right, more his style then Songbirds.

Is there another vigilante?! He thinks, looking over to the alert feeding in new information automatically. No it’s a meet and greet for MDC and MCD. Joker just couldn't wait for the concert then.

It’s not that he doesn't see Selina’s point. To have them be involved in things like this would be terrifying. He already puts his children in danger. He had already lost Jason. What if I mess this up too.

The Joker is now in an elevator talking to the boy who clearly isn’t listening. In fact he’s suspiciously calm for being held at gunpoint. He’ll have to look into it. Then the camera falls and the screen goes to black, he switches to the news feed but they won’t have anything for a while yet. Hacking into the security cameras doesn't even cross preoccupied his mind.

Technically he has already put them in danger. They’ve been nothing but stalked and attacked since arriving in Gotham. All because a rumour that their his children, he couldn't imagine the danger they would be in if everyone found out it was true. The rest of his kids could handle themselves, they were trained to, but even Barbra…

Perhaps it was best if he stayed out of their lives.

“Is everything alright Master Bruce?” Alfred breaks him out of his spiral.

“Yes, Alfred everything is fine,” Bruce sits up straight, as if that was proof.

“Really, because you seemed to have not noticed that young man has been thrown off the roof,”

“What!” He turns back to the screen to see the boy in free fall, he moves to take action a split second before Jason swoops in to catch them.

Bruce sags back into his chair. He shouldn't have been so distracted. He could have helped before, now he’s likely scarred for life. Literally if he knows the Joker.

“Something appears to be on your mind Master Bruce,” Alfred repeats, pouring the tea.

“Some new information has come to light,” Bruce dances around the subject, “Selina has been hiding something very important,”

“Well I should hope you are referring to the twins and not some worthless jewel,”

“What!” Bruce chokes on the tea he was drinking, “How did you know?”

“Master Bruce, you are meant to be the detective out of the two of us,” Alfred passes him a napkin, refilling his cup.

“So in other words you're not going to tell me,” Bruce sighs, running his hand through his hair.

“Let’s just say you have similarities that are hard to miss,” Bruce doesn't look up, “Perhaps too similar is some aspects,”

It is said in such a way Bruce is sure Alfred somehow read his thoughts.

“I can’t bring them into this life,” Bruce rests his head in his hands.

“What's the difference between them and everyone else who runs through the city?” Alfred slides the tea cup closer, in his constant mission to get him to drink more tea than coffee.

“They're happy , happy without me,” Bruce takes the cup, leaning back in his seat.

“You asked them this?” Alfred challenges, clearly setting up a trap to pull him into another lecture.

“No,” Bruce answers, too tired to try and avoid the trap.

“Perhaps Master Bruce, you should try having a conversation rather than assuming you know what they want,” Bruce could be sure he practiced this speech before hand, “Instead of trying to justify reasons to push them away, you could actually try to get to know them,”

“I’ll only put them in danger, they’re better off without me,” It’s true, Selina was right all along, she should have never even told him.

“That might be the case before they knew you, however, do you really think they will want to live the rest of their lives without knowing you?” Selina did tell them didn’t she? how long had they known, had they ever wanted to even meet him? “Or perhaps a better question, would you like to spend the rest of your life not knowing them?”

“It would be selfish of me,” His selfishness never led to any good.

“It would be more selfish to deny them the chance because of what you think is best,” Alfred knows he’s right, as he takes the untouched cup from his hands, “I would certainly find it more selfish, having more rooms to clean that on one ever sleeps in,”

With that Alfred leaves, taking the tea set with him. He was right, as always. It would be better to ask them. He wasn't sure about setting up rooms just yet. He has a lot of explaining to do for everyone else.

“This is the worst thing that could of possibly happened,” Marion groans into the hotel bed.

“I know getting thrown off a building can be traumatic,” Marinette lets the Kwamis out of her backpack, knowing full well that's not what Marion was talking about.

“I don't care about that!” Marion sits up, glaring at her like she was mad, “My crush watched an embarrassing video of me and now he knows I like him!”

“Oh the horror,” Marinette opens the closet which she had set up as a little room for Tikki.

“Imagine if it was Adrien,” Marion spits, glaring up through the pillows

“Oh I would die,” Marinette answers honestly, closing the door giving the Kwamis an opportunity to avoid Marion’s sulking, “But you would also be making fun of me, so…”

“Yeah you’re right,” He flops down on the bed, “Ugh just kill me,”

“As much as I would like a room to myself, I would prefer it not to be a jail cell,” Marinette comes to sit down on the edge of the bed.

“Like you don’t have ways to make a body disappear,” Marion mutters into the covers, but Marinette has practice at deciphering the muffled gibberish.

“Mari, if I did we wouldn’t have to deal with Lila anymore,” Technically she has had many opportunities to get rid of Lila, but Marion needs some humour.

“I would rather deal with Lila than this,” Marion mutters, and Marinette immediately calls bullshit.

“Really?” Nothing is worse than having to deal with Lila, not even Hawkmoth.

“... no,” And especially not a little embarrassment.

“Exactly, so it can’t be that bad,” She shifts onto the bed more firmly.

“Are sure I can’t use your miraculous,” Marion turns to look at her pleadingly, “I could use some good luck,”

“You think your babydoll eyes work on me?” Marinette raises an eyebrow.

“It’s worth a try,” He flops back down, before shooting back up, “Hey! What if I used the Rabbit miraculous!”

“What!” Marinette yells, almost slipping off the bed.

“I could go back and make sure the meet and greet isn’t attacked!” He has a sparkle in his eye that tells Marinette he thinks its a wonderful idea.

“That wouldn’t change the fact he knows,” She tries to shut it down before he gets too-more excited.

“Your right I should go back and stop the interview!” Marion leaps up, reaching for the bag.

“No!” Marinette wrestles him down, trying to stop him from getting to the miracle box.

As they fight, not as seriously as they could but still using super strength, they fall off the bed with a yelp. This is of course when a portal opens at the end of the bed.

“Bunnix!” Marinette yells, still holding Marion in a choke hold, even if he is now frozen.

“This should really go without saying but please do not use the miraculous to go back in time to stop embarrassing yourself in front of your crush,” Bunnix steps out of the portal, fixing Marion with a hard stare.

“See you say it like that and it does nothing to convince me,” Marion tries to break out of her hold.

“Wait, would it really mess up the future?” Marinette keeps her hold on Marion.

“You have no idea,” Bunnix says seriously, with a sigh Marion relaxes and Marinette lets him go.

“Soooo, how are you?” Marion asks, after a long awkward pause.

“Now or in the future?” Bunnix has a flash of playfulness in her eye, that has them both relaxing.

“Well you are here now so it would technically be now anyway,” Marinette mutters, climbing back onto the bed, “… wait not supposed to know anything about the future right?”

“You got it,” Bunnix gives her finger guns with a wink.

“I really feel like I don’t,” She sighs, sinking into the bed.

“Well how are you now then, you don’t really talk to us much anymore,” Marion asks, still sitting on the floor quite comfortably, “Or anyone for that matter,”

“Sorry I’m going through a bit of a; I’m going to be Bunnix I’m better than all of you, phase,” Future Alix explains, leaning against the wall, “Don’t worry I’ll get over it,”

“Is there anything we can do?” Marinette still feels concern for her friend that has pulled away from everyone.

“Just keep being yourselves,” Bunnix smiles, adding mysteriously, “all of them,”

“Right, you know about the identity madness,” Marinette falls back onto the bed.

“You have no idea,” Bunnix repeats, smirking.

“Alright that's getting frustrating,” Marion huffs, crossing his arms.

“Don’t worry you’ll find out in time,” Bunnix ruffles his hair, not that it makes much difference he hasn't fixed it since getting thrown of the roof, “That reminds me, there is a message from the future I’m allowed to give you, here,”

“What’s this?” Marion takes the scrap of paper from her, Marinette standing.

“You’ll-”

“I’ll find out,” Marion interrupts, getting another smirk, “got it,”

Bunnix doesn't say anything more, walking back through the portal with a salute. Marion stands up unfurling the note. Marinette reads over his shoulder.

Sorry for being a jerk ♡

“... What's this supposed to mean?” Marion looks to her for answers.

“No idea,” She sits back on the bed, having hoped it would be some key to Hawkmoth's identity.

“Maybe it's your convoluted way of apologising for stealing the top bunk,” Marion grins sitting next to her, “Knew you would regret it one day,”

“I did not steal the top bunk,” She swats half heartedly at him, as he easily dodges “I won that game fair and square,”

“I doubt it,” Marion goes to fold up the note.

“So be it,” Marinette takes the note reading over it again.

“... So I can’t travel back in time,” Marion lies back in the bed.

“You shouldn't travel back in time,” Marinette scolds, still not making sense of the note.

“Let me just point out that since Bunnix showed up there is an alternate timeline where you let me do it,” Marion’s dangling legs kick at her slightly.

“What on earth was I thinking?” She folds up the note into a heart, partly to see if it revealed some hidden message, why else would there be a heart?

“Oh my poor, dear brother, if only there was some way I could lessen his suffering,” Marion recites theatrically, in a terrible impression of her.

“Careful now, I can always learn how to hide a body,” She warns, waiting for the note to do something, it doesn't.

She keeps trying to decipher the note. Starting a mental countdown for when Marion explodes.

“Nette! What am I supposed to do!” Right on time, “The worst possible thing happened, he found out I like him,”

“Isn’t that the best thing?” Marinette asks absentmindedly, reaching for her backpack holding the miracle box.

“No it’s the worst,” Marion pouts, falling back on the bed.

“Ok, think of it this way,” She tucks the note into a side compartment of the miracle box, “Is this the most embarrassing thing that could possibly happen?”

“Surprisingly, not helping ,” Marion glares, she just glares back, “Yes, yes it is,”

“Then you can’t possibly embarrass yourself more,” He would probably prove her wrong, but that's besides the point

“So what your saying is...” Marion trails off, getting lost in his thoughts.

“-Go for it,” She finishes.

“Hmm, not a bad idea,” Marion hums, swinging to sit back up.

“Of course not, it’s mine,” She tucks the miracle box safely away, planning to come back to the note later.

“Maybe I should tell Adrien you like him,” Marinette whips around to see his cheekily grin.

“Don't you dare!” She pounces, trying to pull him into another choke hold, “I won't even bother hiding the body!”

“I am such a jerk!” Jason says, yet again, and Roy is so close to just leaving him to talk himself in circles, “I just left , he probably thought I was mad about it!”

“The biggest jerk in history,” He agrees, fiddling with the dial of his newest project.

“ Roy ,”

“Sorry, is this not the ‘agree with everything I say’ kind of rant?” He doesn't bother to look up, he knows Jason is pacing around the living room, he has been for the last hour.

“No, you know those are mainly reserved for Bruce,” Jason says absentmindedly, Roy can feel him passing behind him.

“Right, right,” Roy waves him off, with blowtorch in hand, “But Jason we’ve been over this ten times already,”

“What if he decided he doesn't like me since the interview?”

“Oh I see it's actually the ‘ignore Roy’ kind of rant, got it,” He sighs, welding two pieces of metal together.

“What if he doesn't like me because of this ,”

“Then it would be the absolute worst job of flirting I have ever seen,” And he’s seen and tried some pretty bad tactics, “Really takes a special talent for someone to actually like you and to just completely shoot yourself in the foot,”

“I need to explain,” Jason decides, likely not hearing a word he just said.

“You’re going to go up to him in full gear and awkwardly explain that you suck at flirting,” Yeah that rarely worked well on civilians.

“What else am I meant to do?” Oh so he is listening.

“I don’t know, get to know him better?” Roy shrugs, a piece falling off his contraption, “Apologise when you aren't going to scare him off,”

“And how am I meant to get to know him better Roy? next time his life is threatened?” Roy shrugs ‘why not’ as he tries to fit the piece back on, “Hey I know were getting shot at but I just wanted to ask you favourite color,”

“Red, probably,” Roy guesses, the piece falling off again.

“ Roy ,” This time he does look up, but doesn't dare mention to Jason he is blushing the same shade, “How am I supposed to get to know him, it's not like we have any other connection,”

“Easy just figure out his secret identity,” Roy knows he can do it, hell he could probably do it.

“I’m not going to do that,” Jason sighs, sitting down on the couch with noticeably less scorch marks.

“Alright then, suffer,” Roy shrugs, finally getting the piece in place.

“...I need to apologise,” Jason decides, adding “Today,”

“Ugh, you're going to find some overly convoluted bat-like-way of apologising aren't you,” The piece comes loose a little bit and Roy decides it's not that important anyway.

“Probably,”

“Was this really the best way you could think of apologising?” Marion asks, he had found a note hidden away in the miracle box a while back, it having finally clicked who sent it.

“You kept my note,” Jason smiles looking up from the book he was reading.

“Of course I did, I have to send it back to past me didn't I?” Marion sits next to Jason, careful of his bruised side.

“I wrote that a while ago, looks the exact same,” Jason puts down the book and picks up the note.

“It’s time travel, I’m not taking any chances,” Nope, Marion had learnt his lesson about that a long time ago.

“Of course,” Jason smirks, leaning in closer, “So that's the only reason you kept the note?”

“Well,” They had kept it to see if it was some key to Hawkmoth's identity, which seems kind of ridiculous now but they had been grasping at threads, “I did think it was pretty cute, once I knew it was you,”

He wasn't about to admit how long it took to figure out. Then again Marion didn’t think he felt the same way. He looks over to Jason, how wrong he was

“How was it not obvious it was me?” Jason asks, a little teasingly, “I added a heart,”

“Yeah that kind of confused me,” Marion frowns, turning the note over in his hand.

“What? I wanted to make it obvious I was flirting,” Jason wraps an arm around him, Marion quickly turning to him.

“That was flirting?!”

“You didn’t know?!”

------------------------

Taglist:

@blackmagicforever @zeneralla @technicallyburninggarden @fusser90 @misslenamooney @superbwhispersconnoisseur @biodad-bruce-month @nalu-ismyjam @the-one-woman-army @rosesandsailboats

#miraculous #miraculous ladybug #miraculous ladybug fic #bio dad bruce wayne #Bio Dad Bruce Wayne Month 2020 #Mismatch #Marinette #marinette is mdc #twins au #vigilante au #popstar au #bio dad au #bio! dadbrucewaynemonth2020 #b!dbwm2020 #Maribat #mlb

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writing-wrxngs · 4 years ago

Text

Snowfall

(Here’s something nice after that rough angst. Usually after I write something that’s really angsty I HAVE to make something really nice and comforting just to balance things in my brain, and to soften the blows for the angst I write)

What was supposed to be a fun night out had been canceled, what with the snow falling too hard and the wind whipping too hard for anyone to leave the house. Techno and Wilbur took the loss well, as they were plenty old enough to understand the severity of the storm, but Tommy was upset.

When he was first told that they would have to stay in for the night, he was almost inconsolable. Phil had long given up on trying to get Tommy out of those sort of hissy fits, since usually they would taper off on their own once Tommy realized he wasn’t going to get his way. At least this time the situation was out of his hands so he didn’t feel as bad for it. He was just the bearer of bad news. Instead, he let himself be unfazed by it, until the boy stormed off to his room to sulk. It was at that point now, and Phil made a note of the time. If Tommy was still upset in an hour or so, he’d go up and check on him.

Until then, he busied himself with indoor things, small tasks around the house that he’d been neglecting and the like. Meanwhile, Wilbur and Techno sat close to the fire, reading books and doing homework, trying their best to be busy, too. Phil watched as Wilbur pondered a question on his paper, before moving closer to ask Techno. Techno pushed his glasses up onto his face and took the paper from Wilbur’s hand, reading it himself. At the distance the two were from each other, it struck Phil. Despite all the differences they had now, everything they did to make themselves stand apart from each other, they still looked so alike. Of course, it would never be how it was when they were young, but they certainly would always share some things. The observation made him chuckle.

The two whipped their heads to the sound. “What’s so funny?” Wilbur asked.

Phil just shook his head. “It was nothing, son. Don’t worry about it,” he said, going back to his own work. He’d let his two eldest do their work in peace.

After that strange interruption, Wilbur turned his attention back to Techno, who was explaining the question on his homework to him. He listened, and finally understood it. That was the nice thing about Techno being the same age as him. He was doing the same things as him, and they were fresh in his mind since he did them at the same time. Best of all, Techno seemed to be good at everything Wilbur wasn’t. Wilbur could say the same, but not to the same extent. This was mostly just because Techno didn’t have many things he wasn’t great at. If there was, he simply didn’t do them. Regardless, both of them appreciated the way they seemed to work so well for each other. Once Techno finished explaining things, Wilbur nodded in understanding. Another thing was since Techno actually knew him, better than any teacher ever could, the terms in which he explained things were ones Wilbur was more comfortable in. Once that roadblock was passed, the two did their work in silence again, the only sound being that of the fireplace. Usually they did their work up in their room at their desks, but a cold night like this called for the warmth of the fire. And honestly, they also did it because if they did it there, they’d be doing it together, making up for the time they were supposed to spend together going out. The fire was higher than usual, trying its hardest to compensate for the harsh winter weather, and the flames danced in the reflections coming off from the twin’s glasses.

The hour passed, and Phil went upstairs to talk to Tommy. Wilbur watched as not much after, he returned down the stairs, exasperated. “Tommy still moping about up there?” he asked.

The exasperated sigh Phil gave was answer enough.

“Lemme see if I can cheer him up,” he said, getting up. “I’ve gotta put my homework away anyways,” he added.

Phil shrugged in response. “Go ahead, he’s still pretty bummed out. Maybe you can work your magic on him,” he joked.

Work your magic. That was Phil-speak for Wilbur’s charm. Sure, Wilbur was a smoother talker extraordinaire, and if he wanted to, he could convince a man with no legs into walking again. But Tommy, Tommy was a different story. That boy hung on Wilbur’s every word, regardless of what he was actually saying. This was a fact Wilbur knew well. He loved it, because as much as he hated to admit it, Tommy was an alright kid. He loved that little shit. Feeling adored is a great feeling, and he was happy to indulge his young devotee for more of it. A plan already forming in his head, Wilbur climbed up the stairs.

Like he had said, he first went to his room to put away his homework, and then went to Tommy’s. He didn’t knock, but walked in quietly.

Tommy was on his bed, sitting with his knees tucked up by his chest with his arms crossed. Sulking. He didn’t move to acknowledge Wilbur, but certainly noticed him there.

“Still sad we got snowed in?” Asked Wilbur.

With a small frown, Tommy nodded. “It’s not fair,” he said. “We were gonna have so much fun and now we can’t…”

Putting on his usual smile, Wilbur looked at Tommy. “Who says we can’t? There’s lots of things we can do!”

“It’s all the same thiiing though,” Tommy whined.

Wilbur took Tommy’s hand and pulled him out of bed. “You’re just letting yourself get stuck in a rut, Tommy. If you think outside the box, you can find something to do.”

Trying his best not to fall as he got pulled out of bed, Tommy yelped. He tried to say something but just stuttered out a few sounds, shocked as he was dragged along into Wilbur’s room. “Wil, what are we gonna do?” he asked, finally able to compose himself.

“Just wait a minute,” Wilbur said, going over to his desk to rifle through the drawers. He found what he was looking for, a flashlight. He tossed a coat of his to Tommy. “Put that on,” he told him.

Tommy did as he was told, watching as Wilbur then moved across the room to Techno’s desk, looking through those drawers, too.

“Perfect,” Wilbur whispered to himself as he found the second flashlight he was looking for. After that, he grabbed another coat of his and put it on. “Come on, we’re getting on the roof.”

Running over to the window to meet his brother, Tommy let out a small gasp. “You can go out there? It’s safe?”

Wilbur chuckled. “Course you can. I go out there all the time. It’s nice out there.”

“What do you do out there?” Tommy asked.

The answer sat underneath Wilbur’s mattress. A pack of cigarettes, one that slowly dwindled away with occasional smoke breaks the teenager took. With a crooked smile, Wilbur said, “just to get out sometimes. Once in a while it’s just nice to get a break from this house.”

Tommy nodded in understanding. “Get some fresh air,” he chimed in.

“Yeah,” Wilbur said, trying not to chuckle at the irony of the boy’s statement. He slid the window open, confident in it’s silence. He knew that the window never squeaked, never made a noise in protest of being open, never got stuck in its tracks. He climbed through first onto the roof, the cold taking him by surprise after staying in the warmth of the house for so long. He helped Tommy through the window and closed it behind him. The snow would get in if he didn’t. It was easy to open the window from the outside, anyways. Wilbur often thought how odd and borderline unsafe it was to have a window so easily accessible facing out to the low roof above the front porch of the house. A front porch that was easily climbable. Wilbur also didn’t care all that much because, in his teenage selfishness, these conditions were advantageous to him.

Scrunching up his face against the snow, Tommy looked to Wilbur. “So what are we gonna do up here?” He asked, curiosity finally taking hold of him.

Passing a flashlight to Tommy, Wilbur instructed him to lay down on the roof and turn on the flashlight. As his brother did so, so did he. When you look up at snow that is falling down quickly, they almost look like stars. Stars you’re flying though. The flashlights made this effect more obvious. “Doesn’t it look like we’re flying through space?” he asked.

Gasping as the idea clicked in his brain, Tommy nodded. “It does! But why are we flying through space?” the boy asked, baiting Wilbur into giving him a story. That was his favorite thing Wilbur did; taking a little thing they did together and spinning a whole saga out of them.

Secretly, Wilbur knew that's what Tommy was doing. The kid wasn’t sneaky. In fact, Tommy didn’t have a subtle bone in his body. He hummed in thought. “Well, I’m a space explorer, looking for faraway lands that have never been discovered before. To speak to new alien races. Captain Wilbur. And you, Tommy, you’re my lieutenant.”

“What’s a l-lieu-lieu,” Tommy struggled. He always struggled with big words, despite the fact he was getting too old for such things. Everyone just hoped he’d eventually grow out of it and were thankful that no one at school bothered him about it.

“Second in command,” Wilbur explained, cutting off the stuttering. “My right hand man.”

The concept made Tommy downright giddy. Those lines were all the boy needed to be enraptured in the story. He made spaceship noises for himself and he listened intently to the more complex parts of the story that Wilbur weaved. He reacted when Wilbur gave him something to react to, and rolled with whatever he was given.

After a few minutes, the two brothers were both caught up in the story. Laughing and moving the flashlights around as if on cue, completely devoted to the creation. Tommy had completely forgotten how he felt the beginning of the night. Wilbur could tell, in the few moments he stopped playing the game and checking on Tommy. His cheeks were more flushed from laughter than from the cold, and his mind was obviously completely somewhere else. He definitely worked his magic, that's for sure.

The only reason they stopped was the sound of the window being slammed open breaking their illusion. “You’re gonna get yourself a lecture and a half if Dad finds out you brought Tommy out there, Wil,” said Techno’s voice, cutting through the wind.

Turning to the window, Wilbur frowned. “I know.”

“Technoblade, we were having fun!” Tommy retorted from beside Wilbur.

Techno rolled his eyes. “I’m sure you were, but if you get caught it’ll be a far worse end than me telling you to come in.”

How was Techno always right? Wilbur sighed in defeat. I guess someone had to be the responsible brother. “You have a point there. Come on Tommy, let’s get in. You better not catch a cold from this either,” he joked. After climbing back through the window, he helped Tommy back through.

Despite not liking the fun being cut off, Tommy was still smiling. “I won’t!” he chimed, already running out of the room to his own.

Chuckling at the sight, Techno shook his head. “How do you do it?” He asked.

Wilbur shrugged. “I dunno. Him and I just sorta click. He can be annoying as all hell, but he’s a good kid. I know his buttons better than anyone here.”

He didn’t quite understand what that meant, but Techno nodded. Tommy, of course, was his little brother, too, but they weren’t close in that same way. He still cared, but maybe it was just that the way he showed he cared didn’t mesh the same way Wilbur’s did. “Well, I don’t get it, but it’s definitely a good thing. Someone’s gotta be able to push those buttons.”

“Yeah, I’m just happy it’s me. He pushes my buttons the same way,” Wilbur said with a chuckle. He had never thought of it like that. Regardless, he had been able to cheer Tommy up, and to his surprise, he had a good night himself. Sure, it wasn’t what had been planned, but the night had been salvaged. And that was something he was proud of.

#mcyt #mcytblr #dream smp #dream smp fanfiction #sleepy bois inc #sleepy bois inc family dynamic #sleepy bois inc fanfiction #tommyinnit #wilbur soot #technoblade #philza

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ambivalent-anarchy · 4 years ago

Text

Empire State Of Mind

Masterlist

Gender: Female

Pairing: Peter Parker x stark!reader

Warning: None

Summary- (FLUFF)(CRACK)the story of how Peter Parker got over his fear of heights (I was inspired by one of Peter's lines in the Spiderman ps4 game)

A/N: Okay this is me getting back to fics because apparently the only way I can actually get inspiration to write is if I'm procrastinating sooooooo since school has started I guess there will be lots of that lol

---------------------------------------

When Peter told Ned about his fear of heights, he completely freaked out.

"You can't be afraid of heights. You're Spiderman!," he whisper-shouted at their lunch table. "How can Spiderman be afraid of heights?!"

Peter shrugged. "I dunno, maybe I'll just have to get over it eventually."

"But if the spider gave you strength, perfect eyesight, and all those other awesome things. How could it not give you the ability to not be afraid of heights?!," Ned asked, utterly confused. "I mean, spiders aren't afraid of heights."

"Yeah Ned, I know. But-"

"And if spiders aren't afraid of heights then when the spider bit you, you should've picked up that trait too, right?"

"Ned-"

"-Maybe you just got a really lame spider. Maybe the spider that bit you was afraid of heights and he was a spider outcast and-"

"Ned!"

When Peter told MJ about his fear of heights, she immediately mentally prepared herself for his funeral.

"How is Spiderman afraid of heights?"

Pete groaned. "I don't know..."

"I knew it," she sighed. "You're gonna die."

"Wait, what?"

"You can't be out there saving the city while being afraid of heights. That doesn't mix," she explained matter-of-factly. "You're gonna die."

"I'll get over it, MJ. I just have to keep trying."

She shook her head. "Whatever you say, loser. But when you die, the only thing I'll be saying at your funeral is 'I told ya so'."

When Peter told Harry about his fear of heights, he teased him about it relentlessly.

Peter braced himself. "And before you say it, yeah I know: 'How is Spiderman afraid of heights?'. Ha. Ha. Funny."

Harry tossed a pretzel into his mouth. "That's pretty pitiful, Pete," he snickered.

"Yeah I know-"

"-You're supposed to be the 'Amazing' Spiderman, not the 'I-can-only-save-you-if-we're-under-fifty-feet' Spiderman."

"You know what? I'm just going to stop telling people," Peter mumbled, hiding his face into his hands.

"C'mon, I'm just messing with you, bro," Harry teased. "But seriously, how can Spiderman be afraid of heights? That's like Ironman being afraid of iron!"

Peter stared. "...it's really not though."

"Whatever." Harry reached over to ruffle Peter's hair with his hand. "Just come to the penthouse tonight and I'll throw you off the roof. Bam. Fear conquered."

"..."

When Peter told you about it, you did the natural Stark thing to do, and helped him out...after teasing him of course.

"How the fuck are you Spiderman and you're afraid of heights? How does that even work?," you laughed.

"Ugh, not you too [Y/N]," he groaned.

"Why're you scared if you've got your webs?," she interjected again. "As long as you remember those, you can't fall."

"That doesn't really help."

"Wait, so you save all those people in tall buildings while you're so scared of heights? Wow. You're even more awesome now."

Peter shrugged it off. "I guess when the moment comes to save people, I kind of have to push the fear aside, y'know?"

"Aaaand why are you even telling me this? What, you want me to fix you or something?" You laughed again, slapping the table. "I'm good with robots, Pete. I'm not a wizard."

Peter shuffled in his seat. "Well I-i was kind of hoping that... maybe you could h-help me?"

You raised an eyebrow. "And how would I do that?," you asked, giggling a bit. "Push you off avengers tower?," you teased.

"A-actually I was hoping for the Empire State Building..."

You paused. "...wait, what?"

Peter nodded in response.

"Pete..I was only kidding... Like really, are you being foreal?!"

He smiled, patting his hands on his lap nervously. "Will you?"

"You're going to fall off the Empire State Building to get over your fear of heights?," you asked.

He nodded uncertainly. "Yep."

"...And you want me to push you off said building?"

"Yeah pretty much," he confirmed.

You stared in disbelief for a moment before checking your watch. "The things I'll do for your dumbass," you sighed. "Alright. Meet me at the top of the Empire State at four. But if you die...I will not be held responsible.

--------

Peter crawled cautiously along the side of the Empire State Building, being sure to never look down.

'You're not that high, Pete. You're not,' he told himself. 'You're only like twelve....t-twelve....hun....'

"Twelve h-h-hundred fucking feet off the fucking ground oh my goshhh!," he whimpered, squeezing his eyes shut as he continued up the building. "Oh my God, please let me live."

He crawled with his eyes closed until he couldn't feel the thick glass wall anymore. Peter jumped over the railing of the 103 floor observation deck and finally placed his feet on solid ground.

"Wow, Spiderman. You're literally shaking," he heard your voice laugh.

Peter looked at you, wide-eyed as you sat on top of the railing, legs pointed outward, facing the city. "How are you not terrified right now?!"

You shrugged. "I literally take the iron suit for a joy-ride like every week. Heights don't bother me. Now, are we doing this or not?"

"J-just.. gimme a second," he mumbled. "You can do this, Peter. You can do this," he pep-talked himself. "You got this."

You remained sitting on the railing and swinging your legs, trying to give Peter some space to get himself together.

After what felt like about ten mintues, you looked over at him. "You okay over there, Pete?"

Peter took a deep breath and gave a small nod before peeking over the side of the building, which he quickly realized was more than just a big mistake on his part. "F-fuck no!" He quickly stepped back until he was the furthest he could be from the edge. "It's too high! I-i can't do this!"

You groaned. "C'mon, Pete. Wasn't this your idea anyway?"

"Actually it was sort of Harry's!," he stammered. "...[Y/N]..I-i really don't think I can do this."

You ran towards him, cupping his face with your hands. "Hey, hey... relax. You're gonna be okay. You hear me?"

Slowly, he began to nod. "...O-okay," he sighed and took the time to prepare himself again. "I think I'm ready."

You backed away a bit. "You sure?"

"..no."

"Look," you said. "Y'know, you don't have to do this if you really don't want to."

"No," Peter declared, squeezing his eyes shut, his hands turning to fists. "No, I said I'm going to do it today. So I have to do it today. I have to."

"Well then let's do it."

"But I can't!," he whined.

You groaned. 'If this dork doesn't make up his mind.'

Then it hit you.

"I guess when the moment comes to save people, I kind of have to push the fear aside, y'know?"

He'd told you the answer to his problems without even knowing.

"Got it," you whispered.

Turning around quickly, you climbed back over the railing separating the standing area from the edge of the building with a mischievous smile.

Once comfortable, you started to rock, swinging your legs back and forth. "Golly gee, Peter. I sure hope I don't fall!," you yelled dramatically in the perfect 'woe-is-me' fashion.

Confused, he looked up from where he was frozen in place. "[Y/N], what?"

You continued to speak dramatically and robotically. "Oh it would be such a shame if maybe I were to..." You gestured a person falling with your hand until it finally reached the end. "Splat!"

"[Y/N], c'mon. Stop."

"And I suppose if I were to happen to be plummeting to my death-" you looked over at him with wide eyes. "-The only person capable of saving me would be the AMAZING Spiderman!"

"[Y/N]. I'm not kidding around. Seriously, this is dumb."

"Gee wilikers! I guess my life is in your hands now Spidey!," you smirked before throwing yourself off the edge of the Empire State Building.

"[Y/N]! What the fuck!"

"Whooooooooooooo!," you yelled as you fell, confident that he would catch you.

Rolling his eyes and cursing under his breath, Peter immediately threw caution to the wind as he jumped over the fence. The only thing on his mind was catching you.

'You idiotic bitch of a girl that I love...'

Gathering his crazy surroundings, he looked around until he finally saw you. And there you were, free falling and whooping like you were on a rollercoaster and not actually almost dying.

'Okay, Pete,' he thought. 'Save her or Mr. Stark will literally kill you..Plus your girlfriend will be dead... yeah definitely that too.'

"[Y/N]!," he yelled.

"Any time now, Peter!," you shrieked once you felt you'd been falling for a bit too long. "C'mon, I know you can do it so how about you FUCKING DO IT!"

Finally catching up with you a bit, he shot a web out to pull you towards him, and then shot another on the building.

You gasped when you felt something yank you upwards. Immediately after you were scooped up by a blur of red and blue.

"I've got you, [Y/N]," he gasped out, one arm holding you while the other was busy holding the two of you up with the webbing. "I've got you."

You held onto him tightly and let out a laugh of relief. "I knew you would," you giggled. "That was awesome."

He began to laugh too. "Oh my gosh, you crazy little adrenaline junky!"

You smirked in response, looking around at where you were now "Sooo.. we're hanging off the Empire State Building..what now?"

Peter looked around too. "Uhh-" he smirked. "-wanna go for a swing?"

"That's just the adrenaline talking, Petey," you informed. "But I mean, I'm down if you are. You're not still scared?"

"Oh I'm terrified," he laughed before leaning in for a quick, messy kiss. He stared at you with nothing but love in his heart. "But I'll be fine as long as I've got you."

The next time Peter found himself swinging through the air, the last thing on his mind was how high he was going.

@spideyyeet, @soft-petey, @hey-its-grey, @allegra-writes, @chaoticpete, @underoosjae, @allegra-soleil, @sovereignparker, @lost-space-ranger, @kelieah, @spidey-reids-2003, @spidey-boy-89, @thesherlockianavenger, @crappy-unicorn

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peachy-beomie · 4 years ago

Text

Yellow <TAEGYU>

Genre: Light Angst

Pairings: Taegyu (Kang Taehyun x Choi Beomgyu)

Word Count: 1,829

Warnings: None!

Synopsis: In a world where you cant see color until you meet your soulmate, Kang Taehyun lives his life in monochrome. He’s never experienced color. But one particular boy makes him realize that maybe color isn’t all about what you see.

A/N: This is one of my FAVORITE ideas I’ve ever come up with. It was intended to be much longer but I struggled to write the whole thing and this actually turned out really good! I might write a second part so maybe be on the lookout for that 👀

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29409198

Taehyun’s POV

People tend to take for granted that which they have no fear of losing. Things so constant and ordinary in life, like hope and freedom. But some people are not blessed with the luxuries of consistency, and even those who are can learn just how quickly things can be ripped away. In this world of soulmates and colorless lives, people learn very quickly to cherish what they have.

Color, a word which here means: varying pigments and shades; is a concept unknown to me, as it is to many others. Everyone has a soulmate, our ‘perfect match’ or ‘other half’, the person who will complete us. It’s said that when you and your soulmate first lock eyes, the world explodes with colors, vibrant and dazzling. My parents used to tell me stories of blazing sunsets that would leave them breathless, and of endless fields filled to the brim with flowers who’s hues outmatch the very sun. They talked on and on about colors, and they’d always tell me: “One day, you’ll see them too, with someone you’ll love more than life itself.”

As a kid, I’d dream of meeting the person who’d make my world come alive with countless tones and hues. But as I grew up, I began to worry less about finding my soulmate, though I never stopped dreaming of a world beyond the monochrome I’m all too familiar with.

And as I’m sitting at my desk at 3 am, nose buried deep in the history texts I’m memorizing, color, soulmates, and all their mystery are the last thing on my mind.

Nonetheless, my thoughts are interrupted by the pale white light of my screen revealing a text from Choi Beomgyu, my best friend.

3:48 a.m.

gyu the annoying hyung

are you awake?

i can’t sleep

baehyun

why?

gyu the annoying hyung

just thinking too much. you?

baehyun

homework. are you ok?

gyu the annoying hyung

it’s nothin hyunnie-bunny don’t worry your pretty lil head about it :)

Ignoring the slight flutter of my stomach at the nickname (and the fact he called me pretty), I continue to mull over Beomgyu’s texts. Despite his protests, I can’t help but worry a little bit. Beomgyu is the least sad person I’ve ever met, always full of ear splitting grins and melodious giggles. It’s what makes him so endearing. The warmth of his smile, and the brightness in his eyes, it’s unmatched in its beauty and splendor. I have never met anyone as refreshingly themself. Beomgyu lives as though he has nothing to hide, and no shame to carry.

baehyun

you cannot stop me, i will worry if i want to.

gyu the annoying hyung

well if you’re going to worry anyway, can you at least come over?

please?

I can practically see Beomgyu’s pouty face and puppy eyes through the screen. I sigh almost defeatedly, knowing instantly I’ll never be able to say no to the charming boy.

baehyun

you’re lucky we’re friends

gyu the annoying hyung

love you toooooo <3

I groan lightly as I grab my coat and exit the building. It’s not like his apartment is too far away, only about a 10-minute walk from my own. I quite enjoy the serenity of the streets at 4 am. It’s quiet, save the soft bustling of stray cars, the cool air wafts towards me in light bursts. I take in the city and all its wonders, giving into the quiet mystery.

It should be odd that I gave into Beomgyu’s requests so easily, but truthfully this is just habitual at this point. Even though we’ve only known each other a couple months, we’ve fallen into an easy routine. Friendship with Beomgyu is just that: easy. He makes me feel comfortable

My phone buzzes sharply in my pocket.

gyu the annoying hyung

hurry uppppp >:(

I giggle quietly at his impatience but quicken my pace all the same.

Upon arriving at Beomgyu’s door I only get to knock once before Beomgyu appears before me, grabs my hand, and walks pointedly out the door with me in tow.

“Beomgyu wha-” I try to ask as I’m dragged to the stairs. I’m met with no answer .as we trudge up the narrow stairway to the roof. As we burst through the door, the crisp night air envelops us. Beomgyu calmly walks towards a desolate corner of the wide expanse of roof and motions for me to follow.

“Come stargaze with me,” he says as he lays down to look at the sky. I take my place beside him and stare at the stars. I’ve never been good at astrology but I can spot a few constellations. Andromeda, Orion, and Cassiopeia smile down at me from their perch up in the boundless night. It’s calming, finding the constellations. Knowing each star has a purpose, instead of just being placed in the sky at random. I imagine I’m one of those stars, lost in the infinite infinity of space. I think about how I too will find my constellation, my purpose, my home, and I’m placated by this knowledge.

Beomgyu and I sit like this for what feels like hours, comfortably silent; aware of each other’s presence without really acknowledging it. This is one of the best things about Beomgyu and me: though we talk consistently, we don’t need to say or do anything to feel comfortable with each other.

Beomgyu is the first to break our silence.

“The stars remind me a lot of my soulmate.” I turn my head sharply to face him, ignoring the way my stomach sinks at this news.

“You’ve found your soulmate?” Beomgyu nods quietly.

“Yeah, a long time ago. His name was Zhong Chenle. He loved astronomy and he’d always make me come out to view the stars with him,” Beomgyu smiles slightly at the memory. “I met him when we were kids. He was so bright and energetic, he used to bounce around a lot because he just couldn’t sit still. He made the whole world seem less dull. Not only because I could see colors, but his existence simply made me happier. He was like the sun in my universe. But then-” Beomgyu hesitates, tears falling silently from dejected eyes onto tanned cheeks. I grab his hand and give it a light squeeze, trying my best to let him know that I’m here and it’s okay. He stutters a bit before continuing, “It didn’t happen all at once, but the colors just began fading. First the yellows, then reds, each one dissipated until I was only left with black and white. I tried calling his house for hours but got no response. Finally, his mom called me, in tears, saying that he and his father had been in a car accident. His father sustained a lot of injuries, but Chenle died before they even arrived at the hospital.” Tears are now streaming down Beomgyu’s cheeks. He closes his eyes tightly as if it’s all too much. My thumb rubs soothing circles on the back of his hand.

“The worst part,” he says suddenly. “...is that later I realized his favorite colors were the first to go, as if his soul had died before his body even gave out.” Beomgyu looks at me, and my heart just breaks. He looks so empty. I open my arms for him and he all but jumps into them, burying his head in my chest. I feel his tears soaking through the fabric.

The quiet returns after that, but this time it’s far less comfortable. I try my best to comfort Beomgyu as he sobs into my chest. I feel each light gasp he takes as he struggles for air. His body shakes like a leaf and his fists curl tightly in the fabric of my black sweater.

I eventually hear his breathing steady and I pull away to look at his face. His cheeks shine from leftover tears, but his eyes shine brightly in the dim starlight. A strange warm feeling nestles itself in my chest, and I find myself at a complete loss for words.

Beomgyu pulls away and returns his gaze to the stars. My mouth opens and closes like a fish as I continue to struggle for words.

“I’m sorry.” I blurt out because it seems like the only fitting thing to say. Beomgyu smiles at me, though it doesn’t quite reach his eyes like it usually does.

“It��s okay. I miss him, and I’ll always love him, but I have you now. You make life brighter, despite the greys and blacks. You make me happier than you could ever know.” I look down, hoping he won’t notice the blush on my cheeks.

“You do the same for me you know,” I meet his eyes. “You make me happy too. I’ve never met someone who can make me laugh like you can.” He smiles again, a little wider this time, and it makes my heart flutter.

“Do you miss seeing color?” I ask suddenly.

Beomgyu shakes his head almost immediately. “Not really. Colors were cool and all, but they’re just superficial. I think the world can be beautiful in black and white, you just need to look for the hidden wonder.”

“Did you have a favorite?” Beomgyu chuckles.

“Yellow,” He states simply. But noticing my confusion. “It’s a lighter color, the color of the sun actually. But to me, it means warmth and safety. Yellow is like laughter and smiles with friends or a happy ending. Yellow is simply: happiness and light.”

I spend the rest of the night pondering Beomgyu’s words. They resonate within me as we return to our comfortable silence. They continue to fill my brain even as I hug Beomgyu goodbye at 5 am, they remain while I walk home, and they’re still bouncing around in my head as I climb into bed back at my apartment.

I’m still thinking them over when I hear my phone buzz on my bedside table.

gyu the annoying hyung

thank you for being here with me. you’re truly a blessing kim taehyun, i hope you know that.

That simply text ignites a new and unfamiliar feeling in my body, one I couldn’t begin to describe. It starts in my toes and gradually moves up until each part of my body is engrossed with this strange new sensation. It wraps my bones in warmth and slithers it’s way into my stomach making butterflies erupt inside of me. It continues to my heart making it beat slightly faster in the best way possible. It fills my lungs with air much fresher than any I’ve ever inhaled. When it finally reaches the top of my head, my body is relishing in this amazing feeling. My senses are alive with wonder and lust and I just keep wanting more and more and more and more. I try and try to think of what this feeling is but all I can think of is: yellow.

TAEGYU PIC OF THE DAY:

The only taegyu pic ever 😌✨

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theblackberrygirl · 4 years ago

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I'm BACK Peter, Tony, Steve, and Natasha are all bookworms. Like they love reading. They all love fiction in general, but they all do have other preferences. Tony likes sci-fi, Natasha likes mystery, Steve likes romance, and Peter likes fantasy. And none of them like nonfiction all that much, though they will read it occasionally. The Avengers all get super emotional whenever they watch movies, especially with Inside Out and Onward. Except for Peter, who's just looking at them like ??? Natasha is Peter's celebrity crush, so when they first meet, he's just like freaking out Natasha is constantly helping Peter with his homework, she convinced him to join marching band again, ad it generally like an older sister (Pls I love them so much) If Peter was Tony's bio son (during the baby/toddler years):

-Natasha is go to babysitter, and though she finds it annoying, she loves Peter to death and is really good at it -Peter rarely throws tantrums, but when he does everyone is instantly trying to calm him down -He loves watching Steve draw and Nat do ballet -He also frequently gets into Tony's lab and wreaks havoc -Blueberry pancakes -He cries a lot on his first day of preschool and it takes Nat and Tony a million years to calm him down -He wanders around and gets lost a lot, which means constant worry for the Avengers -Natasha enjoys brushing his hair -She will take him out for walks and take him to the park

April Fools day at the Avengers Compound. Discuss

LETS GO BESTIE I MISSED UOU IM GONNA GET INTO YOU INBOX SOON I PROMISE

YES THEY DO the others mock them for being nerds fjdjjddj. Nat loves mystery because she can always figure it out before the end, and Peter introduces her to some fantasy novels

Ok but I GET SO EMOTIONAL AT INSIDE OUT SO SAME and just the idea of Nat trying to hide her tears bc the depression stuff just hit too close to home- ugh the angst I love it

I KEEP THINKING ABOUT THAT CLIP THATS LIKE “oH mY gOd iT’s rObErT dOwNeY jR” except it’s him with Nat fjdjjddj. Natasha isn’t normally in the spotlight, so this is like, a REALLY NEW EXPERIENCE FOR HER. She’s just like “...you know me? And you wanna talk to ME? I’m literally standing next to captain America” but Peter is just like “hoLY SHIT BLACK WIDOW I LOVE YOU”

I LOVE THEM TOOOOOOOOO OMG THEYRE SO CUTE and yeah I can just see Nat AND Peter being super sleep deprived during finals week and Tony’s just like “...Nat you don’t have finals why are you so tired” and she’s just like “I’m HELPING HIM.”

She pretends to hate it but really she loves it. She always has the best time with him and he’s always really good for her. She will NEVER ADMIT IT but she looks forward to doing it :) she wants him to have the childhood that she didn’t

THEY ALL JUST FLOCK TO HIM LIKE HEY HEY NO ITS OK ITS OK WHY U CRYING ITS OK

Ugh I can just see him being so mesmerized by the creative arts. Just completely entranced by the music and the way that she glides across the stage or how the pencil moves across the paper. They totally encourage it too, and Nat will hold him and dance and Steve gets him a little pencil set

That’s like half of Nat’s babysitting job is just keeping him out and away from the lab haha. One time he got in there and blew out all the windows even tho he was onLY ALONE FOR 5 MINUTES

STEVE MAKES THE BEST PANCAKES HANDS DOWN. If anyone tries to make them Peter will refuse. “This is Steve’s recipe!” “I want the Steve ones” “THESE ARE THE STEVE ONES”

OH HE WOULD THO BC THAT BOY HAS SO MUCH SEPARATION ANXIETY. He does eventually calm down tho and he makes a bunch of friends on his first day bc he’s a little social butterfly

When he’s in the tower, it’s not a big deal, bc they can just ask JARVIS where he went. But it gets VERY BAD when they go out into the city. There is soooo many people there and it’s very hard to find him if he wanders off. Natasha is in charge of holding onto him and carrying him, especially in crowded areas, and Steve is in charge of making sure Natasha doesn’t get swept away in the crowds of taller people

He grows his hair out a little bit when he’s 4 and THAT MEANS BRAIDING. His favorite is French braids, and he wears them to preschool. All the other kids think that it’s SO COOL and Nat ends up braiding a lot of hair fjdjdjdjdjd

Nat’s the one who always takes him to the park bc she’s honestly the only one who likes it. Steve does too, and the three of them will go together sometimes. But Tony doesn’t really like forests that much, Bruce has really bad pollen allergies, and while Clint likes the trees, he’d much rather be in them than under them.

I SHALL DISCUSS ABSOLUTELY

ok so do you know that one post where they play dodgeball and Clint hits Nat on accident and then hides in the roof for hours? “Clint she’s gone you can come down” “NO SHES NOT SHES JUST WAITING”

I imagine it would go something like that. Tony pulls a prank on Nat but makes it look like Clint did it. Clint finds out and FREAKS bc he’s spent many April fool’s days with Nat and she is a prank MASTER. He spends the whole day freaking out that something’s gonna happen, but nothing does. When he goes to his room that night, Nat’s waiting for him and they team up against Tony (please, you really think Nat would’ve fallen for Tony’s framing of Clint? She knows that Clint knows better)

Peter, Natasha, and Clint are the trio to fear on April Fool’s Day. Clint knows his way around the vents perfectly (and since him and Nat spend so much time together, she does too), Natasha is, well, Natasha, and Peter has super strength and can climb walls and basically get around to places the other two can’t. They always target Tony, Thor, and Steve the most (but never Bruce bc it makes him anxious :( but they did pull a very mild switch-the-salt-and-sugar prank on him)

UGH I LOVE THESE OMG

#shut up elle #marvel headcanons #gale 🌬🍂

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avatarstories · 4 years ago

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izumi’s birthday pt 2: chosen legacies

AN: Bumi! (my favorite of the Gaang kids!!) Don’t read this if you don’t want to read about family problems, otherwise, enjoy.

Despite being a firebender, Izumi loved the nighttime. When she was little her grandfather told her stories about how a Water Tribe princess became the moon to save her people. She liked to think that she would do the same if the people of the Fire Nation needed someone to save the sun. On clear nights when the moon was full, she felt as though the moon was reaching out especially to her, maybe a bond between princesses. Her grandfather had chuckled when she mentioned that to him, “I think the moon princess would like you very much, my dear Izumi,” he had replied.

So it was no surprise to Bumi when on a clear night with a full moon that he would find his best friend on the rooftop in the secret spot above the royal library they had found two summers ago reading a scroll with the light of a small flame coming from her fingertip and a cup of tea steaming beside her.

“Zumi-"

“Oh Agni! Bumi you scared me,” Izumi says, nearly knocking over her tea.

“Sorry,” he says trying to cover a laugh. “May I?”

“Of course, come,” she says patting the empty spot next to her. “What are you doing up?”

“Mom and Kya are running around like maniacs with the full moon,” he replies. “They were making so much noise I couldn’t sleep. I’m sure half the palace is awake with them in at the garden pond making splashes. Thought I try my luck and see if you were up here.” He takes a seat next to her. “What are you reading?”

She shows him the scroll. “History of the Early Fire Lords,” she says.

“Any good?” Bumi asks.

“Yes, actually. The Fire Nation islands used to all be separate and constantly fighting each other and then a warrior from one of the outlying islands united them,” she answers. “He got them to stop fighting for resources by setting up trade among the islands and making them economically interdependent on each other. It then allowed the islands to specialize production of certain crops or materials.”

“Smart guy,” Bumi says approvingly. Izumi does not say anything in reply, and a silence falls between them.

“You’re never this quiet,” Izumi says after a moment. “Everything ok?”

Bumi leans back with a sigh and lays down with his hands behind his head. Izumi rolls up her scroll and turns to face him. “Bumi, what’s wrong?”

“I applied to the Military Academy of the United Forces,” he says eyes fixed on the sky above him. “And I got in...You’re the first person I’ve told.”

“Bumi that’s great!” Izumi replies but she couldn’t quite cover the hesitancy in her voice.

“You have a question, just ask it,” he states.

“Well you’ve never mentioned even thinking about applying before,” she replies. “And you don’t really seem excited about it…So I can’t help but wonder what brought this about?”

Bumi sighs and sits back up next to Izumi. “Remember when I won the United Republic sword fighting championship last year?”

“Of course, how could I forget? You almost fell off the ring but were hanging on by two fingers and then you got yourself back up and won!”

“Exactly.”

“I don’t follow.”

“My dad forgot that I won,” he says a little bitterly. “He asked me what the trophy in my room was for, and I just got so mad. Honestly I was so angry, I don’t even remember what I said, but things have been bad between us for a few months now. And my mom, she’s just pretending like nothing is wrong.”

“Bumi,” she puts a had on his shoulder comfortingly. Bumi leans into it and puts his head on her shoulder, and Izumi lets her arm fall to hold him in a sideways hug.

“I just don’t understand why everything has to be about Tenzin all the time. I’m half air nomad too. And I know I can’t bend - .” He lets the sentence fall.

“So you thought the Military Academy would be a better place to showcase your talents,” she affirms.

“Yea, something like that.”

Silence falls between them again. Izumi feels like the moon is so close that she could be listening in on their conversation. “Sometimes I just get so jealous, and it makes me feel terrible because he’s so much younger than me. I love him to death, and I'd do anything for him, but I’m smart and talented too! It’s like no one wants me in their culture because I don’t bend so I can’t possibly fit,” he says. “No one sees me.”

“I see you,” she offers

“Yea but you’re my best friend so you chose to. My parents though, they should definitely be the people who don’t have a choice. But its like 75% of their attention is on Tenzin, 20% on Kya, and then maybe 5% on me. I’m about to graduate top of my class, and yet no one can get over how Tenzin learned how to make two air-scooters at once,” he says defeatedly. “It’s so lonely.”

At that, she looks at him. His lips quiver, and his brow is furrowed. “I’m sorry, Bumi.”

“It’s nothing to apologize for,” he says.

“For what it’s worth, sometimes I wish we could trade places,” she says.

He tenses and narrows his eyes at her. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Well-"

“You want to live where no one gives a shit about you?” he asks, anger creeping into his tone.

“That’s not-”

“You couldn’t live in anonymity for a day, Izumi. You’re a princess, there’s a whole country of people who care about who you are and what you’re doing.”

That comment makes her blood boil. “And you have no idea what it's like to live under that much pressure all the time. At least you don’t have a legacy to inherit!” she says bitingly.

Disappointment washes across Bumi’s features, and Izumi immediately regrets what she said.

“Of all people, I thought you would at least try to understand,” he replies, barely above a whisper. He starts to get up and Izumi tries to grab his shoulder to stop him, but he shrugs it off. He pushes himself up before she can stop him again and starts back towards the roof entrance.

“Bumi- wait,” Izumi says, now also standing.

“I am so tired of giving people I love so many second chances,” he says over his shoulder.

“Wait,” she tries again, but Bumi does not stop, and he disappears through the secret entrance back down into the library.

Izumi lets out an angry sigh and covers her face with her hands. You, idiot! She thinks to herself. Frustrated, she throws a fire ball off the roof and watches it dissipate as it falls towards the courtyard below. ********************************************************************************************* Bumi is walking alone through the library when he hears a gust of air above him. He looks up around and almost misses his little brother on an air scooter, high above the rows of shelves as Tenzin tries to hide.

Bumi sighs. “Tenzin, I know you’re there. Come out.” Tenzin sheepishly lands next to Bumi, head hanging low.

“Were you following me?”

“I wanted to see where you were going,” Tenzin whispers. “Are you mad at me?” he asks.

With that Bumi knows Tenzin heard his conversation and fight with Izumi. Bumi pulls on his lip, taking a second before replying and thinking about how this could get any worse. “No, bud.”

Tenzin looks up at that. “Are you mad at Dad?”

“Yea,” Bumi says. “But that’s nothing for you to worry about.” He leans down so he is eye level with Tenzin.

“Are you mad at Princess Izumi?” Tenzin asks looking intently at his big brother.

Bumi chuckles a bit at Tenzin’s use of her title. He really was a serious little 10 year old. “Yea, I am, but again, nothing for you to worry about,” he says. “Come on, hop on my back, I’ll give you a ride back to our rooms. It’s way passed your bedtime.”

Tenzin smiles and climbs onto his big brother’s back, holding on tight to his shoulders, and Bumi starts back towards their rooms in the guest wing of the palace.

“Bumi?” Tenzin asks as they exit the library. “Are you really going to leave for the military academy?”

“Spirits Tenzin, did anyone ever teach you anything about privacy?” Bumi mutters. “But yes, I think I am.”

“I’ll miss you,” Tenzin says, holding on to Bumi a little tighter.

Bumi adjusts Tenzin since he had slipped down his back a bit while they walked along the hallway.

"I’ll miss you too, bud.”

Tenzin rests his head on Bumi’s shoulder. Tenzin cannot see the single tear that rolls down Bumi’s cheek, but he feels it land on his finger. He nuzzles deeper into his brother’s shoulder, and it is silent between them the rest of the walk back.

AN: soft brother Bumi, ugh I’d die for him. Izumi and Bumi’s brother/sister like friendship, *chef’s kiss*

I remember reading once that funny characters often use their humor as a way to deflect from hard emotions and I think Bumi fits that description perfectly.

#izumi #bumi #tenzin #avatarstories #atla fanfic #gaang kids

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moonyeclipses · 4 years ago

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Kaminari Denki hc’s I have (+ basically canon things)

Kami is an extremely affectionate person, he loves making friends and being outgoing towards everyone, and if he knows they’re comfortable he’ll be extremely touchy with them, he’s the type to just grab onto someone like hold their hands or something randomly because he just wants to, other examples are, holding Ojiro’s tail, grabbing onto Bakugo when scared (ova), that one time he put his hand on Kiri’s face to shut him up and then kept it there for a while

Kami has no set music taste! He loves every type and it just depends on how he’s feeling that day, his normal is rock and tends to lean that way but honestly he could listen to anything and enjoy it, other than Jirou he’s probably the person you’d want to go to when it comes to music! Especially if you want playlists, I could picture him being bored and then making everyone in his class + extra friends their own specialized playlist to what he thinks they’d enjoy

He’s bi! Don’t get me wrong he loves women, obviously, but he 100% isn’t opposed to dating a man either, honestly he just kinda wants love (going back to him being very affectionate)

Continuing on that he flirts with everyone, for Girls hes more straight forward like “you look nice today” etc but he’d do it with guys too, “you have the nice face a lot of girls are attracted to” “you were so cool during training today dude! You looked so badass” it’s more subtle but he genuinely means it, and to him, flirting isn’t always romantic either, it’s just, complimenting but with a bit more behind it, if he knew someone were uncomfortable by it he would stop

Speaking of “uncomfortable”, Kami May be a flirt like Mineta but he has morals, he knows consent is sexy 🥴 (JSNDNF sorry-) and the moment someone was like “hey please leave me alone” he would! And also be careful around said person until he can understand the boundaries better!

He is close with Mineta, but not as much as you may think. Kiri and Bakugo are his best friends, but he’s one of the few people who can actually handle Mineta, another being Sero, but Kami also being a flirt, and probably feeling bad if Mineta had no one at all hangs out with him a lot, and is probably the reason Mineta hasn’t pulled off worse stuff (you can tell when it’s the two acting together it isn’t bad, but Mineta alone is when he gets out of hand) (Ex: Kami and Mineta with the cheerleading uniforms, going to the pool, checking the girls out in formal wear vs. mineta climbing the wall to the girls side, peeking through the hole in the wall, almost suggesting something “topless” for girls, and saying he couldn’t wait to see Eri in 10 years) Kami is actually calming him down!

He loves thunderstorms! He can actually sense when there’s one coming just by the electricity in the air. Storms actually fire him up and make him super energized and awake, more hyper than usual. He sometimes likes to lay out on the dorm roof soaking it all in, and unless he tries to take in electricity the lightning won’t strike him

He’s a gamer, and quite a good one at that, Pokémon being his first ever videogame due to the fact a kid when he was a child pointed out he was like Pikachu. The idea that he was like a famous mascot to something made him extremely happy and immediately latched onto the game, now he genuinely enjoys it for what it is and owns every game. He does main in electric types but he loves other Pokémon as well. Mareep is actually his favorite, Pikachu jokes aside.

Despite the low grades he’s actually extremely smart! One of the smartest students in class actually, and this one is confirmed! Kami cant focus Well in class and just didn’t care too much about his grades at the beginning. After he started studying with Momo and stuff he got a set study habit and brought his grades significantly higher

I do HC that Kami has ADHD/Dyslexia, Ojiro’s tail is his current major fidget “toy” to help him focus in class

And despite the dyslexia English is his best subject! He’s one of Present Mic’s best students and secretly enjoys reading a lot, I like to think he usually listens to audiobooks because its hard to focus and read a physical book in front of him but he still tries time to time!

He’s basically as close to Bakugo as Kiri is. Kiri’s the official “equal” to Bakugo’s eyes(meaning strength and ability as well), but Kami is just as much as a FRIEND to bakugo as Kiri is, he’s not so much in the healthy rivalship they have but more so the person to hang out with both of them and- well- be friends lmao

After the concert he continued practicing guitar with Jirou. As a music lover he always wanted to play an instrument but never really thought he could do it, but he saw an opportunity to try and he took it, after realizing he’s actually pretty good at it he continued to practice with her and they have frequent jam sessions

Like how I mentioned hes very outgoing and such, he actively tries to be friends with everyone in 1-A plus a few additional people. He does take time to get to know every single person individually and hang out with them as much as he can. He doesn’t want anyone to be left out and just enjoys having people to talk to

He’s constantly letting out electricity. I like to believe that Kami is just constantly producing electricity in his body and it just keeps building up. Like when he lets out too much as one time, if he holds in too much he can basically combust with extreme power and then short circuit. So to prevent that he’s constantly letting it out, very subtly, if you were to touch him you could feel the slight buzz and the hair on your arm would rise. Another way he does it is by letting it out of his feet, like if he’s walking outside, he releasing the electricity into the ground

He 100% has a Tik Tok, no further comment

He and Mina actually do them together a lot and have tons of followers and likes, they love to film the shenanigans of the Bakusquad

As much as he complains about being a phone charger he actually doesn’t mind it for 3 major reasons (and a few others but these 3 mainly): It helps him let out electricity cause of how it stores up in his body, it gives him time to practice controlling his quirk and letting out a certain amount of wattage, and just cause he loves his friends and doing things for them and it is an easy thing for him to do

Yes he can use his mouth to charge the phones, but ✨germs✨ so he tends not to and the only times he does is when someone annoys him and he wants to get back at them so he grosses them out by sticking their phone in his mouth with the excuse “his hands were too busy”

There’s an emergency generator in the dorms because him causing the power to go out happens more often then you may think

Speaking of which he has multiple triggers on doing so: extremely overwhelmed, scared (someone jump scares him), extremely excited, holding in too much electricity for the day, sometimes it just kinda happens in his sleep (he’s gotten better at that)

He’ll take any dare during truth or dare, my man isn’t a scaredy cat

He goes clothes shopping with Jirou

He can sing! I love the idea he has a really soothing voice but doesn’t feel the need to sing openly at all, so no one knows this, Jirou might tho

He loves onesies and would live in them if he could (currently owns 4: Pikachu, Jolteon, Hamster, Otter)

He’s a Hufflepuff! 💛

Going back to his love for reading, his all time favorite series is Percy Jackson/Heroes of Olympus, I saw someone make a comment about how him seeing demigod kids who have ADHD and Dyslexia as well as powers as strong as his (he’s biased and loves any kid of Zeus/Jupiter, but his favorite is Leo despite that) the whole thing made him feel extremely validated and quickly became obsessed when he first read it

Those are all the ones I can think of atm, but I’ll probably add more in the future

@weebunfinishedoddle

#mha #mha denki #mha kaminari #kaminari denki #denki kaminari #my hero academia #boco no hero academia #kaminari headcanons #bnha #bnha denki #bnha kaminari #mha headcanons #bnha headcanons #denki headcanons #denki kaminari headcanons

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saxxxology · 5 years ago

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What Lurks Beneath the Surface - 3

After Sam’s ultimate sacrifice, you struggle to cope. When he shows up after months of being gone, you’re happier than ever to see him. That is, until you realize that the love of your life is much different than you remember.

PAIRING: Soulless!Sam x Reader WARNINGS: canon divergence (season 6), angst, suspense, violence, smut, minor dub-con, and more. NOTE: Some elements of this series are a little darker than what I usually write. Warnings are sporadic to avoid spoilers - if you feel uncomfortable it is up to you to stop reading or message me with any questions.

Read the entire series on Patreon for just $3

Series Masterlist

Things don’t get far with Sam that night. The stress of nearly being caught by Dean is overwhelming, and you’re glad when Sam finally gets the message that you’re not as into it as you were before and lets you go to sleep. You’re not sure if he sticks around or leaves, but when you wake up, he’s sitting at the table reading the newspaper and snacking on a protein bar. The money you’d won the night before is stacked neatly next to him, and you assume he’d counted it after you’d fallen asleep.

You text Dean asking where he wants to meet, and a few minutes later he messages you telling you to meet him at the diner down the street an hour later.

Enough time to shower.

You stand under the warm spray for ten minutes, using the motel bar of soap to rinse off the grime from the night before. There’s one unused towel hanging on the rack, and you wrap yourself in it before pacing back into the main room. Sam barely looks up when you go to your suitcase to grab your clothes.

“You going to meet Dean?” He asks, his eyes scanning down the newspaper.

“Yeah.” You quickly step into your underwear and clip your bra behind your back.

Sam turns around right when the hem of your tee shirt is safely covering your hips. “How long will you be gone?”

You shrug and slip your jeans on. “I don’t know, maybe a couple hours. Think you can wait a bit longer?”

Sam watches you sit on the bed to tie your shoes. “I might have found us a case. Sooner you get back the better.”

You sign and grab your bag. “All right, I’ll update you, just stick around.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” Sam stands and peeks out the window. “You called the car a piece of crap last night.”

“Yeah…” You grab your wallet and shove it into your bag. “Sorry about that.”

“Why?” Sam furrows his brow at you as you open the door.

Again, you shrug. “Because it kinda is.”

The door is shut behind you before Sam can retort.

***

You meet Dean at a small diner down the street. It’s close enough to walk, and it only takes you about ten minutes to get there. The Impala is parked out front, and when you make your way inside you spot Dean sitting in a booth near the back of the diner. He waves at you, and you quickly slide into the booth across from him, in perfect view of the parking lot.

“So,” Dean smirks at you, a grin spreading across his face, “how’d it go last night?”

It takes you a few seconds to realize what he’s talking about. “Oh… uneventful.”

Dean blows a whistle though his lips. “That bad?”

“Eh, I’ve dealt with worse.” You pick up a menu as Dean waves down a curly-haired waitress, who pours you both coffee and takes your orders in between cracks of bubblegum.

“So… are you trying to find another place to live or are you just on the move now?” Dean sips at his coffee, watching you meticulously add cream and sugar.

“Um… just moving around now, visiting old friends, traveling, that sort of thing.” You smile and lean back in your seat. “Why’d you leave Lisa and Ben?”

“Because I was keeping an eye on you and then you started going all over the place.” Dean replies. “I mean, you even sold your car, I thought you loved that thing.”

“Too small.” You say. “And it does this weird thing when the engine gets too hot and road trips were a bitch.”

“And yet now you have a freakin’ Dodge.” Dean chuckles. “Are you with someone?”

You shake your head a little too fast and sip your coffee to try and cover up. “No, no, I’m not with anyone… just needed a change.”

Dean nods. “Yeah… but to answer your question, Lisa and I had a, uh… a disagreement a couple weeks ago, it got bad enough that she kicked me out, I’ve been on the road ever since, thought I’d try and catch up with you.” He leans forward, spinning his mug with his fingers. “I was thinking, maybe we should…”

You take another long swallow of coffee. “Should what?”

“I know Sam asked us not to hunt, and we have to respect that, but maybe… maybe us being on the road together won’t be such a bad idea. I mean if you’re alone and I’m alone, maybe we could team up again, you know, like old times.”

You swallow. You should say yes, by all accounts you should say yes. But you made a promise to stick by Sam… and if you leave him alone, there’s no telling where he’ll go or what he’ll do.

“I’ll think about it,” you say quietly, “I miss riding with you and I miss the Impala, but…”

“You like being alone.” Dean licks his lower lip. “Well, it was worth a try.”

The waitress sets down your food, and you dig in, only stopping to talk when both your plates are clean. You split the bill and leave a five-dollar tip on the table before walking outside.

“Want me to drive you back?” Dean digs the keys to the Impala out of his pocket. “Come on, you can’t say no to Baby.”

You smile, watching the sunlight glint off the roof of the Impala. “Yeah, I guess one ride wouldn’t hurt.”

The door handle feels vaguely familiar under your palms, and as you climb into the cab you can smell the faint, sweet scent of the pine-scented spray that Dean uses to clean the vinyl seats. You trace your fingers over the material, feeling creases in the leather from years of use.

Dean turns the key in the ignition, and you close your eyes as the classic roars to life. You don’t realize just how bad you’ve missed the Impala until Dean turns onto the main road and pushes the gas pedal, and you actually let out a laugh of pure joy.

When he pulls into the parking lot of the motel, you don’t want to get out of the car. You feel truly at home for the first time in a long time, and when you think about it, going back to the motel, going back to Sam, you’re not entirely sure what to expect. Sure, hunting with him has been somewhat of a blast; you’ve missed the rush and danger, but going with Dean will mean that you’re closer to home than you’ve been in months.

“Sure you don’t wanna come with me?” Dean turns the car off and looks at you. “It’s been a long time since I had someone to talk to on the road and it doesn’t look like I’m goin’ back to Lisa anytime soon.”

You sigh and run your hands over the seat. “I don’t… I don’t know, can we meet again tonight?”

“If you want to, yeah.” Dean gets out of the car at the same time you do and walks around the hood to pull you into one of his classic bear hugs. “Let me know when and where.”

You give Dean a gentle hug before waving goodbye and slipping back into the motel room. Dropping your bag on the dresser, you hear the Impala pull out of the parking lot and turn to see Sam standing by the window, his arms folded.

“How was breakfast?”

“Good, I’m going to meet him at the bar tonight.” You reply.

Sam walks closer to you. “Did you tell him?”

“Tell him what?”

“About me.” Sam looks down at you, his dark eyes almost piercing right through you.

You shake your head, anger boiling in your gut. “No, Sam. I didn’t tell him anything. I lied to him. Again.”

“Good.” Sam turns away from you and walks towards his duffel bag, which is lying open and half-packed on the bed.

“Good?” You stay where you are, watching him shove clothes back into the dark green bag. “Are you kidding me? Good? Do you know what it does to me whenever I have to lie for you? I never lied to you, ever! You and Dean could bullshit each other any time you wanted, God knows you even got a couple lies past me, but I never, ever, lied to you!” You watch Sam look up at you when you raise your voice, and the look he’s giving you should scare the daylights out of you, but you don’t care. Right now, all the rage in the world is making its way up your throat, spewing out in words and brimming in your eyes.

“I helped you through everything! I always stuck with you, I stuck with you leaving Dean and I with your dad, I stuck with you through you and Dean bitching and moaning at each other, I stuck with you through Ruby!” You spit the demon’s name like it tastes bad in your mouth. “I can’t keep lying for you. It’s making me sick!”

Sam watches you as tears start to flow freely from your eyes. “You done?”

You step back. “Am I done?”

“Yeah.” Sam zips his bag up and turns to face you. “I don’t know why you care so much about it.”

“Because you’re different!” you holler, “you’re not the Sam I remember, not at all! You’re aggressive, you’re overconfident, you’re bossy! It’s like running around with a—!”

Sam clenches his jaw and cuts you off. “I know something’s wrong with me, Y/N.”

“Then when the hell were you thinking about addressing it?”

“I wasn’t.” Sam walks closer to you again. “I’m better now.”

“Yeah?” You choke on your words. “At what?”

Sam’s eyes glitter maliciously as he stares down at you, and you fight to keep yourself from slapping his hand away as he runs his thumbs under your eyes, wiping away your tears. “Everything.”

***

That night, Dean picks you up in front of the motel and drives to the same bar you and Sam had visited a couple nights ago. Once inside, you immediately make your way to the bar and order a whiskey. Dean orders the same and taps his glass against yours.

“For Sammy.” He says, and then tosses back his drink in one go.

“Yeah…” your voice trails off as you tip your head back, feeling the chilled liquid glide down your throat. Without thinking, you swallow the rest in two gulps. You never drink this fast; Dean used to on an almost-regular basis, but you usually take your time. The argument from earlier still has your nerves buzzing, and maybe, just this one time, you can let alcohol come to your rescue.

Dean watches you set the empty glass on the bar, his brow furrowed slightly. “Are you okay?”

“Yes, Dean, I’m fine.”

“You’re sounding like Sam.” He watches you stare at the surface of your drink. “What’s going on?”

You look at him, your vision blurring slightly. “Men are dicks.” You pout.

“Whoa,” Dean raises his eyebrows, “where’d that come from?”

“Well…” you shrug, “not all of them, just one.”

“Yeah? Which one?” Dean looks a little more interested when you tip your glass back, swallowing the rest of it.

“My friend.” You spin the empty glass on the mahogany wood counter in front of you.

“Oh.” Dean waves down the bartender, who sets a second glass of whiskey in front of him. “Your friend from last night? The uneventful one?”

You nod, biting your lower lip. “We got in a fight.”

“Yeesh.” Dean frowns. “How bad?”

“Bad enough that I wanna drink.”

Dean puts a hand on your shoulder and gently rubs back and forth. “We should at least order something to eat.” He looks around before getting up and walking over to a dining area. “I’ll get us something to split.”

You feel the buzz of the alcohol getting stronger, and you watch Dean leave, turning your head on the countertop in order to see him properly. After a few minutes of watching him stand behind a group of women who look over their shoulders at him, blushing furiously, you straighten up and swirl the last few drops of your whiskey in the glass before tipping it back.

“Hey, cutie.” A loud, rough voice echoes in your ear, and you jump, nearly dropping your glass. A large ape of a man is towering over your chair his eyes not on your face, but staring right down the slight cleavage that’s visible at the top of your flannel. You ignore him and turn back to your now empty glass.

“Hey.” The man sounds slightly ticked off now, and you raise your eyebrows. The man doesn’t scare you, regardless of whether or not he’s even trying to.

“Can I help you?”

“You’re cute. I noticed.” The man holds out a large, thick-fingered hand. “I’m Angelo. And you…?”

“Spoken for, nice to meet you.” You don’t make a move to touch him as Dean comes back to the table, evidently worried that you could be in trouble. “Oh, hey, babe.”

Without warning, you grab him by the lapels of his jacket and pull him close, your lips landing softly on his. Dean’s surprised, but goes along with it, moving to stand between your legs as you swivel on the barstool.

“Heya, sweetheart.” He glances at Angelo, who clearly doesn’t have an ounce of the confidence that Dean carries. “Who’s this?”

“Just a new friend.” You turn back to Angelo and offer him a smile that says you tried, douchebag. “Come on, babe, let’s go.” You take Dean’s few hand in your own and walk out the door with him.

Once you’re safely outside, Dean pulls his hand out of yours, instead wrapping it around your shoulders. You’re surprisingly steady on your feet, but you’re not wearing a jacket and the night is colder than ever.

“What the hell was that?” Dean walks around to his side of the Impala, you close behind. Before he can open the door, you’re pulling him around to face you and pinning him to the side of the car. You catch a flash of his green eyes in the streetlight before your lips are on his again, and he groans in surprise, his mouth going slack as you pull back, breaking the kiss. “Y/N…”

“What?” You lean back, getting a better view of his face. His pupils are wide and the green irises are darkening with every second.

Dean bites his lower lip before reaching behind him to open the door. “Get in. Now.”

Comments and reblogs are appreciated :)

The rest of this series is available on Patreon for $3.

FOREVER TAGS: @atc74 @crashdevlin @daisymoder72 @daughterofthenight117 @emoryhemsworth @ellen-reincarnated1967 @fangirl-and-medstudent-help @fandom-princess-forevermore @foxyjwls007 @heartsaved @kittenofdoomage @karouwinchester @kickingitwithkirk @kyjey @lovelyrocker @lunarsaturn88 @mariekoukie6661 @meganwinchester1999 @misalovesherdog @marvelfansworld @mrswhozeewhatsis @neii3n @polyamorous-winchester @percussiongirl2017 @plaidalecking @squirrel-moose-winchester @sea040561 @sister-winchesters99 @sammys-dimpless @sammysnaughtygirl @spnwoman @swinchester27 @serpentbaby @thecleverdame @tumbler-tidbits @thelittleredwhocould @viinchester @winecatsandpizza @zombiewerewolfqueen @85natalie @4won

#what lurks beneath the surface #soulless!sam fanfiction #soulless!sam x reader #sam winchester fanfiction #sam winchester x reader

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a-solitary-marshmallow · 4 years ago

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Please Don’t See Me - Chapter 5

This chapter is a bit longer than the others, but I didn't want to split it up! It was written in a hurry because I was excited to get it out to y'all, so let me know if I've made any typos or mistakes. As always I adore your comments so feel free to tell me what you think.

______________________________________________________________________

“You should come down to Gravity Falls!”

Ford didn’t quite think about the words before he blurted them. His close (and only) friend from college had mentioned in their weekly phone call that he and his family were thinking about taking a holiday from his would-be small computer business, and Ford had reacted without thought.

He laughed nervously, leaning back against the kitchen counter. Rebus padded through the kitchen with the click-click-click of claws that Ford had become accustomed to over the last month.

Ford cleared his throat. “If you want to, of course. I would love to show you some of the research on anomalies I’ve been doing, and I think Tate and Emma-May would like it here. I have plenty of space in my house.”

“Well sure Stanford, if you don’t mind.” Fiddleford said cheerfully. “I’ve been meanin’ to visit for a while now. Course, I don’t wanna get in the way o’ yer research if you’re busy.”

“Not at all.” From the other room Rebus let out a bark, and Fiddleford squeaked.

“What was that?”

“Oh, just my dog. There are probably some Manotaurs passing by.”

“Ya have a dog? When did that happen?”

“A month or so ago. His name is Rebus.”

Fiddleford huffed out a laugh. “Well, at least ya got yerself some company. That dog sounded mighty fearsome; ya sure he’s safe? I don’t wanna bring Tate around if e’s gonna bite.”

“Oh, Rebus is a sweetheart.” A savage growl issued from the other room. “He’s great with kids. When he accompanies me into town he will often play with the children in the playground.”

Rebus growled again, a growl Ford was reasonably certain was aimed at him for daring to imply that the wolf had a heart. Not that Ford had been lying – the kids in town loved Rebus and he delighted in running around with them while Ford ran errands. He was a veritable gentle giant.

“Tate would love him.” Ford continued, unconcerned with the wannabe threat display. The stubborn wolf reminded him of his brother sometimes, all bark and no bite.

…except when he did bite.

“If yer sure.” There was rustling on the other end of the line. “That sounds like a mighty fine idea, Stanford. I’ll have to check with Emma-May, of course, but I’d love ta see some of these anomalies you’ve told me about. Check that yer not crazy, at least!”

“I assure you, these things are one hundred percent real. You’ll be able to see for yourself.” Ford assured him.

“Does Friday afternoon work fer ya? We figured we’d go on the weekend so Tate doesn’t miss much school.”

“Yes, that’s fine. I’ll prepare the spare room.” Ford said excitedly. “It’s been quite some time since I had company.”

“Ah – Stanford?”

“Yes?”

“Exactly how long has it been since you talked to someone?”

“A few hours.”

“Other than yer dog I mean.”

“Oh, only a week or so.”

There was a pause. “Was that ‘someone’ me?”

“Er…”

“When was the last time you talked to a human being aside from myself?”

Ford laughed nervously. “Ah, it seems the connection is breaking up I’ll call back another time-”

“Stanford-”

“Say hello to Emma-May for me bye!”

He hung up.

Stan heard the car approach first, the approaching rumble of its engine dragging him from a light doze in that ever-illusive pool of light in the hallway. His ears picked up and he let out the beginnings of a warning growl at the intruders.

That was, until he remembered that they were supposed to have visitors. He yawned and stretched, slightly annoyed at having his nap interrupted but more curious to see who it was that Ford had been expecting. Being the local canine, people didn’t usually run names and stuff by him.

All Stan had been able to tell was that whoever was coming Ford was pretty excited to see them, judging by the way he had hustled and bustled to prepare the spare room. It had been pretty nice, these past few days, to just chill and watch Ford buzz around the place. In those years apart he’d missed Ford’s relentless energy; the way he bounced on his heels when excited, and the little flapping, and the excited gleam in his eyes, the way he could never quite hold still. It was pretty hilarious to watch the nerd get all wound up.

God, Stan hoped it wasn’t a family member. If Pa walked through that door…

Maybe it was that guy Ford was always calling, Fiddlesticks or something? Seemed likely. From what Stan could tell, his brother had a maximum of two friends. And one of them was a wolf.

He padded out to watch Ford open the door for… a small family? The man shook Ford’s hand while the woman chatted and held a small child on her hip.

“It’s great to see you again, Stanford. Thank you for letting us stay in your home.”

“Oh, it’s no problem, I have plenty of space.” Ford assured her.

“And Fiddleford said you had a – oh sweet Mother Mary-”

Stan was used to the usual ‘Oh my god is that a wolf?’ song and dance. He stepped forward and wagged his tail helpfully. Scaring kids and dames was only funny when you were trying to scare them. When you weren’t, it got old pretty quick.

The strange man leaned down and hesitantly offered one hand, and Stan allowed himself to be petted. Show of goodwill, and all that. The guy was short and twiggy and he smelled of engine grease and metal and root beer and straw. Stan decided that he liked the guy. The lady, too. Her suspicious gaze had mellowed out and now Stan could see the smile lines around her eyes. The kid, however, seemed… sticky.

Aaaand the kid had fussed to be placed down and was now trying to touch Stan’s tail. He whisked it out of reach but the sticky brat was laughing and already chasing after it.

Oh, hell no. Kid wanted to get its grubby mitts all over his coat? Think again. Stan darted out of its way and weaved past the adults to try and throw it off. Ford didn’t even try to help, the smug bastard.

Alright kid. You think you got stamina? Let’s see about that.

The kid.

Would not.

Stop.

Tate, as it turned out his name was, seemed to have boundless energy. The two kept up their game of cat-and-mouse all afternoon until Stan flopped on the porch, panting for breath. Tate squealed and rushed forward to bury his hands in Stan’s thick fur.

You win this round, pipsqueak.

A part of him wanted to place the kid on a high shelf where he couldn’t get in the way, and leave him there. Another part of him… wanted to lick his face and wag his tail. C’mon, mighty hunter and all that! Stan was supposed to have more dignity than like… a Labrador or whatever.

His traitor tail wagged anyway.

Ford and the dame, Emma-May or something, stepped outside to join them, Ford glancing over his shoulder and biting his lip as he went. Stan wondered idly where his nerd friend was.

“Oh, don’t worry, Fiddles hardly ever electrocutes himself!” Emma-May said cheerfully. “He’ll be done with his tinkering in no time.”

“…I was worried for my toaster.”

Emma-May flapped her hand. “Oh, it’ll be fine. I think he said something about making it like ours.”

“How has Fiddleford improved your toaster?”

“I dunno, but it has a lot of blinky lights and sometimes it smells like burning sugar!”

“…I feel like you’re trying to be reassuring?”

Stan should probably be on the lookout for smoke. He scented the air and got a whiff of something like burning plastic from inside…

…and curdled wrongness.

He wrinkled his nose. The air smelled weird and it was vaguely familiar, like he’d smelled it before, but never this strongly. There was something oily and metallic and… squirrelly?

Stan shook Tate’s clingy hands from his coat and stood to scan the house yard. Nothing looked out of the ordinary. But it just didn’t smell right.

The faintest scrape of claws on wood made him snap around. There – clinging to a house support and evidently trying to climb up to the roof was what might have once been a squirrel. Emphasis on once. Its front limbs were bulkier than the back ones with claws like tiny steak knives buried into the wood grain. Its fur hung off in patches and it was big – more raccoon-sized than squirrel-sized. The extra weight seemed to be giving it grief because it was struggling to make headway.

Fat bastard, Stan thought petulantly.

“Err – Stanford?” Emma-May piped up. “What on god’s good earth is that?”

Stan glanced across to follow her pointing finger. Apparently he wasn’t the only one to notice the thing.

Ford squinted and stepped closer to the rodent, which started hissing around overgrown teeth like a stepped-on snake with a lisp. “It… it appears to be another mutated creature. I’ve been finding them around the place since I got here. My hypothesis is that they’ve been somehow affected by the size-changing crystals in the forest.”

“The what-nows?”

Ford’s eyes brightened. “Oh, in the forest there are natural crystal formations that, when light is shined through them, have the ability to change an object or organism’s shape. The majority of the mutant sightings have been around that area. I’ve been meaning to investigate but a freak blizzard recently ruined my plans. Now, if I can just capture this specimen here…”

“Throw a blanket over it?” Emma-May suggested.

“Perhaps. I have a number of size-appropriate cages in my shed, would you mind keeping watch over the creature while I retrieve one?”

“Sure thing.”

Ford went to walk past but the movement seemed to startle the squirrel, which launched itself wildly into the air and latched onto Ford’s sleeve, scurrying up his arm. He yelped and flailed. Fortunately Emma-May smacked it and sent it flying. Unfortunately it skidded across the ground and took off towards where Tate was playing in the grass.

Fortunately, that was also where Stan was.

He lunged forward and snapped up the rodent in one bite before it could get close to the kid. Its tiny body gave out with a single, pathetic crunch. Weird-tasting blood exploded in his mouth.

Ford coughed. “Well.”

Stan spat out the creature, wrinkling his nose. The thing tasted – wrong. Like its blood was tainted with seawater and oil slick with an added hint of burning rubber. He spluttered and swiped at his tongue to try and get rid of the rancid flavour.

Ugh, were squirrels so corrupted by the weight of their sins that it seeped into their blood?

“Is it dead?” Ford asked curiously. Emma-May walked over to scoop up her child and prod the body with her shoe.

“Depends. Can these mutant things live with a snapped spine?”

“Dead, then. Still! It’s a specimen to study. I’ll get – oh, I suppose I won’t be needing that cage anymore.”

Nothing blew up that weekend. Stan took that as a win.

The McGuckets were… a different sort of folk than he was used to. They smiled so easily. Those two dopes of parents looked at their kid like he was the moon and the sun and everything in between, like they wouldn’t kick him out onto the streets no matter what dumb mistakes he made. Damn. Imagine that.

The Sunday night before they were set to leave Emma-May retired to bed early and Fiddleford and Ford settled onto the couch to talk, with cans of beer in hand and Tate playing happily with his Legos. Stan dropped onto the carpet to keep a watchful eye on the little brat. The fire crackled softly and cast a warm light across the room, its heat pressing against his fur.

A month or so ago he would never have let himself relax like this. He would be watching the window, ears pricked for any sign of…

Huh. He couldn’t remember the name of the man chasing him. When he thought hard there was a flash of scarred hands and packets of white powder and the taste of blood in his mouth. That’s right, the guy Stan had used to run drugs for a few years back, the guy who was now after him. Why couldn’t Stan remember his name?

Ford and Fiddleford’s murmuring rose slightly above the crackle of the fire and the clinking of Legos.

“-ya mean Shermie?”

“No, my… other brother. My twin, Stanley.” Ford said quietly.

It took Stan a moment to remember that that was his name. He rested his chin on his paws and tuned into the conversation.

“Ford, ya never told me ya had a twin.”

“No, I probably didn’t. You see, Stanley and I parted on… unpleasant terms. I haven’t seen him in almost a decade.”

“A decade?” Fiddleford squawked. “Why in the blazes not?”

“It’s complicated. Fiddleford, do you remember when I told you how I was rejected from West Coast Tech?”

“When you were drunk outta yer mind and I had to drag ya back to our dorm? Yes, I do recall.” Fiddleford said dryly.

“Yes, well. It was Stanley who sabotaged my project. He insisted it was an accident, but…” Ford sighed.

“Why do you bring him up?” Fiddleford tipped his head. Ford sighed and pulled off his glasses to polish them on his sleeve.

“I was hoping to get your advice, actually. Recently he’s been coming to mind more and more. I thought that, perhaps, he might have grown up over the last decade, and it might be worth getting in contact and seeing how he’s doing. Do… do you think people can change that much?”

Change. Had Stan changed much? Except for the whole werewolf thing…

It was like trying to think through sludge. Stan hardly remembered what it was like to be human. Or… human-shaped. Jeez, how long had he been Shifted for? Time was slipping away from him in this little bubble of happiness. Stan had never been in wolf form for this long before.

A chill shivered through him. The nerds’ talking continued but it was background noise to the humming of his thoughts. He stood and padded into the hallway, ignoring Tate’s whine. Stan shouldered through the (thankfully unlocked) front door and trotted outside.

He glanced around warily before slipping into the trees. Once a quick scan showed that he was alone, he Shifted.

Or… tried to.

The change that had once been liquid and effortless now felt like trying to shove a square peg through a circular hole. His skin prickled. Stan shook himself and tried again with a small growl.

The Shift swept across him with the popping of joints and the crackle of cartilage; creaky, like a neglected machine that had acquired rust from years of disuse. Stan gritted his newly-flat teeth and waited for the agonizingly slow Shift to pass.

He ended up crouched on the damp earth, breathing hard and squinting through suddenly blurry vision at the dark, hazy world around him. His skin felt itchy and it pinched in all the wrong places, like a suit that didn’t quite fit.

Well, shit. Note to self: don’t stay in wolf form for weeks at a time.

Stan flexed his hands, trying to reacquaint himself with having fingers and opposable thumbs. Being human. Or human-shaped, at least.

Because he was still a person. No matter what he looked like he wasn’t just some – some pet. He had a life to get back to.

Except… he didn’t. Not really.

Stan chewed over that piece of information for moment. Before he could really think about it a voice called his name. With a final stretch he slipped back into an awkward Shift, easier than before, and trotted after his brother’s voice.

#werewolf stan au #werewolf!stan #my writing #gravity falls #chapter 5

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notyetneedcoffee · 5 years ago

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Long Distance Number

Part Four of the Calling Series

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: NSFW, 18+, Naughty, Naughty Smut!

“I want you to do something for me.” Bucky’s voice rumbled low in your ear as his arms wrapped around you from behind.

“What would that be?” You ran your fingers though his hair.

“While I’m on this trip.” He voice dropped an octave, his tongue slid along the edge of your ear. “You will not come unless I say you can.”

A shiver ran down your spine. He had evil plans. “Unless you say?”

“Yeah, Doll.” His hand playfully closed around your throat. “Follow the rules and I’ll reward you.”

“And if I don’t?” You smirked.

“Bad girls get punished.” He smiled at the shiver that ran down your body. “You agree?”

“Yes.” You breathed.

Bucky spun you around, captured your mouth, drinking down your kiss. Tongue swirling around yours. Teeth nipping at your lip. He breathed against your mouth. “The game starts now.”

His fingers rubbed against your crotch. His tongue slid along the skin behind your ear. He wrapped around you. Bucky’s hard body radiated heat. He smelled amazing.

“You’re just teasing me.” You whined. He chuckled. “So mean.”

“I gotta leave in a few minutes.”

You rocked up onto your toes, kissing him. “I’m going to miss you.”

“Be a good girl.”

You arched a brow at him. He laughed.

“Or not, and face the consequences.”

Bucky pulled you roughly to him for one more thorough kiss. It left your lips swollen, panties wet. He cupped your face in his hand. Staring into your eyes, a mixture of intense emotion and burning desire. Soft lips covered your, tender and sweet.

“Be safe.” You whispered.

He smiled. “Stay at the Tower at my place. I’ll be calling.”

o o o o o

Working in the lab, you nearly got the thought of Bucky’s body pressed against yours out of your mind. Then the text messages began. The first was a photo a close up of just his mouth, tongue touching the corner of his pink lips. A few hours later another photo came through. This time it focused on that delicious notch of his Adonis belt and his unbuckled tac pants. Fuck.

You called as soon as you got to Bucky’s apartment. “You’re so mean.”

His rich laughter filled your ear. “Want to make sure you don’t forget me, Doll.”

“How could I?” You purred. “I still have the bite mark you left on my hip.”

“Mmm, luscious.” Bucky rumbled. “You’re stayin’ at my place, right?”

“I’m here now.”

“Good.” He sounded far too pleased with himself.

“Why?” You dragged the question out.

“Just want to make sure my girl is taken care of when I’m not there.” You could hear the smile on his face.

“You sending Sam over?” You teased.

“Not. Funny. Doll.”

You giggled.

“Mean, you’re just mean.” He chuckled when you made a kiss noise to him. “I’ve got to get going. Time to stop bad guys. Sweet dreams, Doll.”

“Kick their ass, tough guy.” You sighed. “Miss you already.”

You got ready and then crawled into bed. That’s when it hit you. Bucky’s scent. The sheets, the pillows, everything smelled like him... like he rolled around in the sheets after being sweaty and wearing his cologne. You flipped over and buried your face in his pillow, breathing deep.

That’s when your hand landed on the object under the pillow.

Pulling it out you recognized the purple vibe Bucky confiscated from your apartment. Damn him. You rolled over, placing it on the nightstand.

Lying in bed you tried to not think about Bucky’s body, sweat on his skin. The taste of licking it off his chest. The smell of him enveloping your senses. Wetness slicked between your legs. You flopped over, pulling the pillow closer. It didn’t help. Thighs rubbing together.

Your fingers drifted down to feel the sensitive bud of your clit, the wetness of your folds. The image of Bucky naked and sweaty, touching you, flamed your need. Your hands moved with more insistence. Damn him. He knew exactly how to push your buttons. Ugh. You would not give in so easily.

Sighing heavily, you to up and moved to the sofa. Maybe you could doze off watching something boring on television.

o o o o o

The phone buzzed at one in the morning. You picked up the phone, opening a picture of Bucky’s hand disappearing under a very tented sheet. The message said, ‘someone wants to say good morning.’

‘And you call me the mean one?’ You responded.

‘Being a good girl?’

‘Always.’

‘Mmm. I’m going to take care of this and think about just how GOOD you are. Go back to sleep, Doll.’

‘Asshole.’

‘Sweet dreams.’

o o o o o

Bucky Barnes stood a step behind Steve Rogers and a bit to the left. The team gathered around the Security Minister and the heads of the Anti-Terrorism Committee of the UN. The team were briefing the authorities on the organization recently discovered to be creating weapons from Chitauri technology. Tony and Natasha presented most of the data.

The phone in Bucky’s pocket vibrated for the fourth time in ten minutes. It was a distinctive triple buzz. Nearly undetectable, only Steve seemed to notice. He glanced over his shoulder at his friend. Bucky’s eyes remained locked straight ahead, but the corner of his mouth quirked up.

“You understand, Mr. Stark, as much as we are appreciative of your assistance,” the dark haired politician tapped his pen on the table. “You have to understand our concern at your presence. It tends to be accompanied by a certain level of destruction.”

“We promise to only blow up the buildings you don’t like.” Tony smiled.

“Tony.” Steve muttered.

“We will funnel all information to you. Anything that can be handled by local authorities, we will defer to you, of course.” Natasha smiled passively.

“Very well.” The gentleman across the table sighed. “Thank you for meeting with us. We appreciate your candor.” She stood, extending her hand. “We won’t take up any more of your day.”

As a group they made their way to the helipad on the roof, Bucky’s pocket buzzed again. He fought to keep back the smile. It had been six days of teasing one another and you were getting desperate.

Steve leaned his head a little closer, honestly a bit concerned. “She’s being persistent. Maybe its something important. She might need you. You’re not going to check your phone?”

Bucky shrugged as they all stepped into the elevator. He and Steve were pressed to the back. Pulling the phone from his pocket, he opened the string of text messages from you. Not reading, or looking in order, his smile widened at the last message.

“You might be right, pal. What do you think?” He whispered, angling the phone for Steve to see.

Steve glanced down, seeing a close up shot of your legs spread, barely covered by the sheet, hand buried between them curved up and obviously busy with your cunt. Steve blushed to the top of his head, swallowing hard and eyes darting away.

Bucky chuckled. Tony turned around to see his smirk and Steve’s extreme blush. His eyebrow quirked. “Have something to share with the class, Barnes?”

“Nope.” The ‘p’ popped.

As the group climbed into the quinjet on the roof, Bucky plopped down in the rear seat and eagerly gave his phone his full attention.

‘Can’t sleep. Woke up thinking about that mission footage of you. Fucked me up.’

‘Seeing you wrapped up in all that leather, moving with that fucking strut. Damn sexy. Please promise if I’m a bad girl you’ll stalk me like that. You can punish me any way you want.’

Bucky shifted in his seat, growing hard at the idea of you being a naughty girl.

‘Miss you so much, I’ve started stealing your stuff.’

He opened the picture to see you in nothing but a black lace thong and one of his thigh sheaths. The photo cut off just a the bottom of your bare breast and ended where you knelt on the bed. He couldn’t stop the smile that spread across his face.

‘What if disobeyed? Is it really my fault when you left my favorite toy under the pillow?’

Bucky bit his lip to hold back a growl. They’d better get back to the hotel soon.

‘What if I have it out right now? It’s not your magnificent cock, but it does make me come. Will you punish me then?’ It was followed by the photo he’d shown Steve. Oh shit, he realized you had that pretty purple vibrator all the way in your cunt.

He typed back. ‘You’re lucky I can’t talk right now, because you’d get a proper tongue lashing, Doll.’

‘You can do more than that to me with your tongue.’

‘Naughty girl. I’m going to take you over my knee and spank that pretty ass of yours until it’s pink. Then I’m going to make sure that sweet cunt aches before you get any release. I’m going feast on you until beg me to let you come.’

‘Oh shit.’

‘Are you fucking yourself with that toy? Is it slippery with your juices?’

‘Yes.’

‘Bad girl.’ Bucky licked his lower lip. He really wanted to hear you.

‘Fuck, want you.’

“We’re landing, kids.” Tony announced. “Listen, go change and meet in my suite for the briefing in twenty.”

‘Doll, don’t you dare come. I’ll call in just a minute.’

‘Bucky.’

‘Be a good girl. You can rub those beautiful tits, pinch those luscious nipples, but keep your hands off your pussy until I call.’ As an after thought, Bucky sent one more text. ‘You can leave the toy in your cunt.’

Before the jet landed, Bucky was unstrapped and at the door. As soon as the system allowed, he slapped it open and bolted for his room. Dialing along the way, he heard the phone ring as he stepped through the door.

“Buck.” You breathed.

“Doll, you tell me where your hands are right now.” His voice was low, demanding.

It went straight to your core. “On my tits.” You breathed. “My pussy is so wet, though.”

“Good girl, but you’ve been bad while I’ve been away. Haven’t you?” He pulled at his pants, getting his hand around his cock.

“I haven’t come yet.”

“You’re playing a dangerous game, Doll.” He breathed. “When I get back, you’re gonna get punished.”

“How?” You moaned, not being able to help yourself, sliding the toy in and out along your g spot.

“I can hear you,” He growled. “You got your hands on that sweet cunt.”

“Mm-hmm”

“I’m going to do more than spank that cute ass. I’m going to tie you down. Fuck that pretty mouth of yours. Tease you clit until your drenched. You’re gonna beg me to let you come but you are not allowed until I say.” He pumped his cock, imagining you tied down and writhing.

“Yes.” Turned the intensity up on the vibe and rubbed it over your clit. “Shit, Bucky.”

“I’m going bite and mark up your nipples until you beg me to fuck you more.”

You pinched your flesh, imagining his teeth. A moan escaped.

“Gonna take that fucking toy of yours and torture you with it, press it to clit on high, while I fuck you hard.” He panted, hips rocking into his own hand.

Your mewls and pants grew desperate. “Can I?”

“No!” He barked. “You. Will. Wait.”

“But…”

“Stop. Now.” He ordered harshly. Then Bucky purred, “I’ll be home in seventeen hours. When I get back, I’ll make it all worth it.”

“Bucky, please…”

“No. Be waiting for me.”

“I’ll be here.”

Bucky threw down the phone, imagining your battle to step back from the edge, picturing you so close, practically tasting you on his tongue. Hand pumping hard, he came across his chest.

o o o o o

Sixteen hours and forty two minutes later Bucky walked into his apartment. The light in bedroom was on. He found you laying on your stomach, wearing simple white cotton bikini panties and one of his beaters. Damn, he’d rather have that over some lacy get-up any day.

You bit your lip and kicked your feet. “Hey.”

“Hey, back” Bucky dropped his bag and sat on the edge of the bed, leaning over to kiss you thoroughly.

“I was good.”

“Were you?” He ran his hand through your hair. “Because I’m hearing an awful lot of bad in that voice.”

“Are you now?”

“Yeah,” Bucky pulled you closer, but instead of setting on his lap, he flipped you over belly down.

Gasping, you struggled a little. He held you firm. His hand slid over your ass checks, down the back of your thighs. The sound that came from his chest was almost a purr. “So pretty.”

Smack! You jumped when his hand came down over your ass. Smack! Smack! His fingers slid aside the cotton and slipped along your soaked opening. “So wet already.”

“Hold still.” Bucky pulled the knife from his boot sheath. You felt you heart pound in your chest. The cold flat of the blade touched your skin, making you shiver. He sliced the panties and tank to shreds, so they fell off you. The process left you quivering in his lap.

He slipped the knife back, before picking you up and placing you back on the bed. His eyes were dark, intense. “I told you I was going to tie you up, Doll.”

“Yes.” You breathed.

“You gonna have a problem with that?” His hand slid over your skin, causing shivers.

“No.”

A wicked smile crossed his face. Form one of his utility pockets he produced a length of cord. He yanked the pillowcase free and wrapped it around your wrists to protect the skin before knotting the cords and binding your arms to the headboard.

You waited for him to undress, but Bucky left on the tactical gear. He stood looking down at you, naked and at his mercy. Heat pooled between your legs, desperate after the days of denial. He inhaled deep through his nose. Licked his lips. Fuck. He was predatory.

He leaned over, taking a nipple in his mouth and sucked hard. Your back arched up off the mattress. He attacked your tits with mouth and teeth, making you squirm. His metal hand spread wide over you pelvis, hold you down. The tip of his middle finger rubbing on your clit.

“Oh, fuck!”

His mouth crashed down upon yours, stealing your breath. He growled into moan as his hand delved between your legs. He pumped hard and quick. Your climax building insanely fast. Coiling, desperate, keening, you chased release.

Then he was suddenly gone.

“Oh, shit! Buck! Please!”

He stood back again, smirking. Damn him. With painful slowness, he began to unbuckles straps and strip away layers. Finally he peeled off the skin tight under armor shirt, and you involuntarily licked your lips. Bare chest rising and falling with controlled breaths, abs tight, that led down to where you eyes settled. Delicious.

Bucky loosed his pants, released his cock. He loomed over you, stroking himself. “Open up.”

He gave you a moment to lick at the head, as he held himself close, teasing. When you wrapped your mouth around him, a low growl rumbled from his chest. Fucking your mouth, he knew how far he could push. Making you hum and your eyes water, but not gagging.

Praising words fell from his lips. “So fucking good. Damn, beautiful. Ah, shit, you’re so fucking sexy.”

The smell of him, masculine and distinctly Bucky, mixed with leather and sweat. Saliva dripped down your chin. Hands pulled at your bindings, wanting to grab his ass. Legs rubbed together, so desperate for release you were practically out of your mind.

Bucky pulled away, leaving you gasping. “Please, oh Bucky, please.”

“Please what, Doll?” He walked around to the other side of the bed.

“Fuck me.”

He leaned over brutally kissing you again. He trailed hot wet kisses over you sensitive and abused breasts, down you belly. You began to pant uncontrollably. One hand touched your thigh and your legs fell open wide, wanting.

“So pretty,” he breathed over you hypersensitive flesh just before lapping at you. His tongue tore a scream from you, but he pulled away immediately.

“Oh shit, please, please, Bucky, fuck, please,” you chanted.

He finally stripped away the last of clothes before crawling up between your legs. Settling his knees to either side of you ass, he pulled you ankles up over his shoulder. Sliding his fingers through your folds, they came away slick and dripping. He licked his fingers. “Never seen you so wet.”

“Please,” you begged.

A buzzing sound made you moan and your eyes close. Holy shit, the exquisite torture. You felt the vibrating touch to your clit and it made your entire body jerk. Bucky slid two fingers into you, gently stroking and rubbed the vibrator to you again.

“Oh fuck!”

“Don’t you come until I say so, Doll.” He growled. “I mean it.”

Panting, mewling, trying to breath as your climax built higher and higher. It was too much. “Bucky!”

“No!” He pulled the vibe away. Fuck. You were going to die. The head of his cock rubbed against you. He touched the vibe to your clit again, barely pressing the tip in your entrance, teasing you mercilessly. You to shake, approaching the crest again. He stopped. Dropping the vibe. You were definitely going to die.

“Bucky.” You whined.

Oh, please. Bucky sunk into inch by agonizing inch. He shook with the effort to control himself. You quivered at the stretch, the fullness. He pulled out out, slamming in, pushing another scream from your lungs.

“Please!”

Fingers dug into your hips. Skin slapped on skin. He growled. You couldn’t hold back. Your whole body trembled. His voice rumble out low and ragged. “Come for me.”

You whited out. All the tension exploding. Every nerve lit up. You flooded over his cock, cunt squirting, squeezing and he pounded harder. Rolling, roiling, it kept going. Arms pulling at the ties, legs shaking uncontrollably. Bucky’s hip ground deep as he spent himself.

Only then did you begin to come down. Micro-spasms shot across your body. Tears leaked from you eyes. You were boneless. Breathless.

Senses coming back to him, Bucky crawled over you on all fours, releasing your hands. He kissed the inside of your wrist tenderly. Then he notice the wet trails from you still closed eyes. Soft lips pressed to the corner of you eye.

“Y/N?” He nuzzled you without putting any weight on you. He whispered. “Doll, did I hurt you?”

“No, oh no, Bucky.” You pulled at him so he’d lie down so you would be anchored by his body. “Overwhelmed. Holy hell, that was so intense.”

He rolled to the side, pulling you with him. A wicked smirk grew across his face. “That is was. We need to change the bedding.”

You giggled, pressing your face into his chest. “You single handedly set the bar for long distance foreplay. I needed to come so bad. Drove me out of my mind.”

“Mission accomplish.” He laughed.

You would have kissed him, but you still couldn’t move. Damn, he was perfect.

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mor-beck-more-problems · 4 years ago

Text

Zombie Jenga || Morgan & Deirdre

TIMING: Current

PARTIES: @deathduty & @mor-beck-more-problems

SUMMARY: Days after finding Lydia in the basement, Morgan continues to struggle to find her footing. A bad day takes a turn for the worse.

CONTAINS: parental death, head trauma, depression, brief mentions of past abuse, car accident, mentions of needles

Days after finding Lydia in the basement, Morgan struggled to find herself. Making tea and bringing it back to share with Deirdre was the one task she allotted herself as a challenge, as a hope for a good day. Smiling with anything but affectionate, needy sadness was out of the question. Going outside, unthinkable. But maybe she could give something, like tea, and the space between herself and Deirdre would ease and she would remember what being herself felt like. Then a Prius sped past the window, then a stop sign, and crunched into a soccer mom van, sending it skidding off course until it jumped the curb and the bushes planted on the road verge until it slammed into a young birch tree, which snapped and fell on the roof. The alarms whined, children screamed, and women swore. Morgan watched the disaster from the kitchen window, still holding the tea kettle, which spilled by accident at the moment of crunching metal and glass broke through the quiet neighborhood, then thrown on the floor in frustration. There was a special sound cars made when they came apart. It wasn’t as heavy as the movies made you think, but it did carry, and between her death on the pavement in a pileup at rush hour and her father’s after they steered the family Honda into a palm tree, she remembered.

Morgan had been too busy singing “Maybe This Time” from the Cabaret revival to notice her dad’s hand fall from the wheel. It wasn’t until she started talking to him about the work drama she was going into and he didn’t answer that she looked. She asked him if he was okay, and he said nothing, just continued on the road. Morgan remembered wondering if she’d made him angry, but her dad was never angry. He never shut down or went cold. When they disagreed, they argued, and Morgan felt safe enough to be reckless about it. So when she pulled on his arm, limp on the console, she knew it wasn’t him. She screamed for him to stop the car for about two more miles, not wanting to understand the meaning of his sagging face or how he could only sputter incoherently at her despite the wide, panicked focus in his eyes as he stared straight ahead. But Morgan knew then. This was how the world ended again. This was her bullshit, her secret, come back to punish her.

Morgan, in her kitchen, sank to the floor without a fight. A week ago or more she might have fought, straining against herself: come on, please, don’t be like this. But there didn’t seem to be a point today. When her own hands went limp and her insides slid down into the tar pit she carried inside her, it was almost a relief. Against the sound of competing car alarms, she curled herself as small and tight as her body would let her. The ambulances would follow and she wasn’t sure if she wished all of them would make it out alive or if knowing someone’s mom or dad walked out without a scratch would feel too personally unfair. Her limbs were heavy, as numb and ghostly as if they’d been left out in the freezing rain, and she sank into the puddle she’d made until she could imagine herself melting into it, and the nothing beyond.

Deirdre’s ears were deaf to tragedy; the tire screeching, metal crunching was no more noise to her than crickets’ chirping. She knew car crashes because she’d seen them a thousand different ways, a thousand different times—and even this one came as no surprise to the banshee. What caught her attention was the clang of metal below, too close to home to be the wreck. She waited and listened; her senses were dulled to horror but at their fullest for Morgan, who had been preparing tea. The kettle did not whistle, Morgan wasn’t pattering up the stairs. She rose quickly, descended the stairs quicker, and rushed to Morgan with enviable reflex—something those drivers might have killed for outside, if they thought about it between their yelling. She knelt at her body, as if paying respects, and picked the upturned kettle off the ground. Most of the boiling tea had spilt and begun its toll on Morgan’s quick-healing flesh, but Deirdre still pulled a kitchen towel free and mopped up whatever mess was or would touch Morgan. “My love,” her voice was soft and forgiving. As she took in the sight of Morgan on the floor, she understood that panic would not help her. She settled her body around Morgan’s and held her tight, the best she could do for now. “How bad is it?” She asked, the only question she would offer for the moment, “one to ten; how bad?”

The family Honda had looped around the feeder twice before Morgan, eighteen and terrified, got control of the wheel and steered them into the shopping strip where she had just gotten a summer job. The console bruised her side and she couldn’t figure out how to press on her dad’s limbs to control the gas or the break or which pedal did which thing, she just didn’t want to kill anyone and her dad was sputtering noises she’d never heard a person make and staring back from her to the road and back again, no longer her dad who knew everything and comforted, but just a soul on the brink of terror. No one had called Morgan ‘a kid,’ then. No one had warned her that it was only going to get worse from there either.

In the kitchen, in the back of Morgan’s mind where a seed of herself remained, she thought, Deirdre probably needs to know. But elsewhere, Morgan also thought, Well gee, what does it look like? She said neither, only sank. Maybe if she had been quieter about it, or stayed in their room and abandoned any idea so absurd as having an okay day, this would have been it. Mission failure; better luck next time. But then Morgan’s corpse was lifted and the stiff pressure of Deirdre squeezed around her. It popped something loose inside her body and her face crumpled as she began to cry. She didn’t have any words to offer, not in her throat or anywhere else. She knew the truth (today was a ten) and what some other version of herself would beg her to say (I’m sorry, I’ve maybe definitely put off my next round of decap by two days now, please help me). But these thoughts never left the dark inside her. Morgan only hid her face in the crook of her neck, hating how badly she craved Deirdre’s grip, and worse, how little it helped.

Deirdre knew what a lack of answer meant, and wordlessly, she tightened her grip around Morgan until her muscles began to quiver. She didn’t care about cracking ribs or crushing lungs, she would give Morgan as much pressure as her body would allow, and then she’d find a way to give her more. Deirdre brought her lips to Morgan’s ear, making sure her low hummed voice was the only sound Morgan would be hearing. Whatever was in her head, the world around her was safe and waiting for her to come back. “You’re here,” she rasped, “you’re in my arms right now, my love, okay? You’re here. I’m here. There’s nothing else.” She wasn’t sure how long she would be holding Morgan, there was no equation for this sort of thing, but there was no rush in her mind--no place she would rather be. If it took them hours, she would be here for hours. If it took them years, then she’d be there, holding Morgan against their tea-stained tiles, for years. She tightened her grip, finding her arms could offer no more strength. “I’m here,” she repeated, “I’m here. I’m here. I’m here.” Deirdre wouldn’t know what was happening in Morgan’s head unless she shared, and she didn’t know how long it would be until she found her tongue, but she didn’t concern herself with time or guessing traumas. She was here. She would stay. She would wait.

In Morgan’s mind, the wreck lasted for hours and no time at all at once. Whether by magic or by will, the family Honda obeyed each traffic light and never hit another car with more than a bump. Morgan, still eighteen, still stiff and waiting for the universe to show her what to do. She was afraid of ruining someone else’s car, and she was afraid no one would notice the teenager straining against her seatbelt for control of the wheel. In another, less-cursed world, there would be some nurse or a surgeon on the freeway at the same time, heading to the parking ride ten minutes away, and they would swerve in front of the car and make everything stop and tell Morgan what was going on and how it was all going to be okay. But she pulled them across traffic without anyone sounding their horn for more than a second. When the car, still rolling forward at forty miles per hour, jumped the curb and smashed into a decorative palm tree.

Her dad’s head listed to one side, like he was too tired to sit anymore, and Morgan thought for a second that was the end of it. Then he started to groan and cough, sick dribbling down his lips and the front of his shirt. He was choking. Morgan couldn’t pull back his seat, or work her arms around his body to give him the Hamlisch from her spot in the passenger seat. She could only shove her weight behind his back until he flopped onto the wheel, climb out of the car, screaming for a phone. It was still hot, so working enough of a sweat to soak her back didn’t tell her anything about the time, just that a girl screaming for help wasn't worth even stopping to gawk at.

In the kitchen, the sun moved to a different place in the sky. Morgan wheezed to find an easy breath. It was cruel, how good Deirdre’s words sounded and how much they weren’t true. Deirdre had left half her brain at Lydia’s, and if she were really all there was in the world, Morgan wouldn’t hurt in the first place.

There was more than just Deirdre around her, too, much as Morgan wanted to believe otherwise. Morgan’s corpse, for one thing, could only take in so much touch; the rest was cotton and air. And how much was Morgan really here? If she were, her ribs would’ve cracked by now and the pinch in her back wouldn’t have taken so long to notice. A Morgan that was really here would have more than gravity and pressure to anchor herself, and more color on her besides necrosis. She wouldn’t be floating away from her body like old wallpaper that had lost its glue. Had her dad felt this numb in his last moments? Did his brain let him feel anything at all, or did he just stay scared and tired as all the good parts of him flooded with blood and shut down? Was this how dead people were supposed to feel? Were they glad they didn’t have to be anything at all? Was it bad if part of her envied how quickly his eyes had closed now? That she wanted just a piece of his heavy, god-awful sleep?

“Mmm...I’m…” Her mouth felt numb and clumsy. She gave up and stayed limp in Deirdre’s arms some more. There was no sleep, no escaping, no relief. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. Real death was quiet. It was the only peace you needed. Morgan would take just a nap, half an hour of oblivion, and a sense that the world wasn’t so bad as you thought before. She’d give anything to be able to make the world stop and recharge like that.

Deirdre’s words circled her ears even when she grew quiet, a song stuck on repeat. Morgan whimpered, bitterly wishing for the ends between the two of them to meet, for there to be anything but the dark and the pit. The sun moved again, and Morgan felt Deirdre shift around her. Afternoon. Lydia. Which meant Deirdre being here was a lie now too. Morgan shook her head, trying to dispel the song of her girlfriend’s words. Wanting them to be true wouldn’t make it so.

“We crashed like that, when my dad died,” she croaked. “I was steering from the passenger seat. I tried so hard to keep him awake. I ran back and forth from the shops in the strip we were at to the car. He was so heavy, I couldn’t shake him awake.” She shrank into herself, willing her body to melt into the floor again. “I know you have somewhere else to be,” she said, her voice hardening. “And why should you or anyone else care? He was just a human.”

Morgan’s words rang through the air, vibrating against Deirdre’s ribcage and down into her depths. For as long as it took Morgan to speak, Deirdre held her; taut even against her own pain. She whispered words of nonsensical comfort; words of her being here, words of her love and the breadth of her care. What normally slipped between Morgan’s lips when she summoned the power to speak was an apology, an apology Deirdre was always swift to say wasn’t needed, but an apology all the same. Morgan’s words now were part explanation, part injury. She couldn’t have been saying her father was just human for any purpose than to hurt Deirdre, and stunned that the woman who was always so afraid of just that was now doing it so plainly, Deirdre hushed her whispers. “I have nowhere else to be,” she said, her voice mimicking Morgan’s hardened tone. “If you want me gone, you have to say it. If you can’t, then I’m going to keep holding you. And you can say anything else you want, but it won’t make me let you go.” It was true the sky was red, inching its way towards dark. And it was true that outside of them, Lydia would be coming back home, and Deirdre had always made a point to be there for her. But Deirdre’s love was stubborn, and it knew better. She noted car crashes as something to warn Morgan about, and made another decision to drive less hectically. With her arms, muscles alight with agony and old injuries awoken, she scrounged enough strength to pull her girlfriend closer. “So tell me about your father and what you’re thinking. Tell me about that day. Tell me about anything you can, anything you want to. Anything at all.”

Morgan flinched at Deirdre’s reply. As much as she tried, she could sink to the ground no further with Deirdre vibrating against her body with the force of her grip. Morgan tried, clenching up to make herself small one moment and then turning into dead weight the next. A sob fell through her clenched teeth. “Don’t lie. You can’t wait to leave and worry about someone else. Why wouldn’t you? Why would you stay when I’m this miserable?” For a few choice seconds, it seemed like Morgan’s bitterness would be strong enough to propel her to her feet or at least shoot enough energy into her arms to make her claw her way down to the floor and bury her face in spilled tea where it belonged. She brought a trembling hand up to clasp Deirdre’s, which had latched on as if with claws and would not let go. Morgan gripped it, thinking she might just use her strength to tear it off—and squeezed, pressing it further into her body. More sobs broke through her. She could not see from the pit inside her what was worth staying for or why Deirdre remained. But she was too aware of how her body fit around hers like an exoskeleton. Morgan imagined what would be to simply crawl inside Deirdre and hide inside her until the pain stopped. She imagined how it would be to scream and take everything she hated down with it. But when she opened her mouth again, the sound was so strangled and broken, it barely made a noise at all. I don’t understand, she wanted to tell her. Explain why you’re here and why you love me, why is this happening, why am I so awful and stupid after everything that’s happened… One broken cry followed another, one for each thought she didn’t have the words to speak.

When she did find them, throaty and halting, they weren’t any of the impossible questions she ached to ask. As Deirdre asked, she told her about the day. Maybe it didn’t make sense, starting with the lunch they’d shared at the Olive Garden that she had been so absurdly proud of paying for, but it was always what Morgan thought about when she was looking for an ‘undo’ button for the whole thing. She’d ordered them cannolis for dessert, which were doomed to end up on the steering wheel looking like cottage cheese not two hours later. There were the X-Files tapes she was asking about for her birthday, October and November was the time to start saving and planning, nothing too expensive or too precious. And maybe the glare of the sun on the windshield was inconsequential too. It stung Morgan’s eyes the same way it did on every bright day before and after, but maybe if she had been looking somewhere else she might have noticed something sooner. The song from Cabaret that had been playing right before everything started was important, without a doubt, but Morgan couldn’t explain why, even to herself. She only knew it was as clear in her mind as the wailing ambulance sirens and the way she’d yelled at the paramedics trying to help. She still sang “Maybe This Time” around the house sometimes; for some reason it never made her sad. The book she had been halfway through that day, on the other hand, was another story. Morgan’s original copy had been stuck on the floor of the car, then ripped open somewhere in her panicked crawling back and forth, so there was that. But Ruth, in an act of misguided kindness, had bought her another one to cheer her up a week after the accident. But try as Morgan might, everything after page 132 blurred together into nonsense. Her brain refused to process the rest of the story, not when the dad she’d liked talking about it with didn’t exist anymore. Morgan told Deirdre this and everything else, everything she’d kept under lock and key because some people were too precious to share, or so she sometimes thought. There were silences that felt long to her, staring halfway into the nowhere space she pretended to sleep in, because she’d already seen it some ten or a hund red times and didn’t want to go for a hundred and one. If she could go to the floor, if she couldn’t go to her grave or sick her head into her girlfriend’s chest cavity, maybe she could go into the air, or the ether, a ghost of herself so she wouldn’t have to look.

It didn’t work. The words, now loosened for the first time out of a sliding scale therapy office, wouldn’t stop, and she flinched and choked on the memory until there was nothing left to say. “I think everything good about me came from him,” she mumbled, no joy in the statement, however much she knew it to be true. “Maybe eighteen was too soon for more of it to stick, and that’s why I’m such a shitshow. That, and that fucking ghost witch…” There was something else, something more substantial and practical that Deirdre needed to know, but it was like that book, all fuzzy and incomprehensible right at the bottom of the page where ‘what now’ was supposed to be.

The pit, as Morgan called it, was a strange place to be. It twisted words; made logic into falsehood and lies into reality. But Deirdre did not groan at the pit’s manipulation, she did not hiss in impatience or scold the fallacies. Calmly, steadily, she reminded Morgan of facts that hadn’t changed, and would never: she loved her today, now, just as she did yesterday. She would love her tomorrow and the day after and many more days beyond. Love was never miserable work. “I promise,” she said, “that I want to be here with you. I promise that there is nowhere else I would rather be right now. I promise that I love you--now, still, always. I promise that I’m here, and that I’m listening to you.” Her arms protested, body heavy with ache, but she kept her hold around Morgan. She thought of each torturous piece of training she’d endured--all the drowning, cutting, whipping, stabbing, killing--none of it was like this, because this wasn’t torture, and it never would be. “I want to be here because I love you, Morgan. I care about you. That’s true no matter what state you’re in, my love. I promise it is. I love you just as you are, however you are, always.” She knew better than to take Morgan’s bitterness to heart, not when it was intertwined with sobs and unable to produce the sentence she was asking for. It might have been new to her in this state, but the pit was a strange place to be, and it did strange things.

When Morgan found her words again, less angry though no bit less broken, Deirdre shifted her grip so Morgan’s story wouldn’t be muffled into her blouse. What she knew of Morgan’s father was limited, though she understood Morgan’s hesitance. So much of her life had been marked by tragedy and loss. The good was always stained with the unbearable, the memory of her father was touched by death in its cruelest form. She often wondered if Morgan told the year aparts by the hurt that encapsulated them, by the systematic horror that revealed itself year after year, after year---even beyond the curse. Or perhaps, especially beyond it. Then she wondered what she could do to give Morgan good years, until she knew them by their pleasures. Was there some remedy of going back in time? Did she pluck eighteen year old Morgan from that day, after her lunch, bearing the sun from the family car? Deirdre couldn’t hold that girl who cried and shouted and didn’t understand, but she gripped Morgan tighter instead, and imagined she could manipulate time. She would’ve stopped the car, she would’ve told Morgan everything would be okay, she would’ve gone back to the days of Agnes and killed Constance herself. Their clock ticked around them, as if mocking their inability to be anywhere else---there were no times to travel to, and no girls to take from their trauma. There was here and now, living with what had happened. “I think everything good about you comes from you,” she whispered, frail only to her own tears, which she spilled on Morgan’s behalf. “I think nothing about you is a shitshow. You are the strongest person I know, the best person---my favorite person.” But the here and now was thick with pain, and Deirdre realized it wasn’t the past she wanted to tamper with, but the future that she wanted to bring them to---the place where the years had been good for a while, and Morgan could remember her father better as he lived than how he died. “I think you’re good, I think you’ve always been good. I think you’re good now.” Deirdre breathed, repeating herself as if her words might form into a salve. There was the here and the now and both were terrible, but it was all they had.

Morgan didn’t know how to believe Deirdre, but she promised, she promised so many times and didn’t get sick, only cried, because Morgan was small and pitiful and so unlike herself, and she had to be in pain, rocking with her and holding her so tight her body bent in ways it wasn’t supposed to. “I’m not,” Morgan whimpered. How could she be, like this? With what she knew? With what she wanted? She shivered, working her hands into fists on Deirdre’s shirt. She could find the words she needed more easily now, but she was choking on bent ribs and swallowed sobs. “I’m...s-sorry…” she said. “...I need...I’m sorry...My decap…” For the first time, she tried to lift her head and look at Deirdre face to face. Her lashes dripped with tears, making her eyes seem even wider, her silent plea more desperate. As she spoke, she could hardly bear to think about how much it would sting to stay on the floor for the minute or two it would take for Deirdre to find her concoction and inject it into her brain stem, and worse, of the shame of her own making (who put off taking the medication that kept them from falling into a spiral every other week...because they were too busy falling into a spiral?). What she could grasp, even from the pit, was that she did not want to stay like this. She did not want her dead, numbed chest to keep hurting, nor her throat to turn brittle and raw. A look at her arms showed the necrosis and discoloration taking over her skin; she hadn’t eaten since she’d come back from Lydia’s. Not once. Morgan couldn’t stomach staying that way either. “P-please...m-my decap. The medicine cabinet. I’m sorry I didn’t…” Didn’t take it, or say anything sooner. They might have avoided at least some of this if she’d just told Deirdre while they were laying on each other in bed, trying to hide from the world. But that would’ve just made too much sense, wouldn’t it?” Morgan’s lip trembled, searching for a word that would put everything she wanted to explain into Deirdre’s hands, a single sound to encapsulate, I need you, I’m scared, I don’t want to be like this, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it, I love you, please help me. All that came out was a broken whine. Morgan lowered her face as misery clenched her insides. Deirdre would do it, because Deirdre was kind and loved her for some mysterious reason, but this was all Morgan’s fault in the first place. And how awful was it, to dread an absence of less than five minutes? To fear that it was just enough time for Deirdre to realize how badly Morgan had hurt her and wasted her day?

“You are,” Deirdre insisted. And though under any other circumstance, she might have thought it childish to argue back and forth about it, she felt it was something she could do tirelessly now--without complaint. She knew it to be true, and she’d say it until her voice gave, and then she’d write it until her fingers turned to bone. “Decap?” She perked up, registering that after hours of laying there, Morgan was finally asking her for something. Something specific, something she could do. “Right. Yeah.” But the medicine cabinet was far from them, and no matter how quickly she ran, precious minutes would still be spent apart. She pressed a kiss to Morgan’s cheek, lingering long enough to press another to the corner of her lips. “I’ll be right back, okay? I promise.” The promise wasn’t necessary, but the pit was strange, and she wouldn’t take any chances on whatever words the tar was bubbling to Morgan. Slowly, she lifted herself off the ground, keeping close to Morgan for as long as she could, and then stumbled upright as her legs tried to remember what it was like to move. Her body throbbed, but with one enthusiastic push against their counter, she rushed on her way. The decap was where it always was--syringe and vials in their medicine cabinet upstairs in their bathroom. She took what she needed and sprinted back down; her long legs were like stone and clumsy as they stomped around, but she didn’t mind bumping against walls and stubbing toes against furniture as she moved by Morgan’s side again. “Can you turn your head for me, my love?” She asked sweetly, though she extended her hand and helped Morgan articulate herself anyway. The injection went next and, brushing Morgan’s hair aside with the same care, she administered it as though it were something she did everyday, without fail. In truth, her memory worked well under panic, and her body took over where her mind blanked on the steps. “There,” she rasped, setting the medicine aside on the counter. “Was that okay?” She didn’t wait for an answer, and pulled Morgan into her arms again. Her mind was still catching up; her first unspoken question was if double-dosing like that was okay. And the second was the jumbled realization that she hadn’t taken it today, and the question of if she’d missed more. There was no judgement that coated her thoughts, only care. If it was hard for Morgan, she could do it. If Morgan needed something else, she could provide it. In the end, she responded to her own questions. “It’s okay,” she breathed Morgan in, “one day at a time. We take it one day at a time.” The here, the now; one day at a time.

Morgan turned limp in Deirdre’s arms, sighing with relief when she told her it was done. The drug would not work instantly, but she would be able to heat herself some dinner later tonight and maybe she would find the words to say all she wanted to give Deirdre. In the here and now, the only language she had was silence and apology, both clumsy in her body, just as painful to bear as all the rest. But Morgan mumbled them between silences: I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry... She did not grip or pull or beg. All of that energy was spent and working its way through her skull, mending some of the imbalance that kept her chained to the floor. The sun moved, and the words Morgan wanted to say started to take shape. Had Deirdre changed out of her sleepwear? Did she need a bathroom break? Did she know Morgan was still sorry? Did she only think Morgan was good because she loved her? Morgan tried to ask these several times, but the words dissolved on her tongue as soon as she tried, and the point, to try at all, seemed so very small just then. “...Thank you,” she finally managed, her voice only half garbled. “I do love you. And I’m...you shouldn’t have to do this. I don’t like to do this...be this. Deirdre…” Her girlfriend’s name came out like its own prayer. Looking up, head on her shoulder, Morgan reached out to touch the dry dears on Deirdre’s cheek. She whispered her name again, reverent and sorrowful, the way you spoke words of penance. “I’m sorry. I screwed up. I didn’t mean to, I was just so tired inside, and I thought I’d be able to…” she shook her head and tried to curl up her body on will alone.

Legs stiff, arms throbbing, carrying Morgan to bed was a harder task than Deirdre thought it ought to be, but she was thankful when the threshold of their bedroom was crossed and she could collapse them on their plush mattress. Pulling the sheets up around them was another thing, but once the brunt of the work was done, everything else was instinct. She shot Lydia a quick text about where she was and another to her assistant to come in and feed the cats. Then she bundled around Morgan, holding and waiting and listening. Whatever Morgan was trying to say was just whimpers, and though Deirdre tried her best to decipher them, all she got in the end were whimpers. But she waited, she listened, she held Morgan as if she’d fall apart if she didn’t. Words came eventually in a ‘thank you’, easily met with a, “don’t thank me, my love. You don’t have to.” If words were hard, Deirdre wanted Morgan to save them for the things that mattered, a thank you did not. “Why shouldn’t I have to?” She challenged, gentle in her argument. “I love you, I care about you, I’m not blind to what that entails. If that means you want me to hold you when this happens, then I’ll hold you. I’d be honoured to. I know you don’t want to be like this, Morgan, no one does...but…” she turned and met Morgan’s gaze, greeting her sadness with a warm smile. “...it’s okay that you are. I don’t mind. It’s all okay, my love. All of it, every bit. I love you so much, always.” She shifted, pressing her fingers against Morgan’s ribs, trying to see if she’d jostled them too far out of their place somehow. She reached for her heart next, knowing there was no beat to pulse under her fingers, but drumming one there anyway. “You didn’t screw anything up. Don’t you dare be sorry, I won’t take it. Your thank you’s are already on thin ice, love. Can’t add any more weight to the load there. So we’ll take your apologies and put them somewhere else; they’re not for you and they’re not for me.” She knew there was no sleep for Morgan to find, not anymore, but she shifted them again and tried to tuck Morgan in for rest. “Anything else you want to get off your chest before I start covering you in kisses?”

Morgan tried to find her arguments, which seemed very clear in her mind but did not seem to hold up well to words. Why should anyone have to spend their day on the floor? How on the mother’s earth could any of her warnings from their early days have prepared Deirdre for this? Did she realize that even with her treatment, making it out of bed for more than a couple of hours was an idiot’s guessing game? Morgan didn’t even want that for herself, much less someone she loved. Morgan couldn’t get them out, and Deirdre’s energy was steadfast as ice, and she settled for placing soft, melancholic kisses on her skin where she could reach without really lifting her head. Some of the weight around her had receded, and the odd floating feeling of being somewhere so soft as a bed had become a comfort. Morgan did not fight being tucked or caressed. She let her obedience look like calm if that was what it wanted to look like and wished for a better life, as she had all those years before. “Did you know...you’ve known me longer dead than alive?” She said, staring at the ceiling so she wouldn’t wilt or cry under Deirdre’s compassion for her. “Everything about us from before is going to be so small, if it isn’t already. Some days I forget what you used to feel like, so I remember what I wrote about it instead.” Morgan could not speak about her longing without at least looking at her love. Her eyes slid sidelong, and fresh tears bubbled at the corners. “It’s not fair. My whole life… it wasn’t even for anything, just Constance. Nothing was better, no one got anything out of it, it was all just so she could feel better. Everything I carried, thinking I could just trade it in and have the rest of my time to...be happy. I wanted to be happy with you so badly…” But then one day she went out for ice cream and Constance found her. “I don’t even know who I am without dragging this curse behind me. I can’t believe I ever thought I’d get free…” She thought back to the eighteen year old she’d been, screaming her head off in a parking lot, and then waiting mute in the emergency room, and then the funeral home while a neighbor woman observed that, well, at least she was mostly grown up, if it had to happen. At least she got to have the important years, but what a shame that he would never be able to give her away to a husband now. And Morgan thought of Constance: Constance and her ratty red braids, the hatred burning in her blue eyes, her crooked teeth cut in a grimace. It didn’t matter that her life had been destroyed, or almost destroyed, or whatever the story turned out to be. It didn’t matter that she was young and reckless, and a witch. What mattered was the cauldron Constance gave herself to over a hundred years ago and the ritual Morgan kept locked in her safe along with her growing stockpile of ingredients. There was nothing she could ever do to fully lift herself out of this wakeful fog, no escape from the pit entirely. But she could seal its source and make it so not one more anguish was added, not one more body was made. And maybe when the exorcist waved the iron comb over the circle, Constance’s form would peel away like cheese through a shredder, and the sound would be enough like Morgan’s own useless cries that maybe for a couple of minutes they would feel even.

Morgan held this thought tightly to her heart and breathed through her teeth in shaky intervals, yearning for the calm it would bring her, and the comfort being offered by Deirdre in front of her. “I don’t know how to tell you,” she whispered, “What feeling like this is, where everything is so strong, and so far away at the same time. I can’t even use all of my old coping strategies. I don’t feel enough things, and my brain doesn’t talk to my body like it’s alive anymore, so I have to adjust the technique, and then when I do, it’s like I hit a square one button and everything becomes twice as sad as before. I don’t know how to explain how nothing helps, or how...even if nothing helps it hurts so much less when you look at me like that, and when you hold me. I don’t understand it, and I wish you didn’t have to, but it hurts so much less, Deirdre…” She hiccuped a cry and wiped her eyes. “M-maybe tomorrow, or next week...I can make things better? I can...do something? Will you kiss me and tell me I can do something?”

There were no words to describe Deirdre’s relief; Morgan was talking and thinking and not trying to be hurtful. She was still far from smiling and laughing, but she was better than she had been, and for Deirdre, the happiness couldn’t be contained. It was as if she felt everything twice for the both of them. Settled in, she began the task of painting Morgan’s body with kisses, nips and the occasional mumbled word of affection, as if she could alchemist its meaning there and make it stick. “I remember,” she mumbled, lifting her hand and running it down Morgan’s hip, pausing in the middle of her thigh where she couldn’t reach anymore. “This would always make you shiver.” She tried the action again, harder, and again and again until she had no more pressure left to apply. Her fingers could only do so much now, and she cursed them for being so useless—she could tell where Morgan wanted more and where her body was just shy of giving everything over. It frustrated her to no end that there were limits she couldn’t pass, things she couldn’t completely offer Morgan. But frustration and limitation fueled creativity, and she’d only ever wanted to be able to give Morgan more; give her everything. “But you know I don’t think of it like that—alive and dead. And if I did, wouldn’t I be lucky? To be able to know your body twice, learn it twice? To have loved you, twice? I’d be the luckiest.” She raked her teeth down Morgan’s shoulder, pressing in. “I’m already so lucky, just like this. And whatever you can’t feel, I’ll feel for the both of us. It won’t be small, I won’t let it be small, not for me. Even when you learn to feel me differently. I remember, and I can tell you. Morgan, I—“ Deirdre pressed in harder, arms taut, body flush, teeth bared in bite. She wanted to pull Morgan safe behind her ribcage if she could, someplace deep and warm inside of her where her pit of coldness could be replaced with one that burned of love. “I was made better by your life, Morgan. And I had only known you then some months. Can you imagine how you must’ve touched others in ways they never could tell you? I don’t believe for a second that your life was for nothing. It was for you, it was yours. You lived it the best you could, better than anyone else could have. My love, you are bright and kind and hopeful and persistent and you told me that the only thing you could do was try and you tried better than anyone else I’ve known. It wasn’t fair that she took you, it’s not fair that you must remember your life by its tragedies, but you did good, Morgan. You did the best. Please don’t let her take ownership of your life’s memory. You made it good, you made it mean something, you made your life—it’s yours, it was for you.” Fate was not kind to Morgan, but Deirdre had always loved and admired how Morgan carved her life out despite it. She was buried underground, as if born in a cave that closed over. And she dug and dug, and got tired, and dug again even when more dirt filled back her work. And that was nothing short of commendable, nothing shy of loveable. It was amazing, and it would always speak incredible volumes to Morgan’s life—beautiful, persistent, and messy. “I love you so much. The hope you had wasn’t foolish, it proved everything good about you; your dedication, your kindness, your understanding, your stubbornness, even right down to your boundless strength. Your hope was something you made yourself; a diamond you molded under all the mud—invaluable, always. Beautiful forever. And as for who you are…” Deirdre smiled against her skin. “....you’re the one who told me it was okay to be figuring that out. So, it’s okay.”

The momentum of her speech fluttered momentarily as Deirdre paused to rasp all of her love against Morgan’s body. She found it in words, in a voice that cracked from all its fervent devotion. In the tips of her fingers, trying hard and expertly to be the feeling Morgan lacked. It was in her lips, each kiss she pressed and lingered. “I think you just explained it, my love,” she said. And while there was so much she wanted to say—Morgan would figure it out and she was here, right here with her, she would always be here—Deirdre kissed her as asked, rough and desperate and then again because she didn’t think the first time was good enough. She was always convinced that she could be kissing Morgan better, and she always tried. With teeth, with tongue, with her body wrapped tighter, hands somewhere else. She could try it a million times, and still want to try a million more. She almost didn’t want there to be a perfect kiss, so she could try forever. “There’s nothing to make better,” she breathed as they parted. “Nothing you have to do, but yes, yes. Whatever it is, you can. Whenever you want to. I’ll let you and I’ll be here and if you can’t then that’s okay, you can try it again later. As many times as you want. You can, you can, you can make everything better.”

Morgan cried silently to hear her girlfriend talk. Some of it was familiar, and soothing for the memories it gave her, even if they didn’t quite stick. She could see the path of the curse so clearly now that it had taken its final payment, even past when she was three, and into her mother’s regrets before then. All the dead relatives, the ruined houses, the opportunities for more that turned to ash as soon as they were touched. All the fight and determination in her, and she hadn’t walked off the path Constance had laid out for her even once. She had tried her best and when she came to stay in this house, it seemed like she could carve something out that would stick, for once. Then she was dead a month later. From here, flat on her back and choking on her own misery, all the hope and trying didn’t seem to amount to as much as they usually did.

It was much easier to focus on the simple fact of Deirdre’s voice, always a little musical, her accent lilting up as if she were about to break into song. And she did sing so pretty, when she let herself. Better was Deirdre’s touch, the places she pinched and tugged, and the sharp-sweet bite of her teeth. Morgan sighed, so relieved after the day to feel something besides apathy or disgust about her body. The marks Deirdre’s mouth left behind were gone in an instant, but Morgan imagined that her skin remembered, and knew where they were supposed to fit, where her skin belonged in her mouth. Her fingers twitched, knowing that sometimes touching Deirdre back would convince her that things weren’t so bad. If she could just be with her… But Morgan took one look at her hands, those first signs of decay, and her insides twisted all over again. She couldn’t even keep up with her feeding schedule like this. Morgan wanted to hide, or split herself in two and bury the one self under ground until this was over, let her other self be loved. How sad, that she wanted to be loved so badly she’d take anything, everything from Deirdre even when she felt like she wanted to crawl out of her own skin.

Morgan laid very still, and pretended to breathe so her mind had fewer places to wonder. She was tired. Not being able to sleep had an awful, funny way of making you feel so very tired sometimes, tired enough to scream, and too tired to do anything but pray for the impossible. “I’m sorr—” She winced, remembering the rule. “I wish I could be that person again. I feel like...I get really close sometimes, but then things like this happen, and then…I’m not anything. But I—” No ‘thank you’s. That was another rule too, one that she remembered agreeing to when she felt like herself, even if it seemed absurd now. “It means everything, that you’re here. That you still, that you’re always gonna...I don’t even know if I can trust half the thoughts in my own head right now, but I can believe in you. I tried not to and it didn’t work, so I…” Try as she might, Morgan couldn’t quite make all the words come together. There was something to be said about how she hadn’t known, even alive, if there was such a thing as love that could withstand disaster, love that was unconditional and strong and alive. She had acted as though there was so she could make it herself, manifest the thing she wanted as if by magic. But Deirdre was the one who sealed the spell every time she picked her up off the floor. Deirdre made the world worth believing in when Morgan couldn’t believe in anything else at all. And maybe that was a mistake, maybe they were building one rickety jenga tower together that was one bad wish away from falling over, but it was all Morgan had and she couldn’t have been more grateful for it.

“I love you,” she said, dragging her lips over Deirdre’s skin, whatever she could touch without lifting her head. “Please believe that even when I’m awful like this, I still love you.” She sniffled, and breathed out slowly. “Please kiss me again.” Next time, tomorrow would be better. Or it wouldn’t, but maybe she wouldn’t drop the kettle or she’d make it to the couch instead of the floor. Maybe next time she would wake up and believe that the world was wonderful and people were kind more often than not, and she wasn’t terrible for anything she was or wanted or felt. Maybe next time, she would know what to do, and she would crawl out of the pit a little further. Maybe.

#head trauma tw #depression cw #wr deirdre #wr chatzy #wr deirdre chatzy #//hmu for a summary if you need #wickedswriting

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skeletonwoman · 5 years ago

Text

Jay is for Jacket

Hi!

So i recnelty posted J is for Jacket, and i really liked it but i felt that a lot of the nuance i was seeing as i was writing wasn’t being included. And i know it can be cheap to write the same story from two different perspectives but i just couldn’t not include the thought here, it was wriggling in my brain. so this might be a mini series and if it requires more Jason POV’s they’ll pair up in title like this

It’s him, Barbara, Cass and Steph. Not his usual group but sometimes a guy just needs some time with the girls.

Or that’s what he’ll tell Tim when he starts in on him about it. More than that, the girls are savages that definitely think exactly what he’s thinking.

They’ve all seen the texts, seen the smiles, seen the change. Dick had come right out and told them, he’s met a girl and shes his soulmate. It was a small kick in the chest for everyone, for different reasons, but none of them could deny the new wind of joy at the manor. Everyone was smiling more just Dicks radiant happiness.

He’d actually taken to avoiding the place.

And tonight, since it’s just him and the girls, they give in to the curiosity and take a wander over to her building. Light stalking aside, everyone is surprised when they see her just sitting there on the ledge.

He doesn’t think she’s there to hurt herself but Babs does, for a split second. He reads it in her stutter step.

Only one thing for it, he thinks. Just to reassure Babs, he promises. Just to see if they can see what Dick sees, he wishes.

It’s a few days and he’s back.

He doesn’t have a clue why, he’s not in love with a strange girl who sits beside four idiots and somehow emits such a calming influence that the four of them are nearly drunk by the time they leave.

Barbara promised to look into that and her, without telling Tim, but he can’t wait.

So after blowing up some idiots, Jason lets Dick go when he says that she told him to tell Jason its bed time, and when it actually works, when Dick realizes they’re done for the night and he can go to class tomorrow, he grabs his face and kisses him.

Idiot.

She’s a terrible influence on him.

And there she’s sitting, staring into the bright lights and the bright night and she doesn’t react when he sits down and the wind picks up but he senses her calm at his presence. Maybe she likes him too.

The thought makes his mind whirl, both with embarrassment that he wants to steal Dicks girl and the desperate hope that she might like him too.

She shivers.

His jacket is halfway off before he’s realized he’s moved and then suddenly its draped over her shoulders.

“Thank you,” slides through the air to brush his ears and he smiles behind the mask.

“You’re welcome.” He’s unsure why she thanked him, he probably should wash the jacket.

She’s wearing his jacket.

Shit, Dicks girlfriend is wearing his jacket.

But he can’t just snatch it off her now, her arms are in it and she’s so close to the edge.

Leaping to his feet, he races off into the night. What is he going to do? He just left Dick and immediately went to flirt with his brothers girlfriend!

That wasn’t his intention, though, obviously, he just wanted to see her. Calm down.

He’s got class with her tomorrow, he never shuts up about how he can’t wait for Tuesday and Wednesday to hang out with her.

He gets it now.

No! Not the point.

He’s back at the manor before he knows it, mask off and hanging from his fingertips, knowing there’s no way he can patrol tonight and knowing he can’t go home to his dark, cold apartment. The manor always has room, and the lights are always lit and its always warm.

Hurriedly, he steps into the warmth of the foyer and exhales a long breath.

No place feels quite as much like home.

He didn’t spend much time here, in the before, but it probably has less to do with being familiar with the place and more to do with the memories of his brothers hidden in the spaces.

Damian creeps through a door and stares at him as he stands in the middle of the room like a weirdo.

“Evil Spawn,” he offers as a greeting and the kid scowls. “What’re you doing awake? What time is it?”

“Midnight,” he says with that eerie knowing voice. He shouldn’t be so young and have that voice. “You’re here very early.”

“Yeah, it really is early.” His eyes drop to his feet, still parked in the middle of the room.

“Where’s your jacket?”

He scowls at his feet before wiping the expression away and replacing it with a more defined scowl. “I fucking lost it.”

Damian scowls back at him. “What’re you going to do then? Where’d you lose it? How’d it even come off?”

“I don’t know! I think I fell off a roof, a low one obviously, and I guess it got stolen? I don’t know.” He moves toward the doorway Damian’s standing in, knowing what comes next.

“Kneel down here,” Damian gestures to the floor in front of him and pulls a torch from his back pocket. One small hand captures his cheek while the other points to the roof and moves left to right. Then comes the torch. It’s all so well-choreographed now, allowing an eleven year old to check him for a concussion. “You’re good.”

He grins up at his tiniest brother, who scowls and rolls his eyes.

Without warning him, he rises and ruffles his hand through Damians hair, drawing a vicious curse from the childs lips. “You gonna make me something to eat, favourite sibling?”

“No.” Damian immediately counters sullenly, but he heads toward the kitchen all the same. “I’m throwing the dog a birthday party, by the way. Gifts are expected.”

This is why the manor is home, this is what makes it warm and bright.

He doesn’t get the text till late. 2pm late.

Dickson Grayne: Yo is your jacket missing I think ik where it is

Dickson Grayne: if urs is missing

He scowls at the phone, deciding not to respond. He doesn’t want to lie but she clearly wore the jacket in front of Dick without realizing they were connected. He’s gotta get it back, she can’t keep it, clearly.

He stares at the clock on his phone before he tosses it under his pillow and climbs into bed.

“Can I have it back?” He blurts before he can think and she wrinkles her nose at him, clearly annoyed, though he catches her smile as she turns to collect it from across the room. She hugs it when she picks it up.

Honestly, it looks like she sniffs it.

Maybe she has no sense of smell because he suddenly really feels the need to wash it before he gives it back.

No! No giving it back. Damn.

“Here,” she says, holding it out with a sad face. “I’m sad to see it go, it’s amazing and I’m jealous you own it. Where’d you get it?”

Before he can control himself, a harsh no escapes his masked lips and she flashes a scowl at him before masking her expression.

“Thank you for lending it to me, I really appreciated it, and have a wonderful night, Red.” The words hit his back and he stops for half a second to absorb them before taking off. He can’t think of her or the nickname right now.

Despite this, he thinks about her all night and when four am rolls around, he finds himself dropping his jacket onto her doorstep and taking off.

The first pet shop he finds will be fine. He’d have gone to a supermarket but he knew the evil spawn would know and be able to tell the difference.

It’s Titus’s birthday, and Damian is demanding everyone be present with presents for the dog.

No one celebrated his birthday last year but the dog gets a full party? Sure.

The bell rings as he walks in, already heading where he can see the collars and leads. Is that what the dog needs? New leash?

The moment he thinks it a rejection follows. Ace, letting someone leash him? As if.

All the same, he takes his time looking over the options and colours. He has no idea what he’s looking for at the this point, as he moves to the dog toys. It’s a great dane? Do they need special toys? Does Titus need special toys cause he’s a “special” dog? Should he be getting him a bat shaped toy?

He moves to the cat toys. More likely to find something bat shaped there.

A tickle runs over the back of his neck and his eyes follow the feeling to see- her.

She’s here. Staring at him. Does she- know?

He never asked what Dick had told her, what she knows. Does she even know who he is? Has Dick ever even mentioned his zombie brother?

She starts toward him and his eyes flicker over her features- she doesn’t recognise him. She has no idea who he is.

A flush of pleasure fills his body as he notices her check him out.

Good.

No! Bad!

She stops next to him as he forces his eyes to the toys before him.

“Anything I can help you find today?”

She sounds so different. His jaw tightens slightly, irrationally, and he inhales an unsteady breath at the distance she places between them.

Christ, he sounds like such a stalker.

Lowering his voice to how he imitates batman, he says “dog toy.” Hesitates. “Great Dane.”

She beams at him, still distant, and gestures to a pink elephant. Her voice is pretty darn sweet when she explains. “Some customers have issues with the colour but this guy is really the best on the market right now for dogs like great danes. Its tough, light weight, machine washable and there’s a squeaker inside.”

He grabs it before she finishes speaking, absorbing every word she offers him.

Disgusting.

He can’t help himself from offering a thank you, despite the seething and roiling mass of self-loathing in his gut. No one deserves love as much as Grayson, no one.

His gaze trips down to the elephant in his hands and he smiles. Damian is going to hate this, and Titus is going to love it. By the time he looks back up, you’ve taken off and he’s following your beckoning wave just like the stupid dog he’s gotten the gift for.

A flurry of short actions finishes off the transaction and Jason clutches the bag handles in his fist.

“Thank you,” he says, keeping his voice as Batman as he can.

He turns in a rush, storming two steps toward the doorway before he feels his gut tug him hard, and spin him back around.

Without thinking about consequences, Dick, Barbara or the Red Hood, Jason nabs a pen and her wrist, scribbling down his mobile number and asking her to text him.

It’s only out on the street when the doubts and worries crash back in does he realize that he forgot to disguise his voice.

“F*ck.”

Babby: Heads up, you know who is coming tonight

Jason stares at the text, his good mood melting away. Tonight was supposed to be his brothers, his siters, Alfred, the dog and Bruce. He was going to watch his brothers be happy, ignore Bruce and give Alfred a smile. Hell, he might have even let Dick hug him and rustled the Kids hair.

Now?

Ah, hell.

yea!!

Part two? yEAH!

#jason todd fic #jason todd imagine #jason todd #batbrothers fic #batbrothers imagine #jason todd fanfic #jason todd fanficition #jason todd imagines

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