#ficcy

[veryinnovative]

i get a free friday evening……….at long last

[starry-bi-sky]

Part six of "Clone Danny"

When the Waynes leave, Danny can finally relax. Even if he's once again hit with a lingering regret that worms itself into his core like a little parasite. The final night that they're there, Bruce Wayne is not downstairs waiting for him, much to Danny's faint, lingering disappointment. He kinda liked talking to him, even if he kept it brief. Probably for the best.

Damian was still there when he returned with a sprained ankle and more ectoplasm burns. Danny tries not to make his limp obvious when he enters, and his clothing smells faintly of sulfur and burnt fabric.

Damian tells him he stinks, and Danny tells him he ran into a ghost. "The Phantom took care of it." He says, gripping his mask in his pocket tightly and avoiding putting weight on his injured foot. His thermos is pressed next to it. His fingers are freezing.

"Ah yes, your vigilante." Damian replies, "The one with the bat." And Danny can see the outline of his eyes narrowing at him.

"Can we really call him a vigilante when the people he's fighting are ghosts?" Danny asks, avoiding the 'bat' comment and leaning against the back of the kitchen chair.

"Did you actually lose your bat, Fenton?" Damian's fingers tap against his arm, refusing to move on. "Despite your ridiculous behavior and attempts to avoid my father and I, I find it hard to believe that the son of two ghost hunters would be as foolish as to forget his only weapon of defense against ghosts."

Ah, so he noticed that. Danny was half tempted to mutter that the bat wasn't his only weapon of defense. He still had his beloved jawbreakers. He's quiet, wondering how to respond to implication that he might be Phantom -- he can't believe Damian picked that up in only a few short days when nobody has caught on in little over a year -- before shrugging.

"I may have given it to the Phantom instead." He says, propping his arm up to put his chin in his hand, trying to look innocent while his heart skipped an anxious beat.

It's probably not the answer Damian wants, but when his word is the only proof he has, Danny doesn't think he should be too worried about it. Even if it meant that a second person outside his friend and enemy circle knew his identity.

He excuses himself shortly after, leaning heavily against the railing to try and hop up the stairs.

(Much to his surprise, Damian follows and lets Danny put his weight on him. He complains that its because Danny will wake his father if he allows him to bumble up the stairs on one foot.)

(Danny ruffles his hair again when they reach the top, and limps towards his bedroom.)

===

Its three months and a handful of new injuries before Danny thinks about the Waynes again. A new ghost appeared in town who called itself Riftgate and he was capable of creating teleport portals to anywhere in the world.

He was a fucking pain in the ass to fight, costing Danny three hours of his night where he could have been sleeping and nearly his hand. Danny gets dragged through the other side before finally shoving Rift inside the thermos.

But he also ends up nearly 900 miles away in fucking Gotham of all places on the top of an empty roof. Great, juuuust great. Danny is tired, he is grumpy, and he is in a city so laden with ectoplasm that he can all but taste it on his tongue. Or maybe that was just the air quality.

He can't even see the stars here, and his mood worsens.

Well, he's too fucking tired to bother handling this right now. There's no way Sam or Tucker are able to help him considering their distance, and right now Danny just wants to sleep. Maybe after that he can figure out a way home.

So he does, sort of. He walks over to the door and doesn't bother trying to open it, even if there was a 50/50 chance of it being unlocked. (This was Gotham after all.) Instead he sweeps the ground with his foot and curls up at door and he's out like a light.

....Only to be woken up by hissed muttering close to his ear and a gloved hand pressing into the pulse of his neck. "No I don't know if they're dead but I don't think so." Says the unfamiliar voice, and Danny opens a bleary eye.

"He's breathing, but his pulse is too slow to be normal. I think he needs help." The voice, a boy, -- no, Red Robin, great -- continues, and Danny looks beside him to see who he was talking to. No one. "He's probably part of some kind of gang, his mask kind of reminds me of Hood's."

Danny just barely remembers that he's still dressed up as Phantom before he tiredly signs, "I'm not part of a fucking gang." and pushes the boy's hand off.

=====

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 4.5 (Dani interlude) Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 7.5 (Dan Interlude) Part 8

will make a masterpost soon

Taglist: @the-navistar-carol @thought-u-said-dragon-queen @gin2212 @youracearocroatneighbour @luckybyrdrobyn @deeplyconfusedbear @epilepticnerd @beautifulmomenttodrawblank

[rogloptimist]

reading through this interview with tadej’s parents and hmmmm being conflict averse soo fun i think something could be said about this

[mickeymagpie]

triplets au snippet

Bill is reluctantly slurping from a bowl of soup, and trying to ignore Sixer’s existence on the other side of the kitchen table, when Shooting Star slides into the room at top speed, stopping directly beside Bill’s chair. She grins, no sign to be seen of her anger from their confrontation on the porch.

“Here!” She shoves a tiny journal at him. It looks almost identical to the one Pine Tree carries around, but the cover is a bright, pleasantly-familiar yellow. “It was Dipper’s idea. He buys the multipacks, but he doesn’t like to use the yellow ones.”

Bill can’t imagine why.

He takes the notebook.

“Why do I need this?” he asks, even as it’s immediately snatched from his hand again.

“So you can keep a list!” Mabel chimes, flipping the front cover open and beginning to write in it. “Things to remember about being a human! Number one, and this is very important: Murder is bad.”

“Unless it’s in self-defense,” Stanford says, only barely paying attention to the conversation while he fiddles with what looks like an overcomplicated pocket-watch.

“We’ll get to moral relativism after we’ve covered the basics,” Mabel assures him. She hands Bill back the journal after a few moments, and true to her word, the first page has the beginning of a list in purple glitter pen:

Important Things About Being Human

#1 - Murder is bad!

#2 - Arson is bad!

#3 - Eating, sleeping, drinking water, bathing, and bathroom breaks are all necessary!

Those last two words are underlined with gold ink that smears against Bill’s hand.

#4 - The only proper way to greet someone is with a hug and a smile! ☺

Bill frowns at the little smiley face at the end, runs his thumb over it to get it to smudge the way the gold did, but it stays annoyingly intact and cheerful. He looks back up at Mabel, who’s smiling again.

“I have my doubts about this,” he tells her solemnly. Her smile takes on an edge.

[faithdeans]

i miss you ao3.............

[iamamythologicalcreature]

COC Day 8 - "Sick"

Sorry this is late. I honestly forgot I'd doodled this tiny little text ficlet. Just some randomness that popped into my head with this @carryon-countdown prompt.

Simon POV:

“I’m not sick.”

I sigh as I eye a wall full of homeopathic teas. Surely there’s something here, out of like 500 different herbal blends, that will help Baz out. I pick one up and read the label (like that will help). “You’re malnourished,” I murmur into my mobile as I read, “which I could fix, but you don’t want to bite me.”

I can hear Baz roll his eyes. “I’m fine, Snow. And I don’t get sick, so you don’t have to cure me.”

“Mmm-hmm.” Maybe this one? Is echinacea beneficial to stubborn blood-starved vampires? Maybe something with more iron in it. Maybe I should be stuffing supplements down his throat.

“I don’t get sick. I’m a dark creature of the night.”

I love how he uses that excuse like it isn’t at least partly responsible for his current condition. Prat. “You fainted.”

There’s a pause, then Baz mutters, “I took a strategic break from consciousness.”

I snort. I’m going to stuff him with iron supplements, then kiss him stupid. “You like green tea, right?”

Baz lets out a beleaguered sigh, which has a sort of honking cadence to it over the phone. “I’m not sick.” A pause. Then, “But I do like green tea.”

Right. Into the basket with that blend. “If I ‘took a break’ the way you did this morning, you’d have had me at Dr. Wellbelove’s within the hour.”

“That’s different.”

Red meat. I could do steak. I’m pretty decent at grilling. And if all else fails, Baz needs practice putting out fires, right? “Really not,” I say after a second. “I’m getting you protein powder, too.”

“That’s barbaric, Snow.”

“Oh, I’ll show you barbaric, Pitch,” I say with a smile. “But only if you drink your tea, and your protein shake, and top it all off with twice as many rodents as usual. And if you ask nicely.”

A pause. “I’m still not biting you.”

Was that hesitation? My altruistic desire to help Baz suddenly seems like a potential opportunity. I dump three flavours of protein powder into my basket, including one I know has the consistency of ground chalk. “Promises, promises, Baz.”

[silver-flame-alchemist]

Really really excited to announce I have a RedBubble shop! Come check out my stickers!

They're inspired by my AO3 fics, and the Fandoms I love; give em a look!

[howling-harpy]

A Gentle Blade [Winters/Roe]

Rating: G Warnings: Canon-typical violence Word count: 3600 Summary: Roe and Winters both feel the connection between them, but they don't often have time to stop and relish in it. The fog in Bastogne hides many things. [Ao3]

~*~

The fog made the world look like a photograph that hadn’t been developed properly. It was uncanny, how beyond the nearest row of trees nothing seemed to exist, and still Eugene knew he had to keep going and trust the world to appear beneath his steps. When someone needed the medic, he couldn’t stop and question whether the next step would be his last, he just had to keep going – and he was always needed somewhere.

The air was bitingly cold. Eugene didn’t have gloves, so he made do by keeping his hands in his pockets as often as he could, or wrapping them in the excess fabric of his sleeves. Occasionally he brought his hands before his face and tried to warm them by crossing them as if in prayer and blowing warm air to the bundle, but that was just a momentary relief.

He found it better to focus on his feet. Just keep going, stride into that seemingly endless fog and trust the earth beneath your feet, and worry only about the next patient.

How long had it been anyway? It felt like an eternity that stretched in all direction like the blinding fog, but if he thought about it, it couldn’t have been much longer than a week or two. It wasn’t even Christmas yet.

His trust paid off when the dark shape of a battalion outpost drew itself into existence. He tried not to, but Eugene couldn’t stop a small sigh of relief. More than anything he feared losing his way for good and never finding his comrades again, so much so that he refused to even think about it most of the time, and seeing the tarp over some tent poles made something loosen in his chest. He even saw a familiar figure there under the tarp, someone whom he had hoped to see, but his relief was short-lived when a stick snapped in the forest.

With half his uniform stripped and left cheek covered in soap, Captain Winters captured a fresh German prisoner of war, just as surprised as they were. In any other place the situation would have been absurd, but here in the land of fog everything seemed possible. Eugene was only grateful for the looted first aid supplies added to his dwindling inventory.

Eugene tried to hide behind his helmet when Captain Winters spoke curtly with Colonel Sink and General McAuliffe. He knew just as well as anyone with half a brain that they were trapped in a tight spot, but still hearing it put so bluntly made worry churn in his gut. With his medical supply bag far too light and his face and fingers numb from the cold, Eugene stared at the ground until he heard the tires of the jeep against the frozen ground as it sped away.

Eugene raised his gaze to see the disgruntled, half-awake Captain Nixon lean close to still only half-shaven Captain Winters and say something with a smirk on his face. Winters had his back to Eugene so he couldn’t see his face, but he did see the mild shake of his head and his shoulders jumping with a scoff – Captain Nixon’s dry wit succeeding once again.

Winters started to make his way back to his foxhole, and Eugene scurried after him to finish his business with him. He had precious little time for anything these days, and ever since Winters’ promotion he hadn’t seen much of him, double the reason to hurry his steps.

Just as Eugene was passing Captain Nixon, whom he assumed was about to crawl back under his tarp and go back to sleep, the Captain suddenly glanced back over to him. Surprised and wondering if he had some business with a medic, Eugene was distracted from following Winters and lingered.

Captain Nixon was mid-yawn and scratching his scruffy cheek, but his eyes were sharp and something wicked gleamed in them when he caught Eugene’s gaze.

Taking in that expression, Eugene wondered whatever mischief Captain Nixon could possibly get up to in here and was already preparing to tell him off for it, when the Captain suddenly averted his gaze and huffed.

“Don’t mind me, go on,” Nixon quipped in a drowsy voice, gave a conspiratory wink that Eugene couldn’t even begin to understand, and jumped right back into his foxhole.

Choosing to ignore Nixon, Eugene focused back on the task. Status update, supplies, those were things he should be focused on, not deciphering Captain Nixon’s pranks. He wasn’t here for him, he was here for Captain Winters.

Winters, who was seated on the edge of his foxhole and resuming his stubborn habit to show off and be the best of the best by example, currently by insisting on maintaining a clean shave.

“Doc,” Winters acknowledged stiffly, his breath caught with the freezing cold intruding through his open collar and the icy soap he insisted on slathering on his own face.

“Sir,” Eugene began, gazing at him through the white cloud of his own breath, “could I scounge your bandage from your aid kit?”

“Of course.” With clumsy fingers, Winters fished his bandage from his personal aid kit and tossed it over to Eugene, who caught it.

“I’m running low on everything,” Eugene explained. “I’m doing rounds gathering whatever I can, but couldn’t find my way to the third battalion. Lost my way.”

“Right,” Winters said, “well get whatever you can. Ask Doc Ryan to share.”

Eugene crouched down near his foxhole by a pine tree and looked at him for second. He was worried, he couldn’t deny it – even more than he was worried about everyone else. Sitting here in the fog, essentially alone in a single shallow foxhole in a line that was stretched so thin it was barely a line at all, trying so hard to look strong; to Eugene, he appeared frighteningly vulnerable.

He couldn’t decide if he admired Winters’ dedication or thought he was over the top. Momentarily he thought if that was what Nixon had teased him about, and something about that thought made Eugene do something he usually wouldn't. He straightened from his crouched down position and instead invited himself into Winters’ foxhole, sitting right by his side with their knees bumping lightly, and took the soapy canteen and the shaving brush from Winters’ stiff, shivering hands.

“Here, sir, let me help you there,” he said, “you’re freezing your fingers off, and that’s no laughing matter.”

Winters let out a tempering scoff and muttered something, probably the usual nonsense of “I’m fine, I don’t need help, let me be” that every man had said to every medic at least a handful of times, to Eugene so many he tuned it right out and just did what he was going to.

This time it was more a trick to overcome whatever slowed him down than the stubbornness of his fellow soldier though. Some sensible part in him knew he had no business to meddle like this, that he was definitely overstepping a boundary – probably several, personal as well as professional – but majority of him couldn’t be bothered.

Stirring the brush in the soap water, Eugene wondered if this was the first sign of him breaking. He was definitely allowing himself to fall for something he had resisted until now, but was uncertain what that was. Sentimentality, perhaps, or a desire to care and coddle more than was necessary – for his sake as much as for the man in front of him.

Eugene lifted the foamy brush that he knew was unbearably cold, and with it also his gaze to Winters. To his surprise, Winters didn’t resist any more, just sat there with his hands squeezed into fists, resting on his knees, and tiled his chin up expectantly towards Eugene.

There was no backing away from this strange situation Eugene had put himself into, so he decided to indulge in it with a straight face. Trying to be mercifully quick, he brushed the shaving soap foam over Winters bare cheek, into the fair ginger stubble that was barely there, and wondered where this urge of his came from.

On the edged of his mind lurked dark memories that he tried to keep away – men who had cried and begged for help he couldn’t give, the wounded he had found in time only to see that nothing could help them anyway. In time to see them suffer and die, but without time to properly comfort them.

Winters shuddered and his breath caught when Eugene spread the cold foam over his face. His hands squeezed together, stubbornly formal on his knees even though they were bare. Eugene wished he had an extra pair of gloves or mittens to give the Captain, but given this odd situation, he didn’t dare to push it further even to tell him to warm his hands under his jacket or between his thighs.

Something warm and aching squirmed in Eugene’s chest. He though of the desperate, pleading eyes of the dying and their soft weeping, and hoped he could have stayed with each until the end. He had wanted to hold their hands, to gather each of them into his arms and hold them in their final moments, to stroke their hair, to rock and shush them as if they were fussy babes and not grown men in their death throes.

Disturbed, Eugene pushed the memories and thoughts away. It was bad enough to stand seeing so many men in their final moments like that and know he alone witnessed them, but the alien tenderness that often accompanied the memories was almost worse. He didn’t know where the overwhelming feeling came from or what to do with it. Even stranger, it felt nearly childish, like the urge to take a teddy bear and hug it as tightly as you could.

Eugene suppressed the thought with a wrinkling of his nose and picked up the razor.

“How are you holding up?” Winters asked suddenly.

Eugene glanced up to meet his eyes, seeing them watching him carefully. He wondered if his mood was showing on his face that clearly. He cradled Winters chin in his hand and tilted his head into a better angle, humming noncommittally. “Doing fine, sir. If we got a supply drop, I’d be even better.”

“I meant you, Gene,” Winters specified, even though his slow, soft smile revealed how pleased he was at his initial reaction. They were similar, in that regard.

Eugene didn't have a reply, just shrugged as he focused on the task at hand even harder, leaning closer with the blade in hand.

“You don’t need to do this, Gene,” Winters said softly.

“Yeah,” Eugene admitted with a wry twitch of a smile, feeling awkward but grateful for the conversation that took him out of his thoughts, “but the company really needs you with your hands, sir. More so than with a clean face, I might add.”

He hadn’t meant anything with the comment, but nonetheless he was rewarded with a huff of a laugh from Winters, who suddenly looked just as awkward as Eugene felt. “Yeah, well,” he started, “I just thought it would make a good example, for the men, I mean. Something routine and normal in a situation like this, you know, it could be encouraging.”

Eugene felt warm inside his chest, and it was easy to smile. It was just like he had imagined Winters would think, and it was definitely working on him: he felt a twinkle of amusement, a feeling he had already forgotten, and marvelled how light he felt suddenly. “Good thinking, sir,” he said, mild and a bit playful, “unless the men see you bathing in snow and think you’ve gone mad.”

Winters huffed and averted his gaze, a reaction so shy it made him look like a schoolboy. It warmed Eugene further, this glimpse past the image of pure strength and integrity their Captain had walled himself behind. “That’s what Nix said,” Winters admitted with a fond smile.

Even more than the shy smile, the mention of Nixon emboldened Eugene. He shuffled a bit closer with the razor in hand, put his hand against Winters’ neck just under his jaw to hold him in place, and brought the blade against his cheek. Practice had made his hand sure and steady, and the shave was perfect. The spot underneath Winter’s jaw was soft and warm. He could feel him swallowing against his palm.

“Captain Nixon and you are close," Eugene said. He didn't know what else he implied - that he and Winters weren't, or that he wished to be. He didn't like to ponder too hard on it, just made another stroke with the razor.

Winters' tone was conversational, but so warm that whatever Eugene might have implied, it was obvious he had picked up on it. “Yeah. But Nix doesn’t shave my beard for me.”

Eugene swallowed and washed the blade to avoid Winters' eyes. “Well. I don’t see you as often, so let me do this.”

“I am, Gene.”

They had said more than they had in the past year – too much by far – but enveloped in the thick fog in what felt like the edge of the world it was easy to ignore that. What was one moment for themselves? Didn’t they deserve this much, at least?

In his mind, Eugene promised God he’d work as hard as he could and pray twice as much if he could just have this moment, uninterrupted by anyone, be they German or American.

After the initial touch, Eugene’s hands grew more certain. The last time he’d touched Winters was in Carentan when he had gotten that piece of shrapnel out of his leg. An officer and an enlisted man didn’t have much reason to mingle, and as a medic Eugene was somewhat grateful that they hadn’t seen each other more. Maybe this whole idea of his was just to steal a bit more time, and come up with an excuse to care for Winters without first having to wait for him to be wounded.

Eugene regretted the thought as soon as it came to his mind. He wouldn’t know it would be Winters before he arrived. He would simply run towards whoever was yelling for a medic, through fog and snow and artillery fire, and then he’d burst right in the middle of a scene of blood and screaming.

He couldn’t imagine Winters to be one of those who cursed or wept, but he had already heard his pained grunting and laboured breathing back in Carentan, seen the sheen of sweat on his pale face. Eugene could easily imagine the short, raspy breaths rushing out of collapsing lungs, the pained wheezing and shallow panting of someone in immeasurable agony, and Winters’ already pale face ashen with his blue eyes staring wide and unseeing, stunned with pain and that ever-present confusion that it had really been you who had been hit this time.

The thought dropped like a lead weight in the bottom of Eugene’s stomach, and he was again a bit disturbed that his hands didn’t tremble even slightly. He shaved another perfect smooth spot over Winters’ cheek and noticed faded freckles over his cheekbone, charming and sweet like the memories of a summer long gone.

Winters’ neck didn’t feel hot against his hands anymore, and Eugene knew it was because he was stealing his warmth to his own reddened fingers.

Obediently, Winters shifted on his spot so that Eugene could get his other cheek as well. Winters was sitting almost sideways next to him, their legs pressed together between them, awkward and too close, but radiating warmth that tempted them to stay like that. Winters had barely started shaving when he had been interrupted, and even the spots he had caught were pretty poorly done. Eugene wasn’t sorry. That was just more for him to make right.

Winters didn’t speak for the rest of the time Eugene shaved him. At first Eugene was glad for the silence, but after a moment noticed how the odd intimacy of the situation he had barged in deepened when they didn’t speak.

It made Eugene flush under his collar. Without conversation as distraction, he couldn’t mask the way his touch right now wasn’t needed, not like a medic’s was, and thus wasn't excused like a medic's usually would be. This was an indulgence that was going on for far too long, and still he couldn’t control himself.

“You shouldn’t just let your hands freeze in the open air, sir,” he said when the silence became unbearable, resulting into his lecturing medic tone. “You should put them underneath your clothes, or warm them in your body heat.”

His advice was basic enough, something he had told the men dozens of times already, and so he wasn’t expecting it when Winters leaned forward and reached for him.

Eugene jolted, the hand with the knife flying back, and blinked back at the Captain, who was studying him keenly, hands on his jacket.

For a moment of perfect stillness, they stared at each other, legs tangled between them, reaching for each other, their excuses suspended in the air.

“Just to keep warm for a bit,” Winters said quietly.

Eugene flushed even more under his collar, as if his body would have liked nothing more than to gift its heat to the man seeking it. It wasn’t mistaken, either.

The fog was like a shroud separating them from the rest, even granting the faintest illusion of safety for a moment, even though they both knew they were in the line of fire. Eugene met Winters’ eyes, the gaze private and soft, calmly welcoming him to look as long as he wanted, to find what was meant for him and him alone.

Eugene nodded.

Winters smiled lightly, the expression more in his eyes than on his mouth.

His touch was slow and careful when he slipped his hands underneath Eugene’s jacket. They didn’t go past his shirt but contented themselves to rest on his sides, nearly on the soft spot of his stomach, and Eugene in his tense excitement was almost disappointed before he realized Winters was just being considerate. Because after a minute, during which Eugene barely did any shaving, just scraped the upper lip with two neat flicks of his wrist, Winters apparently deemed his hands warm enough to venture further without being unpleasant.

That tense excitement in Eugene’s gut soared anew, swooping even wilder at the unexpected consideration for his comfort. Winters hands were warm when they slipped underneath the layers of his clothes, not intruding and not greedy but almost tentative, shy like his smile had been, before coming to rest on his skin with care that bordered on reverence.

Eugene took a slow, shuddering breath and sighed in out in a cloud that dissolved into the fog surrounding them.

Winters’ hands were still a bit cool against his skin, but that only made Eugene feel needed. He would warm him the rest of the way and let him hold him however long it took.

Still, he felt a bit like a rogue, because he was sure he was getting more than giving: with Winters’ hands cupping him like this, the heels of his palms on the soft of his belly and the fingers curving around his sides, their tips resting over his lowest ribs, he felt held. It was like everything vital of him was suddenly in Winters’ palms, and if he were to let go, he would unravel. His heart was pounding more sweetly than he remembered it could, knocking against his ribs as if longing to jump out right into the palm of those hands holding him together.

It was curious, Eugene thought, cheeks heating up and tingling in the cold like sitting in front of a fireplace; he had forgotten his body was for this too. That his heart could race pleasantly, that his skin could flush with pleasure at someone’s touch – that touch could be like this, considerate, personal, and tender.

He had finished the shave. There was no more soap or stubble to scrape away, and the blade in Eugene’s hand felt extraordinarily useless. What were tools like that even good for? But even when he lowered the blade, he didn’t remove his other hand. Underneath his warm fingers he could feel Winters’ pulse, strong and a bit fast.

Not even a minute after, Eugene gave in to the pressure of time. Reluctantly, he pulled his hands away from Winters, cleared his throat, and set the canteen with the brush and the razor aside on the snowy ground. His movements acted like a cue for Winters as well, who followed his lead and just as reluctantly pulled his hands back to himself. It was quiet inside the fog, the rustling of clothes under their hands clear in their ears.

When Winters pulled his whole body away from him, putting his feet back on the ground and shuffling away on the edge of his foxhole, Eugene knew the moment was over. He no longer had reason to linger, and so he climbed out of the hole and rose back on his feet, his limbs numb and stiff after sitting so long in a strange position. He didn't want to leave, but Captain Winters radiated a mood that let him know that they were done for now.

And yet, as he was buttoning his shirt and jacket again, Captain Winters spared him one more soft look and a smile. “Thanks, Doc.”

Eugene felt his lips twitching in response. “No problem, sir.”

He carried on and disappeared into the fog, leaving Winters behind its veil, but hid his hands inside his sleeves, treasuring the stolen warmth as long as he could.

[katnissmellarkkk]

my aesthetics :

the second quarter quell generation, pt one (aka the generation with all the principal characters’ parents, and then also haymitch)

[mooonjin]

HELLO MOON ITS JIABEE

can i ask for a tech x reader (gn, fem, idc) after he gets his leg injured? like hurt/comfort fluffy shit?

thank you, ily!

(you remind me of my friend ella, she's a major simp except her energy is directed towards bts and kdrama actors 😂)

Tech-nically, You're Not Fine

Notes: EEEE HEY JIABAE! i hope you like this and dont mind me puting in some hormons at parts,, also i LOVE bts too, shoutout to ella hehee much luv!!

Pairing: Tech x gn!reader

Summary: Tech's injury on Serenno left you in a fit of worry. As much as you wanted to change the outcome of the incident, the past already happened. He was here with you, in the present, injured and in need of somebody to take care of him.

Warnings/Tags: mentions of bruises, mentions of tending to injuries, sprinkles of hurt, teeny bit suggestive, teeny ss2 spoilers, fluff — tell me if I've missed anything!

You were upset, you were furious, you were every emotion that wasn't anything 'happy.' That mission was stupid and reckless and they shouldn't have gone whether they would've been rich or not.

Are you kidding me? Castle Serenno? The former home of Count Dooku? Was that really the price of freedom? Almost getting yourselves killed for money? All the money in the world wouldn't matter if they died!

Is what you wanted to say as you were carefully setting up some bandaging for Tech's fractured femur, who, insisted it be called his fractured left femur. On a separate wheely table, you had all of the bacta bandages and several other tools that Tech provided you with.

You weren't sure if he wanted you to do it because he didn't trust himself enough or if he just wanted you. You'd like to think it was the second option considering he was definitely intelligent enough to patch himself.

"Why would you agree to go on that mission, Tech? I know you, Wrecker and possibly Echo agreed but you? Agreeing to this? That's outrageous!" it was a more toned down version of what you initially wanted to confront Tech with but you didn't want to scare him off like that whilst he was injured.

"Outrageous is the correct term I would use but as soldiers of war, paying a price for freedom is certainly worth the effort," he bargained, maintaining a stern tone of voice, being careful not to directly yell at you.

He remembered what Romar told him, that there is life outside of war so his ambition to retrieve the war chest upped. Tech was definitely dispirited when his femur was crushed and the war chest was the last of their priorities.

You grumbled, your face feeling hot from the anger you've tried to contain. Lashing out at an injured man was inappropriate, "Y'didn't even gain anything from the mission besides an injury—which could've been life threatening!"

"Fortunately, it was not. My left femur was crushed so it is only my lower half would have been threatened. If I was situated four meters lower then yes, I would also be inclined to agree with the term 'life-threatening', otherwise, I am fine." Tech was too exhausted to continue speaking, hoping that was an enough of an answer for you.

He didn't speak anymore, wanting to discourage a potential argument.

You checked on him multiple times as you prepared the equipment, noticing how he always flickered his gaze to the cockpit and back to his datapad.

You audibly sighed, gaining his attention from time to time, lowering your voice so you weren't harshly talking to him.

"Tech, you know nothing bad will happen to your datapad and the cockpit, right? You're injured, can't even walk properly and need rest," you said, to avert his gaze — mainly to you.

He swallowed shyly after his actions had been brought up, "Once you're able to secure my fractured femur, I am more than capable to sustain my own mobility," you dropped your shoulders, sending Tech and not-so-approved stare.

Even if his statement was true, the constant movement wouldn't give his poor femur time to heal.

"That's not an excuse to throw away resting time," you mumbled, eyebrows furrowing, trying to suppress the dismay in your voice. You unbuckled his knee-piece to get his left leg bare so there wasn't any obstruction when applying the bandages.

Next was his long array of tools as well as his blaster holster that was held together like a belt. You reached around his hip to unclip it, letting the items fall limp.

"I can manage," was all he mumbled before letting you finish up with taking off his trinkets.

You were now face-to-face with Tech's bare denim-blacks and eye-level with his crot—

You coughed, gaining his attention again, "A-hem," to save him from unnecessary pain, you stopped, not progressing with his outfit.

Tech seemed to have reached over to his holopad as you were taking his belt off. You rolled your eyes, coughing again so he would actually look up from the screen. How are his eyes not sore?

"Yes?" his eyes peaking just over the screen. The unexpected eye contact sent you to a blushing fit after having to pry your eyes away from the... view.

Your mouth opened first but nothing came out immediately, your eyes darting quickly to look everywhere but directly into his gold chocolate orbs.

"I won't do it for you so I don't accidentally hurt you, but could you roll up your jeans?" you waved your hand around, shyly, averting your eyes to the oh so lovely floor of the Marauder.

"That wouldn't be smart. Compiling my wear on top of my fractured femur is most likely to cause pressure," when Tech speaks to you, you could listen to him continue for hours on end.

Your eyes made their way back to his eyes before they widened slightly. He was already looking straight at you, unaware of what he's doing.

Although, it didn't really answer your question, "So?"

"I suggest I rid of the jeans so it is easier for you to mend," he discarded his datapad, letting it rest against the panel of buttons.

"Do you need to stand up?" you shoved back every stutter from escaping your throat.

"I do."

You quickly stood up, scooping him gently as he put pressure on his right leg for support. For his privacy, you looked away as fast as you could before you could see him clip off his crotch piece and dip his gloved fingers into the hem of his jeans. He slowly pulled them far enough down his thighs.

"How uh, far do you need them down?" you practically crushed your eyes as you shut them, overthinking the intention of your question. Fortunately, Tech took it like every other question he'd been asked.

"Only beneath my thighs, you may put me back down and remove the rest."

You tensed at his words.

"You want me to—uh, remove them?" you carefully helped him back down into the chair, the tops of his thighs exposed and the slightest view of his exposed boxers.

He didn't answer your question immediately, taking the time to clip his crotch piece back. You were internally disappointed at the loss but you were snapped out of your thoughts when you heard Tech speak again.

"Considering my state, leaning parallel to my legs would not do my femur justice. You have the mobility effective enough to remove them without further injuring me."

Any response died at the back of your throat. He's right. Always is so, you didn't object. Tech watched you delicately take the jeans off his legs and once you passed the area of his fractured femur, he picked up his neglected datapad and tapped away.

Your angry thoughts about the Batch attending the war chest mission, dissipated. You were quick to wander along his bare skin. He was muscly and toned, slightly upset that he would be hiding all of this under his outfit.

With a quick, mental slap, you addressed the serious matter at hand.

The bruising around the skin was extreme, a cloud of purple and scattered layers of green-ish yellow taking up a large amount of the thigh. You admired Tech's level of toleration of the injury. 

Hoping you gave it enough time to soak, you reached over to the prepared bacta bandages.

Once they were ready, you gave Tech a heads-up, "Bandages are ready, it'll be cold," you carried the white fabric onto Tech's thigh, subconsciously lifting his knee up to wrap it around, forgetting to warn him about that too.

Tech hissed, gritting his teeth at the movement. You heard him, mumbling apologies after apologies, doing your best to get the wrapping secure and done with.

You slotted a tan fabric layer to keep the bandages from coming loose under his thigh, bringing it up to clip it down. Once it was secure enough, you sighed, sitting back on your heels.

"I should've been there to help earlier," guilt slowly inched towards you. You stood up, pushing the table into a compartment. Your words caught the attention of Tech who shockingly put away his datapad for the time being.

"It was not your fault, it was only a matter of gravity and my unfortunate placement when the crate fell," he peaked around the corner, watching you bring out Crosshair's old rifle case.

"I know but could've at least like, pushed you out of the way or maybe be in your position inste—"

"No. It would not be wise to be in my position and the thought of you taking 150 kilograms similar to I is excruciating."

A small grin crept up to your face, analysing his sentence and repeating the fact he thinks about you.

You took out any remaining blaster ammo out of the rifle, double-checking that it was empty. You clicked off the sniping lens and propped it back into the case.

You chuckled, closing the case, "You think about me?" Tech's eyes blinked rapidly, processing your bold choices of words.

"Yes... well, if I was not, communication would be quite difficult." You chuckled again. There was some truth Tech's excuse, you suspected he added the last bit to cover for his answer.

The rifle in your hand was now safe enough to act as a crutch to support Tech, who was still jeanless.

You scooped Tech under his arms to help him stand up on his now supported leg. You made sure the rifle sat comfortable under his shoulder and his bandages sat on his thigh properly.

Now for his jeans.

This time, you weren't as nervous about the whole jeans ordeal. However, Tech was the opposite. Because his datapad was on the panels, the distance to reach it for himself was impossible, having to distract himself some other way.

You brought the jeans up below Tech's thighs, allowing him to put them up himself. Tech gulped, trying his hardest erase the image of you in such a compromising position.

"Sorry I wasn't there," you mumbled, placing him back down onto the chair.

"Like I said, it was not your fault and in the midst of a mission, it wouldn't be very efficient to mend me inside of a vertical war chest on the extremity of a cliff." Tech's way of comforting you was unique but it certainly helped ease you up.

"Now, you need to rest." Tech was now in arms length to reach over to his datapad, finally continuing whatever beep bop boops he was up to.

"Thanks to you, I am capable of considerable mobility. I am fine."

You rolled your eyes, snatching his holopad from his grasp. You waved your thumb over the shut off button as a passive way to threaten him if he doesn't get rest, "You are not."

"Technically, I am."

"Technically, you're not."

-

Post-Notes: hope ya liked it, i didnt edit much so im might come back to it to edit oops,, also i hope i wrote tech accuratly!

wanna be a part of my taglist?

~ ~ ~

@elsastoes @nekotaetae @jiabeewrites @lokigirlszendaya @imalovernotahater @backyard-bear @namesmox

[kittykittyanon]

if we were irl friends:

Imagine us laying on your bed during a sleepover, it's late and night and we're snuggled together (i love physical affection) and if you're cool with it I would be lile twirling one of your curls with my fingers.

Suddenly I would say the most depressing shit like, "Sometimes I wonder if everyone in the world hates me but then I remember you, and realize that if everybody in the world hates me at least I have you."

Of course you would probably stare at me like 😧 "what the fuck Amor"

And then a few seconds later I would say the most inappropriate shit like the mood swinging teen I wm ,"The things I would let Leo do to me 😏😏" (which would be a joke btw)

woahzaz,, that was fast!! /pos!! and—

—OMIGOSH OMIGOSH OMIGOSH YESSSSSSSS. GAHHH!!! I LOVE THIS SM AMI!!! i was actually gonna add a bit related to this (deep talks, i mean) to the hcs but i didn't know if you were cool with it so i ended up scrapping it,, but now that i have confirmation i am ready to go WILD. (LETS GOOO MUTUAL LOVE OF PHYSICAL AFFECTION RAHHHHH) (other hcs here)

and i love those types of suggestive jokes,, they're so fun — especially when it's with someone who can match it LMAO

song for this: Thérèse by Maya Hawke!! and the other hcs gave me Warsh_Tippy and Zelda by Whatever, Dad vibes but i forgot to put it at the end of them (*ﾉ∀`*),,,, tags: @ziipzeepzop-eez cause you wanted to see it (*/▽＼*) !!

imagine under the cut!!

we'd tuck into eachother, comfortably tangled in a nest of limbs; my head would lay on your chest, mindlessly scrolling though my phone on one hand, the other resting by your side. your hand in my hair, the atmosphere cozy and the lights off, room only lit up by the faint blue light emitting from my phone, it was a comfortable end to the day filled with excitement. your chest would rise and fall with each breath and i'd hear you sigh, the first sound you made in a while. perhaps you were thinking.

"sometimes i wonder if everyone in the world hates me, but then i remember you, and realize if everybody in the world hates me atleast i have you."

the room falls silent again. what? where did that come from? my thumb pauses mid-scroll, hovering in the air above my screen. my hand is still. yours is not.

despite the absolute bombshell of a sentence you dropped on me, my curls are still twisted and twirled between your fingers, undisturbed in their pursuit.

i don't know what to say.

"... there's no way everyone in the world hates you. you're not hate-able, amor." i'd murmur, a dry attempt at making you laugh. i don't think it worked.

"you're loved. and not just by me. anyone who says otherwise is factually incorrect and i will, uhm... commit... some sort of crime to stop 'em." that one pulls a slight amused huff out of you, and relief pools in, atleast i managed to get you to smile, "but... i'm glad you know i love you."

there's a pause, an intermission; your hand would rest in my hair and we'd be unmoving, still, content to sit in each other's company. a comfortable silence.

...

"the things i would let leo do to me..." you'd snrrk, and i'd hold back my giggles, but let a few slip through anyway.

"you when leonardo," i'd turn my phone to face you, showcasing a silly meme that made me think of you, and in moments we'd burst into laughter, filling the quiet of the room with a lighthearted atmosphere once again.

"anyways DONNIE WANTS ME FRFR 😍😍😍🤩🤩🤩🤪🤪🤪🤪💥💥💥—"

taa-daaa!! that's it for this imagine :PPP eueuegdgejdgh it's my first time writing where it's with a hypothetical scenario and i'd have to use "would" so my apologies if there was an overuse of the thingy "'d" !! if you have any criticisms or things you noticed that i have to improve on,, pretty please share!! i wanna improve (ノ*°▽°*) !! ((and about the donnie thing,, that was a joke too LMFKAKAO))

for extra hcs related to this,,

we'd definitely have deep talks at the randomest of times. like we could be eating snacks while watching a show or a movie and the conversation (originally discussing said piece of media) would swerve into our beliefs and ideologies and we'd dig into our childhoods and how it affected us and our behaviors and just as quick as the topic derails it goes right back to being silly again

feels like the kinda friendship you can share anything in. like one of us could share a piece of jaw-dropping, tear inducing, heart breaking trauma or one of the most embarrassing things we had ever done and there would be zero judgement.

where if you're comfortable, then i'm comfortable, and we do whatever we want together without fear of weirding the other out.

"kitty, what's the meaning of life? why are we here? what's our purpose?" "i dunno. but i pet my cat, ate a sandwich, and i hung out with you. i think that's enough meaning for today." "oh." a moment of silence. "... wanna play just dance?—" "is that even a question—"

we wouldn't even be able to finish a song 'cause we'd laugh so hard we'd end up on the floor.

[collectivecloseness]

Words can’t explain how much I absolutely love Eddie Munson with a tall!reader(male/fem/or gn). It gives off such Raven/beast boy, Gomez/Morticia, and Jessica rabbit/roger rabbit vibes. I love it so much.

As a 5’11 girl, when Eddie Munson is 5’10, this speaks to me HARD

Eddie would look up at the reader, especially if you’re wearing boots/platforms/heels etc just adding on to how tall you already are, esp compared to Eddie, and just be in awe. If you walk his back into something, or even pin him to a wall, Eddie’s shutting up for the first time in his life because he is literally just awestruck with you. Even you two leaning against your lockers, Eddie just once again realises how tall you are, by looking you up and down, and is, as always, so impressed by you. And boy does he want you.

Oh Eddie still picks you up. He does it whenever he can. But also he lets himself be a little less careful when he sprints and jumps on you, to get together to give him a piggyback, or catch him in your arms as he bolts. It’s sometimes a bit of a jumpscare when you just see him gunning it for you, focusing.

He’ll boast about his big strong partner. About how you can beat people up for him. How you two can be great partners in crime. All with his arm (slightly raised) over your shoulders. Eddie loves when you lean your chin on his shoulder, or his head, and when you’re leaning on him, or touching/holding him the way he’s never been in the receiving end of before, because he’s always been taller than anyone who would possibly touch him like that, and finally he can experience some of that himself, and it makes him feel really loved and looked after. As he shares being the ‘bigger spoon’ type, the taller person’s tasks, the ‘boyfriend/man’s’ moves, or more dominant roles, in all sorts of physical touchy ways. Even you leaning up to grab something Eddie could grab himself (or maybe he can’t) makes him just a little giddy, and stirred up with warm butterflies inside!

And Eddie is literally above average height! He is not short, so for you to be taller than him?? Eddie is drooling. His heart’s fluttering. Instead of thinking about proving himself to you with his knowledge of intimate times, he’s also picturing you domming him. And you making him yours!

Eddie probably would make Morticia/Gomez references to you anyway at occasional points he thinks of it. But when you two watch Who Framed Roger Rabbit together, Eddie’s taking a look at Jessica Rabbit (remembering how he and all his friends used to have crushes on her), he rerealises the height difference, and comments on your similarities to her. You laugh and hit his arm at first, but Eddie says not only are you as beautiful, radiant, and glamorous as ms Jessica Rabbit, but the height is there, so of course you’re basically Jessica Rabbit. And, well, Eddie always makes it so you really can’t argue with his complements/logic. And he definitely references you as her in your future together now too.

Also in fics, everyone writes reader as shorter, like p much everyone, and as someone who is a girl that’s taller than Eddie, and the same height as Steve, can’t relate smh ✋. I just know they’d be all flustered and awestruck over the supermodel standing next to them. Esp when they see you again wearing shoes that make you even taller! They can’t help but look a little, like at your legs, and where your eyes, and lips, meet the parts of their face, and imagining where your hands, or lips, would fall on them if you moved closer and went for it, like they’re zoned out daydreaming about, staring at your lips, as you keep smiling and talking to them

[captainkatie42]

20 questions for fic writers, J7 edition

1. How many works do you have on Ao3? 15

2. What’s your total Ao3 word count? 519,952

3. What fandoms do you write for? Star Trek Voyager

4. What are your top five fics by kudos?

Bad Wisdom - A "Workforce" rewrite. What if things had gone a bit differently between a certain auburn haired worker and her icy efficiency monitor while on Quarra.

It Can't Be Wrong - A "Killing Game" rewrite. Katrine and Mademoiselle de Neuf’s relationship is hidden even from those they trust with their lives. And the aftermath of when their true lives are revealed to them.

Days of Open Hand - A woman with extraordinary abilities realizes she knows very little about life, the universe, and everything when she is rescued by a group of metahumans led by a particularly captivating team captain.

Sundae Surprise - This is totally PWP; I make no apologies for the ensuing smut. It is short and very sweet.

The Long Dark Coffee Time of the Soul - An "Endgame" rewrite. On Stardate 53317 Captain Janeway was abducted by the Kellidians though eventually she was rescued. What if she was brought back to Voyager not so safe and sound? My first truly dark story.

5. Do you respond to comments? Almost always.

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending? Control

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending? Almost all of my ficcies have happy endings. Probably Something of an End since it ends with a wedding and then honeymoon.

8. Do you get hate on fics? Very rarely.

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind? Yup, but perhaps not very well. It tends to be pretty vanilla but graphic.

10. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written? The only true crossover I wrote was The Queen and the Soldier . Voyager/Battlestar Galactica

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen? Not that I'm aware of.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?  I don't think so.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before? Nope.

14. What’s your all time favorite ship? J7

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will? A threequel to the Days of Open Hand universe.

16. What are your writing strengths? Characterizations and AUs.

17. What are your writing weaknesses? Endings.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic? I don't know any other language besides English well enough to do it myself.

19. First fandom you wrote for? and only... Star Trek Voyager

20. Favorite fic you’ve written? Probably After Life, it was a massive undertaking and my most fleshed out story. Also Borg Queen Janeway was so fun to write!

[mickeymagpie]

it's so tempting to write this whole fic like this lmao

[astronautmike-dexter]

someone suggest me some Vegebul fics, I've had a big day, I'm lazy, and I don't want to search myself Thank You