#first person to say “what ass” gets one million bullet holes

[angie-long-legs]

He's listening to this in his room SHAKING HIS ASS one (1) minute after getting up.

[justapoet]

(for you) I would ruin myself (a million little times)

The chaos, the sounds of shots, the blood splattered all over his face, clothes, and soul ― death, so subtly and surely coming around, with Its dark cloak, reaping hook, and empty holes that were more soulful than the eyes of some living humans.

Felt like being at war again ― but that was Buck. Buck, bleeding in the middle of the street and never looking away as long as he could. Eddie could see his erratic breathing, the pain in his features, life slipping away from his body as blood slipped away from the bullet wound on his shoulder.

Eddie felt at war again ― but there, looking at him, there was a reason for Eddie to risk it all. His life, his sanity, his heart; Buck was there, and Eddie needed to get to him.

Or,

What if Buck had been the one who got shot?

Read on Ao3

Life is not about death.

Death, though, is about living. A mere consequence, the insignificant reaction of an action or a collection of them ― a set of it we call life.

Death is not about life, although it comes only to the living.

And there's just no escape ― what can we do if the Universe always wants back what it gives? Like fate, or destiny, or a curse: we're bound to break, for we were bound to keep, to mend, and repair. And, for we were bound to be, we are bound to stop being.

These are mere consequences. Trifling nothings surrounded by anythings and covered in everything we could be ― and never will. Because that's how it goes, and it's just how life ends: a heart that beats grows meant to stop, and a life that's lived becomes intended to end. For we breathe, we're bound to cease ― and for we love, we're bound to ache.

Life is not about death, for the second is a minor reaction. Death isn't about life ― but living, for that's what it takes for someone's life to halt. And, especially, for those ― the living ― are the ones to suffer death, not as a consequence ― they are the ones to face the consequences of death itself.

Eddie had already faced death himself, though, with his bare hands and collapsing lungs. He had been to war ― death is just around all the time, and life seems meaningless even though they say that being a soldier is to have a purpose.

Eddie fully believes their only purpose there was to be scared, starve, and get traumatized for a lifetime ― if they made it out alive, of course.

Sometimes he wonders if it would've been better if he hadn't. It's just a second, an impossible hypothesis, for he is far from Afghanistan for years now, but it happens, sometimes. In the dark of the night, when he's alone, lonely, lying in a bed far too big for just one person and Chris is fast asleep in his own bedroom, Eddie can't stop himself from wondering.

He had seen death face to face. He had had death over his shoulder ― not only dead bodies but the cold, skeletal hand of the Reaper close to his ear, ready to take those he would take life from with his own hands.

Eddie wished ghosts were real, sometimes, just so he could get what he deserved for killing people who were there with the same purpose he had ― serving whoever sent them there, for whatever half-asses reasons they were given from someone else.

So, he had seen death face to face. Eddie had already stared deep in the dark holes of a ghostly skull and almost accepted the gruesome but unbelievably kind skeleton hand, It had so kindly offered him. After a few times, the Reaper didn't seem so cruel anymore ― It was only doing the job It had to do, just like everyone else.

The Reaper wasn't cruel but whatever made It do its job... Whatever it was, Eddie didn't like it. Not a bit, not at all, and not even just because.

After the well, Eddie really thought the Reaper had stopped ghosting over his shoulder, his mind and life ― he would still see It in dreams, but it was a friendly meeting. The Reaper would offer him tea and silently wait for whatever Eddie needed to say ― a friend he never thought he would ever make.

Regardless of whatever friendship they might have created, Eddie could still see the shadowy death wandering around the city. It wasn't hard since their line of work dealt with it every day, every hour, but there was something there that Eddie couldn't really get himself to understand.

There was something and someone.

Eddie didn't even see it coming. Time was ticking by around them, at first, and suddenly there was absolutely no time ― in a second, Charlie was being loaded in an ambulance, his crazy mother in another, and Buck was there.

"That kid is just lucky he met you," Buck had said.

Eddie had started to reply, smiling at his best friend, and suddenly his mouth tasted like blood.

But not his blood.

His body froze when he looked up, and Buck had his mouth half-opened in a fallen smile. His clear blue eyes so suddenly were filled with too many emotions for Eddie to be able to name any of them ― even less each one ― and, in the spare of a second, they were glassy.

As Buck's body fell hard and numbly to the asphalt, Eddie felt himself being pushed abruptly against the firetruck, just in time for another shot to ricochet close to them in the truck. Suddenly, he was on the ground, and he could see Buck from under the firetruck ― there was blood, so much blood, and those pretty blue eyes were glassy and hopeless.

Felt like being at war again.

The chaos, the sounds of shots, the blood splattered all over his face, clothes, and soul ― death, so subtly and surely coming around, with Its dark cloak, reaping hook, and empty holes that were more soulful than the eyes of some living humans.

Felt like being at war again ― but that was Buck. Buck, bleeding in the middle of the street and never looking away as long as he could. Eddie could see his erratic breathing, the pain in his features, life slipping away from his body as blood slipped away from the bullet wound on his shoulder.

Eddie felt at war again ― but there, looking at him, there was a reason for Eddie to risk it all. His life, his sanity, his heart; Buck was there, and Eddie needed to get to him.

So, he rolled over to get rid of Capt. Metha's grip around his shoulder and started to crawl under the truck to its front. Buck's eyes had slipped shut at some moment, and the despair on Eddie's heart grew even huger ― please, he thought, don't slip away too.

"Buck!" Eddie shouted, crawling faster. "Hang on, I'm coming!" he said and tried to look up from where he was, a not-so-effective way to calculate the risk.

Fuck it, the risks, Eddie thought, then.

"Buck!" He shouted again, hoping to get an answer that never came. Eddie stretched his arm and reached Buck's hand that tried to touch him at some point inside of the chaos, pulling him from view as fast as he could.

He vaguely remembers a car exploding in the background, but none of that mattered.

As Eddie pulled Buck under the truck, the firefighter groaned and yelled in pain ― Eddie understood; he remembers how much it hurts.

"Stay with me, Buck, please," he asked, and Buck could only groan heavily and close his eyes shut again. Eddie cursed and crawled all the way back to where Captain Metha stood, screaming at the radio to tell dispatchers their current situation.

"Off-duty firefighter down! We need cover; we need help!" The Captain was shouting, but absolutely none of that mattered. Not when Buck was bleeding out, and Eddie was seeing his life slip away from his hands.

"C'mon!" Eddie shouted when he got back on his feet and pulled Buck from under the truck again. They were still firing, and Eddie couldn't care less. He had been through worse, and the last time he waited had been too late.

He would lose Buck.

He wouldn't lose his mind.

He couldn't lose his heart.

With impressive ease, Eddie managed to throw Buck's dead weight over his shoulder and, with Captain's Metha and someone else's ― he didn't care about knowing who that was ― help, they got inside the 133's truck.

Eddie doesn't know and doesn't care about how, but they somehow lost one of the truck's doors while getting out of that Inferno.

"Buck, Buck!" He called, taking some gauze from somewhere and opening Buck's shirt with total carelessness. "Stay with me; I got you," he said, almost pleaded, while applying as much pressure as his hands could.

Buck groaned in pain, and Eddie was slightly thankful for that.

"Stay with me, Buck, please," Eddie said again, and Buck did his best to open his eyes. Those usually playful and lifeful irises were dull and glassy, and Eddie wished that was just another of his nightmares. "I got you, okay?"

Buck took a sharp breath in and tried to look up at Eddie.

"Are you hurt?" He asked, and Eddie could start laughing at the ridiculousness of the question when his best friend was bleeding out under his hands. He also could cry because Buck was bleeding out and still dared to ask him such a question.

"No," Eddie answered, breathless. "No, I'm not, Buck,"

"Good," Buck said, his eyes fluttering shut again. "That's good," his voice was weak, and suddenly, he was out.

Eddie screamed, begged for him to open his eyes again, yelled at whoever was driving to go faster.

They took an unconscious Buck away from him into de ER, and Eddie just stood there.

"You okay, Diaz?" Captain Metha had asked.

Eddie wanted to cry, shout, run after the team of doctors who took Buck away and beg them to hold Buck's hand in his so he wouldn't be alone. He wanted to find out who did all of that, who started a goddamn shooting out of nowhere, aiming Buck at first, and make them pay. Eddie wanted to crawl under his bedsheets and stay there until he and the bed were only one piece of furniture, and no one could ever find him anymore.

He wanted to tell the Reaper to take him instead. He craved to show the Reaper that it was okay to take him away, finally, if it meant Buck would be alright and have a long, lasting, happy life.

Eddie tried to swallow the lump on his throat.

"No," he managed to say.

―――

Grief is something funny to deal with. The word "grief" and "grieve" themselves come from old French "grever," which signifies "to burden," which comes from the Latin words "gravis" or "gravare," both meaning "heavy" or, in its original meaning, "serious."

How meaningless they become, though, when they're more than a dictionary definition.

As humans, there's barely too much our poor understanding can reach ― rationally and even more emotionally speaking. Feelings, as they are, are rarely understood, for we're only said to feel them without any further questions to which no one has an answer.

Eddie had a lot of questions, indeed. Why do we feel pain? Why does it feel like our heart is being ripped out of our chest, sometimes? Even if we've never experienced someone shredding our heart out of our ribcage.

Why do some smiles take our breath away?

Why do we cry when someone is away?

Why does silence hurt?

Why does living hurt? And why does death hurt almost as much?

And, the question bumping against Eddie's head and heart since he had sat on one of the chairs of the waiting room of a chaotic hospital: why Buck?

Read the rest on Ao3

[passivenovember]

Tetherball : Harringrove April Day One

Also on ao3

--

Steve put his seatbelt on that first day, when Billy stepped out of his chariot across school grounds, taking inventory of things as they were. Life as Steve knew it.

Nancy in the seat next to him.

First period chemistry, English, Geology, lunch. Steve took note of the periwinkle tones in the sky, the rumble of the cafeteria on pizza day, the smell of the library and the way the books turned on you if there were late fees to be settled.

Everything fell into bullet points across worn pavement.

Then versus now. Before and after.

Steve said goodbye to planet Earth that day, whether he knew it or not. Whether he found it favorable. The rumble of an engine beneath his feet changed Steve's perception, and the weight of two blue medallions grew and grew until Steve had learned the facts.

William Hargrove went by Billy. And he had tumbled in from California, presumably naked on a sea shell, where Billy’s stepsister doused hatred like a flame in the ocean under skies full of seagulls and cotton candy wisps.

He wore elevens in converse and a large Hawkins Phys Ed t-shirt that popped seams across his biceps but went soft and wavy in the middle.

Not like it mattered, though.

William went by Billy and he called skins as soon as coach blew the whistle. His t-shirt never made another appearance after that.

--

That's all Steve needed to know, right? The basics. California and step sisters, William instead of Billy, and the sound of rubber on polished oak.

But that's the funny thing about revelations.

Facts are different when colored by opinions, and Steve felt them dropping like coins from the hole in his pocket. As he got to know Billy the bullet points that had taken over Steve's mind rippled and glimmered in the light of first period. Changing.

He observed.

Wondered.

Obsessed.

Developing thoughts about who Billy was and, eventually, the person he pretended to be. Steve wasn't interested in the line Billy drew around the two halves of a whole. Any of the masks he wore in the cafeteria around princesses and prom queens versus the man Steve saw in second period English, who was.

Soft spoken and thoughtful. Every pastel shade in the sky versus brash and heated sunsets over barley.

Flame and sea, like a burning ship at war.

Steve wasn't interested but he learned anyway. Took notes, eyes tracking the brush of Billy's thumb on his bottom lip, brows pinching in concentration as he deciphered the root of a poem in ten seconds flat. The curl of his lips when we took his paper from Mr. Terrine. How he always had an extra pencil for anyone who needed it.

Before long Steve aced his exam in AP Hargrove and failed where everyone else said it mattered.

Got himself a tutor.

Blue eyes to pin him in place, pink lips to seal the passage between worlds. Steve wasn't interested in spending his afternoons under a tetherball, smacking brightly colored plastic out of his face as Billy read to him from a textbook while his sister. Max (step sister, Billy's voice supplied), kicked some girls ass on on the skateboard during softball practice.

"Should we try it once more?" Billy's patient. Steve wasn't expecting that.

He smacks the ball away again. "I've learned a lot about you, but I wasn't expecting this."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Y'know." From across the playground Max teaches her girl how to kick flip. Steve doesn't think that's right. He shrugs anyway. "Smarts. Like, AP biology, Valedictorian, Brain stew smart."

They've been studying together for weeks.

Four weeks. Seems like more with the slide of Billy's shoulder against Steve's arm, blonde ringlets dodging the tetherball as it swings overhead. Billy's fingers brush the open faced textbook, mouth serious but eyes soft. Sparkly, like a discarded bag of glitter.

"Maybe you should pay more attention to the prose."

"Maybe I can do both at the same time." Steve fiddles with the edge of the notebook, nodding as Billy grins. "Alright, goldilocks, tell your silly little story."

He does.

The green eyed boy in the powder blue shirt standing next to you in the supermarket recoils as if hit,

repeatedly,

by a lot of men, as if he has a history of it.

Steve leans back against the rusty iron pole, feeling the weight of the tetherball on one side of his head, and. The brush of golden curls on the other. He closes his eyes, feeling a voice more than hearing it.

That is not your problem. You have your own body to deal with.

The lamp by the bed is broken--

"Are you following?" Billy asks. He moves, knees drawn up so the book is balanced close to the curve of his chin. Close to the split in the universe. "We're getting into muddy waters here--"

"'S not that muddy."

"Sure it is." Billy's cheeks flush, pink paint across the bridge of his nose. He moves against Steve's arm, elbow knocking into ribs. "Tell me what you think is happening."

Steve thinks about it.

Knocks Billy's arm away gently, closing his eyes. "Read some more and then we'll talk."

Billy does.

The lamp by the bed is broken. You are feeling things he is no longer in touch with a nd everyone is speaking softly, as if not to wake one another.

The wind knocks the heads of the flowers together. Steam rises from every cup at every table at once.

Things happen all the time.

Things happen at every minute that have nothing to do with us.

Billy stops reading and Steve peeks at him through an eye half-lidded, curious. "Is that the end of the story?"

"Poem."

"Huh." Steve straightens, moving his legs this way and that. "Felt like a story."

Billy mirrors him exactly, closing the textbook and grabbing his pencil. "That's interesting."

And the way he says it. While flipping through his pea-green fivestar spiral, makes it feel wrong. Stupid.

Steve smacks distantly at the sky. "No it's not."

"Sure it is. Siken's poems are very lyrical. They paint images, vivid images, and sometimes I can imagine myself doing what the lines convey."

Steve grins. "You can imagine yourself in bed with another man?"

Steve isn't interested in the answer but he's interested in the feeling, the glint of emotion behind a wall of powdery blue. It doesn't seep through the cracks, though, it's contained. If Steve wants to find the center, he'll have to dig.

Billy doesn't miss a beat. "If that's what you think the poem's talking about, sure."

"Of course that's what it's talking about."

"How so?"

Steve laughs at that, rubbing against Billy's side. "You sound like a scholar."

"Is that so wrong?"

"No." Steve says thoughtfully. "'S cute."

Billy doesn't crack. Not in the way Steve's used to. No fingers in his hair, spinning spools of gold as he peeks at Steve through thick lashes. Instead he makes a note of it, whatever it is they're saying. Scribbling Steve's interpretation on one side of the blank page, dividing the two halves with a thick black line.

Billy intends to find the truth. "The protagonist is in love with the man at the supermarket? Is that what you're saying."

"I guess."

Billy rolls his eyes. "Your intent has to be clear. Poetry is all about interpretation; if you don't attempt to bridge the divide--"

"All right, Einstein." Steve plays along. "Sure."

Billy's eyes flash victorious as he clicks the pen trigger. "What makes you say that?"

"The way he's obsessed with him."

"The way the narrator is obsessed?" Billy leans forward, intent. "With the man in the grocery store?"

"What makes you deny it?" Steve wonders, folding his legs beneath him so they're crisscross applesauce.

Billy leans back against the pole, casual and easy. "I'm not the one failing English."

"No, but you are the poet." Steve counters. "Dude, I know you have an interpretation. I know you have thoughts, so. Just tell me."

Billy turns to face the playground.

Max skates circles around her girl, smiling in the way Billy does when he's got Steve pinned on the court. Like a predator. Pushing and pulling back just enough to leave the girl chasing after her, enough to catch herself before Max has a chance to get her claws out.

It's incredible, Steve thinks, how much Billy is just like his sister.

"I think he's using him."

Steve cocks his head, curious.

"The man with the blue shirt." Billy opens the textbook and reads the part about the lamp again, peeking up at Steve through frizzy curls. "The narrator says we are feeling things the man is no longer in touch with."

Steve leans forward. "Like love?"

Billy thinks about it. "No."

"Connection, then."

"If they're sleeping together it's more than just sex." Billy counters, "More than just carnality."

Which.

Steve frowns. "People fuck all the time without connecting."

"Really?"

"Yeah." Steve thinks about rattling down his list. The girls, the guys, the one night stands and bullshit post-game hook ups.

Billy fiddles with the edges of his notebook almost. Shyly. "People have sex because they're in love."

Steve snorts. "There's a million reasons to fuck outside of love."

Billy's eyes flash hard with.

Something. He bares his teeth. "Yeah? Like what?"

"I dunno. Breakup sex, makeup sex, sorry for burning a hole in your prom dress sex--"

"Gross."

"Point is." Steve looks at Billy. Studies him, the freckles across his upper lip, the scruff along his jawline. "Sex and emotion don't have to exist within each other."

Billy stares back at him, eyes wide and distant. Closed off.

He writes something on Steve's half of the notebook. "I disagree."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." Billy tosses his pen to the ground. "Our narrator says the man in the blue shirt has a history of being hit by other men."

"So?" Steve has trouble following at the best of times, and this.

The way Billy is worrying the skin on his fingers, nails catching and tearing in places they don't belong, feels important.

Billy shrugs. "Why would he sleep with a man without knowing his heart?"

"Maybe he just wants to feel something."

"Or maybe he wants to connect." Billy turns to look out across the playground once more, fingers tugging at the edge of his notebook. "Maybe he's existing in this bubble, like. This silent world with a tiny room where everyone is speaking softly out of respect. Maybe he chooses the wrong person because it's better than feeling half alive."

Steve knows they aren't talking about the poem anymore.

He tugs the notebook from Billy's hands, flipping through a million and one handwritten theories and observations. Billy lets him. Lets Steve look through his life and into his mind before handing the spiral back and asking, "Have you ever picked the wrong person?"

Billy doesn't say anything and then; "Yes."

"How come?"

"Everybody's wrong if you squint hard enough."

Steve nods, looping his arms around his knees. "And I'm assuming you didn't sleep with any of them."

He doesn't expect Billy to answer. It's not like they owe each other anything, honesty or otherwise. Billy leans back against the pole once more. From where their bodies are pressed together Billy feels feverish. Incendiary.

Billy clears his throat. "Or the opposite."

Which catches Steve off guard.

Billy watches him for a moment, eyes dark and serious. "I don't think the narrator sleeps with the man in the blue shirt. Maybe he intends to. Take the guy home, make a couple drinks, blaze trails into something previously unknown to him or maybe just. A feeling he hasn't felt in a while. But intimacy isn't always about sex."

Steve snorts. "I can't think of anything more intimate than being inside another person."

"But you are inside them, just. Not in the way you expected."

Steve glares out over the playground. The sun will be setting soon, blacktops and brown fields painted in shades of red and orange. The whole world will catch on fire but Steve feels the beginning, coals glowing bright red under the line of his ribcage when he turns to find blue eyes on him.

Dousing the fire, or maybe.

Raising the stakes. His eyes flit across Billy's forehead, brushing over his lips and coming to rest on his eyelashes. Feathery and soft, like the arms of a teddy bear. Steve licks his lips, going up in flame when Billy's eyes track the movement.

"I lied." Steve says.

Billy doesn't look away. "I'm not sure what you--"

"The first time a boy ever kissed me." Steve says. "When a boy kissed me because he wanted to, that was more intimate than anything I'd ever felt before."

Billy's gaze falls impossibly lower, tracing the swell of Steve's lips. "How did it feel?"

And he says it like.

He couldn't possibly know.

And Steve says, "Like my heart was taking root," like.

Let me show you.

Billy takes a deep breath. "I don't think I've ever felt like that."

"Never?"

"Not once."

From across the playground Max's answering laugh makes Billy's skin turn gold. Caramel, ice cream topped with sugar. Steve feels his body inching closer, mouth opening as if to taste love on the air.

[shianhygge-imagines]

{R} [DMC Reactions] S/O Sacrifice Scramble

AN: No, thank you! For supporting my angsty ass during my days of procrastination and getting my life together, lmao! That is an interesting idea! So... let’s take the same scenarios from the original reaction post... and just replace the s/o with another character’s s/o! :3

Let’s be honest... it’s not gonna be a happy affair! And given how the DMC universe is... it’s highly likely something like this would happen.

|Link to Original S/O Sacrifice|

|Masterlist Link|

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dante

Gets saved by Vergil’s S/O

He’d needed an expert with him on a job when it happened. His usual carelessness had gotten a loved one killed. 

Dante cried in agony as your head rolled away, remembering how he’d promised his older brother that he’d bring you back safe and sound. 

How Vergil had promised Dante a slow painful death if anything happened to you. How Dante had agreed that if anything happened, he would let Vergil kill him. 

He didn’t know what to do, going into a full blown demonic rage and butchering the demon that killed you. 

All he could think to do after was to bring your body back to Vergil. 

The moment Dante returned, the roar of his motorcycle the telltale sign of his return, Vergil had practically flown through the shop front doors. His face didn’t show it, but his heart leapt in joy at your return, longing to hold you in his arms after a time apart.  

Upon seeing only Dante standing in the dark, tears in his eyes and a white bundle in his arms, Vergil paused, his mind quickly connecting two and two together. “Y/N?” Vergil asked for you, his lips twitching to fight a frown. When Dante only met his twin’s eyes and tearfully looked away, Vergil took a step back. “No.” He denied, eyes shifting to stare at the human sized bundle in Dante’s arms, “She can’t have…” 

“I’m sorry, Vergil.” Dante tried to apologize, but his brother practically snarled in denial. 

But little by little, Vergil’s mask crumbled when a hand fell out of the bundle. Your hand. Your wedding ring. You. Unmoving.

A sob escaped Vergil’s lips before he could stop it, and his legs suddenly gave way as he could only stare in despair. You’d loved him during his darkest time, and gotten him through it. And you were dead. 

Was this karma for all the harm that he’d done in the past? Was this the world taking its revenge against him for nearly bringing the end of humanity two times?You were supposed to be his redemption. His salvation. That you were gone… did that mean he was damned for all eternity? That he was destined to stand alone forever.

He’d wanted to spend the rest of his life with you, but now that was a distant dream.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Vergil

Get’s saved by Dante’s S/O

“Gah! Fecking hell, Vergil!” You screamed, practically diving into the swarm that your brother-in-law had sprinted into. From behind, you could hear Dante calling for you to let Vergil do his thing. But from his position on the cliff below, he couldn’t see the number of demons that awaited his twin.

They’d finally started to have some semblance of a non-toxic relationship again, and you were damned if you would just let Vergil get himself killed.

Dante had only just gotten his brother back, and it made you happy that the brothers had started to mend their relationship. If anything were to happen to either brother, you were sure that their relationship would have been set back by a great deal. And with how much you loved Dante, you couldn’t allow anything to happen to the only surviving member of his family.

That was why you threw yourself in front of a fireball, suffering through burns in order to protect a man that was usually frigid in demeanor despite his turning over a new leaf. And the pain was unbearable, your skin melting and clothes burning. You were only able to verify that Vergil was unharmed before you collapsed into his arms unconscious.

Vergil knew that he was a class A jerk to you, so he was surprised that you, someone who only held a small fraction of demonic blood, would throw yourself in the way of an attack that might have left him incapacitated, but not too severely injured.

He caught your falling body as it fell in front of him, surprise flickering on his face for a brief moment before he schooled his expression.

The demon that had burned you so badly shook in fear at the icy malice on Vergil’s face after he’d laid you on the ground and covered your damaged body with his coat.

“Y/N is precious to someone important to me. I hope you’re ready to suffer through a slow and painful death.” Vergil hissed, unsheathing the Yamato with a deadly ring of metal.

After the demon had been dealt with, Vergil calmly picked your body up from the ground, noting that you were still alive. With the still unsheathed Yamato, Vergil quickly opened a portal back to Devil May Cry, where he gave Dante the scare of his life by immediately barking out instructions on how to treat your wounds.

After you had been treated and left to rest, Vergil would break the news to Dante like ripping off a band aid. “She saved me from an attack.” Vergil saw the punch coming at him, but didn’t move, letting his younger twin land a strike to his face.

“Next time, you better be the one looking after her.” Dante growled, clenching and unclenching his fist, beyond furious that Vergil had been so negligent as to let you get hurt.

Knowing that there would be a next time because of your stubbornness, Vergil nodded. “Next time, I’ll look after her.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Nero

Get’s saved by V’s S/O

As loathe as Nero was to have to take you along on a hunt, he didn’t quite have the balls to defy you when it was your fiance’s life on the line

A few days prior, several demons had appeared to attack V, vowing revenge on the Sons of Sparda, blah blah blah, like you hadn’t heard that reason half a million times.

Due to having been a part of Vergil, V’s continued existence was sustained through absorbing demonic energy, much to your surprise and confusion on how that would work in the first place.

During the attack, V had been alone except for his demon contracts, Shadow, Griffon, and Nightmare. Normally, this wouldn’t have been much of a challenge for the four of them, but V had been severely weakened after Vergil ‘resurrected.’

Not only did the attacking demons manage to severely wound V, they had also taken it upon themselves to steal V’s demonic power. The only thing sustaining V was his contracts with Shadow and Nightmare. Griffon had decided to forge a contract with you in order to help. Now, you and Nero were racing against the clock to kill the demon that housed V’s power.

Despite not having an upraising involving combat, you held your own whenever demons appeared, brandishing V’s cane and a rifle borrowed from Lady.

“A Bride on a Mission” Griffon had called you after you struck down a demon with no mercy.

Despite being able to hold your own, you were under no illusion that you could kill the demon that had assaulted your fiance and left him for dead. So, when you saw Nero getting backed into a corner, still reluctant to use his Devil Trigger, you commanded Griffon to give you a boost, sending you soaring towards Nero.

Though you stuck the landing wrong, earning you a twisted ankle, you’d managed to blast through part of the horde. You didn’t get to celebrate your victory much, when you felt the painful end of a horn dig into your stomach and send you tumbling backwards.

“Y/N!” Nero cried out in alarm.

Now, normally, you tried not to curse... but laying on your back with a hole in your abdomen, you couldn’t help but let out a swear, “Fuck!”

The demon that had stolen your fiance’s power had come out to play, and you were pretty much down for the count. Nevertheless, you propped yourself up on an elbow and aimed with your rifle. “Heh, I’m not dead yet, you fucker.”

Nero, meanwhile, had finally started to take the fight seriously, blasting through the rest of the demon horde before advancing on the bastardization of a bull demon that had attacked you when he wasn’t looking. “Hey! Do you know how much trouble I’m in now that you’ve poked a hole into my friend’s fiance?!”

The banter was a front. Nero was scared shitless that he’d have to bury another friend and break the news to V... who might just find a way to kill him for not looking after you.

Activating his Devil Trigger for the sake of killing the beast, Nero followed the battle up with picking up the crystallized demonic energy embedded in the bull demon’s horn before using his Devil Trigger to get you to a hospital.

Somehow, between getting checked into the hospital, and waking up from surgery, Griffon had left you to return to V, who found out about what had happened and immediately brought himself to the hospital to yell at Nero and look after you.

When you woke up, V sat in a chair beside your bed, one hand holding yours and another holding a book. Seeing you awake, V set the book down and gently chided you after making sure you were okay. “Please, Y/N... Don’t do that again. I couldn’t bear it if I lost you.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

V

Get’s saved by Nero’s S/O

For the sake of this request, we’ll say that Nero’s S/O is different from Kyrie (even if it’s the canon pairing >.>, The reason why I have to clarify... well, that’s a story for another time)

V had long since retired from hunting demons, instead, investing his newly mortal life in learning about the world with the help of you, Nero, and Kyrie.

He was only a month old when he’d assisted in defeating Urizen, and had barely grasps the basic human mannerisms and fundamentals. Like the use of money, or the fact that a bullet to the head would kill him, or your personal favorite, that he had to consume food for survival. Truly, when Nero first introduced you to V, you thought him to be a child.

Though, the first thing you did after meeting him had been to take him clothes shopping. Sure, it was summer, but once the colder seasons rolled in, you were sure that V would need proper shirts instead of... the trench coat corset thing? You’re amazed the thing didn’t come apart during his battles.

There were a few times that V was forced to fight demons, either to absorb their demonic energy in order to extend his life, or to beat off random assaults from demons that swear revenge upon the Sons of Sparda. These times were increasingly annoying for the young man, as he’d long since separated himself from Vergil.

Most of the times that he’d get attacked were during his walks in the streets of Fortuna. It was a beautiful town with old architecture, so V often found himself observing the towering structures.

One day, you decided to accompany V on one of his strolls, taking a sketchbook along just in case you found another spot to stop and sketch while V took his time looking at the building designs.

It is unfortunate, then, that while the two of you were doing just that, Shadow popped out of the ground beneath you, growling in warning as several demons decided to claw out of the ground around you.

Despite having V, Griffon, Shadow, and Nightmare with you, your group was quickly overwhelmed by attacks from all sides. You’d never had to fight in your life, and by not having a weapon on you, you were just a burdening presence. That didn’t stop you from calling out enemy presence in the street and slapping bitches with your sketchbook, mind you. You were unprepared and untrained, but damn it you weren’t going to be a useless damsel.

This was foolhardy of you, taking on demons despite the fact that V probably had it all handled... especially the fact that V had asked you to stay back from the demons. You didn’t listen to your fiance’s friend, and so when you’d taken a shot at one of the downed demons, raising an arm up to slap the mofo, you suddenly felt pain, and heard a thump to the floor. The blood that trickled down your arm brought your attention to the fact that you were now missing your non dominant hand.

“Fucking hell!” you screamed, wanting to panic and flail around as V quickly took care of the remaining demons before hobbling on unsteady feat towards you, unbuckling his belt to tie it around your bleeding arm.

“Y/N...” V called your name as he applied the make shift tourniquet, “Y/N, which way is the hospital? We need to get you to the hospital soon, or you really will lose your arm.”

The two of you sprinted with as much haste as possible to the hospital, you trying not to scream in panic, and V, trying not to imagine your fiance’s ire as he held your severed arm.

The minute you entered the surgery room, Nero arrived on scene at the hospital, and practically accosted V, “What the hell, V! Y/N’s not a demon hunter! You’re supposed to protect them!”

V, already feeling guilty for being unable to protect you, winced and responded with a calm voice, “I should have had Shadow escort them away, that was my mistake. But your fiance is as stubborn as you, Nero. They wanted to help... and now they may lose their arm... or not. You did regrow your arm after all.”

Brain running a mile a minute and having already decided that he should now at the very least teach you some basic defense, Nero growled, “That’s not a normal thing humans can do, V. I know you’re still getting used to being a real boy and all, but...” Nero simply sighed tiredly. “Just... make sure you watch their back when you’re with them, okay? We were lucky that they’re not half dead.”

Hours later, your arm was reattached, but you made stump jokes that made Nero simultaneously want to kiss you and slam his face in the wall.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Thank you for reading! If you enjoyed my work, please consider buying me a Ko-fi!

[wxnterxsxldier]

Kintsugi

Summary: After an encounter the Winter Soldier Y/N realizes that she’ll always be second best when it came to Peggy, she’d never be enough for Steve to love her alone. Little by little, crack by crack she begins to look elsewhere for love and she finds it....... in the Winter Soldier himself. The two fill the holes in their hearts with gold and make something beautiful from something broken.

Pairing: Steve x Reader eventual Bucky x Reader.

Chapter Warnings:Language, angst. Oh and NOT beta read since I have no friends.

Words: 1.2k

Note:I’d install Interactive Fics to change Y/N and L/N to the name(s) of your choice! It helps with the reading process I find. This fic features female pronouns. All flashbacks will be in italics and divided for ease and the song of the chapter is Does She Know? by Astrid S.

Y/N never anticipated to fall for Steve, it was never in her plans to talk to her mother about him for hours on end, with her older brother chiming in about Steve’s “Star Spangled Ding Dong.” 

She never expected to wake up in his muscular arms and feel his chin atop her head, inhaling her scent. His slightly chapped lips brushing against hers until the kisses become feverish and they get lost in each other under the warm sunrise. Their bodies painted shades of pink and gold, hair brightened in the daylight and eyes darkened with lust as you two move in harmony.

Y/N certainly never expected to love him so much and then slowly lose him to Peggy Carter one day at a time. Little by little, each instance breaking her heart a tiny bit more each time.

“You doin’ alright Kitten? You seem a million miles away?” Steve asks as he plants on Y/N’s cheek, pulling her from her thoughts. 

Instantly she plasters a smile on her face, the same one that made Steve’s heart skip a beat. He ‘s noticed that her don’t shine the same when he looks at her, they’ve been getting duller and duller as time went on, and he doesn’t know why. It hurt him to know that something was wrong and he couldn’t fix it, he’d ask but the answer was always the same, “I’m fine Honey, just tired is all.” With a smile on her beautiful face. Steve would only give her a false smile in return and leave to punch his frustrations away. 

Deep down Steve knew why this happened, what he did to cause a rift between them but he couldn’t face it so he pushed it down, so deep that when his world is crumbling down, he won’t know who’s to blame even though it’s his fault.

 “I’m fine Honey, just tired is all.” She replied with a smile, this time Steve only nodded and went on his way. When he was out of view Y/N's smile fell away and she was drawn back to her thoughts, the hollow feeling in her chest returns as her thoughts drifted back to when the feeling started.

After picking up Sitwell the five of them stopped for snacks, Y/N had gotten little churro bites and spent her time in the back seat eating them, occasionally handing ones to the other people in the car. Each time Steve was fed a churro bite he’d always say, “Thanks Kitten.” making Y/N blush and  the  cars other occupants groan at the couples antics even though they had been together for a year. Just as Y/N finishes giving Sitwell his third churro bite he was ripped from the vehicle.

“Holy shit, his ass flew!” She screeched, pulling a pistol from its holster. A S.H.I.E.L.D agent of two years Y/N L/N has garnered a reputation for being a great marksman, a very funny and thoughtful person as well as the maker of the best lasagna in the whole agency, a huge hit at the company potluck. The same gloved hand knocks the small bag of churro bites from Y/N’s hand as she moves to put them into her bag for later. 

“I know damn well this bitch didn’t just knock my $10 churro bites to the damn ground! SAM PULL THE FUCK OV-” Y/N never finishes as the steering-wheel is ripped from it’s rightful place.

“SHIT!” Sam yelled, Y/N and Natasha climbing to the front of the vehicle, weapons at the ready, shooting the top of the car.

The car swerves as Sam slams the brakes. The four of them climb out of the car to see a man dressed in all black, eyes lined with kohl as black as the night sky, making his blue eyes startlingly bright. His metal arm shines blindingly bright in the sunlight, the red star catching Y/N’s attention. 

“Well, well, well the one and only Winter Soldier. Ya know, I thought you’d be taller.” Y/N says with a smile, cocking her gun and firing at the man.

 He deflects the bullets as he rushes her, before he can reach her Steve pushed them both out of the way to safety. A clank made the two look for the source of the noise and Y/N could practically hear Steve’s heart stop.

 It was his compass, it laid a few feet away, wide open. The portrait of Peggy Carter staring them in the face. Y/N never minded Steve’s attachment to the compass and Peggy but what he did next struck Y/N to her very core. It was so very brief, but to Y/N it felt like it was a lifetime.

He let her go. 

Steve let Y/N go to hurriedly retrieve his compass and as Natasha and Sam kept the Winter Soldier at bay with their weapons. He brushed his thumb across her photo.

 Instead of protecting Y/N he protected Peggy, the woman who had moved on from him but he couldn’t move on from her.It was at that moment Y/N realized that she would never be enough, although she tried so very hard to be. She would never be Peggy Carter and Steve would never love her the way she loved him, the way he loved Peggy.

CRACK! 

The first break of many, the many breaks that would leave her big heart a shell of what it once was.

Y/N brings herself back and wipes the tears that have fallen down her face as she remembers where the hallowing of her heart began.

“I’ll never be enough, she had him from the start.” She cries softly, the moments crash together in a blur. 

 “I love you, only you.”  CRACK

 “I’ll always love her Y/N. But know that I love you more.”  CRACK

“Never got that dance.”  CRACK

“I love you so much Peggy!”  

SNAP!

“I’ll always be second best when it comes to Steve’s love, I refuse to stay someone’s second best.” She whispers, standing up and silently heading out of the compound with a bag in hand and not looking back until the moon was behind her. It was all going well...until she felt herself being grabbed, shot full of something and it all went black.

After what felt like forever the veil of darkness was lifted and there he stood. The man who although by accident, showed her the truth. James Buchanan Barnes: The Winter Soldier, standing above her with a bag of churros in his hand.

“H-hi. I’m Bucky, remember me?”

Here’s my very first chapter of Kintsugi, and my very first fic! I would like to thank @cake-writes​ , @star-spangled-man-with-a-plan​ @feelmyroarrrr giving me tips and the courage to actually post something! I hope I did a good enough job.

[bella-spil]

Fall In Line

Yours and Natasha’s story about how you escaped H.Y.D.R.A.

Warnings:mentions of violence, violence, abuse, ANGST, small amount of fluff, Natasha being a funny but annoying badass.  And You kicking some serious ASSSS.

Word Count: 3.5k

Taglist: (Lmk if you wanna join!) @wednesday-add-em​ @angrythingstarlight​ @sea040561​ @kmuir1​

A/N: first time writing for Natasha Romanoff, lmk how I did.  Feedback is appreciated!  And this is based on the song “Fall In Line” by Christina Aguilera feat. Demi Lovato(I get chills everytime I hear the song, its so fucking good).  Btw, in the story the lyrics r a bit out of order, to fit with the story better, so don't get pissed at me😬

Little girls, listen closely

'Cause no one told me

But you deserve to know

That in this world, you are not beholden

The smell of wild flowers filled the air.  Sunshine poured on your soft skin.  Your long, beautiful hair was swaying in the light breeze.  And your smile was contagious, so much so that your friend was grinning with you.

You and Natasha were sitting in a field, watching the white, fluffy clouds make shapes to be determined by your imagination.  You were putting daisies and dandelions in each other's hair.  You were both having such a fun time together.  You and Natasha were laughing and smiling so much that you were leaning on each other for support, and comfort.

You and Natasha lived in an orphanage in Russia together.  You met when you were about three years old, and now, the two of you now were about six.  And you had become friends so quickly and had become so inseparable that you both would scream till the caretaker’s ears bled.  And they were forced to keep you two together.  The orphanage was so overcrowded that two little girls running out into a field was the least of their concerns.  Besides, the two of you liked a little fun now and then.  

As you were giggling and fooling around in the field, you never noticed two peculiar men sneaking up on you.  They wore black pants, black boots and black shirts, so they looked like living shadows.  And they had scary masks from a horror movie covering their faces.  And they were both carrying heavy rifles in their hands, making them look all the more terrifying. 

Their steps were muffled by the sounds of children laughing, the perfect opportunity to take you both away.  They grabbed you and Natasha.  You were both clinging onto the flowers in your hands, shaking and trembling with fear.  The air wasn’t so happy and cheerful anymore and the sky turned a somber gray.  

Natasha and you were screaming your hearts out, like your lives depended on it, and sadly, they did.  You kicked and punched as hard as you could, but nothing you did was affecting the man holding you in his arms.  Natasha was screaming your name, as if you could do something mindblowing to help one another, but it was useless.  And soon the field of flowers and sunny skies became a distant, almost forgotten memory.   

~~~

All the youth in the world will not save you from growing older

And all the truth in the girl is too precious to be stolen from her

It's just the way it is

Maybe it's never gonna change

Days turns into months.  Months turned into years.  You barely had a concept of time anymore.  You barely realized that you had physically changed.  You weren't a six year old orphan anymore.  You were an adult, trained assassin, working for the most feared organization in the world: H.Y.D.R.A.  

As was your friend, Natasha, but you haven’t talked to her since you were kids.  The place had a rule for no prisoners to talk to one another.  When you were in your first years of training you would smile at one another if you happened to pass one another in the dark and gloomy hallways.  Now, you guys didn’t even bother to look up from the floors.  

Unbeknownst to you, H.Y.D.R.A. was making you a killing machine.  You never questioned what the guards did to you, since you knew it would come at a severe punishment.  You learned a lot of things while training.  You were now fluent in Russian.  Since you were a girl when they first found you, you didn’t fully understand the language yet, but now, you knew every single word in the language.  You were also fluent in English, Romanian, Spanish, Italian, Chinese, and Latin.  

You learned basic and advanced hand to hand combat skills.  And you were trained by the best in the business.  The Soldat.  The Winter Soldier.  The man lost in time.  He trained you in what the guards called “The Red Room.”  The Soldier trained you in hand to hand combat, firearms, other weapons and other special necessities for missions.  He did his job well, and he transformed you.  

But Natasha became what they wanted her to be quicker than you.  H.Y.D.R.A. dubbed her the first “Black Widow,” with you second.  You and Natasha would spar against each other, but you barely recognized the fact that you used to be friends.  That past, at least you thought, would never come back.  

You did go on missions together, but only 5 times out of all the countless missions you went on.  But most of your missions were solo, easier for you to concentrate on your target.  And sometimes you were accompanied by the legendary Winter Soldier, only if H.Y.D.R.A. didn’t think you would be able to handle it on your own, or with Natasha.  And you never failed a mission once, since you knew what would happen if you did.     

You do not owe them

Your body and your soul

Two, three

Right, two, three

Shut your mouth

Stick your ass out for me (oh)

March, two, three

One, two, three

Who told you you're allowed to think? (yeah)

You were lying in your cot, staring at the oh so entertaining ceiling, memorising the cracks and ridges that only few would spot the details of.  Your hair was splayed out on your pillow.  You were wearing pajamas, although they really weren’t, you just called them that.  They were gray, or maybe a camo-like green?, but you couldn’t really tell from the light hanging over your cell.  Your cell was a gate, on all four sides, allowing for privacy whatsoever, and allowing the guards constant surveillance.  As if the cameras watching your every move weren't enough.  There were even signs on the outside of your cell that said “Cells are under constant video/audio surveillance,” making it feel as if there were millions of eyes on you.

You barely paid attention as you were taken out of your cell and into a training room.  Two soldiers escorted you on the way there.  You changed your clothes in your normal mission outfit.  It was a leather leotard, with an ammo belt and a knife holster.  You were also covered by a leather jacket, also holding tons of more weapons inside.  And you had a gun holster on your thigh, giving you a sexy yet deadly appearance.  

Your feet shuffled on the ground as you made your way to a special room.  One you had never been in before.  But your eyes were glued to the floor, even though you couldn’t see the door in front of you, you had memorised the floorplan of the building, so you always knew where you were.  But now it is different.

Cameras were covering the room.  There were cameras on stands, tables, walls.  Everywhere.  There was a white wall behind you, probably for you to stand in front of.  You guessed they were going to have you film something.  Maybe a weapons demonstration or a fighting video.  The lights on the ceiling were so bright, that they made your eyes stay glued to the floor even more.  

But before you could even comprehend what was going on, the soldiers standing on either side of you now turned you.  Now, you were facing the soldier to the right while your back was facing the soldier on your left.  

The soldier on your right had applied pressure to your gut, making you stick your ass out at the soldier behind you.  Your arms were just lying there beside you, but the soldier behind you had now changed that.  He grabbed your elbows, backing you arch your back even more.  Your arms were in an “L” shape, the soldier holding them not loosening his grip on them.  Then the soldier in front you made one final move.  Since your head was looking at the floor still, he roughly grabbed your chin, making your eyes move from the ground to his spooky mask.  

Then, in one swift motion, both of the guards had turned you back to the cameras.  Your eyes looked down once more, before eyeing the camera right in front of you.  Your eyes, clouded with numbness, looked blankly at the cameras in the room, watching your every move.  

Then, the guard on your left gave you a gun.  A loaded 22-Magnum.  Then he pointed to the left side of the room, where there was a giant bullseye, waiting for you to put bullet holes in it.  The guard on your left did that same thing, handing you another pistol and pointing to another target, this time on his side.  Then they both moved out of the way for you to do your thing.  

You made sure they were both out of the way before you started shooting your intended targets.  A thought crossed your head, that you should just shoot the guards and make a run for it.  But, many cons floated into your head at the same time.  For starters, there were more guards in the building so you wouldn’t stand a chance alone.  Two, you would most certainly need help, but with Natasha a prisoner as well, you would need to plan a way for you to get her and yourself out of there safely.  

As soon as your thoughts evaporated out from your skull, you imagined the targets as the soldiers, wishing that you could just escape from this hellhole.  

Your precision is unmatched.  Only one person could rival you: Natasha.  Only one person outmatched you: The Winter Soldier.  But you were on top right now.  You didn’t even have to look at the targets to get a perfect bullseye on both sides.  Your anger was rising in you as you imagined taking down all of H.Y.D.R.A.  Your determination was showing as you paid more attention to your aim, making sure you wouldn’t miss one shot.  Cause you would mentally hurt yourself, saying you were trained for this and that you shouldn’t miss even one.  But you would all be physically hurt, by H.Y.D.R.A.  

Then you did a superb move, one that would make even the Soldat envy you.  You tossed both guns behind your back, timing the throw so that you could catch both guns with ease, and you spun around in a circle, your left foot pivoting like a ballerina. (Fun fact: you also trained in ballet when you were younger.  The people training you said that it would make you more limber, flexible, and a harder opponent.)  You were being recorded, so you wanted to show H.Y.D.R.A. who exactly they were messing with.  You caught the gun tossed by your right hand and it held it in your left and vice versa.  You got down on your left knee and crossed your arms in front of you, pointing the weapons at the targets once more.   You aimed and fired, and you could hear a pin drop after the sounds of gunfire and the smell of ammo subsided.  

You looked to your left and right and were pleased with the results.  You didn’t look for long though, you knew you were so good and you didn’t need proof.  You blew the smoke coming out of the guns, trying to look like a badass, and it just got the guards agitated that you were wasting time.  So they took the guns away from you before you did something, and carried you back to your cell.  And you began hatching a plan in your head, one to save yourself and your friend.

~~~

Show some skin, make him want you

'Cause God forbid you

Know your own way home

And ask yourself why it matters

Who it flatters

You're more than flesh and bones

Natasha found herself in the same room as you.  Hours later though.  She was training against some pewny soldiers, so she was pretty bored and unimpressed the whole time.  Her red hair was straightened, up to her shoulders, and split down the middle.  She was wearing her signature black catsuit, the one that had tasers attached to the cuffs of her wrists and the one that made her look super curvy and sexy.  

The guards did the same things they did to your body.  But once they were finished, they didn’t give her guns or targets.  They gave her dummies to fight against, to show off her hand-to-hand combat skills for the cameras.  

Natasha liked to have fun, a lot more than you did.  It was her idea to go out to that field all those years ago.  And she still had fun while she was being trained to be an deadly assassin. 

Her type of fun was to tease the soldiers.  Not with words, no.  With movements, physical gestures.  Nothing too serious though.  It was often biting her lip while trying to find the eyes underneath those masks.  Or batting her eyelashes, sticking her hips out, whatever she wanted.  

The guards put up with it, mostly because they liked when she did this and it was something that they could get used to.  But they would never tell.

Today was a little different though.  As she was preparing her tasers and grabbing a pocket knife from her holster, she made noises, explicit noises.  When she was getting her knife, she made it seem as if it was stuck in its holster.  So she moaned, quite loudly, just enough to get the guards attention but quiet enough so that the cameras didn’t pick it up.  She also made one final move before giving the ok.  She lowered the zipper, the one that exposed her breasts.  She lowered it just enough to be eye catching, but not so revealing.  

She got the satisfaction she was hoping for, much to her pleasure.  She caught the guards tilt their heads just a bit, not to be noticed by a normal person.  But when you work for H.Y.D.R.A., nothing ever goes by unnoticed, especially by Natasha.  

She smirked as she delivered blow after blow to the punching bags, tasing them, kicking them, doing whatever she could to impress the people that would be watching her in the future.  She grunted and groaned as she moved, getting some frustration out of her system.  One punch sent the dummy flying across the room.  That was definitely enough to leave a mark.  So, once the guards saw that she stopped moving, they took her back to her cell, just like you.  Natasha had all her fun for today, or so she thought.

~~~

It's just the way it is

Maybe it's never gonna change

But I got a mind to show my strength

And I got a right to speak my mind

Later that night, a plan had formed in your head.  And now was the perfect time to strike.

You had gotten up to use the bathroom, accompanied by one guard, not two this time.  He opened your cell gate for you and followed you inside.  Normally guards let you walk into your cell by yourself.  But as soon as he entered, you knew what he was doing, and now was the time to set your plan in motion.

He pushed your shoulders back, making you sit on your bed.  You sat down on your cot, pretending to be oblivious to his intentions.  He hovered over you for a couple of seconds, before slowly moving closer and closer to you.  

You were in chains, chains that were handcuffs to your wrists and feet, attached by a long chain down the middle.  Giving him the perfect opportunity to show you who is boss.

He started to lean closer to you.  He placed his hands on your shoulders, but now it was your turn to be in control.  You elbowed him on his side and then punched him in the stomach.  He had his mask on, so you couldn't hit him in the face, to your disappointment.  Then you stood up and kneed him in the groin.  He fell to the ground, allowing you to straddle his hips.  You did so and strangled him.  With both of your hands.  His body flinched for a couple more seconds and then he fell limp in your grip.  You quickly made your way off of him and grabbed his key card, to help move around the building more carefully.  By now, the guards watching the cameras saw you and sent more soldiers down to put you in your place.

But you headed to get your outfit, getting ready to fight the battle ahead.  With one last cock of your 22-Magnum, to show it was loaded, you headed out, ready to save you and your friend.

~~~

It's just the way it is

Maybe it's never gonna change

But I got a mind to show my strength

And I got a right to speak my mind

And I'm gonna pay for this

They're gonna burn me at the stake

But I got a fire in my veins

I wasn't made to fall in line

I wasn't made to leave my fate

I'm never gonna fall in line, oh

Natasha had no clue what was going on.  She was just going to the bathroom.  In her catsuit, in chains identical to yours, accompanied by one guard.  As she was walking down the hallway back to her cell, she heard footsteps behind her.  Not from the guard, but they sounded like heels, silentos to be exact.  “Y/N,” she thought.  As she heard your steps get louder, she knew what was going to happen.  She cracked her knuckles, letting you know she was ready.  

You walked closer to Natasha, and it was show time.  Natasha elbowed the guard in the stomach and he doubled over in pain.  As he was clutching his stomach, you stole the taser he had in his pocket and used it on him.  He fell to the ground and was knocked out cold.   

As soon as you used the taser on him, you took the keys from the previous guard and used one of the keys to unlock Natasha from her cuffs.  

You guys just had to walk a little bit further and then you were free.  Free from this hellhole.  Free from this life of torture and killing and suffering.  Now the two of you could actually live.  

All the guards H.Y.D.R.A. had in the building had gone up against you, so there was nobody left to fight.  And it made it easier and faster to escape.

You found a ladder leading up to an entrance in the ceiling.  A not so secret entrance.  Natasha headed up the ladder first and you were close behind.  But as she disappeared from the ladder, you gave one last look at the hallway.  At the memories you had here.  You were a completely different person than when you first came here.  You were a child.  Now, you are a young adult.  Now you were free, not an assassin who wasn’t able to choose when to kill.  Now you were free, with your best friend by your side.

But you had one thought, almost preventing you from being happy about your new life.  The Soldat.  He was still here, still being tortured, abused, being a living science experiment.  You felt bad for him.  You knew he was being made into a killing machine for decades now, and it pained you to think if that was you.  You would probably give up fighting the Winter Soldier mentality and just kill yourself.  To see him fight it for such a long amount of time was heroic for you.  If you and Natasha could get out of here, you knew he would.  And you hoped he would escape someday.  He deserved it, the world and more.

Your thoughts were interrupted as you heard Natasha calling your name from the surface.

“Coming!” you said, following the ladder up to the ground above you.

You realized how surreal everything was about the world above.  You and Natasha had resurfaced back to the place you were taken all those years ago.  It was deja vu.  The sky was the bright blue it had been on the day you left, the clouds were just as puffy and white, the trees were just as strong and tough, the flowers were just as colorful and vibrant.  

You both felt like you walked into a dream, but it wasn’t a dream.  It was a long forgotten memory.

But as you both realized you escaped, you both beamed at each other.  You guys smiled for the first time in years.  And it felt amazing.  You grabbed each other in a tight embrace, one that was long overdue.  And you just stayed like that for hours.  You gave each other eskimo kisses here and there, but you just needed to feel each other after all those years for not being able to say a word to each other and not being able to hug one another.  No words were said.  All the words were being said in the longest hug you had ever given and received.  

[straightouttaneptune]

It girl pt. 6 - They know

Pairing: Mentor!Natasha Romanoff x Mentee!Reader, Platonic!Avengers x reader, Peter Parker x Reader

Warning: This chapter is just angst. Maybe a little fluff in the end if you squint hard enough. But the Bonus Scenes are pure fluff. xx

Summary: Natasha had once joked about picking a random new recruit trainee to teach all her skills since Tony had recently become Peter’s mentor. Fury sees this as a legitimate idea, and asks Natasha to choose her protège, code name: “it girl”.

A/N: The long-ass series has finally come to an end. Thank you to all the supporters, and please stay till the end if you wanna read some deleted scenes ;)

Prologue  Part 1  Part 2  Part 3  Part 4  Part 5

———————————————————————

The remaining Avengers returned to the compound completely defeated, no one dared to utter a word as they retreated. For the first time in many years, they lost. Tony's whereabouts were still unknown, and the only string of hope left was the pager that Fury left behind. 

The encounter with Carol Danvers, Tony returning to Earth weak and crushed, it only furthered their sorrow. The realization that Thanos had committed mass-murder on the universe, and they couldn't do anything to stop him. Even their last hope burned out, as Thanos had already gotten rid of the stones.

Natasha coped with losing you like how she always did. Built a thicker wall around her than before, spent her time in the gym and working. Every time she walked by your room in the compound, her mind replayed your smaller figure, twirling around the room in the ballgown you found in the closet. 

She opens the door to land her eyes on the closet door, which you took the liberty of painting the Black Widow logo on it. She wipes a stray tear with her thumb, her soft sniffles loud in the soundless room.

Because of her devoted work, the orphans were safe with shelter and food. The Avengers was running smoothly even though the men just abandoned their work. When the sun shone through the glass walls and the light reflected off of her computer, it was fine. But once the moon rose in the dark night, her ears played cruel tricks on her, making her hear the little hums and laughs of yours. 

"Natashen'ka. That's actually a pretty cool nickname, Ms. Nat."

"Haha, anything to get you to stop calling me 'Ms. Nat'."

During nights like this, she often found herself in the Philosophic room you spent so much time in, looking at little notes and gadgets left behind by you. MINT was a great listener, showing Natasha multiple mini videos of you blowing things up and freaking out. 

You allowed yourself into Natasha's heart in the short span of a year, and she found herself welcoming you into her fragile heart like a daughter she never had. In the 5 years without you, she never forgot about you. She didn't put the stocked up cookies in your cupboard away, and she didn't even think of cleaning up your room in the compound. 

But more and more, she started to heal herself, gradually coming to softly smile when she saw your bedroom door instead of crying.

But everything changed when Scott Lang pulled up into the Avengers Compound, with what seemed like an impossible plan to save the universe. She couldn't give that chance up. Even if it was a one in a million possibility, she wanted to give you a second chance. You were an extraordinary girl, and you were going to do great things someday. She knew that ever since she appointed you 'it girl' of the Avengers.

So she had to speak up when Tony rejected her, Steve and Scott's idea. 

"Tony, think about the kids. Our kids. Please, think about it." Tony instantly understood what kids she was talking about, and his hardened face faltered.

"Our kids are gone." Tony went back into his house, clearly rattled. It was evident that Tony had a hard time dealing with Peter's death like Natasha had with you. 

Which was why it came as no surprise to Natasha when Tony came back to the compound, with his time heist machine all figured out. The one she didn't expect, though, was being in this situation. 

"Natasha, you can't. Y/N needs you." Clint sobbed, being held up by Natasha's grappling hook. He tightened his grip on her, who only had Clint to hold on to from falling to her death. 

"She's strong, Clint. She's- so strong." She choked back a sob, readying herself for what she was going to do. 

"No, no... Damn you!" Clint's eyes shot up to the ominous clouds, taunting him to let go of his best friend. 

"Let me go." Natasha looked at him in the eyes, pure determination in her eyes. Her mind replayed every moment of her life, trying to remember every Avenger's smiling faces and carving them in her mind. 

"It's okay." She snaked her hands away from his, kicking against the cliff to jump off. She felt her stomach drop from the fall, her beautiful smile gracing on her lips. She closed her eyes and imagined you, your big doe eyes looking up at her with a twinkle in your gaze. She couldn't remember why you looked so happy, but your smile never left her as the air from her lungs got knocked out, followed by falling into a long, sweet sleep. 

Clint could only watch as she fell, hitting the ground lifelessly. Tears fell down his cheeks, sobbing uncontrollably before he fell unconscious as well. 

☾

As soon as you walked out of that portal, the first person you looked for was Natasha. When you couldn't seem to locate where she was, you just assumed that she was somewhere in the big crowd. The battlefield was big, and it was normal for you to not be able to see your teammate. 

You were left clueless, even as you watched Tony's life end before your eyes. You held Peter in a tight embrace, balancing him while his shoulders trembled as he cried for the fallen hero. You walked in silence as Steve carried Tony into what remained of the compound, still too busy comforting Peter to notice Natasha wasn't there. No one wanted to tell you, for they saw how broken Peter looked then, and they didn't want to do this to you too.

But ultimately, when Peter moved from you to beside Tony, you glanced around to look for and hug Natasha. Only then, did Clint work up the courage to tell you the truth. You stood in front of him for a few second unmoving, your mind completely frozen and malfunctioning. 

"She-she sacrificed herself for the stones." 

"No." Your hand flew up to your mouth, shaking your head as tears pooled in your eyes. The tip of your nose burned, and you found yourself falling on your knees. Your knees sunk into the dirt, teardrops threatening to spill. You let out a strangled cry, muffled by your hands. Steve was right by your side, pulling you into a hug as you broke down in his arms. 

"I know, Y/N, I know." Steve was one of Natasha's best friends, and he was one of the first people you met in the compound. He understood the pain, that hopelessness of realizing that you'd never be able to see her again. 

“Natashen'ka.” You mumbled in between sobs, tears soaking Steve's tac suit. But he didn't mind, he stayed on the ground crying with you. 

You cried yourself to sleep that night, and only in your dreams did you find a little peace. That only lasted so long before you were woken up by Steve, who handed you a white letter and a cup of tea. 

You thanked Pepper mentally for giving you a clean change of clothes, walking out of Tony's cabin in the crisp weather. Peter sat on the porch, looking out into the small lake. 

"Hi, Pete." You greeted, your usual chirpy tone gone. 

"Y/N. I'm so glad you're okay." Even though the loss, he still smiled at you, pulling you into a warm embrace. 

"I'm glad you're okay too, Peter." You sighed into his neck, comforted by his usual scent and the feeling of his chest against you. 

Later in the day when the Avengers were all gone to mourn in their own ways, you climbed atop the roof to collect yourself and read Natasha's letter.

My it girl.

If you ever read this, I won’t be around anymore, I’m guessing.

“Ohmygod! I DID IT!!” You squealed and jumped, eyes burning into the perfect shot at the paper shooting board.

“That was amazing!” Natasha laughed, your energy radiating off and rubbing onto her.

“You're already better than Thor.” She traced the bullet hole, grinning brightly back at you. You felt laughter bubbling in your gut, your mind replaying that one time Thor had to try shooting an enemy in battle. He crushed the poor magnum with his iron grip, letting out strings of curse words saying Midguardian weapons were too tiny.

I want you to know that- god, this sounds cheesy. But, you’re my legacy, Y/N.

I’ve done many things in my life. You know that. 

But I can say with certainty, that the best thing I ever did, was choosing you that day.

“I’m sorry! Ms. Nat, please.” Your eyes welled with fresh tears, tugging onto Natasha’s suit sleeves desperately.

“I told you that it was too dangerous.” She turned back around at you and sighed, glaring at the now destroyed HYDRA hideout.

“I’m sorry. I just thought-“

“Thought that you could go in there and save everyone?”

“That’s what you would’ve done!”

“But you can’t do the things I’d do! If anything happened to you, I-“ She trailed off, hands flying up to her head, slicking back her debris-filled hair in annoyance.

“I wouldn’t know what to do then.”

So don’t cry, my Y/N.

Because I’m not gone.

I’m still here.

By your side, always.

You felt like your heart was being beaten with sharp blades over and over again, but you found it in yourself to smile at the letter. By your side, always. You gulped down another wave of intense sobs, looking up at the bright sky. 

You wanted nothing more than for Natasha to pull you in a hug, for her to feed you Wanda's cookies to stop you from crying. Your heart felt empty, glassy eyes searching for purpose in the cloudless blue sky. 

"Y/N." You turned around to see Peter, standing a few feet away from you with a concerned look. He walked over to you and sat down, wordlessly wrapping his arm your shoulder and letting you lean into him. 

"I wish they had a way to know that we're safe, alive because of them." You whispered, afraid that your voice would crack if you spoke. 

"They know." 

BONUS DELETED SCENES

A collection of scenes that were actually written in the stories, but got cut because some of them didn't make sense.

"Where are you two going?" Tony caught you and Peter trying to sneak into one of SHIELD's jets, and you giggled as you turned around. 

"Busted..." Peter grinned at you, the two of you trying to suppress your laughs.

"We're going to... well, see dem aliens." You said suddenly serious, determined eyes locked with Tony's. 

"What?" 

"It's the area 51 raid, sir!" Peter almost screamed, way too excited for his own good. 

"But I own area 51? People are going to raid my property?!" Tony shrieked, running away back into the compound. 

--

"Y/N, who do you think is better looking, me or the spawn of Satan?" Sam rushed up to you, smiling as he pointed at himself, then Bucky.

"Spawn of Satan?" You questioned, watching Bucky with a flower crown eating plums innocently. 

"It's me, right? Hey, Y/N said it's me!" Sam ran away yelling, Bucky narrowing his eyes at you. You raised your hand up, shaking your head confused.

--

"So, the gossip is, Bucky and Steve are totally into each other." Wanda pointed out as she took a bite out of her cookie. 

"Fascinating." You nodded, eyes focused on Wanda dishing out all of the Avengers' gossip.

"But Tony and Steve were like a thing before, so that caused this whole Civil War."

"I don't think-" Vision furrowed his artificial brows and tried to intervene, but Sam shushed him and Wanda continued.

"Oh! Do you want me to spill the tea on Thor and Bruce?"

"Spill!"

--

"So, Y/N. What do you think about Peter?" Natasha's voice had a hint of mischievousness in it, making you redden immediately. " You can't lie to a spy, Y/N."

"I think he's a great friend." Maybe an average person may not have been able to lie to her, but you were fantastic at manipulation. Short reply usually indicated that the speaker was telling the truth, rather than a long explanation.

"Hmm... Okay, then. You won't mind if I told you he likes you. Such a shame..."

"He likes me?" Ugh! A slip-up. She knew now. 

"I knew it! TONY!!" She skipped out of your room and left you internally panicking. 

--

"I say we watch gone with the wind today." It was the Avengers movie night, and you were on the couch snuggled next to Peter. Tony prepared the snacks, which meant that it was as perfect as it could be. You didn't know that there was a limited flavor ice cream named after Tony until today.

"Steve, we've watched that movie 4 times this week."

"It's a great movie!"

"Why don't we watch justice league?" Clint said, making everyone turn to him with crazy looks in their eyes. 

"It's way too dark." You said, shaking your head. 

"But it's supposed to be-" Before Clint could protest, you shook your head.

"No, I mean it's literally too dark. I can't see a goddamn thing."

The Avengers laughed and nodded in agreement, going back to searching for a good movie. 

"Steve, she said a bad language word." Tony squeaked out, and everyone burst out laughing as Steve shook his head. 

"This is literally never going away, Rogers." Natasha chuckled before she took a swig out of her beer bottle. 

--

Thank you so much for reading 'it girl', to every reader who liked/commented/asked to be on taglist, you guys motivated me to continue this far to chapter 6. I hope the ending wasn't too brutal. If it's any consolation, in this story I intended for Steve to stay in the present. Love you muffins xx  - Your Nep<3

Taglist: @mindset-jupiter @fangirlingisajob @theadventurousqueen @janekfoster @ballerboobitch @the-lady-cersei-lannister @golden--rain @dollofbucky @sakuranomegami @elizabeth-santana-98 @anne2cold @eyeballtoes @marvel-is-a-mood @roseryss @redqueenstorm @orchideax @huntersociopathavenger @petertinglessss @marv-ells @hopefuloperaangelnerd @je11yfishwriter @iloveyou3000morgan @kewl-r @missmulti @grace-barnes-13 @samarcher79 @slow-dance-in-the-dark @intricate-melody @editsbyjenny @brenleestar @a-vvenger @princessizzy36 @sweetcrvture @itsbebeyyy @caws5749 @thenerdiverse @captainam-erika-trash @shutuppeter @dark-night-sky-99 @weirdo-in-the-closet @s2pidhead @sofka-0610 @queen-destenie @nerdypartytrashpsychic @tywys

[pynkhues]

5 and 11 from the October prompt list! 🙃

“I might just kiss you.” / “It’s not always like this.” 

+ anon prompt: Alright I know you probably have a bunch of these but I have a prompt for Playing House. Prompt: Rio has a really tough day at work(like real shitty) and Beth senses it even though he tries to put on a brave face for her and the kids. She does/plans something to make him feel special and loved.

(This was actually originally just based on your prompt, @lilliloves, but anon prompted this today and it fit wonderfully, so I hope you both don’t mind sharing!) 

Set in The Centre and Circumference / Domestic Fic universe

(Early-ish. Probably three or four months after I Could Be Your Welcome + See You in the Light)

-

There’s blood at his knuckles.  

Ain’t the first time, and he’s sure it won’t be the last, but still – he finds his gaze fixed briefly on it anyway, flexing his hand, feeling the ache in it already. His skin ain’t split though, which means the blood belongs to the guy in front of him, this wiry fuck who’s already spat out two of his teeth on the floor between them, drool oozin’ out of his mouth, so thick with blood it’s almost black, and ain’t that a picture, Rio thinks, resting back into his heels.

His gaze flicks to Demon, and it’s all it takes for him to start rolling the silencer onto his gun.   

“No, please,” Vinny moans, squirming back against the chair, hiccupping, feet leavin’ smears of dirt against the concrete floor of the warehouse. “I’ve got a family, I’ve got kids.”  

And sure, Rio thinks, rolling his head back towards Vinny, keepin’ his face carefully blank. There’s a chill in the air, but Rio ain’t feelin’ it, not in here, not with the heat of the fight still thunderin’ through his veins, not with the righteous fury still boilin’ in his gut because shit, none of them should even be here, none of them would if it wasn’t for Vinny. Rio raises an eyebrow, pulling his expression into a look of faux care.

“Yeah?”  

“Yeah, yes, they - - I have - - my eldest is barely six years old. You know Emily. She’s just started school, she - -”   

“You think about her when you stole my product?” Rio asks, voice lowly drawlin’. “You think about that little girl when you took out the connect?”  

At least that’s enough to shut the fucker up, leave him splutterin’ on his own blood like he’s bein’ waterboarded, and Rio just watches him. Watches the lines of his throat twitch, his blackened eye swelling shut. He remembers getting shawarma with the guy. Remembers beers at Cisco’s. Thinks he might even remember the guy’s daughter for real – blonde, dimpled, all puppy fat cute like one of his sister’s old Cabbage Patch Dolls.  

Mostly though he remembers this fuckin’ trip. Remembers sending this guy, days ago, out to pick up pills from Marta in Canada only to hear that the pills were gone and Marta was dead, and this fuck was nowhere to be found, and shit.  

Marta had kids too.  

“Rio, man, please. I fucked up, I know that, I - -”  

Rio gives Demon the nod.   

*

Demon offers him a cigarette, but Rio shakes his head, pulling his keys out of the back pocket of his jeans as he watches Diego hurl his guts up onto the concrete a few steps away. Kid’s pretty new – can’t be much older than 21, but both Dags and Bullet had vouched for him. Said he was loyal, quiet, got the job done. They’d worked with him on one of their smaller side hustles, and Rio figured what the hell. New blood could be good for the operation. This sorta trial was always good for the new intake too��– let them see what waited for ‘em if they got in their egos, if they thought they could pull one over.  

And Rio had been impressed enough. The kid hadn’t complained, had helped get Vinny here, even thrown a few good punches and helped Demon clean the body of any prints or DNA before gettin’ rid of it. The vomitin’ was a good sign too, for a kid this green. Death should matter. Should scare you. It means you treat it serious. Means you ain’t cappin’ people without cause.

It’s what keeps you kickin’.  

“A drink then. Fuck, I need one,” Demon says, and Rio flicks his gaze back to him. “Back to the hotel?”  

And he probably should. Their rooms are already booked, paid for. They’ve been stayin’ there for a few nights – had crossed the border and holed up as soon as Rio had gotten word of Marta, knowin’ just how quick they had to move to pull Vinny out before he could burrow too deep. Knew how quickly this situation needed handlin’.  

Elizabeth hadn’t liked it.  

Had done that thing where she’d tried to come with him – goin’ so far this time as to pack a bag and put it in the trunk of his car, plant herself in the passenger seat, and he’d practically had to drag her outta the thing. It hadn’t been until he’d told her she needed to stay to look after the dealership, the drops, keep business runnin’ that she’d agreed (although she’d still been prickly at that).  

Truth was, it hadn’t just been business – although he couldn’t exactly deny it’d been good not to have to worry about it, to trust her enough to keep it runnin’ smoothly. Hadn’t even just been about the house neither, although it had been about that too. The kids were still gettin’ used to the new house and the new routine after all, especially hers, and he’s learnt fast how quick those seeds of guilt plant in her when it comes to them, knows how easily they grow, how ripe their fruits are, had known how twisted up she’d get herself if anythin’ happened while they were in Canada and the kids were in Detroit with her sister or her friend or - - worse - - that dumbass ex of hers.  

Nah, it wasn’t just that.  

What it was was he didn’t like her on these jobs.  

Didn’t like her reckless ass ignorin’ plans or mouthin’ off, didn’t like her stormin’ into situations like that face and that body was some sort of armor, and, hell, didn’t like none of these guys lookin’ at that face and that body. Didn’t like them seein’ her, didn’t like them standin’ so close to her, didn’t like the fact that he dreamt of it sometimes. That clenched jaw of hers, somebody else’s gun underneath it, somebody who didn’t have anythin’ stoppin’ them from pullin’ the trigger, and just - -  

Shit.  

Rio rubs at his head.  

He does want a drink. 

More than that, he wants a fuck. Wants to release this livewire of tension in him, wants to lose himself in a body underneath him, but the only body he wants is Elizabeth’s, and he could drive home tonight, but that would mean talkin’ to her. Would mean gussyin’ up to her Bambi-eyed interrogation.  

She’d be in her ugly ass pyjamas, he thinks, and the picture of it comes too quickly.  

Probably the ones he hates the most. The cream satin ones with those little orange flowers. Sittin’ up in their bed, nipples hard, pokin’ up through her shirt, those pale cheeks of hers flushed pink, her eyes a little wet, her hair a mess, waitin’, breathless, for him, and - -  

He snorts.  

Who’s he kidding?   

More likely angrily scrubbin’ dishes at 2am and ready to ask him a million questions he don’t wanna answer. 

Shit. 

Marta and Vinny.  

“You know Vinny’s family?” Rio asks, turning back towards Demon, who nods. “Send ‘em the usual?”  

“50g? You wanna send it cash or wire transfer?”  

Rio tilts his head from side-to-side, considering.  

“Cash,” he decides. “Send a hundred to Marta’s. Deliver it in person. We’re gonna need a new connect for the pills.”  

Demon just hums in affirmation, flicking ash off the end of his cigarette, before he says: “I’ll stick around a few days. Get it sorted. Take it this means it’s a no for the drink?”  

Rio blinks, surprised, hadn’t even quite realised that that was what he was doing, but as soon as Demon’s said it, he knows he’s right.  

Thing is, it ain’t even like Elizabeth’s the first woman he’s wanted to lose himself in after bad days, just it’s barely even about fucking her at this point. Just - - he wants to bury himself in her until she’s all he can smell, until the taste of her skin is hot on his tongue, until he’s close enough to her he can count her eyelashes, and shit, that ain’t a thought he’s used to. Ain’t even one he’s particularly comfortable with.  

Just - - he thinks of another cold night in the hotel alone and tense, and then thinks about bein’ home instead, thinks of her asleep, thinks of not wakin’ her to postpone her questions and the inevitable argument, thinks of crawlin’ into bed beside her, layin’ his head on her breast, the softness of her beneath him remindin’ him of all the ways he ain’t, her heartbeat fluttering beneath his ear, the way, only half awake, she runs her nails down his scalp, the way she smooths her too-smooth fingers at the base of his neck, and it’s urgent suddenly. The need in him.  

He could be there in two hours.  

“Call me tomorrow, yeah? Let me know how you go? Keep Diego with you. Show ‘im the ropes.”  

Demon makes an acknowledging gesture with his hand, and Rio heads out into the night.  

* 

The house is dark when he pulls up, the only light comin’ from the back porch because Elizabeth swears it makes her feel safe (like the half a million dollar security system he bought doesn’t), and it means she’s not expecting him. Means she might actually be asleep. Means maybe she took him seriously for a change when he told her to stop waitin’, stop callin’, that he’d back when it was over.  

He slips into the house, disarming the security system and beelining for the laundry. He kicks his shoes off, washes his face, his bruised hands in the sink, before filling it to soak his bloodied clothes in, adding the disinfectant from the cupboard, and stripping off to his boxer briefs there and then. It had been at Elizabeth’s insistence the first time he’d done this that they add the lock to the laundry room door, just to keep the kids out, and he’s glad for it now, for the ability to leave his shirt there, reddening the water, without worry.  

Running a hand over his face, he grabs a pair of sweats and a t-shirt from the pile of clean laundry in the basket, steps out, fixes himself a drink at the bar cart in the living room, finishes it there alone, trying to steady his hands, his breath, to calm his frayed nerves before he allows himself the comfort of bein’ beside her. Tries to wrestle out of the maw of the last few days, of Vinny’s slack jaw and Marta in a body bag, scrubbing briefly at his face and finishing the last of his drink before starting up the stairs towards bed.  

There’s somethin’ to be said there about the moonlight through the window, the too soft glow of the night outside of here, softening everything in its path, and Elizabeth is right there in the middle of it, curled up on her side in their bed, her hair fanned out against their pillows, bags beneath her eyes like she hasn’t slept well in days, which - - fuck, somethin’ in him twists at the thought, but then – right there, nestled into her chest, is Marcus.  

It’s enough to make Rio stop in the doorway, dig his arm into the doorframe, enough it might leave a mark, enough it pinches. He should leave him, he thinks, slide into bed beside ‘em and leave it be, but then - -  

Vinny’s blood is thick on his hands tonight, the weight of him heavy on his back, and he needs Marcus just - - away from it. Away from him, at least until the mornin’ comes, at least until he’s had the time to put this night behind him, to wash the stench of it off, and shit, he thinks, almost crawling out of his skin, leg jittery with tension beneath him. This ain’t somethin’ to be shared, not with him.  

He strides quietly over to the bed, gently tugging his son out of Elizabeth’s arms, relieved more than anything when Marcus comes easily. He lifts him up, carrying him quietly down the hall and flipping on the light to his bedroom. It’s neat at least, which makes it easy to take him down, to flip over the sheets of his bed and lower his son into them. His head’s barely hit the pillow when suddenly big, dark eyes are bein’ turned on him, the kid’s little mouth fallin’ open like a spell.  

“Daddy?”  

“Go to sleep, pop,” Rio hums, and when Marcus tries to sit up, he gently pushes him back down.  

“You’re home!”  

“Nuh, but I will be tomorrow. You’re dreamin’ right now, yeah?” he keeps his voice low, dulcet, brushes his hands through Marcus’ hair, tucking him back down beneath the covers. “Faster you fall asleep, faster you’ll wake up, faster I’ll be home.”  

And he doesn’t think the kid really believes it, but still, Marcus hums sleepily, happily, back at him, his eyes driftin’ shut again and Rio just - - watches him. Watches the rise and fall of his chest and the flutter of his eyelashes and he thinks how easily he could never see it again, like Marta won’t, like Vinny, and just - - shit.

He rubs a hand hard over the back of his head.

Not worth thinkin’ about now, he tells himself, slipping back out of his bedroom and heading back towards his own. It’s only then that the exhaustion really catches up with him – hits him square between the shoulders like somethin’ out of a cartoon, and he swipes at his forehead as he heads back towards their bed, gaze only flicking up to see Elizabeth sleepin’ soundly, the soft curve of her body like an invitation, and his eyes travel too easily down her, from her peaceful face to the arc of her shoulder and the dip of her waist, the long trail of her legs and - - he just - -  

Stops.  

There’s a lump at the foot of their bed, tangled up in the sheets, and Rio steps slowly towards it, eyeing off the mound of it when the lump squirms back suddenly, and shit, Rio thinks. He rolls his eyes, reaches for the blankets, lifting it just in time to see Jane peer back up at him, dubby in her fist, her little face scrunched up, half hidden in a bunny rabbit onesie and it must be a hand-me-down from Emma, because she’s swimmin’ in it.  

“’ey,” he hums, and Jane blinks up at him, bright eyed, before she pants like a dog, wiggles her butt, goes to bark, but Rio frowns, pushes a finger to his lips and jerks his head to where Elizabeth is sleeping. 

“Don’t wake your mama up. C’mon.”  

He holds his hands out for her to leap into, only she pulls her face into a little scowl, shaking her head.  

“No,” Jane growls, and Rio rolls his eyes again, frustration sparking in his belly.  

“I ain’t playin’, darlin’, c’mon. It’s way past bedtime.”  

And Jane just - - shit, she sticks out her tongue, and Rio exhales sharply, feels the stress of the day and the exhaustion of tonight press hard at his temples, but he smooths out his expression as best he can, reachin’ over to her, only she’s trying to tangle herself up in her mother’s legs, and Jesus, Elizabeth must be real tired if this don’t even wake her. Before Jane can get herself too wrapped up, Rio moves closer, pluckin’ her out of bed by the back of her onesie and pulling her unceremoniously away from Elizabeth.  

He intends to lift her straight up into his arms and walk her to bed like he’d just done Marcus, but Jane starts thrashin’ the second she’s in the air, and shit, Rio grunts and then he’s gotta loosen his grip or he might accidentally hurt her, but loosenin’ his grip only serves to make Jane spring off the bed and sprint down the hallway in a flurry of pink fleece and animal ears. Behind him, Elizabeth stirs, and Rio’s head whips around, waiting for her to resettle before he moves quietly to the doorway. Jane’s standing at the top of the stairs, her little face peering out from beneath her bunny rabbit hood, and Rio frowns at her, gesturing his head to her bedroom.  

Jane shakes her own head furiously in reply, and Rio exhales sharply, stepping out into the hallway, unsurprised when Jane retaliates by clutching at the railing and starting down the stairs, and shit, he thinks, picking up his step. The booties on her pyjamas are so big she’s gonna trip herself up, tumble head-first over them. He moves quickly enough to grab her underneath the arms and when she starts to yelp and thrash again, he spins her quickly in his arms, until they’re practically nose-to-nose.  

“What’d you want?” he asks her, staring her down, because shit, his nerves ain’t here for tantrums tonight, and Jane just looks back at him, long and hard, little jaw rockin’, and this kid really is somethin’ else, and as much as he hates to admit it, if he were in a better mood, he might be amused.  

“Special drink,” Jane settles on, and Rio arches an eyebrow at her, about to tell her it ain’t the time, but then - - shit, Elizabeth’s concoction of milk heated on the stove, honey, cloves and cinnamon really does seem to knock ‘em out. Maybe he can ground in a Nyquil to help. 

“Then you go to your bed?”  

Jane nods, and Rio does too, resignedly pushing her onto his hip and taking the stairs two at a time until he hits the bottom. He thinks about just depositing Jane on the couch, lettin’ her watch somethin’ bland and g-rated on the TV, but then he doesn’t really trust her not to sneak up the stairs, back beneath Elizabeth’s arm, and if she gets there again, Rio’s knows he’s gonna be subjectin’ himself to the couch.  

So he deposits her on a stool at the kitchen island instead, glancing around the kitchen only to stop when he spots the pot on the stove and the spice packets already on the bench. He walks over, grabbing the pot and looking at the thin rim of milk build-up cooked into the sides of it.  

“Looks like your mama already made special drink,” he says, rinsing out the pot and Jane just shakes her head. 

“She made it for Marcus, not me,” Jane tells him. “She always makes it, so it’s not special anymore. It’s just regular drink.” 

Rio arches an eyebrow, glancing back at her.  

“That right?” he asks. “But it’s special drink when I make it?”  

“Yup.”  

And shit, she might be right. He ain’t ever made it before, and at least the fact that Elizabeth’s already made it for Marcus tonight means the ingredients are there for him. He racks his head for the steps, for the muscle memory of havin’ watched her make this thing a million times before, and - - right, milk on the stove. He grabs a jug from the fridge.  

“Your hand looks funny.”  

Rio glances over at Jane as he moves to flick the stove on, that damn blanket of hers half shoved in her mouth, the floppy rabbit ears of her hood hangin’ down past her shoulder. He looks at his hand and the bruises really are bad – a dark, bloomin’ purple that he knows will only stiffen over the next few days. Will swell and throb and he resists the urge to shake it out.  

“Yeah?” he asks, and Jane rocks her head from side-to-side, considering.  

“It’s like when I felled over. Did you felled over?”  

“Fall,” he corrects, and when he looks over at her, Jane’s blinking at him in confusion, her blue eyes wide, her lips parted. He clarifies: “Did you fall over? Not felled, darlin’.”  

“Did you fall over?” Jane echoes, and Rio turns back to the milk on the stove, reaching for the cinnamon. He looks at his knuckles as he shakes in the spice, and wonders if he should’ve worn gloves, somethin’ that might’ve covered them from view.   

“Somethin’ like that,” he replies, capping the spice cannister, and it takes Jane a minute to reply, like she’s processin’ it, workin’ out what she want to say, and Rio lets her, his gaze fixed down on the way the cinnamon turns the colour of the milk, brownin’ it up. He blinks and sees the cinnamon, he blinks and he sees the blood on Vinny’s pale cheek.

He grabs the packet of cloves.   

“Is that why you went away?”  

Shit, how much of this stuff does Elizabeth usually put in? He shoves a finger into the packet of cloves, nudging them around, and finally scoops out a handful, watchin’ them bob around in the milk.

“What’d your mama say?”  

“That you had to work.”  

“Your mama ever lied to you?”  

“No.”  

“So I was workin’,” he tells her easily, glancing back around to look at her, and it ain’t exactly sudden, seein’ Emily in Jane’s place, propped up at the kitchen island, but it still takes him by surprise, makes him rock his jaw, jerk his head away, try to focus on the simmer of the milk and the sound of Jane’s feet, thumpin’ against the chair.

Jane ain’t Emily, she ain’t gonna lose a parent to this. She - 

“When my daddy goes away for work, he brings us presents home,” Jane says, and Rio snorts.

Okay, maybe she’ll lose one parent to this. Rio can’t exactly say he’s keepin’ Dean off any lists. Shit, might be addin’ him to a few. (Not really, although - - he ain’t rulin’ it out). Still, he shifts his weight back, grabbing a spoon to scoop in some honey.  

“Yeah? Like what?”  

“Like candy or dollies.”  

The honey oozes off the spoon into the milk, like Vinny’s bloodied drool to the concrete floor, and Rio’s voice is duller than he means when he says:

“Huh. Why you think he do that?”  

Jane pauses, and the question must surprise her, her little mouth hangin’ open for a moment, until she shoves the dubby in it instead. Rio has to resist the urge to tug it out, had made that mistake only a few weeks after movin’, had had to endure Jane’s hysterics and Beth’s frustration (“She only started doing it after Dean moved out, it comforts her, just - - leave it, please.”)   

“I don’t know,” Jane replies now around a mouthful of blanket, and Rio hums, grabbing her sippy cup off the strainer and pouring in the milk, making sure it’s not too hot in the process. He puts the top on, and glances at her, considering. He could just give it to her here, but in the end he holds up his hands, and Jane moves easily into them this time, lets him carry her to the couch, lets him hold her as he flops down on it, her body sideways in his lap, cradled in his arms like he’d do when Marcus was a toddler, like he still does sometimes, when he’s sick or needy.  

And it’s funny, coz Jane fits like Marcus used to. Kid had a growth spurt recently after all, overtakin’ even Emma, and it all serves to make Jane all the tinier. Like her aunt, Rio thinks, briefly amused, then – more so, huffing out a laugh – like her mama when she finally pulls her pumps off at the end of the night.

(How big are Marta’s kids? Does he even know?)

“Order’s up,” he tells Jane, passing her the cup and letting her wriggle up until she’s practically using his arm as a hammock, her legs sprawled out across his own. She takes a generous drink only to reel slightly up.  

“Yuck,” she says, spluttering, and Rio groans looking down at her, grabbing the cup and taking a sip, only to cough because shit - - it’s bad. Way too much cinnamon, enough it tastes almost like ash in his mouth, and maybe he’ll just leave it out entirely this time. Can’t fuck up just milk and honey, can he? He moves to get up, to make another, when Jane suddenly snatches at the cup again, clutching the sippy to her chest before shoving the nozzle back into her mouth. “No, I like it.”  

And figures, Rio thinks, arching an eyebrow down at her as she wriggles back against his chest, sucking on the sippy cup, her eyes already half-lidded. He feels his own lids drop too, like they’re playin’ some game of Simon Says (go to sleep), and he could almost doze himself when Jane reaches the hand not holdin’ the cup out to his. She pushes out a tiny pointer finger and taps him on each of his bruised knuckles and he just - - watches her do it. Watches this scrap of Elizabeth play the hand he broke Vinny’s jaw with like a piano.

“Marcus and mommy are upset at you,” she says suddenly, half muffled around the sippy cup, and Rio’s gaze shifts from their hands to her face, but she ain’t lookin’ at him. She’s lookin’ at their hands, and after a minute, he sighs.

“I know,” he tells her. “They don’t like it when I gotta go away like that. I don’t like it neither, but sometimes I just gotta.”  

Jane sucks the nozzle back into her mouth, staring up at him now, her eyes unblinkin’, and he always thinks it’s her sister that looks most like Elizabeth, but this one doesn’t go without, not with the steadiness of her gaze and the set to her jaw.

“It’s three,” she tells him, and Rio blinks down at her.

“What’s three?”  

“Three times you gone away.”  

Whatever he was expecting, it wasn’t that, and Rio stares at her, unblinking now, as Jane holds up her hand.

“Just after we moved here,” she ticks it off on her fingers. “Then the other time, now this time. That’s three.”  

And shit, she ain’t wrong. He mostly thought Jane barely noticed. Not like anyone would ever mistake her for the most perceptive of Elizabeth’s kids (not that any of ‘em really are), but Jane’s all energy and distraction and shit. He’s been busy. He’s always busy, and Marcus has never liked it. Never liked the fact that sometimes he just gotta move, gotta bring things back, gotta handle things, but - -  

“It’s not always like this,” he says, and Jane looks up at him, and there are too many expressions that pass over her round little face – disbelief and childish frustration until it finally settles on somethin’ else, somethin’ softer, less certain, somethin’ he ain’t seen on her face, at least not somethin’ he’s seen directed at him.  

“You didn’t say bye,” she says finally, her voice small, and Rio exhales, annoyed.  

“I did, darlin’,” because he did. Shit, got to fight about it with Elizabeth and leave Marcus red faced and weepy, made sure of that, but then - -  

He looks at Jane and any self-righteousness dies on his tongue.

“Not to you though, huh?” he says softly, and Jane shuffles back into his arm, presses her forehead into his chest, out of sight, the nozzle of the sippy cup sucked into her mouth like a bottle, keeps herself looking away from him, and Rio exhales. He looks down at his bruised hands, then at her feet, where the booties of her onesie hang limply down the side of the couch, her feet lost somewhere in the legs of the thing, the hood of it hangin’ so far down her face it almost covers her eyes, and he reaches up to tug it back, just enough he can see her.  

“’m sorry. Think maybe I’m still gettin’ used to this,” he says, because he hadn’t said goodbye to any of Elizabeth’s kids. Had trusted her to do it for him, had treated them like they were just a part of her, but - -

They ain’t.

They’re - -

Well.

Fuck.

Jane looks up at him, her eyes a little glassy and just - - he ain’t sure what that is, the feelin’ in his gut, hollowing itself out. “Can you be the first one I say hey to instead?”  

She makes a show of turnin’ it over, her squirming against his chest and drinkin’ that goddamn awful drink he’s made her, but then she nods, and Rio tugs on one of her rabbit ears.  

“’ey, Jane,” he says quietly. “You been good for your mama while I been gone?”    

And she grins a little at that, shakes her head into his chest again, giggling before she can stop herself, and Rio smiles too, but rolls his eyes.  

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.”  

He almost reaches out to her, but before he gets the chance to, Jane wriggles up his body, curls her arms around his neck, and Rio leans down, scooping her up closer, feeling her collapse sleepily into his chest, still slurping at that drink, and hell if that ain’t commitment. He exhales a laugh, dropping a hand to her back, and it practically takes up the width of it, and he can’t say what he feels, feelin’ the rise and fall of her chest against his, her snufflin’ breaths against his shoulder.

And it’s hard enough, but then he exhales and he hears Vinny’s last one, and his hand tightens on her back, and he just - -

Needs to put her to bed.

Needs her safe and happy and dreamin’ of her mama and Paw Patrol and out of his nightmares, and when he stands up this time, starts up the stairs, when he finally does put her to bed, she don’t make a sound.

And then just, tuckin’ her in - - all his energy’s gone, sapped out of him, and any jittery tension he’d needed to lose has gone cold in his chest, left him pulled thin and stretched out, and shit, he thinks, rubbing furiously at his forehead, it’s just - -

Just is, he reminds himself.

There wasn’t a way around it. Not a way that’d keep him and his safe.   

And he can do this for his ma, he can do it for his sisters, he can do it for his son.

Can do it for Elizabeth and her kids too.

Can - - he exhales, leavin’ the thought alone, pulling his hand away from his face, grabbin’ the sippy cup from Jane’s iron grip instead and droppin’ it to her bedside table so it don’t soak through her sheets, flickin’ on her nightlight before slipping out of her room.

And it figures, that Elizabeth would be awake now, when he finally gets back to their (freshly) childfree bedroom, her blue eyes blinkin’ sleepily back at him, from her - -

Nah, he realises, his pillow.

“You put the kids to bed?” she whispers, pushing herself up onto her elbow, and Rio nods stripping off his t-shirt, arching his back, hearing it crack.

“You’re home earlier than I thought you’d be,” she adds, and Rio nods, padding over to the bed. He should leave his sweats on, knows he should, but for whatever reason, he can’t quite make himself. Just wants to be rid of them, rid of his underwear, rid of all of it. Wants to shower, but doesn’t have the energy to, so instead he just strips everythin’ off, sliding into bed beside Elizabeth.  

She doesn’t complain for a change, doesn’t squawk or pout or nag him to put his clothes back on. She just watches him, her blue eyes too clear, her features drawn.  

“Is it done?” she asks, and Rio sighs.  

“Would I be home if it weren’t?”  

It’s sharper than he means it to be and she looks a little wounded, and Rio exhales, because shit, he’s the one who don’t want this fight. Just looks at her for a moment, and it ain’t fair, that she can look this sweet, that her eyes and her body can sing like a siren in the night, callin’ for him across borders, across countries, callin’ him home, and he reaches a hand to touch her face because he wants to - - needs to feel her, but shit, it was the wrong move, because she’s gaspin’, grabbin’ his hand instead, a high-pitched sound escaping her throat when she sees how bruised it is.  

“Let me see it.”  

He yanks his hand out of her grip, curling it around her waist instead, pulling her beneath him, entangling their legs, hidin’ his hand half up her pyjama shirt.  

“Are you hurt?” she asks, and he can tell she wants to squirm out of his grip, to try and flip ‘em over so she can look at him properly, find somethin’ to nurse, but she ain’t got a clue how hurt he actually is, so won’t do it, and for once, he don’t want to correct her.  

“Keep askin’ questions and I might just have to kiss you,” he drawls, the to shut you up implied as he nestles his face into her chest, nosing between the buttons on her pyjama shirt so forcefully that the tip of it brushes the inner curve of her breast, inhaling deeply the faint smell of sweat and peach bodywash and that smell beneath it all that’s just her.  

“You say that like it’s a threat,” she replies, the words light, jokin’, but her tone ain’t real, and he knows she’d let him, but he also knows she don’t want him to. That she’d give him sex tonight like a gift, and that’s not how he wants this, not with her, not now. He just - -

Shit, he just wants to hold her, but he don’t know how the fuck to say that.

She inhales above him, a little wet, a little damp, like she might be cryin’ a bit, and she says, “Rio, what – ”  

He sucks in a breath, clenches his eyes shut, hand tightening on her waist.

“Not tonight, darlin’,” he says, his voice hoarse, cutting her off, and then - - because how can he say the rest of it? He just says: “Please.”  

The word hangs between them, and then it’s those too-soft fingers of hers, pressin’ tentatively to the back of his neck, and he exhales, harsh and wet against her breast, sinking his head heavily down against her chest, his mouth open as her fingers firm there and he knows she’ll be back on this shit tomorrow, that he’ll have to tell her somethin’, that he’ll have to make sure that money gets to Marta’s kids and to Vinny’s, that the compensation will be nothin’ but he lets Elizabeth massage the guilt out of his neck for now and finally he lets his eyelids flutter shut.   

[indigosandviolets]

Quest of the Purple Hearts

Pairing: Joseph Liebgott x OC x George Luz

Word Count: 3,386

Summary: The battle of Carentan ensues. Andrew finally gets his Purple Hearts and practices his aim. Luz’s birthday is celebrated on the edge of bad news.

TW: Gore (someone gets shot and a bullet gets removed)

Part Seven of We Happy Few

D-Day + 6

Carentan, France

The outside of Carentan made it look like a ghost town. And by ghost town, Andrew meant a literal ghost town. It was strange — Andrew had expected to hear some sort of German gunfire, maybe some nonsense being yelled, but there was nothing. Just the squeaks of window shutters as they blew in the wind.

So, of course it made sense when Andrew’s heart skipped a beat as he saw Welsh and Luz get fired at and the two men with them go down. He held onto his M-1 and helmet as he accidentally knocked into Shifty as they all dove into the ditches on the side of the road.

“Shit, where did they come from?” Andrew said, not really looking for the question to be answered. The gunfire only made his heart sink deeper into his stomach as he prayed that Luz was okay.

The order to go around wasn’t one that Andrew wanted to hear, but he moved with Shifty and two other men up and out. As they crossed into the town, one man went down in front of him and Andrew had no choice but to move around him. He had been shot in the head. No way he was coming back.

Even though it would have bothered Andrew to do that just a few days ago, he couldn’t be bothered by it now. It was war, and if he was going to fight, he had to do it right. That included leaving dead men for dead.

Andrew ducked into the little chicken coop with Shifty as the gunfire rained down on them. The other man went across the road, hugging the side of the wall. He threw a grenade into the storefront beside him before he was shot.

“Shit, Shifty, where the hell are those krauts?” Andrew asked, fumbling for the mirror in his pocket. He dropped it, causing it to smash into a million little pieces. “Shit!”

Shifty has no choice but to reach around the entrance of the coop, shooting at the building in front of them. The gunfire soon stopped from the building.

“Shifty, Marin, you two okay?” Lipton called out.

“Yes, sir!” They both replied at the same time.

“We gotta take that warehouse! Shifty, Marin, hammer those windows!”

Andrew was not as good of a shot as Shifty was, what with Andrew only being a PFC and Shifty being a hell of a sniper, but they managed to get through the kraut gunfire.

“Shit, Shifty, you’re-“ Andrew started before it started again.

Though it seemed to rain bullets, one gunshot came a little too close to home for Andrew. He felt the searing hot pain as he collapsed into the wall behind him. This time, the pain didn’t subside as quickly as it first had. In fact, it only seemed to linger and burn. “Fuck!” He cried out, grabbing at his arm, which felt like it was on fire.

“Marin, were you hit?” Shifty asked, pulling Andrew away from the gunfire. Andrew nodded quickly. “Where?”

“My arm, fuck, this shit fucking hurts,” Andrew says, gritting his teeth. “Get the fucking— medic!”

“Medic!” Shifty called out, but no response. He kept calling, but it seemed like no one was hearing him. So, Andrew did the next best thing.

“Get the instaclot, fuck,” Andrew instructed, doing his best to tear open the hole in his jacket. The blood-stained fabric burned as it touched Andrew’s open wound, but he kept going as Shifty poured the white power on his arm. “Where’s the medic? Medic! Medic!”

Shifty did his best at wrapping up Andrew’s arm as he cried out for a medic. The blood had begun to stop, but it still continued to spread over his jacket as the red liquid on the surface started to get sopped up. Once Shifty was done, Andrew bared his teeth as he got back up, though Shifty’s hands were on his shoulders.

“Marin, what the hell are you doing?”

“I’m not letting a kraut bullet keep me down, Shifty.”

“But the medic-“

“Fuck the medic!” Andrew said, readjusting his M-1. “He hasn’t come, and you’re not fighting alone, I’m not letting that happen.” He had been shot above his elbow on his right arm, otherwise known as the one he needed to shoot his gun. “We’re here to shoot kraut’s, and dammit, I’m gonna shoot a fucking kraut!”

Andrew’s words came just in time as the gunfire started back up. He and Shifty took aim at the building, firing until it stopped firing back, which didn’t actually take too long. IN all, the capture of Carentan for the American Army didn’t take as long as Andrew had expected. Andrew’s shots were a bit lopsided, but they got the job done.

“Never seen a guy shoot with a fucked up arm,” Shifty says, looking back to Andrew. “You think you hit any of ‘em?”

“I sure hope so,” Andrew replied, letting his M-1 hang on its strap as he put his left hand up to his arm. “Plus, I don’t think anyone with a fucked arm can shoot in general, Shifty.”

-

Eventually, everything had cleared, and Shifty gave Andrew a personal escort to Doc Roe.

“Why didn’t ya call out for a medic?” Roe asked, undoing the wrapping that Shifty had put on Andrew. “If I had any idea you’d been hit we would’ve pulled you outta there.”

“I did, Shifty too,” Andrew told him, voice strained, wincing as Roe’s hands touched the bloody flesh. “Mr. Luck-o-the-Irish never showed up.”

Roe sighed. “You’re so damn lucky it doesn’t look that deep, Marin,” Roe tells him. “Otherwise I’d be sending your ass back to Aldbourne right now.”

“Can we even get there?” Andrew’s teeth ground against each other as Roe started clearing away the blood. “Jesus fuck,” Andrew says as Roe sticks his finger into the wound, feeling for the bullet. Andrew can sense where it is, but he doesn’t know exactly where, so he must stick to the prodding of Doc Roe. “It feels deep as hell.”

“Deeper than Winters’, that’s for sure,” Roe says, getting his pliers and a metal bowl. “Christ, Marin, how did you keep fighting?”

Andrew’s about to speak before Roe goes in, feeling for the bullet. “Fuck, Doc, I think I had to,” Andrew strains. He sucks in a deep breath, which his chest protests against, making him immediately let it go. Roe notices this and quickly but carefully pulls out the bullet.

“Marin, you okay?” Roe says as he wipes away more of the blood. “You look like you can’t breathe.”

Andrew shakes his head. “No, no, it’s fine,” Andrew quickly says.

“You look like you broke a rib or somethin’,” Roe tells him.

Andrew, deciding that Roe’s explanation was the best thing for him to go with, nods. “Childhood accident,” Andrew lies, trying to think of a story he had heard from someone that would be believable enough for Roe. “My brother and I were climbing up a tree and I fell. It never healed quite right, as you can see.”

Roe, hesitatingly, nodded. “Alright.”

“Hey, Doc, am I allowed to keep on, uh, fighting with the rest of the men?”

“Are you kids in’ me? Not with that arm. Hell, even if I let you, you’d still be a shit shot with it.”

“Not according to Shifty,” Andrew says. “I mean, I was a little cock-eyed with it but I wasn’t too bad.” He looked over at the bullet in the metal bowl. Wincing, he leaned over, picking it up with his left hand. “I wasn’t letting this little shit stop me from fighting, Doc.”

“You could’ve lost your arm, Marin.”

“I didn’t.”

“But you could have,” Roe tells him, patching up the last of the blood. “You’re gonna need a sling.”

Andrew groaned. “What the hell am I supposed to do with a sling?”

“Do you want me to send you back to Aldbourne?”

Andrew sighed, shaking his head. “No, Doc.”

“Then shut your trap and wear it,” Roe tells him before finding a long piece of cloth and fashioning Andrew a sling as Andrew placed the kraut bullet into his pocket. Souvenir. “Consider yourself lucky I’m not sending you home immediately.”

Andrew nodded, moving his fingers slightly as the sling was tightened. He felt completely useless. Sure, he wasn’t going home right away, but what the hell was he supposed to do while they all were stuck here? Attempt to shoot at Germans with only one arm? Maybe he could use his sidearm and his left hand, but he wouldn’t be that good of a shot.

As he exited the medic station, Andrew looked around, trying to find someone to talk to so he could get his mind off his damn arm.

Then, out of the blue, came Luz.

“Luz?” Andrew said, and for a moment Luz didn’t respond. “Luz!”

Luz turned his head, and his face regained that beaming smile before his eyes landed on Andrew’s arm. Andrew walked over and Luz met him in the middle.

“Christ, Luz, I thought you and Welsh were goners,” Andrew says as he wraps his good arm around Luz. Luz is careful not to get too close to Andrew’s sling.

“I’m here, aren’t I?” Luz replies, looking at Andrew’s arm. “Don’t tell me you’re missing another part of your body.”

“Nope, just the ear,” Andrew tells him. “Kraut got me when I was with Shifty. This little shit,” Andrew pauses, taking out the bullet he had pocketed, “Did the deed.”

Andrew handed the bullet over to Luz. “Why in the name of God did you keep it?”

“Spite, I guess.”

“Andrew, what are you supposed to do with it?”

“Don’t know. I haven’t figured that out yet.”

Luz stops, holding the bullet in the palm of his hand. “Christ, Andrew.”

“What?”

“You’re really working towards that Purple Heart, aren’t ya?”

Andrew chuckled. “That’s two right there, isn’t it?”

Luz looked around before pulling Andrew off to the side. Not a soul watching, no one could hear them.

“Can’t believe you called me an idiot even though you’re the one who got shot, Andrew.”

“Hey-”

“Twice! You got hot twice, and somehow I’m the idiot.”

Andrew sighed, frustrated. He couldn’t think of anything good to come back at Luz with. Luz, noticing this, laughed and smiled.

“It’s okay, Andrew,” Luz says, placing his hand on Andrew’s cheek. “You get so worked up when you’re injured.”

“Typing me, are we?”

“Oh, just a little.”

Luz placed a kiss against Andrew’s forehead before placing one on his lips. Andrew had no idea how much he had missed the touch of the older man. Speaking of older, Andrew thought for a moment as he pulled away.

“Hey Luz?”

“Yeah?”

“Isn’t your birthday comin’ up soon?”

Luz paused. “Shit, I guess you’re right.”

“It’s the 20th, right?”

“Every year.”

Andrew sighed. “We’re probably gonna be here on your birthday. That sucks.”

“Could be worse.”

“How?”

“I could’ve been shot.”

Andrew playfully hit Luz with his good hand. “Not funny.”

“C’mon, it was! Just a little bit, at least.”

Andrew shook his head, chuckling. “It still sucks you’ve got to be here on your birthday.”

Luz wraps his arm around Andrew’s good shoulder, standing beside him. “Just get me a good pack of smokes and some alcohol when we get back, alright?” Luz says, placing a kiss on Andrew's forehead.

“I’ll get you two, how ‘bout that?”

That just made Luz kiss him on the lips. “Thatta boy.”

-

Aldbourne, England

The overall Battle of Carentan took seven days to complete. It took almost a month since his initial injury for Andrew to get his Purple Hearts back in Aldbourne, accompanied by a brief stint in the hospital so Roe could take out Andrew’s stitches. With all the pictures being taken of everyone receiving their medals, it felt more like a show to Andrew. It all felt staged, almost as if they were injured on purpose, in order for the American Military to say, “Look at what your boys have sacrificed for you! Buy War Bonds to get them home!”

Andrew didn’t clip the medals to his jacket. Instead, he shoved them in his pocket, walking around the base in Aldbourne. He could hear Malarkey’s and Moore’s cheering from the motorcycle they had commandeered. It made him smile. It gave life to the dullness of the cloudy day. He kept his hands in his pockets, moving over the smooth metal of his Purple Hearts. Then, he felt a round object.

He pulled out the Kraut bullet, smooth a clean. The blood on it must’ve rubbed off on the inside pocket of his jacket. Andrew held it up to his face, rolling it in his fingers. The bullet was cold compared to the once-hot blood that it had shed. A little bullet in the arm had completely ruined Andrew in Carentan. It made him unable to fight like he wanted to, like he needed to.

Little German shit, Andrew thought. Makin’ me look bad. What’s wrong with you?

Andrew shoves the little bullet back into his pocket, hearing the metal clink against the Purple Hearts. So damn worried over gettin’ ‘em, and I don’t even care. Fantastic.

Andrew found himself a nice field by the house he was quartered in. It wasn’t too big, but it had a flat stump on it. He got a few bottles from the trash, placed them on the stump, and stepped back. Then, he got out his sidearm.

Target practice.

He tried with his left arm, the arm Roe had told him to mainly stick to for the next week,and missed the first few shots. “Fuck,” Andrew said, switching to his right arm. It was sore, far more sore than he wanted it to be by this point but he couldn’t complain. It wasn’t like he lost the damn thing.

Andrew took in a deep breath, aimed, and fired. The shattering glass gave him the okay to fire again, and again, until he had hit every bottle.

“You’ve still got it,” A voice says from behind him. Andrew turns to see Liebgott.

“You say that like I’m an old man,” Andrew replies, putting away the sidearm. “I never lost it, anyway. It was just put out of commission for a little while.”

“Damn, all three bottles. I’d hate to see the fucker you killed before you got your arm fucked up.”

Andrew chuckled a bit, pausing. Though he wasn’t as good as a shot as Shifty, he did have a killer aim, those two krauts from D-Day could attest to that. The only difference is that Shifty hit his mark every time, Andrew just got damn near close to it.

“Don’t say shit like that, Lieb,” Andrew jokes. “You might just get me promoted.”

“Who says that’s a bad thing?” Liebgott asks, stepping closer to Andrew. “I think a man with a little more cash to spare isn’t that bad of a thing to have.”

Andrew laughed. “Oh yeah?”

“It always helps, you know, sell an image.”

“Who’re you tryin’ to sell my image to, Lieb?”

Liebgott wraps his arms around Andrew’s waist before speaking again. “Anyone I damn well please, if that’s alright with you.”

“Course it is,” Andrew says before kissing Liebgott. As he does so, Andrew can taste that little bit of tobacco lingering on Lieb’s tongue.

Tobacco.

Cigarettes?

Shit!

Andrew pulls away before Liebgott can start to get into the kiss. “Fuck, I forgot.”

“What, what’s wrong?”

“Luz’s birthday,” Andrew tells him. “It’s his twenty-third, and I promised him two packs of smokes and some good liquor.”

Liebgott shakes his head. “Thinkin’ bout everyone, aren’t ya? How’re you gonna get his shit now?”

You’ve got no idea, Lieb.

“I put the smokes and liquor back in my foot locker, they’re safe,” Andrew tells him, stepping back and flattening out his jacket. “I might see if I can get something from the family I’m quartered with — maybe Mrs. Irene made something special.”

“Damn, you’re going all out,” Liebgott says. “I hope I get the same treatment for my special day.”

Andrew rolls his eyes. “How long have I got to plan for that? Almost a year?”

“That’s right.”

“Then quit worrying about whether or not it’s gonna be as good.”

-

Mrs. Irene had, in fact, made some sweet rolls that morning. She had made quite a few of them, so she wasn’t too upset to part with two for a few dollars.

Andrew cursed himself for having nothing to wrap his gifts with, so he carried the Lucky Strikes and booze (Andrew had nicked it back in Carentan and according to Webster it was brandy) in an ammo box and kept the rolls wrapped in a gingham cloth he had borrowed from Mrs. Irene.

Andrew walked into the makeshift pub of the base as Smokey was recounting what he called ‘The Night of the Bayonet’. Andrew didn’t really care. He had heard the story from Liebgott a few hours after it happened. He had heard it happen from the foxhole that Roe made him stay in. He then heard it from Martin, who had heard it from his foxhole. Within the month, Andrew had heard it almost a million times.

Before Andrew could reach Luz, though, came the word from Lip.

“Couple of announcements to make, men. First — Listen up. First, the training exercise scheduled for 2200 has been cancelled."

A few cheers. Andrew could’ve sworn he heard Muck.

"Secondly. All passes are hereby revoked,” Lipton announces, and the room falls silent. It’s dead quiet. Andrew can feel his heart beat in the back of his head. We're heading back to France, so pack up all your gear. We will not be returning to England, boys. Anyone who has not made out a will, go to the supply office. Trucks depart from Membury at 0700. As you were."

It was hard to go back to as they were, Andrew could sense it. He felt in every step he took as he spotted Luz.

“Hey, Marin,” Guarnere says. “This here’s Heffron, he’s from Philly.”

“I could tell,” Andrew says.

“Really?” Heffron says. “Where are you from?”

“Fulton.”

“I don’t think I’ve heard of that. Is it in Germantown?”

“Illinois actually.”

“What’s with the box, Marin?” Guarnere asks, reaching for it, but Andrew pulls it away.

“Not for you! It’s for Luz!” Andrew says, walking over to sit down beside the man, who was now grinning. “Happy Birthday, George.”

George? When the hell do you call him George?

“Christ, Luz, didn’t know it was your birthday,” Guarnere says.

“It’s not,” Luz replies as Andrew hands him the box. “We were stuck in France.” As Luz finishes his sentence, he opens up the box. The first thing he pulls out is the brandy. “Asbach Uralt,” Luz reads in a phony German accent. “Ori- fuck, Andrew, don’t give me shit I can’t read.”

Andrew laughed. “According to Webster, it’s brandy, and he can speak German a hell of a lot better than us.”

Luz then pulls out the Lucky Strikes, then the sweet rolls. Guarnere makes a grab for them but Luz picks it up and away.

“Hey, Andrew spent a good deal of money on these, and they ain’t for you!” Luz states before turning to Andrew. “How much was it?”

“Couple of tupines.”

“Andrew spent his own tupines and they’re not for you!”

Andrew laughed as Luz opened up one of the packs of smokes, giving one to Andrew, then Heffron, then Guarnere. As Andrew lit up his cigarette, he raised his zippo in the air.

“George Luz, you may be my best and closest friend that I have ever had. You, always amaze me with your impressions and every time I got down, you managed to pull me right back up, despite everything going on around us. I know you didn’t have a good birthday on its actual day, but I hope that this will make up for it,” Andrew says, in a toast-like voice. He’s never given a toast before, and there’s no drink in his hand, so he’s not exactly sure how it works. “To George Luz, and the many impressions he may bring!”

-

tag list: @alienoresimagines @fromcrossroadstoking @ghostyroses

[kabira]

neighbor!yeonjun

this is for the user who sent me an ask requesting a yeonjun scenario...i'm so sorry i accidentally deleted it shskd but i hope you find this one :') i hope bullet points are okay cause i really don't have the strength for a whole oneshot rn SORRY

so they just debuted and idk their personalities that well, so this might be kind of inaccurate. anyway, tho, here's some neighbour!yeonjun for you!

go to main masterlist

you meet because of your dog

like literally

for the past few days, your day has been lying on his side next to the fence in the backyard...and you don't know why

like he shits there and everything

(well he does come back at night but otherwise—)

you've been confused about this for a long time, cause he's usually the kind of attention-seeking pet you get annoyed with

you try dog treats, whistles, goddamn you even offered him his favorite flip-flop—

but nope

there's a family moving in next door, and you haven't really paid much attention to them—even though the house's been let for a long time

but your curiosity hits the roof when one fine day you see a long arm reaching out of the hole in the fence and scratching your dog between the ears

you slowly make your way over to that side of the fence

(from the side, ducking all the time obviously, so the stranger doesn't see you)

and then you stand next to your dog and peer over the fence at whatever's down there

and this boy's squatting in the uncut grass, completely absorbed in providing your pet a proper head massage

he doesn't even notice you at first, but maybe he senses a shadow or something so he looks up

slowly

you two stare at each other for a few second before he screams

and then you scream

and then he screams louder

you shush him violently, scowling at your assumed new neighbor because, well, he's stealing your dog and you don't take kindly to that

but he just pouts like this little kid (even though his stature makes him look much bigger) and goes, "quit scaring me"

and you go—sassily, I might ass—"quit stealing my dog"

and then he straightens and you internally go woaH because he's much bigger than he looks sitting down, with broad shoulders and a strong build...he's probably over six

he gives you a superior look and goes, "are you saying that he's not his own person? animals have their freedom too, you know"

and you're at a loss for words for a few seconds, because okay that makes sense and you don't know how to counter that

but then you're like, "I can't allow my dog to love you more than me? hello??"

and he just sighs and shakes his head and pulls the pity card

"I just wanted someone to play with"

and even though you know this guy's the reason your dog doesn't give you your much-needed attention anymore, you soften because hey, he's new here and he probably IS lonely

and okAY maybe it's because he's kinda cute—pouty lips, wide eyes turned down at the corner, his brown hair messy and uncombed under his backwards baseball cap...it's safe to say he's a puppy himself

so you agree to let him have the dog sometimes

but on a condition: you have to be there, and it can be in either house but he's moving in so you two end up at your house most of the time

you get to know his name's yeonjun and that he's really into music and doggos (well you knew that already) and a million other things, because it's summer break and you two are practically together all the time

and before you know it, you're as close as two coats of paint

you walk your dog together (or maybe it's better to say the dog pretty much belongs to both of you by now), you feed him together and sometimes y'all even BATHE him together

but nothing really comes out of that (definitely not realization) until one day when yeonjun tells you he's been messing around with a dog romance simulator

"that's a thing?"

the two of you are lying on the couch, with him sort of sagged against the arm and you with better posture but equal laziness

hEy it's summer

he nods seriously, and shows you the website. "I entered our names and we got like a 98% match... that's cool right?"

but you're just like...did you just indirectly call me a bitch

but instead or rolling his eyes or going into hyper mode like he usually does, yeonjun stays kind of quiet and stares at his phone

and you're like, "what?"

he chews on the side of his bottom lip for a while until it gets frustrating, like even the DOG'S staring at him

and then he looks up at you

and his eyes have got this little,,,this sparkle thing and there's so much hope and innocence in there that you just want to lean forward and kiss him

and then you're like woah I didn't just think that nopE—

yeonjun seems not to have noticed, he just bites his lip and says in an unusually shy voice, "I think...I don't want to meet just cause of the dog anymore, you know?"

and you know

like you've thought about that sometimes but not exactly in a conscious way...and you don't know how to answer but he's just sitting there looking so CUTE that your heart just...melts...like ice cream in your back pocket

and he raises his eyebrows a lil bit and you're thinking how cute— and then you're like to heck with it and lean over and kiss his nose

which, i might add, turns bright red

and you smile really wide cause CUUUUTE and he's just sitting there and blushing like "does that mean yes?"

and you're like...no...it means YESSS

and even the dog's happy

(annnd the dog's name is candy)

(just so you know)

[fen-ha-fuck-you]

the 100 ask game

hi i was tagged by approximately a million of you for various things in the past few weeks, so forgive me if i missed you, but I believe this one included: @little-oxford-st — @yourereallyhere — @foreverandalwayscrysis — @clarkgriffon — @mamabearsdontthink 

and i’m putting the rest of this under a cut bc she’s thicc ladies

1. What station on the Ark would you be from?

honestly, probably alpha tbh

2. What would you get arrested for on the Ark?

treason. i don’t know specifics, but it would absolutely be treason

3. Would you take off your wristband when you landed on the ground?

nah

4. What would the necklace Finn would make for you look like? (Clarke: deer/Raven: a raven duh..)

bold of you to assume i’d let that boy so much as speak my name

5. If you could resurrect any MINOR character who would it be?

gina martin, may she rest in peace

6. Create a squad of 5 characters to go on missions with. Who are they?

clarke and bellamy, clearly, and also lincoln, diyoza, and roan. i call it Competence Squad™

7. What Grounder Clan would you belong to?

get grounder culture 31596026746 feet away from me. skaikru.

8. What would your name be in Trigedasleng? (example: Octavia=Okteivia…just make it up!)

Abi 

9. Thoughts on Finn? Some people hate him, and others love him, so I’m curious

from a writing perspective? fascinating character and arc  from a personal perspective? boy can choke 

10. Be honest. How willing would you have been to take the chip without knowing all the horrible things it does?

absolutely not, nope

11. What character do you relate to most?

clarke 100%

12. What character do you like the least?

currently? echo. the one thing I like less than a complete asshat of a character is one with absolutely zero development, and there she is, right there. don’t @ me

13. Describe your delinquent outfit. (Would you wear something like Murphy’s jacket with the spikey red shoulder patch or have a trademark like Jasper’s goggles? Be creative, yet practical)

clarke’s s3 fetish gear but like............... more leather

14. Favorite type of mutant animal?

i have a soft spot for the worms, idk why. i love their useless non-existent asses

15. What would your job be on the Ark?

i’d probably be doing some high-level organizational work or some shit. i’m good with patterns and recall

16. Would you have willingly pumped Ontari’s heart if Abby asked?

without hesitation

17. If Lexa wasn’t Heda, but she was still alive then who would have made the best commander?

let’s make it a democracy babey

18. How would you act if you ate the hallucinogenic nuts like Jasper and Monty?

i have no goddamn clue

19. How would you have dealt with Charlotte’s crime? A more John Murphy approach or Bellamy Blake approach?

neither. clarke griffin approach. protect the kid, but give her some tough love because holy shit, you can’t just kill people charlotte

20. Who should have been the Chancellor, if anyone?

clarke was basically the chancellor anyway and saved their asses more than any of the other “chancellors” so i’m gonna go with clarke

21. Would you have been on Pike’s side like Bellamy or on Kane’s side? Or Clarke in Polis?

kane’s

22. Mount Weather had a lot of modern commodities. (example: Maya’s Ipod) What is the one thing you would snatch while there?

gimme the tunes

23. What would your Grounder tattoos look like? Hairstyle? War paint?

a nice mix of geometric patterns and flow-y nature. undercut. classic american football shit

24. Favorite quote?

"You won’t do it.” / “You don’t know me very well.”

25. If all of the characters were in the Hunger Games, who would have the best shot at winning?

i keep answering clarke, and i’m gonna keep answering clarke. girl fights smart and dirty, and uses her surroundings to her advantage. plus she’s highly adaptable

26. Least favorite ship? Favorite canon ship? Favorite non canon ship? NOT INCLUDING CL OR BC OR BE

i’ll say BE is my least favorite ship if i damn well feel like it, and i do. very closely followed by CL. for writing reasons, specifically and bellarke might as well be canon already so i’m gonna say that for both of the other ones

27. A song that should be included in the next season? If there had to be another guest star like Shawn Mendes on the show, who would you want to make a cameo?

no more cameos.............. blease, i’m begging................................ but i’m gonna go with season 6 because i have a whole playlist for it and say The Devil Within by Digital Daggers

28. What would you do if you were stuck in the bunker with Murphy for all that time?

jam out and snark until we inevitably killed each other probably

29. You’re an extra that gets killed off. How do you die?

just let clarke kill me in a really hot way

30. A character you’d like to learn more about and get flashbacks of?

where the fuck is harper’s backstory jroth

31. A character you’d bang?

i would be in the middle of a blarke sandwich, thanks. the dream. alternatively, a roan/diyoza sandwich. the forbidden ship

32. Would you stay in the Bunker? Go up to Space? Or live on your own in Eden?

would i rather eat people, only algae, or a whole variety of fresh fruits and vegetables? are you joking?

33. In the Bunker, would you follow Octavia? What would you do to pass the time underground?

yeah, hard pass. i’d sure as hell train though holy fuck

34. What crime would you commit in the Bunker that lands you in the fighting pits?

again, treason. 

35. Up in Space, who would you bond with first? Who would be the most difficult for you to get along with?

i’d probably bond with murphy and clarke first. i probably wouldn’t get along with jasper much

36. How long do you think you would last on Earth by yourself?

i’d be fine with the solitary element for a good chunk of time, it’s the outside survival part that’d be the problem

37. When the Eligius ship lands what do you do?

recon that shit

38. Favorite Eligius character? Least favorite?

DIYOZA. mccreary.

39. Would you Spacewalk?

fuck no space scares the shit out of me

40. Would you prefer to eat Windshield Bugs, Space Algae, or Bunker Meat?

... bugs. but people are a close second.

41. Would you start a war for the last spot of green on earth? What would your solution be to avoid it?

no??? a peaceful solution was right there. it wouldn’t be difficult. as long as i didn’t have a group of people staging a coup to remove the person i made a deal with and also someone who didn’t give a flying fuck about anything but war at the time. *cough*

42. Would you rather dig out flesh-eating worms or stick thumb drives into bullet holes?

i’d rather try to save someone’s life than cause so much damage to someone’s injury that it kills them, if that’s what you’re asking. 

43. Are you willing to poison your sister for the Traitor Who You Love? What would you do to stop Octavia?

LMAO, i’d probably just straight up kill her, but i also don’t have a bellamy to be in love with, nor is she my sister

44. Would you go to sleep in cryo or stay awake like Marper?

cryo, fuck that shit

45. Who are you waking up first to explore the new planet?

clarke, bellamy, diyoza. everyone else is window dressing

[iloveyouthree-thousand]

Just Get Back Up (when it knocks you down)

Heroes don’t always win, and life tends to be cruel. This is an irondad fic that I’ve been working on for a while. Angsty. 

He didn’t mean for it to happen.

It was a petty crime—a couple of stolen knock-off iPhones and some cash from a corner store.

Peter had been patrolling when he heard the window glass break. He didn’t care that it was a low-level heist committed by a scrawny guy in a hoodie. He didn’t care that he had homework waiting to be done at home or that there were probably a thousand other criminals doing worse things across the city.

All that mattered was returning those phones and making his neighborhood just a little bit safer.

That’s how Peter Parker ended up on the rooftop of an apartment complex, face-to-face with a kid who couldn’t have been much older than him.

“That doesn’t belong to you.”

The teen looked at the masked stranger, his empty eyes reflecting the lights of the city.

“This is a little below your paygrade, don’t you think?”

His words might’ve been colder, almost a sneer, if it weren’t for the way the kid’s hands trembled under the dark hoodie that nearly disappeared against the navy-blue sky. A backpack was slung over his shoulders, its contents threatening to spill out from the broken zipper on the side.

“I guess you’re going to call the cops now, huh?”

Peter’s face twisted, “I don’t really have another choice.”

The kid in front of him stood a little straighter and laughed bitterly.

“Oh, you have a choice. There’s always a choice.”

Peter tried to move a little bit closer, stopping when the other teen started backing away, getting far closer to the ledge of the building than he was comfortable with.

“Hey,” he said softly, tip-toeing his words, “let’s just talk this out. What’s the money for?”

The kid sighed, “Should I lie and say groceries for my starving family? To help my sick little sister pay for medicine? I need the cash for drugs that would already be halfway to my brain if you hadn’t shown up.”

Peter looked at the man—the  boy—standing in front of him. He wasn’t anything like the beefy, six-foot-something criminals Peter was used to. His limbs were scrawny and his hair was matted down with grease. The clothes he wore hung loose on his body, but the hem of his pants only reached to about an inch above his ankles.

“Look, someone across the street is probably getting murdered or worse. The only person I’m ruining is myself—I’m not hurting anyone else, okay? Worst case scenario is that I go out there and shoot too many chemicals in my veins and never have to see another morning in this damn city again. Trust me, the world will keep turning. So how about we cut our losses and go our separate ways and pretend this never happened?”

“I can’t let you go,” Peter whispered, trying to move closer again, “there are people that can help.”

He just smiled sadly at Peter.

“I get it. You’re a hero. You want to save the day.” The teen started to stutter and twitch, or maybe he’d been like that this whole time and Peter had just now started to notice. “But people like me—I might’ve needed heroes a long time ago, but I don’t need rescuing anymore.”

“It’s not too late.”

“Leave me alone.”

“Please.”

The two just stared at one another, daring the other to move first. Slowly, the kid reached behind his back.

“Hey--,” Peter started, as the glint of a gun appeared.

“I didn’t want to hurt anyone. I swear. But I can’t go to prison, or some half-assed rehab center. I’ve done it before and I just  can’t. Please, just go.”

Peter didn’t know what to do. Maybe he should’ve just walked away—maybe that would’ve prevented what happened next.

Perhaps his arrogance got the best of him. Maybe some people couldn’t be saved. Maybe some people didn’t  need  to be saved.

He took a step forward, arms raised in defense, but the kid panicked.

The gun fired.

The bullet missed Peter, but the recoil sent the other boy reeling back. Instinctively, Peter shot a web out to catch him.

He was dazed though, his ears and his sense still ringing from the horribly loud gunshot, and the web caught the gun, not the kid.

The added force sent the kid stumbling even further, and Peter still couldn’t move, he couldn’t do anything.

And then it happened.

Peter saw his face as his legs slipped over the edge. And for all his talk about not caring if he lived or died, as that boy went tumbling down into the streets below, he looked  terrified.

A few minutes later, sirens blared on the sidewalk four hundred feet below.

He waited for the police to check the roof, to look for anything out of the ordinary. They never came.

It was a busy day in Queens—and the homeless teenaged drug addict on the sidewalk was a clear-cut suicide. Case closed. They had bigger things to worry about.

The thought killed Peter, and he sat there for another two hours. Long after the sirens had gone and the sounds of traffic had resumed, he sat on that rooftop.

When he signed up to be Spider-Man, he thought he was protecting people. He never expected this.

He would’ve stayed there longer if Tony hadn’t shown up. May had called him ten minutes after eleven—ten minutes past his curfew—and he didn’t hesitate before tracking Peter to the rooftop.

Tony found him on the ledge, legs dangling precariously over the side of the brick building.

“Hey spiderling, your aunt is worried about you.”

The kid didn’t budge.

“You were supposed to be home a half-hour ago.”

Nothing.

Tony sighed, stepping out of his suit to take a spot on the cold brick ledge.

“Kid, I’m going to need you to start talking to me.”

His eyes never left the spot on the pavement below.

“That could’ve been me, you know? If May hadn’t stepped in, if I hadn’t found Ned, or you... that could’ve been me.”

“Peter—,” Tony started.

“He said there is always a choice, but I could see his face, Mr. Stark. He didn’t look like he had a choice. And in a different life, in a million different scenarios... that could’ve been me.”

Peter was shaking, his face still cast downward.

“No one was there to save him, and now he’s gone. Just like that. How is that—how can that be—it’s just not fair.”

Tony thought about giving him the bull shit speech that adults tended to give children, that ‘life isn’t fair but that’s just how it is’ and ‘sometimes bad things happen to good people’, but it was all garbage, that whole mantra. It was a cop out, like sticking a band-aid on a gaping bullet hole and pretending that it made everything okay.    

“You’re right kid. Life sucks. Sometimes the good guys lose and the bad guys win and sometimes the world just knocks you on your fucking ass for no other reason than because it can.”

Peter glanced up at Tony, his eyes a little wide. His mentor usually refrained from cursing around the teen but tonight—tonight Tony wasn’t holding back.

“And no matter what happens life just keeps going because the universe doesn’t care about the little guy. It never has, and it never will.”

Peter’s shoulder dropped even lower.

“Then why—what’s the point? Why? Why do you keep fighting?” Peter’s voice had slipped to a whisper, dried tears stiffening his eyelids, leaving them puffy and red.

“Because, Pete, someone has to step up. The universe might not care but I do, and I know you do too. Yea, sometimes life kicks you in the stomach and knocks the wind right out of your chest. When that happens, you can sit there helplessly and just take the beating until you’re numb.”

Tony’s arm draped around the kid’s shoulder, turning him around until he looked him in the eyes.

“Or, you can get up, grimace through the pain, and kick it right back where it hurts. So, kid, what’s it gonna be?”

And that was all it took. Tony stood up first, extending his hand to the kid who took one last fleeting glance at the street before following him home.

Later, when he had finally coaxed the story out of Peter, they came up with a game plan.

A foundation in Queens emerged overnight to help kids in need—providing comprehensive drug rehab, job training, tutoring, and the like. A few superheroes were known to make an occasional appearance.  

The universe still managed to knock Peter on his ass more often than not. But every time it did, he came back swinging.

[jason-todd-deserved-better]

Bite Me - Tim Drake x Reader

Requested by @astressedwriter : “For the sexual tension thing, ""bite me." With Tim drake ?? Love you! ❤” (ILY2, thank you for the request!)

A/N: Hello my dudes! I am here with another Tim story. (You have only done two, you dumb ass.) I’m kinda annoyed with how long this took but I’m happy on how this played out even though I wrote way more than I was expecting to for this. (Though this did come out more angsty rather than sexual tension-y, so sorry about that, but I tried 😅.) Anyway, hope you guys enjoy and be sure to let me know what you guys think! Love Y'all. Also, I hope all my fellow Floridians up in Panhandle are safe and sound because it looks extremely ugly up there and I know hurricanes are no fun at all. Good luck my dudes, please stay safe and be careful!

Now to say that you didn’t get along with Red Robin was a major understatement. From the minute you guys were introduced, to this very second, you guys hated each other. The two of you just butted heads constantly, it wasn’t as apparent in the beginning but things slowly escalated as the months passed and it just got to the point the two of you couldn’t even be in the same room as the other.

You both were the smartest people on the team, but other than that you were polar opposites. He was more reserved and intensive, so focused on his work that he wouldn't stop for anything to make sure a case is solved. While you, on the other hand, were more energetic but laid back and was generally the type of person who would make sure all your friends were happy and healthy.

The final nail on the coffin though was your quick friendship with the devil himself, Damian. Oh, man were the two of you annoying, your guy’s friendship was literally a giant hate on Tim Drake club, and it seriously pissed him off. Plus, what kind of maniac could befriend Satan as fast as you did? Like what kind of crazy person are you?

But it was so damn hard to get you out of his mind, it was nearly impossible. You were there in the back of his mind, you were there at the forefront of his brain and you were there in the Cave way too much for his liking. Then on the other hand, you were no better, what thoughts went through his mind also went through yours and none of you had an absolute clue about it. Like it got to the point where you just don’t want to care anymore but here you were, going back to thinking he looked kinda cute with his focused gaze on the screen.

At this point, the two of you were obsessed with each other but neither of you wanted to admit to themselves, let alone with each other.

But the rest of the team, they just knew that something was going on between the two of you. While a couple ignored it to the best of their ability, others may or may not have made bets about whether or not they would either punch each other then kiss, or kiss then punch each other. Damian was a part of the ignore it at all costs and it might go away group. Then on the opposite side of the spectrum was Dick who was just praying at this point for you two to just kiss and make up already. Of course, there is also the Chaotic Neutral, Jason who really loved watching you guys go at each other’s throats, but also wants you guys to see that you both like each other. Everyone else was just scattered throughout the spectrum.

Either way, you guys were a frequent topic of conversation. This would also triple when Dick would pair the two of you for missions. To you, it felt like a punishment because don’t you see that me and him just can’t stand each other?! Was the main thought process that had gone through your mind. The same thought process was going through his. Today was one of those days.

This operation though was on an increase of gang activity around an abandoned elementary school on the edge of Gotham from some of Black Mask’s men. Everyone knew that there was something not right there so you guys were sent to go investigate to go see what was going down and to put a stop to it.

So sucking up your pride you guys go on your mission, but the entire time it was silent between the two of you. At this point, it was just unsettling to you, as the noiselessness of anything had always put you on edge. The entire ride to the mission’s destination there was completely soundless, not even the radio was on to help distract you from him.

Basically, your entire thought process was focused on him. So you observed him as he drove. You notice his jaw clenching after a while, but his focus never left the road. Was it weird that you wanted a little of that attention on you? Yeah probably, you thought.

What you didn’t know was that he was barely focused on the road, he might have been driving the car but his brain was studying the body language the body language off yours in the passenger side of the car that he saw at the corner of his eye. He knew that you were staring at him, he could feel your gaze piercing his face as he drove. Tim for a moment felt slightly giddy but he pushed those feelings down as he thought you were making a million insults about him and his imperfections. That gave a very bitter taste in his mouth.

“What.” He says, annoyance and a slight venom burning through his words.

With the silence broken by him, it left you a little clueless. “Huh? I didn’t say anything.”

“You’re staring holes into my head, what unpleasant thought is going through your pretty little-deranged head right now?” At this you scoff at his pettiness, eyes scrunching in displeasure.

You let out a harsh groan. “Who the hell said I was even thinking about you?”

“You’re undivided attention,” His eyes never left the road as you neared the abandoned school where the case led you to. “You have that face whenever you and the demon spawn start talking trash.”

“Woah, you’re completely full of yourself, Drake.” You state, annoyance and sarcasm filling your voice.

“(L/N), that's all you do when I’m around.” His glare maybe on the road but it is directed towards you. “You guys are the literal hate on me club.” Well, that threw you back a bit.

“My dude, you do that to me all the time.” You were feeling pretty vulnerable now “Complaining about me to Bruce behind my back. Picking my insecurities one by one when you want to make me squirm. Hell, you did this the first time I ever went out on patrol with you guys.”

That made him pause. “Okay, first of all, I didn’t complain-”

“Okay fine, you bitched your heart out of your pretty mouth.” You interrupt as he pulled into the school, crossing your arms across your chest, moving your gaze in front of you.

“No, I didn’t!” He exclaims as he parks the car.

“Yeah, you did!” With that, he turns to you with furry in his eyes only to meet to yours with as much anger.

“Why do you always have to always tell me I’m wrong?!”

“Why do you always have to contradict me?!”

“Why do you always have to make me feel like I’m doing something wrong?!”

“Why do you hate me so much?!” You both yelled at each other, and for a moment everything was still, both yours and Tim’s eyes opening to each other for the first time.

Tim opens his mouth to say something but nothing escapes his lips.

Having enough of this game, you look away sliding your mask down your face and unbuttoning the shirt you were wearing over your costume. You let your eyes wander back to him, seeing him do the same after a couple seconds. You even caught him glancing over at you too, but there wasn’t any malice there anymore.

Before you left the car, you whisper, “I don’t hate you.” Then before Tim could say anything you exit the car, leaving the conversation behind, your heart feeling lighter but at the same time being dragged back to him.

Yet you put it to the back of your head, getting your game face on, with the now dressed Red Robin following behind you.

Fast forward an hour or two later you and Tim after finding the base inside and putting a stop to the weapons operation there take down the operation. It was an extremely hard fight. Harder than any of you honestly expected but you guys took it down.

When it was finally over though, the two of you were out of breath. On the way back to the car you were extremely quiet and were lagging a good bit behind him. It was definitely out of character for you, and given the “conversation” you had with Tim before the mission, he felt something was off.

“(S/N)?” He questions, turning around and expecting to see your tired self walking behind him.

He saw you on the ground on your knees, grasping your side with one hand and trying to keep yourself up with the other.

Now your fatal flaw was making sure that you were a help instead of a burden. You felt the agony of the bullet puncturing into your body, embedding itself into your side. But you couldn’t stop fighting, you might die but so could Tim if you stopped so you kept going, the battle ending a few moments later. But you were having trouble as you tried to stay standing as long as you could, putting a hand to the slowly spreading stain of blood on your uniform, trying to steady your breathing so you could follow without letting Tim know.

Tim ran right for you, removing your hand to see the damage then cursing under his breath as he sees it, then immediately picking you up and dashing towards the car. Opening the door putting you inside, running around the car to get in and dashing back towards the cave.

“I’m sorry,” You mutter as he speeds across Gotham to Wayne Manor, fear shaking your voice across the car. “For everything.”

He could barely hear you, and it really scared him in a way he didn’t think possible. “Don’t say that like you’re dying (Y/N), that’s not going to happen.”

You chuckle, but there was no humor behind it, just pain. “Bite me, Drake.”

You could barely hear him at this point, your senses fading as you neared the Cave.

You were completely unconscious by the time Tim got you there.

It was a miracle that you even made it there alive. An even bigger one that you made it through the night in the infirmary. Hell, you shouldn’t really be breathing right now.

But you were and even though you were alive, it took a couple of days to wake up, then about a week until you were able to stand up and walk around. The healing process was a long one, but it was much better than being dead was your thought process throughout.

A couple months after the incident and you were back to fighting crime, and it was like coming home for the first time in years. God, you missed the freedom it gave you, the wind in your hair and the adrenaline pumping through your veins.

One thing that put you slightly off was that you now had a shadow in the shape of Red Robin trailing a couple rooftops behind you.

Now throughout the time that you were unconscious, he was with you almost the whole day according to Damian. (Who wasn’t happy about it, like at all.) But when you woke up, he faded into the background, trying to distance himself from you as much as possible. It wasn’t about hate anymore, no it was about guilt. Yet, he was never too far away from you, and this put you on edge, and maybe even a little remorseful on how you handled the situation back then.

With a sigh leaving your lips, you turn around just staring at him across the roofs in between the two of you. “I didn’t realize that I ordered a stalker by mistake.” It wasn’t said with annoyance but with a witty twist to it.

“You know, you do realize that you don’t order stalkers right?” He says with a dry chuckle as he jumps across to the rooftop your standing on.

“I know, but given the situation, it kinda feels like it.” You state, watching him walk across to you.

“Why do you say that?” He had a feeling he knew the answer but he wanted to hear you say it.

“Because it was my fault that I got shot and didn’t tell you about it until it was almost too late.”  Okay, he got what you were saying but he didn’t like it.

“No it’s more on me than anything,” He says, resting his arms on the side of the building and facing the city lights. “I was the one who started the fight in the car beforehand and threw us both off our game.”

“I sure as hell didn’t help that, I was about ready to chew your head off.” You state, turning to face the view.

“Yeah, but nothing new there.” It wasn’t cruel when he said it if anything it was a joke and the growing smile on his face showed it.

You laugh, oh two can play at that game, you thought. “And you looked like you were ready to shoot lasers from your eyes.”

“While you were staring holes in the side of my head,” He says mid-laugh. “I thought you were planning on figuring out a way to help Damian shave my head in my sleep or something.”

You scoff, giggling soon after. “I plead the fifth on the involvement of that one.”

“Doesn’t mean you weren’t involved.”

“Bite me, Red. I didn’t say that I did and I didn’t say that I didn’t.” Your eyes travel to him as you speak, catching his eyes staring into yours.

It was quiet for once as if the world had held its breath for the second time in the past couple of months just to see what would transpire between the two of you. Then when the moment passed with both of your eyes locked together, ever so slowly you both lean in and when your lips finally meet, it felt like the universe shifted. Not in the bad cataclysmic way, but in a way to let the light shine through on the both of you.

[jainarden-blog]

A Little Bit Of Organization Wouldn’t Hurt A Bit

Today is a searching and researching online day for an end to the endless clutter I have lived with FOREVER! I am so ready to clear the decks both physically/mentally and offline/online and get to some #extremeproductivity.

This is going to involve a lot of thinking and a lot of trying out things to streamline it into this no-fluff ecosystem I am dreaming about, even as I am typing this. A big part of this is to go paperless and also to start using my IOS phone a lot more. The below may seem like a lot of places but the object of my game is to have places to put things where I can go back and retrieve them. My mind and life goes so fast a lot of the time that the clutter, even when it is just mental has a tendency to pile up and to overwhelm me. By clearing physical mess (most importantly paper) and mental overflow, I can create the space I need to be the best me. Two big goals are time to do online study and being fit mind and body.

Read on for tools and thoughts about them:

Tumblr - Reasons for Tumblr: braindumps, writing habit, connection my introvert heart desires at times, and ease of use. Tumblr is good just to write or to spend time reading. I find a lot of the people on Tumblr are pretty deep, creative and wildly entertaining. Tumblr is a good place for introverts.

Saved.io - to try and curb the worthless habit of saving fifty trillion bookmarks and adding to them daily without ever really delving into those websites or using them. No extensions for this. You just add saved.io after the http:// or https:// and to make folder (tags/labels) put a name in front of .saved.io. Super easy. Sign up for an account and have an online spot for bookmarking your heart out

Google Keep - I need something to take down my own thoughts in a browser as I am surfing/researching and do not want to make a big deal out of it. There is a Chrome extension or you can right-click to add notes with tags. Braindumps and a place to satisfy data pack-rat urges. Follows the line of thinking that I am using Google for a lot of things and it’s already there anyway.

Google Calendar - I have multiple Google accounts but one where all my emails and appointments go. I synced this as my main calendar on IOS instead of the default calendar. One calendar to rule them all! Same for the one gmail. There is also an extension to add events quickly, along with the right click option.

Feedbro - RSS feed reader - too bad Google did away with theirs. This takes away some bookmarks for favorite sites/blogs and gives me an easy and fast way to know that I am keeping up with things that are important to me. Clicking the extension lets you “Find feeds on this page,” save feeds and also to open up your feedreader. Feeds can be categorized into folders.

LastPass - I have used this for years on my computers. It is the best password keeper as far as I am concerned. AND FREE! Today, I put it on my phone. I cannot say enough about how great this tool is for your information.

Scanbot - app for scanning in documents by taking a pic of them. This will definitely come in handy for those on-the-go document situations. Things like bills, manuals, purchase papers, etc. I have at home will, most of the time, be scanned in using my printer’s scanner.

Bullet Journal (BuJo) - my offline to-do / to-did and short journal things. I have one for me and one for my computer. The one for my computer has already saved me this year when I was trying to figure out what program was conflicting with another. My memory was helped by my documentation on what programs I had downloaded and when. I also document computer problems: what happened and what helped. Everything in one book - I think everyone should have one of these and I am surprised I never thought of it before this year. My personal BuJo is not one of internet proportions. I tried that and failed miserably and lost all site of what the book was supposed to be for to begin with. I ditched the trying to make it pretty and doing weekly/monthly spreads. I am back to the original version that Carroll Ryder set forth with his inspiration and am a thousand times better for it. This is something I can hold in my hands and look back on from time to time to see exactly how my time on earth went.

SimpleNote - I have a Reminder label in this for to-do’s, but I mostly just write to-do’s on the calendar or on a post-it/index card to throw away. I also document to-do/to-did’s in my personal BuJo. No this program is going to be something I use for some time, I do believe. I decided I am going to document work with this, especially conversations. I never remember the specifics in time so this will be my second work brain. Tags will be people (initials, first name, or my nickname for them). I can then go back to specific conversations that I want to refresh myself on and also for people notes such as date of birth, family (kid/husband/wife name), and/or specific things about them. Also, dates of meetings, project dates,etc. This is in its infancy - I have high hopes for this going forward.

AirTable - This website/app has high potential. I really like that it is set up like an Excel spreadsheet. I have projects set up in it for tracking daily spending, pantry inventory, gifts, etc. etc. etc. This is so customizable!!!! In my pantry list, I can add columns to be able to know what my lowest price on an item was - so in essence, a pantry checker with a price book included. I figure the way I use it will grow as I get used to it and find its value.

mySymptoms -  $$ App for tracking your health. This is the one thing I paid for. I can’t wait to get enough stuff in it for a good PDF download. It is customizable to you, just like the AirTable. You can add/delete the things you want to track and there is a big list of them: drinks, food, medications, supplements, mood, symptoms, bowel, energy, sleep, stress, exercise, environment, and other. Some of these can be extra helpful for people who struggle with certain diseases or triggers. This is certainly a make-it-all-about-you app that can show correlations between a factor(s) causing another factor(s). Or even for people who forget when or how long they took medications or supplements. In my new found goal of creating a life that serves my health - this one is a winning part of it. I will be a participant in my healthcare.

Instagram - because, at times, I like to take photos of food and things I see that I like. And because, I hate Facebook. IG also gives me an easy way to change the way the photos look and share back to myself for other uses and ways to share my account online with my online people-ha. Braindump for photos.

Twitter - because it’s fun... and sometimes informative. Twitter is the quick connection to the rest of the world and let’s anyone fit into it. My favorite parts of the twit are hashtag and whatever “new episode” tv show I am watching. It’s fun to join in with whatever other people think of an episode and throw your two cents in too. I never feel like I am sitting at my house alone on Friday & Saturday nights with #livepd. With the added gifs on posts, it can get quite hilarious.

GoodReads - This is hooked up to my Amazon account and my Amazon account is hooked up to my local library account through Overdrive. So... free books. I read every night on my Kindle app (you can read in your browser too). The books are automatically added to my GoodReads account. At this time, I am 8 books ahead on my goal to read 100 books this year. 

Listal - As for movies, the best site I have found is Listal. You can tag, star and make lists for the movies/tv you watch (along with books, products, people, dvds, and games, if you wish). Many members do a Halloween movie list each year.

Pinterest - this place fulfills my yearnings to save a million quotes, presented in a pretty way and is the easiest way to make kick ass vision boards. I have multiple boards for this very thing: HouseVB, ClothesVB, ThingsVB and so on.

This is the big starting out list. I didn’t want to leave anything out because I need to be clear on what I am really using and be consistent on what accounts I use for what services. Pinterest may be a big black hole, but once set up with mostly productive boards, I can relax knowing that they are helping me visualize the things I want while also letting me do something that is fun (even if sometimes just losing time surfing the internet).The same with Twitter and Instagram. They are black holes for time. But this way they are serving a purpose of entertainment and braindumps to clear the way for good space in my life. I will follow up with this as being productive online is both an important topic for me and also a much needed topic discussion. In my research, I wish more people would post about their systems to help the rest of us out :D

[alwaysfine]

𝐈𝐓’𝐒 𝐎𝐅𝐅𝐈𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐘 𝐁𝐄𝐄𝐍 𝐎𝐍𝐄 𝐘𝐄𝐀𝐑 𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐂𝐄 𝐈 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐃 𝐖𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐌𝐘 𝐁𝐄𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐈𝐅𝐔𝐋 𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐋 𝐁𝐀𝐁𝐈𝐄𝐒 𝐀𝐊𝐀 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐑𝐎𝐋𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐒 𝐆𝐈𝐑𝐋𝐒 !

i honestly can’t believe it’s been a year already. it has actually flown by. originally on my multi muse, moving amanda and jesse to their own blogs was the best decision and i’ve been so thankful i did ever since. if i’m being honest, the only reason why i made jesse a sideblog at all was because i was so in love with the url ( badbagelll ) that i couldn’t not. but it turned out better than i could’ve ever anticipated. i’m so grateful for all the wonderful writing partners i’ve been blessed to not only write with, but get to know out of character. all of you are such kind, strong, inspiring, and golden hearted human beings with such creative minds and exceptional talent. i often ask myself what on earth i did, and how i got so lucky to meet you all.

 i am so incredibly honored to have the opportunity to bring the independent, strong, unfairly gorgeous, quick witted, badass, and beautifully flawed amanda rollins to life. and not only do i get the pleasure of writing amanda, but our precious bad bagel, jesse. 

all in all, amanda @ sonny in that gif is me @ every single person who i write with, who has ever messaged me ooc, and anyone who simply follows this blog. i can honestly say that writing these two characters has been the highlight of my writing journey. i adore each and every one of you, and i look forward to another year. xoxo.

******* under the cut i’m going to be gushing over those of you who still have your blogs and have truly helped to make this past year 𝚎𝚡𝚌𝚎𝚙𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚊𝚕 !

THE ELITE SQUAD.

@amaroed​ / dany ! writing nick and amanda with you has brought so much absolute joy into my life??? i’ve loved every single one of our threads and memes from them switching the sugar to salt at the precinct kitchenette to amanda becoming nick for halloween to nick trying to keep amanda awake after she caught a bullet to the side.  you capture nick so well, and your love for him and danny himself exudes every time you write him. it’s honestly so beautiful to see. after writing with you, i can honestly say that my love for nick amaro increased even more. you are such a talented writer, and i’m forever honored to write with you!

@battleincarnate / maddie ! maddie maddie maddie, my iconic, legendary cher stan.  i actually adore you so much i can’t even fully explain. from the first time i talked to you ooc, you just exuded genuine kindness, and were so chill and easy to talk to. i feel like that’s unfortunately super rare, so i just wanna thank you for that??? you’re such a rad friend, and i’m so lucky to have you!! ok as for muses go, i don’t even know where to start?? firstly, your writing is gorgeous and your ability to switch between muses like elliot stabler and ali dilaurentis is remarkable. secondly, what we’ve developed between elliot and amanda is truly one of my favorite relationships i’ve had the pleasure of establishing on this blog, even though we’ve never even gotten to see them together onscreen. i have loved every single thread we’ve ever done.  from the first thread we did where they first meet and they literally want to kill each other, to them arguing over who gets to drive on their first day as partners, to all the million and ten things we’ve discussed on discord like their hardcore car karaoke parties and the fact that amanda will ask elliot to walk her down the isle in any verse where she’s married. amanda may be one of the biggest pains in his ass, and elliot may be one of the biggest pains in hers, but they love each other sm it’s so precious. amanda is also so much like elliot it kills me, and the dynamic we’ve created is literal gold. the phrase like father, like daughter has never applied more. he’s the king and she’s the lionheart without a doubt!

@cabotiisms​ / claire ! like i told you over discord, your portrayal of alex made me love her even more which, i didn’t even think was possible. your grasp on alex’s character, her motives, the way her mind works, is so on point. your love and passion for doing right by alex is so obvious when you write her. now, the big and little sister dynamic we’ve created for alex and amanda makes me smile so much i can’t even explain. i live for alex trying to get amanda out of the messes she gets herself into aka saving her little sister from being ripped to shreds by mom, and in general just being the sister she deserves. the threads we have going right now are quite literally perfect, and i adore them.  and out of character? i love yelling at you about how dirty the svu writers did alex, and how dirty they’re currently doing amanda by bringing in cardio douche. but even more importantly, you are one of the most genuinely sweet people i’ve ever met. i adore you, and am so thankful we’re friends!

@drftwood / catie ! i don’t even know where to start. ok firstly, your ability to bring to life so many beautiful oc’s and occasional canon characters absolutely astounds me. you are so creative, all the ideas you come up with are so intriguing, and you have the ability to turn one small detail into an entire beautiful character so effortlessly. it’s so incredible. and this creativity so obviously carries into your writing. your writing is so fucking gorgeous i can’t even believe. every single character that we’ve ever written together has turned into such a beautiful relationship for amanda. chris, alex, and now jr? i mean, jr is such an important person in amanda’s canon now, and i can’t imagine altering her canon storyline in any other way, nor can i imagine anyone else taking on his role except for you. next, i can’t end this without saying how much i love talking to you ooc. like, from the minute we started talking when we started plotting amanda and alex, i knew we were gonna be friends. AND I WAS SO RIGHT. you have such a kind soul and such a big heart, you deserve all the happiness in the world. i am so lucky and proud to be able to call you a friend and ily!! 

@etlegis / shep ! ok we literally started talking like 24 hours ago but i already adore you and your peter stone. it’s so obvious that you have his character down in your writing. it’s like i read your starter, and it felt like i was in an episode of svu. not only is your characterization of stone on point, but you are the GREATEST ooc. it was so easy to start talking to you, instafriends some may call it, and we just fell down a rollins/stone hole and i’m not even mad about it. you are such a gem in this community already and i’m so glad you’re here!!

@hellhaths / lara !  lara, i fucking adore you. like for real. i could tell from the second we started talking ooc that we were going to be friends. and i’m proud to say i was very right. you are such an exceptional writer, i can’t properly explain. you put so much into every character you write, and it truly amazes me. now, i think we both know i have to talk about your olivia ‘ squad mom ’ benson because …. wow. from the first introduction to your writing, the first thought i had was ‘ she’s literally olivia benson.’ and that first thread we did with amanda asking olivia about elliot while she was trying to figure out the situation with nick, and not only did it wreck my heart, but it was the beginning of the most legendary olivia / amanda dynamic i could’ve ever asked for. SHE’S LITERALLY HER MOTHER. liv arguing with amanda to stop playing angry birds because it kills her phone battery, confining amanda to desk duty when she does something dumb, taking away amanda’s keys …. the list is literally endless. despite how bratty liv’s dorter gets, we all know she still loves her.  listen, you understand the complexities of liv so well, it absolutely astounds me. with twenty seasons of evolution to work with, you incorporate all of it so beautifully. you have her voice and mannerisms down to a tee, and i am so honored to write with you and call you a friend. i’m sending you all the love and light in the world right now, and just know i’m here for you always.

@moontide​ / angie ! girl, your amanda is so important to my jesse idk if i can even properly put it into words. when i first started writing jesse, i had no idea what type of interactions i would get. truthfully, i thought nobody would show any interest whatsoever and she would just be another blog that faded away. WHAT I NEVER IMAGINED IS WHAT I’VE WRITTEN WITH YOU. the amanda/jesse dynamic we’ve created is so complex and beautiful, and i love it so much. every single heart breaking thread and verse we’ve started or discussed, i love. jesse is so her mama’s daughter, and being able to have those interactions means so much to me, i just have to say thank you. and your amanda? so fantastic. i absolutely love the life you bring to her, and i’m so so so honored to write with you. and remember, even when she’s being a brat, jesse loves her mama more than anything.

@o188 / sunny ! holy shit!!! ok so, i need to start by telling you how big of a part you played in me giving amanda her own blog in the first place. when i found your blog and read your writing, i was, for the lack of a better word, s h o o k. to this day, i am still astounded anytime i read one of your replies, because when you write sonny, you become sonny carisi. from writing his dialogue, to his mannerisms, it’s perfection. and you yourself as a human being???? you’re actually golden and ily. you welcomed me into this community with so much warmth and love and i can never thank you enough!! ok, so now for muses. let me just start with the jesse/sonny dynamic. WHAT DID I DO TO DESERVE SOMETHING SO PURE???? sonny carisi is the Best Dad, and jesse loves him endlessly, ok? alright, now for sonny and amanda.  listen, i can’t even accurately explain how much my amanda loves your sonny. she would quite literally try and catch a falling star for him if he asked. writing amanda so open and trusting whenever she’s with him is so freakin’ beautiful, okay?? i’ve adored every single thread and meme we’ve ever started with them, from amanda telling him she’s pregnant with g, to the morning after, to post book of esther. their dynamic is so freakin’ important and what we’ve created with them is truly one of my favorite relationships i’ve ever written. oh, and writing them as parents of their precious baby girls?? quite literally makes my heart grow ten sizes. they are so soft, so beautiful, and i am both honored and grateful to have the opportunity to write that with you!!

@painbled / peaches ! cracks knuckles alright here goes!! HI I FREAKING LOVE YOU. you are one of the most genuine human beings i’ve met on here, and i am forever grateful that i chose to write topanga way back when. there was a chunk of time where we fell out of contact, but the second we started talking again, it was like NO TIME AT ALL HAD PASSED. that’s a true testament to our friendship, and i’m forever grateful for that! then, you went and decided to write noah porter benson aka amanda’s lil baby that’s not actually her baby, but she loves him like he is. she would throw down so hard for him, i’m forever emotional about it. the thread we have where liv’s in the hospital has me wrecked, but i also love it because there are so many mama!amanda vibes aimed at noah happening that it makes my heart warmer than the sun. then there’s jess and noah, and good freakin’ lord. THEY’RE SO CUTE I CAN BARELY STAND IT. they are freakin’ in love with each other and icb they’re gonna get married and have a family and liv and amanda are gonna be grandparents to the same kids. listen, both me, amanda, and jesse’s lives wouldn’t be the same without you and your muses in them. you are such a talented writer, and i will forever tell you that whenever you need reminding. thunder, lightning. peaches and honey always!!

@southbronxabogado / adrien ! wow wow wow wow wow. first of all, you are actually rafael barba. i’m convinced. every single thread is so accurate and it brings me so much joy to watch you bring him to life and give him the treatment he deserves. now, the relationship we’ve developed between amanda and rafael is truly one of my favorites. i went from oh yeah they’d be cute, to holy fucking shit they’re perfect in 0.000001 seconds after we first started plotting them. the dynamic they have is so genuine, and the way he treats her just makes my heart so happy. i’ve adored every thread we’ve ever started, from amanda thinking she freakin’ broke the toaster to the throwback thread of him taking her to that fancy benefit. now last but definitely not least, can i just say how wonderful you are ooc? like, i know i can jump into your im’s and start screaming at you enthusiastically in all caps about our idiots without worry. plotting and writing with you has been such a pleasure, and i absolutely adore you. truly. i can’t wait for all the million other things i’m sure we’ll do.

@thingsmissed / jennifer ! ok, so i haven’t really gotten much of a chance to write amanda or jesse with any of your muses, but i absolutely love having you on my dash and talking to you ooc! you put so much effort into all your muses, and it’s absolutely inspiring. you are without a doubt one of the sweetest people with one of the most genuinely kind, caring, and giving hearts that i’ve had the pleasure of meeting on here. you are always so much fun to talk to ooc, and i can always feel your kindness exuding through the screen. you are a very talented writer and i hope you never doubt that!!

[cyrelia-j]

[fic preview] Wheel Cage (original)

Based off of Tim Ransom’s John Dunn character [super loosely since it’s only a 5 minute scene] the following is a preview prologue of a 2nd person POV story I couldn’t resist starting. You may recall a story idea I mentioned from the spotlight on that character so this is that fleshed out!

Title: Wheel Cage

Genre: Drama/Suspense/Romance/Horror

Summary: With the world well on its way to a zombie filled hell, retired ATF agent Ed Miller is cashing out early. That is, with a little help from his son Isaac, the two of them figure on securing a little safety net he and his old team stashed away. Under the guise of an accidental [non zombie related] death, Ed cashes out his insurance policy, knowing that his last living team mate, John Dunham wouldn’t waste time in going to grab the hidden stash.

And that leaves Izzy to catch that same armored Greyhound from El Paso to NYC to seduce the old bugger and filch his key to the lock boxes along with the rest. Easy enough, right?

Notes: in the prologue a warning for offensive language (swearing and homophobic/sexist) but no other warnings. 2nd person POV and a trans male character. Big 80s references and aesthetic and age gap. Any feedback super welcome :)

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“John huh? I like that. They call me Izzy. You ready to take a trip around the world with me?...”

           For as long as you can remember it’s always been you and your old man against everyone. Ever since his old lady (you haven’t called her “mom” since you were five) served him up the divorce papers with a slice of birthday cake and you said you weren’t leaving your cousins and your collection of baseball cards, it’s just been the two of you. She hightailed it with your older sister - who you haven’t spoken to either since she refused to stop calling you “Jenny” some seven years back - and so the both of you just up and said fuck everyone else.

 So when your old man made the proposition, you didn’t think twice before agreeing.

           Here’s the situation. You found out your old man wasn’t as Dudley Do Right as he’d have led you to believe. Seems he and his old narc buddies made some big bust back in the day, back before the strung out zombies were actual fucking zombies and they didn’t exactly tell the Feds and the rest the whole of their haul. Got his picture in the paper like a real hero and all ‘cept Mr. All American Hero made it with a cool couple million and disappeared it like Houdini.

 Course you didn’t exactly grow up in luxury and he sure as shit didn’t lose it in the divorce like he did the house. Trying to make off with all that dough woulda set off every agent in the country asking questions so the four of them made a gentleman’s agreement: they stashed it away in some series of lockers up north ‘til enough time passed and sure enough old Dan and Bill kicked it getting caught in Atlanta leaving just your old man and John Dunham. Dunham being an old desk jockey who’d probably live forever and while your old man never had a bad thing to say about “good old John”, your old man didn’t figure on splitting the pot when he was so close to taking the whole kit n caboodle for himself.

 He also figured with the whole world well on its way to some Romero zombie hell better now than never while south of the border was free and clear.

 You didn’t exactly blame him either and the both of you figured it’d be easy enough to live like kings south of the border. Course he couldn’t exactly walk into the fucker’s office and whack him. Well… seeing as how as of today, April 1st 1987, the whole world thinks your old man died in a car accident six months ago, he probably could. But while your old man may be a lot of things, a killer ain’t one of them. Thief? Sure. Liar? What man isn’t? (And if his ex old lady’s to be believed a wife beater too, but the only time you ever seen him raise a hand was to block her throwing a lamp at his head when he said your sister “Miss Priss” Priscilla might be going with her - likely not being his anyway - but he’d be damned if she made off with his Izzy.)

 Well maybe he didn’t call you Izzy back then but your memory, your rules.

 And here’s where you come into the whole scheme.

             You’re not a killer neither but you also may be just a bit of a thief yourself, and more than that you’ve got a certain charm about you that your old man says you inherited from him. Your old man also says he doesn’t know why he paid all that money for you to lop your tits off and change your name to Isaac if you’re still gonna prance around wearing makeup like a “goddamn fairy”. You like to remind him that’s exactly what you are loud and proud and if makeup is good enough for Alice Cooper and all the hot new glam bands he can just shut his hole or find himself a new honeypot.

             Course you’re not exactly the traditional va va voom vamp but that’s only gonna keep the suspicion off you a hell of a lot better than coming on like some boozy lot lizard, and if your old man hadn’t fallen asleep ten minutes into Murphy’s Law then maybe he’d know that those middle aged straight lace types seem to have a thing for cute and lovable punks half their age. He conceded (as big a Bronson fan that he is) you might be onto something and that settled the matter there, you hanging up the payphone outside the shithole apartment where you’ve been crashing, tucking the number back into your wallet.

             You’d been crashing on your pal Stevie's couch, helping out with the rent from a few “odd jobs”, and while you hated lying to her, you sure couldn’t tell her the real reason you were headed up north where they got shit locked down a hell of a lot harder cause of the “mess”. So far as she knew, you took your old man’s “death” hard and on top of that come to find his half a mil insurance policy was a bust to boot leaving you with a big fat nothing and in need of a place to stay. Wasn’t a far stretch seeing as how the insurance companies were finding it all too easy nowadays to call any claim they didn’t’ want to pay “ineligible” living dead shit. It wasn’t a lie exactly anyway, seeing as how you’d followed your old man’s instructions to the letter and made sure he got every untraceable dollar coming to him.

 Alright, so you kept a couple thousand for necessary expenses helping out Stevie (and getting your ticket and some new kicks) but it wasn’t like you pissed it away at the arcade.

             Stevie refused to buy your ticket though, saying you were crazy to go up north with some guy you met at a bar and chatted up on the phone and she didn’t care how good of a screw he was. Course you couldn’t tell her it was your old man you’d been plotting with so you just packed up when she left for work at Sid’s, left another hundred dollars, and swore in the note sitting next to it that you’d call after you were settled, sure she’d bawl you out a good one but you know the less anyone knows the better. You ended up paying some wino looking about to turn any second twenty bucks to buy your ticket and an extra dose of the anti Z Juice to keep quiet if anyone came ‘round asking any questions on the matter. You promised him you weren’t killing no one, just leaving a shit situation.

             It’s simple, you think as you shoulder your duffle bag, ticket out of El Paso ticket in hand. Blow the old fuck ‘til his eyes roll back into his head and swap the four bum keys for his. Nick his wallet once you get to NYC so you get a head start, and meet your old man’s contact in Jersey once you’ve secured the money. You got his old piece, his thirty nine and you can’t say as you’re a shot up to his standard but you don’t know a man to have ever missed jamming the muzzle of a gun into someone’s gut either so you’re none too worried about that part of it.

 Bullets don’t work none too well on them other fucking things if you ain’t a crack shot but you got your Dynaco L-Rod for that.

             You make sure to smile nice as you approach the benches where everyone’s waiting to start boarding. First impressions and all that and ain’t no need for either piece here between the shock fences and the scans. Nah, you’re rocking your ripped black jeans just tight enough and your favorite half threadbare Dokken shirt neckline stretched out not quite off your shoulder, and your choppy brown hair is streaked with red same as your lips. You look pretty damn dynamite with your black leather boots up to your knees and a swagger in your step sure you catch a few eyes wondering if staring at your ass makes ‘em bent or not when they see the slight bulge of your crotch and your lack of tits.

 Yeah, fucking putty, you think with a wink to a straight laced dope in a polo shirt and khakis, strutting over to Mr. Paper Pusher Dunham, counting dollar signs in the whorl of his thick black - has to be a dye job pushing fifty five like that - hair and grey Garanimals button down.

 Only one thing you didn’t figure on as you take a seat next to him and get ready to charm…

 ...And that’s fucking John Dunham.