#for this next round we hit you with hammers live on air

[vamprisms]

the way biphobic & transphobic gold star types talk about women who've had sexual partners with dicks like it changes or taints them or something is insane. do you think you're being asked to suck the nut directly out of her or something. do you think the dick is still in there knocking down walls and calling it open concept like a bald little property brother. do you think you're watching flipping pussy on hgtv.

[from-a-reckless-writer]

iv. couch.

read on ao3

To Lena: r u busy??? U didnt answer my calls. Dinner later?

To Lena: my place.

To Lena: Or yours! Can totally go to urs. If u want.

To Lena: Lena????

To Lena: where are u??

To Lena: Answer my calls

To Lena: Pls?

Kara rounds the corner of her hallway, keys bitten, dangling from her lips, as she types with both hands. Her 67th text message of the day to an MIA Lena Luthor sent. She fails to notice the creature lurking around the front of her door; dark fur shining under the cheap LED lights of Kara’s corridor.

She’s still deeply absorbed in her phone with worry, in the middle of jamming her keys in with one hand, when something furry brushes against her legs and Kara yelps.

She pulls the knob clean out of the wood in shock, her phone dropping to the floor loudly, the cat doing a duet with her with a startled yowl of her own.

Heart hammering and adrenaline racing, Kara looks down and sees the cat for the first time.

“Oh! Oh!” she gasps, “I didn’t see you there, buddy. I’m sorry for startling you!! I didn’t mean it.”

The door knob clatters loudly to the ground as it falls out of her grasp. And Kara sheepishly feels guilty for the hole in her door. But the cat meows loudly, catching her attention, as if in response to her apology.

She crouches down low, and reaches out a hand to touch the furball. She snaps a quick pic, sends it to Lena and pockets her phone.

To Lena: KITTY!!

“Oh, oh come here,” she coos, “where’s your collar? How’d you get here huh?”

The cat reminds her of Streaky. The first stray who ever took to her kindly. Although upon closer inspection, Kara realizes this one has striking emeralds for eyes, Streaky’s eyes were a more softer blue.

The cat surprisingly seems friendly, immediately leaning into Kara’s touch. Nosing at the inside of Kara’s wrist and it’s such a familiar gesture but she can’t seem to remember why.

And...oh, a small rumbling echoes through Kara’s palm!

Oh, they’re purring!

Kara doesn’t know how long she stays there crouched low exactly, but eventually, she stands up, takes her hand away, and picks up the damaged doorknob.

“Well, time for you to go home now, buddy,” she tells them, giving their head one last pat before dusting off her hands on her jacket.

“Go on, shooo. Shoo. Go home. I’m sure your human is looking for you.”

But the cat remains unmoving. It looks like they’ve decided to sit firmly in front of Kara’s doorstep, casually licking a paw, as if waiting for Kara to open her door.

“Are you actually waiting for me to open my door?” Kara makes a mental note to thank Rao that none of her neighbors can see her trying to hold a proper conversation with a cat.

“Look, kitty,” she says firmly, “I’m not your human.”

The cat just blinks owlishly at her. Eyes too green, too intelligent and-

Kara makes up her mind.

She turns her face skywards, takes a deep breath (This will probably backfire, she already knows. But she's always had a soft spot for strays.) and then she pushes her door wide open.

The cat races inside, cutting through Kara’s legs and almost tripping her.

“Well, somebody’s excited,” Kara mutters under her breath, she watches the cat head for her living room couch; watches as they pause all of a sudden, changes course and jumps onto Kara’s coffee table instead.

Where the cat then proceeds to knock down everything in close vicinity, even the picture frame of her and Lena together.

“Hey! No! Bad kitty-”

But the cat is already hopping down from her pedestal, landing on the frame directly.

And then things get weird.

The cat proceeds to stomp all over it, meows loud, like really loud; insanely loud for a cat their size.

Her paw seems to be almost pointing? At the other person in the frame.

“I-” Kara seems taken aback by the bizarre behavior, sure she knows cats are vastly different from dogs, but this…

This is just weird.

The cat’s meowing only seems to get louder.

How you land yourselves in these situations, Kara. I really just don’t know, at this point. She can almost hear Alex say.

“What are you- Are you- are you pointing? That’s- That’s Lena, yeah. That’s my best friend.”

At that, the cat seems to vibrate. They start clawing at Kara’s pant leg, meowing and meowing and meowing—

And then it hits her.

"-but it turns out that she’s a witch. And apparently, so am I."

The green, green eyes.

A pink nose nuzzling against her wrist.

“Lena?”

******

“Oh, Rao! Lena you’re a cat! What happened?! Oh, no, baby what did you do?”

Lena-

Lena The Cat—and okay, so she’s still wrapping her head around that one—just stays silent. She’s sitting on her lap, looking regal than any cat has any right to be. A judgmental look in her eyes.

Lena’s a cat. Cat’s can’t speak. Can’t answer Kara’s questions.

“Right. Sorry. Only meow,” Kara murmurs, embarrassed. For some reason even in cat form Lena manages to be intimidating.

“Okay so, uh d-does that mean you still understand me? Two meows for yes. One meow for no.”

Kara gets two meows.

“Okay, cool, cool. Great. You can still understand me, that's good.” Kara runs a hand down her spine, “Gosh, your fur is just so soft.”

She hears Lena give a small growl, body tensing, “Right. Right. Sorry. Not the time for pets.” Kara retracts her hand away.

“Uhm, so next question then, I guess? D-did you become a cat this morning? Were you testing out your uhm...gift?”

Lena meows twice. Kara nods, clenching and unclenching her fist underneath her chin. Fingers itching to run themselves through Lena’s soft fur again. Lena seems to sense this, and nuzzles her face into Kara’s hand, bumps against her repeatedly.

“Really?” Kara double-checks, giddy. If she were human Kara bets Lena would be rolling her eyes like she always does when Kara does something particularly dorky, but she just pushes her head firmer against Kara’s hand and meows twice.

“So uhm,” she starts, cautiously, noting Lena’s increasing purr, “is there like a spellbook for this or something? Something that can help you transform back?

Lena meows yes.

“Is it in The Tower or back at your place?”

There are no responses.

“Sorry, sorry lemme rephrase, is it in The Tower?”

She gets two consecutive meows.

Okay, to The Tower it is.

******

“Are you going to tell me why you’re cradling a cat in your cape or??” Alex raises a brow at her, a hand on her hip, left foot tapping impatiently. Her sister was heading out for the day, it looks like. It was just tough luck that Supergirl landed one minute before the elevator took Alex.

Crap. Now they have to explain. They didn’t talk about this. Lena still hasn’t told her if it was okay to tell people about her gift.

“I-I rescued it,” Kara says.

Well, that isn’t so far from the truth, right? She stares at the bundle in her arms, Lena the traitor staying silent all the while—green eyes shining all innocent at Kara.

Alex’s stares intensifies.

“From a tree,” Kara flounders, and Lena The Cat has the audacity to yawn, squirm and jump away from her arms. She lands gracefully, tail swishing up in the air and heads straight for the lab.

Alex eyes the cat suspiciously before turning back to Kara. She jabs a finger to her chest. “It better not have any fleas. It better not touch my training mat.”

“She won’t.”

Alex just shakes her head, rolls her eyes, grabs her helmet and walks to the elevator.

Before she goes though, Alex says, “You know, this is gonna sound weird, but I swear I think I saw that same cat slinking out of The Tower earlier this morning.”

“Alex, she’s literally a black cat. There are hundreds of black cats in the city.”

“You're being weirdly defensive about this. Why are you being weird?”

“I’m not.”

Alex seems like she wants to say more, but the elevator dings, and she’s never been more grateful that Kelly makes Alex pick her up from work. Alex huffs out breath, before conceding and disappearing into the lift.

******

The camera flash is what gets Kara busted.

But is it really her fault if she walked in on a cute kitty, hunched over, meowing adorably, trying to flip over the pages of a thick spellbook, with her teeny-tiny bean paws?

Lena hisses at her, teeth-bared and fur puffy.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. But you were just really, really, really cute okay?” She walks closer to the desk, carefully lifts a hand and scratches Lena behind the ear.

The hissing slowly devolves into purring, and Kara grins triumphantly. Lena lets herself be picked up after a few moments, Kara leafing through the pages for her.

“So, found anything yet?” She asks, cradling Lena close to her chest. A warm weight on Kara’s arms, and as much as she wants to get her real Lena back, she also isn’t too eager on giving up this version anytime soon. Then again, Kara thinks, it would be impossible for her to give up any version of Lena Luthor.

“Spell? Charm? Anything? Do you need to make a potion? Are we gonna get to make a potion? Oh, oh do you need a wand? Do you have a wa-”

Kara’s words get muffled as two black paws press against her lips. Lena’s green eyes narrowing at her. She meows at Kara. Loudly.

“Mkay, mkay. Shut up. Got it.”

Lena removes her paws, and Kara makes a gesture of zipping her lips together. This seems to appease Lena enough because the next second, a pink tongue darts out and she...licks Kara's nose.

“Did you- did you just lick me?” Kara gasps out.

Lena doesn’t even acknowledge her with a meow, just turns away and jumps out of her arms again. Before Kara can do anything about it though, her phone rings.

The screen lighting up with Andrea’s name.

“Danvers, I’ve got a story for you.”

******

“Alex, please, I’ll be quick. I promise. I’ll only be three hours at the most. Please just look after her,” she pleads, pouting and puppy eyes in full power.

It also helps that the cat burrito in her cape looks to be cooperating. Lena The Cat staring at Alex with wide round eyes.

Apparently, some governor was found dead downtown, and now Andrea wants her on the scene. She can’t just leave Lena all alone in The Tower. No matter how hard Lena’s been protesting, this is brand new territory for both of them. Nobody knows the extent of Lena’s powers.

Point is, Kara would feel a lot better if she were to leave Lena under the care of someone she trusts. Even if said someone, accuses Lena of being a stray with fleas. It's still better than leaving Lena all on her own.

“Ugh.” Alex groans and Kara knows she’s won. “If this cat causes trouble I will throw it out the window, Kara.”

“No!” Kara yells, distressed. “Don’t do that. She’ll behave. She promises.”

She puts her hand under Lena’s arms and raises her up to eye level—Simba style. “You promise to be good for Alex, don’t you?”

All she gets is a lot of squirming and screaming, there were also a lot of attempts at scratching Kara’s nose.

“See?” Kara says, chuckling nervously. “She’s telling you she’s good.”

Alex looks skeptical, her arms crossed against her chest.

Kara sets her down on the couch, and crouches down low.

She tries to pet her head, but Lena bites at her finger, she catches her teeth on the skin of her supersuit’s thumb slot. She bites deeper, her teeth accomplishing nothing but a few dents.

And oh, Rao she thinks she’s such a feral little cat but her pink adorable gummy snarl says otherwise.

“I’m sorry, I’ll be back. I promise,” she whispers, careful not to let Alex hear. “And then we’ll figure it out later, okay? The safest place for you right now is to be with Alex.”

She really doesn’t want to go, and based on Lena’s protests she doesn’t want Kara to go either. But well, Andrea had finally threatened to fire her if she disobeyed...which is...fair.

She’s aware she’s been doing a less than stellar job at being a journalist lately. Rao, what an understatement. This is basically her make it or break it.

“Look, I’ll be quick, promise. Be good to Alex,” Kara murmurs. She presses a kiss on Lena’s furry forehead. Lena finally unclenches her jaw and lets Kara go. The little whine she lets out, letting Kara know that she knows the battle’s lost.

“Both of you, be good,” Kara tells them sternly. “Alex, please don’t yeet my cat out of the window.”

Alex shrugs, staring at the cat with suspicion. “I make no promises.’

Lena is staring at Alex just as hostile. Great. They both deserve each other.

Kara sighs exasperatedly. Well, at least she tried.

******

She gets a very angry Alex Danvers on the line, right after she’s finished talking to some sources. It’s nighttime now, and when she checks her watch—yep, she’s left Lena in Alex’s care for more than six hours.

Crap.

“Hey, Al—”

“KARA IF YOU DON’T PICK UP THIS THIS THIS GODDAMNED HAIRBALL RIGHT NOW, YOU WILL NEVER SEE IT EVER AGAIN.”

There is loud meowing, and then, “What the- Get off! Get off me right no-”

The line clicks dead.

Kara Danvers quickly changes into an alley, manages to break the sound barrier.

******

It’s Kelly who opens the door.

“Hey, Kara,” she greets her. Kara is impatiently rocking on her heels, trying to peer past Kelly’s shoulders.

The place was quiet; ridiculously quiet, and Kara feels fear swoop in her belly.

“Please, tell me my cat is still alive,” Kara bursts out, Kelly just gives her a pained smile and oh, no, oh no.

She muscles her way past Kelly to a brooding Alex on the couch.

Lena is nowhere to be seen.

“Alex, Alex where’s my cat? Where is she? Where did you put her?”

Alex finally looks up at her, Kara taking notice of the red marks on her arm.

Oh no, Lena, what did you do?

“Calm down, I didn’t throw the little demon away. She’s-" Alex sing-songs before finishing, "on time-out.”

“Time-out?” Kara asks, voice shaking. Rao, does she really want to know.

Alex takes too long to answer, taking a swig of her beer first before pointing to a corner in the living room.

And there, she spots it.

It, being a small pile of laundry on the floor, next to an upside down hamper. A big white hamper housing one Lena Luthor. There's a crude cardboard sign stuck on it; "Kitty Jail". Alex has also stacked a few encyclopedia on top of it, no doubt an attempt to keep Lena from escaping.

“Oh! Oh, Lena!”

Kara superspeeds her way and scoops Lena up, the cat meowing immediately and curling into Kara’s chest.

“You named the cat after Lena?!”

Crap.

Kara turns around slowly, “Uhm yeah?”

Alex just shakes her head. “Unbelievable.”

“Her eyes reminded me of Lena, okay?!” Kara yells defensively, pressing tiny kisses onto Lena’s fur.

“I’m sorry that Alex has been such a meanie to you," she coos, "I know you didn’t deserve it, baby."

Alex seems to perk up at that, because she raises up from the couch. “That,” Alex jabs a finger in their direction, Kara cradles Lena protectively, “That baby ruined my couch and she so totally deserves all the mean! All the mean in the world, Kara!”

Lena hisses in her arms.

“No, no. That’s not true. Lena is baby and she’s perfect and you’re just a meanie.”

“She ruined my upholstery! She left hair all over the place and that’s not even to mention the scratching!”

“Because you were mean to her!”

Alex scoffs, eyes bulging wide in disbelief.

“Get out,” Alex says, her brows pinching comically, “Get out of my apartment before that little devil causes more damage.”

“Gladly,” Kara says, and Lena meows her assent. They make their way past Alex, Kara unaware that Lena has stuck out her little tongue at Alex over her shoulder.

“And she’s not a little devil!” Kara calls out.

Alex slams the door in her face.

******

That evening, Kara pores over a thick spellbook, eyes swimming with Latin symbols with a purring machine on her lap.

By midnight, Kara has managed to pass out on her couch, a black cat curled on her chest.

The spellbook lay open on her coffee table, forgotten.

******

The first sight that greets Kara when she wakes up are green eyes.

Green human eyes.

And then it hits her.

“Lena!”

The spell had blessedly wore off by morning, and Kara’s never been more glad to see the sunlight lighting up Lena’s face.

For a moment, Kara’s assaulted with the mental image of laying in a pool of sunlight with a black cat stretching leisurely next to her.

“Good morning,” Lena purrs, and oh Rao, that sound is much, much better than her meowing.

“You’re back!” Kara gasps in awe.

“I’m back,” she whispers, she’s still draped fully over Kara on the couch. A blanket covering them both.

“Rao, I missed you.” A palm comes up to cup her cheeks, Lena automatically nuzzling into the inside of her wrist.

“Mm, I missed me, too,” Lena tells her, face breaking into a small smile. Kara traces her fingers up and down Lena’s spine. Oh, how she’s missed touching Lena’s skin.

Wait-

Skin.

Is she-

“Lena,” Kara begins, swallowing. Her nerves not going unnoticed.

Lena raises a brow at her. “Kara?”

“Are you- uhm- ah. Are you naked right now?”

Lena’s eyes light up like a cat’s and Kara knows she’s in trouble.

“Mm. It seems that I am,” Lena says, and all Kara can do is gulp.

“What are you gonna do about it?”

special shoutout to @mike-wachowski, @sexybread-png and @thebreakfastgod for their cat expertise without whom this silly little fic would not be written.

[andnofcksweregiven]

Universal Rule

jeff wittek x reader

warnings: fluff , smut (i’m sorry if it isn’t super great first time writing it 😅)

synopsis: this anons request basically

There’s a universal rule that females and males can’t simply be friends. Where it came from- no one seems to know however, as much as we try and deny it, the realization that there’s harbored feelings hidden deep within you reels its ugly head around.

Jeff Wittek, a man who some may describe to be as gorgeous as a God but as charming as a devil. His natural allure but timidness factor to the ever growing attention of many women, ones he tries to politely reject with a signature giggle- a sign that, once again, he’ll be going home alone.

Except, he wasn’t truly alone as everyone believed. Jeff had a blossoming friendship with a neighbor, from the second he helped her with the last box on moving in day, to the next second everything fell through the bottom and all over his feet- a plethora of clothing ranging from heavy jeans to delicate red panties. For Jeff, it was like a nightmare, slight pink hue dusting his cheeks, that was until a fit of giggles erupted from his new neighbor's lips.

From that day on, Jeff and Y/N were inseparable. In their world, they were friends, ones without any ulterior motives in their hearts or heads, although- to someone looking in, Jeff and Y/N were a ticking time bomb. Either the final chapter to the romance part of their individual books, or the greatest heartbreak and tragedy since Romeo and Juliet. 

Y/N was the first to realize and accept the fact that to her, Jeff was it. It tiptoed into her heart like a burglar, one who was preparing to wreak havoc on the one thing that no one had been able to possess in almost forever. It hit one evening, after Jeff was going on a rant about how there’s so much he has to do, and that even though he knows he’s working himself to the bone, he needs to make sure he’s growing. The vulnerability in his voice, the softness in his eyes melted Y/N- just like it had done to thousands of women before her. 

For Jeff, it happened when Y/N had dragged him on a 2 am walk with Nerf after finding him slumped over his computer recording the same voice over for nearly 20 minutes- the food she had bought going cold besides him. Nerf was hopping up her ankles as they walked, an almost puppy like behavior, barking happily up at her. Jeff had stepped back to capture the moment as Y/N carried on going further- he had slowly lowered his phone as he gazed longingly at a girl who you could compare to Aphrodite.

The universe runs on minutes, hours, days, months and so on. A singular second could be a turbulent moment in ones life. Jeff and Y/N had so many stored seconds from meeting, to the realization that your friend holds more power over your existence then another soul. Those seconds, as heavy as they felt, had fleeted away like distance memories to reminisce on later. Nonetheless, the universe runs on seconds.

Jeff had been running late for a usual movie/ catch up night with Y/N, which led to her deciding to take a brisk shower to calm her ongoing nerves. To her dismay, her mind must have slipped up the tiny detail of letting Jeff know she was in the shower, let alone the fact that he had a spare key to her apartment.

“I’m so sorry Y/N, I know I’m late but there was about 20 ninjas I had to fight off in the hallway an’ then a meteor was gunna come an’ hit-” Jeff voice slowly went quieter as he spun away from the front door, only to be met with an empty living room. “Huh, she must be running late as well” he thought.”fuuuuuck I need a piss, she wouldn’t care if I used her toilet”

He walked idly towards the bathroom, unaware to his surroundings as the only thought he was having was how much he was bursting. It wasn’t until a ear piercing shriek echoed off the walls as a naked Y/N stood stunned in the middle of the bathroom.

“Y/N!? HOLY FUCK I- I’M SO SORRY I-” spinning on his heel and running out the room as Y/N finally wrapped her towel securely round her.

“JEFF WHAT THE HELL?” she screamed at him once entering the living room, a pink faced Jeff sitting on the arm rest of her couch head in hands, from the sheer mortifying fact he had managed to see her whole bare silhouette.

“I’m sorry Y/N, I- I- I really needed the toilet...” a whisper that would’ve been hard to catch if the environment hadn’t been so silent. 

“Oh, well go on then I’m done anyways” retreating back into her room to put some article of clothing and a shred of dignity that might have been left in her. Whilst Jeff hurried back into the steamed up room, the blush growing more prominent by every thought of that singular second.

It carried on through out the night, the tension thick in the air, as Jeff kept replaying the moment- he felt like he was being engulfed by the steam from how hot he was starting to feel. The beads of water cascading down your heaving chest, your pillowy lips slightly parted from shock as your sparkling eyes stared directly at him. The more he fantasized, the tighter his shorts got- he was trying his best not to let his mind wonder but having you pressed against his right side, your delicate hands grazing his upper left arm- sending electricity through out his veins- it was leaving him dissatisfied. 

“Y/N?” his voiced wavered as he gazed downwards at the h/c haired girl,

“Yeah Jeff?”

“Can you look at me for a sec”

A slight giggle escaped your mouth, as you raised your head to stare longingly into his eyes. “Ok what do you want because this is a really good sce-”

A second.  

A second was all it took before your lips collided into a passionate yet sensual kiss. A kiss that had left you breathless and almost bare once he pulled away. The empty space between your lips seeming never ending, suddenly you grasped at the collar of his shirt as you fell back on the couch, Jeff following as he slotted himself between your parting legs. His lips trailed towards your jaw and down your neck- sucking and biting, leaving something more then just a memory behind.

Hot breathes followed by sharp movements of clothes being ripped off, after months of hesitation and refusal of the cardinal need to be with one another. 

Jeff's lips wrapped around the stiff peak of your right tit as his slightly rough textured hand, massaged the other one. To him, it felt like silk, soft and welcoming. He didn’t think he could feel better until he finally got a taste of you, a broad stripe up your slit, making you gasp and slightly arch your back off the couch as his forearm held your hips down. As he pulled his head back, the loss of contact had you whining until suddenly Jeff delved his head back in, sucking on your clit that a guttural moan escaped your bruised lips. Your eyes rolled back as you felt a tight coil in your lower abdomen as Jeff continued his attack in between your legs.

“Jeff I’m gunna, JEFF!” 

You came all over his tongue as he carried on lapping away, the taste of you making his mind hazy. Finally, he pulled himself up towards your face, your eyes hooded as you tried to catch your breath.

He placed a light kiss to the top of your head has he stroked your hair backwards, whispering and “are you ok?” to your hairline.

He was going to ask if you wanted to go on before he felt your hand wrap itself around his dick, slowly moving your hand up and down as you placed the tip against your entrance. Looking into your eyes for any shred of hesitance, but being instead met with lust. He kept the eye contact as he pushed himself further inside, a sharp intake of breathe being held inside your lungs as your walls enveloped around him. He didn’t start moving until you let the breathe out, followed by a slight nod.

He built up his speed start slow and hard before hammering into you, the tip of his dick hitting the spot you needed him too. Both of your moans harmonizing as the air carried them in the room, along with skin slapping. Jeff was insatiable. To him, you were like a new vice, one that he intends on never dropping. The constrictions of your walls felt like heaven as you gripped onto his dick, your groans and breaths becoming shallow and shaky as you neared your peak. A final hip shattering thrust, made you coat Jeff’s dick as he slowed down, nearing his own finish as his breathing became ragged until, at last, he pulled out and released on your stomach.

He collapsed beside you as your labored breathing filled the silence- the movie long finished. 

“Wow, I really wasn’t expecting that” you half heartedly chuckled, as you cuddled back into Jeff’s side, head resting on his chest.

Your head bounced as Jeff’s laugh echoed in his chest. “If I’m being honest y/n/n, neither did I”

“So what now Jeff? Can’t exactly pretend this didn’t happen” resting your chin on his chest, waiting to see his deep brown eyes that turned golden in the Sun light.

“Lets not then” he responded nonchalantly as your eyebrows crumpled together, his gaze averting away from the barren ceiling to yours, a smile gracing his lips as a deep emotion of love clouded his eyes “This is a second I never want to forget”

[mythiccheroacademia]

My bad, I’m just now seeing the rules😭 I’ll choose shiguraki, dabi, and Hawks for the time traveling kids reaction

A/N: You’re all good baby! I kept looking at this trying to come up with a fitting situation for them and then I dreamt about being in all three situations last night??? lmaooo it was both terrifying and lucky hehe~ Hopefully, it’s as good as I’m imagining it

Side Note: I’m writing this with a baby (thankfully, but unfortunately, not mine!) on my chest. Get on my level. Jk, but everyone say hi <3

Warnings: Cursing 

Shigaraki Tomura:

you and shigaraki came back from your daily walks 

aka, people watching

and you two planned to play on the PS4 later

whiles you’re setting up the TV in the living room, he goes to his room to get the console and remotes

he opens the door, sees a baby on his bed, then immediately shuts the door

goes to you and kurogiri

him: “any of you know why there’s a baby on my bed?”

kurogiri: a baby? 😐

you: a BABY!!!?? 😍💞💞

you rush in there and to your amazement, there is a baby no more than six or seven months, gurgling on the bed

kurogiri is giving tomura the most judgemental look and shigaraki kinda feels embarrassed even though he swears he didn’t do anything

“please don't tell me it’s yours”

“i can assure you, y/n and i use prot--”

“oh my gosh, shiggy, she looks just like you with my hair and nose!”

kurogiri is over it 

tomura is malfunctioning

you’re gushing over the baby girl, totally ignoring the fact that a literal child, who just so happened to look like a perfect mix between you and tomura, just appeared like a sick magic trick

was it a quirk?

was it time travel??

did tomura knock you up and everybody just somehow forgot???

so many questions, so little answers

in order to keep from getting a migraine, everybody followed your train of thought and just went along with it for now

shigaraki was less than pleased that his plans with you had been scrapped

he spent the day going shopping (stealing) for diapers, getting formula, buying clothes, and buying toys

feeding the baby was annoying

changing her was a nightmare

shigaraki threatened to disintegrate the child if she puked on him one more time

but everyone just adores her

she’s such a cutie

her toothless smile just warms up everybody’s hearts

even kurogiri is smitten

the day ends with you, the baby, and shigaraki in his room, getting ready for bed

he’s grumbling bc “can’t we just leave her on the couch or something”

you ignore him and he’s forced to get in bed bc no matter what, he’d never give up the chance to cuddle with you...even if it is with some stupid baby

after she falls asleep, you sigh and lean on his shoulder

“you really think she’s ours?” you ask

he wants to say i hope not, but the way you look at him with all the hope in the world makes his heart tingle 

instead of answering, he softly kisses your lips and tucks the both of you in

when you both wake up, the baby is gone--probably back to her timeline

you're a little sad and shigaraki only says what he says NOT BC HE THINKS IT’S TRUE OR SOMETHING but bc your misery makes him itch

“don’t worry. i’m sure we’ll see the brat again someday”

Dabi:

when you came back to your apartment, holding a load of groceries, you were quite surprised to see the situation at hand 

in the middle of your living room was dabi, at his big ass age, wrestling with a kid that couldn't be older than 12 

least to say, you were pissed 

“come on, fess up you little runt. did my old man have another kid”

“for the last time, NO! i’m yours!!”

“stop lying! my pull out game is too strong for that”

“EW! get off of me you staple-faced, burnt chicken nugget lookin’ fu--”

that’s when you intervened

“chicken nugget lookin’ what?” you questioned, looking at the boy with the look™️  

 the boy’s expression went from angry to scared in 0.2 seconds

dabi’s kind of impressed

“father. i-i was gonna say father”

“oh, that’s what i thought bc if you were gonna say what i thought your were gonna say, then i’d have to whoop your ass. but you weren’t, correct?”

“no ma’am”

“so we’re good?”

“yes ma’am”

“perfect. now what’s this about him being your father?”

dabi is taking out of his smugness and flinches under the heat of your glare

you ask him one time who he slept with and when he tells you you're crazy, you lunge at him

your kid lets you get a couple of good hits in before he decides to drop the news that he’s you two’s son of three from the future

you pause, his hand on your face and your fist in his hair

“deadass?” dabi says 

the boy nods his head and you two take the time to look at him

his features are undeniably yours and dabi’s; he was one of those kids that if you sat them next to one or the other, they could look like both parents

you two take it better than he thought you would 

“i always knew you wanted kids with me. simp”

dabi can’t even deny it. he just rolls his eyes and acts all tough 

then he asks, “you sure you’re not gonna get erased from the time continuum by telling us?”

the boy shrugs “i mean...i hope not”

it’s beyond y’all at this point

so you spend the day with the kid, who was named after Dabi (Touya Jr.), and it’s so obvious he’s a momma’s boy 

he helps you cook, set the table, and wash the dishes 

smiles at you like you’re the entire world

dabi is kind of jealous from all the attention you’re giving him 

fumes at the middle finger junior sneakily flips at him 

does it back 

claims to hate the kid but wipes the crumbs off his lip without hesitation

junior got the itis and is down for a nap

calls you two mom and dad before falling asleep 

you get all 🥺 and even dabi is a little nostalgic when junior disappears 

it’s quiet for a moment and then he says, 

“wanna do a practice round in baby-making. yknow? for the future”

you roll your eyes but you aint say no! 

Takami Keigo (Hawks):

hawks didn't expect to see a tiny kid on the edge of a building on his day off

there wasn't a lot that scared him, but he couldn't deny the fear hammering against his ribcage as he saw the child look around before jumping

thank goodness his speed wasn’t just talk

he caught the girl who didn't look a day past six 

he’s in the middle of giving her a huge lecture about safety and mental health, she just giggles and gives him the biggest kiss on the cheek 

“haha! i knew you’d catch me if i fall, papa~”

he’s too angry to even register what she called him

“that was totally dangerous, kid! what if i hadn't seen you? then what?”

“then i would fly” she said like it was the most obvious thing

he’s dumbstruck as two beautiful white wings sprout out of thin air and allow her to float next to the hero with ease 

hawks blinks bc yeah anyone could have wings, but he could tell that feather pattern from anywhere

it was his 

it was like his own fingerprint was staring at him 

did he accidentally knock someone up bc that would be a big uh-oh

y/n wouldn't like that at all

he asks the child who he is to her and she repeats, “papa~”

he then asks who the mother was and she goes, “mommy~”

she’s not the brightest crayon in the box, that’s for sure 

“what’s mommy’s name, kid,” he asks with the patience of a saint

“Takami Y/N~”

“you’re coming with me”

flys across the city with conviction

you’re lying on your bed, face mask on and reading a book in peace before your oh so wonderful boyfriend comes crashing through your open window

you don’t even flinch. so used to his surprise visits, you close the book and sigh

“to what do i owe the great pleasure of having you break into my house? again”

hawks holds the cute girl up, squishing her cheek as she laughs from the adventure they just went on

“mommy!”

“surprise!”

this time, you drop the book

eventually, with some cupcakes and chicken, the little girl tells you two about how she went to play with some kid and got zapped by a quirk and ended up here 

you also find out she’s the youngest of four

you look a little sick but keigo gives you a shit-eating grin

he’s so excited about having a family with you

you can’t deny the tingle in your heart

parades the girl around the house and they’re both laughing the same laugh, eyes bright with joy

it makes your heart hurt and now you have to join into the shenanigans 

you spend the day playing games, doing face masks, and reading books to fall asleep to

when you wake up, she’s gone but keigo’s arms are still firmly wrapped around your waist

“so now that you know i’m gonna trap you with four kids, when are you gonna pop the question?”  you joke 

but hawks isn’t laughing. instead, he’s smiling at you in a way that makes your eyes widen

he digs in his coat and pulls out the ring

“i was gonna try and make it a little more romantic. but why wait? so, what do ya say to taking my last name?”

[dreamsmp-au-ideas]

Ok, so I might as well post the first part now since I already have it. Fun fact, it's four pages in a google docs. I'll give you the second part as soon as I'm done writing it.

Tommy glanced at Cedric questioningly. The older teen just waved him on, leaving the trophy open. Tommy shot another glance at Harry, eyebrow raised. “We’re all champions,” the dark haired teen said. “Besides, you and I never put our names in the Goblet. I don’t see the harm in letting him take the cup.” “No, no,” Cedric said with a small shake of his head. “You two have won basically every challenge so far. You deserve the trophy more than I do.” “Together then,” Tommy said, shifting Harry’s weight and reaching his hand out to Cedric. “After all, we are all Hogwarts champions.” After a moment of hesitation, Cedric accepted the hand, and together the three of them limped towards the Triwizard Cup.

Once they reached it, a glance passed between the three of them, and slowly, they reached out for the Cup. As soon as they did, Tommy felt a sharp tug in his belly button and he was yanked forward. He felt his hand slipping from Harry’s, and he held on tighter. Faintly, he thought he heard Cedric’s voice calling them. Then just as suddenly as it had stopped, the dizzying tug stopped, and dumped Cedric, Harry, and Tommy into a damp field of grass.

It took Tommy a moment to regain his bearing. He was still disoriented, but he saw a small hill rising to his left, dotted with tall, rounded stones. It took him a moment to realize they were graves. He was in a cemetery. His brow furrowed. “Where the hell are we?” he asked, helping Harry to his feet. “I dunno,” Cedric said confusedly. The teen was disoriented, but he seemed to have more of his wits about him than Harry did. “I think someone turned the Cup into a portkey.” “Well, obviously,” Tommy said, hand dipping into his inventory for his sword. “Still doesn’t tell us where we are though.” Suddenly, a small, snake-like voice croaked out, “Kill the spare.”

“Avada Kedavra!” A bolt of sickly green light shot out from behind the graves. It hit Cedric square in the chest before Tommy had even so much as a chance to cry out a warning. The older teen dropped to the ground silently, a tangle of robes and limbs. Harry checked him over, but Tommy could tell by the paleness of his skin that he was already dead.

He drew his sword, but before he could find his enemy, a bolt of red light hit him, and he dropped his blade. Tommy fell to the ground frozen, and after a moment, Harry fell beside him. “Very good, Wormtail,” the same snake-like voice said. “Now, as we discussed.” Tommy heard footsteps, and then there was a small hand twisting into the back of his robes, nails digging into his skin. There was a soft grunt, and then his captor was dragging him across the damp grass. “Tommy,” Harry whispered, scared. “What do we do?”

Tommy’s mind was whirling, but he was frozen. He was frozen in place and at the mercy of Wormtail. There was nothing he could do. Not yet, at least. Suddenly, he was slammed up against something hard and rough. A small shockwave rang through his skull and dirty hands yanked his arms behind him. Coarse rope wrapped around his wrists. The stupify hex he had been hit with was wearing off by now, but he was already trapped. There was nothing he could do. He heard Harry hit the grave next to him with a small thud, and after a moment, he too, was helpless.

Wormtail yanked the teens’ wands from their robes and stuffed them into his pocket. For the first time, Tommy managed to get a good look at where he was. He was at the top of the hill. A mausoleum rose in front of him, a cauldron sitting at the base of the steps, a small bundle fo black cloth at the foot. Wormtail aimed his wand at the base of the cauldron, and flames erupted under its base. Sparks danced across the surface of the water, illuminating the grave in a ghostly white light.

Wormtail bent down and undid the bundle of cloth, lifting a small creature into the air. It was grotesque and only vaguely human shaped. It was the same size as a newborn child, but there was nothing innocent about it. Wormtail raised the thing above the cauldron and gently lowered it into the water. Tommy saw Harry murmuring a prayer under his breath. “Please let it have drowned. Please.” Tommy knew they weren’t that lucky though. He still whispered the prayer anyways.

Wormtail raised his wand slightly and began to recite a spell. “Bone of the father.” The ground at Harry’s feet cracked and greyish white dust floated up. “Unknowingly given.” Tommy craned his neck to see that Harry’s grave read “Tom Riddle.”

“Flesh of the servant,” Wormtail continued, voice beginning to shake. “W-willingly given.” From the fold of his robes, he drew a knife. The metal gleamed in the moonlight, and too late, Tommy realized what he was going to do. He turned away as Wormtail brought the knife down on his arm, and tried to ignore the sounds of metal cutting through muscle, skin, and bone.

Wormtail let out a single whimper of pain, but then he forced himself to his feet and lurched towards Tommy and Harry. The two teens scrambled back, but they had nowhere to go. Tommy’s eyes darted around the graveyard, looking for a solution, but Wormtail was too close. He raised his knife above his head, and Tommy braced for the blow. Instead, the point of the weapon dug into the skin of Harry’s forearm.

A jagged cut stretched from the boy’s elbow to halfway down his forearm, and Wormtail’s knife gleamed red. “Blood of the enemy, unwillingly given.” Wormtail’s voice shook with pain, but he held his knife steady as a drop of blood splashed into the cauldron. “You will resurrect your foe.”

The light of the cauldron suddenly turned to a dark, crimson red and sparks danced along the surface of the water. Wormtail dropped to the ground in a heap, clutching his arm to his chest. Tommy watched as the spell performed it’s magic, hardly daring to breathe.

Then, as suddenly as they had appeared, the sparks were gone. White light filled the sky, turning night into day, and thick fog filled the air. From in the cauldron rose a slim figure, everything about it radiating wrongness. Everything in Tommy was screaming to run, but he was trapped. The figure spread its arms and said, “Wormtail.” It was the same snake-like voice as earlier. Wormtail whimpered, but he stumbled to his feet anyways. “Robe me,” the figure commanded. Wormtail grabbed the bundle of cloth and awkwardly slipped it over his master’s shoulder’s. The figure turned around and Tommy finally got a good look at his face.

It was flat, the eyes barely more than slits, nose flat and grotesque. He was pale, paler even than Cedric had been in death. He wasn’t supposed to be here. “Harry,” Tommy whispered, a note of fear beginning to creep into his voice. “Who is that?” “It’s him. He’s back. Lord Voldemort.”

Voldemort slithered over to Wormtail, who was now kneeling on the ground, sleeve of his robes covered in blood. The Dark Lord rested his hand gently on Wormtail’s head, and the man glanced up, pleading in his eyes. “Please, my lord. You-you promised.” “You’re arm, Wormtail,” Voldemort commanded. Wormtail began to extend his injured arm, but at his master’s sharp glance, he bared his other one.

Slowly, the Dark Lord reached for a dark mark that rested in the crook of his servant’s arm. As soon as he touched it, Wormtail doubled over in pain, and Harry cried out scar burning. “That should summon them,” Voldemort said. Then, he smiled. He turned and crept towards Harry and Tommy. “Well, well, well. If it isn’t the boy who lived,” he greeted, cupping Harry’s chin in the palm of his hand. The teen’s breathing was shallow, face tight with pain. “How ironic that you’ll die tonight.” There was silence for a moment, but then he turned his attention to Tommy. “Ah, and the fiery friend.” Tommy’s jaw clenched in defiance, but his heart was hammering in his chest.

“Why are we here?” he spat, struggling against his bindings. He had an axe in his inventory, but it would do him no good if he was still trapped.

Voldemort shook his head as if he was explaining something to a child. It irritated Tommy. “Well, you see, I needed the famous Harry Potter here for the ritual. And now that he’s served his purpose, It’ll be my pleasure to finally finish what I started the night I killed his parents.”

Harry still looked terrified, but Tommy could see the hint of anger that crept into his eyes at the mention of his parents. “And I needed you,” Voldemort continued, digging his fingers into Tommy’s hair, and forcing the teen to meet his eyes. “Because a very special ally of mine requested your presence here tonight.” “W-what ally?” Tommy hated the fear in his voice. Voldemort laughed softly under his breath. “Oh, I’m sure you’ll understand in no time. After all, he seems quite certain the two of you know each other.”

Suddenly, a loud crack filled the air, and Tommy glanced up to see that a figure in dark robes and white skull-like mask had appeared in front of the mausoleum. “Ah,” Voldemort said, standing to greet the newcomer. “You’ve finally arrived.” More cracks filled the air, and a few seconds later, a total of fourteen death eaters stood in the clearing.

Voldemort examined them and no one dared utter a word. Then he rattled off a list of names that Tommy didn’t recognize as he surveyed his servants. He paused on one at the end of the line. “Lucius,” he greeted. “Wonderful that you could join us tonight.” The Death Eater shuffled awkwardly, but didn’t say anything. So Malfoy’s dad really was a Death Eater. Tommy couldn’t help but feel sorry for the kid.

Voldemort’s gaze drifted towards the Death Eater at the back. They were different from the others; their cloak was bulkier and their mask sent a shiver of fear down Tommy’s spine. “So you came yourself,” Voldemort said, a hint of surprise to his voice. The Death Eater simply nodded. “So,” the Dark Lord said, now addressing the whole group. “You are my most loyal followers. How disappointing. Of course, there are those who are still trapped in Azkaban. And we mustn't forget our two fellows trapped at Hogwarts. But so few of you heeded my call. I must say, I was expecting more.” No one said anything.

After a moment, Voldemort said, “I have called you here today, not only to see that your master has been resurrected, but also so that you may finally see me triumph over the great Harry Potter.” An excited murmur ran through the group. “Wormtail,” Voldemort commanded. “Free the boy. Return his wand. It would be best to kill him in a duel. Prove once and for all that I am stronger than a pathetic teenager.”

Wormtail did as he was told, freeing Harry from his bindings, and shoving the boy’s wand roughly into his hand. Harry was clearly still disoriented, and Tommy wouldn’t be surprised if the teen’s scar was brutally painful. He was shaking, injured leg barely supporting his weight, but Harry looked every inch a match for Voldemort. He stepped towards his adversary, and the Death Eaters closed around the two, blocking them from sight. There was silence for a moment, but then two voices shouted “Avada Kedavra!”

Tommy’s fingers worked at the knots frantically, desperately trying to free himself. If only he could get his axe, he could help Harry. Finally, he felt the rope fall away and loosen. But before he could draw his weapon, the strange Death Eater stalked towards him, sword drawn. Tommy leapt to his feet, yanking his axe out of his inventory, and barely raising it in time to block the blow.

The metal of the Death Eater’s blade dug into the hilt of his axe, splintering the wood. Tommy twisted his own weapon, disentangling himself from the Death Eater’s blade. He stumbled back, dodging the Death Eater's thrust at his abdomen. He caught the edge of the sword on the crook of his axe, and twisted it upwards, knocking the sword from his opponent's grasp. He slammed the hilt of his axe into the Death Eater’s head, and the wizard stumbled back with a grunt.

Now the other Death Eater’s began taking notice and drew their wands. Before Tommy could do anything though, the air filled with phoenix song, and everyone turned to see a net of golden light surrounding Harry and Voldemort as they rose into the air.

Tommy took advantage of the distraction to make his way over to Wormtail, Quickly he searched the man’s robes for his wand, and sighed in relief once he found it. Unfortunately, the Death Eater’s had recovered from their shock, and stunning spells were flying past Tommy.

He dove to the ground as curses flew over him, firing back at as many targets as he could. At least three of his spells hit, and the volley of curses lessened just enough that Tommy was able to scramble to his feet.

He fired spells blindly as he sprinted down the hill, trying to reach the sword he had dropped. A jelly-legs jinx curse hit, and suddenly, he was tumbling head over heels down the hillside. He crashed into a gravestone, knocking it askew. Quickly, he cast the counter curse and scrambled to his feet. He braced himself for more spells, but none came. He turned his attention towards the top of the hill.

The phoenix sound had grown louder, and the light from Harry and Voldemort’s wand was blindingly bright. The two weapons were connected with a beam of golden light, and figures surrounded Harry, protecting him. Tommy couldn’t be sure, but he thought he saw Cedric among them. Suddenly, the net dissolved, and Harry dropped to the ground. “Harry!” Tommy cried out, worried.

Suddenly, the dark-haired teen came sprinting out from the mass of Death Eaters, green Avada Kedavra spells just barely missing him. “Harry!” Tommy called again, waving to him. Harry dove to the ground, rolling down the hill, trying to dodge the killing spells. Tommy scooped up his sword, and dropped his axe into his inventory. Behind him, the Triwizard cup began to glow blue. “Tommy!” Harry yelled frantically, skidding to a stop at his friend's side. “We need to get out of here!”

Tommy nodded, and pointed to the portkey. “It’ll take us home. But we need to go. Now.” Harry nodded. He grabbed the portkey, other hand resting on Cedric’s back. At the very least, the boy deserved to be brought back to his family. Tommy grabbed the other handle of the Cup, and suddenly, he was yanked forward. It was only then did he realize that the strange Death Eater’s robes were green. Green robes and a white mask.

-Gemstone Anon.

Oh my god. Okay. This is beautiful. I have read this like 10 times now. Oh my god. This is- This is brilliant.

[serasvictoria]

So this entire thing basically came about because of a silly discussion and that gave me a small idea, but then this morning I got another one so I had to do something with it I guess.

@alexhandersen-marcoilsoe-fandom, @vikingstrash, and @deans-ch-ch-cherrypie, this one’s for you.

Sugar

You weren’t entirely sure when this entire thing had started, but you found it difficult to stop now. You kept coming up with the most ridiculous reasons to go up to Hvitserk and Ivar’s apartment and borrowing stuff from them was as good a reason as any. It had all started with the oldest trick in the book.

“Sugar?”

“Yeah. I ran out.” Hvitserk was having a hard time not laughing out loud at your, quite frankly ridiculous, request. “Do you guys have any?”

“Probably? I’m in charge of the snacks, I don’t buy any of other stuff. That’s Ivar’s job.” He jerked his head in the direction of the kitchen and you followed him. “This may take a while.”

You stood in the doorway as Hvitserk started pulling open all the cabinets and drawers. The way that he kept bending over made it feel like he was giving you a show of kinds and you really didn’t mind that one bit, because Hvitserk always wore the skinniest jeans known to man and they emphasized his long legs and his ass perfectly. You made small mental notes of the things that he pulled out of cabinets so you’d know what to ask for at a later time. Rice, pasta, honey, tea bags… you could keep this ridiculous thing going for ages.

“What the fuck are you doing!” All your attention had been so incredibly focused on Hvitserk’s ass, that you nearly jumped a foot in the air when Ivar suddenly materialised next to you. “Look at this mess!”

“I’ll put it back,” Hvitserk waved a hand in Ivar’s direction and didn’t even bother to look up. “She needs some sugar.”

“What!” Ivar looked at you and then back at Hvitserk again. “And why the hell would we keep the sugar down there?”

“I don’t know, man.” Hvitserk sat down on the floor and smiled at you apologetically. “Do we even have any?”

“Of course we do. We’re not fucking heathens.”

“What’s that got to do with it?”

“Someone might want sugar in their tea.”

“Who?” They’d probably never even had anyone over that drank tea. Beer seemed to be the usual beverage of choice. “So where is it?” Ivar moved into the kitchen, opened the door of one of the top cabinets and pulled out a bag of sugar. “Ah. I was going to look there next.”

“Yeah, sure you were.” Ivar hit Hvitserk’s leg with his crutch and then handed you the bag of sugar. “Bring that back when you’re done.”

“Sure thing. In case anyone wants sugar in their tea.”

Hvitserk snorted with laughter and before Ivar could deliver a scathing reply, you muttered a quick goodbye and got out of there as fast as you could.

“Sugar? What the hell kind of excuse was that?” Hvitserk shrugged and started putting everything that he’d taken out back in again. “You’re doing it wrong, moron!”

You had no idea how many things you had borrowed by now, but after going through almost the entire contents of their kitchen you decided that you needed a new approach.

“DIY?” Hvitserk scratched at his chin as he regarded you curiously. “I know how to use a hammer if that’s what you mean.”

“Good enough for me,” you replied with a smile. “I need to hang a mirror and I’m not allowed to go near hammers anymore.”

“Not allowed?,” he said with a laugh. “You got told off by the DIY police?”

“Something like that. Trust me, you don’t want to know.” He didn’t have to know that you always fixed everything in your apartment yourself. This was just a little white lie to get him into your apartment. “Could you do it for me?”

“Sure. You need me to do it right now?”

“Tomorrow?” You needed time to set your little plan in motion. It would be ruined if he came with you now. “Say, two in the afternoon?”

“I’ll be there.”

He shook his head when you walked away, headed back into the living room and dropped down on the couch.

“What did she want now?”

“DIY.”

“What the hell.” Ivar sighed deeply. “This has been going on for ages. Why don’t you just ask her out already?”

“What? I think it’s cute.” Hvitserk threw a handful of popcorn in Ivar’s direction. “Are you jealous?”

“Why the hell would I be jealous?”

“You know what, why don’t you go round tomorrow and hang that mirror for her.” Ivar was ready to launch into a tirade about how their downstairs neighbour obviously had the hots for Hvitserk, but then his brother used the same line that he’d been using for many years. “Or are you chicken?”

“Fuck off.” Hvitserk started making chicken noises from his sofa until Ivar threw the remote at his head. “Fine! I’ll go! Fucking asshole.”

*****

The idea that you’d had was absolutely fucking genius. It was foolproof.

You’d leave the front door ajar (that was the only part that was slightly risky), Hvitserk would come in, call your name and you’d tell him that you were in the bathroom. He’d walk in, find you completely naked because guess what? You’d run completely out of towels. You would ask for his shirt to dry yourself off with and voila, he’d finally end up in your bed. Surely a guy like Hvitserk would appreciate the effort that you’d put in, right?

You knew he liked you, because he’d started flirting with you from the moment that you’d moved in. His brother, Ivar, was also hot as hell, but he was more difficult to gauge. Hvitserk was easygoing whereas Ivar was standoffish. It hardly mattered now anyway. You’d finally get Hvitserk where you had wanted him for a while, that was the most important thing.

He’d be here at around two. You knew that punctuality wasn’t exactly his thing, so you had taken it into account that he might show up a bit later. Again, it didn’t matter. You’d stuffed all your towels into various clothes drawers to really make it seem like you had just magically run out at the exact moment that he’d shown up. You got out of the shower a little bit before two, just in case Hvitserk was going to be on time, but left the tap on to make it seem like you’d forgotten at what time he was going to show.

A voice called out your name and your heart started beating furiously inside your chest. This was really happening. “I’m in here!” You turned the shower off and swore just loud enough for him to hear. “I’m so sorry! I forgot the time. Just thought I’d have a quick shower.” You pulled the door open, water running down your skin in little rivulets and you put your hand on your forehead to feign stupidity at your current situation. “Can you believe that there aren’t any…” Ivar was standing on the other side of the door, eyes wide and looking you up and down. “...towels left…” For a few seconds, you thought about attempting to cover yourself up with your hands, but it was probably a little bit too late for that now. “Oh fuck.”

“No towels?” He squeaked and then cleared his throat. “How does that even happen?”

“Clumsy?”

“That’s not clumsy, that’s just plain stupid.” You saw his lip curl up as his eyes roamed up and down your body again. “You want me to go back upstairs to get you a towel?”

“What I want is your shirt.” Ivar looked at you with raised eyebrows, not entirely sure what you meant with that. You had somewhat expected that Hvitserk was going to be the one to come to your aid, but Ivar hadn’t exactly run out on you just yet so you just rolled with it. “To dry myself off with.”

Ivar didn’t respond immediately, briefly making you think that this absolutely genius plan had failed completely, but then he took off his shirt in one fluid movement and handed it to you. You had to work really hard to stop your jaw from dislocating when you finally caught sight of his toned chest and used his shirt to cover your face for a few seconds so you could regain your cool. Then you held it in front of your body and gave him a look that you hoped was seductive.

Instead, Ivar took his mobile out of his pocket, aimed the camera at you and took a picture. He tapped on the screen and then you could hear a noise that told you that he had just sent a message. You wanted to ask him what he had just done, but he simply held his finger up to you to silently indicate that you had to wait. About a minute later, you heard a great big crash coming from upstairs followed by loud swearing. You could hear Hvitserk stumbling around in the back of their apartment where his bedroom was which was promptly followed by more swearing.

Ivar turned the screen in your direction with a smirk to show you that he’d just sent a picture of you to his brother and that Hvitserk had sent him back a message that simply read “HOLY SHIT”.

“He’s typing again.”

You moved in close to Ivar so you could look at the screen together and then another message popped onto the screen.

“I am coming downstairs. NOW.”

Ivar put the phone back in his pocket and reached out so he could squeeze your ass. “He was still in bed when I went downstairs so what do you say about us getting started already, hm? To give him something to walk in on?” You giggled and then nodded quickly. “Good girl…”

[pinkhairedlily]

Chapter 8 - Student Council President Sakura

SCPS AO3 | PREVIOUS CHAPTER

“Oh, hello there Sakura.”

She almost lost her balance when she saw her next customers. Standing beside Kakashi with her arm entangled in his was a brunette, a spitting image of Dr. Aki Nohara, a giveaway that this was her sister. Sakura’s surroundings dimmed out of focus, and her hearing became muffled as if she was submerged underwater.

“Couldn’t mistake that green eyes for anyone,” Kakashi continued. “I’ll have a caramel butterscotch with extra whipped cream – make it super heavy – and Rin –“

“That’s supposed to be my order, you dummy,” the woman replied beside him. He chuckled in fascination and tightened his hold on her arm. “Besides, you don’t like sweets.”

“You’re still on a specialized diet so allow me to eat and drink whatever you want while you stick with – “ Kakashi glanced at Sakura, and she immediately mustered a tight-lipped smile. “One iced americano in your smallest size please. Thanks, Sakura.”

She took in a deep breath, suddenly aware that she wasn’t able to acknowledge her teacher and his companion, but so many things have been running through her head – like how did he know it was her? Why was he with Rin? Did he propose already? She hasn’t even confessed yet.

Somehow, in the dragging silence in her ears, she heard Sasuke cleared his throat. That was enough to break her from the spell, and she put on her bravest mask. “Hi Kakashi-sensei. Nice of you to drop by! I’ll have your order ready in a jiffy.”

Kakashi turned around and waved lazily at Sasuke. “One of my students is here too. Are you on a red eye advance study?”

“Can’t sleep so might as well have caffeine.”

“You’re too young to have this energy.”

Rin jokingly slapped Kakashi on the arm. “You talk as if you’re old already.”

“But aren’t I?” The pair slowly drifted away to find a table, but Sakura noticed the flash of recognition when Rin took a long good look at Sasuke, but her friend stared at them like he was throwing sharp draggers.

“He looks happy,” Sakura noted as she fixed their drinks.

“I want your favorite coffee,” Sasuke quipped out of nowhere.

“There’s a thing called palpitations. It’s caramel macchiato.”

“Might do me some good while I wait for you to finish your shift.”

Sakura sighed, feeling the tiredness come upon her all of a sudden so she relented. “Just take it to-go. I want to get out of here.”

She quickly asked permission from the manager, saying she felt sick and fatigued, and with her clocking overtime in the past few weeks, her request was immediately approved without deductions. The mixed winter and spring air hit her lungs as soon as she stepped outside. Sasuke waited for her across the street, a gesture that implied she could go to him or separate ways right now. As she vied for time to decide, she took one last look through the window.

It was a foreign sight. She has never seen Kakashi’s attention torn apart from his books. Even if he was talking, there would be an open page on his side, stealing glances on passages when the conversations got boring, yet there he was, fully attuned to whatever Rin was saying with no book around him…like she was his favorite book and he enjoyed reading every letter of her.

And Sakura realized she could never be the story he would even want to pick up.

She felt the tears coming so she started her pace on the same road. Across from her, Sasuke got the signal and went the other way.

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

The last term of their second year came like a bazooka. Sakura threw herself on her pet project as a sort of coping mechanism. The announcement was done during the general assembly which did not generate the intended buzz or reaction. After all, it was a tricky topic to handle and many facets of which were still stigmatized when talked openly in public. Naruto, ever the people magnet, broke the agitated atmosphere in the auditorium with a slow clap and was soon joined by many others.

The council created a Google form which allowed students to anonymously register, and they get assigned a schedule on the day their contracted psychiatrist comes to visit. All they had to do was provide their designated client number. The council further complemented this with short programs that serve as mental health breaks for the student body. Sometimes, this would be as light as a block screening of a coming-of-age film or heavy like a conference with faculty and teachers and questions and concerns are remotely flashed.

Then came Valentines’ Day, and the council organized this some kind of literary showcase that presented the opportunity to mingle woes of personal sadness and griefs with confessions that would have been left unsaid. Naruto and Sasuke both helped in constructing the makeshift stage in the middle of the soccer field that would be used later that afternoon.

“Cookie points for my crush,” Naruto grinned as he hammered away. “Thanks for picking the poem I will be reciting tonight, grumpy. Didn’t know you were into literature.” He jokingly elbowed the raven-haired beside him, and he got a death glare in return.

“Do it properly. Look at that nail sticking out like your porcupine hair,” Sasuke grumbled. “And yes, I’m not as uncultured as you are.”

“But I still don’t understand it though.”

“Ugh, just use the internet to search its meaning, idiot.”

“Meanie!”

A fellow runner peeked into their work area and knocked on wood. “Hey Uchiha. Some girl is looking for you.” Her face expressed grimace, having done this for more than five times already within the span of an hour. If it wasn’t Sasuke, it was one of Naruto’s fan girls or boys.

Sasuke went to her and fumbled around for cash in his pocket. “Next time someone looks for us, tell them we went home for the day. Here’s money for your date later. If you have anyway.”

“Whatever grumpy.” The runner replied, still half-angry, half-frustrated, but she took the money all the same and told the girls that ‘They told me to tell you they went home for the day so shoo shoo.’

Naruto laughed at Sasuke’s successful attempt at bribery. “Look at that rich money. I wonder whether Sakura will give us chocolates.”

“Have you seen their office?” Sasuke flipped open the curtains that will be hang as backdrop. “Their desk is filled with chocolates from her admirers – platonically, romantically, whatever. Some people from other schools dropped by too. You got serious competition.”

Naruto chuckled nervously. “As if I do not know that already. Haven’t you told me before- she likes everyone and everyone likes her.”

Not really true at all now, Sasuke thought to himself. But ignorance is bliss, Naruto.

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

The three sat on the grass beside the stage, having full view of the student body listening to the reciters. Throughout the program, Sakura went through each package given to her, visibly stressed with evident signs of sleepless nights under her eyes.

“Before I forget, happy Valentine’s day you two. My council-mates told me you didn’t get any chocolates,” Sakura gave each of them a pouch of small chocolate bars. Sasuke didn’t have to guess if it was store-bought or homemade based on the cuts on her fingers.

“Sakura, stop eating. I almost gagged at the seventh chocolate,” Naruto complained. He tried to get the basket of sweets from her, but she just moved it away from his reach.

“Everything tastes bitter,” she muttered under her breath. “I need sugar. My energy can’t keep up with the countless interviews. I understand that the school board liked the exposure, but the burden falls on me. At least have a teacher back me up?”

“Heard Kakashi-sensei volunteered to accompany you in interviews?” Sasuke was too late in shutting Naruto up, but the most that question got out of Sakura was an eyebrow raise.

“I need more sweets.” She proceeded to jam the rest of the Hershey’s kisses in her mouth.

“Okay, we have a submission from Uzumaki Naruto,” the announcer said. “Shout out to our rookie MVP!” A round of applause. “And who might be the recipient of this poem? We heard through the grapevine that he hid from his admirers all day. I know several people are waiting to confess to him!”

Sasuke instructed him earlier to send the poem anonymously and address it to Sakura, but the dumbass blonde mistakenly exchanged it. He rubbed his forehead in annoyance, but he can’t bring it up right now.

“Just read the poem!” Naruto shouted on the side, clearly embarrassed now. Sakura looked up at him, genuinely curious now, and her sticky chocolate-filled mouth was on the edge of firing him questions.

“Sasuke and I sent in poems! Just to support your program, nothing really too deep into it ehe.” Naruto glanced at Sasuke with slightly widened eyes. “Right, Sasuke?”

“Sonnet 18 by William Shakespeare,” the person started.

“Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day

Thou art more lovely and more temperate.

Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,

And summer’s lease hath all too short a date.

Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,

And often is his gold complexion dimmed;

And every fair from fair sometime declines,

By chance, or nature’s changing course, untrimmed;

But thy eternal summer shall not fade,

Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow’st,

Nor shall death brag thou wand'rest in his shade,

When in eternal lines to Time thou grow'st.

So long as men can breathe, or eyes can see,

So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.”

Sakura slapped Naruto on the arm. “Didn’t know you read Shakespeare! What a romantic!”

“Isn’t it a tragedy?” Sasuke remarked, a look of disgust in his face when Sakura mindlessly offered him a toblerone. “No sweets for me.”

Sakura guffawed at Sasuke’s remark, and her laughing was a rare sight recently. She was in too deep in her student council functions that they barely see her. And when they did, she’d be a little bit closer to fatigue.

“What’s funny? Who’s Shakespeare? Let me in on the joke!”

“Let’s call on Kakashi-sensei, our very own student council advisor and youngest teacher in the university. He’ll be reciting a poem by Pablo Neruda. A man of culture, we see,” the emcee announced.

Sakura stopped laughing as soon as she heard his name. If Sasuke could glean into her thoughts, she’s probably making up excuses to escape right now.

Kakashi stood in the middle of the stage, holding an open book. “Let me just ramble on here for a bit. Neruda is a Chilean poet and a politician, but just as much as he is a revolutionary, he is a romantic and a worshipper of ideals and ordinary things. He often compared his muses to earth and nature – basic providers of our existence. It’s interesting to see. Now, this poem is what I would have wanted to say to someone who is fundamentally part of my existence, but she won’t listen to me.” Kakashi smiled even more at the onset of outburst of giggles from the students. “So you’re gonna be the audience whether you want it or not.”

I crave your mouth, your voice, your hair.

Silent and starving, I prowl through the streets.

Bread does not nourish me, dawn disrupts me, all day

I hunt for the liquid measure of your steps.

I hunger for your sleek laugh,

your hands the color of a savage harvest,

hunger for the pale stones of your fingernails,

I want to eat your skin like a whole almond.

I want to eat the sunbeam flaring in your lovely body,

the sovereign nose of your arrogant face,

I want to eat the fleeting shade of your lashes,

and I pace around hungry, sniffing the twilight,

hunting for you, for your hot heart,

like a puma in the barrens of Quitratue.

A thundering applause followed Kakashi’s poem and random shouts of, “Drop her name sensei!” “Good luck to your love life!” “Happy for you, sensei!”

As the lights went out on the stage, Sakura fished another pouch from her vest pocket, and Sasuke knew at once that it was Kakashi’s. She popped a bar into her mouth, staring blankly ahead.

“God, it’s so bitter.” Her lips started to quiver, and she started to cry.

Naruto threw a worried glance at Sasuke, but his expression must have given something away because the blonde didn’t prod, and he looked as if all the puzzles fell into place.

Sasuke just didn’t expect to be confronted about it as soon as the program finished. He was carrying blocks of wood to the shed when Naruto dropped the question – a question he already knew the answer to.

“You like Sakura.”

Sasuke inhaled sharply and halted his steps. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He stacked the wood against each other and turned to face the blonde. “Besides, shouldn’t you be worrying about exams?”

“What exams? We’re exempted from it,” Naruto bristled.

Sasuke smirked. “No, you’re not. You didn’t qualify for finals.”

“Oh shit.”

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

“What do we get in return?” Sakura asked as she munched on her bento box. Shouts of the practicing dragonboat team filtered through their space.

“But last time you volunteered!” Naruto said.

“We’re friends so my services don’t come free anymore,” she chided back.

Naruto glared at Sasuke. “If she’s not gonna do it, you’re gonna do it.”

Sasuke nonchalantly shook his head as he skimmed through Naruto’s notes. “What she said.” They weren’t notes per se, but doodles of Sasuke and Sakura and interestingly, projections of different batting stances. “I’m also not gonna forgive you with the duck butt hair.”

“But you have a duck butt hair!” Naruto crossed his arms and huffed menacingly. “Ramen?”

“Same old, same old.” Sakura finished her lunch and started to sip her cranberry juice. “Give us something new.”

“Ramen and…..karaoke?”

Sakura brightened up at the prospect. “Deal.”

“At least add snacks to your place,” Sasuke interjected. “And not just ramen. Put some nuts or fruits in your fridge.”

Naruto grumbled but raised two thumbs up in defeat. “Deal.”

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

Sasuke has thin patience when it came to teaching Naruto, Sakura observed. She didn’t know how these two managed to do the supplementary math lessons when she wasn’t a part of their group yet. She didn’t mind teaching, but Naruto’s short attention span was a devil of its own. He would be attentive to her for 15 minutes and then drowse off so Sasuke and her agreed on non-negotiables.

“No ramen break for you if you don’t finish this set of problems,” Sakura told him.

“You’re demon spawns,” Naruto cried out in defiance.

“If you don’t get a passing score on this sample test, no kani toppings for you.” Sasuke raised the stakes.

“Demon spawns,” Naruto repeated.

“You won’t call us demon spawns if you see your name on the list of passers.” Sakura started the stopwatch on her phone. “Now go.”

This took her mind off things, from Kakashi’s public confession to the blank career form hidden within the pages of her history textbook. It was a good distraction until the penultimate exams day. Naruto came in with a bandana on his forehead with FIGHTING written in the middle of it. Sasuke, as usual, breezed through it, already finished by the thirty-minute mark.

And she? Well, she liked exams. The time limit and the pressure allowed her the reprieve to shut the rest of the world out so she relished answering each number until the bell rang. It was a moment where she can focus fully on the paper in front of her, the sound of her pen scribbling, and her mind working full force to cull out the answers in her memory. Her utmost concentration on questions suspended her own questions on her feelings for a teacher, on her parents’ divorce, on her future.

When the school plastered the results on the bulletin board, she couldn’t help but release a satisfied chuckle. She turned to Sasuke who was surprisingly stoic about the results. “First place! The bonus point really helped.”

“Why should I bother with a teacher’s middle name for the bonus question?” Sasuke grumbled back. “Congrats. Stop rubbing it in my face already.”

Naruto was too busy pointing his name on the board and bragging about it to the student body, most especially the freshies. When he found them on the back of the crowd, he rushed to them and placed his arms around their shoulders “Drinks on me!!!!!”

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

“He really shouted drinks on me in the middle of the school, sauntered in here like he’s loaded, and ordered two pitchers of iced tea.” Sakura kept bringing this up since they entered the karaoke room ten minutes ago.

Naruto was preoccupied with inputting song numbers on the machine to respond to Sakura’s banters. “Technically, they’re still drinks!”

Sasuke was on the phone with the kitchen, and from what she could hear, he was ordering almost everything on the menu. When he sat down on the adjacent couch, Sakura leaned forward to him. “Are you gonna finish all of that?”

He jutted his index finger to Naruto. “No, but he will.”

The first notes of Michael Jackson’s Thriller wafted through the room, and the blonde made a quick impression of the artist’s famed moonwalk.

“Why are you opening with that?” Sakura cried out in amusement. “It’s not even Halloween!” Sasuke watched Naruto try to dance with a straight face, but she thought he was itching to face palm the whole time.

Naruto kept beckoning Sakura to join him in the middle of the room, but she was busy laughing at him and taking videos. “I’ll send these to Haru as a pick-me-up. I think this is the best remedy.”

Next was Sakura’s pick – Heaven is a Place on Earth by Belinda Carlisle. She couldn’t contain her laughter in between verses when the two boys finally heard that she was tone deaf. Naruto joined her with the other mic, trying to drown out the off-key notes. By the bridge, Sasuke stood up with them, a glass of juice in his hand, and mouthed the words.

“You know this song!” Sakura said excitedly.

“I don’t live under a rock!” He yelled back amid the loud music.

“OOOH BABY DO YOU KNOW WHAT THAT’S WORTH OOH HEAVEN IS A PLACE ON EARTH. THEY SAY IN HEAVEN, LOVE COMES FIRST. OOH HEAVEN IS A PLACE ON EARTH!”

“Okay who’s next?” she asked when the next number flashed on the screen. Sasuke silently took the mic from her and faced the monitor with a hand in his pants’ pocket.

Naruto gripped the mic harder when the song started. “I’ll be your second voice, grumpy!”

She immediately went to the front and started recording. “One for the road.”

“No videos, Haruno,” Sasuke warned.

“Come on, it’s my remembrance,” she whined. He wasn’t able to clap back when the lines started to move.

“Turn around…” Naruto sang.

“Every now and then, I get a little bit lonely and you’re never coming ‘round,” Sasuke’s baritone voice filled the room like an empty coliseum.

“The fuck. You can sing?” Sakura gasped out loud. “How can you have that voice and not sing - like you know, every day?!”’

Sasuke gestured her to stop as he belted, stoic-faced, through the chorus with Naruto singing like a slaughtered pig in the background. Sakura stopped recording and joined them for the rest of the song.

Two hours and three pitchers of orange juice later, they finally settled on the couch and munched on Naruto’s leftovers of fries, buttered chicken, nachos, and calamari. On the karaoke monitor was David Bowie singing Heroes.

“Can’t believe we’re already seniors two months from now.” He stared at the ceiling, his eyes following the tag game of disco lights. “Elections of officers will be tomorrow which means Captain Haru will be formerly stepping down.”

Sasuke reached out and shook his hand. “Good luck next captain.”

Naruto immediately pulled out from his grasp. “What do you mean next captain?”

Sakura chuckled and patted his back as assurance. “Everyone knows it’ll be you. Have you seen how your teammates look at you when you’re discussing strategies?”

In the dimness of the room, she saw the flush on Naruto’s cheeks, and she found it amusing how he cannot take compliments.

Naruto scratched the back of his head. “Well, everything is possible, right? That said, I still haven’t filled out my college form, but I’m really set on getting an athletic scholarship and eventually be part of the national team! How about you grumpy? Changed your mind yet?”

“About what?” Sakura glanced at the silent raven-haired guy beside her. To be able to see this much of him was a nice privilege.

“I’m moving away after high school.” Sasuke fiddled with his half-empty glass, his eyes trained on the slushing juice. “I already sent applications to some universities in Europe.”

“We also have good medicine programs here. I don’t get why you have to move away so far. I’m so bad with converting time zones.”

Sasuke scrunched his nose in annoyance. “Are you dumb? The schools you listed are also out of this district.”

She seemed to be moving farther and farther from their exchange. Like an outsider peeking in, she understood the frailty of the moments in front of her, and by the time the next two months set in, the stopwatch would have started running its last lap. The bonds she has made so serendipitously were in danger of being cut off by dreams. She breathed in, engulfing the noise and scent of this room, panning every color and shape assembled like supercut in her head, praying that someday if she would lose herself, she’d come back here right at this frozen memory and relive the wonderful indecisiveness of adolescence and the chance to say I don’t know without repercussions.

“Sakura to earth?” Naruto’s voice.

“Idiot. It’s earth to Sakura.” Sasuke’s voice.

She blinked fast, returning to the moment that wasn’t finished playing out yet. She quickly brushed her hands on her eyes as if something got into her eyes, hoping they don’t see the small droplets of tears that have formed. “Oh uh, I have a list of prospects, but I’m not quite sure what to take.” The form was still blank actually.

“That’s a usual problem of anyone who’s too good at everything,” Sasuke replied.

“Are you complimenting me?” I wish I was.

“Should I take it back?” He proceeded to gulp down the remnants of his glass.

The monitor suddenly turned off, indicating their time has run out. “Hey guys, for our last term, let’s make the most out of it, all right?” Naruto asked. “I’m so happy we became friends.”

“No hugging please,” Sasuke said, but it was too late. Naruto’s arms were too strong to pull away from so the two allowed him a few seconds of skinship.

Naruto’s words struck a chord in Sakura; it was a resolve she tried to form and disfigure for several months now. Before they could stand up to fix their things, Sakura blurted it out loud before her courage took the best of her.

“For our last term.” She flexed her fingers and curled them up against her palm, placing weight on her lap as she ground her fists onto it. “For our last term, I’m gonna confess to Kakashi.”

AO3 LINK | NEXT CHAPTER | CHAPTER 9

[ebaeschnbliah]

The plaster bust revelation .....

Impressions from Sherlock BBC, The Six Thatchers

A really interesting assembling of little scenes and short pieces of dialogue. Some do not correlate with each other, some seem to be taken from material not shown in the episode, one bust and its owner have been left out entirely and the person Sherlock unmasks in this final mind palace revelation, never turns up visually in the sequence at all.

For anyone interested, there are more details below the cut .....

The sequence starts when Sherlock remembers Ajay’s reply - at Sandeford’s pool - to his question about the man’s presumed connection to Jim Moriarty. 

While the sequence is unfolding, Sherlock stands on Vauxhall Bridge, his face is turned to the river. He looks into the distance ... into himself ... and concentrats on the memories that turn up in his mind. When the camera focuses on the back of his head, a Thatcher bust appears first on the left and then on the right side of the screen in a rather ‘explosive’ way. The next moment they get smashed and ‘explode’ into a myriad of shards and plaster dust. 

Sherlock’s profile materializes on the right side of his head and replaces the bust there.

In the episode, the left image of the Thatcher bust is used as transition from the scene where Toby the bloodhound loses track of the blood drop, found on Dr Barnicot’s bust, amidst a pool of blood on a street market. It leads to the scene that shows the destruction of Miss Orrie’s two busts, which are completely identical ... bust four and five of the case.

SHERLOCK: Clever. MARY: Well, if you were wounded and you knew you were leaving a trail, where would you go? JOHN: Like hiding a tree in a forest. SHERLOCK: Or blood in a butchers’. SHERLOCK: Never mind, Toby. Better luck next time, hm? SHERLOCK: This is it, though. This is the one. I can feel it. JOHN: Not Moriarty? SHERLOCK: It has to be him. It’s too bizarre; it’s too baroque. It’s designed to beguile me, tease me, lure me in. At last – a noose for me to put my neck into.

The right image shows the first of Miss Orrie’s twin busts that gets smashed with a hammer.  (The smashing of the twin busts)

Both of Miss Orrie’s busts are completely identical. The only thing that differs is the way they get destroyed. 

Bust A is hit by a hammer multiple times

Bust B is grabbed by a gloved hand and forcefully flung on the table amidst the shards of bust A

The way the transition is created - from the street market with the Watson couple to Miss Orrie’s twin busts implies that both images used for the revelation sequence are of bust A. If this is the case, then Sherlock is placed between one and the same bust (A), during that scene. It’s the broken bust nr 4 of owner nr 4. The twin-bust (B) is still untouched at that moment.

Then another bust makes its appearance. Sherlock sees the broken pieces of Dr Barnicot’s bust scattered on the floor. It’s the second bust of the case, the one on which Sherlock discovered the drop of blood after DI Lestrade brought it to Baker Street in a plasic bag.

Suddenly the scene that plays out inside Sherlock’s mind starts running backwards and the  pieces of the doctor’s broken bust reassamble themselves again. 

The background for this part changes from Vauxhall Bridge and the Thames to the livingroom in the Welsborough house. It’s taken from the very moment when Sherlock notices the ‘gap’ on the small round table where the first Thatcher bust had been placed and is now missing. 

Then the sequence runs backwards again and returns once more to the smashing of Miss Orrie’s first bust (A), while the second bust (B) can be seen, still intact, behind the bust-smasher’s gloved hand. The background is now a blend of the Welsborouh living room and Miss Orrie’s place.

From the moment when Dr Barnicot’s bust starts to reasamble itself again, to the destruction of Miss Orrie’s first bust, Sherlock remembers Mycroft’s words, spoken during the Cabinet Office meeting at the beginning of the episode:

Then, for the fraction of a second, the screen goes almost completely black before a new image appears in the left upper corner of the screen, while Sherlock’s profile on the right side slowly starts fading. The new image turns out to be Mary holdig little Rosie on her arm. The clip seems to be taken from John’s phone during the conversation between Mary, John and Sherlock before they enter the Welsborough living room.

Comparing the scenes from episode and revelation sequence shows that the images of Mary and Rosie are not completely identical. The position of their heads as well as Mary’s facial expression doesn’t really match. An absolut identical screenshot for those images doesn’t exist in the episode. This little difference between Sherlock’s view and that of the audience gives the impression that Sherlock processes his very own memory of the event in the revelation sequence. (Something similar happens during the baby shower scene when Mrs Hudson takes pics of the new Watson family. Sadly I couldn’t find that post anymore, nor do I remember the author. If anyone has a link, it would be highly appreciated.)

The image of Mary and Rosie is from John’s phone. Sherlock has just returned the phone, which he had taken to question Mary about her unexpected knowledge of the new case. The three men are already inside the Welsborough house and on their way to the living room. The image on the phone corresponds with Mary’s questions, directed at John: “What, an empty car that suddenly has a week-old corpse in it? And what are you gonna call this one?” 

The dialogue assigned to the Mary/Rosie clip for the revelation sequence is taken from a scene prior - before Sherlock and John follow DI Lestrade into the Welsborough house. Sherlock has just taken John’s phone to question Mary about her unexpected knowledge of the new case.

The background for the revelation sequence has changed once more. Miss Orrie’s place as well as the Welsborough house are gone. The surrounding landscape at Vauxhall Bridge starts coming back and while the image of Sherlock’s profile slowly fades, the view of the back of his head grows more and more visible again.

This last part of the revelation sequence is dominated by images of Jack Sandeford’s shattered bust - the sixth and last bust of owner nr 5, destroyed by Sherlock himself, near the swimming pool. Mary and Rosie as well as Sherlock’s fading profile appear to be covered - seperately - by the remnants of that bust. Meaning - the same ‘explosion’ is displayed twice at the same time  - one to the left (on a smaller scale) and one to the right side of Sherlock’s head (on a bigger scale). 

Then new images come into focus left and right of Sherlock’s head. It looks like Mary and Rosie are overshadowed by another falling Thatcher bust. That’s a bit of an illusion though. The bust appears to be still the one of Jack Sandeford and the image seems to be taken from a screenshot prior to it’s destruction, when Sherlock rises the bust high up in the air before he smashes it on the floor. 

The image of Mary and Rosie vanishes then in something that looks like a fiery explosion of plaster bust pieces and is replaced by a single dark eye. Simultaneously with the ‘explosion’, Ajay’s AGRA memory stick, lying among the shards of the broken bust, appears on the right side of Sherlock’s head.

The single dark eye seems to be that of Ajay and is taken from the very first moment the man appears on screen. This happens after Sherlock’s first visit at his brother’s bunker office. The following transition deals with two busts - the second and the third - at the same time. First the destruction of Mohandes Hassan’s bust is shown, followed by Dr Barnicot’s bust. The two scenes are seperated by images of the single eye - opening and closing - and the small, dark flat of the bust-smasher, whose identity is still unknown at that moment. 

The dialogue assigned to Ajay’s eye for the revelation sequence is taken from the confrontation scene in Morocco, just before Ajay gets shot by an unexpectedly (conveniently?) appearing single policeman. His sudden death prevents the clarifying talk between the two former AGRA agents (mirrors for Jim and Sherlock in my metaphorical reading), which could lead to new insights and mutual understanding between them. 

AJAY: Ammo. Every day as they tore into me. Ammo. Ammo. Ammo. Ammo.  We were betrayed! SHERLOCK: And they said it was her? AJAY (to Mary): You betrayed us! SHERLOCK: They said her name? AJAY: Yeah, they said it was the English woman.

Then, while on the one side of Sherlock’s head the image of Ajay’s dark eye slowly fades out, Mycroft appears on the other side and starts to replace the AGRA memory stick before he too vanishes in an ‘explosion’ of plaster bust pieces. 

Again it’s Jack Sandeford’s bust but the degree of destruction shows that the image for this transition has been taken some shots earlier than the ones used before. The bust pieces are clearly bigger here. 

It was relatively easy to find fitting matches for all the broken busts, the different places for the background, Ajay’s eye and the AGRA memory stick, that got included in Sherlock’s final revelation sequence. Only the image of Mary and Rosie, taken from John’s phone, proved to be a bit of a challenge because there is no 100% identical match in the episode. 

Mycroft though turned out to be a really tough nut to crack. Stricktly speaking, I wasn’t able to crack it completely. I couldn’t find matching images of him, although I searched the whole episode three times. Then I started to comb through all the other episodes. Nothing. ‘Not knowing’ and ‘loose ends’ ... I can so understand Sherlock and Mycroft that they dislike this. :)

‘Don’t minute any of this’ ... these are the words Sherlock hears the moment when his big brother appears next to the right side of his head. Though partly overlaid by pieces and dust of the broken Sandeford bust, the expression on Mycroft’s face is quite distinctive. It should be easy to find matching pics. In the scene from which those words are taken though, big brother is filmed from behind. 

The only image that comes closest to the one from the revelation sequence - although filmed in a slightly different angle - appears some seconds later. It shows the very moment when Mycroft utters the code names for the people present:  “Antarctica, Langdale, Porlock and Love.” The same four names that Sherlock associats with the smashing of the busts.

Basically, it’s the same as with the Mary/Rosy clip ... there simply is no image in the episode that matches with Mycroft face in the revelation sequence - not even roughly.

That sequence ends the way it began, with Sherlock’s eyes looking into the distance, looking ‘inside’ himself .... before he ‘returns’ to himself again and has the solution to the case. Mary’s wispered words that ‘they’ (secretaries) know everything, accompaniy Sherlock’s return. He starts running across Vauxhall Bridge. On his way he summons John, Mary, Mycroft and DI Lestrade to meet with them at the London Aquarium for the unveiling of the culprit.

Busts (masks) and characters involved:

Only five of the six Thatcher busts make an appearance in the revelation sequence, when Sherlock solves the case (Batches of Six).

4&5 - the first two busts shown, the twin-busts, belong to Miss Orrie Harker

3 - the next one, which reassembles itself in a backwards running scene, belongs to Dr Barnicot

4&5 - then Miss Orrie’s twin-busts reappear a second time

6 - they are followed by at least three different clips of Jack Sandeford’s bust, or rather its many shards and plaster dust

1 - the background used for most of the bust smashing - Welsborough’s livingroom - refers to the first bust of the case of which no smashing images exist

One bust is missing entirely though and that's number 2. It belongs to Mr Mohandes Hassan, the character whose names refer to the East as well as the West, to a winged god of sexual desire, equipped with 5 arrows, to rainbow colours, Ireland and the Irish word for ‘fawn’ (little deer, stag). Exactly this bust - and just this one alone - makes its appearance in the intro to all three episodes of Series 4 ..... side by side with the Houses of Parliament and the famous Clock Tower of Westminster Palace, also called Elizabeth Tower. 

Only three people are visually involved in the process of putting together the relevant puzzle pieces to solve the case, that takes place in Sherlock’s mind palace ..... Ajay, Mycroft and Mary. Each character has been given two seperated lines of dialogue in alternating order:

AJAY:  You think you understand. You understand nothing.

MYCROFT:  Code names Antarctica, Langdale, Porlock and Love.

MARY:  You’d be amazed what a receptionist picks up. They know everything.

AJAY:  They said it was the English woman.

MYCROFT:  Don’t minute any of this.

MARY:  They know everything.

That’s all the information Sherlock needs, to work out not only who the ‘culprit’ is, he also knows exactly the time and place where to find that person. Interestingly, that ‘culprit’ never appears visually in Sherlock’s revelation. Not once. 

Vivian Norbury turns out to be the ‘English woman’. Ajay tells, that’s how his torturers called the person responsible for the failed hostage rescue in Tiblisi, for his inprisonment and for the death of his fellow agents, his ‘family’. Ajay wrongly assumed that person to be Rosamund (Mary) ... now Mary (Elizabeth). Mary on the other hand tells about a phone call, the voice of a anonymous person called ‘Am(m)o’, who gave the order at the time. 

In my post about Vivian Norbury, I pointed out that this character shares a lot of similarities with Mycroft Holmes who is associated repeatedly with the Queen. 

The Queen .... wouldn’t she be the most well known ‘English woman’ worldwide? And hadn’t it been Mycroft who gave Jim Moriarty the perfect ‘ammunition’ to destroy Sherlock? Jim Moriarty sent the Holmes boys his ‘love’ via Irene Adler, the ‘Woman’ who considers herself to be ‘explosive’ and gay. Sherlock is convinced that the chemistry of love is simple and destructive ... explosive even. Well, ammo=ammonition and amo=I love. Both words make sense in this story about a war between intellect and emotions. After all, when you walk the streets of London with Sherlock Holmes, you see the battlefield ... warns Mycroft at the very beginning of the story. It’s John Watson whom he warns, his brother’s new flatmate ..... between whose first and last name Mr Sex (Hamish=James=Jim) is hiding in plain sight. :)

Thanks for reading. I leave you to your own deductions. :)  Scripts by @callie-ariane​

May, 2021

[mymoonagedaydream]

Only the Good Die Young (Part 1)

Summary: Coming home from college for the summer, you expected your days to be spent reading in your bedroom and sitting through tense to family dinners- but an old acquaintance had something else in mind for you

Pairing: Biker!Bucky x y/n

Word Count: 2.8k

Warnings: Language, strong anti-religious sentiment throughout, harmful relationship with parents, irresponsible motorcycle healthy and safety measures, smoking

Author's Note: Something a bit different, why the hell not. This story is based around lyrics from Billy Joel's 'Only the Good Die Young'. What a man.

---

'Y/n! You look… healthy.' 

Those were your mother's first words as you walked through the door of your family home. Not saying how pleased she was to see you or asking how your flight was, but commenting on how you looked with her typical passive-aggressive euphemisms.

This was going to be a long summer. 

Initially you were adamant about staying at your dorm, even on your own. All you wanted was peace and space. Then your parents threatened to cut you off if you didn't come home, so here you were. 

You traipsed upstairs. Approaching your bedroom, you saw the bolt haphazardly screwed to the outside of the door. Your father had installed it when you were twelve, after he caught you watching ‘ungodly’ TV shows in the living room at midnight- Doctor Who. 

Your room had been redecorated. It looked fucking dreadful. You glanced up at the wall and a little bit of sick shot up to the back of your mouth when you saw a ‘live, laugh, love’ sticker plastered up there. 

A long, long summer.

---

Your first errand was grocery shopping. Wandering around the store, you grabbed everything on the list and headed to the checkout. Through the front window you saw billows of smoke blowing past, but you couldn’t quite see where they were coming from. 

As you stepped outside, you looked over to see a pretty big group of guys in leather jackets, most of them with cigarettes on the go. They were gathered around the corner of the building, the one you had to walk past to get home. You kept your head down, gripping your grocery bags tight and passing them as quickly as possible, when you heard one of them pipe up. 

'Well holy shit. Y/n?'

You turned towards the voice. James Barnes. 

The two of you went to high school together but, apart from the occasional stilted conversation and reluctant group project, you’d never really developed any sort of relationship. Besides, he always hung out with people your mother didn't approve of. 

And he was what, now? In a motorcycle gang? Figures. 

'Hi James. Good to see you.' You mumbled, breaking stride momentarily. His friends seemed to find that funny. 

'People call me Bucky now.' 

Nodding feebly, you gave him a polite smile before moving off again. You noticed that your face felt warm and your stomach was involuntarily tensing. Sure, he was much more handsome and charismatic than you remembered, but you had no idea why being in his presence was making you this nervous. You heard approaching footsteps and in a second he was by your side, walking next to you.

'You moving back to town?'

'No, just visiting for the summer.'

‘Are your parents still religious nut-jobs?'

You stopped and snapped your head round, in complete shock at the brazenness of his questioning.

'I'll take that as a yes.’ Without taking his eyes off you he pulled a pack of cigarettes from his pocket, placed one between his lips and lit it. ‘Guessing you won't be having much fun this summer then.'

'Probably not your kind of fun.' 

He smirked and stepped towards you. ‘Man, you Catholic girls start much too late.’

‘I don’t think I asked for your opinion, James.’ It came out much softer than you anticipated, barely a mumble. Not the kind of back-off-or-else warning you were aiming for. He was really getting under your skin.

'You didn’t, but I’ll give you another.’  

You raised an eyebrow, watching him blow a cloud of smoke out over your head and chuckle at your expression. Against your better judgement, you waited for him to carry on.

‘I'd rather laugh with the sinners than cry with the saints.' He stepped closer again, bringing his lips close to your ear, and whispered. 'Cause the sinners are much more fun.'

---

You dropped the shopping on the counter. The whole way home you hadn’t been able to get James Barnes out of your head, hadn’t been able to stop picturing his smirk or imagining his warm breath tickling your ear. 

You wanted to know more about him, and if anyone had information it'd be your mother. She knew everything about everyone in this godforsaken town. Sitting down for dinner, you seized your opportunity.

'I saw James Barnes at the grocery store today.'

She abruptly dropped her knife and it hit her plate with a sharp clang, making you jump.

'You stay away from that boy.' She punctuated the words by pointing her fork at you. 'He's trouble. Him and his gang.'

You hated the way she spoke to you sometimes, like you were a child. You were in your twenties for fuck’s sake. 

'He seemed nice enough.'

‘That’s how it starts.’ Your father piped up. ‘Before you know it he’s got you hooked on drugs, living in a trailer, pregnant with his deviant child.’ 

And that was the end of that conversation. 

Being away, you’d almost forgotten how messed up your parents were. It was terrifying to think that you used to be just as bad. They had you completely brainwashed before you left for college and, even now, some of their intrusive religious dogma still lingered in your subconscious. 

---

Sunday. The priest was droning on about something but you weren’t concentrating, his dull voice just sounded like a janky old extractor fan whirring behind the altar. You stood, sat, stood, kneeled, sat along with everyone else like sheep being herded, singing and praying whenever prompted. This, every Sunday for ten weeks, was going to be torture.

An hour or so into the service, you felt yourself nodding off. Your shoulders relaxed and your head felt too heavy to be held up by your neck but, just as your eyes started to close, something startled you. Startled the whole congregation. The droning from the altar stopped and heads turned towards the door, where the disturbance was coming from. 

It sounded like a shuddering motorbike engine. Then another joined. In a couple of seconds the entire church was filled with an echoing cacophony of backfiring engines. 

Someone at the back stood up and ran to the door. There was some shouting and laughing, but the noise eventually moved away, fading into the distance. Looking around, you saw a sea of indignant and sour faces. The tension hovering in the air was palpable.

‘And that,’ your mother hissed through clenched teeth, ‘is why you don’t go near James Barnes and his friends.’

You had to suck in your cheeks to smother your laughter, nodding insincerely at her words. James’ voice echoed in your head…

The sinners are much more fun.

---

A couple days later, one of your old friends invited you to a house party- or ‘board game night’ as you told your parents. Parties were usually a little out of your comfort zone, but you’d do anything to get out of their house for an evening. 

Wandering from room to room, you checked if there was anyone else there you recognised. Nope. You skulked to the kitchen and opened a can of diet coke. 

There was a hard tap on your shoulder and you turned to see James Barnes’ wide smile.

‘Hey there.’

‘Hi James.’ You muttered, taking a sip of your drink. ‘I heard your little stunt outside the church last week. You make a habit of that?’

‘Nope. Just thought it’d be nice to welcome you home.’ 

Interesting. That whole thing was for you? Your stomach started to flutter with excitement despite part of your brain screaming that he was probably just mocking you, flirting with you for a bet. To save any potential embarrassment, you went on the defensive. 

‘Gee, thanks. Are you and your friends always that obnoxious James?’

‘Ah y’know.’ He leant against the counter, folding his arms, still grinning at you. ‘We might be laughing a bit too loud, but that never hurt no one.’

You raised an eyebrow, feigning disinterest and doing everything you could to keep a lid on how excited his deep chuckles were making you. He bit his lip and your heart felt like it was going to leap out of your chest. 

‘And call me Bucky.’ He pushed himself off the counter, disappearing into the crowd.

Hours passed and you eventually realised that you weren’t really having a great time. Everyone around you was borderline hammered but you knew if your parents got a whiff of alcohol you’d be locked inside all summer, so you were stone-cold. 

You snuck out the back door, swiftly sliding it shut. Focusing more on what was happening behind you than in front, you managed to unceremoniously trample over someone’s feet. 

James, of course it was. Brilliant. 

He was leant against the wall, finishing off a cigarette. Chuckling, he held out the pack to you, but you shook your head. 

‘Leaving so soon?’ He grunted.

‘Yeah, not really my scene.’

‘Same here. Want to go somewhere else?’ Your heart stuttered at his question. You struggled to form a reply, gazing at him wide-eyed. He smirked and looked away. 'It’s alright, I know the deal. Your mother told you all I could give you was a reputation, right?'

You couldn’t hold back your excited smile anymore and his eyes lit up when he saw it. Shrugging faintly, your mind scurried around trying to find something witty and attractive to say. He dropped his cigarette butt and crushed it under his boot before slowly approaching you. Stopping a couple inches away, he smirked down at your dazed expression.

‘Come out with me tomorrow.’

---

You told your mother that you were having a day at the local library. You weren’t necessarily lying- you had no idea what Bucky had in mind, so anything was a possibility. 

He was waiting by the monument in the town centre, like he’d said yesterday. 

‘So,’ you said, prompting him to turn towards you and smile, ‘what are we doing?’

He held his elbow out and you snaked your hand through it. 

‘You’ll see.’

Much to your surprise, he took you to the fair. You wandered around, hand enclosed in his, talking and laughing for hours. He bought you a hot dog and spent ages trying to win you a stuffed giraffe, but his aim wasn’t great. You couldn’t hold back your laughter after he missed for the fourth time, so he picked you up, swung you around and shouted that he was going to sell you to the carnival. 

When both of you were tired and full, he walked you to the park, pulling you down next to him on a bench and wrapping his arm tight around your waist.

‘Thanks Bucky.’ You said faintly.

‘For what?’

‘Didn’t think I’d be having much fun this summer, but I had a really nice time.’

He smirked and scooched even closer to you, his firm thigh pressed against yours and his thumb gently stroking your hip. There was a comfortable silence for a few seconds before he muttered to himself.

‘It ain’t right.’

‘What?’

He sighed, brushing his chin against your hair. ‘Your parents. Catholics, man- they just built you a temple and locked you away. You’ve barely lived.’

‘It’s not all bad.’ You whispered, relaxing your head against his shoulder and angling your face up towards his. 

‘Maybe.’ Adjusting himself, he turned towards you and put his free hand under your chin. ‘But that stained-glass never really lets in the sun.’

He pressed his lips against yours. Your stomach flipped. His hand moved from your chin to cradle the side of your neck and his thumb brushed softly across your cheek. He pressed towards you more firmly, sliding his tongue along your lips. He tasted like cigarettes and candy floss. Your knees tensed and your thighs started shaking. He must’ve noticed, because you felt a deep chuckle vibrating into your mouth, but that only made it worse. You melted into him, just about steadying yourself by gripping the lapels of his jacket. 

He pulled away, letting your head fall into the crook of his neck, keeping a tight grip on your waist. 

‘Not bad for a church girl.’

---

‘What is this?!’ Your mother burst into your room, looking horrified and holding her phone out in front of her.

You squinted at the screen, it was a photo. You and Bucky holding hands at the fair. Shit.

‘Where did you get that?’ You muttered.

‘Angela sent it to me. She saw you there, with him.’

You stood from your bed, ready to plead with her. ‘Look, he’s a nice guy, he’s-’ 

‘He is a criminal. And if you think you’re seeing him again, you’re wrong.’ She turned and started to storm away. 

You felt anger bubbling inside, nothing like you’d ever felt before. Everything Bucky had said, his anger at your parents- he was right. You’d thought about it before, of course you had, but all you’d ever felt was a kind of defeated acceptance. Now, you were pissed.  

‘I am not a fucking child.’ You screamed.

She jerked to a stop. Slowly twisting round, you saw her face was filled with venom. ‘We’ll speak again when you’re ready to apologise.’ She hissed, slamming your door behind her. You heard it lock.

Wow, that felt good. Really good. You flopped down onto your bed. Your head was spinning but you were grinning to yourself, still half in disbelief. You’d never stood up to her like that before and you were starting to regret not doing it sooner. 

Your phone started buzzing- Bucky.

‘Hi.’ You sighed into it.

‘Come to the window.’

Your gaze darted to the far end of your room and you fumbled off your bed. After briefly scanning the skyline, your eyes flickered down to the backyard lawn. Bucky was standing underneath your window, holding his phone to his ear, beaming up at you.

‘Came to ask if you wanted to come out, figured I probably shouldn’t knock on the front door.’

‘So you break into the garden?’ You chuckled.

He shrugged and flung his free arm out. ‘It’s romantic.’

‘Sure is.’ You grinned down at him before remembering where you were. ‘I can’t Buck. One of my mother’s friends saw us together yesterday. I’m locked in.’

‘Man, you’re living with psychopaths.’ You nodded and gave him a disheartened smile. ‘Look, I know they’re your parents, but you really don’t owe them anything. Especially after everything they’ve done.’

His words echoed around in your head, slowly becoming more convincing as you considered them. Before you could respond, the light from the room below you switched on and Bucky was immediately illuminated with bright yellow light. Without missing a beat, he sprinted towards the fence and vaulted into next door’s garden. You heard a breathy ‘I’ll see you soon babe’ through the phone before he hung up.  

Your father ran out of the back door, pretty quickly deciding not to give chase. He looked up at you with anger in his eyes but you didn’t waver. You were already locked in your room for the foreseeable future, what else could he possibly do?

---

He could force you to clean all the floors in the house on your hands and knees, apparently. Scrubbing for hours and hours with him watching over you like a hawk. Your parents had pretty swiftly gone from strict but harmless religious zealots to borderline prison wardens. As soon as he left the room, you pulled your phone out and hammered out a message to Bucky. 

Will you come get me? I need out.

You stared at your screen, willing him to reply before your father came back. After what felt like ages, it finally buzzed.

On my way. Pack a bag.

You jumped up from the floor and sprinted up the stairs to your room, grabbing handfuls of whatever you could reach and shoving it into your backpack. You heard your father scurrying around on the ground floor before stomping up the stairs, shouting your name. Before he made it to your room, the faint rumble of a motorbike engine started in the distance and your heart jumped.

Running into the hallway, you pushed past your father without even looking up at him and scrambled down the stairs. You pulled the front door open and a wall of fresh air hit you, allowing you to take your first clean, deep breath of the day. Since you woke up all you’d been doing was huffing floor-cleaning chemicals.

Bucky came round the corner on his bike and you almost felt like bursting into tears. Waves of relief passed through every muscle in your body and you ran down the front steps to meet him.

You leapt on to the back of his bike, still in your pyjamas, and wrapped your arms around his waist as tight as you could. It felt like you were running entirely on adrenaline. Your parents were screaming your name behind you, but they were quickly drowned out by the roaring of the motorbike coming back to life. 

‘Shit, I’m not exactly dressed for a ride.’ You mumbled into his ear through your heavy breaths. ‘Don’t even have a helmet.’

You felt him vibrate with laughter as he gunned the engine and sped away.

‘Ah, don’t worry, you’ll be fine darlin.’ He raised his arm and flipped off your parents. ‘Only the good die young.’

---

Part Two

---

[abbatoirablaze]

Electric Love, Chapter 16

Word Count: 1.7k

Warnings:  mentions of smut, mentions of violence, mentions of bombs, gun violence, fighting, manipulation.

“Tony Stark is a sickness!”

Tony frowned from underneath his suit, “aww, junior, you’re gonna break your old man’s heart!”

“If I have to!”

“Nobody has to break anything!” Thor said firmly, looking between Tony and Ultron. 

“Clearly you’ve never had an omelet.”

Tony couldn’t help but smile from beneath the suit.  He pointed at Ultron, but looked back to his teammates, “he beat me by one second!”

Pietro glared at him, Wanda at his side, “ah yes…funny.  Mr. Stark.  Are you comfortable?  This feels just like old times!”

Cap looked at the teens, “you two can still walk away from this!”

“Oh we will,” Wanda said in a low tone, “its you that will not.”

“I know you’ve suffered!”

Ahh, Captain America,” Ultron scoffed, “god’s righteous man.  Pretending that you could actually live without a war.  So stuck in his own idealistic fantasies of what life could be like that he chased away the only woman who could love a man out of time like himself…now, I can’t physically throw up in my mouth, bu-“

“If you believe in peace then let us keep it,” Thor said quickly, trying to pull the topic of conversation away from his girlfriend and the captain, “this doesn’t have to be this way.”

“I think you’re confusing peace with quiet, Asgardian.”

“Yeah, uh huh?” Tony asked, “what’s the vibranium for then?”

“I’m glad you asked that,” Ultron said sarcastically as he waved his hand in the air, “because I so desperately wanted to take this time to explain my evil plan to all of you!”

Before anyone could question him, he used his propulsion to push Tony back.  They rose up into the air as legionaries came out and attacked cap and Thor.  Pietro raced around, going to attack the god, while Wanda went after Captain America.  Meanwhile, Klaue had given orders for his pirates to shoot everyone; it didn’t matter who was on who’s side.  Nat and Clint went after the pirates to keep the damage to a minimum. 

Sensing his sister was going to need some help incapacitating the captain, Pietro threw a few punches at Steve then ran, changing his attention back to Thor.  Thinking that he had an edge, he saw Mjolnir flying past him.  With a smirk, he grabbed it, but was quickly pulled backwards along with the hammer.  He ended up landing in a pile of boxes, to which Steve hit him with his shield and told him to stay down. 

“Wanda.  Now!”

The teenager raced to Thor, finding him to be the most distracted.  She was able to get inside his mind, and Thor swiped at her, but she had disappeared just as quick as she made an appearance.

“THOR!” Steve called over the comms, “Status!”

“The girl tried to warp my mind!” Thor told him, “I doubt a human can keep her at bay.  Fortunately, I am mighty!”

Steve had continued talking, trying to get information from Thor, but he was already enveloped in his own little horror that Wanda had unleashed in his mind.  When Pietro knocked Steve into the stairs, Wanda was quickly on him next. 

Steve shuddered. 

He wasn’t on the ship anymore.  Suddenly he was in a USO hall, a party going on around him.  He looked down, seeing that he was no longer in his Captain America uniform, rather, he’d been put into one of his old military dress uniforms from the 30’s.  The noise around him felt so real.  The laughter and giggles from girls who were finding their soldier.  The clicking of their kitten heels against the cool tile in the air-conditioned hall.  The cameras flashing wildly, making him think it was some glamorous event.. 

“You still owe me a dance.”

Steve turned around, and his breath hitched in his throat.

“Peggy?”

“Are you ready for our dance, Steve?”

He reached out to her, and suddenly everyone else was gone.  He turned, and Peggy was gone.  Hannah stood in her place.  Tears in her eyes and a rounded belly. 

“H-Hannah?”

“Why am I not good enough, Steve?” she cried sadly, “why aren’t we good enough?”

A baby cried behind him. 

Steve whipped around and Peggy was in front of him once more, holding her hand out, “the war is over, Steve.  We can go home!”

“H-Hannah?” he asked softly, “I-I heard a baby.”

“You want to have a child with her, Steve?” she asked with a scoff, “she doesn’t understand people like us…”

Only Peggy was gone now, and he was left with an image of a ghost he had wanted nothing more than to completely forget about.

“Dot…”

“Neither of them will ever be me,” she whispered sadly.  As her hands ran down her body the nurses uniform seemed to melt away from her skin, and she was left in the uniform he’d remembered before he went into the ice.  Skin-tight leather that clung to every curve, “I know what your really want, Steve…it’s Peggy’s fault our child is gone…she chased me away from you.”

“Steve!” Peggy’s voice echoed through the empty room.

“Steve!” Steve whipped around, a knife suddenly in his hand.  Hannah was in front of him.  Only she was as he’d remembered from right before they left on the jet.  She was wearing a pair of sweatpants and one of Steve’s old sweatshirts.  Her wavy hair was up in a ponytail and she was wearing her fuzzy slippers.  Steve’s eyes were wild.

“Y-you’re not real.”

“You were in distress!” she said softly, not moving an inch, knowing just how fatal her ex-boyfriend could be, “she’s utilizing the same brainwaves as if you were sleeping.  I-I need you to trust me.”

“You shouldn’t be here!” he growled, pushing the knife harder against the column of her throat.  She leaned into it until he saw a small red line. 

Her blood. 

His eyes widened and he shuddered, dropping the knife.  It clattered to the floor. 

“H-Hannah.”

“I stopped whatever nightmare she was making you have!” Hannah said softly.  Steve looked at her, tears in his eyes.

“H-How much of it did you see?”

“It’s not important, Steve…I need you to focus on me,” she replied, “Can you do that, Steve?”

He rushed her, falling into her arms as his tears spilled into the shirt she wore, “wh-why are you helping me, Han?”

“I’m always going to be there for you Steve,” she sighed, brushing the hair from his face, “that doesn’t stop because we’re not together…”

“I didn’t let you come.”

“You made the right call, Steve,” she sighed, letting him sob into her chest.  She smoothed down his hair, and began rubbing his back.  Pulling back her own emotions, she tried to form a world that she knew Steve was comfortable in.  He pulled away from her and looked at her in a confused manner when he saw that it was their place.  The one that they had shared together, “I need you to focus, Steve…”

“Han…wh-why do I smell vanilla?”

Steve looked down the hallway and noticed the Christmas lights blinking in the same way that they lined up with the song.  He heard the record player scratch as ‘Santa Baby’ started up.

“Blue…”

“I need to pull you out of this, Steve…I had to find a memory that was good…this was at the top of your mind.”

Steve watched himself coming out into the living room.  Watched her get on her knees and take him, and when he came, she begged for him to cum again, only in another hole.  He became lost in the moment as he watched it, suddenly missing his ex-girlfriend.  

“Hannah

“Hannah!”

He looked around, surprised to see Thor had gone up to Tony, and Clint was trying to get Natasha up from her own, very obvious run-in with Wanda.  Steve ran over to the group.

“HANNAH!”

Nat looked around, searching for the younger Stark.

“She woke you up too?”

Natasha nodded at Thor, “y-yeah…where did they go?”

Tony’s eyes went wide as he had a realization. 

“SHIT” he yelled, “Banner!”

Nat’s eyes went wide, “oh no.”

“BLUE! CODE VERONICA!” Tony called over his comms, “USE SATELLITES TO LOCATE HULK.  SEARCH ALL MEDIA OUTLETS FOR BREAKING NEWS REGARDING HIM!”

“Found him!” she responded not even a moment later, “dad…he’s in the city.”

“Sorry I didn’t call…”

“Agents,” Tony muttered to a very surprised looking Steve, “she’s got to be an agent!”

“DADDY!” two little kids, a boy and a girl yelled, attacking Clints legs. 

Steve was surprised, the glaring confusion written across his face as he looked at the children.

“Smaller agents,” Tony said in a confused tone as he looked at the children, “very small agents.”

But Steve’s mind went back to what he’d seen earlier in the ship, when Wanda had put him under whatever magic it was that she had.  His mind was on Hannah. 

‘Why am I not good enough Steve?’ she asked, tears streaming down her cheeks, ‘why aren’t we good enough?’

He tried to shake the image of you from his head, but he couldn’t.  And his mind traveled over the relationship that he had with you.  All the little mistakes that he’d made.  All the fuckups.  The relationship he’d had with you failed for one reason and one reason only.  Because of him.  Even in his nightmare state, you had rushed to help him. 

You had wanted to be there for him. 

“I-I need to go outside,” he said uncomfortably as he followed his instincts to go outside.  He had to take a deep breath when he reached outside.  His mind racing.  What if he had allowed himself to be happy with Hannah?  Would they still be together?  Would they be expecting their first child by now, or perhaps have already had one?  He tried to stop the oncoming panic attack as he paced back and forth on the porch.  And then he saw Thor coming out of the house, looking as green in the gills as he'd felt, “yo-you okay?”

“I must go!”

That was the only answer Thor gave as he held up his hammer and disappeared. 

‘You want to have a child with her, Steve?’ Peggy scoffed.

He whipped around only to be face to face with Tony.

“What do you want, Stark?”

“I don’t trust you, Cap…something happened that you’re not telling us…”

“You don’t have to trust me, Stark!” Steve hissed.

Chapter 17

Tag List:  @designatednewbie, @blueeberryyy, @lohnes16

[boxboysandotherwhump]

Ready or not, here they come!

Taglist: @salamancialilypad @whumpfigure @albino-whumpee @comfy-whumpee @ashintheairlikesnow @haro-whumps @vickytokio @yet-another-heathen @orchidscript @finder-of-rings

Chapter 11

The polished surface of Kaida‘s prosthetic fist shimmered silver in the early morning sun, suspended mere centimeters from Gideon‘s face. A bead of sweat trickled down Gideon‘s cheekbone as he froze in his halfhearted attempt to block her punch. His eyes were fixed on the entrance gate to their training field instead of her, and Kaida‘s expression crumbled into a disappointed pout.

“Forgot your reflexes in bed today?“ She dropped her fist and shook her head in disbelief. Wisps of black hair stuck to her sweaty forehead. “C‘mon Gideon, what‘s up with you this week?“

Gideon didn‘t respond. He was too focused on the tuft of brown hair that appeared on the top of the staircase, where everyone who wished to enter the academy grounds had to ascend. The giant gate framing the entrance dwarfed Sahar as he lingered next to one of its red painted wooden pillars, unsure if he should cross the threshold onto the training field. His large eyes scouted the area, hopping over their teacher and the other students, most of them already in the midst of exchanging punches or jabbing the air with their spears, until they found Gideon.

Sahar‘s lips played around a hesitant smile as he mouthed a silent hello, while his fingers tapped a symphony of nerves over his pant leg. Gideon watched their gentle movement, the contrast of soft olive brown skin brushing over black linen. There was no trace of Sahar‘s mutation to be found. The only hint of what had happened in the woods was the flash of white bandages that poked out from under his shirt sleeve.

Kaida‘s eyebrows raised in surprise as she followed Gideon‘s gaze. “Isn‘t that the farm-boy? What was his name again?“

“Sahar,“ Gideon breathed, disbelief prickling down his legs like an agitated ant swarm. He stomped past his classmates, dodging still sheathed spear heads and ignoring Kaida‘s exasperated protest. What the hell was Sahar thinking, coming here during training hours? If a stray spear jab or accidental punch hit his still wounded arm hard enough to make him mutate again, all the secrecy and sacrifice would have been for nothing.

“The hell are you doing here?“ The words came out harsher than intended, and Gideon winced at the sharpness of his own tongue.

Sahar‘s tentative smile fell and his green eyes grew impossibly larger but held Gideon‘s gaze with an almost defiant kind of determination. “A a a a applying. As, as a scout.“

“You- Have you lost your mind?“

“You didn‘t strike me as someone scared of competition.“

Both boys jumped at the familiar voice sparkling with teasing self-assurance. Gideon‘s heart plummeted somewhere to his knees.

Sahar‘s smile returned ten fold. All sparkling sincerity.

“Charlotte.“

A gust of morning breeze chilled Gideon‘s sweat damp skin as he faced Charlotte fully. Some of his classmates had stopped their warm-ups, curiosity written large across their faces while they turned to them. Even the teacher glanced over as he placed the wooden basket with slingshots and practice ammunition next to the target posts he had been setting up.

“I‘m no snitch. Didn‘t tell anything to anyone-“ Gideon hissed, whisper silent.

“Calm down.“ Charlotte chuckled, blue eyes glittering amused. “I‘m here to enroll as a student myself.“

He bristled. “What?“

Gideon‘s jaw tightened, thoughts working a mile a minute, as he tried to see through her intention. There was no way she would enlist just to make sure he kept his mouth shut. “The semester has just begun. You guys know that, right? Next registration is five months from now.“

Charlotte's lips twitched around a wry grin. “He who doesn‘t fight has already lost. But-“ White teeth nipped at pink lips and left small indentations in the wake of her uncertainty. “Sahar are you sure you want to do this? If you get hurt and-“ Blue eyes wandered to his right arm, lingered, flitted back up to his face. “...-the entire village could find out.“

“I- I I I-“ Sahar inhaled deeply, fingers fisting in the fabric of his shorts. “I‘m tired of hiding. You just, just said it. He who doesn‘t fight- I don‘t want to to to to lose the life I could have because I, I‘m,- because I‘m too scared to to to to go and live it.“

Determination burned under Sahar‘s gentleness, like fire hidden in a tree-trunk, simmering just underneath the surface. Gideon‘s heart hammered against his ribs. He felt hot, burned under the same determined gaze his brother had worn on the day of his death. The shadow of a ghost flickering to life in someone else‘s eyes.

The long sleeves of Sahar‘s moss green shirt covered the scar the spider's tooth must have carved deep inside his flesh, and Gideon‘s stomach flipped at the memory. It had taken forever to wash Sahar‘s blood from his skin, out of his clothes.Warm crimson red was still smeared on the inner walls of his head like a cave painting, illustrating his own future in violent shades of doubt and hope.

“Who do you think you are?“ Dillan‘s sharp voice cut through the breeze and Gideon’s thoughts snapped back like a rubber band. Dillan‘s pale blue eyes narrowed as he marched across the training ground, blond hair flopping over his wide forehead and narrow shoulders squared. “Wanting to apply in the middle of term? There are rules here!“

“Who do we think we are?“ Charlotte‘s lips curled. “Let me shoot that question right back at you-“ Cold blue eyes dropped to the red stripes embroidered to the sleeves of every first year‘s uniform. “Neophyte.“

Dillan reminded Gideon of a particularly offended fish with his wide watery eyes and small mouth, opening and closing to gulp in air.

Sahar glanced at Charlotte, full of disbelief as he said exactly what Gideon was thinking. “Cha, Charlotte we, we, we aren‘t even students-“

“But-“ she cut him off, voice gentling a fraction, before her tone sharpened once more. “We grew up here. This village is our home and we nearly died protecting it. I won‘t let a little incomer from the city lecture me about how things work in my own village.“

The color of Dillan‘s face resembled a fire bug more than human skin and neither Gideon nor Sahar could hold back their grins. If you could call the soft bashful twitch of Sahar‘s lips that.

Just as Dillan got ready to retaliate, brows drawn tight and hands balled into tight fists, their teacher strode over. Gravel crunched under the man's heavy steps until he came to a halt just behind Dillan, casting his student in the shadow of his wide shoulders. His black beard shifted with the quirk of his lips. Dark eyes twinkled, bemused.

“We teachers were already wondering if you two troublemakers would end up here. Well, I guess I owe Sybil dinner now.“

Gideon‘s brows raised nearly to his hairline. “What‘s that supposed to mean?“

“I would like to know that as well, Mister Bassam.“ Dillan protested.

“Well,“ Bassam chuckled, relishing the confused faces all around him. “C‘mon guys, did you really think we wouldn‘t talk about you three saving a bunch of children and fighting off a spider. Even if you said you weren‘t the ones to strike it down, that's still a huge feat. You should be proud of yourselves. Especially you, young man.“

Bassam‘s large hand clapped Sahar on his right shoulder and made all three of them wince. Sahar‘s fingers began to frantically tap his thigh, but nothing else happened. If Bassam had noticed anything he graciously ignored Sahar‘s display of nerves.

“Jumping that monster with nothing but an old firewood axe. The kids won‘t shut up about it down at the tea house, let me tell you.“

“Oh oh oh, yeah?“ Sahar flushed.

Charlotte sighed. “And I told them to keep it down.“

“Well, be glad they didn‘t, or we wouldn‘t consider giving two penniless orphans the chance to join nearly a month late into term.“

“Wait.“ Gideon burst out, gesturing wildly at Sahar and Charlotte. A cocktail of worry and apprehension pumped through his veins. “You mean they‘re in? Just like that?“

“No, no. Not quite. You two still have to pass our entrance exam. We do have standards here, after all.“ Bassam, whose hand still rested on Sahar‘s shoulder, began to gently push him forward. “C‘mon you two. We‘ll talk in detail in the principal's office. And the rest of you, five rounds around the field. Hade, hade, there is never too much warm up.“

Everyone groaned in frustration except for Kaida who jogged towards Gideon with a wide grin, black bowl cut shining in the sun. He turned around and started running.

[thesandersinitiative]

Shouldn't you guys be trying to get a plan in place for what your gonna do with remus once you find him, and how your gonna capture a literal god? Not to mention he has not only de but probly close to 30 if not more agents on his side. Instead of you know bickering, like littel kids.

“I think you’ll find I’m rather efficient at multitasking,” Logan says. “I’ve had Remy maintain an eye on the news station broadcasting. So far their hasn’t appeared to be any sign of Agent Ekans or the brainwashed agents and SHIELD enemies. When we get to the location, I will engage the enemy and have Remy draw up a foolproof defense—” “What if Remy can’t?” Patton asks innocently.

Logan scoffs. “There would be no reason why he can’t. I created the software he uses to analyze enemies for this purpose. In fact you won’t even have to get out of the plane.”

“Why wouldn’t I leave the plane?”

“There wouldn’t be any need for your... outdated tactics.”

Patton laughs.

“I don’t see what is so entertaining.” Logan says.

“You want to rely solely on your computer,” Patton explains. “For someone so brilliant I thought you would have—”

Logan straightens his back, his eyes flashing with a challenge, “Have what?”

“The target is directly below,” The SHIELD provided pilot interrupts, reaching up to flick several switches.

Patton claps his hands together and then unbuckles his restraints. “Excellent! Then we can continue this conversation in just a moment!”

Logan’s head whips towards him, “Wait—!”

“War waits for no one,” Patton says in a light tone, offering a smile to the inventor as his hand hits the lever to drop the hanger door. And then before it’s even halfway open, he strolls towards it and flips himself through the opening into the empty air.

It feels like flying. Patton breathes in deep as the winds fight to tear him apart, the chill burning his cheeks in a way that the fire never had. He’s burned before; sometimes Patton feels like he’s still burning, but this cold is something so different he’d never confuse it for what being strapped to that table had been like. He locks his limbs together, holds his shield over his heart and dives through the air towards the battlefield below.

((Was this what the Soviet felt like? When he fell from that train?))

He flips at the last second, landing on the ground hard enough to break the cobblestone road under his feet, and holding his shield up to catch the glancing blow from the so-called god that definitely would have hit a citizen. The force of the blow knocked both of them back with a force that popped Patton’s eardrums.

“Hello!” Patton says with a smile, over his shield. “You must be Remus!”

Remus opens his mouth but before he can say anything there’s a loud screech that streaks through the air in a visible, physical wave and slams into him. Even Patton yelps as the man is knocked off his hit and goes flying into the stone wall of a nearby half crumbling building in a way that definitely should have broken all of his ribs. 

“Logan!” Patton shouts, glancing up to see the flying suit of armor, with the stern helmet in place to obscure exactly what Logan’s face looks like.

“Since you wanted to be here so badly, keep your eyes on him,” Logan’s voice comes out from it and gosh if that doesn’t feel like something out of a movie. Flying Robots, Gods, Siberia. 

Over the sound of screaming civilians, Patton distinctly hears some high pitched laughter— something that doesn’t sound humorous and definitely doesn’t sound happy. Remus staggers to his feet, swaying drunkenly from side to side, his horned crown slightly lopsided, and Logan lands on the ground next to Patton with his glowing palms at the ready.

“Remy, analyze,” the man says.

Remus of Vanir whistles, spinning his spear in his hand. “That eager to get in my pants? You could have just asked! X-rays take all the fun out of it!” He points the spear tip at them. “Tell me something… is your dick made of metal too?”

“Babes, his magic is off the charts. Literally.” Remy’s voice says. “I’m having trouble even locking in on him.” 

Patton smiles.

“Hmmm, then we have to do this with my outdated tactics,” Patton says, loosening his grip on his shield and spinning through his throw— which gosh if that didn’t feel great. After so long, the feeling of his shield leaving his hand, the muscle memory of his throws, the thumping of his blood in veins; it’s like excitement. It’s like being alive.

Remus shifts barely an inch to dodge the shield, letting it collide with the dented wall, bounce off the ground and ricochet back to Patton’s arm.

“Impressive,” Logan says, but Patton can’t tell with this robotic tone if he’s being made fun of or not.

“My, my, my,” Remus says, “Aren’t you two eager peepers! What happened to conversation, Mr. Blueskies, Mr. Hammer? You mortals still do that, right? Get to know each other before you try to kill each other?”

Logan’s palms glow brightly, and Patton feels his heart leap into his throat.

“How do you know that name?” Patton asks, feeling like his skin is a size too small. “That name…Tell me!”

“What? Blueskies?” Remus laughs. “Oh Captain, my Captain,” He grins, canines sharp and eyes ablaze, “Make me.”

Patton steps forward, shield front and center, and says, with every inch of calm rationality he does not feel, “Stand down and surrender,” He orders, and it sounds like a threat, a promise, “Or I will.” 

Remus twirls his spear in his hands, tapping the pointed part against his chin twice for emphasis. “Hmm…” He hums thoughtfully, as if he were actually taking Patton’s words seriously, as if Patton had not said them as a courtesy nothing more, as if Patton had not been through battle through bloody battle, had not fought half a war—as if he did not know men like Remus did not surrender until they were made to.

But Patton always asked. Fights might have been freeing, electrifying, but the blood staining his hands after were not, even if he always tried to pull his blows. Against Remus he would not have to, Patton doesn’t even think he could. 

He can’t quite comprehend how much that terrifies him. 

“Nah,” Remus decides, shooting his arm out and sending a piercing bolt of energy out of the spear’s gem with a fluid jab of his wrist. Patton plants his feet and raises his shield, but his knees buckle as the spell impacts with a bang—and suddenly he’s twenty feet back and half buried in a snowbank, blinking, “I’ve heard a lot about you, Mr. Blueskies,” He cackles, “But if you can’t even take a hit— well, I don’t think your whole ‘living legend’ schtick is gonna last much longer!”

Logan launches into the air sending another one of those shrieking blasts towards Remus, while Patton tries to remember how to breathe in. The snow is cold, a shock to his system, and arms feel a bit like pudding under his skin from the impact. He stumbles to his feet, trying to get his bearings again.

Across the square, Logan’s sonic repulsor thingy— what’s what he called it right? Patton shakes his head— tears through the cobblestone ground, as Remus dodges artfully around without being caught in a made up dance. Patton thinks he might even be singing some Asgardian drinking song, although he can’t hear the words. Then without warning, the demigod throws an empty hand up at Logan and winks. 

The subsequent green blast of magic is so bright it nearly blinds Patton to watch. Logan goes careening from the sky, crashing straight through the squares fountain. Remus jumps up after him, moving like a rabid squirrel over the unearthed and broken sections of concrete and piping and gripping his scepter with two hands to bring it down on Logan’s glowing chest.

Patton winds back to throw his shield again, but Logan is faster, rolling to the side just as the bladed tip of the spear lodges into the block where his repulser had been.

“He’s using his weapon as a morning star,” Logan’s voice says through the earpiece, ringing loud and clear through Patton’s head. 

“Got it,” Patton says and takes off after the target. He throws his shield as the demigod raises his spear again. 

“Swing, batter, batter! SWIIIIIING!!” Remus yells, knocking it out of the way and Patton dives low for his unguarded, unstable legs. They go skidding backwards, rolling over rocks and stone and each other’s limbs and gosh that crack sounded bad, but Remus’s laughter persists.

Like he thinks this is fun. Like he isn’t bleeding, like he hasn’t destroyed half a city, like he hasn’t ruined hundreds of lives today alone. He laughing like this is the most enjoyment he’s had all week and Patton’s blood is boiling inside him, burning through his skin and threatening to spill right out.

Patton lands with his hands pinning Remus down, and his head buzzing with so many thoughts that he can’t hear any of them.

“I’m actually a top,” Remus says, twisting his knees up and launching Patton off of him.

Patton hits the ground rolling, and sliding back to his feet like he’d done a million times back in the days of his Howling Commandos, his breath condensing in the air in front of him. He looks up just in time to see a flash of green light and he stumbles back—

“Patton!” His name twists mid-syllable, mutating from a shout to a gentle call, until a familiar, lilting accent is curling warm around the letters. He looks up, and the Brit grins brightly down at him, one hand clasping his shoulder, “You alright, Mr. Blueskies? You zoned out on us for a moment there?”

Patton looks at him, really looks at him, with his old round glasses cleaned roughly on his shirt. He’s not blurry, but bright, almost blindingly so, cheekbones sunken but blue eyes clear.

Wait, no—Patton blinks, feels like he’s stumbling, freefalling backward for a moment—Patton blinks and his eyes are venom green, still creased in concern, but it’s not right, not him, not—

Patton opens his mouth to protest, to question, to demand, but the Brit’s name slips backwards from his brain and he can’t quite grasp it between his fingers anymore. He blinks again, and the back of his eyelids are green and he can feel his pulse behind them, hard and fast.

The Brit’s eyes are hazel. Soft and concerned and bleeding, dripping messily from each duct like tears and staining his cheeks an ugly scarlet. He bleeds and he bleeds and he bleeds, from his eyes and nose and ears, a mottling purple bruise creeping up the side of his neck and curling painfully around his wrists and suddenly, suddenly, he’s stepping out of range, taking away his hand and his smile and his warmth and Patton—

Patton slams into the concrete beneath him. The back of his head snaps against his helmet and his eyes are spinning and there’s green smoke glowing around him—for a moment he feels like he’s drowning, and his head has just breached the waves as his lungs heaved, but then his body seizes again, once, twice, as his comm screams in his ears—

“Captain!—”

The explosion is as loud as it is violent, shredding through the room and ripping through the wall without any warning. Patton hits the ground, feeling the rumbling of the train under him, the winds of the Siberian winter mountain over him. He can hear his team scrambling through their radios as the signal screams, working around the curses in an amount of languages that outnumber the years this war had been going on for. 

“—just messed up,” a voice is saying. “You’re fighting off my creations with the power of denial? Deedee said your daddy fucked you over but I didn’t think it was that bad!”

“Patton!” the Soviet screams. Patton can’t breathe as he raises his head, as he clings to the broken railing, as he looks over and sees the Soviet just barely holding on himself. He’s outside the train car, finger wrapped around a piece of exposed metal that’s cutting through his gloves and spilling blood across his palms.

“Patton, these are just illusions,” another says far closer, almost right in his ears. Patton wants to scream. The wind is tearing through the gap in the train wall, strong enough that even his super soldier strength is barely keeping him holding on and the Soviet is staring at him with fear, with horror, with terror. His eyes are brown, brown like dark chocolate, unmistakable, unforgettable, un-illusionable. His face is half burned, half smashed, half collided with the wall and his left cheek marred by more blood than it should be possible.

“Patton, listen to me! Whatever you’re seeing it’s not—”

“Patton,” the Soviet’s lips move, and Patton can feel the infinity between his heartbeats. “Please I can’t—!”

Siberian winds are strong. Patton lunges forward, his fingers reaching, stretching, grasping and the Siberian winds drag the Soviet out into empty air, into a free fall, into the nothingness of wilderness and snow and a fall that no human, super serum or not, could survive.

Funny isn’t it? The Soviet survived the war of his homeland that ravaged the earth, survived a year in HYDRA prisoner camps that had killed more good men than the records would ever remember, survived joining the allies who never trusted him; he could have survived everything. But instead he had come in contact with Patton Hart, whose specialty has always been killing the things closest to him.

Patton is still screaming the Soviet’s name when there’s a sharp CLANG metal on stone and the train around him evaporates like fallen snow itself.

His chest is heaving, pulse rushing, and spots swimming at the edge. He throws himself to the side and heaves, spit dripping on the sidewalk. His stomach is churning with guilt and anger, running so hot he thinks his throat might burn if he actually hurls, so he presses one kevlar covered hand against his mouth to keep it down as salt burns in his eyes. 

After a moment, he hears the low hum of repulsors, and the solid clank of metal against cement. He looks up, folding back onto his knees, just as Logan places the cool metal frames of his glasses on the bridge of his nose. 

“Breathe in through your mouth,” Logan suggests, calmly, “And out through your nose. Slowly.” 

Patton sucks a breath in as Logan’s face, helmet folded back into the armor, swims into clarity before him. His stomach settles, some, and he swallows, feeling his lips curl into a familiar shape. 

“It appears there’s been a new development,” Logan informs him, once his breathing has been regulated into something resembling normal. He crouches down next to him as Patton viciously rubs his cheeks dry, more thankful than he can express at the moment. “Are you…?”

“I’m fine,” Patton says. “I’m fine.”

“You shouldn’t be,” Logan comments, removing his hands once Patton steadies, “It is expected to be disoriented after a mental attack of that severity. What I meant was—” 

“REMUS!”

Logan and Patton both whip towards the sound, Logan reaching up and tapping the side of his helmet at the sight before them: the roof of a building twenty feet away and a figure standing aloft the edge, red cape billowing in the wind, and a sword with a glowing golden hilt in his hand. Logan hisses at the sight of him, but from Patton’s very professional opinion, with moonlit glow at his back, the newcomer seems like something out of a fairytale, a dream come to life.

“Thomas, if you can hear me…” Logan says distastefully into his com, “It appears Prince Roman has, at last, arrived to take responsibility for his brother.”

End of Chapter Four

Previous Ask || Rules || Ch 4 Start || Masterlist || Next Chapter

[wtnrscap]

Cursed Words- Longing

Pairings- Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary- The first time it happens, Bucky doesn’t know if he’s able to control himself. The words haven’t gone yet, and by slipping one into conversation, Bucky fears you’ve woken the Winter Soldier. You don’t notice at first, but when you do, and idea hits you. It’s dangerous. But necessary.

Warnings- (18+) Mentions of blood, death, injury detail, PTSD, panic and anxiety attacks. Dirty talk. Dirty fantasies. Eventual smut. 

A/N- I don’t know how dark this series is going to get at the moment. I mean, it could be okay, but at the same time, depending on where my writing leads me, it could get bad. This series will address the PTSD that I’m sure Bucky has so viewer discretion is advised.

This is my first story so the taglist is empty, just ask if you wanna be on it. Also, I’d be really grateful for feedback as this is my first story so it’s bound to be a bit crappy.

Cursed Words Masterlist

6 months. 6 long, painful months. That’s how long you and Natasha were gone. Hunting down some Hydra goon getting too big for boots. Steve had sent you to get rid of his sorry ass, but as when you’d approached the base where he’d been hiding out, you’d realised he wasn’t the problem. The 12 huge M134 miniguns perched on top of the base were the problem. Those bad boys could fire 6,000 rounds a minute without heating up and had been automatically activated. The mission changed. Leave the target, destroy the guns. 

The destruction of the guns had been easy. After a quick search for information, trying to figure out why he had 12 miniguns, you and Nat were on your way home, not bothering to fill out your mission reports. Steve would kill you later, but you were exhausted and couldn’t care less. Nat set the Quinjet onto autopilot and sat next you, finger brushing her firey hair, “How you feeling? I’m sorry you didn’t get to finish the target.”

“The lives we saved are far more important, Nat.”

“Did Steve get you to say that?” snorted Nat, “You were dying for a fight, I could tell.”

You stand as FRIDAY announces that you’ll be landing soon,”It’s annoying we didn’t eliminate him, for sure, but seriously, we just saved 72,000 lives.”

“That’s providing that every bullet fired hit someone... Also, quick maths!”

The Quinjet lands with a bump and you leave quickly, just wanting a hot shower and your bed, but before you do, you turn back to Nat, “No quick maths, I just googled what 12 x 6,000 was.”

-

It’s not until a few days later that you get to see everyone again. Steve and Sam had their own mission while Clint, Wanda and Vision had gone to Clint’s farm. Tony and Bucky had put aside their issues to fix Bucky’s arm which had been giving him a lot of pain. It was only when Thor appeared did you call for a rare movie night. As everyone walked in, you made them swear that no one would talk about work for the duration of the movie, but that was forgotten in about 10 minutes.

“- and... and he says to me, he says ‘Can Vision get me trending?’“ Clint roars with laughter in the silent room. Only Natasha chuckles slightly, not wanting to let her best friend down. Clint’s eyes pop, “How can you not find that funny? He thought Vision could get him trending!”

You shift uncomfortably in your seat and roll your eyes, “Yeah, it was so funny I forgot to laugh. Alright, anyone else got a funny story?”

“Not a funny story, but I swear that Manchurian Candidate here has given me a permanent black eye. Everytime I touched one of those stupid metal plates, his arm would just hit me the face!” exclaims Tony with a nasty glance at Bucky. You smirk as Bucky shrugs his shoulders, “Leave him be Tony, our boy’s just a little sensitive is all.”

Bucky flushes deep red and you mentally congratulate yourself. Since he’d joined the Avengers, you’d found yourself very attracted to the Winter Soldier and finding all the ways to make him blush was fast becoming a hobby of yours. In fact, making him blush once a day was a target you’d set yourself. However, during the course of the night, you’d made him blush several times, reasoning you had 6 months of lost time to make up for.

Nat punches your shoulder with a smirk. She knew what you were doing. She probably supported you and your plan.

“So, I noticed that there were no mission reports for your six months away, Y/N. Wanna explain that?” Steve pulls you out of your thoughts and you look up at him from where your snuggled into his chest, “I was tired after disabling 12 miniguns. I saved-”

“72,000 lives, yeah we know!” interrupts Nat, “She’s just upset because we had to let the goon go.”

“Ugh! I was longing to end him!” 

Everyone laughs at your obvious annoyance which distracts away from Bucky stiffening in his seat. 

You just said a trigger word. 

Not to hurt him, just in passing.

But his mind swayed the second you said it. 

Darkness creeping in and the monster climbing out, ready to comply.

You weren’t trying to hurt him. You weren’t trying to activate him. 

So much darkness. So much death.

He remembers them all.

Every single one. 

Every face.

Every cry.

Every. Last. Word.

Sweating profusely, Bucky jumps and flees the room, leaning against the corridor wall. He can’t breathe and yet his chest is rising and falling so quickly. Is this what dying feels like? The hammering in his chest feeling like a heart attack, the air in his lungs feeling like poison and the memories, oh God the memories.

A door to the right of him opens and Steve’s kind face appears in front of him, “Bucky? Buck? Pal? Are you alright?”

Bucky straightens, wiping the sweat of his brow and the tears from his eyes, “I’m fine.”

“Are you sure? Because-”

“I’M FINE STEVE! I’m... I’m just gonna go to bed, alright?”

Steve frowns, “Yeah... Get some rest.”

Bucky rushes to his room and stares at the ceiling. He’s become good at hiding things. And anyway, everyone’s scared of him, so the minute he snaps at someone, they just leave him alone. Which is exactly what he wants. Obviously,

-

The film had resumed and the relaxed atmosphere gone when Steve sits next to you, “Was it something I said?”

“I don’t know. He wouldn’t tell me.”

“I wasn’t trying to hurt him.”

“I know. He’s just been through a lot and the little things can set him off. He’ll be fine tomorrow.”

“Are you sure?”

“Positive.”

You sigh and bury your head into Steve’s chest. When you’d first joined the Avengers, Steve had been a constant. With his blond hair and blue eyes, you’d fallen in love almost immediately. Nothing had ever happened between you guys and when Bucky joined, you realised you wanted something more than Steve anyway. You’d never try to hurt Bucky. You liked him too much for that. In fact, you’d go as far to say that you loved him.

But love was scary. Love was constant and at the same time, it was so unreliable. Admiting you loved Bucky, opening up and telling him the truth just wasn’t option. But you didn’t know how much longer you could hold back. 

And you had no idea.

Bucky felt the same way. 

[shakspeare]

faith is the ache

→ dean/cas fic → circa season four. it’s the emo soldier of god for me.  → this is 90% kink y’all, most definitely rated r.  → ao3 link here if you’d rather read there → first time destiel writer the renaissance rly hit hard

Cas and Dean’s first kiss is a battlefield kiss.

It’s raw and desperate and bloody, torn from Cas’s lips like salvation, a prayer. Dean’s never been a praying man, but if this is faith, he’s a goddamn saint. He can taste blood on Cas’s tongue, feel Cas’s breath through his ribs, rushed and angry and brutal.

This is faith.

Faith is the way his fingers feel like they’re about to break. Faith is the way he’s holding Cas to him the same way he’d hold onto his gun. Faith is Cas’s eyelashes, dark and wet, ghosting against his cheek. Faith is every stolen breath and broken bone, every stabbing pain, every gasp, every tear, every loss.

Faith is the ache.

The world burns red through his eyelids; he opens his eyes. Releases his angel.

“Sam!” he roars, spinning on his heel, staring into the fray. The woodland’s half on fire, some demon coughing up its guts at his feet. He slams his heel down on its throat, scanning the tree line.

“Sam!”

“Let’s move!” Sam’s spat out of the forest like a rocket, tearing over the waste ground between them. Dean doesn’t need telling twice. He hauls Cas to his feet and they run.

The forest blurs past them in shadow and ash. The night’s dark; freakishly so. No stars. A volley of sparks explodes in the air above their heads; they flinch, keep running. Things had gone wrong, gone very badly wrong. Dean stumbles on the broken earth, curses under his breath. It was a trap, that should’ve been obvious. He was off his game.

“Dean?” The angel’s voice is curious, not yet practised in concern. Dean jerks his head; keep moving.

“I’m fine,” he barks, and Cas turns, keeps going.

“Here!” Sam’s voice comes low through the trees, and Dean gives a sigh of relief. He thought they’d overshot by a mile, but the Impala is just visible in the darkness. Least something’s gone to plan. His heart’s hammering against his ribs and something feels really wrong there. Broken, he’s guessing. He drops into the driver’s seat, fumbles for the keys. Half a second to breathe, and then he’s gunning baby’s engine to freaking Timbuktu. He reaches out to yank the door shut, but Cas is there, suddenly, holding it still. He stares down at Dean, eyes wide, hair going every which way.

“I’ll lead them off,” he says, and his voice is rough and low. “I doubt we will go undisturbed.”

Dean blinks, Cas takes a step back—

“Wait, Cas!”

He tilts his head, frowns at Dean. Dean gives himself a shake; man, he’s losing it.

“Get in the car.” The angel looks at him almost pityingly.

“No, thank you. I’m much faster out of it.”

“I’m not offering you a lift, you goddamn hippie,” There’s something moving in the trees. He slides the key into the ignition, keeps his voice low.

“You going off alone, that’s exactly what they’ll be expecting.” Castiel hesitates, still staring at him.

“Get in the damn car!”

Cas slides into the backseat just as he guns the engine and the angels break the clearing; the Impala snarls and jerks forward over the rough earth, spraying up dirt and stone in her wake, and if he said that didn’t satisfy him to hell, he’d be lying. He yanks the steering wheel hard left, spinning them out onto the freeway, and in 30 seconds he’s put miles between them and their heavenly little tete a tete. Cars flicker past either side of them, and Dean’s eyes flick up to the rearview. Cas’s baby blues are fixed firmly on the road ahead, that little frown quirking his brow.

“So it was a trap,” Sam grimaces, running a finger down the gash in his arm.

“Woah, dude!” Dean exclaims. “Upholstery, blood; blood, upholstery!” Sam ignores him, reaching out a bloody finger and daubing some hokey symbol on the passenger side window.

“Angel proofing, dumb-ass. They won’t be able to find us.”

Angel proofing. Right. Dean grumbles under his breath. It’s not the worst idea in the world. The pain in his ribs flares and he winces.

Yeah, they need some off-radar time.

“Check the map,” he nods at the roadmap on the floor at Sam’s feet. “Find us somewhere to crash. My four hours is calling my name.” His eyes flick back up to the rearview. No reason why.

***

The nearest motel’s about an hour’s drive. Sam falls asleep in his seat; Dean flicks on the radio. Adrenaline’s coursing through him like a freight train; it always does, after a hunt. He flexes his fingers against the wheel, shifts in his seat. Feels good. Feels strong.

His lips are burning.

“You ok?” The words come out a little gruffer than he’d intended. He clears his throat, keeps his eyes fixed on the road. It’s just the polite thing to do. Ask. For a minute he thinks Cas might’ve angel-ed out, but then—

“I am uninjured.” Right. “Great.” He drums his fingers on the steering wheel, itching to do… something. He needs a drink. A sleazy bar. Pounding music.

“But I… feel strange.”

He can’t help it; he glances up at Cas’s reflection. Cas is gazing out at the night, frowning.

“Strange how?”

“I should have known it was a trap,” Cas murmurs. “There were warning signs. I failed to notice them. I failed to keep you safe.”

“Guilt. That’s called guilt, Cas.”

Cas sighs.

“It’s not a big deal, no one got hurt.” He ignores the stabbing pain in his side; he’s had worse. “Everyone make mistakes. It’s uh, human.”

Cas’s searching gaze meets his and he swallows, looks quickly back to the road. Jesus. A scattergun of images flicker past in his mind’s eye; Cas, bright-eyed, burning, in the split second before he kissed him; Cas, in the barn, sparks exploding in the air around him, hair lit up like some dollar store invocation of Jesus Christ; and another, something he’s not sure he’s ready to think about yet; Cas, with bruised lips, shirt collar open and staring at him like he’s seeing for the first time.

Yeah, he’s itching to do something, alright.

“Dean.”

He jerks out of his reverie, slides the steering wheel left a little, keeps them straight. Eyes on the road. Get it together. Right. He shifts a little in his seat, pretends like Cas’s gaze isn’t burning a hole in the back of his neck. His cock twitches in his jeans.

“Alright!” He clears his throat, reaches over to the radio. “If you’re gonna slum it on earth with the rest of us, you gotta live the whole experience. Guilt, shame, the whole nine yards. Now this,” he raises his voice over House of the Rising Sun, “this is a whole experience of it’s own.”

Cas frowns a little. Dean sighs, leans back in his seat. Resists the urge to shift his hips, let the denim friction graze his dick. Jesus Christ, there’s something in the air. He risks a glance at Cas again; he’s gazing out his window now, thank god, watching headlights flicker past.

Alright. It’s not like he hasn’t been with men before. It’s no big deal, right? Except — and this is the kicker — sucking some trucker off for twenty dollars is pretty fucking different. Isn’t it? His heart skips a little in his chest, imagines Cas looking down at him, Cas running deft fingers through his hair. Yeah, it’s different. Different like, there’s a part of him that wants to pull the car over and get on his knees right now. He remembers the heat of Cas pressing against his chest, rough and aching; remembers the sting of his angel blade, caught between them and digging into his side.

Is Cas thinking about it? Do angels get turned on?

He’s not even sure why he did it, why he stepped over the angel Cas had just gutted and wrapped his fist in Cas’s shirt. He remembers the last time he had sex; in that strip joint with some hooker — he’d barely started railing her when all hell broke loose and he and Cas had to book it out the back. Does this feel like that? His dick twitches at the memory; the chick buck naked and spreading her legs, widening her come-fuck-me eyes. He frowns, shifts, remembers the puzzled expression on Cas’s face before he kissed him.

Nah, this is different. He doesn’t know why — the chick was hot, Cas is hot, his dick’s sure as hell into both. But it is. It is different.

Cas is still silent in the backseat. What’s he thinking about? I feel strange. Probably still grappling with his newfound guilt, whatever that feels like for an angel. I failed to keep you safe. Dean snorts. Right. Safe. When has anyone ever worried about his safety before? He barely worries about it himself. His mind fritzes for a hot second; faceless men in truck stop bathrooms; this week’s monster, teeth bared and barrelling out of the darkness; dad, waking him up at three in the morning and thrusting a sawn-off into his hands.

Safe doesn’t figure. It just doesn’t. And if he slammed on the brakes and insisted the angel in the backseat fuck him in the next lay-by, there’d be nothing safe about that either. He shifts, presses his dick against the rough fabric of his jeans. A single streetlamp bursts overhead as they fly beneath it, and in the shower of sparks, he sees Cas, bright blue eyes, one hand gripping the back of Dean’s neck like he owns him.

They make it to the motel somewhere round two in the morning. Seeing Cas properly for the first time since he kissed him is a freaking test. It starts to rain as they haul their bags out the trunk, and Cas has done nothing to fix his shirt, where Dean had wrapped his fingers in his collar and claimed him just hours before. He looks a goddamn mess. Dean swallows, slams the car door, wonders if there’s a bar anywhere nearby. Cas maintains his angelic silence as they cross the lot, stumble into the motel reception. Sam stays awake just long enough to check in, scrawl a bunch of sigils on the window, and then collapse on his twin bed, shoes on, dead to the world.

Dean slings his duffel onto the vacant bed. He’d gotten a twin room on autopilot, hadn’t even thought about it. Now it feels weird. He clears his throat, gives himself a shake. Tries to ignore the ache in his throat. God, he needs a drink. Or something.

Cas is stood at the window, gazing out at the blinking neon sign. White Rose Motel.

“Uh, Cas— ” Cas turns, looks at him expectantly. “What are you, uh—”

He was going to ask what Cas was gonna do all night, going to ask if he wanted his own room, hell, maybe angels like their privacy, he doesn’t know. But Cas is gazing at him, throat exposed, and Christ, he doesn’t remember the last time he wanted to fuck someone this badly. Dean glances at Sammy, passed out on the bed, and clears his throat.

“Outside?”

Cas narrows his eyes a fraction, and then nods, the tiniest movement. He closes the space between them, and when he presses his hand to Dean’s shoulder, Dean’s knees almost give way.

***

The air vanishes, twists; rain glitters on the sidewalk; the night fills Dean’s lungs, and he can’t wait, can’t wait another goddamn second. His fists find Cas’s shirt and he seizes him, pulls him close; his head collides with the wall behind him; the pain in his ribs flares like an open wound, and he doesn’t give a damn, doesn’t give a damn about anything. He’s done thinking. Sex is sex, and he’s a freaking cowboy. He needs this.

He can taste Cas’s blood on his tongue, feel Cas's lips against his, rough and punishing and claiming. Mine, mine, mine, and oh god, he wants to die here. Suddenly, Cas’s hand locks onto his wrist like a vice, and he steps back; Dean’s eyes snap up to meet his; strange, blue—

There are unspoken questions in Cas’s eyes, in the persistent frown that quirks his brow. His grip tightens on Dean’s wrist, and he presses Dean back against the wall; he can feel the damp coming through his shirt, feel the rain, soft, on his forehead. Dean can’t remember the last time he was this turned on; he doesn’t want to stop, to think, he just wants Cas—

“Cas, please—” It falls unbidden from his lips, and in the silent seconds that follow it feels like heresy. He’s hard as hell, and the angel at his throat is looking at him like he wants to tear him apart, and god, if that doesn’t turn him on more. Dean finds his voice, chokes out a word.

“Please.”

Cas’s fingers wrap around Dean’s throat, and he can’t tell if he’s about to kiss him, or kill him, or both—

Then Cas kisses him and he moans; a prayer that’s snuffed out by the press of Cas’s mouth against his own and suddenly he’s desperate, starving; his hands find the back of Castiel’s neck and he holds him to him, panting, pressing into Cas’s kiss like he wants to die on the altar of his lips. He gasps into Cas’s mouth, inhaling liquor and salt and copper. Cas shifts against him, open palm against his chest and—

The pain in his ribs flares suddenly, sharp and hot.

“You lied,” Cas whispers. “You’re hurt.”

Dean nods, doesn’t know how he manages it, but he does.

“Ah— yeah. It’s nothing. It’s nothing, Cas.”

He doesn’t want this to be over, he can’t have this be over, not yet. Cas passes a hand over his ribs, gazing at Dean like he’s lost in thought. Dean winces as his hand slides across the break; he can’t help it. Cas’s eyes flicker silver.

“You should let me heal it.”

“Right. Yes. Okay, Cas. Heal it, please— and then—”

“Pray to me,” Cas murmurs.

“Wh— what?” 

His eyes are gleaming, hair lit up by the street-lamps, glittering with the fallen rain. He looks fucking otherworldly, divine. He loosens his grip on Dean’s throat, and suddenly he’s full of something Dean doesn’t recognise. All he knows is that he craves it, needs it, dark and bright and strong and holy.

When he falls to his knees, it doesn’t feel anything other than right. He doesn’t question it, doesn’t think. When Cas runs his fingers through his hair, tilts his chin up to the sky, the ache in his chest subsides. The rain continues to fall, and the cold is creeping into his bones, but he doesn’t care. This is different.

He prays. He wants to. He wants Cas to be his, and he wants to be Cas’s, forever. Cas whispers to him softly, voice almost lost in this hiss of the falling rain. He lets him drag his tongue over his cock, lets him taste it, kiss it, and then — once he’s asked and begged and prayed a hundred times — Cas answers his prayer, thrusts his cock between his lips. He tastes like ichor and iron and wine and his fingers wind a little tighter in Dean’s hair. Dean’s never wanted to please someone this badly in his goddamn life. He’s good at sucking cock, he knows he is, but for Cas, he wants to be better than good. He wants Cas to need him, to know him, to never leave him. He runs his tongue down the length of Cas’s cock, wraps his hand around the base. He drags his tongue over the head, slow and rough and teasing. He keeps his eyes on Cas’s. When his cock hits the back of his throat, Dean feels like he’s about to fucking ascend. When Cas pulls him to his feet it feels like rapture. His legs are shaking; he all but collapses against him, his angel, and then Cas’s lips find his and Cas holds him up, pressing softer kisses on him now, sweet and deft and silent.

“Good boy,” he murmurs, and Dean feels lightheaded.

“Yeah?” he manages to breathe, in between Cas’s soft, persistent kisses.

“Yes,” Cas murmurs simply. “That was good,” and Jesus Christ, why does hearing that drive him crazy? Cas’s hand finds the tear in Dean’s ribs, palm like an open flower, and there’s a moment, warmth, and the pain is gone. Dean moans into Cas’s kiss, keening, presses his hips against him. For a moment Cas pulls back; Dean’s left breathless, aching, Cas’s fingers tracing the line of his jaw. Then the air around them rents itself in two, and suddenly Cas’s lips are on him again, but the world is upside down; the wall is gone; the air is closer, drier—

He tries to right himself, get purchase, and realises he’s flat out, sheets beneath his head. Cas’s had is still at his jaw, gentle, kind, and he realises with a lurch that the angel is fucking straddling him. He gasps, pressing up into Cas’s kiss so hard he can feel the bruise it’s going to leave on his lips.

“Where—” he manages to breathe out, the last vestige of his dignity wondering where exactly they are, though right now he’s so turned on he’d gladly beg Cas to fuck him in front of a freaking bar full of people — his dick twitches in his pants at that thought and he thinks he notices Cas’s eyes darken — that’s a thought to explore at a later date —

“An unoccupied room. This motel is not popular,” Cas murmurs, his lips grazing the hollow of Dean’s throat. His hands find Dean’s, loosening his grip on him, and Dean whines in protest; he wants to pull him closer, find some goddamn friction, never let go.

“Quiet,” Cas murmurs. His hands slide along Dean’s wrists, guide them up over his head, press them into the mattress, and Dean’s breath comes out in a little stutter. Cas blinks at him with those fucking weird, cosmic eyes, and then he’s closer still, pressing little butterfly kisses to his neck. Dean tilts his head back to the stars and gasps. The ache in his chest feels like holy fire, and he forgets everything — god, girls, demons, devils. All he can be sure of are the hands on his wrists, the mouth at his throat, the blood on his tongue, the split in his lip.

“Dean,” Cas’s voice vibrates, soft, just by his ear. A shiver runs down his spine; his eyes flutter shut.

“Yeah?”

“Are you sure?” Cas’s weight shifts slightly; Dean opens his eyes.

Cas’s eyes are bright in the shadows; he’s tossed his coat aside. There’s still blood on his shirt, staining the white, patterning his throat. He can see it when Cas looks away, lifts his chin and gazes across the room He shifts beneath him, a little, til his cock is pressing into Cas’s thigh.

“What?”

“Are you sure?” Cas’s gaze meets his, and there’s no challenge, no threat. Dean’s stomach flips over when he recognises the glimmer in his eyes. There’s no challenge because it’s all possession. Quiet, unyielding, simple. As if it’s all there is.

He swallows. “Yes. I’m sure.”

There’s a split second where Cas doesn’t move, only blinks at him, and he grinds his hips up into Cas in frustration, voice coming out in a whine—

“Please.”

And then Cas’s kissing him like he’s about to die. The press of his body against Dean’s is like a blessing, something otherworldly and dangerous and close to god. Dean can’t think, can’t breathe, can only arch up into the angel at his throat and pray, a broken string of words and sounds and promises that tumble from his lips without thought. When Cas lets go his wrists, his hands tangle in Cas’s hair, trace the curve of his jaw, the hollow of his throat. Cas’s shirt is gone, and he jerks his own off over his head, rough and careless, and when Cas’s palm presses against the brand on his shoulder like it’s a prayer, a rite, some secret sacred invocation that only they know, only they will ever know, Dean loses his mind, desperate, aching—

Cas draws back for a split second. His hair is tousled, his skin like marble in the half light. Dean’s heart is hammering like it’s going to leap out of his chest; he gasps, breathes, collapses back onto the bed.

“Cas,” he whispers, hands restless, reaching. “Come back, come back, please.”

He feels Cas’s weight shift, move, and when he opens his eyes Cas is beside him, eyelashes ghosting against his cheek. His lips press softly against Dean’s jaw, just below his ear, and suddenly Dean’s eyes are wet, and he has no idea why. His hands find his belt; he slips free of his jeans, his pants. He knows what he wants, and he doesn’t want to stop, to think. The air is warm against his naked skin but he feels vulnerable, strange; he rolls towards Cas, shields himself against his body.

Cas catches his chin with the pad of his thumb; soft, tender. He traces the sides of his body with the tips of his fingers, and his eyes are dark, brilliant, and Dean’s trembling because this is different, this is different from any guy, any girl, anyone he’s ever been with before. No one has ever looked at him like this before. The way Cas touches him, it’s like he’s the one who’s divine.

Cas presses him gently onto his back with a kiss, reverent, and his hand drifts down, over his stomach, his hips, finds his cock. He drags his fingers along the length of it, slow, playful, and Dean whines into the kiss, pleading. Suddenly his dick is slick, wet, and he moans, twisting in Cas’s hand.

“How—” he gasps, and Cas’s voice is just a breath in his ear.

“I’m an angel, Dean.”

When Cas pushes his legs open, and slips between them — when he trails kisses down Dean’s stomach, runs his tongue down the crease where his thigh meets his hip — when he kisses Dean so hard he draws blood, and then slips his fingers into Dean’s mouth — Dean’s gone. He can feel his own cock leaking against his stomach, so exposed and vulnerable and untouched. He needs this, needs Cas to touch him, hold him, want him. He swears out loud when Cas’s spit slick fingers slide between his asscheeks, tease at his hole. He pushes into his touch, craving more, needing to feel—

And then Cas’s tongue grazes his cock, his thigh, his asshole, and he’s trembling, bucking on the bed beneath him; his hands find Cas’s shoulders and he grabs him, pleading, as Cas’s tongue, hot and wet and obscene, teases at his fluttering hole. Cas’s gaze flicks up to meet his, eyes glittering, lips bruised, the column of his throat stark in the half light, and Dean is suddenly hit by the fact that this is an angel, this is not a man, this is an angel, a soldier of god, a force of nature, divine and unknowable and sacred. Cas slips up over him and presses a kiss against his open mouth, presses his palm against his aching dick, and slowly, agonisingly, pushes his cock inside him.

Dean’s lost. His throat is tipped back to the stars, stars obscured by a plywood and mortar and brick. He rocks onto Cas’s cock, and Cas whispers in his ear; soft, calm, quiet, tender. He moves slowly, gently, like Dean is fragile, sacred. Like he matters. He presses kisses to his lips, his throat, his shoulders as he pushes deeper in, as Dean gasps and presses up to meet him, wanting, always wanting. His hand grips Dean’s cock, thumb flicking lazily over the head, smearing pre-come and Dean could swear he’s enjoying this, toying with him, making him wait. He whimpers beneath him, tries to arch his hips in time with Cas’s lazy, teasing thrusts.

Cas lowers his mouth to Dean’s ear, whispers, his voice rough.

“Wait.”

Dean can’t wait, can’t think about anything but the ache between his thighs, the gentle fingers teasing him, the fact Cas pushed in even further as he whispered wait, bottomed out, flush against Dean’s prostate and just holding him there, not moving. He shakes his head, protests, tries to grind into Cas’s palm, but Cas tuts, sighs, brushes his thumb across his lips.

“I told you to wait.”

“Please, Cas— I can’t wait, I— please—”

Cas’s eyes are bright, searching.

“What do you want?”

“You know, Cas— you—”

“I want you to say it.”

“Please— Cas, please—”

Cas’s gaze flicks down, over his throat, the expanse of his chest, his leaking cock. He shifts, and Dean moans beneath him. His hand comes to meet Dean’s jaw, dragging the pad of his thumb down over his lower lip, gazing as if he’s curious, thoughtful.

“I want you to say it.”

His voice is low and rough and it sends a shiver down Dean’s spine. He’s a mess; he needs this, like he doesn’t remember needing before; and the fact Cas wants him to say it is somehow even better, even more—

“I want you to fuck me. Please. Please.”

Cas doesn’t move, still watching him, as if lost in thought. He twitches his hand a little around Dean’s cock, rubs his thumb over his aching head, and something in Dean snaps, and the words tumble from his lips before he can stop them—

“I need you to fuck me, Cas, I need it, I’m begging you, I need it, I need you, I need you here, please, god, please, Cas, please, please, just fuck me, touch me, make me yours, I can’t—”

And then his words are cut off by Cas’s kiss, hard, rough, dominant; one hand on Dean’s throat, the other like a vice around his leaking cock, and he’s fucking him so hard Dean cries out, sound lost on Cas’s lips. Dean wraps his legs around him, pulls him closer, closer, closer, and Cas’s hand finds his shoulder, palm like fire against Dean’s brand. Dean’s hips stutter and he gasps, his cum hot and wet against his ribs. Cas’s mouth is at his throat, his lips, and then he pulls Dean toward him, Dean’s forehead pressed against him as he comes, head tipped back and moaning, eyes lidded, lips parted, dishevelled and messy and divine and his.

***

He falls asleep in his arms.

There is a split in his lip; Cas brushes it softly with his finger. His healing touch is light, deft.

He moves very little; he doesn’t want to wake Dean.

Sleep. It looks peaceful. The warring emotions that usually colour Dean’s brow have all but faded. For a brief moment, Cas considers closing his eyes; perhaps there is bliss in the wilful dulling of the senses.

But that would mean taking his eyes off Dean.

Anger — unfamiliar, strange — courses through him; he had failed last night. Failed to protect the man who sleeps, now, mercifully whole, in his arms.

He would not make the same mistake again.

Dean turns in his sleep, turns toward him, nestles into Cas’s chest. His eyelashes flutter against him, his breath warm on Cas’s skin.

Cas feels — peaceful. Anger, guilt, joy; the messy milieu of human emotion is startling and strange. But this is different.

He knows this. The ache in his chest, the fire that burns. Faith. It is, perhaps, the only thing he has ever truly known. And for millennia, he had never questioned where to place it.

Dean murmurs in his sleep, and Cas traces his fingers over his chest, sweet and gentle and slow. By morning, there are a hundred Enochian love letters patterned, invisible, onto Dean’s ribs.

The stars fade, and the sun rises, and Cas watches over Dean.

This is faith.

[rjzimmerman]

Excerpt from this essay by Bill McKibben, published by The New Yorker:

Having had almost thirty-five years to come to terms with climate change, I’m used to the contours of our dilemma. Even so, the past two weeks have frightened me, both for what feels like a rapid acceleration in the pace of the planet’s heating and for what feels like a slowdown in a few key corners of the Biden Administration’s attempts to take its measure.

This past weekend saw what may be the highest temperature ever reliably recorded: a round hundred and thirty degrees Fahrenheit at Death Valley, in California, on Friday. But the previous heat wave—the one centered on the Pacific Northwest and Canada—may have been more anomalous. Instead of breaking records by a degree or two, it smashed the old marks by five, six, nine degrees. The temperature in Lytton, British Columbia, hit a hundred and twenty-one degrees—the highest ever measured in Canada—and, the next day, most of Lytton burned to the ground, in one of a series of increasingly out-of-control wildfires. Almost five hundred people died in British Columbia in the course of five days, “compared with an average of one hundred sixty-five in normal times,” and more than a billion sea creatures may have perished in the coastal waters. The early “attribution studies” from scientific teams say that this extreme heat would have been “impossible” without climate change—but that’s pretty obvious. Less obvious, and more scary, is the possibility that the heat may be part of a vicious feedback loop that drives temperatures ever higher. “This is by far the largest jump in the record I have ever seen,” Friederike Otto, the associate director of the Environmental Change Institute at the University of Oxford, told the Guardian. “We should definitely not expect heatwaves to behave as they have in the past . . . in terms of what we need to prepare for.” A Dutch colleague added, “We are now much less certain about heatwaves than we were two weeks ago. We are very worried about the possibility of this happening everywhere but we just don’t know yet.”

I was in the desert Southwest for much of the past two weeks, travelling across a wide swath of land that also saw record temperatures, and I can testify about one of the mechanisms that may be driving them. The ground is desiccated: in more normal times, the evaporation of soil moisture uses some of the sun’s energy, but now there is nothing left to evaporate, so the land just bakes. To feel that dryness, to shuffle through the sand of the desert in midafternoon while the sun hammers down, is to understand the new world we’re building—and not over centuries, or even decades. The damage seems to be increasing season by season: as the drought deepens in the West, even the occasional rains barely make a dent; the reservoirs of the Colorado River behind the Hoover and Glen Canyon Dams are at record lows, exposing old side canyons and even resurrecting rapids that drowned when the reservoirs were originally filled.There’s less water to run through the dams’ turbines, as the demand for air-conditioning rises: Las Vegas tied its record high temperature of a hundred and seventeen degrees on Saturday, which means that a lot of cooling was required to keep the fun going.

People say that deserts aren’t meant for cities, but there are 2.6 million people living in greater Las Vegas, and 4.7 million in greater Phoenix. If we’re suddenly facing existential risks to this much of the country, you’d expect leaders in Washington to be all over the problem, if for no better reason than political calculus—the region has red states, blue states, and purple states. Yet Senator Ron Johnson, Republican of Wisconsin, chose the occasion to tell a crowd, “I don’t know about you guys, but I think climate change is . . . bullshit.” O.K., he mouthed the word, but he’s from the toss-the-snowball-in-the-Senate party. It’s in the Administration, which truly cares about climate change and indeed has promised a “whole-of-government” effort to defeat it, where a kind of half-heartedness would be more dangerous if it emerged.

[hobeemin]

Pick of the Patch

🍂 Genre: Fluff, Romance

🍂 Pairing: Kim Taehyung x (f) Reader; Yeontan appears 💜💜

🍂 Rating: pg13

🍂 Warning(s): Light cursing, feelings of uncertainty, 

🍂 Word Count: 1.9k

🍂 Credits: A huge thanks to @taerseok​​ for reading this over and giving me great feedback. Thank you so much!! Resources for banner provided here

🍂 A/N: to the lovely @chillingtae​ I hope you enjoy this just as much as I did writing it for you darling 💜🥺

Another lazy Sunday. 

You sat on the bed after cleaning the apartment, relaxing against the pillows. Yeontan jumped up on the bed to join you giving a little yip for to you give him a few scratches behind his ears. Giggling you obliged, settling in as the next episode of your drama began. Yeontan snuggled close to your side yawning as he got comfortable. You focused on the screen nearly jumping out of your skin as your boyfriend kicked the door open in surprise. Yeontan barked before jumping off the bed and hiding under it. You clutched your chest as you glared at him, body frozen in shock. Your face twisted into a scowl as the stupor dissipated.

“Tae! What the hell is wrong with you?!”

Taehyung grinned running up to you with a laugh. “Sorry, Jagiya. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

You swatted his hand away still scowling. “Don’t just apologize to me. Tannie is under the bed.”

The look of horror crossed his face. Not his baby! Taehyung dropped to the floor coaxing his dog out with soothing words. Eventually, Yeontan came out and Taehyung scooped him up in his arms cooing to him like a baby. You watched shaking your head. “Tae?”

“Hmm?” He said, occupied with rubbing Yeontan’s belly.

“Why’d you come crashing in the house?”

His eyes widened in confusion as if registering why he came in the first place before a smile spread across his face. “Oh! Yeah. I’m taking you somewhere.”

Your brow raised. “When?”

That boxy grin formed on his face. “Today.”

You glanced down at your clothing. Donned in one of his baggy shirts and some leggings, you had planned to chill the remainder of the day. Now that you noticed, he was dressed up more than usual. He wore dark jeans, an emerald sweater, and a comfortable brown jacket. His light brown hair was hidden under a newsboy hat.

“Tae–”

“Jagiya,” he cooed, wrapping you up in his arms and kissed your forehead, “Come with me. You’ll have fun, I promise.”

The ice around your heart cracked away as you rolled your eyes. He could always make you smile, even when you didn’t want to. Grumpy or not, Tae put up with you. With resolution, you sighed giving him a quick kiss on the lips.

“Oh alright. Let me get dressed.”

He cheered kissing all over your face. “You’re the best girlfriend ever!”

Suppressing a smile, you rolled your eyes playfully at his remark, your mood becoming lighter as you swatted him away to change. “Yeah. Yeah.” 

🍂🍂🍂

Taehyung drove carefully down the road singing at the top of his lungs. That dorky man. You joined in adding the melody to one of your favorite songs. Yeontan howled along from the backseat. You never felt so much at home in this moment as you all sang together. Tae chuckled hearing his adorable dog, reaching over to squeeze your knee as the song ended.

“Thank you for agreeing to come out with me, Jagiya. I know things have been stressful, but I promise this will help you take your mind off some things.”

You smiled slowly as the blush crept into your cheeks. Were you really this lucky? Tae hummed as the scenery changed from urban to suburban to rural. The hammering in your chest grew loud as you looked around. Like him, being outside was something you loved most. Being in the city was nice, but something about being close to nature soothed you. You couldn’t help but bounce in your seat as Taehyung turned in a winding road that led to what looked like a farm.

“Tae!”

His grin widened as he drove under an arch with the words ‘Heritage Farms’ twisted in the iron. Your mouth dropped glancing at your boyfriend. “Are you serious?”

He chuckled as he easily parked the car in a grassy field. “I know you miss doing this with your grandparents, so I thought we could make some memories as well.”

Tears threatened to spill as you sat in the car. Going to this farm filled you with so many emotions. It had been a humongous part of your childhood. Coming here with your Gram and Pop Pop was a treat. The smells invaded your nostrils as Taehyung opened your door and pulled you out of the car. With his other hand holding Yeontan’s leash and the other wrapped around yours, you both walked to the open area. 

The gazebo was just how you remembered it, green roof, wrapped in decorative leaves. A sign with the word ‘Pumpkins’ stamped across. The small white house with green trim on the hill came into view as you both walked down the path. Tae pointed towards the fork in the road. 

“Apples or pumpkins?”

You tapped your chin thoughtfully, brows furrowed in thought as you made your decision. “Pumpkins please!”

He gave you his famous boxy grin and ran with you down the path. Yeontan yipped running ahead on his leash. Your eyes rounded as the pumpkin patch grew closer. It was just as you remembered if not more. The pumpkins were even bigger in size.

“Oh my gosh Tae! Look!”

He grinned gesturing to them. “Go ahead, jagiya.”

You squealed and ran over running through the pumpkin patch giggling at the brightly colored orange shaded orbs. They sat among the leafy vines shining under the sun. The nostalgia came crashing down on you so suddenly almost making you tear up. You bent down taking one into your hands and held it close, shutting your eyes and swaying side to side. You barely heard the camera shutter go off as you opened your eyes to see Tae propped against the fence taking your picture.

An endearing pout formed on your lips, with your  hands placed on your hips. “Taehyung!”

He chuckled, giving you a wink. “What? That was too cute to pass up.”

Rolling your eyes, you glanced down at Yeontan sniffing around at the pumpkins. “Tannie.” The Pomeranian’s ear perked up at his name being called and he looked at you curiously, eyes wide and round and just the most lovable. 

“Your daddy is lucky I love him otherwise he’d get a punch to the eye.” You huffed, a teasing smile on your face before it hit.

Both your eyes widened at the confession. Your cheeks flushed looking down at the dirt. You hadn’t discussed the L-word quite yet even though you’d been dating for over two years. Embarrassed out of your mind, you walked further into the patch exploring the different types of pumpkins and squashes to pick from, trying not to look in your boyfriend’s eyes, even if it was tempting. Taehyung stood in surprise feeling his heart beat loud in his chest. 

“Tan Tan, you heard that right?”

Yeontan barked pawing at the dirt.

“Yeah I thought so too,” he replied scratching his nose.

He gulped nervously, grabbing his camera, and continued taking pictures of the farm, sneaking more pictures of you when you weren’t looking.

After picking a few choice pumpkins to decorate your place with, you found a spot near a wagon decorated with hay bales. Yeontan followed you wanting some attention and you agreed wholeheartedly. With a soft chuckle, you stroked the top of his head relaxing and enjoying the fresh air, humming a quiet tune before the events replayed in your head.

“Oh Tannie, I think I messed up,” you mused. “I’ve never said I love you before. Sure we live together, but like, does he feel the same?” You glanced down at the dog inquisitively. “This is new territory. I just came out. Damn it.”

You wanted to kick yourself. You didn’t do sentimental stuff normally. It wasn’t until you met Taehyung that he brought out your sweet side. Hell, he was the first partner you agreed to move in with, though quite scary in the beginning, eventually, you both got used to each other and found a happy medium.

But this ‘i love you’ business. It felt so natural, even if you hadn’t said it prior. You looked off in the distance not noticing Taehyung plop down next to you. He reached over and placed a gentle kiss on your cheek causing you to jump.

“Hiding from me?” he teased.

You blushed looking away from him. “N-No, just needed to be alone,” you whispered.

Taehyung pouted slightly, taking your hand and squeezing it. “I hope it wasn’t something I did to scare you off.”

You shook your head turning to him. “What?! No Tae! Gosh, I-I...damn,” you looked up at the sky trying to get the words out. Why was it so hard to say? “I’m sorry. You’ve been perfect. All this to cheer me up. I can’t believe you remembered that story I told about this place. I don’t even know what to say except how grateful I am to have and Yeontan in my life.”

You felt his large hand engulf yours and you squeezed it giving him permission to speak.

“You mean so much to me. Jagiya, you don’t have to be scared of how you feel,” he smiled at you softly. “I was a little surprised, but that doesn’t change how I feel about you. In fact, it makes me fall in love with you even more.”

Your eyes widened in surprise. “Really?”

Taehyung's smile spread as he pulled you close to him. “Are you kidding? I’m crazy about you! Even though we've been together for only two years, I feel like I’ve known you longer. I love you Y/N always and forever.”

You choked out a sob as the tears trickled down your cheeks. Taehyung picked up Yeontan and held him up at eye level giving him a cute voice to speak. “If you’ll have us.”

“T-Tae?”

He put Yeontan down with a laugh. Visibly nervous, he wrung his hands looking anywhere but at you. With a deep breath, he reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a tiny box wrapped in black velvet. His cheeks dusted in pink, whether it was from nerves or the autumn chill, you weren’t sure, but the determination filled his eyes as he stared at you.

“I knew you were the one since the first day we met. You remember? That rainy spring afternoon near the Han River. We got soaked on our bike ride and found a tree to hide under the downpour stopped. I wasn’t sure about being set up on a blind date and I could tell you weren’t happy either, but we sat there and talked about everything under the proverbial sun. The way you laughed, or how you would touch your eyebrow when you were talking about something you were passionate about. It made my heart race. I knew then I couldn’t be without you. You’re my better half. I love you so much.”

He opened the box to reveal a moonstone set in rose gold. You cried silently as he slipped it on your finger. He chuckled bashfully. “I may be jumping the gun, but would you marry me? It would make me the happiest man alive.”

You nodded, speechless for a few seconds, and wrapped your arms around his neck. “Yes. Yes I will,” you answered, voice barely above a whisper. “Tae, I love you so much. Thank you for being there for me.”

He bent down to kiss your lips sweetly. “This wasn’t exactly how I planned this, but do things ever go our way.”

“Never,” you said with a laugh. You picked up a pumpkin and twirled it with your hands standing on your tiptoes to kiss your new fiancé on the cheek.

Yeontan barked, jumping between the two of you and you patted his head. “Yep Tannie. My words exactly.”