#having him be an object to be crumpled up & thrown into the trash was Their intended bookend. but really it's that wags should die

[unproduciblesmackdown]

The Billions Showrunners Go To See Bway Bmc like lgw "the problem has always been me" and they look at each other approvingly and nod like now he's getting it :) and then the squip's deactivated and everyone's embracing the realities of being a person and rejecting the idea there can be, should be, and is a set of standards to meet to get everything you want and preclude yourself from being mistreated and they're like nooo what a powerful tragedy :(

[simpforboys]

in another dimension (5)

she/her pronouns

mentions of no way home spoilers!! proceed with caution!!!

summary: the new villain seems to know about y/n and peter���s secret. all peter wants to do is keep his girl safe, and find out what the hell is going on in his universe

warnings: mentions of anxiety and violence, swear words

last part , next part

“did you not hear me, bug boy? i asked where is y/n?”

“sorry, can’t disclose that information. woah! there’s no reason to get angry,” peter dodged a trash can being thrown at him.

peter and y/n kept their huge secret under raps, telling aunt may and everyone who asked they met online.

but, he didn’t know how this alien-creature thing knew about her.

peter shot a web at the creature. it screeched and began climbing up a building, trying to hit peter.

the two dodged and threw objects at each other but made no advance. finally, the creature stopped their brawl.

“ask y/n about eddie brock.”

and the creature crawled away. peter felt chills run down his spine and he wasted no time in zipping back to their shared apartment in harlem.

he came stumbling through the window, hearing the shower running. he slipped his mask off, feeling immense panic wash over him.

“y/n?” he called out.

“one sec, pete!”

a minute later she came out, towel wrapped around her body. “what’s up?”

“do you know an eddie brock?”

he watched the way her face fell.

“not that i remem- oh fuck.”

“what?”

“you know that week after peter- the other one asked doctor strange to erase their memories? i was working in a coffee shop one day and a man named eddie came in. he seemed distraught, yet he was flirting with me. i think he mentioned something about the universes? but he should have went back to his own reality.”

“maybe when you switched to mine it ruined the multiverse again. but then the other peters should be here, right?”

“your guess is probably as good as mine. i really don’t know a game strategy, considering i can’t do magic and-“

“i think he’s an alien.”

“what?”

“yeah. the- the thing i was fighting wasn’t fully human. it had slit eyes and big muscles and it was huge and black.”

y/n rubbed her eyes.

“something definitely messed up with the multiverse when i came here.”

“what do we do, pete?” she asked him. he could sense her fear and frankly, peter didn’t know how to calm both of them down. this shouldn’t be happening.

“i- i don’t know, y/n.”

-

“can you get that one wizard guy to come back?”

“no, he said there would be a clone of my body in that dimension but i can’t go back.”

peter had papers sprawled out in front of him, different coding and scientific possibilities spread out.

“i don’t think this one-“ y/n pointed to the one peter came up with while he was extremely sleep deprived.

the theory was a big sky god got mad at peter and wanted to punish him.

peter felt his lips curve into a smile. “probably not, huh?”

y/n laughed as he crumpled up the paper and threw it in the trash bin.

peter wrapped his arms around her waist, bringing her in closely to him from her standing position as he rested his head against her chest.

“i’m worried, y/n,” he admitted softly.

y/n played with his hair comfortingly.

“why, baby?”

“i’ve never fought an alien before. when the three of us were on top of the empire state building, we were joking around about how the other peters have fought aliens but i haven’t. i don’t know how to beat it- and now he’s coming after you it’s making my anxiety worse.”

y/n frowned at his words but continued to soothingly scratch his scalp. “i really wish i could help you, peter.”

“the best thing for you to do is stay away from whatever that thing is right now, okay? we need to figure out if there’s any other ways of opening the multiverse.”

-

y/n sat at the dining table, researching and coming up with theories about her knowledge of the avengers and magic from her own universe while peter sat at the living room table, his papers scattered across the coffee table.

unfortunately for y/n, no where did she learn in college about how to open a damn multiverse.

getting frustrated at lack of ideas, she rested her hand in her head. she heard peter playing with his gadgets, a tactic he does when he’s stressed.

all of a sudden, it felt as if a light switch went on in her head. “peter!”

the man jumped slightly and looked at y/n. “hm?”

“i think i’ve got an idea.”

“continue,” peter, now standing and walking over to her. he leaned against the table.

“well- when peter and strange opened the multiverse peter said something about there being five different outcomes. but- that means strange should have erased everyones memory- why is mine not? clearly something went wrong in strange’s spell, considering if he casted it right he shouldn’t have been able to remember peter parker either. but when i told him i knew about peter parker, he was astonished as to why i remembered that. he made another fault.”

“so what does that mean for us?”

“considering the fact we don’t have any magic portals to open like how you and the other peter came in to, and it’s not like the peter from my universe is going to come knocking on the door.”

both peter and y/n jumped when a knock on the door sounded through their apartment. their eyes went wide and peter and y/n both rushed to the door. no way…

peter opened it cautiously, web shooter ready for anything and y/n stood behind him.

y/n frowned when she saw it was the delivery driver for the food they apparently both forgot they ordered.

“yeah, thanks,” peter tipped the guy as he brought the food inside.

“that would’ve been cool, huh? if he did randomly knock on the door,” y/n said.

peter began unpacking the chinese food. “why can’t there be wizards in my universe?”

y/n grinned. “i have no clue, spider-bae.”

peter shook his head at the nickname, trying to hide his smile.

y/n ate her orange chicken with her chopsticks, leg bouncing anxiously as she and peter sat at the dining table.

ten minutes later another knock on the door came through. without thinking, y/n got up and opened it.

her whole body froze.

[luvidzy]

☆ genre: angst

☆ pairing: han jisung x reader

☆ summary: while moving out, jisung comes across a box. he’s tried to forget, but the box is an ever present reminder of what he can’t get over.

☆ word count: 1k

☆ listen to: ex by stray kids

☆ @shionwrites​

Moving was not something that Han could say he ever planned on. Honestly, he had planned on living in his old, dusty apartment unless it started coming apart at the seams, but Chan and Changbin had been insistent that he move in. Thus why he was currently going through all his clutter filled rooms in an attempt to pack his stuff away for when he left in 3 days.

His office room was full of scattered boxes holding different equipment and his various knick knacks that he had gained over time. The living room was mostly empty save for the couch and TV that he would be leaving there for the next renters. The kitchen had been cleaned out and all of his old dishware either packed away or thrown out depending on what Chan had told him.

The only room that still needed work was his bedroom. He was dreading it for numerous reasons, but the main one being he didn’t want to fall asleep in a bare room for the next few days. But as the moving day grew closer, he knew that he couldn’t avoid it for much longer.

Han sat on the bed, not even knowing where to start on his journey to cleanse the room. He figured it be best to start with the dressers and the drawers, so that is what he did. He hummed along with his music as he folded clothes and threw them in cardboard boxes on his bed. 

Finally, Han moved to the closet. It was pretty big and the heart of the mess in the room. It was where he threw things that he needed out of the way and he always forgot about them later on. Needless to say, it was overflowing with unneeded objects that Han was not looking forward to going through.

He had to step back as he slid the mirrored door open, a few pieces of old clothes and some old textbooks tumbling to his feet. He sighed as he looked at the mess that greeted him, before stepping forward to begin picking up all the things that had fallen out.

A few trash bags and boxes later, Han found himself making pretty good progress on the mess that was his closet. About half of it was clean, the only thing remaining on the clean half being a blue box that sat unopened. Han frowned as he looked at it, cocking his head ever so slightly. An ache settled in his heart, and he had a sneaking suspicion of what the box held. 

He dragged it out, surprised at its weight. Sitting on his knees in front of it, he hooked his fingers under the lid, already feeling dust begin to cake his fingertips. With barely any force, he managed to pop the lid off, sliding it to the floor as he gazed upon the contents.

He felt his hands freeze, his brown eyes fixated on the content in front of him. He felt his heart clench, and he felt like he was made of glass, unable to move or else he would break down.

Staring up at him from the box were pieces of folded fabrics that he hadn’t seen in years. There was a mix of blouses, dresses, and pants, all in various colors and styles. Despite the box being dusty, the clothes almost seemed to be shining with how clean they were, and Han could swear that he could smell the Victoria Secret perfume lingering off of them the way he had all those years ago.

He slowly reached forward, breaking the stillness that he had created, picking up a striped button-up polo. His mind flickered back to when he remembered you wearing it on the first anniversary, when Han had prepared a picnic for the both of you. You had spilled a bit of your food on it and had pouted for hours about how it was your favorite polo, and only returned to your happy mood when you finally managed to get the stain out later that evening.

He grabbed the sleeves, holding them out and trying to remember when you had once worn the fabric. He felt himself stand, the shirt firmly in his grasp, as he closed his eyes. The music was still playing softly in the background and he couldn’t help himself as he began to sway along with it, holding the shirt impossibly close.

It was almost like you were there, pressed against his chest and laughing at his antics as he spun around with you. Back before you were sick, and before you could barely walk without being in pain. Back before Han spent hours sitting by your bedside, trying to cheer up the withering figure of his best friend and lover that laid in front of him.

He desperately clawed at the polo, thinking that maybe if he tried and wished hard enough, you would return to him and he wouldn’t have to be left with only his memories and your clothes that you no longer inhibited.

The song stopped, and so did he. He opened his eyes, unable to stop looking at the fabric in his hands. Crumpling it up, he buried his face into it as he collapsed onto the floor, sobs breaking through as he sat in a messy room, with your shirt and your clothes as the only reminder of what he had once had. 

He couldn’t help but imagine that you were holding him, stroking his dark hair as he buried his face in your neck and you told him that it would be okay, that he would be okay. He would breathe in and out, letting your perfume fill his senses and ground him, and he would slowly regain his calmness as you pressed kisses to his head and held him.

But instead, he was alone.

He crawled back to the box and folded the polo back up with the same amount of care one might with an antique dress. He placed it back in the box and stared at it for a moment, feeling incredibly numb. Trembling hands grabbed the lid, and he placed it back on, before slowly sliding the box over.

He sat for a moment, looking at his own hands and wishing yours were resting over them, before laying on the floor and curling into a ball. Packing would have to wait, at least until the thoughts of you stopped haunting him and he could go back to being blissfully and ignorantly, alone.

[frenchbreads-writing]

Could I request something for Shinsou who is accepted in the the hero course with a bf who is still in the general course of UA? How would they handle the drastic change of Hitoshi changing courses? (or just any Shinsou insert tbh of this isn't anything you're really feeling atm) ❤️ love your writings

Day of Surprises|{Shinsou Hitoshi}

I tried going for the first idea but all of my ideas came out so sad for some reason😔

So I hope this is okay and that you don’t mind🥺

Also

479 FOLLOWERS.. ALMOST 500!? I didn’t even notice I want to thank you all I’m so glad you like what I write!! I love you guys so much and I hope you’ll stick around to watch me improve and keep making content for you all!💖💖

I hope you enjoy💖

Pairing: Shinsou Hitoshi x Male Reader

Words: 1.7k (1,753)

Warning(s): Injuries, Badly written villain encounter

Requests: Closed

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

You stared at the ticking clock from behind the convenience store counter.

2 hours to go until your shift is over.

You covered your face and groaned. The store had been practically empty all day with only a handful of other teenagers popping in for a minute for snacks and other various things.

“(Y/N)?”

You jumped and turn around.

It was the store’s owner standing there. A short woman in her 40s with a permanent soft smile on her face.

“What’s got you so antsy today? You seem like you’re ready to bolt.”

You smiled.

“I have my first date with my boyfriend today after work.”

She smiled fondly.

“A first date is very important.”

You blushed and looked away.

“Yeah, I want to make it nice for him since it’s his first date too.”

The manager glanced at the clock and hummed.

“Well, the shop has been rather quiet today.”

She turned to you and smiled.

“I do suppose I can run the store myself until your coworker gets here.”

Your eyes widened in surprise as you faced her.

“Are you sure?”

She nodded and smiled.

“You’re a nice young man and you really help me a lot around here so I don’t mind letting you off early.”

You beamed before rushing to grab your stuff and clock out.

“I owe you one!”

You shouted as you rushed out.

As you jogged your way through the train station you pulled out your phone and proceeded to call Hitoshi.

The phone rang for a moment before you hear your boyfriend’s groggy voice answer the phone.

“Good morning Toshi how was your nap?”

You hear shifting and a groan before he speaks.

“It was good, are you on break?”

You pass through the ticket gates and walk to your platform.

“Yeah, the shop’s pretty crazy today for some reason.”

He hummed.

“Where are we going today?”

“I was hoping we could go to the mall and maybe to that new cafe that opened there a few weeks ago.”

“Sounds good to me.”

A yawn sounds from the other side.

“Toshi if you want to go back to sleep you can, I have to get back soon anyway.”

“Alright then, I’ll see you when you get here, bye.”

“Bye.”

The line clicked and you rushed into the train and await your destination.

When the train stopped you hopped out and headed home to change.

Unlocking and pushing your way inside the door you slipped off your shoes and made your way to your room.

You immediately went to your closet and began to brainstorm on what to wear. It was a casual date to the mall so nothing too fancy. Though everything you put together didn’t seem to be good enough.

Hitoshi had the same issue.

When you had called he wasn’t in bed at all. He was actually getting ready for the date.

He was rooting around his closet for what seemed to be forever. All of his outfits didn’t feel right for a date.

It’s been over an hour after your phone call and he wanted to surprise you at work but he couldn’t choose what to wear.

After picking up what felt to be the millionth article of clothing he thought.

’Screw it.’

And changed into the set of clothes he held in his hands.

He wore a plain black shirt with a purple jacket over it and a pair of ripped jeans.

It wasn’t the worst outfit he could’ve chosen so he’ll take that as a win.

He checked his phone.

’45 minutes left, enough time to get to his store before he gets off.’

Hitoshi quickly stuffed his keys and wallet into his pockets as he made his way to the front door.

Shouting a goodbye to his parents he opened the door. But he immediately froze when he caught sight of you frozen mid knock.

“Uh hey.”

“(Y/N) I thought you were at work?”

You rubbed the back of your neck and chuckled.

“Yeah I was able to leave early and I wanted to surprise you so um, surprise?”

Hitoshi smiled.

“Do you need anything else before we go?”

He shook his head and held out his hand. You took it, your larger hand enveloping his and with that, the two of you began on your way to the mall.

The two of you hadn’t had lunch yet. So after arriving at the mall the two of you immediately went straight to the food court. The two of you each got a simple snack to eat while walking around.

You visited a few stores, goofing around buying cute things. Like a matching set of fluffy cat socks, you insisted that you bought so the two of you could match.

The two of you were sitting on a bench when Hitoshi saw merch of your favorite hero through the window of a shop. So he excused himself with the excuse of using the restroom and walked away towards the store.

You had already bought him so much stuff that he had taken an interest in so he needed to get you at least something no matter how small it was.

He had paid and grabbed the bag his gift was in when a scream came from behind him followed by the sound of the shop’s window being shattered and a loud crash.

Hitoshi spun on his heel and witnessed the cause of the destruction. A trash can was embedded into the wall opposite from the shattered window.

He ran outside and there was more chaos.

Objects floating and slamming into walls and stores, some people already injured and being carried away by other civilians.

He needed to find you and make sure you were okay.

He ran in the direction you were going last.

The villain was standing in the center of the chaos, objects of varying sizes around them being lifted and thrown.

Even with objects almost hitting him Hitoshi still cried out your name and continued looking around frantically for any sign of you.

He didn’t have to look for long when someone shouted.

“Oh god, what’s that kid doing?”

His head snapped where the person was pointing to see you charging towards the villain.

“(Y/N) what are you doing?!”

Hearing Hitoshi’s voice made you pause and look over at him.

But as you look to your boyfriend you didn’t notice the display case being hurled at you.

“Look out!”

You looked and only had enough time to put your arms up to cover your face.

The case shattered and sent you flying backward until you landed sprawled out on the ground.

“Shit!”

Shinsou immediately began running to you.

He needed to get you and get away from there and wait for the actual heroes to come.

You groaned as you sat up placing a hand on your head the air was also knocked out of you from your rough landing.

It hurt but if it wasn’t for your quirk it would’ve hurt more.

“(Y/N)!”

You looked to see Hitoshi running to you.

He was so focused on you that he didn’t notice the villain dragged a nearby truck from outside and begin aiming it at him.

You noticed though and used a nearby wall to brace yourself as you climbed to your feet.

“Hitoshi, watch out!”

He gasped and his foot snagged on a piece of the ground that had been jutting out.

He looked up to see the truck heading towards him.

His mind blanked all he could do was close his eyes and press himself against the cold surface of the wall behind him.

But the pain never came. Instead, the sound of crunching metal and cracking concrete next to his head was all he heard.

Hitoshi cracked his eyes open to meet your worried gaze. He looked over your shoulder and saw your hand buried in the bumper of the now destroyed truck sitting behind you.

“-Toshi? Hitoshi!”

He jumped and looked at you.

“W-what?”

“I asked if you’re okay, here.”

You wrenched your hands from the holes you made and dusted them off before offering a hand to him.

He stared at your hand for a moment before grabbing it.

You hoisted him up with ease but as soon as Hitoshi’s feet hit the ground he cried out and stumbled into you.

“What’s wrong?”

Hitoshi winced and lifted his right foot off of the ground.

“My ankle, it hurts.”

You knelt and rolled his pant leg up to reveal that his ankle was red and starting to swell.

He must’ve twisted it when he tripped. You thought for a moment before an idea popped into your head.

You stood up and hooked an arm under his knees and simply picked him up princess style.

He yelped and clung to your shirt.

“I’ve got you now, let’s get out of here the heroes should be coming soon.”

And just as you said that the pro hero Kamui woods showed up.

“See? Perfect timing.”

You took off towards the mall’s exit with Hitoshi in your arms.

A while after the mall incident and getting checked by a paramedic getting Hitoshi’s ankle wrapped the two of you sat on a train. Your arm around Hitoshi’s shoulders and his head resting against your chest.

“Hey Toshi, sorry our date was ruined. I wasn’t even able to get you a gift since I dropped our stuff back there.”

“It’s fine I had a good time, minus the whole villain attacking the mall part.”

You smiled at him and were about to resume resting your head on his when he jolted up.

“Wait, hold on I almost forgot.”

He shoved his hand in his pocket and rooted around for a moment before pulling out a crumpled receipt and something shiny.

“I uh got us matching keychains, I managed to swipe them before we left.”

You took the keychain from his hand. It was a charm of a small black cat. It was a little scuffed but other than that it was okay.

You chuckled and pulled out your set of keys hooking the keychain onto it.

“Perfect.”

He blushed and looked away rubbing the back of his neck.

He wordlessly placed himself back into your side and placed his head on your chest.

You hooked your arm around his shoulders and gently pulled him closer.

Your first date will always be a rather memorable moment in your relationship. But now you can schedule even better dates. Ones without villains.

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

{Tag List}

@your-strangelove @yumeneji

(If you want to be added, just comment on this post or send an ask and I’ll be sure to tag you in future posts. And if you don’t want to be tagged anymore just ask to be taken off and I’ll do it asap.)

[confused-stars]

Alienfam AU - Chapter One

ao3 link here! ko-fi link here!

Chapter One: The house lay still and empty beneath the overhanging trees when Hitoshi approached on the road.

Just as he'd planned. He didn't want to talk things out right now, just wanted to quietly fume for a while because didn't he deserve it? Having a parent who always tried to understand everything sucked sometimes.

And some things couldn't be fixed by talking.

Hitoshi unlocked the front door and toed his shoes off. He was immediately greeted by the welcoming meow of their cat, Coffee. For once, he didn't immediately lean down to scratch her head, and she seemed mildly perplexed at that.

Hitoshi just ignored her and moved past into the kitchen living room combo. There was a covered bowl of something sitting on the counter, along with a note.

The note read 'if you need to talk, text any time. i'll see you tomorrow otherwise.'

Short and to the point. Hitoshi looked at it for a long moment. Then he crumpled it up and tossed it in the trash.

He ignored the food, too, instead grabbing a pack of cookies from the snack drawer - he deserved comfort food right now.

He hated fighting with his dad. He didn't want to snap at him, ever, but it had been happening more and more lately. Sometimes, Hitoshi couldn't stand his worried looks, his prying questions, his 'your teacher called again' this and 'you don't need to shut me out' that.

Hitoshi wasn't six anymore. He knew his dad couldn't just magically make everything better.

Besides, it was fine. He was fine. He just wanted to be left alone for a change, was that too much to ask?

Except... no, that wasn't quite right, was it?

The crux of the problem was that Hitoshi didn't have anyone. Aside from his father and the cat, that was. Maybe Aunt Nem when she wasn't off traveling.

And Hitoshi didn't like to socialize, either. But sometimes... sometimes he just felt entirely alone in the world. Mostly when everyone else in school ganged up on him, calling him names, whispering about him, even throwing things at him or breaking his stuff, sometimes. He hadn't told his dad about the broken spinner keychain yet. He didn't want him to get angry and make a fuss with the school. No, this was Hitoshi's own problem to deal with and he was doing just fine.

He sat on his bed and booted up his laptop, wrapped in a comforting cocoon of blanket, cookies in his lap. Maybe a good horror movie or something would help. No way was he sleeping yet, despite being bone-tired. He wouldn't be able to, anyways.

Hopefully he'd collapse some time close to the early morning hours so he wouldn't have to pretend to be asleep when his dad checked on him. He never quite believed he was all that convincing.

Hitoshi clicked his way around Netflix aimlessly, nothing really catching his eye. Not even his usual comfort movies seemed to hit the spot. There was just... nothing. Staring at the one slightly off colored spot on the ceiling all night was starting to sound tempting.

But he had to think back to the insults thrown at him by a handful of boys in his class today. Well. Not at him. More like they'd all grouped together and talked about him so loudly he'd be sure to hear.

'Obviously she didn't want him. If I were stuck with him, I'd try to get rid of him, too.'

Since they'd learned about his mother, things had only gotten worse.

It was fucking unfair. Hitoshi had done nothing to them and he couldn't understand how they didn't even have the common fucking decency to not make digs at family stuff like that.

He didn't even miss his mom. He hadn't known her. His dad had always been enough.

But the fact that they had dared... he'd gotten so angry. He hadn't gotten physical, he'd never been the type and the martial arts classes his dad had signed him up for helped channel any of that sort of energy into something safe. But he had cursed quite a bit as he'd shot back at the boys, talking about how one of their dads was probably fucking his secretary who always picked him up from school, and how another would die alone in a ditch somewhere by twenty-five, high out of his mind.

They had laughed. But the teacher who had overheard him hadn't been so amused.

And neither had his father.

Hitoshi closed his laptop forcefully and fell back on the bed. No one gave a shit about his opinion. He couldn't even fight back - all they ever did was laugh and not at all take him seriously. That feeling of complete and utter powerlessness, combined with how much he just wanted a single friend... it was overwhelming enough that he felt his throat tighten painfully now, and tears shooting into his eyes.

It wasn't fucking fair.

The universe had it out for him specifically.

... said universe chose that moment to make itself known.

The bright light outside the window flashed up so suddenly, and was so strong, that Hitoshi instinctively wrenched his arm up to protect his face and still only saw little dots of light for a good few seconds, long enough to almost panic. A cacophony of noise followed, cracking, frantic beeping, something... impacting.

Then silence.

His vision returned, and Hitoshi was left blinking into the darkness of his room. The hair on his arms stood on end. Not only from whatever shock this had been, but because the air felt almost charged with... something.

He slowly sat up and looked towards the window.

Nothing. He couldn't have just imagined this, could he?

When he stood, his knees buckled underneath him for a moment. Huh. He walked over to the window and peered outside.

There was no more glow.

But the forest that started beneath their house seemed... oddly shaped against the dark night sky. He couldn't see much, but it seemed like some trees had been forcefully bent out of the way of... something moving through them. As he watched, one of them slowly leaned further to the side and finally, with a loud crack, broke and fell.

Hitoshi stared for a long moment, his own heartbeat loud in his ears. A... meteor? Did that kind of thing happen outside of tv? Didn't people have ways to predict their flight patterns now, so they would've been warned?

Except... what if it wasn't a meteor?

Hitoshi wished his dad was here, but only briefly, as he scrambled to find his phone buried under his sheets. He shoved it into his pocket and all but sprinted to the front door to pull on his shoes.

Hitoshi didn't believe in aliens. He didn't believe in much of anything, really. Only in himself and his dad and maybe that cats had nine lives.

But he wanted to know what was going on, and if it was something weird, the area would be off limits soon enough. He just wanted to be the first to get a look. Just one look.

The event had shaken him from his self-pitying stupor, so he felt like he had to keep the momentum going.

Coffee was nowhere in sight even though she normally tried to slip out at night if he wasn't careful about the door. T he crash must have freaked her out, too. Hitoshi made a mental note to check on her when he got back, even as he rounded the house and jogged towards the edge of the woods.

The faint smell of smoke lay in the air. Was something burning? There was a... metallic note to it. It almost bit into Hitoshi's nose as he breathed.

He climbed over the low fence separating their backyard from the woods, and then he was off, following the path he'd followed hundreds of times in his life, deeper into the woods.

The smoke in the air got thicker as he walked, until it was bad enough that he had to stifle coughs, but there was a faint flickering of light visible through the underbrush now, and he just wanted to catch a glimpse. Then he'd turn around. Just a glimpse.

Hitoshi climbed over a fallen tree, pushing through the branches that made up its crown. As his feet hit the forest floor again, his field of vision was finally cleared.

And... fuck.

Hitoshi stared.

Coughed against the smoke.

Kept staring.

That... wasn't a meteor.

In front of him sat a crater, with smoldering fires dotting it here and there, and there was an object resting in the middle of it. But said object was not a large rock like he'd expected.

It was a spaceship.

It was undoubtedly, irrefutably, a spaceship.

Or what was left of one anyway.

It didn't look like just some piece of space station trash, either - there were thrusters and what looked like a windshield, or whatever you would call that on a spaceship... fuck, it was a spaceship.

Hitoshi shook his head. His eyes were stinging from the smoke, but they weren't fooling him.

He really needed to get out of here. What if the authorities came and decided to silence him or something, because he'd seen too much? A Men in Black style mindwipe would be the best outcome in that scenario.

He took a slow step backwards, not taking his eyes off the wreck.

And then the latch on its side opened with the hissing of decompressed air.

Hitoshi should have bolted right there, but for the first time he understood why deer didn't just run off the street when a car came barreling towards them. He felt rooted to the ground.

A hand appeared, grasping onto the edge of the opening Hitoshi couldn't quite see into from this position. Then a second hand. There was a soft noise of effort, and then out came tumbling a small figure.

The alien hit the ground with a pained, high-pitched cry, and stayed curled up there, face turned away from where Hitoshi was standing.

It looked... human. At least its shape did. There were four limbs and the hands had looked just like normal hands, even if they were small.

The alien had silvery white hair that was splayed about it in a messy tangle now, and it was wearing some kind of white, shapeless tunic.

It wasn't moving, but Hitoshi could see it still breathing.

He closed his eyes and counted to ten.

Then he begun his descent into the crater.

[vampcubus]

Bite Me (Midoriya/Vampire!Reader) [Part 2]

| A/N: Here’s the second half because tumblr is a cunt sometimes so it had to be split 🙃 |

♡ Warnings: Angst, blood-drinking. ♡

♡ Words: 2700+ ♡

See part 1... here

.  .  .

                                           Messages (11:21 AM)

Midoriya-chan: I’m so sorry but I can’t make it today! Midoriya-chan: I’ll make it up to you I promise You: Whatever 🙄 You: You better Midoriya-chan: I’m sorry…

You looked up from your phone and sighed, arms crossed as you leaned against the entrance to the cafeteria where you could see Midoriya and Uraraka talking. He’s smiling too, his phone on the table beside his tray.

He can’t be too sorry.

“Tch.” You turned on your heel and made your way to the school roof, where you were supposed to meet the green-haired boy up until a few minutes ago.

Slumping down against the ground with your back against a wall, you felt a song coming on. You set your beloved electric guitar to the side for once, letting the sound of your own voice carry the music on its own. .   .   . You’re a bit thrown when you see a tiny pink note slapped onto your dorm’s door. You furrow your brows and pluck the fluorescent pink piece of paper from the door eyes lazily skimming across each word.

Please, meet me in my dorm tonight. I want to talk to you. It’s important. -Uraraka Ochako

Oh great. What did she want? It’s not like you were able to spend time with Deku today—aside from early this morning. She prevented that. What else could she possibly want from you?

You sigh, crumpling up the note and tossing it in the general direction of the trash bin.

After club activities ended, you decided to head over to Uraraka’s dorm to ‘talk’ as she had put it in her vague note. You knocked on the door with a heavy fist, still lagging from hero training earlier. You were also getting low on blood in your system, ultimately making you feel weak. You’d have to wait a bit longer for your next fix though. Vampirism wasn’t necessarily a funded lifestyle, and most blood was good at use in hospitals saving lives.

You’re shaken from your thoughts when the brunette opens the door and blinks at the sight of you standing there. Had she thought you wouldn’t come?

“Oh, L/N-san you came. Good.” She sighed as if relieved and then stepped aside, inviting you in.

You strolled in and kept a keen pair of eyes on the girl as she closed the door. She offered you a seat but you promptly declined. You didn’t want to be in here in the first place.

“I’m sorry for calling you here so suddenly. I know we aren’t on the best of—” She starts, clasping her hands together and wringing them.

“Stop, just tell me what you wanted to talk about. I don’t do small-talk.”

“It’s about Deku.” She admits, her face suddenly serious as she drops her hands to her sides, pulling at her skirt as she fidgets. “I need to be honest with you.”

“I’m waiting.” You sigh and she flushes at your bluntness. You were so straight forward! She felt her palms sweat and her eyes harden as they stared at you.

You were floating a few inches from the carpet, red tie askew and a bored expression gracing your cold features. As you sighed again, she caught a glimpse of fangs peeking out. She gulped, standing her ground.

“It’s clear that we need to address this… this competition! I… I don’t want to fight you over this anymore. It’s exhausting and I mean it when I say that I don’t wish to antagonize you.” Ochako explains, taking in a deep breath and letting out as her pink cheeks brightened. “But the feelings I have for that boy, for Deku. They’re real, and I really like him, L/N. I haven’t told him about my feelings because It will only distract us both from our goals right now, but now that you’re in the picture, I worry.”

You narrowed your eyes, pointed ears taking in every infuriating word as they left the small girl in front of you. She speaks as if she’s already won, like no matter what happens Midoriya will ultimately choose her over you and that burns. Not because it isn’t true, which it isn’t! But the fact that she’s talking about him like he’s an object. Like a possession to be won over. You didn’t give a damn how she felt about Midoriya. No one should think that just because they like someone and they don’t want to make moves, that their loved one is theirs.

“I’d like to settle this as civil as possible. I want you to stop pursuing Deku, please, I want this chance. I don’t want him to be taken from me. I won’t have any hard feeli—”

You lost it.

“Stop it! Midoriya is a person! He isn’t some object you can claim or own, he is someone with feelings and opinions! You may like him, but that doesn’t give you the right to go around telling everyone ‘he’s mine please disregard your feelings because I deserve him more than you!’” You interjected with a burning fiery passion in your voice as you spoke, the emotion in your voice more lively than it’s been when you weren’t singing.

Ochako gaped at you, her wide brown eyes staring at you as you got in her face. Serves her right for thinking that you’d just submit like that.

“I’m in love with Midoriya, and I don’t want to fight for him like some dog toy! How dare you disregard my feelings like just because you have a crush on him that they aren’t real. It’s unfair for you to lay claim on him, it’s his choice. And if that choice is you, fine! But I won’t back down just because you want me to.” You held her shocked gaze with your own blazingly determined one, letting her know just how serious you were.

After a minute of catching your breath, both your gaze and voice softened.

“I love him too, Ochako. And if I have a chance with him, I want to take it. I hope you got what you wanted, now I’m leaving. I’m not going to play this childish game with you anymore.”

And with that you turned in mid-air and floated out of the other girl’s dorm room, heading towards your own to sing your fucking heart out until you feel better.

.   .   . Once you’d stopped abusing your vocal cords, taped up your bleeding fingers—because you were too upset to even think about a pick—and received a nervous complaint from one of your neighbors you picked up your phone and typed out a bold text to Midoriya.

                                            Messages (8:15 PM)

You: Can I come over? I need to calm down before I do something stupid. Midoriya-chan: Of course! Is something wrong? Are you ok? You: I’ll tell you when I get therw You: *there

You tossed your phone onto your bed and left your dorm with a start, flying in hopes to get there quicker. When the freckled boy opened the door he immediately tugged you inside. If Mr. Aizawa knew he had a girl in his room at night he’d really be in trouble.

When you meet his eyes your resolve deteriorates. Your feet meet the floor’s surface and you slump down onto his bed.

“W-what’s going on? Are you alright, what happened?” Izuku asked you, looking incredibly worried as he sits down beside you, taking in your expression, deep in thought.

Your eyes shift to the side to peer at him through your lashes. Was it shallow to do this? You weren’t lying when you had said you needed to calm down before you ended up binge drinking from some unsuspecting classmate. Which, wouldn’t be necessarily a good look on your record. Without realizing it, your eyes darted to his neck and before you knew it, you were blatantly staring. You briefly wondered what he’d taste like.

“Can I… can I tell you something? And I need you to take me seriously because I… because I’m not one to lie. It’s exhausting” You chuckled though it was a nervous meek sound that you hadn’t ever made before.

Izuku blinked, trying not to stare too much at your sudden insecurity. It was uncharacteristic. You were always so guarded, getting angry when others worried about you and denying it till the end when you were asked if you were alright on particularly hard days. He wasn’t going to pass up the opportunity to get closer to you, and it looked like you needed him to listen right now.

“Of course, we’re friends, right? You can tell me anything.”

“I—” You took in a deep breath despite your lungs not requiring it and instantly regretted it because the sudden rush of air with so little blood in your system made your head spin. You hunched over as nausea twisted your stomach in knots, and you swayed as you felt the dizziness increase with movement. “Oh… shit…”

You don’t realize that you were tipping forward until Izuku’s hands grab your shoulders to steady you. You heard him talking to you but couldn’t process any of what he was saying.

“Y/N? Are you okay!? Wh-what’s going on, are you sick?”

“Ah, Deku don’t shout. I’m just… thirsty.”

“Thirsty? Are you dehydrated? Do you need a glass of water? I can go get one for you if you need me t—”

“I’m a vampire, Deku.” You interrupt flatly, any and all enthusiasm drained from your tone from the sheer exhaustion. “May come to you as a surprise but I drink blood.”

He clammed up, mentally kicking himself for being such an idiot. ‘Sure offer the vampire a glass of water, Deku.’ Midoriya frowned, he didn’t like seeing you this, you looked so tired, so miserable. A stray thought made his cheeks flush. Would it… would it be rude to offer his own blood? He couldn’t help his morbid curiosity, his concern for your well-being mixed with his growing feelings for you and encouraged him to take a risk.

“Y-you can b-bite me if you need to, o-of course that’s only if you want to! I-I don’t know if th-that’s some sort of taboo and I’m being weird, but I r-really wouldn’t mind. I don’t know if you only drink certain types of blood, but surely any blood works, right? I mean I’m not a vampire so I can’t possibly know but I’m just saying if you…” You lost him after that, blinking at the boy as he rambled on and on. In your discombobulated daze, you couldn’t help but stare as Deku talked, his eyes glimmering with interest and admiration as he rattled on about quirks and vampires, and you believe he mentioned a sacrificial ritual at one point but all you could think about was the way his eyes caught the light.

Your eyes skimmed over the expanse of his gentle features, counting the freckles scattered across his round cheeks and watching his green curls bob up in down as he moved. Your eyes centered on his neck and everything around you became a blur, you felt your mouth water and your tongue drag over your bottom lip, a bead of sweat dripping down the side of your face as you lost yourself to thoughts of your fangs piercing into flesh. You wondered again what he would taste like. Would he be tangy? Or Sweet? Perhaps something tame or spicy?

Izuku stopped droning when he peeked over at you, his rant coming to an abrupt halt when he noticed the intense stare you were giving him. His thin brows knit together and he gulped when he followed your gaze to his throat, your eyes widened and shimmered slightly as his adam’s apple rippled beneath the pale skin of his neck. Izuku felt the heat rise to his face, painting his cheekbones with a muted pink as you finally met his eyes. You coughed and jerked back, not realizing you had started leaning in until you were inches away from his face.

“I’m not going to bite you, Izuku.” You mumbled, the blood concentrating behind your cold cheeks allowing the tiniest hint of a blush to form.

“Why not? You can’t have much more in you based on how tired you are, what will you be like tomorrow? How will you train if you can’t even move?” Midoriya argued a fire in his eyes lit by his concern for you. Why wouldn’t you let him help you? Did you not trust him enough? He felt hurt by the possibility.

“I don’t want to hurt you, idiot!” You blurted, nearly doubling over and off the bed when you are overcome with a wave of nausea. You fall right into his arms, successfully knocking you both over. When you recover from your dizziness you realize with a start that you are laying on top of a worried Midoriya.

“You won’t… hurt me.” Izuku mutters, his jade eyes staring into yours with a look you can’t quite place. Your breath hitches when he tilts his head back and slightly to the side, baring his neck to you. Didn’t he see how hard it was to resist when you were this thirsty? Was he trying to get himself drained?! One of his hands moves to grasp yours and your jaw goes slack. “It’s okay, I promise. I can take it. As long as I can help you.”

Your eyes soften and you let out a deep sigh, shifting on top of him to lay more comfortably. He was just too tempting, and you were in a very, very weak state. You couldn’t resist.

“Fine, but once I do this I’m not going to stop suddenly if you have second thoughts. You have to be sure.” You smoothed a hand over the arch of his throat, a lover’s caress to anyone else, but a search for a good spot to enter for a vampire. Izuku gulped, feeling his heart start to race as you touched him. He steeled his gaze and nodded firmly. “Well, then… all I need you to do is relax.”

You leaned in to search for a spot with good circulation with your tongue this time, feeling the boy freeze up and squeak beneath you. You cupped his jaw and tilted his head further away so you had better access. Unbeknownst to you, the spot you had picked was particularly sensitive and the trembling gasps he let out were not out of fear but approval. Your fangs brushed against the curve of his neck, feeling his entire body shiver underneath yours. And when your fangs finally sunk into the side of his neck, you didn’t expect the noise that escaped him.

Izuku slapped a hand over his mouth, in disbelief of the soft moan that had just slipped out. You decide to ignore it the moment his blood meets your tongue, you gripped him a bit tighter, shuddering at the almost sickeningly sweet taste of his blood. You drank enthusiastically, in your own little world as Izuku struggled with both his vocal cords and his conflicting thoughts.

He had so wholely expected it to hurt, or at the very least uncomfortable. But it wasn’t painful at all! He was worried over nothing. Not only that, but the whole prospect of you on top of him, pressed so intimately to him as you feasted on his blood, your fingers lightly stroking his cheek… It made him feel closer to you somehow. And when you finally parted from the crook of his neck, he flinched slightly when your fangs slid from the holes now left behind from your bite. You pulled away, moving to sit on top of him as you licked the excess from your lips with a dreamy smile.

“You’re so sweet, I almost couldn’t stop myself there. Thank you for being so calm.” You seemed to be full of energy now, eyes bright and your face looking much healthier. But you seemed a lot softer than normal, this is the most gentle he’s ever seen you as you smiled and expressed your gratitude.

“I… wouldn’t mind if you did it again sometime…” Izuku muttered with a deep blush, avoiding your eyes as your own widened.

“If you’re sure.” You didn’t have the strength to deny how eager his confession made you for next time. Even if you didn’t get the chance to confess your feelings as you had wanted, but you hoped that this understanding between you would give you another chance.

[blanc-et-n0ir]

Pranks (Solomon and MC)

“Lucifer let out a sigh as he went to enter his room, it’s time for him to start on his paperwork. When he opened the door and walked in, his face met a clear film of plastic and he flinched in shock. He scowled and ripped the clear film off the door frame, he’s going to ignore that for now.

“I don’t have the energy to think about this.” Lucifer growled.

Then, he walked to his desk. His foot bumped against his couch and he frowned. Something about his room felt odd. He shook his head and sat down, almost missing the chair by an inch. He growled and picked his quill to start on the paperwork.

That was when his eyes met the words on the paper and he almost screamed. They were adoption papers for Satan. His eye twitched as he crumpled the paper and threw it aside, he’ll deal with that later. He picked up another piece of paper which immediately was crumpled and thrown aside. He shuffled through his many papers and found every single one of them of the same content, with a few papers about his and Diavolo’s divorce and some works of fiction about him and Diavolo. 

“Who-”

He let his hand drag down his face, there could only be one culprit. Satan. The blonde merely wished for Lucifer to suffer on that day. He walked out the room, once again almost tripping over his couch.

//===\\

Mammon trudged up to his room, his eyes exhausted during the day at RAD. All he wanted to do was curl in his room, scrolling through Devilgram and not think about anything. He opened the door to his room and was met with a clear barrier. He let out a confused whine and walked backwards. He glared at the clear film and ran into his room. He tumbled inside, the clear film wrapping around him as he lay on the floor groaning.

“What in the hell was that?”

He stood up, rubbing his forehead as he threw the clear plastic to the side. He let out a loud whine as he pulled himself on his bed, almost missing it by a few centimetres. He cursed and fished for his phone in his pocket. He noticed that MC had posted a photo and got giddy. He wasn’t able to see the human the whole day which was weird but he pushed that aside for now.

“Wonder what MC posted...” He muttered as he pulled up the photo.

His brain practically bluescreened as he stared at the photo. It was MC alright. She had bed hair and was smiling lucidly at the camera. But in the background, Solomon also had the same bed hair and he was shirtless. He was shirtless and on the same bed as MC. SoloMON WAS SHIRTLESS AND ON THE SAME BED AS MC.

“WHAAATTT!” He screeched, standing up in lightning speed. He threw open his door and almsot bumped into Lucifer on the way, “MC, WHAT HAVE YA BEEN DOING WITH SOLOMON?”

//===\\

Levi was giddy as he almost tripped over himself trying to get into his room. The school day was finally over and he can watch that new DVD he got from Akuzon. He threw open the door and burst through the clear plastic. He paused and tried to get it off him.

“What the- what’s this!?” He shook his head and successfully untangled himself from the plastic and turned his attention to the new DVD. 

He got the case and pulled the CD out. He inserted it into his DVD player and turned on his television. He grinned, giddy as he waited for the screen to fully turn on. It was a new anime that had just come out and everyone was giving it good reviews so he wanted to try it out. Then, he caught sight of what the screen displayed instead.

“Wha-wha-whAT IS THIS?? THIS ISN’T MY ‘NEXT LIFE AS A VILLAINESS: ALL ROUTES LEAD TO DOOM’.” He paused before his eyes flashed, “MAMMOONNN! DID YOU STEAL MY NEW DVD!”

He ran out his door, eyes darkening in anger. he was already in his demon form when he caught sight of Mammon walking down the stairs. He growled ad chased after him, ignoring the loud screech from Asmo’s room. He almost got barelled into by Satan but he dodged. He’ll get that money grubbing, object stealing scum brother of his.

HOW DARE HE THINK OF SWITCHING HIS NEWWEST ANIME WITH SOMETHING AS WESTERN AND NORMIE AS TWILIGHT? NOT EVEN THE HUMANS LIKED THAT STUPID MOVIE.

//===\\

Satan let out a sigh as he rubbed his forehead, he can’t wait to curl up in his room and read a good book. He trudged up to his room, ignoring Mammon’s surprised shout from down the hall and opened his door. He walked in and was stopped by white clear plastic, almost falling over. His eye twitched and he swiped the plastics out of his way, stomping into his room.

“Who would put that there...”

He shook his head and picked up a book. He let himself fall against his armchair and opened the book. He cleared his head a bit before he read the first sentence. Everything was normal until he reached the middle paragraph. His eye twitched as it mentioned Lucifer and Diavolo. He closed the book and looked at the cover.

“It... doesn’t match.” He narrowed his eyes. “I could’ve sworn...”

He picked up another book and when he opened it, it showed memes. His eye twitched and he threw the book away from him. He picked another one up, opening it. This time it had a picture of Mammon singing in the shower. He slammed the book closed and growled. His temper was getting worse and he transformed into his demon form. The last book he opened had showed a crude drawing of his as a baby with Lucifer carrying him.

He screamed and threw the book away, ignoring the crash of the window it sailed out, “WHO TOUCHED MY BOOKS?” 

He let out a low growled and slammed open his door, first it was the stupid plastic and now this. He didn’t want any of this. He wanted a good book, a little rest and maybe a good cup of tea. He stormed down the stairs, almost knocking into Levi.

It was definitely Mammon, the idiot.

//===\\

Asmo had made a beeline for his room. The whole day had taken a lot out of him and he felt icky. He had planned to take a long and relaxing bath in his tub and use one of his scented oils. He hummed as he walked to his room and opened the door. He was impaired when he hit a clear plastic that blocked his path into his room. He made a double take and squinted, noticing the clear plastic. He scoffed and easily took it down, taking away all the excess plastic from the door frame to avoid any trash to clutter his beautiful room. He passed a trash can and dumped all the plastic inside.

He slowly stripped, enjoying the cool air and made his way to his bathroom. He smiled widely as his bathtub entered his field of vision. He picked a good scented oil to have and placed a few drips on the pristine clear water.

He slowly let himself sink into the water before he felt an unfamiliar texture. His eye twitched and he opened them to see the supposedly clear water had turned to yellow mush. He screeched and tripped on his way out the bathtub. He couldn’t believe what he had stumbled into. The yellow mush, clearly melted cheese, felt awful on his smooth skin.

“WHO FILLED MY BATHTUB WITH CHEESE?!”

He had unknowingly turned into his demon form as he stomped out of his bedroom, body still covered in cheese. He stomped past Lucifer who was checking inside Satan’s room and headed down, he will find out who messed with his bathtub.

“I S A I D, WHO FILLED MY BATHTUB WITH MELTED CHEESE?” He screeched into the halls, his voice carrying throughout the house.

//===\\

The moment he had stepped foot inside the house, he made his way to the kitchen. He was starving and Lucifer didn’t allow him to stop by Hell’s Kitchen for a snack. He opened the fridge and noticed a large sandwich. He licked his lips and noticed that no one had placed a note claiming it as their own. He smiled and picked it up before shoving it straight into his mouth. He choked when he was met with a dry flavor in his mouth.

He spat out the remnants of the sandwich and noticed it was foam, “Who?”

He shook his head and scoured the fridge for more unclaimed food. So far, everything he shoved into his mouth was foam. The tangy and dry taste of it making his stomach turn and ask for actual edible food. He had eaten the apple, the salad, the banana... even the turkey leg was foam. His eye twitched and he moved onto the Devildom delicacies, thinking that maybe it was all the human food. 

He picked up a custard and bit into it. It was foam. This was probably the fifth food he had shoved into his mouth that wasn’t food and his hunger had overtaken his thought process. He was in his demon form and he was hungry and angry. He had emptied the fridge by now and yet he hasn’t stumbled upon any real food.

“Who messED WITH THE FOOD?” Beel growled, stomping out the kitchen. Not only were the unclaimed food messed with, so were HIS food. Everything in the fridge was foam. Not even Mammon was stupid enough to do this.

He passed the common room where Belphie was looking in his phone with an enraged face. He would find whoever messed with his food.

//===\\

Belphie let out a sigh as he stepped foot inside the House of Lamentation. The whole day was really tiring. He felt his body sag and he dragged himself to the common room to sleep in peace. The moment his body hit the cushions of the couch, he fell into a deep slumber. Unbeknownst to him, two humans entered the common room with colored markers. The two giggled and exchange a quick glance with each other.

They set off to work, knowing Belphie was in a deep slumber and it’ll take more than a few little markings on his face to wake him up. Once they finished, they kept the markers and pulled out a roll of clear plastic. Solomon snickered as he taped the end of the plastic under the couch while MC pulled the roll over Belphie. They began methodologically wrapping him in plastic until his entire body was wrapped. He shifted a bit in his sleep and the two froze, exchanging a panicked look. 

When he remained sleeping, the two let out a relieved sigh. When the two heard the loud shout from Satan’s room, they immediately set to wrap up their work. Solomon got out some colorful hair ties and MC took out the large whoopee cushion. Solomon started to tie Belphie’s hair into uneven and weirdly placed pigtails while MC slid the cushion carefully in between the wrapped plastics.

That was when they heard Mammon’s shout and his footsteps. Solomon straightened and held out a hand to MC, “Would you care to make a grand exit?”

Asmo’s screech echoed throughout the whole house as MC smiled, “Of course!”

The loud bang that resounded in the common room due to their ‘grand’ exit woke Belphie up. He shot up, ready to scream at whoever made the loud noise to disturb his sleep when he heard the loud sound of the whoopee cushion hitting the plastic. His eye twitched as he was tangled up in a mess of plastic. He swiped them all away.

“Who in the seven hells would do this?” He growled. 

That was when he felt his hair and he got out his D.D.D and turned on the front camera. His anger grew when he saw his face and he stood up, shouting, “WHO DID THIS TO MY FACE!” 

He made his way to the entrance hall in his demon form, ready to kill whoever thought doing this to him was funny. 

//===\\

“SATAN IF YOU THOUGHT EXCHANGING MY PAPERWORK WITH NONESENSE IS FUNNY, THEN YOU’RE WRONG-”

“WHERE THE HELL IS MC? ARE THEY WITH SOLOMON-”

“MAMMON!! FIRST IT WAS MY MONEY AND NOW IT’S MY DVD!!” 

“WHOEVER THOUGHT IT WAS FUNNY TO REPLACE MY BOOKS, I WILL USE YOUR-”

“I DON’T CARE ABOUT YOUR BOOKS, SATAN. LOOK AT ME, I’M COVERED IN STUPID MELTED CHEESE WHEN I’M SUPPOSED TO BE RELAXING IN MY BATH.”

“SOMEONE TOUCHED MY FOOD. WHO IS IT? WAS IT YOU, MAMMON?”

“WHO DID THIS TO MY FACE? I WILL MAKE SURE YOUR DEATH IS-”

Just outside the House of Lamentation, Solomon and MC exchanged a look before bursting into laughter. The plan had gone smoothly, they didn’t care if they had to miss one whole day at RAD- this was hilarious enough to make up for it.

“Ten minutes from they’ll probably be at each others’ throats with warpaint on their faces.” Solomon wheezed.

“Good.” MC grinned. “It was getting a little chummy around here.” 

[wh-wh-whu]

Joy and Henry

New OCs, new series (?)! These characters come from the same original story as “Ni and Jay and Jane”, but in a different place and time. Since I am changing background stuff to post here, I am not sure they will still be set in the same ‘verse, but a crossover is never impossible.

Also this is the scene that inspired my first prompt-style post!

Don’t worry much about the Company and Associates, these are mostly placeholders as I figure the Lore, just know that this is government stuff and these people are very important. One detail that matters here is that all masters are men and 95% of the slaves are women. Sexism plays a big part in this story even in pieces that don’t focus much of it.

CW: slavery, background sexism, lady whumpee turned caretaker, mention of lady whumpee (other than caretaker), mention of (physical) hate mail, implied minor whumpee (everyone is an adult here but it’s implied stuff happened to them when they were minors), mentioned whipping, mention of whumpee being forced to hurt others, scars

Henry was not supposed to have an opinion on any of the Associates. He belonged to the Company, and so all the associates were his Masters.

Still, he couldn't lie to himself that Ms. Wilson was very different from all the others, and that for it he favored her a lot.

Joy Wilson was the only woman among the Associates, and the first one to step in in over 100 years. She was also a former slave, something that made her presence undesired in the Company, but in the end, none of the Associates could stop her. She filled all the legal conditions, there were no flaws in her papers, nothing that left room for argument that she wasn't legally free, that she didn't belong to the man who signed her freedom at the time, and he had even adopted her as his daughter before making her his heir.

Not that any of this mattered to Henry. He only knew it all from the gossip before Ms. Wilson moved in. That, and from the talk the President gave him just before he welcomed his new Master. The man had confirmed that Ms. Wilson was indeed a former slave, but tried to crush all of Henry's hopes that she would be any soft on him. Not that he had any, Henry knew she was more likely to sympathize with the other slaves, the women that he had to keep an eye on and punish, if necessary, than with him.

It turned out that Ms. Wilson was much kinder than anyone could have imagined. She didn't relish Henry's fear, nor did she seem to want to cause him any pain. She spoke to him kindly, in a soft tone, never insulting. Henry actually enjoyed being in her presence, and luckily he always had letters to deliver to her. She always received many more than the other Associates.

They weren't always kind. Henry wasn't allowed to read them, of course, but he knew. So many people wanted Ms. Wilson out. Even some of the Associates still did. Some envelopes came with drops of blood staining the paper, maybe a veiled treat? A way of showing her others were suffering more because she was there?

There was always a lot of crumpled in her trash too.

Henry knew Ms. Wilson was stressed. She was under a lot of pressure. One day, when he went to deliver her letters, he heard shouting from her door. It made him pause.

It was only her voice. She was probably on the phone. He didn't understand every word she said, but she talked of law. It was certainly Company business. Henry waited, not wanting to interrupt.

"I'm just tired, Fer." She said after a long pause, her tone much softer. "They don't let me do anything here." Another pause. "I know. Yes, yes, you told me. I knew it wouldn't be easy. I am used to men being shitty to me."

Henry's fist closed, crumpling the letters a bit. He should not be hearing to a private conversation, this was how slaves got themselves killed in the Company. They were not supposed to know the Associates' secrets. He didn't know if he was hearing any secret, but he knew Ms. Wilson was showing a vulnerability that was meant for someone else's ears.

"I just wish I could speak to them the way they speak to other women. No, I know, yeah it would only make it all worse. It would be fun, though. It's not like they can touch me. Don't worry, I know my priorities. I won't be careless." A longer pause. "Thank you, Fer. I wish you were here. Don't worry, nothing would make me give up on this."

Whoever "Fer" was, they seemed to be important for Ms. Wilson. She spoke their name in a sweet tone.

Henry tried to get the words he heard out of his mind, but he couldn't. Ms. Wilson disliked men, that wasn't really a surprise. It was like the President had said, she had probably been tormented by men her entire life. Henry was a man, well, just barely, but he was the only male slave in the Company.

Still, Ms. Wilson was always kind to him.

He waited until Ms. Wilson ended the call, then a little bit more before knocking on her door.

"Henry, come in." She greeted him, opening the door to let him into her apartment.

Henry obediently entered, feeling a bit intimidated as he always did whenever he was inside one of the luxurious apartments. Before Ms. Wilson, being called in always meant there was pain to follow.

"Your letter, Miss." He held out the envelopes, reminded himself it probably didn't matter that he crumpled them a bit, they would probably be thrown out like so many others anyway.

Indeed, Ms. Wilson didn't seem to mind as she took them and left them on a table. "Thank you. Is that all?"

Henry hesitated. Ms. Wilson seemed to notice it, and waited patiently for him to speak. He tried to choose his words carefully.

"Ms. Wilson, please forgive my intruding, but you seem to be going under a lot of stress lately, right?"

She frowned, making Henry want to slap his lips and run away. He could do no such thing.

"Yes." Ms. Wilson said. "But it's nothing for you to worry about."

"I apologize, I know it's none of my business." Henry agreed. He swallowed, trying to be even more careful with his next words. "I noticed that you, Miss, are the only one among the Associates that doesn't make use of any stress reliever."

The only one who doesn't have a slave, and doesn't use any of the ones belonging to the Company as a stress reliever. Henry didn't want it to come out as a criticism, but Ms. Wilson's frown deepened.

"I know... I know you would never hurt someone... like you." He lowered his eyes. He hoped he was not offending her, that was the last thing he wanted. "Everyone... everyone down there is very thankful. Everyone admires you, Miss. But it, it saddens me that you're the only one who has nothing to make you feel better." Taking a deep breath, Henry slowly reached for the whip attached to his belt. It was his work tool, for him to punish the others when he had to... and for the Associates to use to punish him.

---

Joy flinched as Henry took the whip, but he didn't seem to notice it, as he couldn't even look up at her. Of course, he had no intention of hurting her with it, he simply offered it to her.

He didn't need to say a word. Joy already knew what he was offering, and she would rather he didn't say it, but he did.

"If you wish, you can use me, Miss."

His voice was even and devoid of emotion, something that Joy had never been capable of back in her days. They could never really teach her that she deserved to be hurt, that she should enjoy being hurt.

But then she remembered how Henry was when she first met him, just a couple of months ago. Trembling, flinching, voice small as he apologized for not telling her he was a slave right away, as if it was his fault she had missed the Company's logo branded on his arm. Joy had seen him afraid back then, and other times, near other Associates.

This Henry in front of her wasn't afraid, and it hit her like a truck the realization that it could only be her fault. That she had shown him a kindness none of those men had ever done, and he wasn't afraid because this was not supposed to be a punishment, it was supposed to be a payment.

She hesitated as she reached for the whip, wishing to take it out of his hand. She wanted to throw that vile object away, into the fireplace so it became ashes and would never hurt anyone again. But Henry was soon unbuttoning his shirt, and she helplessly watched as he kneeled down in front of her, back exposed.

Joy inhaled deep and covered her mouth with her free hand. Henry's back was covered in scars. It was not surprising, not really, and it wasn't like she had never seen scars before. But seeing those old and new scars on his body - he was younger than Joy, barely an adult! - as he sat just a little hunched forward, perfectly still, fully accepting that this was the price to pay for a few kind words, that broke her heart, a heart she had had to stitch together too many times.

She remembered then, why she had agreed to be Mr. Wilson's heir in the first place. Why she had decided to leave the comfortable life he had given her and come here, in the center of the world, knowing well that men would look down on her and ridicule her and try to eat her alive every move she made. Why she studied hard and left her friends - her family - behind to be surrounded by people who hated her simply for being who she was.

Joy touched Henry's shoulder, and he flinched, certainly expecting pain.

"I can't do this to you, Henry. I thank your offer, but..." She trailed off.

He nodded, grabbing his shirt. "I just... want to help you somehow, Miss." He said, eyes teary.

"You already did. You already do." Joy said, sincerely. "I'm glad for having at least one person here who cares about me."

[foreficfandom]

Mystic Messenger - Domestic Disputes And Bad Habits (mysme x MC)

--- Zen ---

He hadn’t lived with anyone for years. After running away from home, he struggled with housing, sometimes couch surfing and sometimes he had legitimate leases. And when he lived with others, he was usually the ‘messy roommate’ because leaving home at a young age meant little opportunity to learn how to manage a living space. 

Even now, his apartment is relatively clean largely by virtue of him not owning a lot of stuff. He doesn’t cook so no dishes to clean, he doesn’t own loose knick knacks to spread around. 

When he housed you for a couple days prior to the first RFA party, he had quickly cleaned his apartment of empty beer cans and loose socks, which made it look like he was a man who kept a clean house. But unfortunately, that wasn’t the case, and by the next afternoon you noticed random articles tossed over chairs and upon the floor.

That was fine when it was only his space, but when the two of you began living together, Zen quickly had to learn that it wasn’t acceptable to shed his clothing upon the floor all the time, especially when the laundry basket was right there. No, Zen, get your loose socks out of the couch cushions. Zen, stop piling up empty cigarette boxes on the nightstand. Zen, once you’ve unwrapped the sheet mask from its plastic envelope would it kill you to throw it away, instead of leaving it on the bathroom counter?

He’s consistent when it comes to chores like doing the laundry and taking out the trash. But asking him to hang up his jacket instead of letting it crumple in the corner? It’s like getting blood from a stone. 

After a while, you finally get him to pick up after himself. “It’s our home, now,” you said. “Not just yours.” A promise that said he wasn’t alone, anymore. And he took it to heart.  

--- Yoosung ---

It may seem like his depression-ruled lifestyle seemed to change overnight, but that wasn’t the case. Sure, he did regain a lot of his motivation and energy, but simply getting a new lease on life won’t overrule years of neglecting yourself.

You’d text him in preparation for a date, only to arrive and find out he hasn’t even left his bed since he replied with an ‘I’ll get ready!’ More than once your dates had to be rescheduled because Yoosung had been stuck in bed, or still in his pajamas on his desktop. 

On the third time you voiced your complaints, Yoosung got a bit defensive. He couldn’t help it, it’s hard for him to maintain a tidy schedule after so long lacking the proper will. 

It was a terse discussion. Your first couple fight, if you will. “Yoosung, are you sure you’re okay? You don’t want to seek professional help?” “No, MC, I’m fine. What could a counselor possibly help me with?”

It was Yoosung’s own initiative to finally google some nearby therapists during a particularly slow morning. He didn’t tell you he’d been seeing someone until four sessions in, since he struggles with the idea that he might need help. You hug him tightly and treat the both of you to tasty pastries at a cute bakery. 

Yoosung took his therapy to heart. He started slow, working on self-affirming mindfulness and motivating himself to tidy his living space. Then he worked on his time management, which helped his schooling and energy both. 

Within the year, both you and Yoosung saw progress. He felt better, which made his life better. More time to live. More time to spend with you.

--- Jaehee ---

Domestic arguments didn’t arise until you moved in with her. Before that point, Jaehee and you meshed so gracefully, it was damn near magical. 

Even moving into her place and having to carry around heavy couches and unpack a million boxes didn’t dampen that honeymoon phase. You loved witnessing Jaehee’s hidden strength as she tugged your mattress down seven flights of stairs. 

But within a week of living with her, you noticed that you and her ... clashed when it came to interior living. You kept using up the hot water before Jaehee could take a shower. She would misplace your possessions thoughtlessly. The both of you thought each other as messier. 

It was like a new roommate situation. At first, the two of you tried to calmly talk these things out. But new issues would arise after the old ones were resolved. She didn’t like how you tossed your coat across the desk chair, or left the living room lamps on during the night. 

“It’s my apartment, MC!” “Oh, I’m sorry, I thought being your co-owner at the cafe we co-manage meant my co-money go into our co-rent!”

Jaehee went to work in a huff, leaving you to your own devices. Alone in the apartment, you decided to do some regular chores, and as you rested for a minute you absorbed the living space - you could see Jaehee’s touch in ever corner, thoughtfully and carefully labored over. It really almost seemed like your mindless efforts were invading her space.

When Jaehee returned that evening, the two of you tried to apologize at the same time. “Oh, sorry, you go -” “No, you, sorry for interrupting -”

“It’s just ... MC, I want to apologize for treating you like a naughty guest. You’re my partner now and deserve more say in our home.”

You made up and eventually the apartment evolved into a true home between the two of you. A perfect representation of your love.

--- Jumin ---

The dude can be shockingly conservative. In the beginning, it only manifested in him being somewhat of a prude. “I wish you wouldn’t wear that particular dress to the social. You look more beautiful when you show less skin.” “... you mean you’d personally prefer I didn’t show much skin, right?” “Yes? What was wrong with my previous sentence?”

But sometimes he’d be watching the news and blurt out, “I’m not sure if marriage between two men should be recognized by law.” Which leads to you trying to convince him that he’s being very unethical. 

He usually ends up saying something like, “I’m sorry, love, I’m rather uneducated when it comes to this issue,” and leave it at that. Because he’s not some right-wing jackass or anything, he just grew up in an isolated Christian family and never really got to socialize beyond that. So he never learned about viewpoints that challenged what he heard growing up.

It can be infuriating, though, especially with issues you’re concerned about. Because Jumin just kinda tries to compromise by taking a non-stance, since he just doesn’t have a strong opinion on things like reproductive rights or colonialism. It’s partially due to his sheltered background, and partially due to being raised to literally be conservative in his life dealings.

But after seeing you becoming more and more frustrated, he digs a little deeper and realizes that he’s kinda being an ass.  Eventually he begins to say things like, “I think you’re right, MC. Demonizing drug abusers is antithesis to their recovery. They deserve sympathy instead.”

But a pleasant surprise is his appreciation for climate conservation. He likes to donate and fund green power initiatives because he believes in preserving the environment and preventing nature exploitation. You join his efforts, and he finally understands how important it is to have solidarity from your significant other.

--- Saeyoung/707 ---

Being merely twenty-three years old (not to mention his neglected upbringing) leads to some rocky relationship problems. His self-doubt and anxiety can go wild during his worse days, making him revert back to his colder personality and try to push you away once more.

It doesn’t manifest as just him ignoring you. His mind can make him do some really round-about sabotaging. One day, you open the kitchen cabinets to see it all the objects thrown within haphazardly. You confronted Saeyoung and it took hours before he coldly confessed that he was considering throwing away all your favorite foods, before realizing how fucked up that would be and quickly replacing it all again. 

He knew it was his mother’s influence talking. And the thought made him sick. 

Sometimes, you responded to his darker days with loving patience and lots of hugs while he allows himself to break down. Sometimes, you choose to distance yourself a bit. Either way, Saeyoung’s mood eventually evens out. The two of you talk at length about why he feels the way he does, and why he’s propelled to do these things. As time goes on, his dark moods pop up less and less.

On a lighter note, Saeyoung can be a pretty messy dude. Partly because of his underlying mental issues, partly because that’s the type of guy he is. He doesn’t shower as much as you like him to, and he tosses trash just ... everywhere. If his bunker wasn’t so big, the clutter he alone produces would bury you both. No wonder he needed a ‘maid’. 

Yeah, it takes more than a few pushes to make him stop being a slob. He eventually owns up, but not without some effort. Everyone living in the house is grateful. 

--- Saeran ---

It took many months before Saeran felt stable enough to start integrating into normal society, and even longer before his daily schedule began to stabilize beyond surprise breakdowns, spreads of bad days spent holed up, or horrible dips in moods.

Saeran would always live with dissociative identity disorder, and during the first few years it could get tough. Both ‘Suit’ and Ray would be triggered seemingly without warning, and sometimes last for days. Ray did anything he could to earn your affection, ‘Suit’ defected his fears by trying to provoke you. 

Therapy and medication was an ongoing process. You and Saeran went through more than a couple of therapists before finding the ‘one’. Medications had to be tried then dropped because of side effects, or lack of effectiveness. There were long periods of months in-between where all he could do was hope this new treatment would be more effective than the last.

‘Suit’ once got particularly violent with you, not hitting but shaking you by the shoulders and screaming in your face, “Just say it!! You hate me ... you want to hurt me!!”

You found 'Suit’ later, crying and curled up in a corner. After long coaxing, he confessed that he was so afraid you were eventually going to hurt him, so he was pushing you to see if you’d do it. 

And Ray’d do things like blow away all his saved up money to buy you gifts in a desperate show of affection. Just because the two of you were living in a safe, stable environment doesn’t mean old haunts wouldn’t pop up.

Saeran eventually got better and better. Looking back now, Saeran is so much happier. He never lets you forget your amazing influence on him. “Thank you for saving me, my love.” 

--- Jihyun ---

He’s the perfect example of a loving boyfriend. After his two years spent in a therapeutic journey of self-discovery, he returned ready to be a reliable partner. And for the most part, he lived up to it, barring some moments where he accidentally gets sucked into bad memories.

Insomnia is the most common problem. Settling down to sleep means his mind gets easily swamped, and when he does manage to sleep he wakes up during the night and gets overwhelmed with memories once again. Some nights are worse than others.

He tries not to get up from the bed to avoid waking you too, but you eventually develop a second sense for his insomnia spells and you can feel it when he’s struggling. Then he feels bad that he’s affecting you this way.

See, that’s his problem that he can’t resolve on his own. He thinks of his problems as obstacles that bother others, and not the obstacles themselves. This prevents him from finding ways to truly resolve them. 

“I’m sorry, MC. Go back to sleep.” “... Jihyun, how many nights has it been since you’ve slept properly?” He measures it by the nights you’ve been kept awake too, and you stop him there.

“Don’t you see? It’s not about me. Think about your own health.”

And that’s not easy for him. He had obsessed over being a figure that offers unconditional love for so long, it’s hard to shed it. He thinks of his mother and his eyes grow wet. 

He and you find a relationship therapist, and it helps a lot. Jihyun’s two years of self-discovery did wonders for his mood, but it took a bit of professional aid to really unravel the really complicated stuff. 

He feels his state of thinking shift gradually, and it makes his life less cloudy, less stuck in those bad memories and regrets. Instead, he goes to sleep every night thinking about how much he loves you and his family. His heart falls asleep feeling light instead of heavy. 

[paperwayne]

steady.

50 Wordless Ways to Say “I Love You” ➡ 1. Holding their hands when they are shaking.

Pairing: Jason Todd x Reader

Word Count: 2,450 words

Warnings: None

I.

You’ve known Jason Todd long enough to know how sticky his fingers can be. It’s a talent, really, something to be admired in the slums of Gotham; an apple here, a wallet there, and more recently, tires right off of cars.

Stealing isn’t wrong if you’re trying to survive. But sometimes, you can’t resist doing it out of pleasure rather than necessity.

Jason’s hand is clean and warm as it curls firmly around your wrist – a habit that has now become a signal, back when you had been loose-lipped and jumpy whenever the two of you walked past the cashiers at stores – and you tear your gaze away from the crude caricature of Batman you had been scribbling onto an Etch A Sketch you had found, blinking as your friend glances at your artwork.

“Funny,” he compliments, and you crack a smile before he jerks his head slightly toward the exit. “C’mon, let’s go.”

You give the gummy Etch A Sketch a few vigorous shakes and slide it back onto the dusty shelf from whence it came. As you and Jason make your way to the door, the old man at the register stares suspiciously. You smile at him, innocent in your youth.

The door is just about to close completely before it swings open again, but by then you had crossed the street.

“You little brats, get back here!”

Jason’s grip on you tightens and that’s another signal.

Run.

You don’t have to look to know that Jason’s biting down a grin as you drag each other along the dirty, buckling sidewalk, evading indifferent passersby as the cashier shouts out a few expletives in vain. You keep your breathing in time with his, pumping your arms as you leap over cracks and clumps of yellowing grass. Jason’s hand slides down from your wrist to wrap around your own hand, vicelike and stubborn. It’s easier to run that way, you think.

Eventually, you find yourselves in an alleyway that’s mostly empty, save for a homeless woman dozing off next to the dumpster. Jason lets go of your hand to unzip his jacket while you do the same. The trash bag behind you crackles when you shuffle back to lean against the brick wall, panting.

“So,” he murmurs, blue eyes a steely shade of grey in the shadows of the alley, “Purple or green?”

“… Green.” You try to swallow and moisten your parched throat. “R-Red or orange?”

“Something wrong, [Y/n]?”

You pause when Jason asks that question, one of his eyebrows raised. His gaze darts down to the pairs of socks in your two hands. That’s when you realize that they are shaking, and it’s a split second later when you realize that it’s because your hands are shaking. Trembling, more like.

“Oh.” Immediately, you clench your fists, embarrassed as you try to still your jittery fingers. “I didn’t even – it’s nothing.” In the brief moment of skeptical silence, you say the only other thing that automatically comes to mind. “Sorry.”

Jason’s curious expression morphs into one of confusion. “The hell’re you saying ‘sorry’ for?” he asks. His tone is a little rough, but when you blurt out another ‘sorry,’ he has the sense to soften a bit. “’S’nothing to say sorry for. We didn’t get caught, so you don’t gotta be shaking.”

You nod, looking down, and he sighs.

“Here.”

He takes your red pair of socks and tucks it into his pocket, then unceremoniously presses the candy bar with the green wrapper into your hand and places your other hand over it. You think that he’ll pull away soon, but he doesn’t; his hands engulf both of yours like some sort of sandwich, and then they stay. His skin is no longer warm like it had been in the store, but his hold is just as firm as it had been when he gripped your wrist not ten minutes ago.

Jason stares intently at his hands and yours, and after a few minutes, he finally lets go, satisfied.

“It’s choco-caramel,” he says, as if nothing had just happened. “Lucky guess.”

You tuck the candy bar into your jacket pocket, hands steady.

II.

You’ve known Jason Todd long enough to know that sometimes, he feels too much.

There’s a whoosh of air as your bedroom door opens, and you think you hear yourself mumble a few protests as the door slams loudly behind Jason. Eyes squinting, you reach out to turn on the bedside lamp, flinching when you click it on.

Heavy, angry breaths heave from the boy’s chest when you fix your gaze upon his hunched-over figure. His mask is gone, but the rest of his uniform still displays its bright and cheerful colors, a stark contrast to the darkness rolling off Jason in waves. Your eyes trace downward from his hair, matted and sweaty from a night of patrolling, to his arms and his hands, straight and stiff at his sides.

Anger still bubbles beneath the surface of his skin, you can see; it escapes in the form of shaking arms and fists.

“Jay?” you murmur in the choking silence.

As if awakened, Jason whirls around to kick the wall. It’s enough to jolt the rest of the sleep out of you, and you blink as he continues to slam his foot against the plaster and concrete, cursing both under and over his breath.

“Dammit! Dammit! Dammit!”

“Jason!”

You throw the blankets off you and cross the room, grabbing his arm. He tears away just as quickly, jaw clenched as he shoots you a venomous glare that’s not quite all there.

“Why the hell are you in my room?!”

“This is my room!”

“No, it’s —” Jason cuts himself off as he finally registers the contents of your bedroom, gaze flitting across your stuffed animals and the Etch a Sketch on your bedside drawer. His mouth tightens, and his expression crumples back into one of irritation.

“No, you’re staying here until you tell me what’s wrong,” you state firmly when he moves to open the door again. Reaching out to touch his arm once more, you hold it as you lead him to your bed and sit down at the edge. “Did Bruce get mad at you again?”

Jason scoffs, high-pitched and loud. “He’s always mad at me during patrol. He’s got a stick up his ass.”

You examine the way he clenches and unclenches his hands in his lap. His breathing is still uneven. “… Something went wrong, didn’t it?”

“He got shot.”

“Bruce?” You frown. Though it’s obviously painful, you know that Bruce’s been shot before, and he gets over it pretty quickly every time.

“No. A – a kid. He was little. I wasn’t quick enough. It was in the leg, but Bruce said if I stayed back the bastard wouldn’t have fired the gun in the first place.” Jason spits out the words like they’re poison. “The hell does he know? He’s never used a gun in his life.”

You chew on your lip. You can picture the scene all too well, bits of memories of Crime Alley shootouts and family homicides filling in the gaps. You can imagine the scream of the child. You can imagine the argument in the Batcave afterwards, Batman glowering over Jason like the Gotham Clocktower, dark and disapproving, as Jason throws his mask down and stomps away.

“Did the kid get to the hospital?” you whisper.

“Yeah.”

“Okay.” You breathe out slowly, deliberately. “That’s good. I’m glad.”

Jason is quiet. You look at his hands again, and as if in a daze, you reach out to hold them.

The gloves are dirty. You pull them off as his hands unclench, blinking down at the pale skin mottled with purple bruises at the knuckles. You turn them over to inspect his palms and fingertips as if you’re about to read them, prophesy about his fate or something, but really you just mean to look at them for the sake of doing so. It brings you back in time, touching his hands. They’re still rough with callouses. Still shaking.

“As long as you’ve stopped them,” you mutter, relaxing your hold as the tremors slow, then fade from his muscles. “It doesn’t matter how you do it as long as they don’t do it again.”

“Thanks,” he says. It’s forced out, but it’s sincere. You meet his eyes when he extracts his hands from yours, fingers pulling away as slow as pulling taffy, and they’re tired but resolute.

You almost kiss him that night. But you don’t, thinking that a better time would probably come, when both of you are older and wiser and happier, and when Jason would perhaps not mind kissing you.

That chance is buried along with Jason a few months later, and with it, a part of yourself.

III.

You used to know Jason Todd.

Used to, because Jason is gone. You had been there at his funeral. You had watched his casket get lowered into the ground, and you had thrown a dumb flower at it like it would magically make a wooden box with a dead body prettier somehow. You had cried for him.

Jason Todd is dead. But then Uncle Alfred calls, and all of a sudden, you aren’t so sure anymore.

Although Bruce had initially objected, Alfred tells you about the empty casket and the Red Hood. He asks if any men had visited you lately, or if you feel like someone’s watching you. You tell him that you’d probably be dead if either of those things happened. He chuckles.

He tells you that Bruce sends his regards. You hang up.

It’s kind of ironic that you almost get killed that same night.

Your ears are still ringing and the frigid night air makes it hard to breathe; the ghost of a cold, hard pistol pressed against your temple renders you dizzy. The whole thing could have been avoided if you’d remembered to test the battery of your damn taser this month, but you hadn’t, and now three bodies are in the alleyway – yours; the man that had touched you, now deceased, lying on the asphalt; and a strange man with the gun that had won.

The rest of the smoke finally dissipates from the barrel. Your savior for the night spins the weapon in his hand before tucking it away at his hip, strolling over to crouch down at the thief’s side. With no great effort, he shoves a hand underneath the corpse to roll it over.

You stand, still quite in shock, as the man in the red helmet reaches into the dead man’s back pocket and plucks out a square, leather object. He stands up and holds it out to you, and you realize that it’s your wallet.

You take it. “Thanks … er …”

“Red Hood,” he says, looking down at you. It feels like he’s staring.

“Yeah,” your heart is in your throat and you will the next few words to come out smoothly, “I know. I’ve heard about you.”

“Well, shucks, I’m flattered. I bet the rumors are full of sunshine and rainbows.”

The words seem innocent, but the tone is familiar. You know this tone and manner of speaking. It’s baiting, a subtle prod to reveal yourself, and overwhelming curiosity leads you to reciprocate.

“There’s not many vigilantes out in Gotham who aren’t under the bat, you know.”

The Red Hood barks out a sharp laugh. “Don’t need the bat when I’ve got a gun.”

He’s right, though you know Batman certainly wouldn’t appreciate that reasoning. Your gaze darts down to the leather holster cradling that deadly weapon. You wet your lips, cautiously, as he leans against the wall opposite you and waits for you to talk again.

“You could’ve just knocked him out.”

“I also could’ve let him splatter your brains out. Life’s full of possibilities.” He uncrosses his arms, and you, for some insane reason, stay where you are as he suddenly pushes off the wall. His voice lowers. “So’s death.”

Your next words are exceptionally careful. He’s getting closer, the white eyes of his helmet washed in shadows as you meet them as solidly as you can. “I’ve heard about that too.”

(Despite your greatest efforts, you feel your hands begin to shake. No no no. You cross your arms to hide them and look more put together than you feel.)

“Really,” he says. “Do tell.”

“My uncle,” you begin slowly, “was just telling me today about a casket that was recently dug back up in the cemetery. They found that the person in it – who was supposed to be in it – was never there.”

“Wow. That’s wild.”

“Yeah. Wild.”

God, your hands won’t stop shaking. They tremble, suffocating in the crooks of your elbows, and you’re growing more and more frustrated as the Red Hood just stands there, infuriatingly silent as he watches your patience slowly unravel until the last thread snaps.

“Look,” you finally exclaim, taking a single step forward; your voice is hoarse and desperate and barely above a whisper. “Jason, if that’s you, tell me. It was just us for so long – you owe me a yes or no, goddammit!”

Your fingers are achingly, annoyingly stiff. Tremors wrack through each tendon and joint. Breathing heavily, you realize that you’re now gripping his biceps, blunt nails digging into the soft leather of his jacket, and that you’re standing much closer to him than you thought you were.

A solid minute passes. Then, slowly, the Red Hood reaches up to grasp your forearms, his hands dragging down to meet yours as they pull away from his jacket. You bite your tongue, glaring at the space between you.

Jason squeezes your hands tight, and then he lets go.

Your arms drop down to your sides, limp, as he pats your shoulder, looking to his left. “Your apartment’s just across the street, right? You’ll probably make it,” is all he says.

You just nod emptily and amble out of the alleyway, mind blurry while he trails close behind, leaving the corpse of your assailant where it had fallen. There’s no cars driving around right now so you just walk across the street without looking both ways, only stopping once you reach your apartment door and have your key out to unlock it. 

You turn around before opening the door; no one’s around, naturally, and you exhale and step inside.

As soon as the lock clicks, your legs give out underneath you. You crumple on the cold tile, hands folded and crushing against your mouth in some semblance of a prayer, and start to cry – and you can’t, for the life of you, figure out why.

__

[50 Wordless Ways to Say “I Love You” prompt list (requests using this prompt list are CLOSED)]

[deviant-hunter-rk800]

Break

—Someone’s broken in. Connor is the first person you think to call. But what will he choose?—

A/N: IM BACK!! So this has been on my mind forever now, and I’m so excited it’s finally done!! Please let me know what you think of it!

Warnings: kinda fluffy Connor, swearing, blood, fighting, angsty

“Goddamnit, Kyle!” You rake a hand through your hair, sighing through gritted teeth. “You’re kidding, right? There’s no damn way-”

“I’m sorry, Y/N,” he says tiredly, “there’s nothing I can do.”

Clenching your jaw, you hang up, nearly throwing your phone across the room. You shake your head, wanting very badly to hit something. A headache quickly forms as you mutter curses.

“Thought you were an officer, not a sailor,” Gavin taunts, laughing as he props his feet up on his desk.

“Fuck off, Reed,” you snarl, “or so help me I will shut you up myself.”

He rocks back, laughing even harder at your sour mood. Without warning, you grab the nearest object which happens to be a pencil. He jumps as you bring it down towards his shin, barely missing your mark as he crashes to the floor.

“Crazy bitch,” he mutters, rubbing the back of his head. He slowly stands up, backing away from you. He’s a good ten yards away before he turns towards the door.

“Don’t get me wrong,” someone says. Turning, you recognize Hank and Connor walking towards you, the older man smiling. “Seeing Gavin nearly get shanked brings me great joy,” he sits on your desk, taking the pencil from your clenched fist, “but you could’ve at least used a pen.”

You sigh, picking at your desk. “Don’t judge,” you mutter, “could’ve gotten lead in his blood. Made ‘im real sick.”

“She does have a point,” Connor agrees. Your lips twitch at his pun. Looking up at him, a timid smile pulls at his lips. “I thought it would help your mood.”

“But you’re just gonna ignore she tried to stab Reed?” Hank shakes his head, rolling his eyes. “Oh. Okay.”

Connor blinks, head tilting to the side. “I assumed her actions were a side effect of her fever.”

“Fever?” You and Hank say simultaneously. You don’t break eye contact with Connor as you lean towards the older man. “Jinx. You owe me a coffee.”

Hank’s head turns fast, scowling at the side of your face accusingly. You smile innocently at Connor despite the two holes being bore into your head. His brows furrow at your actions.

“You never get sick,” Hank says, the frown tipping into concern, “and now you’ve got a fever?”

“It’s not severe, Lieutenant,” Connor interrupts, “her body temperature is only at ninety nine point-”

“But you don’t get sick,” he repeats.

“Long story short,” you sigh, leaning back in your chair, “I’ll be staying at a motel for a month or so cause the pipes in my apartment building froze.”

Both Hank and Connor’s brows raise. “Holy shit, kid.”

“Yeah,” you mutter, resting your head in your hand. “Kyle — the shitty landlord? — says he can’t get anybody to come look at it for a couple weeks.”

“Why not ditch the motel?” Hank places a hand on your shoulder. “Stay with us till the shit gets fixed.”

“Hank-“

He rolls his eyes, cutting you off with a wave of his hand. “Oh c’mon, Y/L/N. I’ll even make pancakes.”

You chew your lip, considering his offer. Bunk with an old cop, his dog, and a cute android? It wasn’t the worst idea. It definitely beat getting some disease from mysterious stains in a broke down motel.

“Alright,” you say finally.

Hank smiles, a dimple pressing into his cheek. He ruffles your hair. “Alright.”

The squeal of brakes from a train echoes distantly accompanied by three solid knocks on the door. Sumo pick his head up off your lap, giving a soft woof. Setting your book down on the nightstand, you scratch his ears, earning a couple whumps of his tail against the bed.

“It’s okay, buddy,” you coo sweetly. You manage to free your legs of the blankets as the saint bernard settles again. Using your foot to swing the door open, you tie up your hair, quietly padding down the hallway.

You’ve just rounded the corner when the handle jostles. You hesitate, holding your breath as muffled curses make their way through the door. Goosebumps rise on your skin. A thousand thoughts flood your mind, the scariest one being, That’s not Hank.

The lock clicks. “Fuck,” you snap, your voice a whisper.

The door swings open, it’s handle denting the drywall as two men push through. You lock eyes with the first man, the two of you standing shell shocked for half a breath. The second, the younger looking with a heavy bruise on his cheekbone, slaps the first.

“Fuckin grab her!” He shouts, slamming the door shut. And just like that, the standoff comes to a jagged end, the first guy lunging at you, his cigarette stained teeth bared.

Grabbing his wrist, you twist his arm to the side, driving the heel of your palm into his nose. Losing his balance, he topples backwards. The second man reaches out, but with a rush of fur blurring by, Sumo latches his teeth into his arm.

“Sumo!” Cigarette Teeth seizes your moment of distraction and get you in a headlock, his forearm held tightly against your throat. Bruise punches the dog in his ribs before throwing him off. “No!”

He adrenaline coursing through you hinders rather than help, turning your motions frantic as you scratch and scream; your fingernails leave angry, red welts across his skin. Bruise moves forward. You bring your knees to your chest, a savage growl pushing through gritted teeth as you kick him in his stomach. The loss of his footing sends him to the floor, his face meeting the wood with a loud thump!

“Jesus, fuck,” the man holding you grunts, an undertone of fear taking over his words.

The slamming of your heel on the arch of his foot paired with the whip of your head against his already bleeding nose earns a well deserved howl of pain.

Finally able to slip from his grasp, you kick Cigarette Teeth in his knee, watching him drop to the floor with a loud cry. You grab the nearest object — a book off one of the many shelves — and bring its spine down across his temple. With a groan, he crumples to the ground.

“Sumo,” you murmur hoarsely, chest heaving. You quickly fall to your knees, gingerly running your hands across his fur, turning his head towards you. “Are you okay? Fuck.”

His tail wags lightly, letting out a small whine. You whip your head to see Bruise pushing himself up with a groan. Quickly looking at your options, you stand up.

“C’mon, boy,” you urge, helping the large dog limp towards the bedroom. “Good boy! Just a little more! C’mon!”

Slamming the door, you rip the chair from the desk, lodging it beneath the door’s handle. You grab your phone from the nightstand, your book long forgotten. Sumo growls.

“I know, buddy,” you say weakly, scrolling hurriedly through your contacts. 1-800-CYBERLIFE comes into view and you hit dial. “C’mon, Connor. Pick up! Pick up!”

A rumble from the other side of the door. Sumo, crouching low, bares his teeth. You back away.

Click.

“Connor?!”

“Why is it,” Hank says dully, “that every time we gotta go chase some fuckin dead end, it’s always at some creepy, abandoned, probably haunted building?”

“If it’s any consolation, the likelihood that this building is haunted is very low.” Hank turns slow at Connor’s remark, glaring at the android with a dangerous look in his eye. Connor tilts his head. “Would you prefer rat infested?”

Hank narrows his eyes, grimacing nonetheless. “I fuckin hate you.”

Connor can’t help the faintest shadow of a smile that tugs at his lips. With a shake of his head, Hank’s attention returns to the warehouse, the rusted sign worn beyond recognition. At least to the human eye; there was still enough residue from the paint for the RK800 to confirm the location, despite the many years.

“I know you do, lieutenant.”

A middle finger is thrown over the older mans shoulder. His free hand taking hold of the door handle, he draws his weapon. Dust kicks up at their feet, the squeal of the hinges echoing off the graffitied walls.

Quiet steps are placed carefully amongst broken glass. Hank pulls one hand from the grip of his gun, his pointer finger aimed at the ceiling, drawing a circle into the air. Connor follows the order, scanning the small room with a flick of his eyes. The disturbance of dirt trailing through the door on the opposite wall is highlighted.

“There,” he says quietly, jutting his chin. Anderson takes the lead.

With the ceiling half collapsed on itself, rusted cross beams hang dangerously low, the sunken roof giving way to a darkened sky. The moonlight — one drag from an old cigar away from hazy — makes the room glow. Hank’s hand lays flat, making a sweeping motion towards the right side of the warehouse. Silently, Connor tips his head.

Parting from one another, each officer carefully makes their way through the building, scanning and searching for leads. Connor ducks beneath a shelving unit, one hand resting on the wall as he maneuvers quietly. He’s sure to miss the rebar haphazardly sticking out from the floor. He stands, but not before the remnants of a bloodstain is highlighted by his sensors.

Walsh, Chris

3 days old

Suspect is injured.

His record is littered with aggravated assault, theft, multiple drug charges, and battery. Violence is nothing new to Walsh, and from previous statements, he finds a certain appeal to the chaos. Got caught more than once, but was often let out on good behavior. There’s a soft curse from the other side of the building, Hank’s flashlight piercing the veiled darkness.

Scanners highlighting an otherwise dark corner, Connor finds himself standing in something akin to a home; a rat’s nest composed of unwanted trash, the bed nothing more than stained cardboard with a tattered and worn sweatshirt acting as a blanket. The android — clean and tidy in every sense of the word, with only a few strands of hair out of place — is so very juxtaposed to his surroundings. Crouching, Connor tilts his head left, eyes darting about for a trace of the suspect. There, on a soda can tipped on its side, it’s contents half spilt onto the floor, are smudges of fingerprints.

Walsh, Chris

7 hours old

“He’s been here, lieutenant,” he calls out. But the answer doesn’t come.

Looking over his shoulder, he stands slowly, carefully awaiting a smart comment or a grumble of disapproval, but there’s only the wind, a distant siren from somewhere in the city, and the tremble of a loaded gun.

“Lieutenant?”

Connor listens, sensors heightened to a degree, he isolates Hank’s heartbeat. It’s slow, steady, and it’s not the only one. The second pulse is wild, barely tamed by ragged breathing. Straightening, the android begins to move.

“Chris Walsh.” His voice is loud in the hollow building, smooth and demanding; dangerous on a calculated level. “Detroit Police, show yourself.”

Keeping the wall to his right, Connor silently makes his way towards Anderson, finding him on his side. The android drops, assessing the remnants of ketamine in an abandoned syringe, a needle mark in the man’s arm. A bruise begins to blossom on his neck, the ugly shade of purple dark against the silvery beard.

Connor grits his teeth, a half contained, “Shit,” escaping him. He radios in to the precinct.

Code 243, 11-41. Officer down.

A frustrated howl rips through the air, the ring of a gunshot piercing. “Where the fuck are you?!”

11-99. 1083 Wilson Avenue. Repeat: 11-99.

Ducking away from the unconscious officer, Connor finds the suspect standing in the spotlight of the broken roof, his eyes darting frantically. Given the levels of chemicals in the man’s system, Connor estimates Hank will wake up in two minutes and forty seven seconds. The android is several paces away before speaking.

“Chris-“ the suspect’s eyes find a spot in the darkness, gun pointed at the yellow — now red — ring of light “-put the gun down.”

“I could- I could kill you! Right now!”

The light touches Connor’s skin, and Walsh jumps. The shadows peel back with every slow step. “No,” the android says flatly, “you can’t.”

“I’m the one with a gun!” Connor nods, not furthering his agreement.  The suspect’s hand shakes, a tremor wracking his entire being. “There’s laws! Androids they-“ a shake of his head “-they can’t have weapons!”

“You’re right.” Hesitation. A smooth step closer. “There are laws. Plenty of which you’ve broken.”

Walsh bares his teeth. Knuckles pale against the black steel, he adjusts his grip, uncomfortable with its weight. Connor begins to circle him. Walsh turns in his place, frantic eyes never leaving the android.

Connor, as calm as he is efficient, watches the suspect, easily filing away every flaw. He’s dissecting him from five yards away. The bandage haphazardly wrapped around his bicep, the bloodstain dark, is most noticeable. Chris is ramabling by now — a desperate attempt at  justifying his actions.

“I’m- I’m sorry, okay? I never wanted- he owed me!” His pleas go unheard. “I didn’t have- have a choice!”

Estimated time of awakening for Lt. Anderson: fifty three seconds.

Reinforcements estimated time of arrival: three minutes and fourteen seconds.

Attack: 86% chance of success

Without further thought, Connor lunges forward. The gun goes off, missing it’s mark by inches and with a dramatic clatter, it skids across the floor. Programming takes over his movements; a dog, trained to be unforgivingly vicious. And Chris – poor, poor Chris – was the cat.

A whir of mechanisms within the android urge his movements, ducking beneath a wid swing. In turn, a knee is brought to the fugitive’s stomach, folding him over with a grunt of pain. Locking his jaw, a determined look settles on his face. He wraps his arms around Connor, lifting him off the ground and tackling him into a nearby shelving unit.

The pressure on his biocomponents is unwelcome and earns a groan. Walsh takes hold of the android’s shoulders, spinning him, and driving his head into the corner of the shelf. Blue blood easily spills. Before another blow can befall him, Connor braces himself, pushing back against Walsh’s hold. But he still has his momentum and slams his own nose into the android’s elbow.

He cradles his now broken nose, blood quickly flowing between his fingers. Connor turns. LED still a blaring red, thirium drips from his left brow, the liquid following the shape of his eye socket before rolling over his cheekbone and dripping off his jaw. If he needed to breathe, his chest would be heaving. He makes no effort to fix his crumpled (and now stained) shirt nor straighten his tie. Disheveled but nowhere near distraught, he suddenly fits his surroundings.

Incoming call: Detective Y/L/N.

He answers, hesitating when he hears a hushed yet frantic, “Connor?!”

“Detective?” His mouth doesn’t move, but his voice rings through all the same. You let out a choked breath. “I thought you-“

“I need your help,” you cut him off.

He can’t see you flinch at the pounding of the door, but he can hear the fear in your voice. Hank, from the other side of the room, groans.

“Now may not be the best time, Detective.”

His answer is cold, but Walsh is eyes the door behind him, feet shifting.

“Please! Please!” A fleeting thought occurs to him that’s he’s never seen, let alone heard, you cry. “Two guys broke in, Con. They’re twice-“ your voice cracks “-twice my size and I don’t think I can hold them off.”

Sirens close in around the building. Had the call not been directly wired into his head, he would’ve missed the way your voice died at the end. Walsh’s finger wrap deftly around an iron rod. Raising it above his head, he takes a swing which Connor narrowly misses.

“What is it they want?”

“I don’t know!” Venom taints your tone. “Lemme ask em real quick!”

Chris recovers, bringing the rod over Connor’s throat, forcing him to bend backwards if only slightly.

“Think, Y/N.” The android brings his elbow to the man’s rib cage, but his grip is firm. “How do you get out of this?”

There’s true terror in your voice now. “I don’t know! Connor, please! I need-“

You’re cut off by your own yelp, the door finally giving way, splinters flying. Sumo barks wildly. There’s a thud, the scuffle of feet, and the sounds of a fight.

“Detective?”

Now he’s worried. Hell, he’s scared. Flashlights flood the room and Walsh’s head snaps to the source. Panicking, he drops the rod all together, taking off towards the back corner.

“Y/N?!”

He says it out loud this time, but there’s no response. There’s a loud crack within his own head, followed by a sickening thump of something heavy hitting the carpet.

Time slows – no, it feels like it slows. Damn near coming to a halt as the sight of Walsh’s back, his feet carrying him towards freedom. But there’s also the silence that he so desperately wishes would leave him; an ache to hear your laugh, saying it was all a joke. It doesn’t come, and with one of Sumo’s cries cut short, he knows something is terribly wrong.

And yet, he hesitates.

[X] SAVE HER

[O] CHASE SUSPECT

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[igottheissue]

This Time Around 1

A strange woman Bucky is sure he knows but can’t fully recognize, picks him up after the fall of SHIELD. She claims to be friends with Steve and that she is here to help him. He can’t help but keep wondering where he knows her from; it’s definitely not through Steve Rogers. Can she help him be the man he wants to be or will the all too familiar struggles of being a super human overcome him?

Pairing: Bucky Barnes X OFC Rowan O’Connor Word Count: 3,610 Rating: M Masterlist Chapter 2 Taglist: @xmarveled @spidey-the-killer-queen

A shuddered breath accompanied by a low groan came from a disheveled bed across the small studio apartment. Rowan O’Connor looked up from the book held tightly in calloused, tanned hands. The owner of said hands calmly placed the book on the cushion beside her. Getting up slowly, she carefully walked over to the man occupying her bed; grabbing a bottle of water on the way.

As she neared the bed, she eyed the greasy brown-haired man cautiously; she was no fool. She knew exactly who he was as soon as she laid eyes on him two weeks ago. The silver bionic arm attached to the man's left shoulder had given him away instantly. No matter, she had known his face for years now; coming across him more than a few times.

That bionic arm had been the bane of her existence for what felt like most of her life. Sure, she had other missions that needed to be completed, but that damn glinting arm – red soviet star gleaming at her; was always top priority.

She calmly held the water bottle out in front of her. Troubled blue eyes looked up to her own before scanning every nook and cranny they could find of the small, square living space.

"Ostavaytes’ spokoynymi. Ya ne sobirayus’ prichnyat’ tebe bol." She watched with bated breath while the man’s eyes flew back to hers. They were startling blue. They held a lightness to them that she had never seen before.

"What?" His throat felt dry. How long had it been since he'd used it? He sat up a bit more before eying the water bottle warily. The woman cleared her throat before speaking again.

"I said, stay calm, James, I'm not going to hurt you." Bucky looked at her oddly, wondering why this woman was calling him by his first name, before deciding since she seemed to at least somewhat know him, the water bottle she was offering couldn't be all that hazardous. 

He took it roughly from her hands and tore the lid off, internally sighing from relief when it popped lightly within his grasp, revealing it was sealed and therefor, not poisoned. He briefly wondered why his mind went to whether or not a bottle of water would be poisoned before downing the contents quicker than he would have thought.

When was the last time he'd had something to eat? As the thought passed through his mind, his stomach growled, rather loudly. Both sets of eyes looked down at his abdomen. The woman, who had yet to reveal herself, chuckled lightly and headed over to the kitchen area. Bucky watched with slight confusion as she hummed to herself while she stuck some bread in a toaster.

She could feel the soldier's eyes on her back as she got the butter out of the fridge for the toast. Although she had told herself the man in her bed was the Winter Soldier, a man who had tried to eliminate her on countless occasions, it had seemed – at least at this moment in time, the eyes that had questioned her first statement since he had been placed in her bed were in fact not the deadly ones she had met before. No, the man currently in her bed was Bucky Barnes, war hero, best friend of Steve Rogers; who she knew was looking for the silver-armed super soldier in her apartment.

Bucky Barnes, at the moment that is, had no idea how he found himself in this situation. Rowan didn’t quite know what to think about that. She was expecting the cold blooded killer and now she had a guy who wouldn’t remember a damn thing, at least for the next day or so, until something triggered a fit. 

She knew how it went. Everything would be fine, then a memory from his time as the Soldier would break through his mind while reading through a magazine or seeing something in a storefront. There was no rhyme or reason why the fits and memories came about, but Rowan knew they would come. They had for her.

The toast popping up suddenly had Bucky gripping the sheets nervously. Where was he? What happened to Steve and their team? He looked around once more. The warm breeze coming from the opened window above the bed he was residing in somewhat answered his question of where he was; not in the icy countryside where he last remembered being with his team. 

Everything in this apartment looked weird also. Nowhere he had ever been looked as shiny and new as the things in here. Even the clothing the woman had on were weird looking. That raised even more questions. He looked back up to the woman's face as she turned around and began speaking again.

"You're in Chicago, by the way." She said as she came closer, a plate of buttered toast and a glass of orange juice in her hands. Bucky noted her accent, the same British lilt to her voice as Peggy Carter, but with a higher notes on the end of some of her words, he couldn’t quite pin point where he had heard it from. She continued as she sat on a small stool next to the bed,

"Do you have any idea who I am? What year it is? Who you are?" She couldn't keep the questions from tumbling out. She hadn't been expecting him to be waking up like this; confused, pale, and visibly shaking. No, she had expected a bionic hand reaching for her neck. She was familiar with that situation.

He didn't answer her at first, seeming more interested in the glass of orange juice and toast that she was still holding onto, as if waiting to reward him from any answers he gave her. She sighed quietly before slowly handing him the glass and plate.

"I'm sure you're probably hungrier for more than toast and O.J., but trust me, after what you've been through, give it a few days before you try more than this." The auburn haired woman spoke softly, not wanting to spook Bucky. He had grabbed the glass and plate as soon as she gestured for him to. By the time she was done with her statement, he had already finished the orange juice and was halfway done with the second piece of toast.

Her jaw slacked open slightly in surprise at how fast he had sucked the food and drink up. She inched her stool back a bit with a pinched face and grabbed the small trash bin next to the bed. He looked quizzically at it for a second before shooting out his left arm for it. She hoped the crack he made to the bin didn't reach down far enough to let the vomit leak through onto the rug. 

He looked sheepishly back up to her after emptying the small amount of sustenance he had just inhaled, gladly accepted the paper towel from the woman, and wiped his face off before slowly taking in the object holding onto the waste basket. Taking a sharp breath in, the woman took the bin away slowly before speaking.

"James, please remain calm. I can't help you if you freak out, okay?" Bucky hardly paid attention to the woman in from of him. He dropped the half eaten toast from his right hand and continued to glare at the silver arm attached to his shoulder. 

What happened to him? Who did this? Where was Steve? And why was this woman still calling him James? His breathing started getting shallow and his vision grew black around the edges. Pain. All over; it started behind his eyes, but continued until it spread, white hot, throughout his entire body.

The warm apartment disappeared as Bucky found himself cold, so incredibly cold. His eyes could barely make anything out. His vision was blurry, and there seemed to be frost all around him. If he concentrated hard enough, he could just see a figure through the ever-thickening frost. 

A man in a black business suit was glaring at him with a hopeful look on his face. His gray fringed red hair stood out bright among the dimly lit room. The cold was growing, his vision fading yet again. Then warm hands reached out and grasped both his shoulders. His mind did not think. His body only reacted.

Rowan could only watch as Bucky grabbed her right shoulder with his left hand and her left thigh with his right hand and toss her like a lawn chair across the apartment. She landed roughly on the coffee table, thanking her lucky stars it wasn’t glass. It almost didn’t break under her weight. 

Rowan didn’t slow down as she rolled from the crumpled coffee table and jumped back up, twisting her body as she landed back on her feet. Just in time to deflect a rather roughly thrown left hook. The Winter Soldier’s bionic arm groaned under the force of hitting the woman’s right arm.

Taking advantage of his surprise, Rowan grabbed hold of his right shoulder and heaved herself up, flipping and landing on Bucky’s shoulders. Bucky stumbled backwards and grabbed both her thighs while trying to pry her off. Rowan flexed her legs tightly to hold on and landed blow after blow to Bucky’s face. After four elbows to the head the Winter Soldier fell back onto the couch, dazed, but not knocked out. 

Rowan jumped off quickly, taking advantage of his quieted state to grab hold of his shoulders once more, softer this time. She took a deep breath, silently thanked Natasha for teaching her signature move (a rather funny story for another time), and began trying to talk the Winter Soldier back down into the form of Bucky Barnes.

"I need you to focus on me. Breathe deeply, there. Now breathe out. James? Look at me. There you go. How many windows are in this room?" This was an exercise that Natasha had used countless times to help Rowan from going nuclear when she started to have a fit from a memory breaking through. It worked most of the time. 

Bucky’s eyes snapped back to the woman kneeling in front of him in between his legs. How did he end up on the couch? He didn’t remember moving to the couch. What happened? Why was this God-forsaken, weird-accented woman still calling him James?

"Why do you keep calling me James?"

"Answer my question."

"My name is Bucky."

"Bucky. Answer my question." He was sweating, and had a rather splitting headache he didn’t remember having. Sky blue eyes pulled away from emerald ones and tried to calmly count the amount of windows.

"Four." He stated, sounding calmer than he felt.

"How many doors?"

"Two."

"Good. My name is Rowan O'Connor. You seem not to remember me, which, considering our past is probably a good thing." She finished with a slight smile to her red-stained lips and took her hands off his shoulders. Standing up, she wiped some imaginary dirt off of her shorts before making her way to the love seat across from the couch Bucky was sitting on. He eyed the splintered coffee table suspiciously, but didn’t say anything.

"I found you two weeks ago lying face down in a dry creek bed in Virginia. You'd been shot twice; your right shoulder and your abdomen. Don't bother looking for any wounds. Our bodies heal faster than most." Bucky was trying to process the information. What did she mean by 'our bodies'? He couldn't wrap his head around any of this. Too many questions were going through his muddled brain. He took a deep breath, trying to calm himself. He decided to start with a simple question first.

Rowan had sat back as comfortably as she could with cracked ribs after relaying the information to her fellow super soldier. She knew he had to have a million questions bobbing around in his head; who was she, why was she here, where did this arm come from, why couldn't he remember anything; but Rowan was very surprised by the first question Bucky voiced.

"How did you know about the food?" His voice came out low and gravelly still, even after the orange juice and water; clearly it was sore from not using it for at least half a month. Bucky noticed some hesitation before a quiet answer emerged from her lips.

"Let's just say I've… had some personal experience in this field before." He nodded in understanding, nearly choking on the thickness in the air that the seemingly simple question had brought on. Her nearly palpable nervousness about the topic gave him some much-needed confidence in the situation. It seemed, at least a little bit, that he wasn’t alone.

"You asked me earlier if I knew who you were. I don't know you. I mean, I don’t think I do. There’s glimpses. You’re eyes. I know I’ve seen them before... But I don’t have a name. Well, I have a word. But it isn’t a name, ‘least not where I’m from. But you know me. And it seems that I’m at your mercy," He stretched his body out a bit before grimacing. 

Rowan stilled, just barely, she wasn’t sure if Bucky noticed. He had a word. There was a dictionary of words out there that he could remember about her. She wished it was something trivial, but she had a sickening feeling it was the one word she didn’t want anyone to remember. There was only a handful of people still alive that knew that word. When Rowan didn’t continue, Bucky spoke again, not feeling comfortable in the silence.

"And if what you said about where and how you found me was true, it seems you might be the one to thank for me being alive right now." He paused with a smirk. Rowan could see why so many women had swooned over him back in his Howling Commando days. She didn't really have a reply to his latest statement so she just looked at him, amazed at the difference brainwashing someone does to their features. 

She remembered hard, strict jawlines. Stoic, dark blue eyes with thick, creased eyebrows. A five o’clock shadow that seemed to cover more than just his lower face. That shadow covered his mind, his heart. Bucky’s smirk faded a bit, growing impatient with the woman’s stillness. It was almost perverted the way her green eyes were moving over his face. So he tried again,

"Besides the obvious," he raised his left arm as indication to his biggest question,

"If you don't mind I'd like to know who my savior is, and not just a pretty name with an even prettier face." He lifted his light blue eyes slowly to meet Rowan's. Rowan raised her eyebrows slightly at the openness and willingness to speak coming from a man who had hardly spoken two words to her since they had first met over forty years ago.

Could she trust this man enough to give him the information he seemed so desperate to want? Was there any way he could have been assigned to eliminate her as his mission after DC? She thought hard while he waited for her to speak. She had seen him at his deadliest. There was no way that he was under any type of whatever brainwash thing HYDRA was known for; his eyes were too bright, his features too expressive; for now at least. 

And she knew for a fact that no one working for HYDRA knew about what happened when Assets had been out of the freezer for too long. She knew the difference between someone who had been put on a mission and someone who didn't know what the hell was going on. So she went with her gut feeling.

"Well, I'm a lot like you. Actually we fought against each other more than once in the past forty years. It's-"

"Forty years? Listen lady, I’m only 26. You can’t be any older than I am. What I said earlier about your eyes, hey, I’m just saying, lots of dames have pretty green eyes.”

"If you'd let me finish…" She gave him a wry smile that showed a small dimple on her left cheek. He shut his mouth slowly.

"Like I was saying. It's gonna be kinda hard to explain who I am without first explaining who you are. So let’s start there and we’ll see how you’re feeling about my story afterwards, yeah?" Rowan rose from her position on the loveseat, deciding this was a conversation for the couch instead. His gaze followed her every move. Bucky was thinking hard about where they would have fought against each other; if she were even telling the truth. Did that mean she was working with the Nazi's? What year was it? She said over the last forty years?! 

He took a breath… People had thought what happened to Steve was impossible, hell if he admitted, he had even had some questions about the whole thing. But he saw it with his own eyes. Maybe what he was about to hear wasn’t as crazy or impossible as he initially thought. He watched her wearily while she got comfortable on the couch next to him. He could feel the warmth radiating off her body. He enjoyed the warmth.

"Don't hurt yourself trying to think. Just sit back and relax a little, it's gonna be a long morning." Bucky looked out one of the windows, only to be met with a brick wall of another building not ten feet away. But he could tell by the ever lightening of the red bricks that the sun had started to rise, though the wind creaking at the window panes teased a storm coming through.

While Bucky was busy looking out the windows, Rowan quickly pulled a syringe out from under her, making it look like she was adjusting an ill fitted cushion. She didn’t want to take any more chances of Mr. Barnes having a fit while talking about the last forty years. The light blue liquid was the only thing she had known to exist that could take someone like Steve Rogers, The Winter Soldier, or herself down in under ten seconds. 

Once again, something to thank Natasha for, maybe… Tony did the majority of the work, but she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of a big thank you until she had tried it out properly. As it was, her body visibly relaxed when the dark haired man turned his head back to her and adjusted his seat on the opposite end of the brown leather couch.

"Okay, so… Who am I? I mean what exactly do you mean by that? I know who I am. I'm Sergeant James Buchannan Barnes, 107th, Howling Commandos. I was born in Shelbyville, Indiana in 1917 before moving to Brooklyn when my dad changed jobs. After I graduated high school I was drafted into the army.

“My best friend, Steve, he didn’t get in with me at first, but then they made that serum thing and we fought together, in the Howling Commandos. Never married, just a mom, dad, and little sister. I'm not sure what else you need to know about me…" he paused, taking in a deep breath and running his right hand through his shoulder length hair; still afraid to move the thing that had apparently replaced his left arm. Rowan held her breath, waiting for him to continue; she didn't want to overstep any boundaries he might have. When he didn't elaborate on himself any further, she decided to step in.

"Well, Bucky, it seems I've got a lot to catch you up on." And so the day passed on slowly for the two super human subjects. Rowan relaying The Winter Soldier's history that she had been forced to learn over her years as a soldier fighting "The Good Fight" against him, filling him in on some facts about herself, but leaving most of it out. Bucky listened closely to every word, anxiety growing with each passing hour.

-TTA-

Steve Rogers, a.k.a. Captain America, paced back and forth nervously in front of the many screens decorating the walls of Tony Stark’s lab. The self-proclaimed genius-billionaire-playboy-philanthropist had graciously opened his home to the remaining Avengers after the fall of SHIELD and HYDRA. The Iron Man himself was nowhere to be found this morning, having stayed the night over at Pepper’s house (She insisted on keeping her penthouse overlooking Central Park for the times Tony drove her just a wee bit bonkers). 

Sam was upstairs, still sleeping. Natasha sat in the middle of all the computer screens, every once in a while tapping rapidly on one keyboard or another. Not being able to keep the motion of Steve pacing rapidly out of her peripheral vision, she spun around in her chair and glared at him, stopping him in his tracks. The innocent look he gave her almost made her laugh despite the situation. She took a calming breath, he wasn’t doing this to annoy her. He was just worried about his friend.

She had tried to convince Steve to let it go, but she couldn’t do that with a clear conscience because she actually liked Steve, and since she enjoyed his innocent company most of the time, she couldn’t keep the fact that she was seventy-two percent sure where The Winter Soldier was. 

Well, at least who he was with. That’s probably the biggest reason she wasn’t freaking out that a Nazi super soldier was on the loose. If anyone could handle him, it was Rowan.

[sonicrainicorn]

Anything For You

For previous one-shot click here (go down the rabbit hole while you’re at it)

Words: 2550 Desc.: Logan is really bad at feelings. He can talk the ear off of anybody, but once emotions are thrown into the mix he forgets complete sentences. Maybe that’s why he connects to the twins first. TW: None

It’s nothing but fluff in here

///

Four years old.

That’s how old Virgil and Roman were when they came into the lives of Logan and Patton. They were tiny and scared and too young to know what was happening but old enough to realize it was important. They didn’t talk for a good portion of their first day home. It wasn’t until a few days after that they became more comfortable and, surprisingly, they opened up to Logan first.

Virgil saw him reading an old, worn out copy of The Phantom Tollbooth and became interested. Logan didn’t know what sparked the curiosity. The cover was rather simple and the words couldn’t have been recognizable. All it held was sentiment at this point.

Nevertheless, Virgil was intrigued and that meant Roman was too. In the early days, the two were so close that Thomas referred to them as the twins from The Shining (Logan thought it was amusing but Patton disagreed). They tended to do everything together -- plus they weren’t into that whole speaking thing for a while which lead them to stare. And that meant they stared at Logan while he was reading.

He lowered his book enough to see two mirror images standing there. It was a little unnerving. “Is there something you two need?”

Virgil pointed at the book while Roman asked, “What’re you reading?”

Logan wondered for a moment if twin telepathy was a real thing. “Uh, The Phantom Tollbooth.”

Virgil and Roman glanced at each other, prompting Roman to ask another question. “Haven’t you read that a long time?”

Maybe they were the twins from The Shining after all. “If you’re wondering if I’ve read this a lot recently, then yes I have.” He had been reading it since the day Roman and Virgil came home. It wasn’t a long book or anything -- in fact, he had re-read it about four times in the past few days. It was a book he always read to calm himself down or make himself feel better. His mother used to read it as a bedtime story.

“Why?”

Logan hesitated. “It’s a good book.” It was. Even after every turn and plot development had been revealed, it was still a great book.

“Can you read it?” Virgil spoke this time. His voice contrasted Roman’s in that it wasn’t confident or loud.

“You want me to read it to you?” Logan didn’t hide the surprise in his voice.

The twins nodded in unison.

“Um…” It wasn’t as if Logan could say no. Well, he could, but it wouldn’t have been nice. He had never shared this book with anyone other than Thomas. Reading it aloud would be the equivalent to telling a deep, dark secret. This was the book that grounded him and helped him through the most difficult times in his life -- Patton barely understood what he kept it around for. He could suggest another book -- one that made him feel less vulnerable -- or he could grant their first request.

“Would you like to join me on the couch, then?”

Logan flipped to the beginning as the twins climbed onto the couch; they sat next to each other, of course. Logan hesitated once more before beginning the story.

The next day, they wanted Logan to read to them again. And again and again, until Logan was reading to them every day.

All the reading lead to the twins talking more. They would ask Logan questions or make comments on the character’s actions. Once, Logan had a mini-debate with Virgil over something in Inkheart. They started acting like normal kids rather than twins one might see at the end of a hallway.

But Logan refused to think it was because of him.

“Come on, Logan,” Patton almost begged. “I tried talking to them for days and all I got were quiet mumbles from Roman. All you did was read to them and they suddenly know complete sentences.” He grabbed Thomas’s arm when he walked into the room. “Please convince him -- he’s killing me.”

The little family was at Thomas’s house for the day. All three grownups had the day off and decided to spend it together. Besides, Thomas wanted to see how his nephews were doing. The first time he met them they were too shy (or afraid) to really come out of their room.

“Well there is an improvement,” Thomas mentioned as he sat down to join the couple. “They’re both messing around with the piano in the back instead of staring blankly at a wall.” He smiled. “They also told me they want to see all the Disney movies I have.”

Logan quirked a brow. “They specifically asked for Disney?”

“Technically, they pointed at the bookcase and said they wanted to watch those, but that’s where all the Disney ones are kept.”

“See, Logan?” Patton interjected. “They even talk to Thomas now -- and they’re showing interest in stuff. You helped make them feel comfortable.”

“Nonsense.” Logan took a sip of coffee. “It was only natural that they open up to us after a few days together.”

Patton groaned and put his head on the table. “He’s been like this all day.”

“Is there a reason?” Thomas asked. He looked a bit amused at this being an issue at all.

“He hates being sentimental.”

“Wow,” Logan deadpanned.

Patton raised his head. “Logan, I love you very much, but you really do hate showing that you can be soft.”

Thomas snorted and Logan crossed his arms. “I just don’t see how my reading has anything to do with it,” Logan quipped. “It has nothing to do with me being soft.”

“You read them The Phantom Tollbooth!” Patton waved his arms for emphasis. “You never even let me read that.”

Logan’s face began to heat up. “Th-they asked --”

“I’ve asked.”

“Well, that just kind of…” Logan took another sip of his coffee as he trailed off. It may or may not have been longer on purpose.

Patton pouted.

“You guys are adorable,” Thomas mused. He looked at them in a similar manner to how someone might look at kittens. “But I really think we should have a movie marathon instead of sitting around talking.”

~~~

It took several weeks for Virgil and Roman to accept that they were apart of a new family. After four years of only knowing life with a single mother, it must have been rather hard for them to transition. For the first couple days, it didn’t seem as if they understood that Logan and Patton were their new parents -- regardless of them being told before.

The first time one of them called Patton “Dad”, he almost cried. While Logan agreed that it was good that the twins were seeing themselves as part of the family, he thought crying in front of them might have been a little silly (though when he was called “Daddy” for the first time he choked on his own spit)

Their house was no longer filled with awkward mumbles or overly encouraging words, but with laughter and conversations. They were all trying their best with what they had been given and it was working out in their favor.

About a month later, Patton had an idea.

“Logan,” he poked his head around the corner into the living room. “I think I found something the kids might like.”

Logan looked up from his laptop with a raised brow and an unamused expression. “As much as that might be interesting, I’m in the middle of something. Can’t you show them yourself? They’re right here.” He went back to typing.

“Yeah, well, I think you’re gonna want to see this.”

The tone in Patton’s voice made Logan suspicious. He paused his progress to see what Patton might be planning, and his eyes widened when it was brought out.

“Is that a guitar?” Roman squealed. His pronunciation was a little funny but the word got out okay.

Logan snapped his laptop shut. He kept that thing hidden for a reason. “How did you even find that?” He held his voice level to avoid upsetting the twins.

“It’s not like it was hidden very well.” Patton winked.

“I assumed you wouldn’t go looking for it.”

“Well, you know what they say about assuming.” Patton grinned and held up the instrument as if to display it. “What do you think?”

Logan stared at it for a moment. He hadn’t touched that thing in years. Dust clung onto it like memories that would never really go away. “No.”

“What?” There were three different interpretations of the word.

“I said no.” Logan stood up with his laptop tucked under his arm. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have some work to finish.” He didn’t wait to hear any objections. He walked away and into his office where he remained for the rest of the day.

By nightfall, Logan decided to come out. He felt a little upset with himself at how he handled the situation. In hindsight, it was kind of overdramatic. There was no reason for him to deny it the way that he did. It would have been much better to explain his reasoning rather than retreating to avoid confrontation. With a sigh, he opened the door to leave.

In front of him was the guitar. A sticky note attached to it reading “sorry for bothering you :(“ in Patton's curvy writing.

Logan frowned at it. He crumpled up the note and tossed it in the trash. He didn't want to think about that -- he wanted to sleep -- but the guitar was still there. It would always be there. Logan couldn't get rid of that. No matter how much he wanted to...

He contemplated for a second or two before grabbing it.

There was a night light on in the living room. Patton put it there so it would never be completely dark. In a situation like this, Logan was glad for it. When he sat down on the couch there was enough light to see the strings on the guitar.

Logan strummed it once and cringed at how out of tune it sounded. No matter how many years that passed, he would always remember how to tune a guitar, he was sure of it. It may have taken a little bit, but he did get it tuned. When he strummed it, it sounded a lot better. Not perfect but better.

He didn't play anything. Not yet, anyway. He ran his hand along the front body of the guitar, leaving a streak of where dust used to be. He couldn't place the exact moment he began to despise this instrument, but he could remember when he first began learning it. Many, many years ago…

Logan’s hands instinctively moved to the correct position on the guitar. His fingers were frozen on the chord to the start of the song. If he strummed right now then that would be it. He would acknowledge that this was his -- had always been his. He'd be forced to come to terms with the past he wished he could let die. In the end, he decided, it was best to let the past aid in paving the future.

It was a little rocky at first. After years of never touching an instrument, he might have been a bit rusty. But he figured it out. The months of learning and memorizing the song all that time ago came back to him. He didn't even have to think about where to move his fingers next -- it was all muscle memory.

He started singing under his breath to make the song feel more complete, despite the fact that his fingers were forming the melody already.

It wasn't until he heard someone join him at the third verse that he froze up.

“Patton?” Logan turned to the doorway. There stood a sheepish Patton and two mesmerized twins. He felt his face heat up. “I wasn’t that loud, was I?”

“No,” Patton answered. “But we heard you.” He flipped the light switch for the living room. “I kinda wanted to see how far you would go.”

The twins walked over to Logan while Patton stayed at the doorway. Roman studied the guitar with interest, but Virgil looked straight at Logan.

“Can you play again?” He asked. Roman snapped out of his daze to nod in agreement.

“Uh…” It wasn’t as if he could say no. Well, he could have, but still. He hadn’t played in this long for a reason. Was he willing to forget all that to give his family what they wanted? “M-maybe another song.”

Patton gasped and ran into the living room. He leaped onto the chair beside the couch and leaned over the armrest so that he would be face-to-face with Logan. “Can you do Hey There Delilah?”

Logan sighed. “Patton --”

“Please?” Patton brought out his best-begging face. “Please, please, please? It’s such a cute song and I love it when you do it.”

Logan turned away in an attempt to hide his burning face. He had played for Patton a few times before deciding to give it up (for what he thought would be for good). He hated singing -- still hates it -- but “Hey There Delilah” was one of the rare songs he ever let Patton hear him sing.

It was stupidly simple to play, yet a lot harder to sing. Logan always tried to sing as quietly as he could because he despised how he sounded. The swells in the vocals made it a little hard for that, forcing him to have to sing louder than normal. He hated it, though Patton loved it. Patton loved everything about Logan, it seemed.

“Fine,” Logan mumbled. “Just don’t look at me like… that.” He motioned his hand in Patton’s direction but refused to make eye contact.

“Like what? Like you’re my everything?”

“Yes.”

Patton leaned forward more. He placed his hand under Logan’s chin to lift and move it towards his direction. Their noses were touching. “But I don’t know how else to look at you.”

Logan forgot how to breathe for a moment. He didn’t pay much attention to how the heat spread to his ears. All he could focus on, at that moment, was Patton. They were so close. No matter how many years they had been together, being this close to Patton always caused butterflies to flutter in Logan’s stomach.

“Ew,” a little voice murmured.

The two turned away from each other to see Virgil sticking his tongue out in disgust and Roman covering his eyes.

Patton chucked and returned to his original position. “Sorry, kiddos.” He winked at Logan. “You wanna show us what you can do?”

So Logan did.

From that point on, anything the twins requested is what Logan did. It wasn’t that he couldn’t say no (he was very capable of that) he figured it would be best to open up. They were doing that for him so he guessed he should do the same.

[jurassicraptorcat]

Ok Google

((So....just so everyone knows I’m currently writing a rather long fic about what if all the markiplier egos were actually Five Nights at Freddys robots who got corrupted and then saved. Then I saw @tomiyeee ‘s lovely picture of tortured Google and got inspired. Tomiyeee I apologize for this ahead of time.))

((WARNINGS FOR TORTURE AND THE ROBOT VERSION OF BLOOD))

“Are you going to talk now you piece of trash?” His captor demanded.

Google stared down at his broken leg and watched as the oil stain on his pants grew larger. He replied, “I have been talking this entire time.”

The blow to the face was expected,his captor had done this many times ever since Google was captured. His hair being grabbed so his captor could drag him up and look him in the face was new.

“Sassy piece of shit aren’t ya?” The captor asked.

Google responded, “A rhetorical qu-.”

A knife the man was hiding in his hand behind him slammed into Google’s left eye. Errors began popping up faster than Google’s processor system could handle.

There was a noise escaping Google’s mouth which Google concluded was another error brought on by the damage the knife was doing to sensitive circuitry.

The captor grinned nastily at Google and asked, “Where are the rest of your kind?”

“N-n-no,” Google stuttered out. His systems were becoming overloaded with error messages.

The knife was twisted in Google’s eye socket slowly forcing a sound from his mouth like screeching metal.

“Tell us where the others are,” The captor asked again forcefully.

Google grit his teeth before responding, “N-never.”

“Tell us!” The captor shouted. The knife was slid out partially only to be jammed back into Google’s eye. More errors popped, to many for Google to handle. His processors were overheating trying to keep up.

In Google’s remaining eye a terrifying shade of blue popped up.

Google’s system crashed.

Google rebooted at half the speed he usually did. His processors were still overloaded with flashing errors. He was struggling to do even the simplest of tasks like opening a file.

It took enormous effort and patience for Google to locate and shut down the sensors in his left eye. Almost half the error messages disappeared.

Relief filled Google as his processor speed finally began to quicken to its usual pace.

Footsteps coming down the hall had Google tensing up in preparation. The door clanged open but Google kept a straight face even as oil dripped from his ruined eye socket onto his jeans Everest had helped him buy. He counted the drips as a way to see how long time was passing.

“Ok Google.”

Google felt his code surge forward to take control. In this he was powerless as his captor prepared him for a new round of interrogation for any scrap of information he could gain.

Something was thrown onto the floor on front of Google who glanced up and froze. Bing lay crumpled in a heap not moving an inch.

Their captor stood over Bing holding the prototype taser Google had been tinkering with. A shiver of dread went down Google’s spine at the implications of why Bing wasn’t moving.

Bing was the youngest of them after only being just discovered and activated a few short months ago. “Try and look after him,” Everest had asked Google when Bing could be activated without him screaming in pain and fear, “He’s gonna need you guys to teach him how the world doesn’t have to be so scary.”

Google had failed at the only objective Everest had ever asked of him.

Their captor grinned at Google and wiggled the taser menacingly, “Just had to use this bad boy once and he hasn’t moved since although he makes a great squeaky toy.” He kicked Bing who whimpered but still didn’t move.

Google growled out a, “Stop it,” at their captor who grinned at getting a reaction from Google finally.

“Go-oo-ogle?” Bing stuttered out.

Before Google could respond their captor kicked Bing again, harder this time and eliciting a small shriek from Bing. Google yanked at his restraints and their captor noticed.

“You gonna tell us yet their trash?” Their captor questioned.Google grit his teeth in silence.

Their captor snorted and turned to Bing, “Just know this is your fault now.”

He began stomping on Bing’s hand ignoring Bing screaming in pain. Google threw himself against the restraints feeling them start to give. With one last stomp to Bing’s ruined hand their captor stopped and left Bing crying in pain.

“Now there’s a face to look at,” Their captor commented. Google bared his teeth at their captor.

Their captor stepped towards Google while pulling the taser out, ”Let’s start this part-”

They were interrupted by the door banging open and a grunt running in calling for the captor, “Boss we have an issue!”

“What issue!?” Their captor snarled.

The grunt cowered away, “Chuck said it was a Code Love?”

“Fuck!” Their captor yelled, “Well come on then!”

Google watched impatiently as their captor stormed out with the grunt and slammed the door behind them. He waited until their footsteps were gone before calling for Bing.

“Bing.”

He received silence. Dread filled Google.

“Bing!” Google called louder.

Google pulled and yanked at the restraints until he felt the metal give. With one last yank his hands were free.

There was shouting coming from down the hallway that Google ignored. He shuffled forward as quickly as he could with one broken leg and the other damaged.

Bing still wasn’t making a sound and Google rushed to turn him over onto his back. His eyes were closed but Google put a hand on Bing’s chest and felt his core humming.

Relief swept through him. Bing had merely crashed the same as Google did from the errors.

The shouting had moved from down the hallway to right on the other side of the door. Google watched the door warily as something banged against it repeatedly.

The door slammed open and two grunts came stumbling in. One fell immediately as a vase was thrown into the grunt’s head. The other was stumbling away in panic.

Someone screamed from the hallway only to be abruptly shut up. With a war cry Everest came sprinting into the room and jumped onto the grunt still standing and used their momentum to bring the grunt down. They brought her thighs around the struggling grunt’s neck and began choking him out.

“Everest?” Google called.

Everest looked up from where they were still slowly crushing the grunt’s windpipe, “Oh hey Goo- What the fuck did they do to you both!?”

Everest stood from where the grunt was passed out and hopefully not dead to make their way over.

“Google! Bing!” Familiar voices called.

The rest of Google’s robot family minus Dark and Host came crashing into the room in a panic. Everest winked at Google and mouthed, “Taking care of the leader.”

Google was swarmed by Oliver, Green and Red who were scanning him for damage reports and horrified by the results. Oliver was starting to tear up.

“Hey,” Google said while putting a hand on Oliver’s head, “I’m alive. I can be fixed. For right now go concentrate on Bing.”

Oliver protested, “But!”

“I got this boy's,” Everest interrupted with a light touch to their heads.

Reluctantly they left Google’s side to go to Bing and check him over. Everest kneeled down next to Google.

They cupped Google’s face in their hands and tilted his head back and inspect the damage to his eye. Google flinched away when they wiped away oil that was still dribbling out.

“Sorry, to close to the sensors?” Everest asked. Google nodded and Everest took extra care as she probed around his eye.

“I ruined the pants you bought me,” Google informed Everest. He was aching from his failure at his first objective.

Everest snorted, “I’m not worried about the pants Google we can go buy new ones when you’re all fixed up.”

“I failed at-”

“You didn’t fail at anything Google,” Everest interrupted, “Sometimes shitty situations happen and there’s nothing you can do about it no matter how hard you try. But that’s why you have us.”

They smiled at Google, “Are you ready to go home?”

Behind Everest, Bing was just coming back online and Google could hear him complaining to the others, “He broke my sunglasses! AND MY HAND! Bro that ain’t cool!” There would be trauma to deal with later but family brought a sense of safety that let Bing escape from reality for a bit.

Google took a deep, unnecessary breath and felt a tension inside him loosen as Oliver and Red came back over to either side of Google, “Yes, let’s head home.”

[2ptonpt]

This Time Around Ch. 1

A strange woman Bucky is sure he knows but can’t fully recognize, picks him up after the fall of SHIELD. She claims to be friends with Steve and that she is here to help him. He can't help but keep wondering where he knows her from; it's definitely not through Steve Rogers.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes/ OC(Rowan O'Connor)

Word Count: 3,610 (I like long chapters sorry)

Rating: M

Masterlist

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

A shuddered breath accompanied by a low groan came from a disheveled bed across the small studio apartment. Rowan O’Connor looked up from the book held tightly in calloused, tanned hands. The owner of said hands calmly placed the book on the cushion beside her. Getting up slowly, she carefully walked over to the man occupying her bed; grabbing a bottle of water on the way.

As she neared the bed, she eyed the greasy brown-haired man cautiously; she was no fool. She knew exactly who he was as soon as she laid eyes on him two weeks ago. The silver bionic arm attached to the man's left shoulder had given him away instantly. No matter, she had known his face for years now; coming across him more than a few times.

That bionic arm had been the bane of her existence for what felt like most of her life. Sure, she had other missions that needed to be completed, but that damn glinting arm – red soviet star gleaming at her; was always top priority.

She calmly held the water bottle out in front of her. Troubled blue eyes looked up to her own before scanning every nook and cranny they could find of the small, square living space.

"Ostavaytes’ spokoynymi. Ya ne sobirayus’ prichnyat’ tebe bol." She watched with bated breath while the man’s eyes flew back to hers. They were startling blue. They held a lightness to them that she had never seen before.

"What?" His throat felt dry. How long had it been since he'd used it? He sat up a bit more before eying the water bottle warily. The woman cleared her throat before speaking again.

"I said, stay calm, James, I'm not going to hurt you." Bucky looked at her oddly, wondering why this woman was calling him by his first name, before deciding since she seemed to at least somewhat know him, the water bottle she was offering couldn't be all that hazardous. He took it roughly from her hands and tore the lid off, internally sighing from relief when it popped lightly within his grasp, revealing it was sealed and therefor, not poisoned. He briefly wondered why his mind went to whether or not a bottle of water would be poisoned before downing the contents quicker than he would have thought.

When was the last time he'd had something to eat? As the thought passed through his mind, his stomach growled, rather loudly. Both sets of eyes looked down at his abdomen. The woman, who had yet to reveal herself, chuckled lightly and headed over to the kitchen area. Bucky watched with slight confusion as she hummed to herself while she stuck some bread in a toaster.

She could feel the soldier's eyes on her back as she got the butter out of the fridge for the toast. Although she had told herself the man in her bed was the Winter Soldier, a man who had tried to eliminate her on countless occasions, it had seemed – at least at this moment in time, the eyes that had questioned her first statement since he had been placed in her bed were in fact not the deadly ones she had met before. No, the man currently in her bed was Bucky Barnes, war hero, best friend of Steve Rogers; who she knew was looking for the silver-armed super soldier in her apartment.

Bucky Barnes, at the moment that is, had no idea how he found himself in this situation. Rowan didn’t quite know what to think about that. She was expecting the cold blooded killer and now she had a guy who wouldn’t remember a damn thing, at least for the next day or so, until something triggered a fit. She knew how it went. Everything would be fine, then a memory from his time as the Soldier would break through his mind while reading through a magazine or seeing something in a storefront. There was no rhyme or reason why the fits and memories came about, but Rowan knew they would come. They had for her.

The toast popping up suddenly had Bucky gripping the sheets nervously. Where was he? What happened to Steve and their team? He looked around once more. The warm breeze coming from the opened window above the bed he was residing in somewhat answered his question of where he was; not in the icy countryside where he last remembered being with his team. Everything in this apartment looked weird also. Nowhere he had ever been looked as shiny and new as the things in here. Even the clothing the woman had on were weird looking. That raised even more questions. He looked back up to the woman's face as she turned around and began speaking again.

"You're in Chicago, by the way." She said as she came closer, a plate of buttered toast and a glass of orange juice in her hands. Bucky noted her accent, the same British lilt to her voice as Peggy Carter, but with a higher notes on the end of some of her words, he couldn’t quite pin point where he had heard it from. She continued as she sat on a small stool next to the bed,

"Do you have any idea who I am? What year it is? Who you are?" She couldn't keep the questions from tumbling out. She hadn't been expecting him to be waking up like this; confused, pale, and visibly shaking. No, she had expected a bionic hand reaching for her neck. She was familiar with that situation.

He didn't answer her at first, seeming more interested in the glass of orange juice and toast that she was still holding onto, as if waiting to reward him from any answers he gave her. She sighed quietly before slowly handing him the glass and plate.

"I'm sure you're probably hungrier for more than toast and O.J., but trust me, after what you've been through, give it a few days before you try more than this." The auburn haired woman spoke softly, not wanting to spook Bucky. He had grabbed the glass and plate as soon as she gestured for him to. By the time she was done with her statement, he had already finished the orange juice and was halfway done with the second piece of toast.

Her jaw slacked open slightly in surprise at how fast he had sucked the food and drink up. She inched her stool back a bit with a pinched face and grabbed the small trash bin next to the bed. He looked quizzically at it for a second before shooting out his left arm for it. She hoped the crack he made to the bin didn't reach down far enough to let the vomit leak through onto the rug. He looked sheepishly back up to her after emptying the small amount of sustenance he had just inhaled, gladly accepted the paper towel from the woman, and wiped his face off before slowly taking in the object holding onto the waste basket. Taking a sharp breath in, the woman took the bin away slowly before speaking.

"James, please remain calm. I can't help you if you freak out, okay?" Bucky hardly paid attention to the woman in from of him. He dropped the half eaten toast from his right hand and continued to glare at the silver arm attached to his shoulder. What happened to him? Who did this? Where was Steve? And why was this woman still calling him James? His breathing started getting shallow and his vision grew black around the edges. Pain. All over; it started behind his eyes, but continued until it spread, white hot, throughout his entire body.

The warm apartment disappeared as Bucky found himself cold, so incredibly cold. His eyes could barely make anything out. His vision was blurry, and there seemed to be frost all around him. If he concentrated hard enough, he could just see a figure through the ever-thickening frost. A man in a black business suit was glaring at him with a hopeful look on his face. His gray fringed red hair stood out bright among the dimly lit room. The cold was growing, his vision fading yet again. Then warm hands reached out and grasped both his shoulders. His mind did not think. His body only reacted.

Rowan could only watch as Bucky grabbed her right shoulder with his left hand and her left thigh with his right hand and toss her like a lawn chair across the apartment. She landed roughly on the coffee table, thanking her lucky stars it wasn’t glass. It almost didn’t break under her weight. Rowan didn’t slow down as she rolled from the crumpled coffee table and jumped back up, twisting her body as she landed back on her feet. Just in time to deflect a rather roughly thrown left hook. The Winter Soldier’s bionic arm groaned under the force of hitting the woman’s right arm.

Taking advantage of his surprise, Rowan grabbed hold of his right shoulder and heaved herself up, flipping and landing on Bucky’s shoulders. Bucky stumbled backwards and grabbed both her thighs while trying to pry her off. Rowan flexed her legs tightly to hold on and landed blow after blow to Bucky’s face. After four elbows to the head the Winter Soldier fell back onto the couch, dazed, but not knocked out. Rowan jumped off quickly, taking advantage of his quieted state to grab hold of his shoulders once more, softer this time. She took a deep breath, silently thanked Natasha for teaching her signature move (a rather funny story for another time), and began trying to talk the Winter Soldier back down into the form of Bucky Barnes.

"I need you to focus on me. Breathe deeply, there. Now breathe out. James? Look at me. There you go. How many windows are in this room?" This was an exercise that Natasha had used countless times to help Rowan from going nuclear when she started to have a fit from a memory breaking through. It worked most of the time. Bucky’s eyes snapped back to the woman kneeling in front of him in between his legs. How did he end up on the couch? He didn’t remember moving to the couch. What happened? Why was this God-forsaken, weird-accented woman still calling him James?

"Why do you keep calling me James?"

"Answer my question."

"My name is Bucky."

"Bucky. Answer my question." He was sweating, and had a rather splitting headache he didn’t remember having. Sky blue eyes pulled away from emerald ones and tried to calmly count the amount of windows.

"Four." He stated, sounding calmer than he felt.

"How many doors?"

"Two."

"Good. My name is Rowan O'Connor. You seem not to remember me, which, considering our past is probably a good thing." She finished with a slight smile to her red-stained lips and took her hands off his shoulders. Standing up, she wiped some imaginary dirt off of her shorts before making her way to the love seat across from the couch Bucky was sitting on. He eyed the splintered coffee table suspiciously, but didn’t say anything.

"I found you two weeks ago lying face down in a dry creek bed in Virginia. You'd been shot twice; your right shoulder and your abdomen. Don't bother looking for any wounds. Our bodies heal faster than most." Bucky was trying to process the information. What did she mean by 'our bodies'? He couldn't wrap his head around any of this. Too many questions were going through his muddled brain. He took a deep breath, trying to calm himself. He decided to start with a simple question first.

Rowan had sat back as comfortably as she could with cracked ribs after relaying the information to her fellow super soldier. She knew he had to have a million questions bobbing around in his head; who was she, why was she here, where did this arm come from, why couldn't he remember anything; but Rowan was very surprised by the first question Bucky voiced.

"How did you know about the food?" His voice came out low and gravelly still, even after the orange juice and water; clearly it was sore from not using it for at least half a month. Bucky noticed some hesitation before a quiet answer emerged from her lips.

"Let's just say I've… had some personal experience in this field before." He nodded in understanding, nearly choking on the thickness in the air that the seemingly simple question had brought on. Her nearly palpable nervousness about the topic gave him some much-needed confidence in the situation. It seemed, at least a little bit, that he wasn’t alone.

"You asked me earlier if I knew who you were. I don't know you. I mean, I don’t think I do. There’s glimpses. You’re eyes. I know I’ve seen them before... But I don’t have a name. Well, I have a word. But it isn’t a name, ‘least not where I’m from. But you know me. And it seems that I’m at your mercy," He stretched his body out a bit before grimacing. Rowan stilled, just barely, she wasn’t sure if Bucky noticed. He had a word. There was a dictionary of words out there that he could remember about her. She wished it was something trivial, but she had a sickening feeling it was the one word she didn’t want anyone to remember. There was only a handful of people still alive that knew that word. When Rowan didn’t continue, Bucky spoke again, not feeling comfortable in the silence.

"And if what you said about where and how you found me was true, it seems you might be the one to thank for me being alive right now." He paused with a smirk. Rowan could see why so many women had swooned over him back in his Howling Commando days. She didn't really have a reply to his latest statement so she just looked at him, amazed at the difference brainwashing someone does to their features. She remembered hard, strict jawlines. Stoic, dark blue eyes with thick, creased eyebrows. A five o’clock shadow that seemed to cover more than just his lower face. That shadow covered his mind, his heart. Bucky’s smirk faded a bit, growing impatient with the woman’s stillness. It was almost perverted the way her green eyes were moving over his face. So he tried again,

"Besides the obvious," he raised his left arm as indication to his biggest question,

"If you don't mind I'd like to know who my savior is, and not just a pretty name with an even prettier face." He lifted his light blue eyes slowly to meet Rowan's. Rowan raised her eyebrows slightly at the openness and willingness to speak coming from a man who had hardly spoken two words to her since they had first met over forty years ago.

Could she trust this man enough to give him the information he seemed so desperate to want? Was there any way he could have been assigned to eliminate her as his mission after DC? She thought hard while he waited for her to speak. She had seen him at his deadliest. There was no way that he was under any type of whatever brainwash thing HYDRA was known for; his eyes were too bright, his features too expressive; for now at least. And she knew for a fact that no one working for HYDRA knew about what happened when Assets had been out of the freezer for too long. She knew the difference between someone who had been put on a mission and someone who didn't know what the hell was going on. So she went with her gut feeling.

"Well, I'm a lot like you. Actually we fought against each other more than once in the past forty years. It's-"

"Forty years? Listen lady, I’m only twenty-six. You can’t be any older than I am. What I said earlier about your eyes, hey, I’m just saying, lots of dames have pretty green eyes.”

"If you'd let me finish…" She gave him a wry smile that showed a small dimple on her left cheek. He shut his mouth slowly.

"Like I was saying. It's gonna be kinda hard to explain who I am without first explaining who you are. So let’s start there and we’ll see how you’re feeling about my story afterwards, yeah?" Rowan rose from her position on the loveseat, deciding this was a conversation for the couch instead. His gaze followed her every move. Bucky was thinking hard about where they would have fought against each other; if she were even telling the truth. Did that mean she was working with the Nazi's? What year was it? She said over the last forty years?! He took a breath… People had thought what happened to Steve was impossible, hell if he admitted, he had even had some questions about the whole thing. But he saw it with his own eyes. Maybe what he was about to hear wasn’t as crazy or impossible as he initially thought. He watched her wearily while she got comfortable on the couch next to him. He could feel the warmth radiating off her body. He enjoyed the warmth.

"Don't hurt yourself trying to think. Just sit back and relax a little, it's gonna be a long morning." Bucky looked out one of the windows, only to be met with a brick wall of another building not ten feet away. But he could tell by the ever lightening of the red bricks that the sun had started to rise, though the wind creaking at the window panes teased a storm coming through.

While Bucky was busy looking out the windows, Rowan quickly pulled a syringe out from under her, making it look like she was adjusting an ill fitted cushion. She didn’t want to take any more chances of Mr. Barnes having a fit while talking about the last forty years. The light blue liquid was the only thing she had known to exist that could take someone like Steve Rogers, The Winter Soldier, or herself down in under ten seconds. Once again, something to thank Natasha for, maybe… Tony did the majority of the work, but she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of a big thank you until she had tried it out properly. As it was, her body visibly relaxed when the dark haired man turned his head back to her and adjusted his seat on the opposite end of the brown leather couch.

"Okay, so… Who am I? I mean what exactly do you mean by that? I know who I am. I'm Sergeant James Buchannan Barnes, 107th, Howling Commandos. I was born in Shelbyville, Indiana in 1917 before moving to Brooklyn when my dad changed jobs. After I graduated high school I was drafted into the army. My best friend, Steve, he didn’t get in with me at first, but then they made that serum thing and we fought together, in the Howling Commandos. Never married, just a mom, dad, and little sister. I'm not sure what else you need to know about me…" he paused, taking in a deep breath and running his right hand through his shoulder length hair; still afraid to move the thing that had apparently replaced his left arm. Rowan held her breath, waiting for him to continue; she didn't want to overstep any boundaries he might have. When he didn't elaborate on himself any further, she decided to step in.

"Well, Bucky, it seems I've got a lot to catch you up on." And so the day passed on slowly for the two super human subjects. Rowan relaying The Winter Soldier's history that she had been forced to learn over her years as a soldier fighting "The Good Fight" against him, filling him in on some facts about herself, but leaving most of it out. Bucky listened closely to every word, anxiety growing with each passing hour.

-TTA-

Steve Rogers, a.k.a. Captain America, paced back and forth nervously in front of the many screens decorating the walls of Tony Stark’s lab. The self-proclaimed genius-billionaire-playboy-philanthropist had graciously opened his home to the remaining Avengers after the fall of SHIELD and HYDRA. The Iron Man himself was nowhere to be found this morning, having stayed the night over at Pepper’s house (She insisted on keeping her penthouse overlooking Central Park for the times Tony drove her just a wee bit bonkers). Sam was upstairs, still sleeping. Natasha sat in the middle of all the computer screens, every once in a while tapping rapidly on one keyboard or another. Not being able to keep the motion of Steve pacing rapidly out of her peripheral vision, she spun around in her chair and glared at him, stopping him in his tracks. The innocent look he gave her almost made her laugh despite the situation. She took a calming breath, he wasn’t doing this to annoy her. He was just worried about his friend.

She had tried to convince Steve to let it go, but she couldn’t do that with a clear conscience because she actually liked Steve, and since she enjoyed his innocent company most of the time, she couldn’t keep the fact that she was seventy-two percent sure where The Winter Soldier was. Well, at least who he was with. That’s probably the biggest reason she wasn’t freaking out that a Nazi super soldier was on the loose. If anyone could handle him, it was Rowan.

[virmillion]

Waves

alternatively, i dont know how to title this but hey @leesacrakon remember that nerd anon who said they wanted to write stuff after reading your story? i was the nerd oops  // i dont love this one ive definitely done better and had a different angle at first but i think it turned out ok  // its kind of angsty? definitely more so at the end just fyi

Words: 4.2k

Song: Waves by Dean Lewis

Pairings: platonic moxiety, morality (it might be romantic? idk i dont know how to write romance)

Warnings: smoking, let me know if there’s more

There is a swelling storm And I’m caught up in the middle of it all And it takes control Of the person that I thought I was The boy I used to know

The moon rises proudly in the sky, shining against the dark night and illuminating a pair of brown eyes. Patton grips the edge of his windowsill, gritting his teeth sharply as the sound of a pen pressed too hard pounds through his ears. Logan, scribbling away with his research. Again. What he wouldn’t give for Virgil’s headphones right now. Rather than mourn the loss of peace in his room, Patton slips across the hall to Logan’s room, knocking softly on the door.

    “Enter,” Logan calls back, his writing not pausing for one second. The handle, cool to the touch, turns easily as the door swings open in silence, as if Logan oils it every day to avoid creaking. Frankly, Patton wouldn’t be surprised if that were the case. The room beyond is jarring in its contrasts—a perfectly made bed beside a fully stocked wardrobe, out of which no rumpled clothes are hanging. Against this pristine organization is a scene of utter chaos, crushed papers strewn across the floor between dozens of pencils split down the middle, twins to the dismantled pens with their ink sprayed everywhere. Wading through the sea of trash, Patton arrives at the black desk chair in the corner, above which a tuft of purple hair peeks out. Scattered around the desk are more crumpled papers and broken pens, along with several burn marks on the wooden desk, as well as more than a few cigarette butts.

    “I thought we talked about this,” Patton murmurs, picking one up and rubbing it between his fingers. Logan doesn’t seem to hear, one hand buried in his hair while the other is poised with a black pen over a piece of paper, which is covered in scratched-out words. Ink stains his skin everywhere, and creates splotchy patterns on the desk where it bled through the papers, intermingling with the burn marks. Some even reached his tie, staining the blue irreparably. With a nudge, Patton tries again for Logan’s attention.

    Logan mutters a string of curse words before slamming the pen down on his desk, balling up the paper and chucking it across the room. More ink gets on his hands, and as he turns around to face Patton, his face turns out to have even more from running a hand over it in distress. “What? What is it? I’m busy.”

    “Whatcha workin’ on?” Patton scrapes a few of the cigarette remnants into a garbage can, then sets about fixing up the rest of the room’s mess.

    “Thomas has this big presentation in a week, and no idea how to do it,” Logan sighs, watching Patton putter about like a Roomba. “Virgil’s in overdrive, detailing every last thing that can go wrong, and Roman’s absolutely no help at all. He won’t stop insisting that I add some sort of dramatic flair, to make it seem more impressive.” Logan rubs his temples gently, smudging more ink across his face.

    “Well, what’s it on?” Patton conjures up a paper towel to pick up all the pens, a practical foresight to avoid being covered in ink.

    “Nothing you’d understand,” Logan says. He turns back to his work, pulling a fresh sheet of paper from a stack on the floor. Conversation over, apparently. The angle he grabs the paper at is too sharp, ripping it down the middle as it comes free of the pages above it. An infuriated Logan tears the remainder to shreds, feeding his anger even more. As the bits rain down like confetti, he snaps his head back to Patton, who’s still cleaning up after his research problems. “What are you still doing in here? Get out!” Quite unaccustomed to ever hearing Logan raise his voice unless a falsehood was uttered, Patton freezes, splintered pen in hand. “Are you waiting for a formal letter? I said get out!” Patton scurries out the door, tugging it shut behind him. He couldn’t have moved any faster if you had told him there was a puppy on the other side. The sound of viciously scrawling pens resumes in full force, even angrier.

    Back in his own room, chased by the sounds of Logan’s furious writing, Patton sits on the edge of his bed with a box. A box of old memories, a box of what used to be, a box of before. He rifles through pictures, trinkets, collectible nothings that should have been thrown away years ago, before he grew an attachment to them. When he calls them memories, he isn’t kidding—each individual object is reminiscent of the moment it came from, cherished times for Patton to look back on and smile. A star sticker from when Logan helped Thomas get his first perfect score on a test. The certificate from when Thomas bought and named a star on Logan’s behalf. A conch shell from when Logan argued with Patton over whether the roaring was the ocean calling, or just the blood roaring in his ears. What happened to the Logan that argued in good fun, instead of yelling at Patton? This Logan, the angry one, he has no place in this box. Not until Patton adds in the cigarette butt, cementing the time that Logan yelled at Patton. Actually yelled, not just pretending for fun. A cold shiver, like icy fingers, skitters across Patton’s skin as the memory gets locked down in the box, and locked down in his mind. He can’t say he likes the bad times, but bad times are better than no times at all. Usually.

But there, is a light In the dark, and I feel its warmth In my hands, and my heart Why can’t I hold on?

    A week comes and goes, Thomas survives his presentation, Virgil takes a much-needed break, and Logan cleans his room up. Everything should be fine now. Everything should be solved, just a little bump in the road. Nothing Patton can’t handle. Nothing at all. Not entirely nothing, but mostly. Just one thing. One little something that he can’t ignore. Those burn marks on Logan’s tie, the tie he refuses to change or replace, emitting a heavy smell of smoke that grows stronger by the day.

    “Again?” Patton asks, grabbing Logan by the wrist after recording a long video. He plucks the small white cylinder from between Logan’s fingers before it can be hidden away. “I am bently jegging you, Logan, please drop this habit before it starts hurting Thomas.”

    “Bently jegging?” Logan remarks, avoiding the question.

    “Gently begging, same difference,” Patton says with a wave of his hand. “Just, can you try? For me?” Logan gnaws on the corner of his lip, considering for a moment. One look in Patton’s eyes, and he’s pretty much sold.

    “I’ll try,” he relents, relaxing into a slouch. “I suppose it isn’t the best habit to indulge in. For Thomas’ sake.” The cigarette is passed between hands, after which Patton promptly tosses it in the garbage. Sure, he knows Logan has more, and can always conjure extras, but it’s a step forward.

    “Maybe a hug?” Patton asks, opening his arms. Logan curls his lip slightly before embracing Patton loosely. The same can’t be said of the latter, who squeezes his arms together like a boa constrictor. Through the thick sweater, Patton feels something flicker, a little bit of warmth melting Logan’s cold shell. Progress.

    They only break apart as Virgil passes, giving a weird look at the logical side willingly hugging someone. Logan pushes Patton away quickly, straightening his shirt and mumbling something about getting back to work. Patton gives a soft smile that doesn’t reach his eyes, where the hurt resides. With a matching smile at Virgil, Patton returns to his room.

    Hours later, Patton will sneak out of his room to peek into Logan’s, to which the door is left open. He will peer inside at the clean space and feel relief, but only for a second. He will look closer and see the tiny plume of smoke over the desk and gasp. Logan will hear, and snap a finger to close the door in Patton’s face. Logan will not turn around to watch. Patton will sit in his room with a single light on, and he will wonder what happened to the nice, curious kid from when they were younger. And Patton will be alone.

It comes and goes in waves It always does, it always does We watch as our young hearts fade Into the flood, into the flood

    The clinking of glass is what wakes Patton a few nights later. He hasn’t asked about the smoking, and Logan hasn’t offered anything. Maybe a good sign, since he at least isn’t doing it so openly now, but Patton isn’t so sure. At least a little suspicious, he eases open his door to glance across the hall—lights out in Logan’s room. The other two doors are dark as well, not unusual at—a check of the watch—three in the morning. Patton leaves the lights off and heads for the kitchen by the light of his phone screen, feet padding softly on the carpeted floor. The only bright spot in the house is the bare lightbulbs in the kitchen, made ever brighter as they bounce off of the coffee mugs on the table. Behind those mugs are Logan, Roman, and Virgil, all of whom look like little kids that got caught swiping candy before dinner.

    “Are you kidding me?” Patton asks, his voice cracking.

    “Hey, it’s not what it looks like,” Roman says. “We were just talking, and—”

    “And what?” Patton whispers. “And you didn’t want me here to talk?” He tosses this out like a joke, as if there’s no way that could be the case, but his eyes fill with horror when none of the other three meet his imploring gaze. “Seriously?”

    Logan opens his mouth, certainly about to offer some excuse or another, something completely empty and intended to mollify, not soothe, but Patton isn’t having any of it. He turns on his heel and walks out, leaving silence behind him as the door to his room slams shut. The sound of his memory box crashing to the ground is echoed by the soft noises of clinking coffee mugs down the hall.

    In the dark of his room, Patton smiles to himself. At least they’re bonding, right? Even if it’s not with you, they’re having fun, and that’s the important part. He wipes his cheek, and his fingers come away wet. Funny, he didn’t remember turning on a humidifier.

    That night, Patton does not dream.

    The next morning, Roman does not apologize.

    The next day, Virgil does not look at him.

    The next week, Logan does not care.

    Patton corners the logical side one morning, cutting him off before he can escape to his room for research or something.

    “I just want you to explain one thing,” Patton pleads. “Why are you cutting me off?”

    Logan is quiet for a moment, cleaning his glasses off on his shirt. “It’s not that I want to,” he sighs, pressing his glasses up his nose. “Thomas is just growing up, and we need to grow with him. I’ve moved past the whole childish thing, and it’s high time you do as well.” Leaving Patton stunned, Logan slips away to his room, locking the door behind him.

    He never used to lock the door.

The freedom, of falling A feeling I thought was set in stone It slips through, my fingers I’m trying hard to let go It comes and goes in waves

    It would be so easy to stop caring.

    It would be so easy to let Logan’s friendship slip away.

    It would be so easy to stop trying to hold everything together.

    But that’s not what Patton is about.

    Instead, Patton sticks to Logan’s side like glue, there for every possible memory he could make. Despite all of Logan’s protests, Patton can feel him wearing down, can feel at Logan’s core that the childlike curiosity that once blossomed in Thomas is still there somewhere, still fighting to reach the surface. That’s the Logan Patton remembers, and that’s the Logan Patton intends to bring out. Not this new one, acting as if nothing is important and he doesn’t have feelings. Patton was there for the late night talks, and he knows how Logan really feels about emotions, how the logical side actually gets hurt when people think of him as cold and unfeeling. Shutting down is the worst plan, but evidently it’s the one Logan is going with. Giving up on Logan is the second worst plan, and you can bet your bottom dollar that Patton will not go that direction if he can help it. Of course, that always leaves the lingering fear that he won’t be able to help it, and Logan will outgrow him without a second thought.

It comes and goes in waves And carries us away Through the wind Down to the place we used to lay when we were kids

    “Come on, I wanna show you something,” Patton insists, tugging on Logan’s arm. Fast enough to make his tie flutter, the moral side pulls his friend into his room, not waiting for the door to close.

    “What is it? I have very—” Logan begins, immediately cut off by Patton.

    “Very important research, I know, I know.” Patton waves his free hand, sitting on the edge of his bed and leaning down to grab something from underneath it. As Logan carefully arranges himself for optimal comfort, Patton sits back up, memory box in hand. “I just really want you to see this.” He plucks out a yellow flower petal, smiling at Logan’s comments about attracting bugs and interrupting the flow of nature and all that stuff Patton doesn’t need to know but loves to hear. “I’ve never tried this before, but I took some liberties from Roman’s room, so just hold the petal and shut your eyes.” A bit dubious, Logan complies, nearly brushing Patton’s finger on the tiny petal.

    When the pair open their eyes, they’re back in a big green meadow, dotted with daisies and sprawling under a softly clouded blue sky. “How did you—” Logan starts, running a hand over the grass.

    “Like I said, liberties from Roman,” Patton replies. “Not as good, since I’m not exactly the creative one, so everything is gonna feel a little artificial. Still, do you remember it?” Logan glances around the memory carefully, taking in all of the fake sights.

    “Yeah, I think I lectured you on cloud types while you just pointed out what shapes they looked like,” Logan says. “Why did you need to show me this?”

    “Thomas was only twelve when we were here. Don’t you remember how fun it was, to sit and talk and share our thoughts without all the stress of being an adult with responsibilities?”

    “Hm.” Logan shrugs noncommittally, rubbing the flower petal between his fingers.

    “I just miss when we had fun. We didn’t have pressure or isolate ourselves in our rooms or yell at our friends instead of asking for their help.” Patton looks down at the same petal, the petal touching a hand connected to an arm attached to a shoulder growing off of Logan. “Can’t we go back to that?”

    Logan looks up at Patton, something blossoming in his eyes. It fills Patton with hope, maybe they can really go back, maybe they don’t have to grow apart, maybe Patton doesn’t have to be alone anymore, but Logan speaks and the hope shatters. “No. We can’t.” He releases the petal, disappearing from the memory and leaving Patton by himself. The racing grass blades and vibrant flowers and dashing clouds seem more like taunts at what Patton once had than the peace they used to represent. He drops the flower petal on the fake dirt, opening his eyes back up to his room, Logan gone and the petal on the bed. It goes in the trash.

Memories, of a stolen place Caught in the silence An echo lost in space It comes and goes in waves

    Patton only goes back to the flower field once, but the grass is all overgrown, interspersed with weeds, the flower petals all blown away with forceful wind gusts. Even the clouds are no longer a puffy white, instead turning into an overcast grey sky, angry and heavy. One of his happiest memories, with Logan of all people, and it’s been snatched away from him. This time, Patton throws the flower in the sink’s garbage disposal before heading to the far end of the bedroom hall that he normally leaves alone.

    “Hey kiddo,” he calls with a knock on the door. The light is out on the other side, but the music playing is loud enough that the room shouldn’t be empty. The door creaks open a bit, enough for Patton to slip inside, pulling the door quietly shut behind him.

    “Hey,” Virgil says from the floor beside his bed, headphones on and loud. His legs are bent at the knee, calves and feet resting on the mattress.

    “What’re you doing on the floor?” As Virgil mutters something about falling off and being lazy and comfortable, Patton plops down on his rear to join him.

    “Why are you in here?” Virgil asks. “You never really hang out in my room anymore. You’ve always been busy with Logan lately.”

    “You’re not wrong,” Patton sighs. “But he’s kind of the problem, and I don’t know what to do.”

    “Hate to break it to you, but I’m not the feelings department of this mindscape.”

    “I know, and that’s not why I’m here. I just didn’t want to be alone.” The pair sits in silence, the only sound in the room coming from the heavy bass in Virgil’s headphones that he’s pulled down from his ears to his neck.

    “I get it. I’m here for you.” Virgil’s hand trails along the carpet, finding and linking with Patton’s. He squeezes back, staring at the ceiling and enjoying the escape. His other hand finds a scrap of paper on the ground, stashing it in his pocket for the memory box. Patton shuts his eyes, thankful for the chance to let his mind wander, and not worry about what’s happening outside of the room.

I watched my wild youth Disappear in front of my eyes Moments of magic and wonder It seems so hard to find

    When Patton later returns to his room to put the paper scrap in his box, it’s substantially lighter than it used to be. Peering inside, he finds several trinkets slowly vanishing before his eyes, just becoming less opaque until they aren’t there at all. As Patton rifles through the box in horror, he compartmentalizes each memory in his head—all of Virgil’s are still there, along with the new one, all of Roman’s are still there, and only Logan’s are going. Not even all of his, just the old ones, from when they could enjoy each other’s company without the strain of Thomas having an adult life looming over them. All the happy times of the pair in their youth, disappearing into the wind. He runs a hand across some of the keepsakes as they fade, recalling them with a weak smile. A pop bottle lid from the time they pulled an all-nighter simply because they could, going on a wiki walk to learn a bunch of nonsense about bees and flowers. A small books from when they decided they would take up bullet journaling, then promptly abandoned it for more exciting pastimes. The SD card from when Logan wanted to learn computer programming. So many good things, just dissipating to make space for new ones. The crumb that caught in his sock when he saw his three closest friends talking without him. A shard of a splintered pen from when Logan had to prepare for that presentation. A cigarette butt from when Patton caught him again.

    Patton swivels in place, stretching for his mini trash can, and holds the box over it, ready to dump all of the contents and forget about them forever. Something stops him. Maybe a spark of hope that it can still work, maybe an inner recognition of the fact that he’ll regret it later in a moment of self-pity.

    The box is returned to its place on a high shelf, and Patton falls back on his bed. That little voice that doesn’t want him to give up? It’s fading with the memories.

Is it ever coming back again? Is it ever coming back again? Take me back to the feeling when Everything was left to find It comes and goes in waves

    “You’re being unreasonable!”

    “And you’re being unsympathetic!”

    “I’m being rational and giving Thomas the explanations and solutions he needs!”

    “Well I’m the one considering how all of your plans are making him feel! Did you ever wonder if all of these schedules and decisions are overwhelming him? Have you even looked at Virgil lately?”

    “Does it look like I have the time to check in on our resident whistleblower?”

    “How. Dare. You.”

    “Okay, wait, that wasn’t—”

    “How dare you? You know how Roman’s jabs affect him, and now you’re adding your own in? Insult to injury, is that it?”

    “It isn’t my fault he’s always overreacting to everything!”

    “And it isn’t my fault that you’re being an inconsiderate jerk, yet here we are, me trying to fix your problems so this whole family doesn’t fall apart!”

    A slamming door.

    Angry footsteps.

    Loud pen scribbling.

    Cursing.

    Patton turns and heads for Roman’s door, knocking a few times to get the fanciful side out of whatever fantasy his room might have concocted at the moment. Roman pulls the door open after a few seconds, only a few stray hairs out of place. He pulls them back up on top of his head and steps back, allowing Patton to come in.

    “What can I help you with?” Roman asks, straightening his red sash.

    “I need a memory.”

    “Didn’t I teach you how to keep those? The whole keepsake thing?”

    “You did, but that’s not it. The trinkets, well, not important. I need you to bring up a specific memory, and I don’t have a thing to commemorate it.”

    “Alright, no problem. Just think of the memory, and I’ll be over here in the corner by myself, not intruding on your memory at all.” A blatant lie, but Patton doesn’t care if Roman sees this. He’d prefer it, actually, so he won’t be alone in remembering.

    “Can you do it in the removed sense?” Patton asks. Roman flashes a thumbs up, and Patton closes his eyes, not wanting to ruin for himself the magic behind how Roman works. When he opens his eyes, he’s in Logan’s room, looking down at himself and Logan on the floor, leaning against the bed.

    “You can tell me, it’s okay,” Patton says, taking Logan’s hand. He flinches, but doesn’t let go.

    “It’s just the robot thing. I don’t get it. I don’t get you. Why do your feelings rule over everything?”

    “That’s just what I came to represent, you know? I’m Morality, so I’m his sense of right and wrong, too. I’m more than just emotions, and you’re more than just an unfeeling robot.”

    “How can you know that?” Logan sniffles, wiping a hand under his nose before it can start dripping.

    “Because I know you. You’re important to me, and I know that on the inside, you care about all of us, and about Thomas. Even if you mock us for wearing our hearts on our sleeves, there’s still a part of you that wants to join in. If that ever happens, I swear that I’ll support you.”

    Logan turns his head to look at Patton, an earnest look in his eyes. “Thank you.”

    “Don’t sweat it.”

    “No, really. Thank you.”

    “Roman, I think I’d like to leave now, please.” Patton shuts his eyes, waiting until he’s absolutely certain the memory has vanished.

    “You okay?” Roman asks, taking a step toward Patton.

    “I’m fine,” he mumbles, tearing out the door for his own room. He doesn’t stop to explain to Roman why he needed that memory, or why he left. Patton doesn’t want to tell Roman that the old Logan is gone. He’s not coming back.

I’m trying hard to let go It comes and goes in waves It comes and goes in waves And carries us away

    Patton stands before the fireplace in the commons that night, watching the flames lick the iron frame. His memory box is in his hands, still emptying itself of the happy things. It’s easily late enough for everyone else to be asleep, or at least hanging out without Patton somewhere. He doesn’t really care.

    Patton upends the box over the fire, its contents spilling out and curling in on themselves, melting and mixing and falling apart, their particles drifting up with the flames to the fake chimney and through the room, scattering across the commons for anyone to happen upon, an old memory that might make them smile.

    The box emptied, Patton lets the heat warm his face, soaking in the past one last time, before it’s out of his reach.

    Then he tosses in the box.

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