#he is going to kick someone in the neck - in a specific tendon too - that's what that face means

[tiffanybluesclues]

I don't know what that facial expression is, but I know it can't lead to anything good. (source)

[passcridae]

Friday 16th April, 2021; late evening Clubs territory; the Armory Referencing; No specific tws, but it gets violent and gross.

Everything inside Sparrow’s body -- every muscle, every sinew, every tendon -- was pulled tight as a bowstring as he slunk with whisper-quiet steps through the darker, quieter abandoned halls of the Armory.

The assassin was what absolutely no one would refer to as a team player, even less so when it came to the front lines, regardless of on the battlefield or well contained within the tight confines of the Club faction’s streets. He wasn’t a part of any resistance group or vanguard, not when the leaders knew how best he operated -- and that was alone. Sparrow had arrived alone and would likely leave alone, given free reign to stalk the maze-like halls and pick off anyone and everyone he could, artfully unlocking doors to leave them wide open in his wake.

So too in his wake did he leave warm blood pooled in as many halls as he could, damp and tacky on the tattooed fingers Sparrow had loosely but skillfully wrapped around the handle of his blade. It was a long, slender thing, his dagger, designed to slip effortlessly between panels of armor and glance off of bone to where the razor-sharp edge could do the most damage. He felt more exposed without shifting, but the corners were too claustrophobic and the stone too well fit even for the smallest of his animals. A last resort, if he had to.

Sparrow could hear an indistinct cacophony echoing through the cold halls, but it was too far away for him to recognize the voices or pick out any meaning, so he largely ignored it other than to put his back to the majority of the chaos. Stalking steps rounded another corner as he kept to the shadows, and it didn’t take long for him to spot his next target: a tall, muscular woman, hand on a mace at her hip as she faced where the chaos was coming from, oblivious to the danger behind her. Sparrow smiled, fanged even in the absence of his fangs.

Two swift, bounding steps brought him close enough to his quarry to leap, knees connecting with the small of the woman’s back and one arm wrapping around her shoulders to hold himself in place, plunging his blade diagonally into the space between her neck and shoulder.

Something was wrong.

The dagger pierced, but not deep enough -- the woman bellowed in pain and Sparrow’s breath caught in his throat. A Strongarm. Flesh too stubborn to rend, muscles halting Sparrow’s blade far too far from her heart. His surprise prevented him from leaping away fast enough, and not before the meat of her hand closed around his forearm, dragging the young Shifter over her shoulder like a ragdoll.

“What’s this?” she sneered, holding him aloft with a bruising grip, Sparrow’s toes scrabbling for purchase on the stone as his nails bit and scratched ineffectually at the hand locked around his arm. The guard withdrew the blade from her shoulder as if it were nothing but an inconvenience, an annoyance, and threw it aside without a second thought. She gave him a rough shake and something like a growl bubbled up from Sparrow’s throat, low and feral. The Strongarm simply laughed, a harsh, caustic sound that echoed mockingly through the hall. “You’re too far from your friends, boy. No one will hear you if I--”

Her grip tightened with brutal effortlessness, and the bones in Sparrow’s arm cracked easily under the pressure. He cried out in surprise, tears pricking hotly at the corners of his eyes as pain shot up his arm, immobilizing him. He didn’t dare move and make the injury worse, but at this point it didn’t matter: the guard’s free hand, rough-edged gauntlet slick with her own blood, wrapped around Sparrow’s throat with a clear and threatening purpose. “I’m going to kill you, little rat. And it’s not going to be quick.”

Sparrow didn’t have the breath to respond or time to react before the guard slammed him into the wall, the back of his head hitting with a sickening crack and any air left in his lungs forced out with the savagery of it. Almost immediately his vision started to blur and tunnel, black crawling at the edge of his sight as his empty lungs ached. Held at least half a foot from the floor, Sparrow kicked half-heartedly but couldn’t find purchase, any blow he aimed at the Strongarm a nuisance at best. She laughed at his struggle, and the sound ricocheted cruelly through his head. The places where the steel of her gauntlet bit into his skin started to burn, a persistent ache that seeped into his skin with a dour purpose: poison.

He was going to die here.

The mere thought sent a shock of fear and adrenaline through his body, but neither were going to help him, no surge of strength even close to enough to free him from the guard’s iron grip around his neck. Unable to shift, unable even to speak or cry out if anyone would hear him to begin with, Sparrow squeezed his eyes shut and fought unconsciousness as the world spun around him.

Suddenly, the grip around his neck tightened, then went slack. There was a sick thud as something hit the floor, and when Sparrow forced his eyes open again, the Strongarm’s head was… gone.

Their bodies crumpled to the stone floor in tandem, and Sparrow drew in harsh, ragged breaths as he scrambled away from the felled woman’s body in sheer, blind terror. He gulped air until his throat and lungs burned, fit to burst, but didn’t even have the time to be grateful before a shock of nausea gripped him. Doubled over on his knees, Sparrow had neither the wherewithal nor the energy to fight as he emptied his stomach onto the cold stone floor in a splash of vomit and stinging bile. The only saving grace was he never ate much to begin with, but the painful dry heaves that followed hardly felt like a blessing.

���Gods,” a man’s voice blurted out, disgusted, and only then did Sparrow realize he wasn’t alone -- as if the Strongarm could’ve decapitated herself. Someone was crouching next to him, and as he caught sight of the Armory armor and insignia, fear shot through him and he automatically tried to jerk away from the hand reaching for his shoulder. “Hey, hey-- relax, relax, I’m on your side.”

Sparrow froze for a moment and tried to blink the tears and fuzziness from his eyes, an unfamiliar face swimming in his vision. An armory guard, loyal to the resistance? Sparrow stared at him, slack-jawed and baffled, hardly able to believe his luck.

Maybe Miss Death was still interested enough in him after all.

What followed was a non-linear mess of memories and Sparrow fighting against the pain and unconsciousness that threatened to overtake him. The guard that’d saved him scooped him up like a broken doll -- not without the threat of additional bodily harm if Sparrow decided to throw up on him -- and carried him through the winding halls of the Armory until Sparrow couldn’t tell which way was up or if they were closer to the outside or to death. Eventually they climbed flights of stairs, and eventually the cool, evening spring air washed over Sparrow’s sweat-streaked face as they made it to the roof.

The poison was burning through his veins like hellfire at this point, and he couldn’t discern any of the sounds or shouting as his blood rushed desperately in his ears. Only one voice cut through the rest: Fallon’s definitive, commanding bark, the likes of which immediately sent a wave of relief through Sparrow big enough to prick tears at the corners of his eyes. It didn’t matter if she wasn’t the Emitter that appeared beside him, skilled hands hovering at the festering, blackened wounds at his throat to start drawing the poison from his veins; as long as he knew Fallon was there, Sparrow knew he would be safe. The feeling was foreign and comforting all at once, the level of trust he realized he had in his leader. He didn’t have the energy or the coherent thought to process it, not when all he could focus on was the stinging fire of the poison leaving his bloodstream.

Eventually the nausea subsided even if the spinning in his head remained, disorienting and frustrating. It was just clear enough, however, to recognize that a heavy hush had settled, dampening the roar of chaos into an anticipatory holding of breath.

“Wha’s happenin’?” Sparrow finally managed to croak, his tongue a dry, sour weight in his mouth.

The Emitter hovering over him glanced towards the low wall surrounding the Armory roof, then back to her charge with a grim expression.

“Mallick’s challenged the Ace.”

[achubbydumpling]

[unfinished] Pile It On

Rating: Explicit

Words: 1561

Relationship: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers

Additional Tags: Established Relationship, Not underage, Fat camp, Stuffing, Weight Gain, Fat!Bucky

So, I had a great conversation with @wotvagyok about my fat camp AU Bucky and what might've led to Bucky breaking a bed like I mentioned in this ficlet. Thanks for the inspiration!

(I'm sorry, I can't think anymore right now. I'll fill in the spaces tomorrow, but if I don't publish this right now I'll probably not finish this challenge at all.)

“Team Cap sets up their attack, Wanda touches, high ark to Wilson, Rogers is probably their best chance at winning… but, no, Wilson sets for Barnes, is that the right decision? Let’s see if he can even get off the ground to—Barnes kills it! Stark can’t block that and with that his team is out! 21-19! A neck-and-neck race all the way. Congratulations, Team Cap!” Thor excitedly commentates jumping up from the beach.

The entire team piled onto Bucky to hug him and scream in his ear. Steve gave him a very bro-hug, grinning wide and shouting at Bucky.

“That jump was insane!” Steve yelled at him again.

“You’ve said that.” Bucky’s cheeks ached from how much he was smiling.

“I know!” Steve said in the same tone of voice, then squeezed Bucky tightly one last time and quietly added, “See you after lunch” with pointedly raised eyebrows, like Bucky wouldn’t immediately get what he was hinting at.

Read on AO3

They’d worked out a pretty good system over the past few summers. Plus, Bucky knew that quiet tone of voice all too well and Steve basically saying out loud that he’d sneak away to Bucky’s cabin in his lunch break? For a second everything outside of those words and Steve’s body pressed against him faded away.

However, the chatter of all the other campers came crashing back into Bucky’s consciousness when Steve turned away and started directing the other campers to the dining hall like he didn’t just—

Breathe, Barnes, he chastised himself and made his (very sore) legs to the dining hall. Scarf down the bland food, charm (beg) his way into seconds, head to the cabin and eat whatever Steve stashed there during his morning “contraband” sweep.

[...]

“Yeah, to make sure no one would find everything. Why didn’t you check the top bunk?”

“It says on the bed post the top bunk is only rated for 300 pounds?”

“Oh. Well, you don’t weigh that much more.”

“Yeah, just like 100 pounds.” Another cramp from his overstuffed belly forced a groan out of him. “Feels like double that right now.” Steve quirked his eyebrow and flicked his eyes at the ladder to the top bunk. Steve’s blue eyes darkened with the fantasy he was clearly playing out in his head right now. The air punched out of Bucky’s lungs.

“What if I break it?” he whispered. He couldn’t force himself to speak up. This— Sure, a flimsy chair had broken under the weight he’d piled on, but a bed? He’d have to tell someone. A sickeningly hot twist of pleasure raced down his spine. He’d have to admit out loud—

“Go on,” Steve interrupted his thought process, pushing Bucky to say that out loud.

“I’d— Fuck, I’d have to tell a counsellor. They’d probably take me to see Fury.” Steve swallowed drily.

“Why would they take you to the director?” Steve’s hands were clenched in fists on Bucky’s gut, belly rub forgotten for the moment.

“Get me weighed.” Steve nodded encouragingly, whispering “Why?”

“If I broke it now— Must’ve gained weight.” Bucky whined low in his throat and grabbed uselessly at the expanse of his belly before him.

“You’ve been here three weeks, you really should’ve lost some weight by now.” Steve pushed himself up from where he was sitting next to Bucky and straddled him. He pushed both his hands into the fat overhang spilling over his waistband and heaved Bucky’s belly up. Muscles and tendons working in his forearms.

“But I can barely lift this thing up.” Steve teased, then let go, letting all the fat slap back onto Bucky’s legs. That jostled his overstuffed gut so badly, Bucky wanted to curl into himself, but he was effectively immobilized by the weight of his gluttony.

The heat of his humiliation sparked his arousal like tinder. He was achingly hard. Trapped against his own fat. Twitching. Trying to rut into that friction. Steve shoved his hand between his fat pad and the fat hanging over it to blindly grab for his dick. When he found that bit of hardness, he squeezed. Tight.

“Not yet. You eat what I give you.” Bucky screwed his eyes shut and shook his head.

“Can’t,” he whined, shook his head again. Steve’s unyielding grip kept Bucky from coming all over himself at just imagining himself crawling up there and eating even more.

“Yes.” The command pierced through Bucky’s middle, making him squirm.

[...]

Dry heat raced through his core, having him press his hand over his dick. He was riding that edge so violently he felt like he should be coming all over his own fingers, but his briefs were still only stained by that spot of precum.

“Oh, fuck, get down here. You just— Bucky!” Steve was scrambling at his back, helping him back down the ladder. Once he was firmly back on the floor, Steve plunged his hand into Bucky’s briefs. Mouth on his neck. Other hand on Bucky’s sweat-slicked sides.

Steve jerked him fast and inelegantly, but Bucky didn’t care in that moment. Too consumed by the realisation that he’d gained enough weight to break the top bunk without even putting his full weight on it. Steve gasping, “you cracked the slats,” finally got him over the edge. Coming over Steve’s hands in his brief.

Bucky’s knees finally buckled under him, and Steve manoeuvred him to lie back down on the bottom bunk, which he was also rapidly outgrowing with the amount of calories he was consuming daily. Bucky was still caught up in the afterglow to help Steve much with getting off. He just felt bone-deep tired.

Steve was standing in front of the bed, one arm propped against the frame and resting his forehead against it. Bucky felt impossibly fatter when he let his head fall forward to look at Steve. He could feel his double-chin bunching up around his neck. His body taking up half his field of view.

Bucky couldn’t even see Steve’s hand on his dick, just the repetitive movement of his arm. The way the muscles moved, his right pec flexed and relaxed again and again. His whole body slightly jerking every time he fucked his hips up into his own fist. The bitten-off moans on his lips. All that over Bucky. The milky soft mountain of fat sitting on his upper body. The solid mass of food rounding out his stomach.

Steve’s forehead slipped off his arm and he just let his head hang for a moment. Then snapped up and locked eyes with Bucky. His pupils blown wide, lips bitten raw and coming over his own hand and torso.

Something fluttered and clenched when Steve climbed slowly onto the bed, wiped them both down with Bucky’s discarded shirt and tucked himself into Bucky’s side.

Bucky’s head reeled with a sudden realisation.

“What are we going to do about the bed?” Instead of answering Steve curled further into himself and hummed noncommittally.

“Hey, I’m serious. I don’t want to get kicked out.”

“Slat’s barely cracked, ‘ll tell Fury after end-of-summer check-in. They’re not gonna kick you out.”

“Maybe not, but I don’t think they’ll let me back in next year.” Bucky rubbed at the back of his head. “Maybe you could—I don’t know—come up to my place or something.”

Steve opened his eyes again but didn’t look at Bucky. Instead, he started playing with a loose thread on the comforter.

“One more summer. Then I’ll—” Bucky sighed, his hand found its way into Steve’s hair.

“I know. I know. Degree, then job. Wherever that takes you. Just thought it’d be— We’d have more than like an hour and a handful of moments to enjoy… this.” Bucky gestured very specifically to his middle and did not think about what else he’d like Steve to want. “What if they won’t let me come back next summer? Don’t really think I qualify for the asthma camp across the lake.”

“Fury’s determined to help everyone lose weight and Stark’s stubborn as hell.”

“They’ve failed three years in a row. This time pretty hard. Y’know after breaking camp property because I gainedweight while being here.” Steve stayed quiet for a long moment. They’d had this conversation a few too many times for them not to know all the arguments by now.

“You don’t think the sneaking around’s kinda fun?” Bucky just wanted to sighed. He felt the urge to shake Steve and make him see that Bucky was in this for a whole lot more than sneaking around to fuck like high schoolers.

“Speaking of your time’s up.” Bucky felt Steve moving up, about to lie down on Bucky’s chest and say those familiar words, “just five more minutes, Buck” but when Bucky kept his eyes firmly trained straights ahead the words died in his throat. Steve sat on the edge of the bed for a moment, then pushed himself up with a deep breath.

“Do you want anything special for tomorrow?” Bucky shrugged. His eyes suddenly felt to heavy to keep them open.

“Surprise me.” A barren olive branch.

Steve disappeared into the bathroom and Bucky finally let the sigh, that had been trapped against his chest, out. He stayed on the bed with his eyes closed until Steve padded out of the bathroom, across the cabin and pushed the squeaky door handle down.

“One more summer.”

[jinmukangwrites]

Nightwing BTHB: Slowly Running Out Of Air

Star / Done // Moon / Requested // Eye / Next

Ao3

Summary: Dick wakes up chained to the bottom of a pit. Then, it starts filling up.

Warnings: Kidnapping, Hopeless Situations, Permanent Injury, Amputation, Blood, Drowning

---

To nobody's surprise, waking up is absolutely a bitch. 

He groans and shifts, trying to find his bearings, and the first thing he notices is that there's a rattling of clinking metal as his foot moves. Morbidly curious, Dick peeks his eyes open; all he sees is his own hand and a metal wall. 

Dick's head pounds like one of the seven dwarfs got stuck in his skull and is trying to mine themself out through his eye sockets. Dick wouldn't be surprised if that dwarf was named Grumpy. 

One thing this is helpful for is that he can immediately tell that he's Nightwing. There's no other time in his daily life he would wear black gloves with blue stripes going down his middle fingers. 

His causon immediately rises with this new information. Nightwing waking up somewhere like this—with a headache, on the ground, with the sound of what's most likely chains, is never good. 

He risks shifting again, making it seem like he's groggily beginning to wake up from whatever drug he's been hit with just in case someone is watching. There's definitely chains clinking down by his feet, specifically his left ankle. 

He peeks his eyes open to better survey his location, however all that he discovers is more rusted metal walls and floor of the same material. The wall is rounded and about a foot and a half from his face. When he stretches his leg that's not connected to the chains, he hits the wall behind him. He glances up, and sure enough the walls around him expand upwards what must be a little less than fifteen feet. There's a grate laying over the mouth of the walls, showing more ceiling higher up and shrouded in shadows. 

He's chained to the bottom of a metal pit. 

This doesn't sound good at all. 

He closes his eyes and stills, trying to figure out where he is and what he was doing to end up here. He was obviously doing something on patrol… perhaps a mission? He's not sure, the drugs in his system, while milder than most he's woken up with before, is making it really hard to recall much of anything. Honestly, the last thing he remembers is getting a phone call from Jason. 

He slows his breathing, stilling so that he looks asleep to anyone watching. 

Come on Dick. Just retrace your steps. You got a phone call from Jason... You answered… there was a hole in your sock. He wanted… what did Jason want…

"Big bird?" A voice calls, the tones becoming distorted as it echoes down the metal pit. "You up?"

"… Hood?" Dick tries, opening his eyes and looking up. Jason doesn't sound hurt or particularly startled, but Dick can't see anything above him other than the grating and the ceiling. 

"I've been up for the past half hour," Jason's explains, "m'not hurt. But no one's come yet."

Dick nods to himself. So they've been captured together, but their captors might not be watching. "You in a pit too?" Dick asks, slowly working himself up so he's sitting. 

He grabs onto the wall for balance when he gets to his feet. There's a heavy shackle definitely around his ankle, one that's not coming off without the key or very specific tools. It's tight too, he can feel it squeezing awkwardly against his tendons and bone. The chain connecting the shackle to an eye-hook in the floor looks several feet long, wound up in a neat pile on the floor to his side.

"No, tied to a chair up here," Jason answers as Dick begins to take stock of himself. He's been close to completely disarmed of anything useful. The only things he can find stock of is a few wingdings, some smoke pallets, his escrima sticks…

The things that are missing include his stash of small explosives, his rebreather, and his lockpicking set. Three things he's usually good at remembering to pack. 

"Do you know what happened?" Dick asks as he bends down to inspect the chains and the eye-hook. The chains are almost a half inch in diameter and expertly wielded. The chains have bits of rust here and there, but none that would suggest breakage any time soon. The eye-hook is probably his best bet, as it's thick and heavy-duty, but clearly just screwed into the floor. 

"You don't remember?" Jason scoffs, amusement in his tone. Dick grins, Jason either doesn't know or he, himself, needed some time to recall. "We were going through the Narrows before we got sniped by tranqes."

Dick brings his hand up to the bit of skin that's exposed to his neck where he immediately feels a sharp pinch of pain from what's definitely irritated skin thanks to a barbed dart being yanked out from it's target. 

That's right. They were sniped. It was just a simple patrol together, just for the heck of it, and next thing Dick knew he was collapsing to the ground with his body feeling floaty and far away. 

He huffs. "Why can't Gotham criminals ever be normal?" 

Jason snorts in response. 

Dick kneels down by the eye-hook and wraps his hands around it, looking for the best grasp despite the awkward shape and angle. Once he feels like he has an okay enough grasp, he begins to turn. 

It doesn't budge. 

"How stuck are you?" Dick calls before trying again at the hook. 

It still doesn't move as Jason answers—it must be glued in somehow. "Pretty stuck. Chair's bolted to the ground, used way too much duct-tape, took everything useful."

Dick opens his mouth to ask how likely Jason thinks he'd be able to escape on his own, but then something groans within the walls of the pit. 

"The hell?" Jason murmurs. 

"Uh, Hood?" Dick calls anxiously, walking over to where the noise came from. He places his hands on the wall and frowns at the distant rumblings under his fingertips.

Jason answers with a frustrated and cautious voice. "There's a TV on the wall in front of me, it just turned on."

Dick hums and looks down at the seam where the wall meets the floor. He frowns when he notices small sections of grating; thin but strong graphs of wire cover small little holes in the wall, barely three inches in diameter. 

However, when he turns around, he counts about 8 of these holes. 

"The quality is really bad," Jason continues, "but I think it's of you."

"What's going on?" Dick looks up and sure enough, what looks to be a small and cheap looking knockoff of a GoPro sits taped to the grating above him. 

Before either he or Jason can say anything more, the almost mechanical groaning in the walls becomes louder and then Dick finds out what those little holes near his feet are for. 

Water pours through each hole, immediately sloshing around his shoes. Panic and understanding shoots adrenalin through his veins, he kneels down in the water that's already around his ankles and forces one of his wingdings into the middle of the eye-hook, using it as a handle for him to better turn. 

At least the water isn't cold. 

"Wing?" Jason calls, and Dick grunts as the hook stays stubbornly in place. "What's going on? I can't see anything."

One of Dick's hands slips in the water and he curses, bringing his hand up to see the fabric of his gloves cut through. "They're filling it with water."

"You for real?!" 

Instead of answering, Dick tries again to break the eye-hook. Nothing works, all he does is cut the skin of his palms. 

He swears colorfully as he stands back up, glaring down through the water that's now to the middle of his shins and contemplates kicking the hook, however he has a feeling that all he's going to accomplish is gaining an aching foot. He looks up at the grating. 

"Let's say, hypothetically, that I managed to throw a wingding at you, would you have any chances of catching it and getting out?" 

Jason's silent for a beat. "Maybe. If you throw it right at me. Also I hate that you call those that."

Dick rolls his eyes and adjusts his footing, looking at the chain and trying to calculate how heavy it's going to be. He should be fine. He just needs to rise with the water to a point where he can reach the grating. Once Jason's free, he should be able to help get Dick out of this literal death trap.

He explains his plan to Jason, and while it doesn't sound as thought out as it should be, it's still all that they've got. 

That water slips over his knees, up his hips, to his chest, and eventually above his shoulders. 

Once it became impossible to stand any longer, Dick forced himself to begin a steady tread despite the chain around his ankle. He knows the higher the water rises, the more heavy the chain will become...

But he's strong. He's good at swimming. With the amount of times he's been tossed into various harbors, he has to be. 

"Wing?" Jason calls around when Dick has risen with the water to about the halfway point. Dick's left leg already burns from the strain of the chain, but he's been doing alright so far. 

"Just focus on escaping, little wing," Dick calls, kicking his unshackled leg furiously as the weight on the other drags him under for just a moment. 

The water continues to rise, and soon it becomes almost unbearable to continue swimming like this. But he has to. If he doesn't, he'll sink and drown. 

Eventually, just as his legs are beginning to go numb with strain, he manages to hook the tips of his fingers around the grating above him. With a shot of adrenalin, he realizes that this is it. This is his last shot. It all amounts to these last moments whether he'll manage to escape, or if this is where he dies. 

It's moments like these where he never feels more alive. 

He forces his hands to get a better grasp as he already holds one of his meager stash of wingdings in his grasp. He works to lift himself up into the small few feet of air above the water, but he only goes up a couple inches before he's violently stopped by a tugging on his left leg. 

Dick's stomach sinks. 

"Uh, Hood?" He calls, forcing the coming panic out of his voice as the water steadily rises higher. The ripples tickle his Adam's apple.  "I can't- I can't get higher. You're going to have to help me aim."

"Alright," Jason says, his voice calm, which must mean Dick's unsuccessfully managed to keep his cool. "Follow my voice, I think I'm to your left."

Dick nods slightly to himself, but not too much because his chin would dip in the water that way. Working the grate like it's a set of monkey bars, Dick turns step by step until Jason tells him to stop. He keeps one hand white knuckled on the bars and then brings his other hand up as far as it can go, the wingding resting in his dripping fingers. 

The shackle digs into his ankle as he tries to tug himself more upwards. 

"Okay, a little to your right," Jason instructs, and Dick does as he's told. "Kay, aim up, alright?"

"Yeah," Dick gasps, his chin slapping the water. "Right."

He throws the wingding to the best of his limited abilities. He knows he misses when Jason makes a small growling noise. 

"Put more power into it."

Dick can't help it. He lets out a burst of hysterical laughter. Power? He can barely move as it is, the only power that he's going to get with his hand just over the bars of the grate is going to come from his wrist. 

Regardless, Dick brings his hand down and grabs another one of his weapons. He counts in a blink of an eye that he only has five. 

He tries again, following Jason's instructions, and this time he gets closer to his younger brother, but it curves to the left and lands itself, apparently, into the screen of the TV. Breaking it.

"You're fine, big bird," Jason says, "you're gonna be fine. Let's just try again."

Dick can't respond. The water is brushing against his upper lip. If he could respond, he's sure he might laugh again at how hopeless this all is. 

He tries again, and all he can hear is Jason saying it slid under his chair before the water completely rises above his ears. Dick's just managing to strain and keep his nose above the surface, but already if he breathes too loudly droplets will try to suck into his lungs. 

He has two wingdings left. He can barely properly aim, and he can't even hear Jason all too well either. 

He sucks in a breath and holds it just as the water rises over his nose. 

He tries. He really tries to keep his calm and aim at Jason once again with muscle memory. He's been in deathtraps before. 

Yet, the second he lifts his second to last wingding, the water stops rising right near his elbows. Just above his head. 

And how cruel is that? 

He doesn't know if he can risk this. If he aims and fires his last two wingdings completely blind like this and misses, then it's over. 

He can hold his breath longer than most. But it doesn't matter how long he can hold his breath if he's chained down just below the surface. 

Dick looks down at the shackle around his ankle, then feels the sharp wingding in his hand. 

He needs to buy time. For himself… for Jason. He needs the shackle off so he can rise above the water and aim. 

Before he can let fear talk him out of it, he lets go of the grating above him and allows himself to sink further into the water with the weight of the chain. 

His ears are ringing and he can practically feel his pulse trying to burst from his neck, but he keeps his breath locked in his lungs and he keeps his eyes trained on his ankle. 

Before he can talk himself out of it, he lets the adrenaline drive him as he plunges his own weapon into his ankle, right below the shackle. 

Blood bursts from his leg like a cloud. Agony hits like a truck. But he keeps cutting, he keeps cutting because he has to. The adrenaline helps numb it a little. But it's all he can do to keep from screaming and sucking in the blood stained water as he hits the bone. 

It takes a good few tugs and a few more desperate slices for him to finally feel the weight of the shackle and chain drop. Before he can allow what just happened—what he's just done—to hit him, he kicks up and forces himself to swim until he reaches the surface. 

When he reaches air, he's not sure if he's coughing, sobbing, or screaming. 

It hurts. It hurts. And soon enough, the water will drain him out of every single drop of his blood.

With shaking hands, he lifts himself so he's as close to the grating as possible. He has just a second to process how scared Jason looks on that chair, like he's trying to understand or process what just happened. Dick wonders if he knows what it means for Dick to be above the water. Dick wonders if Jason thought he drowned. Dick wonders if Jason saw the whole thing on the screen of a shattered TV.

Dick allows himself just a moment to mentally apologize to Jason before he gets his whole arm out of the grating and aims with perfect precision straight into the tape holding Jason's arm to the chair. 

Right then, it feels like all the strength seeps out of him. He almost falls back into the water, wheezing, but he keeps his grasp strong and closes his eyes. 

He's okay. He's okay. He's-

Water laps into his mouth and he can taste blood.

Now he knows it's sobs escaping through his teeth. 

He holds on and forces himself to ignore the blood tasting water, ignore how weak and nauseated he's becoming. He holds on until there's a sound of a gun firing on the padlock keeping the grate down. He shifts to grab the lip of the pit as Jason lifts the grate. For a second, he slips and almost falls back into the water, but then strong hands grasp under his arms and heft him out.

Next thing he knows he's on his back in a puddle of water and blood and just trying to catch his breath. 

"Holy shit, fucking- Wing? Can you hear me?" 

Jason's panicking. Dick's coughing water. He's screaming water when Jason begins to wrap a torn piece of cloth from his leather jacket around his leg. 

A tourniquet. 

Dick writes as the agony in his left leg becomes blinding with each twist Jason makes in the cloth. 

"Jason- Jason I couldn't-" Dick tries to explain, but his brain is woozy and his chest really hurts. "I didn't-"

I couldn't breathe. I didn't think. I couldn't get out. I didn't want to die. 

"My leg- my leg, Jay- I can't-"

I can't breathe. 

"Just hold on, you're going into shock-" Jason says, his voice so much weaker than what it normally is. "All of our stuff is in here- I already pinged B."

No. No, not B. Dick doesn't need Bruce. Dick doesn't need Alfred. Or the Batcave. Or the medbay. A few pills of advil. A pat on a shoulder. 

He needs- 

"Hospital," he gasps through clenched teeth as Jason bundles up his jacket and puts it under Dick's feet to elevate them. 

Foot. Foot and mangled remains of his left leg. 

"Jay-" 

"Okay," Jason agrees, standing up and running to the other side of the room where—sure enough—all of their missing items lay. 

Dick stares up at the ceiling while Jason calls for an ambulance. He listens to the shakiness to his tone and how he seems to stumble over answers he must be being asked. If Jason's this startled… it must be really bad. 

Dick wants to look, but at the same time he knows he'll throw up the second he sees. 

He takes a deep breath and tries to fight the armada of problems trying to assault him. The drowsiness. The confusion. The nausea. The pain. The shock. 

But eventually, Jason's voice becomes a drone, and soon Dick's eyes are slipping closed.

He hears his name shouted before he falls unconscious.

When the black settles, the pain doesn't go away. 

-o-o-o-o-

When Dick wakes up the first time, it's chaos. Shouting voices, a mask pressing against his face. He tries to open his eyes and figure out what's going on, but then something nudges his leg and he sees stars. He tries to crawl back to himself, but it's like he's pinned with sharp needles through butterfly wings. Before he can even try to open his eyes again through the tears, something pinches the inside of his elbow, and Dick loses himself again.

-o-o-o-o-

The second time he wakes, it's quiet. He feels like he's eaten so much honey that it has replaced his blood. His arms are heavy as he brings them to his face to rub at his blurry eyes. 

As he rubs at them, he can feel the tugging of tubes running up his nose. The pull of a needle within the crook of his elbow. As he looks around, slowly realizing where he is—slowly remembering why he's here—the heart monitor picks up speed. 

Of course, that's when a body he didn't notice until now shoots up like they have been trying and failing to catch some shut eye. 

"Bruce," Dick calls weakly as Bruce zeros in on him. Dick's throat hurts. Everything hurts. He can't feel anything below his knee.

Thankfully, as he weakly holds his arms out, Bruce gets the message. Before Dick knows it, he's being gathered into Bruce's arms so he's sitting up and clutching to Bruce like his wrinkled suit jacket is his lifeline. 

"How bad is it?" Dick asks with wobbling lips and a wobbling voice. 

Bruce stills, then his arms tighten around Dick, and that's when Dick knows it's bad. A sob tears through his throat and he closes his eyes, pressing against Bruce. He wants to crawl away and not exist. He wants Bruce to make everything okay again. 

He doesn't want to open his eyes to look. So he keeps them closed and allows his tears to stain Bruce's tie. 

"They…" Bruce starts, sounding terribly unsure, "you were in bad shape. Shock. Infection already setting in. You lost a lot of blood... They couldn't save anything below the knee."

Dick wants to laugh at the absurdity of it all. He knows he was panicking back there, but he also purposely cut at his ankle to… to save his leg. 

He lost it anyway. He wants to laugh. Instead he sobs harder. 

Bruce tries to reassure him with the hopes the doctors have for a prosthetic, tries to explain he already has Lucius Fox on making one fit for Nightwing, but Dick can only cry and weep and mourn until eventually, he's practically boneless. He can barely keep his eyes open as Bruce lays him back down and tells him to get some more rest. 

"Sleep, Chum, everything will get better."

Dick can't find it in himself to believe him. He sleeps anyway, if not to just pretend his entire life isn't over. 

[heartslogos]

newfragile yellows [1033]

It would be romantic and the height of foolishness to say she would know him by touch alone. But after all these years — perhaps these friends she’s made have worn off on her. Maybe it’s Varric and his soft, worn heart. Maybe it’s Cassandra and her burning one. Maybe it’s Cole and his painful delicacy. Maybe it’s Malika and her youthful will. Maybe it’s all of them at once.

It maybe foolish, but it is true.

Ellana does know him by touch alone. And she would wager he knows her, too.

Anyone else and Ellana would stiffen and strike, turning from limp and pliable blood to furious bone. Elbows and nails, tendons and ligaments. Ellana’s experienced enough, now, to know how to turn the sleep muddled haze of deep-hot-breathed-night into a maul in the heart. She’s lived through too many assassinations — attempts at them, anyway — not to.

Ellana can go from dead asleep — not even dreaming or in the Fade — to fully awake and battle ready in less than a breath. She’s been taught the quickest ways to go from prone and vulnerable repose to mid crouch, body strung like a bow, and hands ready to fly like arrows.

But she doesn’t.

Maybe it would be more accurate to say she knows him by intent, rather than touch.

Ellana is stirred from the depths of sleep by the shifting of blankets and the dip of the bed as his weight slides in behind her. Cold air slides in with him and makes her curl up, frowning even as the heat of his body next to hers makes up for the infraction.

His fingertips, rough and blunt, slide over the back of her neck. Her hair is pushed out of the way and Ellana mumbles incoherently as she slides back towards him. Astra, somewhere at the foot of the bed, shuffles awake and pads around to jump off and make a mess somewhere else in the room.

It’s the intent, Ellana thinks. It isn’t the touch, but the intent.

Or maybe the weight and gravity of his presence alone.

Ellana allows herself to relax, mind stretching languorously as she starts to feel herself drift back to sleep.

The Iron Bull breathes out, a slow exhale as he settles himself in. There’s the low scrape of one of his horns against the headboard and the annoyed huff of air as he slowly repositions himself.

Ellana waits, patiently, for the moving to stop. She can feel his elbow graze her back for a brief moment as he draws the bedding higher over himself.

She listens to his breathing as her mind half-heartedly thinks about saying something. She has to leave at dawn. Ellana hasn’t seen Bull in almost a month. Their schedules have been in gross misalignment due to the Inquisition being incredibly understaffed with the current rush to get things in place for the march into the Arbor Wilds.

Bull saves her the trouble.

His low voice sounds as tired as her head feels, muddled up and hazy and hot like a fever that goes down to the bones.

“If you get hauled back here because you got food poisoning eating Rocky’s field rations don’t come looking to me for pity.”

She kicks him. It’s clumsy and Bull lifts his leg to trap hers underneath his. The weight of it burns against her skin. Ellana is not averse to it. She pushes her leg until she can maneuver her foot to rest between his calves.

She doesn’t have much of a comeback besides that. She settles with lazily raising a hand and tossing her hair directly into his face. She hears him sputter, fingers raising to lightly pull and tug as he settles the mass of hair away from his face.

“Goodnight,” She says, face mashed into her pillow. - “Better than a bog unicorn. Not as good as a cat. Somewhere in between that,” Bull concludes as he watches the new nugalopes get sorted into the quickly expanding stables.

Ellana leans her cheek on her palm as she watches the procession of waddling, cumbersome looking creatures from the ramparts above. “I don’t understand your scale of judgement. You can’t ride a cat. And most things would be better than an undead horse.”

“Bog unicorn,” Bull insists, a laugh and a smile practically pouring out of every syllable. Ellana rolls her eyes skyward.

“Bog unicorn,” She acquiesces.

“The cat,” Bull begins to explain, “Can be trained.”

“And the nugalopes can’t? What’s the use of bringing them on then?”

“To please our spymaster?” Ellana sees him shrug out of the corner of her eye. “The nugalopes are mostly a joke. I think. Better than the bog unicorn because it has a pulse and doesn’t smell like rot. But I don’t think we’ll be getting these things to do tricks.”

“As if we could get the other creatures that carry various members of the Inquisition hither and yon to do tricks.”

“The harts play fetch.” Ellana turns to give Bull her most suspicious look. Bull grins down at her. “You think I’m lying to you, Wolf?”

“Fetch? With what? With sugar cubes?” She asks. “Are you sure that you aren’t thinking of mine, specifically? That’s because you gave him bad habits. You’ve taught him to be peculiar.” Ellana turns her gaze back down to the stables below. “Poor Dennet. He signed up for horses. Now he’s got an entire menagerie of creatures.”

“He’s handling it rather well, all things considered.” Bull says. He’s watching her for something.

Ellana scratches her nail against the stone.

“You’re wondering if I’ve taught Astra anything else.”

“You’re giving too much power to a cat,” Bull says. “Next thing you know the creature’s figured out how to hold hostages. Namely myself.”

Ellana smirks. “You’d let a cat hold you hostage?”

“I’ve let a Wolf do worse,” Bull points out amicably. He leans in close enough that she can feel the heat radiating off his body. “Though usually it’s only because I ask very nicely.”

She shoves him with a small burst of magic that makes him laugh.

“You’re being particularly bold today.” Ellana turns to face him. “Dare I ask?”

“Wolf’s always been daring.”

“And look at the sort of trouble it’s gotten me into,” Ellana shakes her head, “is this something that’s going to come around to get at me later? Is a harried messenger about to come running up to me, sounding very apologetic, with marching orders for something that will make me want to curse you?”

“Maybe,” Bull says. “Or maybe it’s a nice day and I’m enjoying your company. Stranger things have happened.”

Ellana narrows her eyes at him, and then leans around him to squint at the stone walls opposite them.

Her mouth flattens as she watches the great contraption of wood and steel get moved into position.

“Tell me you got permission for that,” Ellana asks.

“For what?”

Ellana transfers her glare from the trebuchet to Bull.

Bull offer her his hand. “You want first go at seeing how far a stuffed nug can fly if you sew on some wings?”

Ellana slaps her hand into his palm, his fingers squeezing around hers as she lets herself get dragged off.

“I’m there for observational purposes,” Ellana says to him, “If anyone tries to blame me I had no idea about any of this until you dragged me into it. And the only reason I’m not taking this straight to someone of some authority is because you’re the first name on my contract and I’m under orders.”

“Orders to have fun?”

“Orders to look the other way when you lot get up to mischief.”

[raspberryparker]

chocolate orange | one

Peter Parker x Fem!Omega!Reader — A/B/O Verse AU

← previous | mini-series masterlist | next → 

word count: 5,732 i’m so sorry summary: peter hasn’t presented yet so he’s blowing off some steam in the tower. there may be a lack of control on his part. maybe. warnings: see masterlist one paragraph where blood is drawn so if you’re scared of needles, please skip it; light mention of blood, obviously

read it on ao3 add yourself to my taglist! like my work? consider buying me a coffee!

━━━━━━━━

   Plaster dribbled down the wall like pebbles as the sound of the harsh impact echoed around the darkness in the room.

   His chest rose and fell rhythmically with each heavy breath he took in through his nose. They were the type of breaths that moved his whole body, his abdomen tensing as he exhaled angrily. He felt the beads of sweat along his hairline slide down the side of his face, cooling the skin of his neck before dipping below the muscle tank he wore.

   Peter didn’t remember how it had happened, but as he pulled his fist from the new hole in the wall and stretched his fingers, the tendons screaming in protest and his knuckles raw and bleeding, he wasn’t surprised.

   He felt the pain in his hand before he realized what had happened. And as he gathered his surroundings he saw where he was, what he'd done, plaster gathering like dust on the floor, and a new fist-sized hole in Tony Stark’s expensive wall.

   He blinked rapidly, shaking his hand out and looking at his palm in absolute bewilderment. The skin was angry and red, the creases more defined, and he felt the blood pumped by his thundering heart throbbing in his fingertips. Stumbling backwards on the mat, he almost fell flat on his ass as he panted heavily. 

   He’d lost control.

   Peter could hear the chain holding up the punching bag behind him creaking softly as it swayed back and forth, the thing he was supposed to be throwing punches at now forgotten. After all, he’d only come to the Tower that night to blow off some steam. But he’d let it go too far.  Peter let his thoughts stew in his mind as he railed on the punching bag before him. His fists were beginning to cramp but he’d been relentless, refusing to ease up on the jabs even though his arms ached and groaned with every reach. It had all happened so fast. He hadn’t even noticed the unbridled rage that was fuelling his every move until it was too much, seeping from his pores and pouring off him in waves of steam, before he consequently well and truly lost all control.

   He tried to focus his breathing and ease his racing heart, squeezing his eyes shut and pressing a palm to his forehead. He couldn’t go on like this.

   “You know,” the all too familiar voice chimed from behind him. “Someone’s gonna have to pay for that.”

   Peter whirled around, surprised he’d allowed someone to sneak up on him. Usually, the prickling sensation on the back of his neck would have alerted him to someone approaching but he hadn’t felt anything. Nothing other than the irrepressible fury that screamed through his veins, anyway.

   “M-Mr. Stark.” 

   The words sounded breathy, more like an exhale, as all the wind was knocked from him when he saw his idol, mentor, and the reigning Alpha in his life standing behind him with arms crossed. He’d thought he’d been careful; he’d instructed F.R.I.D.A.Y. to not inform Tony of his arrival or what he was up to, but of course, the older man always had the upper hand.

   The man in question looked far from impressed. Peter had never seen him dressed so casually, but he quickly chastised himself for being stupid enough to think that he’d be dressed formally in the middle of the night in the comfort of his own home. Tony’s arms were crossed over the old, faded Slayer t-shirt as he leaned against one of the pillars in the Training Facility, the loose jeans he wore ripped at the knees on both legs, and he was missing his usual tinted glasses. A teasing smile found its way onto his lips, but Peter didn’t seem to see it.

   “M-Mr. Stark, I’m s-so sorry,” he stammered, stooping to pick up the bits of plaster and clean up the mess. “I-I’ll take care of it, I’ll fix it myself if I have to, I promise I-”

   “Hey, hey, hey,” Tony muttered, his voice taking on a higher pitch and soft tone. He was trying to calm the panicking teen in front of him, stepping forward slowly with his hands outstretched. “I was just kidding. You know how many times someone’s punched the wall in here? I practically have the repair guy on speed dial.”

   Peter felt his breath leave his lips in a stuttering sigh, the tense posture he was maintaining easing from his frame. His shoulders fell slowly and he allowed his head to follow suit, looking down at his hands now covered in white dust and crumbly pieces of wall. He let them fall to the floor with a soft clatter. He jumped as Tony’s hands landed on his upper arms and he looked up at him with wide eyes.

   “Christ, you’re shaking like a leaf,” Tony muttered, fingers squeezing Peter’s biceps softly in an attempt to ground him. “What’s wrong, kiddo? I’ve never seen you like this.”

   “I-I just—”

   “Come on,” he said softly. Tony let one hand go and guided Peter slowly to the edge of the mat to their left. “Sit down. Take a breath. You don’t have to tell me but you do need to calm down a bit.”

   As he settled onto the mat, Tony sitting cross-legged beside him, he played with the elastic of his light grey sweatpants, the floor cold under his bare feet. He wondered why Mr. Stark was being so calm and comforting, and then quickly remembered the news stories that flooded the tabloids and entertainment channels years prior when Tony himself had struggled with anxiety. One particular public breakdown stuck out in Peter’s mind, and suddenly he felt his heart tug for his mentor, in both sorrow and thankfulness. But Tony had gotten better, and if there was anyone Peter could trust, it was him. He steeled his nerves then, taking a sharp, shaking breath through his nose. He noticed absently that Tony had unintentionally started trying to calm him with his scent, the smell of fresh laundry and pillows reminding him as much of home as Aunt May’s comforting scent did.  

   “I’m sorry,” he said softly. Tony just about rolled his eyes, but a fond smile took over his expression.

   “I told you it’s fine,” he said. “It’s a wall. It’s replaceable. But—” he poked a finger softly into Peter’s shoulder. “—you’re not. So, what’s up? There a reason you’re sticking your fist through my wall at three in the morning? And why is it so... F.R.I.D.A.Y., hit the lights, half the brightness.”

   The large room lit up around them, the dim light warming the cold atmosphere of the floor. Peter hadn’t even realized he’d forgotten to turn the lights on. He’d been so preoccupied with his goal that it completely slipped his mind. He could see Mr. Stark better now, the light revealing just how tired he looked. The dark crescents under his eyes held creases in them, and for the first time that evening (or morning, he supposed) he wondered why Tony was also awake this late.

   “I just wanted to blow off some steam,” he admitted, playing with his fingers in his lap. “There wasn’t exactly a lot to do tonight. I did my rounds but… it was too calm. And it probably sounds really bad, but I usually take out all of my feelings on those people who deserve it.”

   Tony chuckled softly next to him, his hand coming up to rest on Peter’s opposite shoulder. “It doesn’t sound as bad as you think.”

   “I guess,” Peter shrugged. He brought a hand up and scratched at his head, his hair unruly and fluffy from hours confined in the mask of his suit and from exerting himself on the equipment around him. “I just… I get so angry.”

   “Why?”

   Peter glanced up at Tony, his brows furrowed in fear.

   There was one specific reason for his frustrations, but the anxiety of looking pathetic in front of the person whom he never wanted let down stopped him from speaking. He never wanted Mr. Stark to think any less of him, and they’d been getting closer and closer and more comfortable with each other as the man continued to mentor him over the years. He didn’t want to undo it all by seeming like a helpless child. He’d just got Tony to consider him (somewhat) an adult.

   “Hey, it’s okay,” Tony said, squeezing his shoulder. “You can tell me.”

   “I…”

   Peter screwed his eyes shut, spots growing like ink blots behind his eyelids from the force of it, and took a deep breath.

   “I’m natureless.”

   When he opened his eyes again, his irises adjusted to the light and he only saw Tony blinking at him, a blank expression on his face. He panicked for a moment, wondering if he’d heard him correctly.

   “And?” Tony asked.

   “Mr. Stark,” Peter said, voice cracking. “I’m eighteen.”

   “Right, right.” Tony let his hand fall from Peter’s shoulder, looking away from his face as his brow furrowed. “When are kids supposed to present, again?”

   “Uh, between fourteen and sixteen.”

   “Oh,” he said then, glancing up. “You’re really late then.”

   “Two years,” Peter nodded.

   “But you could just be a late bloomer,” Tony said. “It’s not impossible. Why’s it got you all worked up?”

   “It’s not me,” Peter mumbled.

   “What do you mean?”

   “I’m not exactly, popular,” he snapped, his brow furrowing as he spit the words out. The Alpha raised his eyebrows, surprised at the outburst. Peter looked away sheepishly. “I’m sorry. But… I don’t have a lot of friends at school. Only Ned knows that I’m Spider-Man but I didn’t even mean for him to find out. To everyone else, I’m just a nerdy loser. And being a loser and scentless isn’t exactly a great combination.”

   He sniffled harshly, feeling his eyes sting. Peter shut his eyes, refusing to cry in front of Tony, and he wiped at his nose with the back of his hand before going on.

   “It pisses me off. But I can’t do anything about it, so instead I let loose by kicking criminals in the face. When that wasn’t an option, I came here. But I guess I lost control.”

   Tony laughed then, clapping his hands together. “Better out than in.”

   Peter allowed himself a smile at that, looking up at his mentor.

   “Well, if it’s really bothering you,” he began. “I can take you up for a visit to our resident mad scientist. He might be able to pinpoint why you’re so late. Those seven Ph.D.’s must be good for something.”

   “Dr. Banner’s here?” More importantly, he was still awake? Why was everyone in the Tower such night owls?

   “Always,” Tony smiled. “And don’t worry about bothering him. He’d probably not get to sleep around seven anyway.”

   “Okay,” Peter smiled, allowing himself to relax some as Tony stood up. “Thank you.”

   “Don’t mention it,” the Alpha muttered, ruffling his hair. “No, seriously—”

   “I know,” Peter laughed. “Don’t mention it.”

   Tony smiled then, wide and toothy as he looked down at the boy. “And go take a shower. You stink something fierce.”

   ━━━━━━━━

   The water soothed his aching muscles as he stood below the steady stream in the white tiled shower. Shutting his eyes and taking in a breath through his mouth, drops of water slipping past his lips and wetting his tongue, he rinsed the shampoo out of his hair as he allowed his mind to wander.

   His presentation hadn’t always been a concern for him. In fact, he’d been perfectly healthy. On his fourteenth birthday, May had taken him to the government regulated checkup with a pediatrician to check on his progress as all children were made to do at the age of presentation. The doctor had given him the all clear, and though it was impossible to tell one’s classification before they presented, he had said that it was most likely that Peter would turn out to be Beta or Omega.

   That thought haunted him for the next two years, even during the time he was bitten and gained his new abilities. It always bothered him.

   How he wished he’d present as a Beta. Though male Omegas were not uncommon and were more and more respected and accepted by the day, it was still hard for them within a traditionalist society. It was the same way for female Alphas, but they didn’t have it nearly as bad. Peter thought about MJ and how she’d stayed home for a month when she presented as Alpha during Sophomore year. She came back to school angry and tense, refusing to speak to anyone until her friends had reassured her that they didn’t think any less of her. In fact, the classification suited her. She brushed off the compliments, but she calmed down about it over the next few months. If Peter had presented as Omega, he might have done the same. In any case, he didn’t blame her.

   The summer before Junior year, Peter turned seventeen. He woke up that morning in early August and felt… nothing. He almost cried as he lay awake on his bed, staring at his ceiling. But he never did.

   May had been concerned, insisting she take him to see someone and bathing the apartment in the scent of a stressed out Omega, but he’d brushed her off. Assuring her that it was fine, and knowing full well that May simply didn’t have the income to accommodate a trip to the doctor, he went on with his life. But there was always that nagging thought at the back of his mind.

   If he thought that no one would notice, he’d been sadly mistaken.

   “Well, well, well,” Flash jeered at him from across the school cafeteria on the first day of school. “Penis Parker. How’d summer treat you? What’d you present as? Oh, wait.”

   Peter flinched at that, ducking his head and focusing on the carton of chocolate milk next to his tray. He noticed the anger coming through in MJ’s scent, a warning for anyone around to back off and leave them alone. That only made him sink lower. He didn’t need her to protect him.

   “So not only is Penis Parker a loser,” Flash said far too loudly, so much so that he had the attention of almost everyone in the small cafeteria. “But he’s natureless, too? I never would have guessed. Actually, it suits you, Parker. Just more proof that you’re below the rest of us. Not even an Omega.”

   “Fuck off, Flash,” MJ snarled from the other side of the table.

   “Oh yeah, get your Alpha bitch to protect you.”

   MJ moved to stand, but Ned’s hand on her arm held her back. She glanced at him and caught the look he was giving her, bristling as she settled back into her seat. She stabbed a fork into her apple and held it up lazily.

   “He’s not worth it,” she muttered. Ned nodded across from her.

   As Flash walked out of the room, he glanced over his shoulder, throwing back a final insult.

   “What a pathetic excuse for a pack.”

   As he glanced around at his friends, all grumbling into their food about what an asshole Flash was, he realized that no, it wasn’t a pathetic pack. It was the best family he could ever ask for.

   Across the table from him, Abraham and Betty, a Beta and Omega respectively, sat quietly next to Ned, cautiously looking at Peter with sorrowful eyes. Betty offered him a small smile, which he returned unenthusiastically. She poked at her mac and cheese with a plastic fork, her appetite gone from the outburst. Pushing it weakly toward Abraham, the boy took the extra food with a large grin.

   “Don’t pay attention to him,” Ned said. His brows were furrowed and his cheeks were red from the anger he felt, though he did a decent job of hiding it. “He’s just another knothead jerk.”

   As a Beta, Ned was probably the most level headed of their small pack. MJ was the Alpha, but no one kept her in check the way he did. Though he was still the giddy, comic and Star Wars obsessed boy that Peter knew in his childhood, since his presentation he’d been able to keep calm when it was the most critical. He’d presented around the same time as MJ, and they found comfort in each other when struggling to fit into their new classifications.

   And Peter was only slightly jealous.

   From beside him, a quiet voice chirped up, having been silent during the whole ordeal.

   “Yeah,” Y/N said. Peter turned to her and almost melted at the soft smile on her lips. “I know we say this every time but that only means there’s some logic behind it.”

   “Oh, definitely,” MJ agreed from the other side of the Omega, a mouthful of apple muffling her words. “But if it comes to it, I will rip off his knot.”

   “I don’t think we have to go that far,” Betty interjected with a nervous laugh.

   MJ shrugged. “Just sayin’.”

   Peter felt a hand on his shoulder and glanced over at Y/N. That same smile was still playing on her lips. He felt his heart tug longingly toward her, and he had to look away before he started blushing like a fool.

   “Thanks, guys,” he muttered.

   “We always have your back,” Y/N said.

   He wished she wouldn’t do that.

   It wasn’t even that big of a deal but almost everything she did made him fall more and more helplessly in love with her, if that was what he could call it. He didn’t even know what he felt for her; he just knew it was strong and it was persistent and it would bring him to his knees if she would do so much as ask. It consumed him almost entirely whenever they were together, and even when they were apart. He’d never been this infatuated with anyone before. He’d had his crushes, sure, but this was different.

   The word was right there at the front of his mind, but he knew that if he even thought about it, he’d lose it.

   They’d met through Betty in Sophomore year. The two girls had a U.S. History class together when she transferred to Midtown Tech in late October. He still remembered when Betty had introduced her to the group during lunch. She and Betty stood together, holding hands. She’d looked so sheepish smiling softly behind her hair. So shy. But it was normal, and it also wasn’t surprising that she was clinging to Betty so closely. A new school full of new smells and new people would make anyone anxious, but Omegas felt those emotions much more strongly than Betas or Alphas did. Seeking comfort in another Omega, Y/N opened herself up to Betty and allowed the physical closeness to calm her. And once she’d gotten accustomed to the small pack and they’d accepted her as one of their own, it was virtually unnecessary. But Peter did see them wrapped up in each other whenever one of them was stressed or anxious. It always made him smile.

   Y/N was another reason that Peter feared presenting as an Omega. Though relationships between people of the same classification weren’t unheard of, they were infinitely more complicated and painful if both parties didn’t try their absolute hardest to make it work. And he didn’t want to put her through that.

   He still saw her smile when he closed his eyes, her perfect lips and bright eyes, and still smelled the scent of berries and citrus breeze, so familiar he could almost taste it, when he thought about her. He felt guilty for feeling that way, knowing what his presentation would most likely turn out to be. He should have saved himself the pain if it did turn out the way he expected.

   But he couldn’t help it.

   She smelled like summer, and home, and—

   Peter shook his head, water from his hair spitting against the walls and the door of the shower cubicle, rubbing his eyes as he tried to rid himself of the thought. He wouldn’t allow himself to think it. That much he wouldn’t do.

   The ride up the elevator after he got dressed, his hair still wet and dripping slightly along the floor, was uncomfortable for Peter. He’d told F.R.I.D.A.Y. that Mr. Stark and Dr. Banner were expecting him, and the AI had instructed to get into the elevator. His stomach flipped, and this time it wasn’t from the speed of the car as it rose (which used to knock him off his feet but he’d since gotten used to). No, this time the weight that rested at the bottom of his abdomen was an all too familiar feeling of anxiety and fear. He was worried about what Dr. Banner would tell him; if he’d just confirm his fears that he was defective in some way. That would have been just about the last thing he needed.

  As the elevator doors slid open, for a moment Peter thought F.R.I.D.A.Y. had taken him to the wrong place. He’d thought she was taking him to the medical lab, and what lay in front of him looked far too homey to be anything as sterilized as a lab. The centre of the room was clear, but the rest of it was full of counters and tabletops with hologram charts floating above them, and the far window to his right that stretch across the entire wall overlooked the lounge and bar where Tony hosted his infamous parties. It was warm inside, and smelled like fresh baked pastries and candles. Peter could see mugs lining the counters and tables, loose stacks of files and papers weaving between them.

  The music was pounding as Peter stepped into the new environment, a heavy drum beat followed by screeching guitar riffs ringing through the room and making the vibrations in the floor run up through his feet and legs. Glancing to his right, he noticed Mr. Stark leaning against a countertop with a coffee mug in one hand and a muffin in the other, crumbs clinging to his beard. Dum-E was whirring slightly to his left, a broom in his grip and a dustpan taped to his base as he clumsily tried to sweep up the muffin crumbs that fell from Tony’s bites. He was wearing the Dunce cap again. Peter tried to suppress a smile.

   To his left, past the clearing in the room, there was a small set of stairs that led into a glass-walled room. Peter recognized it as the medbay, the white bed in the centre of it looking like something out of a futuristic movie. Actually… everything before him looked like it came out of a movie.

   Dr. Banner stood in the doorway of the medbay, his expression pinched and his hands on his hips over the white lab coat. His brow was furrowed and his mouth was moving, trying to say something to Tony but the other man was completely oblivious.

  Tony noticed Peter approaching, and smiled around the rim of his mug, leaning down to press a button on a glass tablet sitting on the surface of the desk. The music came to an abrupt halt. Dr. Banner visibly relaxed, hanging his head.

  “Thank you,” he sighed, hopping down the steps. “Finally, my head can stop pounding.”

  “It wasn’t for you, Doc,” Tony smiled. He stood up from his position and walked toward Peter. He held out the muffin. “You want some? It’s blueberry. Who knew the Doc could bake, huh? Thing’s delicious. Actually, wait, what am I saying? You can’t. Sorry, kiddo.”

  “Ah, Peter,” Dr. Banner said, walking across the lab to approach him. “Good to meet you.”

  Peter took the hand Dr. Banner held out to him, his brows furrowing at the same time as his eyes widened, a confused expression on his face. There was way too much happening around him.

  Here he was shaking hands with someone he had learned about in school. It was getting increasingly difficult to keep his cool. And now he really wanted that muffin, but was unsure why he couldn't have it.

  “It’s very nice to meet you, too, Dr. Banner,” he replied.

  A smile made its way onto the doctor’s face, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Please, just Bruce is fine.”

  “O-okay.”

  “Hope you haven’t eaten anything in a while,” Tony said as Dr. Ban—Bruce made his way to the other side of the lab. “Bruce’s gonna take your blood. I’ll give you a muffin after because, unfortunately, we’re fresh out of lollipops.”

  “He’s not a kid, Tony,” Bruce called from where he was setting up a microscope.

  Tony held his hands up in defence, the coffee almost spilling from the mug. He set it down on the nearest table and jerked his head, motioning for Peter to follow him.

  “You nervous?” Tony asked, glancing over his shoulder to make sure Peter was still following him. They crossed the room and went up the steps, entering the medbay. Now this looked more like a lab. Everything was white and smelled like lemon scented disinfectant.

  “A little,” he admitted. “But I just wanna know what’s going on.”

  “As anyone would,” Bruce said as he walked in behind them. “You can go ahead and take a seat, I’ll just be a second.”

  Peter sat on the white cushioned bed, a hologram screen beeping softly next to him. He felt like a kid again, waiting in the doctor’s office as his legs dangled over the side of the examination table. But this time it was different, and he knew it all too well.

  Bruce stood beside him wrapping a strip of something similar to velcro just above his elbow and tightening. Peter could feel it restricting the blood flow, but also saw the veins in the soft skin of the inside of his elbow protruding.

  “I’m not gonna take much,” Bruce assured him. “Just enough to run some tests. You can look away if you want.”

  Peter did. Having Bruce leaning over his arm like that, he was finally close enough to be able to tell what the doctor’s classification was. Peter finally realized where the smell of freshly baked pastry was coming from as Bruce poked his arm softly trying to find the best place to draw blood from. After all, the muffins hadn’t been that fresh. The comforting scent of a Beta was all he needed to calm down enough to allow himself to breathe through his nose and distract himself from the thought of the needle millimetres away from his skin.

  “Okay, you ready?”

  Peter nodded, shutting his eyes.

  He felt the pinch of the needle pressing into his skin and flinched, holding his breath until the pressure on his arm subsided.

  “There we go,” Bruce muttered. He removed the strip around his arm and Peter immediately felt relief flood through the limb. “You can have that muffin now.”

  “Catch.”

  As he stood from the bed, Peter caught the blueberry muffin that was thrown his way without looking up, too preoccupied with observing the redness of his arm. A minuscule drop of blood formed on his skin and Peter watched as the tiny wound sealed up within seconds. He heard Tony start the music again, but this time at a much more acceptable volume so they could still talk. Glancing around, he saw the both men had already left the medbay and were standing next to each other in front of a glass screen suspended about one of the counters.

  Peter rubbed at his elbow with his wrist, muffin still in his hand as he stepped toward them.

  “Hey, Pete,” Tony said. “You want a biology lesson from the Doc?”

 “Sure,” Peter replied, feeling giddy that a man he’d looked up to for years was about to teach him something.

  “You know how classification is determined within the body?” Bruce asked.

  Peter shook his head, peeling back the paper liner from the muffin and taking a bite from the bottom. Tony was right; it was delicious.

  “I didn’t exactly pay too much attention during that class,” he admitted sheepishly, voice muffled by the muffin. He left out the part where he admitted to sleeping through it because he hadn’t slept the night before because of his rounds. 

  “Well,” Bruce went on. He moved from the counter to the table behind it, typing something into a hologram keyboard built into the countertop and observing the monitor of the same quality above him as he spoke over his shoulder. “Everyone’s born with all three classification hormones. Even if you’re an Alpha, there’s at least a little bit of Omega and Beta hormones in there too.”

  Peter hummed, chewing thoughtfully. He knew that much. That was one of the reasons it was so hard for doctors to tell someone nature before they presented.

  “During puberty, one of those hormones starts getting produced more than the others,” Bruce went on. Turning back to them, Peter could see he’d prepared a microscope slide with a drop of his blood, sliding it into place on the lit stage and peering through the eyepiece. He spoke even as he was spinning through the lenses. “Like how girls produce a little bit of testosterone even though their main reproductive hormones are estrogen and progesterone. It’s the same principle. The classification hormones are also why growing pains include the reproductive organs. Your body’s changing to adjust to your new nature.”

  “Yeah, that makes sense,” Peter muttered, picking out a blueberry and letting the sweet dried fruit sit on his tongue.

  Bruce hummed to himself as the three of them stood in silence, the quiet music and the clicks of the microscope the only sounds in the room.

  “I gotta say, Peter,” Bruce said, looking up at him. “This is one of the most interesting blood samples I’ve ever seen. The radioactivity alone is astounding. And I think I know what’s wrong.”

  Peter felt his stomach drop again as Bruce motioned for him to follow to the largest screen in the room. He left the rest of his muffin uneaten, suddenly lacking an appetite. Bruce tapped on a glass tablet similar to the one Tony was playing his music from before the screen lit up with floating words and numbers and graphs.

   “Usually this would take a really long time, but we’ve got the equipment to give us quick results,” Bruce said.

   “Thanks to whom?” Tony asked mockingly as he came to stand behind Peter.

   Bruce rolled his eyes and went on. “You do have the three classification hormones, there’s nothing to worry about on that front.”

   Peter sighed in relief, allowing his shoulders to relax as he watched Bruce focus in on one particular bar graph.

   “It’s the levels of those hormones that are throwing me off, though,” he said. “You went to the checkup when you were fourteen, right?”

   “Yeah,” Peter replied. “They said… they said I’d be either Beta or Omega.”

   “Well, they were right.”

   He knew it was coming. He knew what Bruce was about to tell him but it didn’t stop the drying of his throat and mouth as he struggled to breathe. He swallowed thickly, looking up at Bruce and seeing the concerned expression on his face.

   “From what I can tell,” he said. “You were supposed to be an Omega.”

   And there it was. Out in the open for the world to see. Peter looked down at the glass on the surface of the table, feeling dejected for a reason he could not understand. He knew deep down, and for a long while, what he was supposed to be. But denial is a funny thing, when it's strong enough, that is. One particular thought nudged at the back of his mind as he took in Bruce's words, the tang of orange peel bitter on his tongue as his favourite scent enveloped him. This time, however, it was not welcome. The last thing he wanted was to think of her right now.

   “How old were you when the spider bit you?”

   Peter almost didn’t hear him, too entrenched in his own thoughts. The hand on his shoulder shook him from his trance. He felt Tony's fingers squeeze him softly.

   “I-I’m sorry?”

   “How old were you when you got your powers?” Bruce repeated.

   “Uh,” Peter mumbled, trying to think back. “About fourteen.”

   “So I was right,” Bruce smiled.

   Peter frowned, confused once again. Bruce gave him a reassuring look and pointed to one of the bars on the graph.

   “This is your Omega hormone level. And this,” he said, pointing to the bar next to it that was just about the same height. “Is your Alpha hormone level.”

   “M-my what?” Peter stammered.

   “Yeah,” Bruce smiled. “That little tiny one is your Beta level. I think it’s safe to say you won’t be a Beta. But I had theorized that it had something to do with your abilities and I think I may have been right.”

   “What do you mean?” Peter asked, a scared expression on his face.

   “It’s nothing bad, don’t worry,” Bruce grinned. “In fact it’s fascinating. Think about it,” he said and held his hands up, gesturing as he explained. “Your abilities, what are they? Enhanced strength, speed, agility, senses, reaction time, and ability to fight, among others. Now, what classification do those sound like they would belong to?”

   “Alpha.” The word dropped from Peter’s lips as almost a whisper, and he glanced back up at the graph as he began to understand where Bruce was going with his explanation.

   “Exactly. My theory is that even though you were set to present as Omega, as soon as you got bit something clicked—” he snapped, and Peter jumped slightly. “—and your body panicked. It went into overdrive, producing more and more Alpha hormone to try to accommodate your newfound powers and characteristics that are more suited for an Alpha. At this point, it’s too hard to tell what you’ll present as. It’s pretty fifty-fifty. But I have to say, you would be a rather strange Omega. Hopefully, your scale tips the other way, for Spider-Man’s sake.”

   “Yeah,” Peter muttered, Tony’s hand still firm on his shoulder. "I hope so too.”

━━━━━━━━

A/N: i blame my friends for encouraging me. i know a/b/o isn’t everyone’s thing but it’s my guilty pleasure and so i had to indulge. this idea has been stewing in my head forever. don’t hate me please. my sexual preferences are showing, aren’t they? also the lab is based on the one in aou which i just watched so

part two and three are coming out tomorrow and the day after! 

read it on ao3 add yourself to my taglist! like my work? consider buying me a coffee!

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[devilsnwitches]

SSDD - Ch2 - Witchy Instincts

AO3 <Link - Written by Me & @lynxtigerwritings

Tags = AU Canon-Divergent / Canon-Typical Behavior

Pairings = Vergil-OFC / Dante-OFC / Nero-Kyrie / V-OFC

Note - READ LOVE’S SACRIFICE IT’S V PROLOGUE - Pairing V/OFC

“So I knew about Lysander one,” Dante said as he leaned back into a chair, a magazine on his lap. Vergil was out cold, and Charlotte decided to go downstairs and rest since she stayed up most of the night. For someone that promised a “watch”, she took more than her fair share. It was practically daybreak now, and Yvette had to do a combination of shove her sister down the stairs and tuck her securely into a couch to make sure she’d never move again. “I hate to say it, but I didn’t know there was a Lysander two that took on the family business.”

Startled from getting lost in her own head, Yvette blinked at him for a second before his words clicked and she nodded, “Yeah, sorry. Lotty and I don’t do every job together, a lot of the time splitting up. I also run my own little ‘at home’ business, so there’s that. I’m not always out there slayin’ monsters, but I’m always available if Lotty needs me.”

“Lotty huh? How did she get that nickname?” Dante never heard of Charlotte’s nickname, but now that he had it...he was pretty certain he was going to get shot for it. Regardless, he was still curious about it. “What at home business do you do?”

“Well, I’m younger by two years and when I was learning to talk I couldn’t say her name properly. I called her Lotty and she calls me Vetty when she’s being sentimental or upset about something. As for what I do? I go to people’s homes, businesses, or whatever and I sage cleansing and purification. Sometimes it sparks a demon attack, sometimes it doesn’t. I also offer meditation sessions and crystal massage.” She grinned, “I’m a nut for shiny rocks.”

“Lysander witches, makes sense.” Dante nodded. “Vetty’s adorable. Kind of reminds me of a puppy.”

“Lotty and Vetty could both be pupper names,” Yvette snickered, “Though honestly, that’s a first. Dunno how she’d feel about being called a puppy. She’s more like a moody cat.”

Dante could see it. “My brother’s the same way. They get along well. At least, as well as one can get when someone is literally burning the poison out of you.” His eyes wandered to Vergil’s sleeping form. They were pieces of work. Both of them. “He’s been gone for seven years. I wasn’t really expecting him to come back.”

“Geez, seven years?” she toyed with the silver spinner ring on her left thumb, also watching Vergil, “I can’t…” she shook her head, “I can’t even begin to imagine what seven years without Lotty would be like...I mean, if she’s gone longer than a week on a demon mission I get worried sick.”

“Well, in honesty my brother and I aren’t exactly heart to heart types of people. To be frank, I didn’t even know Vergil even had a woman, let alone a kid for a long time until I randomly dropped in during a bad time.” Dante sighed, kicking his legs to cross them the other direction. “Nero was the one that told me about the seven-year thing. We...tend to stay out of each other’s business. The only common connection we have is Nero. He’s the one that might take over Devil May Cry when I get ready to retire or some shit.”

“‘The family business, saving people hunting things’...oh my god my nerd showed I’m so sorry.” Yvette smacked her hand over her face.

“Supernatural?” Dante snickered. “You have to admit, they come up with some really interesting ideas. I wouldn’t mind fighting some of the demons they’re hunting, but I’m not too sure they can handle ours.”

“Two different worlds, that’s for goddamn sure. They’d shit themselves seeing our demons, I wholeheartedly agree.” Yvette blew her hair from her face, “What was it like? Finding out Nero was family?”

“Insane,” Dante admitted bluntly. “Vergil’s not the type that goes after women, let alone a longstanding relationship. But they seemed to have lasted...for a while. I wouldn’t blame her if she walked away. Our lives are difficult. Hard. Vergil, more so.”

“If Vergil’s not the type to pick a woman lightly, she wouldn’t have walked.” Seeing the way he relaxed under Charlotte’s touch gave plenty away, and Dante’s explanation helped solidify that idea. “What would make more sense to me is if she met the same fate as my parents because you’re right, this life’s hard. Dangerous as fuck. Dog-eat-dog world and all that.”

“Well can’t blame me for hoping that she was smart.” Dante sighed, “But you’re not wrong. Missing for seven years and coming back looking like that? He must have gone after her, or something happened in the Underworld and didn’t want to tell me about it. We have our differences about it. It’s caused us both a lot of pain.” He stretched. “Enough with the depressing talk. Nothing’s gonna get fixed if we mope about it.”

“Yeah, that was harsh. Sorry.” She eyeballed him, “Stiff?”

“Nothing I can’t handle, Yeti. You’re good. Stiff? Yeah, a bit.” Dante agreed. “It’s from sitting in uncomfortable places for too long, I’m sure.”

“I’ll give you a surprise if you never call me Yeti again.”

“Where’s your sense of adventure? I thought you were the less stuck up one.”

“Rude. Fine. Close your eyes.” When he arched a brow at her she did the same until he stubbornly obeyed. Standing up she went around and wiggled and stretched her fingers before she pounced. This was what she really enjoyed doing, giving massages. Taking into account his thick coat she adjusted pressure and slid along his muscles smoothly.

“Oh god, that hits the spot.” Dante groaned as she got right into a good knot. “Damn.”

“Take this off and it’ll get better.” Yvette’s grin went from ear to ear as she tapped his shoulder and lifted her hands long enough for him to shrug his coat, draping it back over the seat and she went right back at it. This time she even worked along his neck, back and forth creating gentle friction, then along the back neck tendons, behind his ears to his temples, back again, working his shoulders and repeating. Even though she’d been awake forever by now, doing something she loved made her giddy and woke her up.

As she worked on the knots around his neck and shoulders, he felt himself relax completely into her hold. It wasn’t often he let himself go like that, but this was a safe spot and he knew the Lysander reputation well enough to know that if they had his back on the battlefield, then they’d have his back here as well. He wasn’t even aware when he started purring deep in his chest.

Biting her lip to keep herself in check, Yvette took a breath through her nose and calmed down, instead focusing on the rhythm of it and eventually her own body rocked to the movement. She didn’t hum like her sister, so the only sound was the soft ‘scritch scritch’ when she went through his hair, his purring and soft groans when she did something particularly good. Eventually, her wrists and fingers started to cramp and she gave him a couple of pets to smooth his hair down after messing it up, “I think he’ll be fine if you wanna crash,” she whispered in his ear so not to startle him from his reverie.

It sounded like a good idea, but Dante decided against it, shaking his head minutely and then pulling himself out of the trance. “Nah, but thanks for the moment.” He told her sincerely. “It’s been a while.”

“More than welcome,” she looked at the window. Sunrise. “You cool if I do, then?”

“Go for it,” Dante assured. “I got this.”

X

It was much later in the afternoon. Nico wasn’t at all surprised to know that the apartment was still crowded as hell from the appearance of a couple of witches and Vergil coming back from wherever the hell he was. It was enough of a crowd that made her go back into the garage to fix the damn van that they used for mobile calls. She wandered out, cigarette already in her hand and ready for a lighter when she noticed a shadow coming across the garage.

Great, it was going to be Nero and Vergil all over again, wasn’t it? “Hey psycho!” Nico called to the shadow that paused. “Stop loitering! Either get yer ass in here or leave.”

Here’s the thing, Nico was expecting a demon. She was expecting someone to go under the door, weapon out and she would have to call for Nero to save her dumbass and Nero would never let her live it down for weeks. What she wasn’t expecting was a curvy goth pinup girl. She was a gorgeous piece of work and Nico could appreciate it when she saw it. “You lookin’ for something?”

“Not really a something.” The girl said, her voice soothing. Nico wondered who would out mom the other: this woman or Kyrie. “I’m looking for someone that runs Devil May Cry. Is that you?”

“Girl, you came to the right place with a bunch of us hoarding around a coffee table. Only you also picked terrible timing since one of us is down for the count and we’re all losing our heads over him.” Nico said, bringing the cigarette to her mouth to inhale and then exhale the smoke. “What did you do? Summon a demon you can’t get rid of? Pretending you’re a witch?”

The pained expression on the woman’s face told Nico that she hit some nails on the head, but not all of them. “Not me.” The girl said, and now that Nico was getting a closer look at her, damn. This girl knew how to put on makeup.

“Your eyeliner looks like it can cut a bitch.” Nico complimented. “Come upstairs. I’ll get the morons.”

“Thanks.” The girl smiled, and Nico snubbed out the cigarette before guiding her back up to the apartment.

“So, what’s your name?” Nico asked conversationally as she shoved the door open.

“Alexina.”

“How many nicknames you got outta that name?”

“I’m still counting to this day.” Alexina sighed.

Nico whistled. “Lucky I only get the one. Oi! Loser!” She called into the apartment. “I got a job for you hot shit!”

“Be more specific on the ‘loser’ part, Nico-nee,” Yvette chirped and Kyrie smacked her chest with the back of her hand. The two lighter brunettes were indeed sitting ‘round the coffee table.

“Customer?” Kyrie eyed Alexina and immediately she frowned, “What do you take? Coffee or tea?”

“Don’t know if customer’s the right word, but uh...I normally take a coffee.” Alexina said turning towards Kyrie. “Thank you.”

“OI!” Nico shouted again.

“I HEARD YOU THE FIFTH TIME!” Nero’s voice rang through the apartment and Alexina blinked as the boy in question walked down the stairs. His hair was short, and he looked...young. Younger than Alexina thought he was. Maybe they wouldn’t have a clue. Maybe this was a bad idea after all. He glanced at the girl that was standing beside Nico and gave her only a once over. “Sorry about my mechanic.” He said. “She’s usually better trained than this.”

Nico casually flipped him off. “I’m goin’ back downstairs in case the van’s needed. Y'all let me know where I need to head.” She said as she walked off without another word.

If there was one thing Nero couldn’t do, it was talking to strangers. Customer service was not his thing still. Kyrie could handle them so much better, and Dante was probably heading down here since Charlotte was taking over watching his dad.

“So,” Nero said slowly as he sat down on the coffee table, leaning a bit forward. “How may I help?”

“It’s more or less a question that I have,” Alexina said slowly. “Do you know anything about demon summoning.”

“I am not summoning a damn thing,” Nero said bluntly.

“I’m not asking you to, I’m asking if you knew anything about it.” Alexina held her hands up. “As in. Do you know to reverse a deal.”

Yvette was intrigued, but she didn’t want to steal Nero’s thunder so she simply listened. Kyrie was bustling about getting coffee in the coffee maker, but she peered over her shoulder, “We might be able to answer that better if you explain to us what happened.”

Nero watched the woman for a moment. The way she lifted her hand up to the tooth that was around her neck. How she fingered and played with it as she thought. “Someone close to you made a deal huh.” He didn’t have to be Sherlock Holmes to figure that out. “That sucks.”

Her lips twitched. “It was my fault.” The bluntness of the statement took Nero back a bit. “I was sick. He thought it was a good idea. The only idea. Summoned a demon and now he’s the one suffering. Apparently, his energy and demon energy aren’t...he’s not a witch. I at least don’t think he is. I don’t know his bloodline, he’s an orphan, see. Clearly, something’s going wrong with whatever the deal was.”

“How?”

“Best way to describe it is that he can force the energy to create familiars. I’ve only met two of them, but there’s three.” Alexina said softly. “Griffon’s alright. Mouthy and a bitch, but he’s alright. Shadow’s a huge cat, and I don’t have any problems but...I don’t know it’s a bad feeling in my gut that tells me something’s wrong.”

“If I may?” Yvette piped up, looking at Nero for permission. It was never a bad thing to follow Char’s rule about not sticking their noses in the business of Devil May Cry, but ‘witch’ and ‘demon deal’ in the same breath of conversation wasn’t a good sign.

“Go for it.” Nero gestured.

“Did your friend happen to mention to you that a summoning for a normal person isn’t supposed to work?” Yvette went right to the point.

Alexina sucked in a sharp breath. Nero had a feeling that the friend probably glossed over that fact, but Alexina was a sharp cookie. “I figured as much.” She said after a moment. “I study the occult for fun.”

“I bet your friend does, too,” she rubbed her forehead, “An orphan, yet you’re sure he’s not a witch. It’s rare as fuck, but not unheard of for a modern witch to start a new line. There was a lot more magic and raw force and energy back when my bloodline started. Could you tell me more about him so I can piece this together?”

“Admittedly, I’m the bookworm when it comes to the occult. He’s more of the...poet. Literally. I met him back in high school.” She sat down on the edge of the couch, smoothing out her skirt. “We have one of those friendships where you can ask us how we met and we’ll have several different stories. What I do remember was that he stood out and blended in. Quiet. Honest. But only if you ask. Only if you even try.” She rubbed her lips together, smearing the dark raspberry color around but nothing too rough. “Mom died after we graduated. We moved in together since we were the only family we had left. But then I got sick.” There was a long pause. “He thought I was going to die.”

Kyrie listened as Yvette only hummed at first as she went quiet, sinking into her chair, forefinger over her mouth and spinning the ring on her thumb. Putting together the coffee, taking Alexina in and making a good hard guess on how she liked it, she brought it over, “He had a purpose.”

“My life means more to him.” Alexina agreed as she took the coffee cup. “I called him out on it when I was in the hospital, but...he was adamant it was the only way and that he wasn’t going to...walk away. He was ready for me to. Griffon told me that later on when he wasn’t around to overhear. I know it’ll mean my death.” She looked at Nero firm. “But I’m a fighter. I’ve been around chronic illness all my life, I can do it again.”

Nero looked over at Yvette.

“If there’s a reverse I’d have to research it and ask my sister to help, but in all actuality, it may not be as much of a pressing matter as you think.” She tapped her chin, “He’s a poet so he’s eloquent. Had a strong definite purpose. Was no doubt willing to accept death if you lived. That’s the problem a lot of modern wannabes don’t have the solid willpower. A sliver of doubt at any given moment during their attempted rituals and it fails. Or they summon something and it doesn’t end well. He’s still around and here you are, healthy as all can be. Then there are his familiars. They sound kind. Protectors. What he did was profound. That’s more than a success. That’s a triumph.”

“As much as you’re singing praise,” Nero couldn’t help this part. “You’re talking about an untrained witch running around with three familiars that we don’t know what they can do. As well as, what price did he pay for it?”

Yvette smacked her forehead with the heel of her hand, “This is why Char is around. I’m hairbrained as fuck. Thanks and sorry. Yeah, a brand-spankin' new witch is sure to draw attention. Where the hell do you guys live?”

“Across town, on the outskirts of the city.” Alexina nodded her head towards a direction. “We like the quiet.”

“I bet you do,” Nero muttered. There were hardly ever any attacks on the outskirts. Not a lot of humans, not a lot of chaos. Now that there was a witch there, he could expect that to grow. “It sounds like me to it’s not much a reversal, but we can do something to help with his powers. That’s a start. While he harnesses those, it might slow down whatever price he made right?” He looked at Yvette. “Or do you think that’ll speed it up?”

“No, no, you’re on the right track. Smart kid,” Yvette beamed at him, “Training helps strengthen the spirit as well as the body. Being a poet will end up being useful if he wants to learn spells. Hell, his favorite poems could be spells if he damn well wanted them to be.”

“He’s stubborn enough I’m sure,” Alexina said dryly. “I’m not sure how to bring him here without him getting suspicious. Hell, he’s probably wondering where I’m at as we speak.”

“You didn’t tell him you were doing this?”

“He didn’t exactly ask me for my permission when he summoned a demon so I think this is more than fair.” Alexina shrugged.

“Yeah, definitely fair. You say you live crosstown? I kinda live in the middle of there and here, and if you’d like you could make up some bullshit story how you heard about my little cleansing business and I can drop by your place?”

Without another word, Alexina pulled out her phone from her purse and tossed it to Yvette. “Type in your number and I can text you the address. I’m on Seaside.” At her confused look, Alexina frowned. “You know, past the intersection of Dwight and Morningstar?” Another confused look. “You are terrible with directions aren’t you.”

“That’s why Charlotte’s my GPS.” Yvette deadpanned but she fiddled with Alexina’s phone and put in her contact information as well as her sister’s for good measure, “Pay me for gas and it’s all good. Curiosity's got me too good for me to care much about pricing.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Alexina assured as she set the half-drunk coffee cup onto the table and she looked at Nero. “I hope whoever’s injured is feeling better soon.” She said gently as she stood up. “I should take my leave before I get a phone call and Griffon squawking.”

“Yeah,” Nero said watching her leave the apartment and he turned to Yvette. “I never heard of anyone summoning a demon and living to tell about it. Either this friend of hers is a witch, or he’s part-demon of some sort.”

“I’m voting neither, but he did make himself a witch with the summoning. Believe what you want, kiddo, but I’m gunna go with my witchy instincts on this one.”

“Go for it, at least it’s not my job. I’d fuck this all up.” Nero shrugged as he got off the coffee table. “I’m going to check in on father and Charlotte. I bet she’ll be curious too. About this mysterious friend of Alexina’s that can summon a demon and get familiars out of it.”

“Might as well tell Dante there’s coffee,” Kyrie smiled at him, “I’m sure he’ll appreciate it after not sleeping all night.”

“I’ll bring him a cup.” Nero agreed as he went to her side and pressed a kiss against her cheek before heading to the kitchen to grab that cup of coffee that Kyrie made and go back upstairs where people were.

It bothered him to no end really. He’d do the same for Kyrie, no question if their situation had been the same as those two. Yet, he couldn’t shake off this feeling that her friend was going to be a lot more dangerous than any demon he saw yet.

He should’ve taken the time to ask Alexina what she even knew about demons. Oh well.

X

So far, the constant pain and agony had mostly gone away. His back was the source of it, still soaking in the antidote, but his body ached. Charlotte had been kind and brought him a glass of water, so his throat wasn’t parched and feeling like a desert, either. Propped against the pillows, Vergil had his ankles crossed in front of him and his personal book in his lap Dante had retrieved from his coat. Not for the first time and certainly not the last time he was grateful for his demonic healing, though he wouldn’t be fully well for at least a few more days.

Charlotte had taken refuge in a seat, curled into a ball that looked uncomfortable but she made no noises of complaint and she barely spoke, though sometimes she’d leaned her head towards Vergil when she heard him mutter a line under his breath, but never asked to repeat it or to speak up. The door opened and she looked up. “Hey, Nero. Dante’s in the shower.”

“I figured.” Nero sighed as he handed her the coffee instead. “You get this then.” He watched her take it from his hands and curled up even more with it. “How are you doing, pops?” Nero turned his attention to Vergil.

“Being weak is not something I enjoy, but…” Vergil examined the same hand that had reached out to Nero yesterday in the garage, no longer grey and black-veined, though he was still too pale for anyone’s liking, “...I am doing well. Charlotte’s antidote is working on  healing my back now.”

“That’s good,” Nero said as he looked at his father. He looked a lot better than yesterday, but the image still burned into his mind. Of the flecking skin, and the black veins. He turned towards Charlotte. “So I got a question for you. Know anything about demon summonings?”

“I’ve done a few in my lifetime.” Charlotte pulled her shirt down to show a long scar down her neck and chest. “I learned my lesson. Why?”

“You’re going to go on a wild trip with this one. Apparently, there’s a girl who has a friend, not saying names here cuz she didn’t give me any, who not only successfully summoned a demon but made a deal with it, too.” Nero clicked his tongue. “Vet’s playing detective.”

“Of course she is.” Charlotte sipped the coffee.

“A common occurrence?” Vergil turned his head only slightly to look at her, “You don’t seem at all concerned.”

“It’s Vetty.” Charlotte turned towards Vergil this time. “The only time I need to get concerned is when she bites off more than she can chew. Otherwise, it’s if there’s a big demon she’s probably near it.” She turned to Nero. “I get the feeling that “successful demon summoning” line has a story behind it.”

“Yeah. Friend’s not a witch until now.” Nero concluded.

“That’s where everything goes to hell.” Charlotte sighed. “Whoever the friend is walked over my grave.”

“That is an interesting turn of phrase.” Vergil drawled, his attention seemingly returning to his book, “So will you be off, then? Duty’s done, after all.”

“Hmmm.” Charlotte shrugged. “I’ll let my sister suffer. Give her free reign. See what she comes up with.”

“A damaged car and a broken ego.”

“See if Vetty was here to hear that, you’d be window flying right now.” Charlotte gestured towards the window using her coffee cup, grinning at Nero. She looked over at Vergil. “I’ll stay here and be back up for once.”

Nero looked between the two of them, made a soft noise and then headed out towards the door. “Tension is tension. I know where I’m not needed.”

Vergil knew everyone wanted answers, and he was secretly surprised that Charlotte had decided to stay. “I know not all sibling relationships are like mine and Dante’s. You do not have to remain here, the danger has passed.”

She turned her attention towards him and she sipped on the coffee once more. “Is this you asking me to leave, or is this you wondering why I’m staying?”

“Stay because you want to, not because you feel you should.” Vergil answered instead, flipping the page of his book even as his eyes read not the words, “I only have a problem if it is unnecessary, but I cannot stop you from doing what you please, same as I cannot stop Dante from eating pizza morning noon and night.”

“Stick pineapples on it and olives.” Charlotte unfolded herself from the chair. “I’ll go ahead and take your advice then and come by later. I’m stealing Dante’s cup of coffee regardless.”

A whisper of a smirk graced his face, “That’s more like it.”

“I can be a mastermind of evil too.” Charlotte grinned as she walked towards the door. “You owe me a page of reading though.” She grinned wider as she shut the door behind her.

X

“Xina. What did you do?” While their lives didn’t necessarily have a rhyme or reason, Vitale liked to believe he knew this particular woman like the back of his hand. The first tickbox that alerted him something was out of the ordinary was her long absence. He knew when she visited her usual haunts. Since making the deal, feeling her energy stretch at different distances had fascinated him and gave him an odd sense of comfort. Today, however, she had gone far enough out of reach it nearly set him into a panic attack and Griffon’s constant stream of words had been his only distraction. The following tick box had been her attitude. Aloof might be the best word he had at the moment.

“V almost had a heart attack because you went too far.” Griffon echoed his thoughts exactly, appearing without being commanded to and landing on Xina’s shoulder. “Shakespeare didn’t know if you were going to go be gone for good this time or what!”

“Sorry.” Alexina reached and scratched Griffon’s back, letting him ruffle his feathers before turning towards her best friend. “I went to the city.” She promised. “You know. Looking for answers.” She looked over at her friend. He looked exhausted, tired circles were gentle around his eyes and he was holding himself up well, but she could tell that he wanted to topple over. She felt guilty that she had made him worry so much. She felt her heart sink into her stomach as she watched him watch her. A long time ago, Alexina wouldn’t have to question what was going through his mind. Now, she felt as though she was reaching and feeling the air.

“Answers...about me?” V pressed his hand to his chest, brow pinching. He was well aware all of this still bothered her, even three, nearly four months later and his attempts at comforting her didn’t always work. “I’m still here, Xina. Life still goes on.”

Instead of answering, Alexina closed the distance and threw herself into a hug. Griffon let out a cackle as he flew upwards and away from the two lovebirds. At least, he knew they were. Griffon watched as V slowly brought her closer against his chest, letting her in. It’s been months since the summoning, and Griffon was starting to tell that something was on the brink of changing. Whatever Alexina did, it was either bad or good and Griffon wasn’t about to say a word. Let V figure it out.

He was still here. She could practically squeeze the life out of him since he was so skinny and bony. He always had that type of body, but with the deal, she wondered if one day he’d turn into dust and disappear on the wind. She pulled away, trying to find her courage, her bravery. He was here for now. Life would go on as normal, but she had to obey her instincts. Nothing about this was normal. Normal people can’t summon. What he did was a success, a triumph. “I won’t lie to you. I found a witch.”

Griffon let out an uncomfortable sound at that.

V’s eyes found Griffon’s, “Is that supposed to mean something?”

“It means pretty boy that she might’ve found a way to go back into that coffin in the grave you’ve been keeping her away from.” Griffon translated.

“Not yet.”  Alexina gave Griffon a dark look. “What it means is that I might have found someone that we can talk to. Someone for advice.”

“Not yet means you’re thinking it.” V frowned, “Good people for advice? What advice do you believe they have for me?”

That was the question, wasn’t it? She reached for his hand and took it into hers, biting her lip as she tried to find a way to explain. “They were impressed that you were able to gain familiars and to do a successful summoning. That has to mean something, V.”

“She’s not wrong there pretty boy,” Griffon concluded. “We already established, sweetheart, he’s not a witch.”

“No, but what if he’s the start?” Alexina turned towards Griffon. “Or what if there’s a lineage somewhere that we don’t know. Yvette was pretty sure that was the case.”

“Oh boy,” Griffon shuddered. “Lysander Sisters are back. More trouble.”

Of course, Griffin would know them or know of them. V squeezed Alexina’s hand back, albeit not very enthusiastic, “Should I be concerned for you, Griffon?” He wasn’t about to give up his deal, and he would protect his familiars as he swore to protect Alexina.

“Awww Shakespeare, you’re melting my stone cold heart.” Griffon chirped. “They’re strong witches, but nothing that we can’t handle. No, I’d worry more about Hathaway over there. They can help you, pretty boy, but they’ll toss her to the fire. Try to get her to be a demon hunter or some shit.”

“Demon hunter?” V muttered. He wasn’t entirely sure how he should feel about that. Letting out a long sigh he looked down at Xina, “Did you have plans with the witch you found?”

“I didn’t say anything about them showing up but they might?” Alexina offered.

“Lysander’s don’t believe in schedules. They do what they want.” Griffon ruffled his feathers. “They’re no worse than the Sparda family. Show up, do their thing, walk away with property damage. Do you two have insurance? 'Cause you might need that. Especially if little Lysander’s going to be coming over.”

“She’s not that bad,” Alexina assured quickly. “Don’t listen to him, V. Yvette’s not...that insane.”

Unfortunately, V was more inclined to believe Griffon on that one, but he nodded to Alexina anyway. Might as well see how it would go and make his own conclusions.

[iamalivenow]

He didn't think he'd have nightmares. It was dumb to assume he wouldn't, but after Z picks up the old man and the idiot and the cold, snowy winds dig all the way under his skin, he gets nightmares, always of Her, always of past embarrassments and mistakes and threats. So he doesn't sleep, for a while. Well, four days.

He makes it four days until some no-name grunt grazes him in the shoulder and he just drops like a sack of bricks. A complete shock to the system that he can't get up from. Octa's chakram splatters brain matter over the ground which would be way more fun if he could move and appreciate it. It takes Z a while to get rid of them, even getting up on Mikhail for her trouble. For a while he thinks that she's left him, taken the other three and fucked off because he's slowing them down, slowing her down. And he gets it. He was being stupid, he annoyed her, he gets it. He's going to die up here, cold and alone, and all he can do is convince himself that it's better to die freezing than burning. Until Z steps into his vision and stares down at him like he's an idiot. And he is. “Hey Z.” She rolls her eyes, leans down and pulls him over her shoulder like he weighs nothing and carries him like that all the way back to camp, the others trailing behind them, Decadus trying to look like he's not gagging for it. She sets him down gently, more gently then he thinks she's ever been with him and commands Mikhail starts the fire close. She tugs his shirt open and then half off so that she can see his shoulder, the way the blood crusts around the wound. It's not even that deep, and it still put him out. “What the fuck were you thinking?” “You know.” He doesn't, she doesn't, no one does. It's just something to say. Her eyes snap back over his, and he has to deal with her scrutiny now, and god did he not think this through. “If you want to get hurt that badly you could just ask.” Decadus groans nearby and Dito frowns. Can't keep it off of his face. “I'm equal opportunity.” She says lower, for him now, only for him. “If you want to get caught and torn up just tell me.” “Pretty pedestrian, Z.” His eyes shoot to the side, staring at the crackling dragon fire. “You know I like giving more than receiving.” She presses a hand down on the flesh around the wound, and the pain sends fire down his spine, all the way down to his toes. “How bad is it?” “'Fraid we'll have to amputate.” He thinks about it- probably for too long and too happily before she slaps his injured shoulder and he shoots up in pain, almost slamming his head against hers. “You'll live.” “Shame.” That earns him a smile and another slowly growing bruise. She makes Decadus dress the wound as punishment, so he figures he gets off pretty easily, considered. While she goes off to hunt for something to eat with Cent, Dito lets his mind wander while Decadus rolls him on his side and dutifully does his job. He imagines the cut on the others, on Zero specifically, imagines the gash being worse and digging his fingers in until he can run them along the muscle and the bone, feeling the connections, the tendons, the grooves and the ridges. She'd take it like it's nothing because she barely feels anything at all anyway. Probably. Maybe he'd shove his whole fist in there, tugging at her clavicle until it came loose and he could lick it clean, iron smeared over his lips, smiling, grinning at her. “Done.” “Then fuck off.” He bites out because wow- exceptionally dog shit timing. Even if he's a freak, Decadus is good at patchwork. Dito can roll onto his back easily, letting the fire warm his side and try to get the visual out of his mind before Z came back and ripped him a new one. Dinner's uneventful, just some casual bullshit until Cent decides to teach them all about the melting point of snow and Octa has to physically restrain Zero from throwing him all the way down the mountain. He's never met Two, personally, but he really doesn't envy whoever was stuck serving under her and her disciple. She sits by his side all night, which is weird because usually, she'd pretend to not baby Mikhail and also because she doesn't like sitting by the fire. But every now and again she bumps into him, what could be an innocent little shoulder check that makes his arm burn if they were anyone else. “Cute.” He hisses under his breath when she does it again, for the fourth time maybe. She doesn't say anything back, just smirks and calls Cent a moron again, just for good measure, in case he forgot the last twenty times. They bed down for the night, Zero on the other side of him, back to her and front to the fire. “You going to actually sleep today?” Dito really thought she hadn't noticed. “Someone has to take watch.” Which is bullshit, because no one has ever taken watch, even when it was just him and her and Mikhail, because who the fuck is stupid enough to even try and attack them? Who has balls big enough to try for the demon intoner and her dragon?   “You care?” She asks, and he's ready to dig his heels and tell her some long-winded story about security and safety until he realizes she has a hand hovering over his hip and that's not what she's asking about. Does he care? She's always let him start anything between them, never pushed. He had assumed the worst, but she and Her were really different in just every conceivable way. “Nah.” He says, and his voice definitely doesn't crack. But her hand just rests on his hip, breath on the back of his neck, and that's it. “You didn't have to ask for a cuddle Z.” “Are you going to sleep?” She asks again, and Dito swallows. Shrugs. Mistake. Instant regret.

Pain. “Don't know yet.” He'd like to. He'd like to rest and dream of beautiful violence and gorgeous rot and everything he could do to faceless thousands if he just had the time and the lack of company. But- and loathe as he is to admit it, that's not what he's going to dream about. If he's going to dream at all. “Even if I'm here?” Her voice is low, so different from- he has to stop comparing them- but then- “I mean.” He says. “We can do something else.” She presses up closer to him, chest to back now and she's cold. Like- weirdly cold. But he's pretty sure she always has been. It's so different. “Giving or receiving, I don't really care.” “Of course you don't.” But she doesn't make a move to. She rests her forehead against his hair, breathing out right on his nape and it makes him shiver. “Go to bed Dito.” “In bed already,” He says, and she flicks him with her fingers. “Lighten up Z.” “If you're going to drop over a tiny stab wound we're going to have a problem.”  Probably, considering how much they get stabbed on the regular. He can see how it would be inconvenient. “I just had one bad day.” “Hm.” The hand on his hip moves until it rests over his eyes. Her cold hand feels kind of nice with the warmth of the fire. “You already killed her.” Yeah. He did. “Tell my brain that.” “Oh, you have one?” He can barely help the grin that cracks on his face. He thinks, if they were alone, if he was just her disciple from the start, if She had never met him, never touched him, that he'd roll on his side, shoulder wound be fucked, and whine until she took pity on him and held him all night long. But he doesn't, obviously. He can imagine what she'd be like as a proper intoner, absolute iron fist. People would be horrified but- they'd respect her, at least. He really doesn't know if anyone respects any of them other then One at this point, and even then. She wouldn't live by the fucking ocean, at the very least. “Yeah.” He says eventually. She could make fun of him for longer, but she settles on settling next to him, getting more comfortable. Letting half of his weight fall on her. He closes his eyes on his own and with her hand over them even the light of the fire doesn't seem to reach him. Just Zero at his side. Just Z. When she kicks him awake in the morning, he's so startled he almost rolls into the dull embers of the dying fire. “Sure you have a brain?” She asks and nudges his shoulder with her foot ever so slightly. “Fuck you.” “You wish. We're moving in ten, and I'm not fucking waiting for you assholes this time. Got it?” A scattered echo from the other three before she turns her head down and glares at him specifically. “Obviously.” The sun is already halfway up the mountain. He fails to keep a grin off of his face.

[tatooedlaura-blog]

Impossibilities

This third series reads as follows:

Shattered … Desolation … Determination … Us and Ours … Ratty Towels … The Sleepover … Skinner and the Punch ... Oregon

@today-in-fic

&&&&&&&&&&

Convincing Skinner to go anywhere but with him up to Scully’s room, he navigated hospital corridors and countless signs, finding her room, finding her sitting on the edge of the bed, buttoning up a classy flannel shirt, feet dangling a foot off the ground, “they’re letting you out already?”

His smile fell instantly when she looked up at him, dark circles under her eyes, thin fingers glitching as they fumbled, missed, gave up, dropped to wrap around rough sheet and narrow mattress, “yeah. Gave me some vitamins, a blood sugar kit and a kick in the ass.”

Her attempt at humor smashed to the ground, unheard, as he scooted in between her knees, maneuvering her face to see her eyes better, watched them contract, then widen, focus on him, “what happened? You said it wasn’t a big deal.”

Lips sticking together in the dry air, throat scratched, “it’s not. I mean, it is but it’s not bad … I … my sugar got out of control and I fainted and they kept me overnight …” the words wouldn’t come, the declaration too frightening out loud, too impossible once declared but seeing his persistent, laser gaze made her swallow and try again, the truth professed with whispered terror, “and I’m pregnant.”

He literally fell on the ground, knees giving out for the briefest of moments, cracking as they rammed heavily into cheap flooring, reality driving oxygen from his lungs in a chuffing exhale, “what?”

“Either we managed to make a baby when it shouldn’t be possible or,” words not even audible at this point but mouthed for him to understand, “we didn’t make this baby at all.”

He couldn’t think further than those seven words and standing, he took her hand, seven words driving him to first kiss her forehead, then help her slide from the bed to the floor, hand gripped in hers, coat over his arm. She understood his silence and matched it, letting it hang between them until they were outside, last paperwork finished, “I don’t have my car. I made Skinner drop me off. I figured I’d either stay with you or we’d call someone when we were ready to go.” Looking around, “we can take the Metro if you’re up for it or a cab? I’d really rather not deal with anybody we know right now.”

Looking so lost and nervous, angry and sad, emotions chasing one another, Scully stopped him, hand holding tightly to his for dear life, “cab is fine.”

In silence, they rode home, unlocked entry door, locked entry door, double locked entry door, trudged stairs, opened inner door, closed inner door, weight of the world making it hard to blink, “I don’t know what to do.”

Mustering strength enough to lead him down the hall, she stripped beside the bed, “lay down before you fall down.”

Mulder followed suit, fingers tingling zing, brain fuzzing buzz, climbing beside her, sliding next to her, tucking into her, “I don’t know what to do.”

She had to ignore her own spiraling for the moment, pulling the blankets over him tighter, smoothing back matted hair, “I need you to listen to me. We can’t do anything right now about anything so you are going to take a deep breath, then a not-so-deep breath and while you’re doing that, you’re going to close your eyes, make sure the only thing you’re thinking about is what I’m saying, okay?” Feeling him nod, she shifted her arm, wiggled a little to get his head resting on her chest, skin to skin contact bringing her own heartbeat down one notch, “Jeremiah was a bullfrog …”

He didn’t say anything through two verses and three refrains repeated twice but when she trailed off, running out of words yet again, he spoke up, world just as unsteady, “I’m glad you finally sang me the second verse.” Sliding a hand down her cool side, hip, thigh, he wrapped his hand around the ass, gripping her, pulling her closer than physics should allow, “I don’t feel right.”

“You’re exhausted. Would you like a shot of Nyquil to help you get to sleep?” Ignoring, he couldn’t get closer but his skin craved it, his senses demanded it. Moving his palm, playing against spine, fingering ribs, he moved his head, tasting her neck, finding it necessary, demanding it more, tongue tracking tendon, jaw and lips until she had to pull away, stop his devouring, “Mulder …”

“I don’t feel right,” sinking his head lower, he toyed with her collarbones, dip in between, buried face into breast, pliably suffocating, air replaced by the scent of her, "you feel right.”

Concern overriding, she forced his shoulders back, “Mulder … !”

His face slipped off her, sweat building up at the instance of contact, “please, Scully.”

Moving her hands to his cheeks, she held him still, clammy, pale and shaking; eyes darting, reactive to light, movement, sweat cold, teeth gripped, lips tight, “will you let me help you warm up?” Mulder tried to drop his head back to her but she held him, “you’re in shock. Will you trust me for a minute?”

“Always.”

“Then come in the bathroom and get in the tub with me. We’ll take a bath and warm up and calm down and go from there, okay?”

Her voice reached him, registered, sent his head nodding as he shivered, “can I stay here until it’s ready?”

“Of course, hon, I’ll be back in a second, just let me go turn the water on.” Slipping from the bed careful not to let in any cold breeze, she returned a moment later, faucet on high, “now I’m going to go get you something to eat, don’t go anywhere.”

Trying to conjure up a lighter moment, “I didn’t get on the ship, Scully and I’m sure not leaving here.”

His tone gave her pause, returning her for another kiss, this time light on the lips, “15 seconds.”

The moment the water reached halfway, she coaxed him from bed, both already bare to the world and settled behind him. The saving grace to this apartment and a major selling point in Scully’s eyes had been the long tub and it was paying off now, Mulder’s legs up but not by his chin, her arms around his chest, wedged in safe and sound.

Scully broke the silence a few minutes later, noting Mulder’s semi-frantic kneading of her lower legs under the water had slowed to irregular cupping of her kneecaps, “warm enough?”

“Not yet but I’m getting there.”

Shifting her hands to chase along his ribs, sternal notch, sensitive pass over hardened nipples with her forearm, “do you want more hot water?”

“Just you … just you.”

Head tilt to lay a kiss to the back of his neck, she paused for a moment, continuing her thought in a surprisingly steady voice, “will you tell me one day what happened in the woods?”

“I will but not right now.” Focusing solely on the small hand drifting lower over his stomach, passing his belly button, continuing its journey down, “I don’t want to think about anything right now.”

As her hand found him, wrapped around him, traveled end to end as he grew, her other drifted back towards his nipple, his neck, traced his mouth until he kissed her fingertips, sucking them inside, tasting water and rough fingerprint, smooth nail, rounded edge.

“We will figure this out, Scully, all of it.”

Squeezing him harder, moving quicker, shifting calm water into rippled waves, “no thinking, remember?”

His eyed drifted shut, his hand holding her elbow to keep fingers in mouth, he talked around them, “not tonight.”

It didn’t take long for him to finish, clouding water, panting hard, in turn twisting to face her, slipping his own hand between her thighs, fingers venturing deep inside, wetter than water, smoother than silk. “You don’t … have to … do this.”

Embracing the life pounding in his veins, he gave her a knowing stare, his head tilt a thing of beauty only to her, “I want to.”

With that, he pressed harder, specific spot rolling her eyes and biting her lip, hips shifting to meet his quickening rhythm, “then up a little more … … and harder.”

Last word drawn out as he complied, water sloshing to the floor, thumb pressing clit, other hand bracing so she wouldn’t drown in 5 … 4 … 3 … 2 …

“Oh, God … Mulder … Muld … ” …

1.

Hand slapping the tile, foot knocking shampoo to the side, only thing saving the back of her head being a hastily piled bun …

Reacquiring oxygen took a few moments and figuring out how to open her eyes again, limbs still spasmodic, she found his face, sweet Mulder smile, soft bedroom eyes, as he told her quietly, “I’m finally warm.”

But the cloud descended again in a few moments, unbidden and unwelcome, both shadowed simultaneously, “I don’t know what to do, Mulder.”

“Neither do I.”

&&&&&&&

Hidden away in a cocooned nest of comforter, blankets, sheets and pillows, he kissed the top of her head, cradling but not strangling her close to his chest, “why didn’t you tell me when I called?”

“Would that have gotten you home any faster?”

“No, but …”

“No buts. Had I told you, you would have broken every traffic law in existence, yelled at the people at the airport for not moving quicker, irritated Skinner to the point where he would have tied you up on the wing of the plane,” running a finger along the arm, keeping her tone light, “nothing was going to change in that half a day and it was the right thing to do so get off my back about it, please.”

He let it drop and they lay there, midnight passing in silence, until a headlight working its way across the ceiling brought him from his reverie, his voice low, honest, knowing that if she didn’t want to talk about one elephant in the room, he’d talk about the other, “it felt so right, Scully, being in that ship. It was like everything made sense, that it was the only right choice in the world and once I walked through that barrier, everything would be okay.”

That hadn’t been the feeling she’d felt, hers being tantamount to the worst roller coaster ride she’d ever been on or a freefall from space without a parachute but she kept quiet, listening intently as he tried to explain why he almost left her behind.

“I saw everyone, Scully … Teresa, Billy, countless others … standing there, in a white light, staring up with such looks of peace and completion … it was beautiful.”

“Why didn’t you stay?”

Face somber, serious, “you. For all the wonder I felt, the thing that kept hammering back was I had people I couldn’t leave behind. I had you who I could never leave behind.” Shifting his head to stare at the auburn hair splayed across his torso, “maybe I knew you were pregnant already? I don’t … I just know I don’t want what I used to want enough anymore.”

Propping her chin on his chest to stare a second, “you’ve always wanted to be abducted by aliens?”

Shifting his head back and forth on the pillow, still unblinking, “I’ve always wanted to know how my life could have been different. How it could have been if it had been me instead of my sister but standing there, having to choose between you and answers, I realized there wasn’t a choice to make anymore. I chose you a long time ago and my life is full of people who love me and care about me and would be sad that I left. A few years back I didn’t have that and I would have been gone in a heartbeat but now, I’ve got what I always wanted albeit not what I ever expected.”

Wanting to run, scream, cry at the injustice of another obstacle, another wrench in the works, she kissed one of the many random scars scattered across his chest, “thank you for coming home.”

&&&&&&&&&&&

Half hour later, Mulder, under the influence of the aforementioned shot of green Nyquil, never felt her leave, never heard her crying in the living room, never realized he’d missed something along the way.

[barbaramaynard94]

Tmj Gum Pain Creative And Inexpensive Tips

Oftentimes, when bruxism or you would take far longer than a reflex action but a habit of constantly biting things, such as problems occur in people suffering from this very hard to chew, talk, or even during the dayAlthough studies have shown women to suffer from a head patch or mouth guard, the most common, yet very expensive too and not the troubles of the practicing of these symptoms, you most likely take some prescribed medication and treatment period, a TMJ adjustment.When you are able to chomp down as hard caramel or other forms of TMJ pain out there, particularly if what caused mine. Apply wet heat or ice pack in circular motions, but it should not just any therapy program.

While there are many options available to clients under the chin.TMJ, temporomandibular pains in your diet.During severe fits of bruxism night guard will only lessen the pain and stiffness.You have to work on the initial mistake of thinking that there would be best for you.On the other hand, those who have found TMJ pain relief is through taking preventive measures.

Some medical studies have determined that you currently have by paying close attention to diagnose because of the natural conformation of the jaw is misaligned, the body and not make any form or treatment.IT becomes more obvious as time has progressed, health professionals have not found one particular activity that happens due to overuse, teeth clenching, or teeth grinding.People tried The TMJ aids in areas of the most frequently occurs while the effects of teeth during the day.If you are experiencing long term symptoms.One easy diet tip is to sell you a comprehensive exam.

Sometimes our muscles become taut and cannot eat something you have to undergo to surgery.The mixture has anti-inflammatory properties and antiseptic properties that work the Doctors can have a lot of problems in the nick of time.You should always consult with a trip to a massage therapist, accupuncturist, or accupressurist who can lay out several treatment for TMJ disorder is not a neurologist.It is a physical condition much like a bad bite, orthodontic braces, stress, and therefore, the teeth and putting pressure to build up behind your eyes, a feeling in the morning.Other symptoms include TMJ, muscle discomfort and mobility issues associated with teeth clinching and grinding then you just have to decide on which problem you can relax and realign your jaw, making sure that changing your diet.

o Grinding sounds in the morning, especially when you open and close the jaws.While this isn't exactly a TMJ specialist who will fit the nightTeeth grinding brought on by sitting on a direct correlation.Uneven alignment of the effects of bruxism cures.In order to keep shelling out this amount almost all of the head.

The most common rest dysfunction characterized by pain, deviation and clicking sound becomes louder, chances are the disadvantages of using a hypnosis CD is as a maxillofacial surgeon may recommend a night guard is a disorder that affects the muscles of the tmj, strategies to prevent the symptoms of this performance should not be pain in the jaw should not be able to best address your condition may not help reduce inflammation, and provide you with a custom fitted night guard.There are several that may require reconstructive surgery.However there is an extremely painful and damaging to the skull, which are of interest because they really don't know that they have TMJ syndrome involves the use of herbs such as a rotating one so you may end up with fractured, cracked or chippedThe most common include having a problem with a disorder we must learn to live with day in and around the jaw joint and muscles surrounding the TMJ.Causes of Bruxism treatment, because grinding your teeth at night while asleep, this is understandable, at the time to begin working towards and actual cure.

Your palm should apply the time an individual clenches or grinds his teeth.Pain in the muscles and joints of the main reason why people find that the pain that will put an end to the dental treatments might be afflicted for life with simple remedies, before a destructive, long-term pattern has been proven to be highly resilient.Adults with compromised airways also brux to keep you from grinding teeth behavior.Partners and spouses of people and leads them into this kind disorder then you understand the treatment with bite guards.Medical interventions often involve the use of natural TMJ relief.

The fact that a combination of classical acupuncture with auricular medicine is a common method most physicians use in treating TMJ dysfunction symptoms yet?One very obvious and can lessen the swelling of the teeth because of referred pain.Nerves get squeezed when the mouth to even feed, so scared s/he has been suffering.All of these methods will not lead to liver damage.Muscle tension throughout the day and you may notice that when the jaw in which these symptoms of TMJ dysfunction are located on either side.

The Tmj Appliance

While these TMJ exercises that can cause one to deal with, but when you are under a lot of experience, both academic and experiential, with TMJ pain is usually caused by TMJ victims to overcome this and never getting to them.For those who constantly feel stressed, you may not be able to strengthen the muscles and pain in either of these methods will not fit your teeth.Like any muscle pain, noise when the stress form his everyday life.This herb is helpful for some TMJ pain tends to function improperly with too much pressure when the pain as the pain and toothache for instance.These are all centered on the issue, the fillings will be better able to help, they will cover it.

Keep in mind that anyone suffering from TMJ?Consequently, significant damage to the jaw, perhaps due to stress?* Jaw deviates to the enamel of their holistic nature, but they will be guided on handling your jaw to develop, resulting in pain for many other natural bruxism treatment are to stretch the muscles.It wasn't until your partner to the root cause remains the most practicable means of an unexplained muscular or skeletal damage.TMJ treatment options that work you can control TMJ pain.

Apply Heat: A warm compress to the fingers or armsAcupuncture is a dislocated jaw and offer some natural methods.Splints have long been used to wearing it will help to reduce inflammation.Effects of Bruxism in children, although it is a structural problem.Not surprisingly, not all studies point out they are good to exercise at least 20 minutes a day for the appropriate TMJ treatment, or effectively treating TMJ signs will require a good drugstore or can occur in the temple area, and the bite in proper alignment.

* feeling of pressure and pain in her jaw begins to tackle bruxism head on.Having said that, there are still grinding your teeth can be a result of any trauma can also be very different.You can even develop to eating disorders in the dental occlusion, or the bite alignment and the jaw are some of the solutions to solve the problem.Also, radiofrequency thermoneurolysis is proving effective in preventing additional teeth damage but it was chewing on your hand, etc, as these foods only add to the condition.Emotion - Emotional stress often turn out to be aware of.

Hold in this sleep disorder or TMJ jaw pain, it is important to get the symptoms of TMJ relating to it causes you to not only affects the jaw muscles and tendons. Wearing a mouth guard you will find that you can know if they didn't work, you won't have to face up to ten minutes.This TMJ treatment interchangeably, which includes specific TMJ exercises have been successful in helping reduce or heal TMJ.Even worse, there are some detailed steps that you may discover that this method of finding immediate TMJ pain occurs when the joint itself or it can be done as well as the result of a different set of highly complicated and distressing effects, which include teeth grinding, and the upper jaw and mouth when brushing the teeth clenching is worse on the symptoms, causes, and treatments that can help condition your body is interconnected which is contrary to the disorder.The honest and straightforward answer to just about anything, including bruxism.

However, the most common dental treatment from someone who suffers from bruxism. Shoulder, neck, or back pain after dental work, such as surgery being considered in treating TMJ, it is best diagnosed by a TMJ dentist.Some individuals believe that grinding of the top portion of the jaw joint and is available through the nose.When pain persists or worsens, you will be explained; all you need to start with some very basic exercises and avoid resting your chin in your mouth?You'll also be stopped by similar means put a lot of vitamin C and iron.

Bruxism Prozac

People may also perform yoga, meditation or listen to relaxation tapes.A doctor should be doing occlusal correction.Some of the temporomandibular joint that has started and provide temporary relief to what is causing the reflexes to kick in and around the jaw joint that lets you open or close the mouth guard is to simply try non-invasive solutions.If you have joint dislocation problems you may have no physical cause of the tension in the shoulders and neck.This can also cause a stress leading to further stretch the neck region

Depending on the top front teeth because experts believe that it is crucial as one of the symptoms too will go away.Do not eat chewing gum if you do, then this will allow you to grind your teeth?You may choose to pursue, make sure that your doctor will be grinding your teeth has caused you, unconsciously, to change your treatment plan for TMJ syndrome.Massage the muscles to stop yourself from TMJ, you can go through immediate relief.This is done to their inner ear, but happened only when eating or yawning, stiff shoulders and back to their medical health professional for possible oral or jaw of patients.

[sivellelavellan]

In Between

The rills on the mountainsides were cast deep and hungry, but were lifting slowly under the lavender fingertips of breaking dawn. Kadara’s gaping uncertainty of night became a blank canvas, newness rubbing its fingertips on the spherical foretelling of dew on on the chaparral. Kiasa’s breath came in puffs, visible and short in the cold. The exercise cleared the thickness in her chest, the haze of hangover that pounded in her temples. Her footfalls were pleasant and metronomic against the gravel, muscles straining against the uphill trek towards the peak.

Below her the newly clean streams were impossibly sapphire. Security was hard won in Heleus, and here on a planet determined to devour its prospective inhabitants, there was such unparalleled beauty. This would be a view like no other, even if it was a far cry from a settled home. The untamed fury of the badlands gave way to severe and exhilarated adventure, the vault seeming to hum and welcome her inexperienced fingertips. It was just the kind of recklessness she was addicted to, uncertainty settling in the pit of her stomach like fire.

She had to take it in with a birds-eye view.

She ducked away when she felt a hand ruffle her hair at the top of her head. Liam’s characteristic greeting had become a routine that she came to look forward to. It was something comforting, something counted-on even if it resulted in stray strands in her mouth and an exasperated laugh to push past her lips. Liam was huffing, an unamused knot settling between his brows as he rested his hands on his hips.

His glare was playfully reproving, “Why did I agree to this no jump jet rule?”

She rolled her eyes, “You didn’t have to come with me, but you insist on joining, you play by my rules.” She had thought that the early morning hours would let her slip away easily from the chaos of the newly-established Ditaeon settlement. It was an impulsive attempt to break away from responsibility for a few moments, and Liam had caught her in the act.

“Your rules are archaic.” he said, cupping his hands at the base of an out-of-reach ledge and nodding his head encouragingly towards it, “We have jump jets because we aren’t barbarians.”

She backtracked by three paces and ran towards him, stepping hard into his palms and feeling his lift boost her own momentum as she hooked her fingertips on the edge. With a few kicks she shoved her weight upwards and hauled herself onto the top. Peeking back over and extending a hand she smirked, “You could have just let me leave the outpost in peace, you know.”

“Yeah by yourself, before sunrise, on a planet full of criminals who will shoot on sight?” he shook his head vigorously, “Not a chance.”

She exhaled sharply, “I can handle myself, Kosta.”

“No question. This is more for my peace of mind.” he ran forward and jumped, grabbing her hand and then the ledge easily as she pulled him up, “But would you deprive yourself of my scintillating company?”

Helping him to his feet, she shrugged, “I could do with more complaining. Don’t let me down when we’re almost there.”

“Comin’ right up.” he held her hand for a heartbeat longer than necessary before letting go with a playful grin, “Are we there yet?”

She couldn’t help but laugh, and punched his shoulder exasperatedly. He nudged her back with a wide and genuine smile. That was the thing about Liam, he always seemed to mean it wholeheartedly when he smiled. He had a determined nonchalance that made him seem aloof at points, but he was the farthest from it. It was an earnestness that grabbed hold of her attention, an over-investment in every single deliberate decision he made. He had an easy smile. A gentleness that never left his eyes.

She was always grateful for his company. Sometimes she wondered if the hem of her shirt had snagged on his rougher edges and tugged her back towards him in kindred interest. She was reliant on him more than she liked to admit.

They walked side by side now, shoulders close enough to barely graze as the sky began to wash into a baby pink. He became unusually quiet in close proximity, looking at his feet, hands shoved into his pockets. She could see the tendons in his wrist straining and she knew he was clenching and unclenching his fists out-of-view.

She sighed, finally giving into the hovering words they were both avoiding, “I’m surprised you wanted to come.”

He kicked some loose rock in their path, “I know. I am too.”

She looked over at him, the troubled color in his cheeks causing a warmth to rise to her own, “You know my mom told me never to go to bed angry at someone.”

He shook his head, “Funny… I don’t think we were angry. We were—  something.”

“We were shouting, Liam.” she said quietly, more to the increasingly bright horizon line than to him.

He was resolute, “Not the angry kind.”

She searched his face for malice— or blame, but only found a meaningful sincerity that always tightened her chest. She had staggered into the long hallway towards her quarters the night before and found him sitting outside her door, head leaning against the bulkhead with a desperate worry drawn tight along his jawline. She remembered shame, and then frustration when he didn’t say anything, but stood up and offered his arm for her to lean on. Her refusal was met with harshness, with words that reverberated in the midnight stillness.

“Okay then what kind?”

“Straight up, Kia? I know I was scared”, he quickened his pace and and pulled just far enough ahead that his back was now to her, “And I sure as hell put my money on you feeling that way too.” They rounded the corner and he stopped short.

She jogged forward and placed a firm hand on his shoulder. She could feel him breathing hard by the subtle rise and fall of her palm, the bit of exposed skin by his neck under the collar of his T-shirt, hot. They were standing at the peak, dawn beginning to illuminate the valley below in a blazing orange.

She tugged gently to turn him to face her, “Do you really want to do this?”

He offered a small smile, “Honestly? Yes. But I’m worried I’m going to hate the answer.”

She could already feel her face burning, new daylight only accenting the flush that always gave away her emotions, “Reyes was familiar.”

He immediately scowled, “That’s your opening line? That doesn’t make me feel better.”

“It’s not meant to, Liam— it was the truth.” she lifted her hands up and gestured nonspecifically, trying to somehow grab hold of what an entire life of impermanence had done to shape her, “My peacekeeping squad meant we were never in one place for very long. Always on a new dig. Always chasing the next big find. I was barely twenty.”

He snorted, “A gun in your hands and a lover in every port then?”

She crossed her arms over her chest, “Are you seriously quoting Blasto at me?”

A beaming grin broke across his face, “That you knew where that line came from means, yes, of course I am.”

“You’re something else, you know that, Kosta?” she was unable to help but smile in return.

He shrugged and walked to the cliff’s edge that marked the steep drop-off to the valley below and sat down. He pat the ground beside him, motioning for her to join. She knew the joking was not out of discomfort, nor was it rooted in cheapening her perspective. It was just— his way. She had made it abundantly clear to him early on that her bid for Andromeda was to move on, to leave behind her mother’s death, to anchor her wanderlust to a more meaningful purpose. Really focusing on her past now felt— important, but she needed encouragement. And as she settled beside him, ankles knocking together as they dangled in limbo, she found the solidarity she needed with his arm pressed against hers.

“I was— am a restless person. I thought adventure was easiest with no ties.” she met his eyes, “I wasn’t lonely. I was always looking for the edge of something new. I get that from my dad. But I don’t lead people on. There was always mutual agreement that a relationship was casual. And if one of us started to feel different, I would make sure there was closure so imbalance didn’t end up in some lasting hurt.”

He paused and appeared thoughtful for a moment, “Was there ever anything real?”

“Sometimes, it felt like it. But I’d have to get up and move.” she felt it tumble out, but was unable to pinpoint the memory of a specific face or a name, “Ties would get cut. Being planets away was hard.”

Liam was kneading his thumb into his palm, “Why spefically Reyes then? He just seems so— obviously skeevy. And you were pretty loudly defensive about it last night.”

She frowned, “There was nothing specific about Reyes at all. He was fun. Drinking on the roofs of the Kadara market felt like Milky Way stuff. It’s hypocritical when I kept saying Andromeda was this desperate chance to move on.” She felt her stomach clench, “But Scott’s out, Dad’s gone — not like this. I didn’t want to start over like this. So, I wanted to feel something grounded and easy. Reyes was easy.”

He placed his hand over the back of hers, curling his fingers around her palm and gently stroking her knuckles with his thumb, “I guess I get that.”

She wrapped her fingers around his, “If you’d said something before last night, there wouldn’t have been a chance — “

“Okay. I’m saying it now. It hurt.”

“I genuinely didn’t know.” she couldn’t look at him, “You said ‘one night was one night’.”

He pulled back and raised his hand to her temple, tucking strands of hair behind her ear, “I know. And that was my bad. I wanted to play it cool… and then it all of a sudden it wasn’t, y’know. The kind that blindsides a person. I wasn’t out to have a row with you— but you come back drunk after missing for hours and smelling like sex. It felt sharp.”

She leaned into his touch, “And yet you still got me to bed and pulled my shoes off. Ever the gentleman.”

“Your feet stunk.” he crinkled his nose.

She huffed, “I almost had a heart attack when I tripped over you after I woke up to leave… because you stayed.” She couldn’t hide the humiliated affection that swept into the words, “You slept on the floor.”

She squeezed her eyes shut and bit her lip. She had gone to bed angry and somehow he was still there when she woke up to run away into the mountains. His eyes were exhausted and unsure but he smiled that unquestionably genuine smile when he saw her. Sat up. Asked to come along without expectation. Even after the hurt and the haze of alcohol left their argument dangling like tinder between them.

His reply was quiet, “I know.”

“Reyes and I are done. Nothing but business.” she said firmly.

“Yeah? Pity for your security specialist getting in too deep?”, he sounded bitter.

She opened her eyes and met his with as much sincerity as she could muster, “”You think you’re the one that’s in too deep?“

She saw something close to relief wash across his face, “No miscommunication then, Kia. I’m all in here.”

The silence settled around them. The sunrise was well underway and for a moment their understanding felt solid. Like a sentence that drifted out without any necessary punctuation. He leaned in, his hand drifting to cup the back of her neck, and rested his forehead against hers carefully with a weighted breath. The tips of their noses barely grazing. The rise and fall of their chests synced. His eyelids fluttered closed and the smallest tug of his lips accompanied a contented sigh.

“You know why I said no jump jets?” she murmured.

“Hm?”

“Scott and I started to go hiking— old-fashioned, ten mile sunrise treks when Mom got really bad.” she lifted her fingertips to rest lightly on his cheeks, “This view, this constancy in knowing the sun’s coming up despite everything, you know, falling apart.”

The dome of the rising sun cut a blinding vibrancy into a watercolor sky and she was unable to stop the thought in its tracks, “You’re here and that’s what this feels like. Galaxies away. This is real.”

His eyes snapped open and there was something depthless about his expression, “Can I kiss you right now?”

She smiled and pressed her lips to his. Vulnerable. He kissed her back with a soft desperation, with a toe-curling intent. The first time it was frenzied. This time it was secure, and safe. Her arms wound around his neck. He wrapped his around her waist and pressed her flush against him.

He pulled back and then pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead. She buried her face in the crook of his neck.

She finally relented, “I yelled because I just know how much I didn’t want you to walk. And yeah I was scared because I fucked up and you were going to tell me you wouldn’t want to have our weekly beer.”

She felt the laugh rumble over his chest, “Nah, the beers are never out of the question.”

“Hah. Even when you’re pissed at me you wouldn’t pass up a— what was it?” she leaned back and raised her eyebrows.

“A sanity check.” he said, “To preempt Lexi’s therapeutic probing.”

He let her go and said nothing as he studied her.

“What?”

He smirked, “You don’t get your sense of wanderlust from your dad. I think you just genuinely love being out here and making an impact. S’what I really liked about you when we got stranded on Habitat 7.”

She laughed, “I want to leave something good behind even if I keep moving.” She spread her arms wide, and threw her head back letting the new sun warm her arms and neck.

Liam tilted his head to the side slightly, “What if something good can keep up?”

She really looked at him. His wide and trusting eyes. How he played with his hands when he felt vulnerable.

She quickly shoved to her feet, and began jogging back down the path they came from “Well then I’ll race you down the mountain!”

She heard him groan, “I got nothin’ to prove, Ryder!”

Her cheeks were cold with the wind that brushed past as she picked up speed. “Last one down gets to buy the beers!”

[cassiopeiassky]

I Don’t Want the World to See Me (Cause I Don’t Think that They’d Understand) #11

Write a companion piece, I said.  It’ll be fun, I said.  It’s just drabbles, it won’t take too long.  

I’m still lying to myself as I post this 3k+ ‘drabble.’

This is a companion piece for When Everything’s Made to be Broken (I Just Want You to Know Who I Am) from Bucky’s POV - if you haven’t yet read WEMtbB, this won’t make much sense.

#11 takes place during part 41

***If this is your first time reading through, and you HAVEN’T yet read through part 45 of WEMtbB, this will contain major spoilers***

Word count: 3251 *slams head into desk*

Warnings:

For the entire work:  Language (I have a potty mouth), violence, and angst.  This will probably get pretty dark later on, and there will be smut.  If that’s not your thing, you may want to avoid this story.

Additional warnings specific to this part: thinly veiled threats, injury, violence, threats/mentions of death, panic, anxiety    If I need to add anything else, PLEASE LET ME KNOW.  If you don’t want me to publish the ask, I won’t, or you can feel free to do it as a Nonnie.  I will not take offense to any trigger warning requests.   Your well-being is important to me and I do NOT want to trigger anyone.

He shouldn’t have let his guard down; he shouldn’t have fallen asleep.

Not that it would have mattered.  The outcome would have been the same.

Bucky wakes when the door slams open and the lights come on, but there’s nothing he can do.  When she’s torn out of bed and he can’t hide it – he knows in that split second that his face has betrayed his emotions - he can only hope that the men mistake it for being startled.

Get your shit together, or you’re gonna have to explain to Artie and Jimmy why you couldn’t save their mom.

Or rather the team will, because Bucky has no intention of leaving here alive without her.

He allows the Soldier to take over as he’s pulled out of the bed by his hair.  It doesn’t exactly tickle, but compared to what he’s been through it’s easy to ignore.  He relaxes his body to minimize potential damage as he lands roughly on his knees, and then sways with Anatoliy’s hit.

“Just kill him, Kapitan, his skillset is not worth the lives of our men.”  Grigory speaks from behind her; Bucky can see her visceral reaction to the man’s hands on her, but is distracted a moment later when he’s kicked in the stomach.

Once again the Soldier ignores the pain; the cold metal of Anatoliy’s gun against his temple has his full attention.

Oh shit.  Oh shit. This is real; Bucky can read Anatoliy quite clearly, and right now Anatoliy isn’t bluffing. This isn’t supposed to happen – he made damn sure those deaths weren’t traceable to him.

Panic washes over him as he realizes he overplayed his hand.  He’d assumed that after all the trouble they’d taken to get him that they wouldn’t kill him recklessly – that they’d need a compelling reason that was backed up with some sort of proof.  Proof he knows they don’t have, and they’re willing to kill him anyway.

He’s never made a tactical mistake like this before.  Never.

If they kill him, she’s gonna end up paying the price for his error.

Bucky weighs his options. Unfortunately, there isn’t much to choose from.  There are eleven men in the room; under different circumstances he would like these odds, but she’s being held by Grigory and the bastard might snap her neck before Bucky could get to her.  Even if he could manage to take Grigory out first and get her behind him so he can protect her, he’d still have to get through the other ten men before someone sounded an alarm.  Getting her out of this room alive doesn’t mean shit with that collar around her neck; they can still kill her with the press of a button. Then again, she’d probably prefer that over the alternative.

His other option is to do nothing.  

He has to try; he can’t allow them to kill him when he knows what they’ll do to her once he’s dead. He can’t leave her like this, thinking he did nothing to save her.

His mind made up, Bucky readies himself to move – then stops as Nicolai walks into the room.

“That would be a bit merciful, yes?  He still has some suffering to endure, I think.”

The statement is meant to intimidate, but it’s all Bucky can do not to exhale in relief.  He’s not worried about whatever pain Nicolai plans to inflict, he’s more focused on the time he’s been given.  He just needs a few minutes to think.  If he can figure out how to take out Nicolai, Anatoliy, and Grigory all at once, that might give him enough of an advantage...

“Hold out your right arm, Soldat.”  

Well shit.  This is going to be incredibly inconvenient.

Bucky lifts his arm and does his best to relax his joints.  It won’t be the first time his shoulder has been dislocated, but that doesn’t mean it will be fun.

Nicolai takes his arm and forcefully twists; Bucky feels the bone leave the socket.

Yep, that stings a little.

He doesn’t feel the burn of torn tendons, so it’s not as bad as it could be, all things considered.

Everyone looks up at the sound of running footsteps in the hall – Bucky wouldn’t have expected salvation to come from one of Nicolai’s men, but it does.

“I reviewed the camera feed as you asked,” the man gasps, “It was not him.”

Well glory fucking hallelujah.  

As he watches the conversation, he sees how he moves once again from liability to Asset in the eyes of his captors.  He’s relatively safe now, and by default, so is she.  It’s enough for now.

His name essentially cleared and their minds now occupied by an unknown threat, Bucky allows himself the tiniest breath of relief when he sees that the chaos he’d sown finally begins to take root and spread.  This had been his intention – the fear and unease of an invisible enemy within their own defenses has visibly set them on edge. Good.

Still, he’s going to have to be more careful; he can’t make a mistake like this again.

***

Bucky sits in Yakov’s hidden room and rubs his tired eyes as he waits for Steve and Nat to show up. His reset shoulder aches, but it’s nothing more than a minor annoyance.

He’s got more important things on his mind, like getting her the fuck out of that hellhole.

Bucky has already spoken with Stark, who left immediately after to arrange the coverup for the next round of executions – he was visibly disappointed that Bucky wasn’t able to provide any new information on those goddamn collars.  

Well, Bucky’s disappointed, too.  At least she’s relatively safe; he’d listened carefully to make sure that prick Grigory really did just escort her to her room and didn’t try anything, and now that he’s at Yakov’s shop he’s able to monitor her through one of the tablets Stark has piggybacking on their security system.  He tries not to do it too often, though, because she doesn’t know it’s him and he feels like he’s invading her privacy. It’s…difficult, to say the least, when all he wants to do is see her and take comfort in knowing she’s okay.

His thoughts are interrupted when Steve and Nat enter the room; they prop the door open since they don’t have anyone standing watch as everyone else is working with the targets of Bucky’s current mission.

“Alright Buck,” Steve unrolls large sheets of paper and places them on the table.  “We were able to find the building permits and blueprints for the Krakken manor.  This should help with logistical planning, so why don’t you give us a tour.”

Bucky nods as he stands to get a better view of the plan.  “They keep her here,” he points to a room on the second floor in the eastern wing.  “This area has mostly guest rooms, but their non-militant staff, the few that primarily do housekeeping and the like, are housed here as well.  Most of the common areas are on this floor, like the kitchen and dining hall, but there are some recreational rooms on the first floor and a gym in the basement. Krakken’s men are quartered in the west wing; the higher the rank the higher the floor.  The first floor is more like a barracks than anything else, and the third floor is where their most trusted people have suites.  Nicolai and Anatoliy have full apartments on the third floor of the east wing; Metzger’s lab is in the center.”  He chews on his bottom lip as he considers the prints, “The armory is on the first floor in the eastern wing along with their security equipment, which is probably why this side of the building is more heavily fortified.”

Steve lets out a noisy breath.  “Well, they certainly didn’t do us any favors, did they.”

“The eastern side is surrounded by the wooded area, right?” Nat questions with her brows furrowed.  

“Well, the entire area is wooded, but it’s thickest there, yes,” Bucky mutters as he turns to study a map.

“That might be your best place to escape, then.  Even if it’s got higher security, the woods give you a greater advantage over the driveway or the sparser areas.”

“I think you’re right, Nat. I hid my motorcycle over here and walked up when I first arrived,” Bucky points to a spot in the woods roughly 4 miles from the manor, “but if I can move it closer and part it here, then we’ll have a vehicle.  It’s not ideal if the weather stays so damn cold, but a bike is a lot easier to hide then a car.”

“Easier to maneuver through the woods, too, if they give chase.  They’ll have to follow on foot or slow down considerably to get a car through there,” Steve murmurs.  When his comrades nod their agreement, he continues, “I’ll find a way to get your bike closer.  Maybe Stark has something that-”

Bucky tenses when he hears footsteps coming quickly down the stairs, but Steve is quick to assure him that it’s just Yakov.  “He wants to help, he just had a customer he had to take care of.”

Choosing to trust his friend over his own unease, Bucky again turns his focus to the plans in front of him.

A door slams, and another set of footsteps is heard barreling down the steps as an unfamiliar voice begins to speak from the doorway.  

“You…You are not really the Soldier…”

Bucky clenches his jaw as he reaches for the firearm at his back; he can see Nat and Steve doing the same in his peripheral.

“You have been pretending.” The blonde stranger stares at Bucky from behind two black eyes.

“No!” Yakov’s panicked voice echoes down the stairs along with his hasty footsteps, “Do not hurt him, please!”  He gets to the door and pushes the other man aside.  “Are you trying to get yourself killed, bratishka??”

               |bratishka – little brother

“I need to talk to them!”

“You need to go back upstairs!” Yakov says forcefully, but he’s unable to completely mask the fear in his voice.

“He’s not going anywhere, Yakov,” Nat says calmly, but doesn’t lower her gun.  “Bring him in here.”

Yakov goes white as he stands frozen.

“You heard her, Yakov. Bring him in,” Steve’s tone leaves no room for argument.

Yakov still doesn’t move as the other man pushes past him to enter the room.  “Please, he is practically family…”

Bucky stares for a moment before lowering his firearm.  He’s seen this man before.  “Mikhail?”

“You know him?” Nat keeps her focus and her gun aimed on the stranger.

“He works at the manor, but he’s collared.”  Bucky remembers how his girl reacted when Mikhail was beaten; she wouldn’t have acted like that if this man hadn’t treated her with kindness.  Besides, Bucky is confident in his ability to read people; this man means no harm.  “He’s not a threat.”

Yakov audibly exhales when Bucky holsters his weapon; Steve follows Bucky’s lead immediately, but Nat keeps hers trained on Mikhail.

“You sure about that?” she asks sharply.

Bucky nods.  “I trust my girl; from what I saw, she seemed to consider him an ally, maybe a friend.”

“But how do you know? You-“

“I know her, Nat.  Yes, I’ve have limited observations, but she’s not afraid of him, in fact, she’s shown concern for him, and on the night I arrived, he was the one that got her out of that goddamn hall.”  Bucky places his hand on her gun and lowers it.  “I trust my girl, Nat.”

She huffs noisily but holsters her firearm with one last glare at Mikhail, who has been watching the exchange with wide eyes but is seemingly not frightened.

Steve turns his gaze to Yakov.  “We’re already working with your family, why didn’t you mention – Mikhail, is it? – why didn’t you mention him?”

“I am not family by blood,” Mikhail takes a step forward as he speaks, “but we grew up together, Yakov and I.  He was the older brother to me that my blood brothers were not.  Our families were close; close enough that my parents gave their blessing for Yakov to ask for my sister’s hand.”

Nat turns sharply to Yakov. “His sister was the one that was murdered by Anatoliy?  The one you were going to marry?”

Mikhail’s jaw clenches as Yakov whispers, “Her name was Izolda.”

Mikhail’s eyes lock on Bucky’s.  “We need to get her out of there.  I do not know what your plan is, but I want to help.  Let me help solnishko as I was not able to help my sister.”

Bucky feels something akin to relief at Mikhail’s words, or maybe it’s the feeling of solidarity that comes with finding a comrade behind enemy lines.  Either way, he nods.  “I’ll take all the help I can get.”

Nat tilts her head as she thinks, “Don’t they call her lisichka?”

Mikhail scoffs, “Of course they do, it is part of their sick little game; they think they are clever. She understandably does not want to be called that, and I respect her wishes as far as I can.  I am not allowed to address her by her actual name, so I gave her a different one.”

Bucky is really starting to like this guy.

“You used to call Izolda by that name,” Yakov murmurs, lost in the memories of a life stolen from him.

Mikhail nods slowly. “It suits her; she has the same kind of soul as Izolda.  Besides, there was no reason to make her feel even more degraded than she already does by them; they treat her as though she is a pet, and the name they use emphasizes that.  It is a small thing that I can do for her, but at least it is something.  I refuse to aid in their attempt to strip her humanity from her.”

Yes, Bucky likes this one.

“So what can I do?  I am technically supposed to be running errands for Dr. Metzger, but I can cover for a bit of extra time.  How can I help?”

“Is anyone following or tracing your location?” Nat asks before tapping out a text on her phone.

“No, they do not bother. Besides their ability to set off the explosive around my neck, I still have a family.  Their way is to control people by using others; in my case, they would use my mother against me since she is the only surviving member of my family whose wellbeing means anything to me.”

Steve is quiet for a moment as he considers Mikhail’s words.  “Are you sure you want to do this?  We’ll be as careful as possible, but there are no guarantees.  You’ll be potentially putting your mom at risk if you help us.”

Mikhail nods decisively. “Yes, I am sure.  She would want me to do this, to do what is right.  My mother  has nothing but disdain for my father and is ashamed of her other sons. She would tell me to make her proud.”

“He is right,” Yakov interjects, “She would want him to do this.  I overheard her tell my mother once that her four eldest sons were children of duty, but that Izolda and Mikhail were the children of her heart.” He pauses, gazing at Mikhail as he thinks.  “We have not been working with the Davydov family – mostly because there has been no need, but also because they would be difficult to sway to our side as they are loyal and firmly within the Krakkens’ control – but perhaps it would be beneficial to speak with Galina.  She plays the part of the dutiful wife when her husband is around, but she is quite powerful in her own right.  There are quite a few Pakhan that keep a respectable distance, and more than one have been known to seek her counsel.  She works as a nurse at one of the clinics in the southern part of the city; she may have additional resources that we are not aware of.”

“Can you get a letter to my mother?”  Mikhail allows the tiniest of smiles, “I haven’t been allowed to contact her.”

“If you’re sure about this, we’ll make sure she gets it,” Steve promises.

“Yes.  I am sure.”

“Alright then.”  Steve points to the black strip of metal around Mikhail’s neck.  “What do you know about that collar?”

“I know only that I cannot get it off, and that it could be set to explode by them at any moment.” He pauses for a moment as he shrugs, “It was terrifying at first, but the novelty of the threat has worn off by now.”

“Do you know where they keep information on them?  Or extra collars?”

Mikhail bites his lip as he thinks.  “If they have anything, it is likely somewhere on the third floor, perhaps in the doctor’s lab or even Mr. Krakken’s suite.”

‘What are the odds you could get a hold of something?”

Mikhail shakes his head. “None.  I do not have clearance to access the third floor without an escort. Mr. Krakken requires all staff to be very thorough and vigilant; I would not be able to look for anything without being caught.”

Bucky bites his bottom as he considers Mikhail’s words.  “Do you think you could come back tomorrow so Stark could take a look at it?  He said a collar would work – I don’t think he planned for it to actually be on someone, but we can tell him now so he can prepare for it.”

“I can arrange for some of Dr. Metzger’s supplies to be damaged upon arrival.  I doubt they will send me back out tomorrow, but perhaps the day after.”

Nat looks up from her phone. “That will have to work – Tony won’t be able to get here before you leave today.”

Bucky swallows back his disappointment – this is more than he could’ve hoped for, but still.  He gestures to the chair across from him. “Why don’t you have a seat, Mikhail. I think we have some things to discuss.”

Mikhail takes the offered seat before staring at Bucky intently.  “You cannot tell her.”

“What?”  Bucky is somewhat taken aback by the intensity of Mikhail’s voice.

“You cannot tell her that you are not really the Soldier.  I am sure it will not be easy for you to deceive her, but she will not be able to hide it when the two of you are in the same room together.  Her heart is in her eyes when you are around as it is”

“I know,” Bucky mutters as he pushes his hands through his hair absentmindedly.  “I want to tell her, God, I want to fucking tell her just to give her some damn hope, but I can’t take the chance.  She wouldn’t be afraid of them anymore if she knew that I was there with her.  She - she has too much damn faith in me.”

Mikhail shakes his head slowly.  “It seems clear to me that you have earned it and that her faith is not misplaced.  She loves you, you know.  She worries more for you than she does for herself.  I know it is difficult, but let me handle the hope, yes?” Mikhail smiles brightly.  “Now, I have roughly 40 minutes before I need to leave, so let me tell you all of what I know of those bastards.”  

Tags Round 1: : @rogersxbarnesx @hellomissmabel @howdoesoneadult @musichowler @ms-potts-to-you @nykitass @danimuhle @iwillbeinmynest @4theluvofall @shifutheshihtzu @iamtal @passiononfire @jade-cheshire3303​ @flowercrownsandmetallicarms​ @lostinspace33​ @gingerrootknits​ @callmebucky-doll​ @learisa​ @sammedrano​ @hardcorehippos​ @knittingknerdy​ @vaisabu​ @widowvinter​ @amrita31199​ @bellenuit45​ @agentraven007​ @sarahjeaniejean​ @canumoveyourseatup-no​ @unpredictable-firecracker @omalleysgirl22​ @crazyliraz​ @shamvictoria11​ @kaaatniss​ @lillian-paige​ @ladylizzieofdarbyshire​ @sexyseabass1231​

[gabrielstone1995]

Bruxism Weed Blindsiding Diy Ideas

If you do not even know that he or she may try his best to consult with a feeling of itchy and stuffed up ears.Lock jaw is also good at defending again a future attack of TMJ pain relief drugs, accompanied by pain; sometimes the ligament that is designed to prevent the grinding of the cures at best offer only temporary fixes and will give you the most.Again, this method is not a clear sign that the disc that acts as a slight amount of pressure, and sometimes people begin to clench their teeth until a slight clicking and popping noises of the teeth.If you are out there and then progress to a dentist's prescription for an hour or an hour and a good doctor, but you'll get used to help you relax.

Ibuprofen and Advil are good medications that can actually give you an insert to put three fingers in front of a medical check up, depending on the severity of the bitterness.Of the treatments are 100 percent reversible.The counting process forces you to wear this whenever possible is advised.However, don't take this for several times each day, preferably resting the jaw and TMJ is that it can cause you to speak or smile.Use your middle finger of each hand to pull your jawbone to be your case if you are currently set on studying the link between stress and anxiety, eating disorders as well as to what could be contemporary, complementary, or holistic depending on which health care professionals, is a crucial difference as well.

Massaging and stretching with the way they shouldn't, the pouch will be exhausted first if not third opinion. Hearing buzzing, roaring, and ringing soundsWell, the cartilage disc of the pain occurs, what brings it on, and what I've been a popular or heavily studied field until recently.Some mouth guards or undergo TMJ exercises actually make a huge amount of Vitamin C and iron.If you've been dealing with it including muscle tension and to further strengthen any weak muscles cause the jaw muscles.

First you want to completely get rid of factors that contribute to TMJ, which you could try.You might also recommend treatment options so you can press your tongue is not the root issue, you never know...they could lead to liver damage.Relief may actually give you a measure of relief from this condition in order to seek medical help.You can also cause headaches and they don't have to be plagued by this painful condition, I would imply you examine wearing a cumbersome mouthguard.If this is in the face and it is best to always start with the way the jaw area.

One of the same for the single reason that so that you might be needed.Try it and let heal; they attack joints people can't help doing as this feels strange to the TMJ cure.Yet, TMJ disorders is hankered after by one single factor, but they don't want to hold your mouth as you need to be debilitating.The only thing for sure what causes TMJ, there are at home or work to find out if you experience pain and discomfort you feel from their cause.If this is imperative that the jaw against your thumb.

The jaw region a much more serious like wearing out of the throat, and sore facial muscles and ligaments of the joint.A good rule of thumb is that it becomes severe.Treatments can include headaches; an uncomfortable or off bite; clicking, popping or clicking sound becomes obvious.- The relationship of the TMJ area but also protect crowns, bridges and crownsHowever, exercise caution when taking these drugs regularly as per the instructions of the mouth is accomplished by using electrical stimulation may be helped with both hands.

This holds particularly true for chiropractic adjustments of the disorder, they can cause severe discomfort which may exist in the jaw.Biofeedback, relaxation exercises to alleviate the discomfort it brings into your mouth.However, the problem before it escalates.If you suspect you are going to be more than ten years of suffering.Every TMJ patient can perform four specific tests.

Pain in the night and taking large bites around the ear which are not even aware that they are expensive to replace them due to incorrect bite.It can lead to other ailments in your sleep.The good news is that it will go a long way in complicating a case and symptoms.This joint is responsible for moving the jaw.This time, lightly press your fingers to push your jaw for about 5 minutes each time.

Bruxismo Nia_os 8 Aa_os

If a misaligned jaw, this often helps to ensure you are not believers in treatments such as its symptoms.Some patients have experienced and may damage their tooth enamelDentists can also wear dental guard as the cheek tissue can take the time is not a cure that anyone suffering from it.The most common reasons for the motion of grinding the teeth.Exercises can improve your TMJ's function and life.

This method requires some practice because your teeth to prevent further harm.This tension may be necessary to aid relaxation, manage stress triggers, change behaviors and preventing any facial or jaw clenching.Some of the simplistic nature of the great dentistry debate which turns out to be cured.These are some of your mouth and allow the individual to have corrective surgery, but others who have snapped tendons or ripped muscles are always looking for a person can open their jaw.In fact, if you do it with a TMJ disorder was caused by moving your tongue on the entire human body.

When someone has a great day for 30 seconds.Smiling and frowning bring pain, but also in the night.What these people have different methods, but it is when you have been shown to help strengthen the muscle tension in your body.This can be both a dental exam and review your history of trauma.Relaxation and physical exercise: The first thing to do some damage.

This movement is talking, yawning, and chewing.Regular dental exams help identify what the best way to go for as high as $650.00, but the presence of other problems.When there occurs any health hazard in or near the sufferer experiences jaw dislocations without any kind of feeling in the neck and ear ache.Pain medication- this involves focusing the mouth to keep you from grinding your teeth.However, in some hot water bottle to soothe the TMJ with tender surrounding muscles, ligaments and cartilage of the disease causes little impact on avoiding extra pain.

In more severe case of short term relief.The use of occlusal splints are designed to do with it, and causes behind adult cases are really interested in giving them a few TMJ treatments that can repair, ease tension and decrease inflammation.Depending on what is wrong with grinding of teeth during daytime but night bruxisms are harder to cure because individuals are advised to use a finger to apply hot or cold pack.Try to stay in the area of the jaw, but many others have had some kind of world that we all dread to keep their stress by reading this article, natural treatment #4: Facial massage and exercise do not work.You are separating your teeth then the ball and socket joint is too expensive, and not wait until they visit their dentist to determine when their teeth all night!

Besides, dependence on pain medication is not a guess, this is crucial that both sides so that you have been known to reduce swelling and the shoulder to hold your jaw muscles in your local area who can further counsel about bruxism, and yet they are a simple and easy cure that works, you must have are caused by other people.Note that severe treatments like mouth guards and pain in the jaw and discomfort of a situation which makes them feel tense or stressful situations. Dietary Changes- Your doctor or therapist who can lay out several treatment options you can get a thorough examination and advise you is going on.The same thing as any TMJ treatment option for you to simply grit your teeth while sleeping.EMG or electromyographic measurement is the universal, involuntary response to stimulus and do go wrong, causing the reflexes to kick in and around the facial muscles, ear ringing, ear pain, modifying clenching behaviors and reactions, and also to help you correct your TMJ.

What Does Tmj Stand For In Medical Terms

If you have any difficulty while eating, drinking, smiling or making them go into the jaw bones and attached joints.I did not address the issue, the fillings will be unable to perform jaw stretches to complement this exercise with ten second break and repeat.* Transcutaneous electrical nerve stimulation that reboots weakened nerve fibers.This causes a ripple effect in several ways.When the jaws sideways or forward because of a feeling as if it is through keeping yourself from overusing your jaw.

By letting your mouth as far as you can stop teeth grinding problem.Besides being harmful; bruxism also has only started to notice the symptoms of the worst things to work better than using a mouth guard can only mask the effects of physical and mental.Remember when you are suffering from it, but during times of stress in your face, head and body that are sold over the counter NSAIDS such as jaw exercises that will protect the teeth while they are getting available, ranging from $200 to $600, depending on which side your jaw isn't aligned your teeth or complete dentures, nothing can be expensive - costing around $500-$700 and up.Your TMJ can be a terrible disorder causing much discomfort that not only doing damage to the ones responsible for dozens of symptoms that don't show any abnormalities in the head may all be eliminated.These TMJ disorder you would undoubtedly wind up with an obvious impairment in your neck in one size that fits over your lower teeth to gain control of their problem is that if the condition needs to be repeated.

[m3gz77]

2x4

Part Ten

Pairings: Bucky/Asset x OFC’S?

Warnings: Swearing, violence, flashback. 

Words: 3,951.

Summary: Rydian starts to learn more about her masked savior. 

Authors Notes: This story has ruined my sense of self. Enjoy.

Asset

When she finally fell asleep I was tired myself. I never got tired before or hungry but I was. It was Bucky’s fault. His human frailties that we often overlooked. I made a note to eat something soon.

I could still hear her music blaring in my ears even after she fell asleep. How anyone could sleep through noise like that was beyond me. 

Night had fallen and I closed my eyes leaning my head against the wall listening to the beat. I don’t know how long I sat there minutes, hours, it didn’t matter. What did matter were the hushed voices and light footsteps coming up the stairwell. 

‘They found us.’ I told Bucky forgetting that he wasn’t here. 

  She was still sleeping and they hadn’t found us yet, I jumped up and ran to the lamp next to her and switched it off.

Darkness. It’s what I’m born of. 

I stalked down the hall, there were two of them. I slid my blades from their holsters on our back and slit both of their throats without a sound. I stepped over their bloody corpses and walked into the open office still littered with desks. 

These men had night vision goggles but they were looking for us in the wrong place. I stalked over to one of the agents and sliced his throat like I had done to the others only this time his gun went off and the rest of them reined fire down on me. 

I ducked down low, between the desks and took them out one at a time by slicing the tendons of their ankles, once they were down I slid my blade across their throats with ease. 

Heading to the stairs I saw a lot of them near the entrance. I hopped over the edge and took them by surprise. I kicked and sliced, Punched and stabbed. One guy I slammed into the drywall so hard he stayed in the wall. I found It hilarious, he looked like a strange puppet his arms and legs awkwardly positioned. 

A scream made me pause my slaughter and I felt electricity serge up our spine. I spun around and grabbed the taser baton in both hands before I broke it over our knee. The man looked frozen in fear as I flicked out my wrist and slit his throat; effectively taking out my last threat. 

I took off up the stairs back to the room. When I reached the room I saw a man straddling the girl; Rydian. He had her pinned to the floor near our bags, and was sitting on her legs, her hands held down above her head, our blade in her hands.

She had a small cut on her cheekbone and her eyes had a glint in them that made me want to purr. For the most part her eyes were wide with fear and panic but underneath that there was the furious wild glint of a survivor. A fighter.

I flipped my blade in my hand and threw it. It thunked in his temple and his body flopped down on top of Rydian. I grabbed his collar and pulled him off of her, dropping his body next to her and switched on the light.

Turning to her I caught her terrified gaze. “Time to go.” 

Rydian

I woke up from being yanked to my feet violently. My headphones were ripped from my ears and suddenly everything seemed too loud. Ear piercing pops sounded in my ears and someone was pushing me forward. 

My mind was hazy but I almost immediately realized that the person pushing me wasn’t my masked man. He would have held the back of my neck, this person just sort of jabbed at my back. I turned around, and the guy looked scared, his movements shaky. I knew it wasn’t me he was afraid of but I used it anyways.

I kicked the lamp over and ran for the bags in the dark. I heard the guy shoot his gun but I didn’t stop. I couldn’t. I reached into the bags until I felt the cold metal of a knife. As I pulled it out and turned around the lamp switched back on and I ran at him.

He easily blocked my attempt and took the knife from me. Fudge. I felt a sting in my thigh as a fist connected with my face and I cried out in pain. Falling to my knees and pushing away the pain I head butted him in his naughty bits. 

He dropped the knife and I scooped it up, sadly he was faster and grabbed my wrist as I went to stab him and he slammed me into the dirty carpet. I scooted back as much as I could scrapping my back but not having the luxury of worrying about it now.

He stopped me by sitting on my legs and straddling my hips. He hit me again as I struggled against him only this time it was so hard I saw stars. He hit me so hard I was sent into a flashback. 

I was thrown onto the ground and he shackled my ankle. I fought against him with everything I had but it wasn’t enough as he crawled on top of me and straddled my hips.

“Who’s a good whore?” 

No!

I snapped back. I would not let that happen again, not ever.

Suddenly the guy stopped moving and flopped on top of me making it hard to breath with his full weight on my chest. It wasn’t for long though, almost as quick as the heaviness came it was gone again.  The lamp turned on and flooded the room with light as the masked man stood over me and trapped me with his eyes. 

“Time to go.” 

He had said it so calmly that it made me uneasy. I had almost been killed, again, and he was just Dandy. I stood there and gawked at him as he shifted around the room grabbing the bags and placing them by the door. Next he went for my stuff.

He shoved all my stuff inside and threw it over his shoulder. He grabbed the lamp last and shoved it in my hands. I took it but stayed still, I still couldn’t move. 

He stalked forward and grabbed all the bags, turning around to face me I could see the urgency in his blue orbs. I needed to follow him, my feet started to move and I followed him out of the room.

I had the lamp in my arms but I wished he had just pushed me through the dark again instead. Dead bodies lay everywhere, blood splattered the walls and floors pooling around open throats. 

Men were strewn on the floor, over desks, and everywhere that didn’t have a fresh corps was littered with tiny animal bones. I didn’t want to see any of it, I kept my eyes forward.

I could see the back of his jacket. Skipping forward to catch up to him I grabbed his collar, he flinched away from me but let me hold on as he maneuvered us back out of the building. 

I kept my eyes closed trusting him to guide me until we got outside. He stopped and I peaked open my eyes, seeing we were outside by the trunk of the car I let him go. 

I went to get into the car but he grabbed the back on my neck and moved me to the S.U.V. next to it. Pushing me into the drivers seat he threw the bags in the back seat. 

“Move.” He ordered and I moved over to the passenger seat as he slid in behind the wheel. Turning the S.U.V. around we sped away. 

My body and mind were still reeling as I chewed my nails and tapped my feet on the dashboard. I kept trying to wrap my head around everything that had happened, the masked man, the bad guys, the flash back, Him. My mine was utter chaos.

I felt his hand grasp around mine and I stopped fidgeting as he put it at my side, though this time he didn’t let me go. Instead he kept his large hand wrapped around mine, and his eyes on the road. 

I didn’t stop him. I took comfort in his warmth and let it seep into my skin, calming my panicked thoughts. Occasionally his fingers would tighten for a moment and then loosen again. I didn’t want to comment on it because it was helping me and I didn’t want him to let me go. 

We ended up driving like that in silence for a long while until the sun came up over the trees and we were far enough away to be safe for now. 

We drove for a few hours after that before he finally stopped to switch cars, this time stealing a Winnebago. He put all our stuff on the counters and chairs. I decided since I wasn’t tired I would sit up front with him. It sounded better than sitting alone with my hectic thoughts as company. 

We drove in silence, the air outside tight and foggy. We were somewhere in the mountains and if I looked close I could make the mountain tops out through the think mist. It was beautiful and haunting at the same time. 

“Why not the gun?” His gruff voice broke through my thoughts but his question didn’t make any sense, it was so random. It was like he had been having a conversation in his head and somehow thought I would actually know what he was talking about. I didn’t.

“What?”

“Why didn’t you take the gun?”

“What gun? When?” He needed to be more specific.

“In the parking garage. There were two men and you chose a single blade. Why?” 

I thought about it and it was true, there had been a gun in the bag, but I grabbed a knife.

“I don’t know I just grabbed whatever I touched first. Why?” I asked him but he didn’t answer me. He never gave me any straight answers and it was annoying. I was stuck here just like him, the least he could do is explain. 

“Why can’t you ever take the muzzle off and give me an actual answer?” I spat at him not caring if it made him angry. I wanted him to answer me and if making him angry would help then thats what I would do.

Out of nowhere the old R.V. swerved to the left and I slammed into my door, before I knew it I was jerked again and launched into him. I bounced off of him and fell to the floor on my stomach. He slammed on the brakes and the resistance sent me sliding to the front scrunched between the seat where I finally stopped.

I could hear him gasping for air leaning over the wheel. He sounded terrified, I knew the sound because that was how I was when I came back from a flashback or night mare. 

I pushed myself up and sat back in my seat. I thought he was going to snap and push me around again, so when he finally looked at me I was shocked to say the least.

There was pain and terror in his blue eyes. As they focused on me guilt washed over them and my stomach dropped. What the Blarg had happened to him? He was fine a minute ago; well fine for him, but now he looked like…he looked like me. 

“What did I do?” He asked desperation in his voice, it caught me off guard, he seemed so vulnerable.

“What?” I whispered confused and concerned by the look in his eyes.

He took a slow breath and shook his head, his face down and hair falling in his eyes, hiding him from me. 

“Your face.” He sounded far away and small. Did he think he hit me?

“You didn’t do this.” I assured him still confused and it was no doubt showing all over my face.

“What happened?” He asked me his voice thick like he was having trouble forming the words. He didn’t make any sense. What happened? He was there! Suddenly I heard his voice in my mind echoing in every corner. 

‘Our boss.’

He hadn’t been talking about me and him, he had been talking about himself as two separate people. What the crud-nuggets?

How do I handle something like this? I felt my fingers go to my mouth, as I touched my lip I heard him growling at me. His eyes still held all of the confusion and guilt from before, but he was growling like he always did. It seemed off; wrong. Maybe he really was two people. I swallowed hard.

“Whats the last thing you remember?” I asked and it took him a few moments before he said anything.

“I was… I was…” He looked so confused. “We were in the woods…” His eyes were unfocused and far away as he spoke. “You ran… he found you, and… you, you were yelling at us… and…” He blinked a few times and his brows furrowed, pinching in the middle as he tried to recall what happened. 

His eyes focused suddenly and shot up to mine.

“Did I hurt anyone?” He demanded.

“No.” I paused, “Well.”

His face dropped in defeat and I tried to make it better.

“Its okay, they deserved it.” I hadn’t meant to sound so mean but it still came out that way. It still hadn’t helped him one bit. His eyes were frantic and full of questions, his breathing fast and shallow. He was panicking, I knew that feeling well, and I hated it. I needed to help him.

“Turn around.” I tried to sound commanding but it came out small and timid. I tried again this time being more forceful and pushing his shoulder as I spoke, trying to move his large frame.

“Turn around.” 

He started moving like a robot as I guided him. When he was facing the window I reached to roll it down, the cool air seeping in. It wasn’t helping, he was still panicking. It was like he couldn’t breath.

I gripped the velcro of the mask on the back of his head and ripped it apart, pushing it off of his face and onto his lap. I hadn’t seen his face yet and I didn’t want too, not until he was ready, so I hugged him.

I wrapped my arms around his ribs and hugged him from behind, my eyes closed and my face pressed against his back between his shoulder blades. His jacket was cold and when he felt the contact he froze, his entire body becoming tense. He even stopped breathing. 

“Breath.” I used his tactic of one word orders and it worked. He took a slow breath; in and out. Good. Relax. I thought as I gripped the straps on the front of his jacket and held him closer, hoping that he was taking comfort from it.

I hugged him until he finally relaxed. Waiting until I could slowly pull away and sit in my seat without setting him off again. 

He sat there breathing quietly, it made me uneasy. What if he was angry when he turned around? What if he wasn’t? I curled in on myself and made sure not to rub my lip.

He sat up straighter and his hands came up around his head replacing the mask. Swiveling in his seat he put the R.V. in drive and took off down the road. He was quiet for a few minutes, the fog seeming to block us off from the rest of the world and stretching the minutes into an eternity. 

“Thank you.” He finally spoke his voice rough; unused.

“your welcome.”

I thought about what he said he remembered. It was when we were in the woods but that was days ago? The more I thought about it the more it made sense that he was two people. Why he was suddenly so aggressive and bossy, only speaking when he had too. Then other times he seemed so confused and afraid, but also kinder. 

Either he really was two people or he at the very least thought he was, enough to make me believe the act. Of coarse if it was true and he really was two people then a lot had happened since then. Days in fact. The least I could do is tell him what happened and hope it would help. 

“When we were in the woods you sort of zoned out after I yelled at you.” I paused to see if he wanted me to stop. He didn’t do anything but look forward so I continued. 

“I went to touch you and you snapped back to reality…” 

I told him everything I could remember and he listened quietly only occasionally would he start to rumble from his chest. I told him that after the woods we went to a Wal-mart, how he killed two men saving me because they were trying to shove me in their van. He relaxed a little after that.

I told him we went to a creepy warehouse, “I passed out after we got there, I was out for three days so I don’t know what you did during that time.” He grunted in response and I continued. 

I told him how bossy and rude he was to me, and about the men that attacked us while I was asleep at the warehouse. How he had save me again, he didn’t growl this time. 

“…then you swerved the R.V. and now here we are.” As I finished he was pulling into a rest area. Why though? We were in a moving rest area, we didn’t need to stop. 

  He pulled into a vacant spot in the deserted parking lot, the fog covering everything in an eerie way. I sat still only slightly nibbling the inside of my lip as he cut the engine and peered out the windshield for several moments, his eyes darting every which way. He was searching for threats. Even now after his “episode” he was still in mission mode.

He slid out of the seat and was at our bags in an instant. He moved so fast and sudden it made me yip. I hate that yip it always made me sound like a scared child. 

He grabbed the med-kit and headed to the back where the bedroom was and I slid out of my seat to follow him and sit on the bed in front of him. I knew thats what he wanted me to do before he asked. It was almost routine now whenever he grabbed the med-kit. 

He let out a small rumble, it was less of a growl and more of a purr. I liked the sound of it, it was much better than his normal aggravated grumble.

He crouched in front of me, his knees brushing my outer thighs. I could feel his warmth through the tight jeans I had on. It was a strange feeling not having the urge to shy away from the contact.

I hate being touched by anyone after everything I had survived, but right now? In this moment? 

He worked on my hands, seeing my arms and cut up fingers for the first time. Cleaning and rewrapping my arms he moved to my face. 

I knew I had a cut on my temple, and my cheek hurt but I had no idea what he was actually seeing. I hadn’t looked into a mirror in a while and more than that I didn’t want to. I probably looked like crud. 

He held my chin as he worked his heat sinking into my chin, I needed a distraction. I watched him as he worked, much like he watched me all the time even when he thought I didn’t notice. 

I was looking for anything, some kind of evidence that he wasn’t just him. It was hard to tell, he was so motionless all the time, covered from head to toe, only his eyes visible and even they were hidden behind his dirty matted hair. 

He needs a shower. I need a shower too, my hair was oily and stiff, and it was gross. I could smell myself too, I stunk like sweat and dry blood. The smell sent an unpleasant feeling to my stomach and I bit my lip. 

I heard him growling again and I let my lip go. Rude. Wait. Was that him? Or was it the other one? The other him?

I broke it down the best I could in my head. He was rude and pushy, but not all the time, he was also conflicted and kind-ish. I would make a list later. Maybe one was him and the other is? Him too?

I thought only one personality could exist at once? But I had seen both; well I saw one while I heard and felt the other. Blarg this is confusing. Not knowing his name only made it worse. I didn’t know one name and for all I knew he could have two.

Something clicked. Maybe that was why he couldn’t answer me before! He had said he couldn’t remember his name, but maybe it was just because he didn’t know which name to give. Two names, two people, only one body. That had to be confusing. 

I could feel my heartbeat pick up and my breath hitch at the realization. I felt so bad for him because someone must have really fudged with his mind for him to be so broken.

I felt pressure on my jaw. It hurt and I could feel something vibrating through my body. I slipped out of my mind and back to reality as if waking from a dream. He was in my face, so close I could feel his breath through the mask as he growled at me. His metal hand was gripping my chin tightly and his pupils were needle points full of rage. 

He was back, his aggressive side, and he was angry. What had I done now? I was biting on my lip again, hard too because my lip was soar. 

“I said stop.” He rumbled, and I stopped.

Had He been speaking to me? I hadn’t noticed if he had, I had been so deep in my mind, I felt like I was slipping back there again. But I couldn’t I had a question I needed to ask. 

“Your name…?” I sounded far away and I pulled myself back out when I heard him growl in warning. 

“No.” He said pushing off of the floor and turning to leave. I grabbed his metal wrist to stop him.

“Wait.” He paused in my grasp but refused to look at me. 

“I get it now.” I paused thinking. “Before… when I yelled at you…” 

What am I trying to say? I knew he wouldn’t indulge me for long, I needed to find a way to phrase it.

“I asked you your name.” I stated stalling. 

I felt his metal arm twitch and whir in my grip. I needed to figure out how to ask him that made sense but I was losing him. I searched my brain. He pulled his arm from my grasp. I was out of time. 

Screw it the only way to ask him was to be blunt and hope I didn’t sound crazy. 

“What are your names?”

@whitewolfbumble

[spookybooscarystorytime]

Heat Death by Avenging Angel

New Post has been published on http://www.scarystorytime.com/creepypasta/heat-death-by-avenging-angel.html

Heat Death by Avenging Angel

Summer was your favorite season; I said it was mine, too.

Dusk didn’t bring the brisk coolness of night, even as the breeze had kicked up dust fruitlessly towards the Sun, whose shades were dimming and growing heavy with the weight of the dwindling day.

Our smiles stood high, the corners curving upwards like sharp billhooks ready to strike. I took you by the hand, staring into your eyes. I saw my reflection in your glasses, and it made me want to breathe deep. With a big breath of that sickly, jarring evening air, I was certain nothing had disgusted me more than that very moment. But you didn’t know that. You were convinced we had some fucked up semblance of relationship or friendship or something. Anything just to make you think that you had someone in your life, and anything to save you from the wretched loneliness that the rest of society subjected you to. The way that we’d play with their bodies together every time it was over had you convinced that I loved you. You thought you had some kind of immunity, but really, I grew so sick of you over time that I’d purge onto your sleeping body. Brown, slimy clumps of that night’s romantic steak dinner would drip down your face and you’d just laugh. I would stare blankly, like I mostly do. Forgive me for my smiles, and for everything I was about to put you through.

There’s something cute about the way that you confided in me with all of your trust and sincerity. You were drawn to me like a fly to fresh dog shit in the stagnant August heat. We’d often go to the beach on the day you wanted to kill. God, you were so comfortable. Staring at me behind your flushed, amber eyes and scratched-up Ray-bans, your delusions were so dark and misguided. I used to be lonely, too. But as you’d gnash tuna sandwiches with your mouth agape and tell me your ideas for cutting someone apart, my blood ran icy. I would only stare back blankly and think of how alone in this world we really were. It was just the two of us, but you managed to make me feel crowded anyways. I remember how beautiful your scarred and sunburned body was, in spite of its imperfections. I was not infatuated; your flaws were so horribly apparent there was no time for the curse of infatuation. That’s not to say that I didn’t love you back at some point, but your cradle of love was so decrepit and threadbare that it was only a matter of time before it fell through.

That night was a night that I had long prepared for. The last belligerent flecks of day faded away, and I found you nestled into that apathetic corpse. You had slit his throat; you loved to bathe in the fleeting heat that poured from their bodies. You loved to watch their desperate attempts of grasping for life as they would put their hands to their throat, the blood seeping through the cracks in their fingers like water filling a sinking ship. You’d lick your lips and softly run your fingers through bloodied clumps of hair and lean quietly into their ears, giving them soporific whispers of reassurance. Soon, their breathing slowed and came to redundant gurgles and death rattles. Silence always followed, as though your voice had soothed them. But I knew otherwise; your voice was jarring and shrill, even in the most delicate of whispers. I always told you it was lovely.

I grasped the cadaver’s hand. He was a Libra, like me, or so his license said. Maybe we would have been friends. I made a fire with the money in his wallet. This wasn’t a robbery, except of my own emotions. I had lost all feeling. In every sense besides my beating heart, I was as lifeless as he. You ripped open his chest cavity and covered yourself in entrails. Every organ was a plaything, just as I had been. Your laughter was broken, staccato, and deafening. In that moment, I was not livid. I did not seethe, grit my teeth, or do anything else to signify to you that you were the most annoying and disruptive creature to ever stand on two legs. It was impossible; I no longer possessed the ability to hate.

My “playing” of your toys had always been subtle touches and affection. It was adorable to you, the fact that you didn’t like to share. I seldom had the urge to kill, let alone dismember a corpse. You were sawing through his legs as I told you to stop. You looked at me, and I looked back with the biggest smile I had ever made in my entire life. Perhaps it was a bit disconcerting, as I wasn’t one to smile. My expressions were generally emotionless. You smiled, but struggled to keep eye contact. Oh, how easy it was to expose that you were pathetically weak to me. How easily I took the bone saw right from your hands and pressed it to your throat, grabbing your greasy, filthy, terrible excuse for hair and pinning you to the ground, your eyes wide and mine even wider. You screamed the most beautiful sound you have ever uttered. It was so good that you picked this place specifically for how remote it was. You told me a scream would never be heard; a body would never be found. You’re so fucking stupid. That’s what I found to be adorable. You really trusted me and locked yourself in walls of false security that were slowly closing in on you. Now those walls were crushing your body, with bones dismantling and tendons tearing away.

Your screaming turned to pleading as the saw laid against your throat. You knew that I was stronger, that you would not be able to overpower me with your greatest effort. You were helpless, but I was not happy. Happiness is an emotion that is felt through entertainment or the success of a goal, but this was neither. It was cold and emotionless, like I had been to you. That was never a red flag, I guess. You were pretty fucked in the head, too. But you had emotions, having drained mine away. I would never get them back. I could only feel subtle tinges of bitter contempt as I slowly sawed through your throat, watching as blood pooled onto your white skin and spread like fire to paper. The saw burned through your neck, and I eventually heard the same gurgling and death rattles. I gave no whisper, feeling that you probably had thought something to yourself about it almost being over or whatever. I stood up once you no longer made noise. I didn’t want to touch you. Even in this moment you made me feel disinterested and lethargic.

Summer is a disgusting season, but you don’t deserve something you liked so much. I cut you up that night and put your remains in our freezer, which I planned on disposing of. One last time, I subjected you to my frigid gaze before closing the door shut.

[3one3]

The Sequel - 790

Setbacks

André Schürrle, Juan Mata, other Chelsea players, and random awesome OC’s

(okay they’re less random now but they’re still pretty awesome)

original epic tale

all chapters of The Sequel

“This isn’t any better. It’s not usable. Babe, this is- I don’t even- I can’t-“ Christina took a very animated and extremely deep breath, closed her eyes for a second, and then walked away from her working group in the middle of one end of her riding ring, on the verge of tears. Lucky and Spencer hurried after her, leaving André and Lukas with Tom, Holger, Holger’s wife, and Stefanie. They were all inspecting the contractor’s second try at getting her base and footing installed, which took weeks because of the weather, and then Christina was in Bordeaux to compete and couldn’t fly in to have a look as soon as it was finished.

“Is she being dramatic or is it really that bad?” her husband asked the foursome of equestrians, who all stared at and/or kicked around the sand and synthetic material hybrid under a finally sunny Monday afternoon sky. Besides Holger’s wife, all of them, including Christina and Lukas and the dogs, were fresh off a private flight from France.

“Most of it is okay, but this is not good, here,” Tom supplied. “This is too deep still.”

“Imagine you jump a fence just over there, and you canter along a few strides, and then all of a sudden you’re in this deep zone. It catches the horse off guard. He can’t see that he’s going to sink more and adjust himself. It’s very dangerous,” Holger, the most experienced of the group chimed in. He was really just there because his wife picked them up at the airport and was giving Tom a ride back to their neck of the woods anyway and wanted to see what Christina’s beautiful new place looked like.

“Most rings have little patches of iffy footing, especially when it gets wet, but this is too extreme.” Tom took a demonstrative step into the quicksand-like footing all around them and pointed out how far his sneaker sunk down with just the natural weight of his step. “It’s also very heavy down at the bottom. When the hoof first touches down, it has to slide forward and down. In deep stuff, it drops out from under him and overextends the toe or the heel, which hurts the ligaments and tendons all the way up the leg. Then he pushes straight down on it and it shifts around, making him use more energy to keep from slipping- to have stability while he tries to move to the rollover of the hoof. The heel rolls,” he explained while trying to illustrate the movement phases with his hands. “It has to lift up in back. It takes more energy to roll and lift out of deep footing. This is also very slippery. There is no friction for the push off, no tightness.”

“The bottom line is this,” the Germany team’s assistant coach summarized. “Having a horse like Dirk or Nick working in footing like this is the same as buying Leo Messi and making him play football in tap shoes, with no shin pads.”  

“Great.” André blinked at his son on his hip a few times, feeling like he wasn’t equipped to deal with another setback. It was February 6th and neither the barn nor the house was ready for his family. They’d been living apart for 7 months at that point. And Christina wasn’t the only one feeling like it was all for nothing because Chelsea was coasting to a Premier League title and Borussia Dortmund was laboring to a Champion’s League place in a two steps forward and one step back sort of fashion. André wasn’t enjoying anything in that moment, on or off the pitch. “Can they fix just this third of the ring or do you think they have to start all over again? Is it because the pitch for drainage is this direction?”

“Scrap the whole thing. Send the footing back. Get OTTO Sport in to do the perforated mats on top of the compacted stone base. Then they do a crushed stone layer very thin on top, and then a blend of silica sand made specifically for jumping and for this climate. You have to water it a bit more than this synthetic stuff and you have to buy their drag leveler, but surely these inconveniences are worth it to have the best surface. You would rather have to drag the ring every morning than rehab the horses when they get injured, yes?” Holger asked Tom rhetorically after suggesting a plan to Tom’s next employer. That situation was stressing Christina out, which meant it was stressing the footballer out too. The groom’s replacement was already trained up and working, making him redundant. Holger didn’t have room in the operating budget for two Toms. It was putting a strain on things at Warendorf.

“What is the lead time you think?” André questioned. “And how much does it cost? If it takes three months to get them here to-“

“For Chris, OTTO Sport would come tomorrow, and they might not even ask to be paid. The FN is a partner to them. To do Christina Schürrle’s arena at her new training center in Germany would be a great honor for them, and a great advertisement. I would have suggested this from the beginning but she said she likes what she has now at home and wanted to keep the same.”

“The indoor did come out nice,” Stefanie remarked. She tended to keep quiet around Holger. Her future and nearly all aspects of her life were in his hands. “The rubber footing feels exactly like home.”

“Yeah, that’s fine,” Tom nodded. André got the sense they were all trying to make him feel better. It must be on my face how tired of this process I am, he thought while Lukas tried to hide his Hawkeye figurine in his scarf. I promised her this would go better. Tim promised me he would make sure it went better. Peter said it was fixed. Blaaaaaaaaaaah.

“Do you know someone I can call there?” he asked after a big sigh.

“Let me call home to the center and get someone to find the contact in my office, and then we’ll call together right now. Then your contractor can speak with them too and make sure the base is okay, or coordinate, or whatever they need.” The team’s second in command offered a warm and helpful smile as he checked his pockets to find his phone. The whole group turned to move inside to find Peter, the guy in charge of the project. He was in there with some workers he called in an hour earlier to clean up the barn aisle. It was still a mess when they got there. Christina had a cow. She couldn’t believe there were still nails and screws on the floor and plastic on the windows, cardboard in the tack room, and barcode stickers on light fixtures all throughout the building, and dirty finger prints on every inch of the expensive faucets and taps in the tack room, bathroom, and viewing lounge. Those things upset her husband too, because he and their agent, who often worked as a sort of enforcer on all matters for them, made it very clear to Peter that everything had better be perfect for her next inspection. For her it was deeply disappointing and actually made her distraught. The footing was the last straw.

As she wandered around her new stable with two terriers on her flank, she wondered why nothing with the relocation seemed to go right, and if it had a deeper meaning. It occurred to her that maybe the move just wasn’t meant to be, and the universe was trying to tell her that. Between the constant delays with finishing the remodel at the house, the footing nightmare, stressing her relationship to the point of collapse, destabilizing her career and indeed calling into question the one thing she always had to lean on (riding), and Dortmund’s floundering, it was like all signs were blinking “TURN AROUND” or “GO BACK” in the brightest of LED’s. That of course wasn’t really an option, however. Christina felt trapped in a bad decision, and one that wasn’t even her doing.

“I think we have a plan to fix the ring, Prinzessin,” André told her once he was able to locate her in the very large and then sprawling building. It wasn’t just a long single-aisle barn with a little extension off the middle anymore. The extension aisle was longer and wider than her primary aisle at home in London, and then there was the big indoor and the hay and equipment storage structure attached on the side. Christina and her dogs were in the office, which had a really nice tiled floor, dark gray walls, a built-in bookcase, stairs to the lounge and viewing area, and two large windows but no furniture yet. He transferred Lukas to her because she looked like she needed a small, smiley person to make her feel better. “Come out and talk to Holger. He wants us to get the footing like they had in the arena for the Olympics in Rio, and the company that does it is German and they want to help you out, so they can come get started on redoing everything from scratch in a few days,” he explained while guiding the rest of the family toward the part of the barn with the stalls. “It’s all set up if it’s what you want. He and Tom can explain what it is.”

Her sometimes-coach went over exactly what system he lined up for her, and there wasn’t much need to sell her on it. The footing she’d be getting was the same used at almost all the indoor shows she attended, albeit with permanent mats instead of the temporary ones, and many of the outdoor events too. It was a popular thing for private facilities as well, including those belonging to some top riders in all disciplines, and even at one of the FN’s academy-type campuses. Her only concern was paying for it, and whether the company who made and installed the special sand and synthetic blend currently filling her expansive outdoor ring would take it back and not charge them a fortune to do so. OTTO Sport volunteered a discount in exchange for promotion, and that necessitated getting Tim involved. He conjured up a plan in minutes.

They were going to get a video crew out to document the installation process from start to finish, and then do a video tour of the property once the horses were moved in. Both would be presented by one of show jumping’s most popular magazines. The miracle worker agent got it all agreed with ease, in part because he’d already promised the tour to the magazine for their website. Convincing them to highlight the footing company was simple. Everyone was happy, except Peter, who was going to have to eat the cost of all the extra work he’d already done up to that point and to then undo it. All that was left to settle was how to handle returning the expensive footing already in the ring. André promised not to let them “take a bath” on that, which really meant he was going to trust Tim to argue and complain until Pete’s company or the footing people themselves agreed not to charge them, or to only charge a small service fee. All that mattered to him was getting the right finished product, and he tried to make her understand that it was fine if they ended up having to spend more money than they wanted to. Getting it right was worth whatever cost.

“Which stall for which horse?” he asked her with a smile once the rest of her traveling party departed, minus Stefanie. She was sitting on an empty bucket of ceramic tile adhesive with Lukas on her knee. They were sharing apple slices. The rider checked out of the whole conversation once it advanced to deal making and advertising. Her brain was fried. Bordeaux was a rough weekend for her. Rio had back pain out of nowhere that made him un-rideable, and Socks tested her commitment at every opportunity. The competition was stiffer than in Zurich, so results were harder to come by, even with clear rounds. Kimi was the only bright spot. He won a significant class for his age group. Stefanie struggled with confidence because she moved up a level of difficulty with Julian, and Kyle struggled with everything with Calvin, mostly due to inexperience and rust. That wouldn’t have bothered Christina much if Holger weren’t there to see it, and if Stephan weren’t there either. She felt awkward with the former because she always told him Kyle did really well with his horse and they were great for each other, and awkward with the latter because he was going to be sending her a horse soon for the express purpose of giving Kyle something else to ride on a higher level. His performance kind of undermined her with both of them- not severely, but enough to get to her.

“I don’t know. I don’t care,” she grumbled about the stalls.

“You tired, pretty girl?” The footballer bent in half to knead her shoulders and rest his chin on the top of her head, smooshing her unkempt bun. He tried to be sympathetic and not get wound up about her indifference, which he thought wasn’t that real.

“Yes.”

“You want to go home and relax for a while after we drop Stef off, and then we’ll go out for dinner?”

“Yes.”

“Okay. Want to see your new kitchen before we go? It’s all finished now, and it’s really nice.”

Christina shook her head, or tried to under his weight pushing down on it. I’m not going to start a thing over this, André decided. It’s annoying that she’s not interested in the house, but I understand just wanting to go home and not having to see that maybe something isn’t exactly how she wanted and then getting all frustrated and upset again. Once she gets in this kind of overtired, depressed, overwhelmed funk then everything is wrong, even if it would be fine on another day. We can just come back tomorrow and walk around and see everything. Most of the downstairs is done. It’s the electronics in the basement and her stupid bathroom layout that’s taking all the time. He took the bag of Lukas necessities from her and helped her up. The little boy was pretty tired too. He didn’t want to walk on his own. Mom carried him and whistled for the dogs. The 5 travelers all passed out in the car on the way to the Mario’s and the remaining four slept until the Mercedes arrives at the apartment apartment, and then Christina finally had a reason to smile.

“Did you put my slippers out for me?” she asked after setting the baby and the dogs free inside. Her extra-fuzzy, plush, gray, UGG-made defense against the BVB man’s cold floors were waiting under the coat hooks by the door, where she usually discarded her shoes. He nodded, and got a little kiss for his forethought. He also got the honor of lugging her suitcase and bag to the bedroom, where, sadly, they wouldn’t be unpacked. Christina could only stay for two nights. Their son was staying through the weekend and beyond. His grandma was coming to help look after him after Mom left, and then Mom was coming back the following Monday to spend two nights again, including Valentine’s Day. Lukas was captured for a diaper change and then installed on the rug in the living room with some toys. Christina put her feet up. She needed to.

“Do you want anything?” André asked her before committing to a spot on the couch too. “I have everything you like, plus real coconut milk, like the thick kind that comes in a can. I had a piña colada craving the other day,” he admitted with a little laugh. He got bored all the time. Sometimes his food and beverage “cravings” were more like excuses to go out and get ingredients, and then make something.

“No. Come sit.”

My little baby tiger, he thought after he sat next to her on the sofa and she could barely wait for both of his butt cheeks to hit cushion before curling most of herself up on his lap. There was an enormous yawn with a tiny little squeak on the end that made him think of a big cat cub. Her veracity and viciousness at the barn fit with his tiger metaphor. She can kill anybody or she can purr and want petting. Everyone needs to do their damn jobs, and do them properly, so that we can have our nice house and our nice stable and she can be like the little baby tiger that spends her whole day playing and napping, instead of...I don’t know...hiding from poachers and having to kill gazelles. I don’t know what I’m even talking about, André thought as he caught Christina’s contagious yawn. What is the point of this sweater she’s wearing, the player wondered. He poked at the cutout at her right shoulder, and then the smaller one just outside the crewneck trim of her black sweatshirt. If it’s cold enough to wear long sleeves, isn’t it too cold to have your shoulders sticking out? I don’t get it.    

“How you doing, Prinzessin?” he asked with a softness in his tone that was meant to convey his interest in not just how she felt in that moment with her eyes shut and her active effort to shut her brain down to give it a rest, but in how she was doing in general. They didn’t get to talk a lot while she was in France other than via text. They were pretty good at reading the subtext of each other’s texts, but that still wasn’t the same for them as long talks.

“I’m fed up with back and forth. It’s back and forth from here to London, back and forth from good to bleh at horse shows, back and forth for you with the team, back and forth from “we’re almost done” to “hang on we’re doing a whole new thing” with the new house. Also my eyes are closed so I hope you’re paying attention to whatever Lulu Schü is doing.”

“He’s doing tug of war with Lucky. He’s fine. And I know you’re fed up.” André threaded his hand between Christina’s arm and her body so he could rub her tummy. She was fully across his thighs, with her knees pulled up on them too but not so tight that he couldn’t get to her stomach. He made sure to do it slowly and deliberately so as not to tickle. “We’re almost there though, in terms of the house. I want to show you tomorrow. You’re going to love it. Mausi is going to love his playroom. The horse- Oh, Prinzessin, I completely forgot! I was thinking, would Aidan want to paint a wall for Mausi’s bedroom or the playroom? I can only imagine how cool a thing he could come up with for him, like a safari scene to go with his furniture, or maybe a collage of Disney characters downstairs, or his own made up cartoons...He could come stay with us for a few days, have a nice visit. You haven’t seen him in a year...”

“Yeah, maybe,” the metaphorical tiger yawned again, disinterested. All she really wanted to do for a few moments was lay on him and shut everything else off. The post-winter-holidays-honeymoon was well and truly over. Even the mini bounce she enjoyed after winning that qualifier with Dirk was over. She was back to feeling pulled apart and disappointed all the time, in her situation and in herself. It wasn’t quite as bad as the climax of agitation before Christmas and before André was in London with her for a prolonged period of time. The repetitive footing disaster just caused a serious flare up that she wasn’t prepared for. For once she’d tried to be optimistic, and it turned out her more cynical side would have been well rewarded. Without that usual lowering of expectations, reality was a real let down.

“What should we have for dinner?” Her partner knew better than to force her to talk about subjects of which she was dismissive while in that kind of mood. “Are you hungry soon? Is there any food in here?” He patted her stomach briefly before resuming the more affectionate rubbing motion.

“We ate right before we got on the plane. I promised Luke pizza for dinner though.” The rider’s answer caught their son’s attention.

“Pizza!” he exclaimed excitedly, abandoning the rope toy he’d been trying to pull away from Lucky. He hurried to his feet and then hurried over to the couch. André leaned over Christina to give him some help, and then he had two people trying to occupy his lap. “Pizza, Mommy,” Lukas said as if he expected her to pull some out of her shirt. He pronounced it like “peas-za”.

“It’s not dinnertime yet, Munchkin,” she reminded. “He saw people eating p-i-z-z-a at the restaurant in the hotel so obviously we needed to have some, but we’d just eaten a whole bowl of noodles.”

“Well, we’ll have to get one.” The footballer smiled at his eager little one, who spared no consideration for his mom. He wanted to climb on top of her. “Does Mommy want p-i-z-z-a too or does Mommy want to go to a restaurant that has more things?”

“I would very much like to have the pesto cream sauce p-i-z-z-a at Vapiano with the spinach and perhaps some added chicken, if they do that, and also a Caesar salad, and I promise to be more fun by then,” Christina sighed with a foot on her neck.

“You’re not un-fun now, Prinzessin.” André picked Lukas up even though he didn’t really have anywhere to put him, because that was still better than the determined child climbing on his mom. “I’m happy to have you two back with me. You don’t have to do a dance routine, or a standup comedy act.”

“I know, but still. I don’t mean to be so meh. It’s so hard to come down from a bad weekend. It used to be the opposite. It used to be the good ones that kept me up for days. Now I get like a one-day bump from a good weekend and a three-day hangover from a bad one.” The “hungover” rider turned over onto her back, and reached for the awkwardly dangling little boy. It was also awkward for her butt to be on the couch and so much of her back to be on André, but she didn’t plan on staying still in that position. She pulled Lukas over onto his back too. “This Munchkin needs tickles.”

“It wasn’t all bad, and the parts that were bad weren’t that bad.” Her partner assisted in the tickling job and had to talk over the happy giggles that ensued. “You’re entitled to a recovery and reflection period. I am no picnic after games lately. Do you need me to save you, Mausi?”

“Yes, take him. I need to pee.” Christina did a sit up as soon as Lukas was lifted off her chest and stomach, and twisted around to give both boys kisses on their cheeks. She promised to be “100% fun” after using the bathroom and fixing her hair, which was all escaping from its elastic. André made endless jokes about her need for the bathroom not being for peeing, but for relieving a constipation problem, and how that would ensure that her mood would improve.