#he’s a little fucking irritating and the worst but he’s my pal

[livvyofthelake]

this and the killer queen one from the other day… you guys have to stop letting me say whatever i want. like stop agreeing with me you make us both look crazy…

[arcplaysgames]

i'm finally up to the hawaii trip and i gotta ask: when Ryuuji's going on about the locals talking about the phantom thieves, does he put a little. i hate that i'm speaking mcelroyese here but does he put a little stank on it to make it clear that he's making fun of how they pronounce it

there is a thing in my next letter to you about how i suspect Mishima is a racist, but i think Ryuuji might be one too, from how he talks about the locals and An. like, neither of them are a level of racist that's socially unacceptable in japan, they're just a level of racist that pisses me off because i have to smile placidly and Be Tolerant at people who say this stuff ALL THE TIME

also, i KNOW i'm projecting but i am SUPER irritated that everyone who was a jerk to An is sucking up to her now that they need her english skills!

(You sent this to my side blog so I hope it's okay to publish, if not lemme know and I'll nuke. I'm gonna make it non-rebloggable just in case anyway.)

sup bro, sorry you reached the worst part of the game. Hawaii, esp if you don't have a romance locked, is horrendous. utterly miserable.

listen, sometimes we gotta use the McElroy-ese because its useful vernacular.

Flipping through my screencaps (which I have still not deleted for some fucking reason) of that awful sequence, I feel like Ryuji was at his most disrespectful and shitty. But some of that probably got lost in translation due to how the localization team had to bend so far to, like.... delineate between Japanese Characters Speaking "Japanese" and Americans Speaking English. It's hilarious, the two women who Ryuji fails to get it off with are speaking in THICK psuedo-Texan accents to make SURE the player understands.

So for me, I didn't get the racist vibes but I don't think I would have picked out vibes since Ryuji and Mishima treat literally everyone so fucking reprehensibly that.... pal, I wouldn't have fucking noticed unless they dropped a slur. They treat everyone like garbage or like someone they might potentially fuck. That's it.

That all said, Ryuji is so happy to thoughtlessly dehumanize people around him and sulks when he's called out about it, so I wouldn't be surprised. It's frankly kind of stunning how he just.... has no redeeming qualities that stand out against all his copious fucking flaws.

For Mishima, MAN. MAAAAAAN. When I think about the scenes in his SLink and that really fucking weird one with Futaba in her SLink, I don't even fucking KNOW. Am eager to see what you pull out of this shit because it's Yikes with and without cultural context imo. I heard he's vaguely based on a right wing weirdo but idk. I find it interesting that the game never seems to outright say Mishima is a good person and often gives the player chances to call him out.

The weirdness around Ann is a constant though, yeah. She herself is such a fucking ray of light, it's always.... interesting how everyone around her (except the player character) treats her like an aberrant of some kind. Given the treatise of the game, I assume part of the point is to show the difficulties of Ann's position and the attitudes towards her and the exoticization? But since they don't.... ultimately do anything about it (and circle backward with the whole Nude Painting arc) and her SLink doesn't say anything about it.... it's just another missed shot, imo.

Honestly, if you can hang on 'til the Royal bonus semester, the only Actually Great writing of the game is there. That's the only place.

[coldsandfluff]

FutureSick (F, Original, Illness, Sci-Fi)

I wrote this little sickfic for a trade a while ago and I don't think I ever posted it on the forum. It's set in a future where every sickness has been eradicated, but a hacker found a way to "infect" cyberwares implanted in the brain to mimic illnesses. Two bounty hunters are tasked with finding who is doing it, and Zela ends up "catching" a cold.

FutureSick

Interrogations were the worst part of the job.

The mess. That’s what Zela hated the most. But it was often a necessary part of the process. Nobody still living in the pits of Nightdale liked to be pushed around, and they all fought back one way or another.

She watched as her partner Makk pushed the bartender to the wall, knocking down a stack of drying glasses. Zela winced as they shattered on the ground. The bartender’s hand blindly searched the counter to his left, flinging rags and utensils around until he grabbed a knife the wrong way. He yelped as blood poured from a cut on his finger.

Zela rubbed the bridge of her nose. “Would you just calm down? You’re going to hurt yourself more than we will.” This was getting irritating.

The two men struggled for longer than usual: Makk’s enhanced Prostexs were top of the line, but the bartender was huge, both in height and weight. Zela had no doubt he’d eventually subdue the witness, but in the meantime, his backstore was getting wrecked.

“Just answer the question and maybe you’ll still have booze to serve to your clients tonight,” said Zela, leaning on a stack of boxes. Her weight caused the bottles of alcohol inside to jingle as they shifted around.

“I told you, I don’t know who he is,” grunted the man as he tried to pry off Makk’s enhanced forearm firmly placed on his chest.

Zela rolled her eyes. Her Neuronex had already identified several signs of lying on his facial features when she’d first asked. Not that she’d really needed it. The man was a terrible liar. Even an organic would have caught it.

She sighed and pushed herself off the stack of boxes. “So you’re telling me that he’s never been at your bar?”

The bartender was still struggling, pushing Makk away, but his breath had become ragged. He was finally getting tired. “Think I memorize everyone’s face? I’ve got more important shit to do.”

“Right,” said Zela. With a subtle movement of the eye, she activated the Neuronex’s facial recognition. Within a split second, information about the bartender appeared on her visual overlay. Silex McDureth. Forty-five years old. Divorced. Two kids, age ten and thirteen. “More important things like feeding your kids I bet.” As she said it, she pushed on the top most box. It crashed to the ground in a deafening explosion of glass. Zela hopped back to avoid getting alcohol all over her boots. The smells of fermented hops filled the air as fizzy liquid seeped out from the splintered wood. She never liked beer. She was more of a gin & cranberry kind of gal.

“Fuck!” Silex wheezed through Makk’s grip on his throat.

“Come on pal, just tell us the truth,” said Makk. “She’ll destroy your bar if you don’t. Trust me, she looks all small and cute, but she’ll fuck you up if you piss her off.”

Silex’s arms flopped to his side, and a look of defeat flashed on his face. “Fine.”

“There you go!” breathed Zela. She kicked a chair over to Makk, who slid it next to Silex and released his grip.

“Kid used to come here two or three times a week,” Silex said as he collapsed on the chair. He took out an old hanky and wrapped his wounded finger in it, still catching his breath. “Called himself ‘Redux’ or some dumb shit like that. Got piss drunk one night and told me all about his stupid hacks. I was going to report him. Got one of my regulars to follow him home one night. He’s working out of an abandoned robot factory in East Bedlam.”

“What a great citizen you are,” Makk said, his voice full of sarcasm. “The police didn’t do shit I bet?”

“I never got ‘round to reporting him. Kid found out.” Silex lifted his dirty shirt. “Left me with this.” Silex’s stomach was covered in small red pimples.

Makk recoiled. “What the hell is this?”

“Apparently, it’s called ‘chickenpox’. Itches like a mother.” Silex grimaced and dropped down his shirt. “He threatened to do this to my kids too if I talked.” He looked away, embarrassed. “You don’t want to fuck with this kid is all I’m saying.”

Smog lay low over the shore of East Bedlam, like an ominous gas monster enveloping the carcass of what was once a bustling factory sector. The silhouettes of collapsed buildings sprouted from the ground, swallowed at the top by the fog. A horrid stench permeated the air, wafting from the toxic river snaking through the area.

As soon as she stepped off the self-driving cab, Zela turned down her olfactive sense. “Bet you wish you had a Neuronex right about now,” she said, looking at Makk. He was covering the lower half of his face with the collar of his t-shirt.

“Still not worth messing with my perfectly good brain.”

“Sure, metal boy, you keep telling yourself that.”

Zela and Makk had been partners for almost a year after being paired up against their will by a client. The two had butted heads for most of the job, until they’d figured out that their strengths played perfectly off of each other.

Zela had one of the best Neuronexes on the market, but refused to get fitted with kinetic cyberwares after a botched job left her with a weakened shoulder. She’d always believed that focusing on her smarts, enhanced by the Neuronex’s capabilities, was all she needed to perform her job.

Makk, on the other hand, came from a family of organics who believed cyberwares were tools of the devil. Even though he had come a long way from the cult-like paranoia of his upbringing, he still refused to let anyone touch his brain.

However, he sure never minded taking advantage of Zela’s Neuronex whenever he could.

“Just do your little magic trick so we can figure out where this guy is,” Makk said.

Zela activated her scanning function, which allowed her to search for broken patterns in an area, such as recently disturbed soil or dust. After a few seconds, a trail appeared on her overlay, leading to one of the buildings in the distance.

Zela unholstered her gun. “I’m locked in on a trail. Let’s go.”

Makk took out his own weapon and followed her. “How dangerous do you think the kid is?”

“Dangerous? I don’t know. But he must be pretty dumb to infect one of the most powerful drug dealers in Nightdale.”

“I heard he gave him something called ‘strep throat’,” said Makk, chuckling. “Why the hell would he spend so much time figuring out how to hack Neuronexes just to give people Old World viruses? It makes no sense.”

Zela shrugged. “I don’t know, some kids are just bored.” She remembered hearing the story on the news a few weeks ago and laughing at the absurdity of it all. Pretty much all illnesses had been eradicated a long time ago, except for implant sickness—basically the body rejecting the cyberware. It rarely happened anymore.

“Hope you won’t catch anything with that cyber brain of yours,” said Makk. Zela noticed a hint of worry under his joking tone.

“I’ll be fine.” The trail ended in a gaping hole on the side of a half-collapsed building a few feet from them. “It’s right there, but there’s no one. My infrared sensors aren’t picking up anything. Let’s just have a look.”

“Do you think he heard us coming?”

Zela shook her head. “The trail is old. Maybe a week, according to dirt accumulations.” She stepped over a chunk of the broken wall. It looked like someone had blasted a bomb through it a long time ago, possibly the demolition team. The city had planned to turn the sector back into a habitable area after Zymek’s Industry had moved all their robot factories to Mars, but they’d given up halfway through when the mass exodus had started.

Most people who still lived on Earth preferred nicer, cleaner cities like Boston and New York.

Inside, the factory looked pretty much exactly like Zela had expected. Tables strewn about in various states of disrepair. Huge metal structures torn by rust. Random pieces of robots in piles here and there. The whole thing was covered in dust and dirt, except for a trail leading to a closed door at the back of the room.

“Do you think he could be camouflaging his thermal trace?” whispered Makk, drawing his weapon and holding it on his chest.

“Only one way to find out,” mumbled Zela. She positioned herself to the side of the door and gestured for Makk to kick the door open. Her partner nodded and sent a heavily enhanced kick just below the handle, sending the door flying forward.

Zela swiveled towards the opening, aiming her gun, but a blinding flash popped from somewhere in the room. She staggered, bringing a hand to her face in confusion.

“You alright?” asked Makk.

Zela blinked, her vision slowly coming back to life. Once she could finally see, she noticed that the letters on her overlay were distorted and illegible. “Yeah. I think it was a Neuronex scrambling device.” She restarted the program by pressing on a spot at the base of her skull. “Should be good as new in a few seconds.”

“Good thing there wasn’t anyone in here,” teased Makk. “Seems like your robot brain could have killed you.”

“Too bad, maybe you would have been useful for once. I know you’re dying to save me.”

“Sure, princess.”

The room they had uncovered was small, about the same size as Zela’s studio. Unlike the rest of the building, the space was in an almost perfect condition, as if it had been renovated. Everything was pristine and ventilated, with several monitors and computer docks arranged neatly on metal tables.

Makk roamed around the room. “Looks like this is where he was working on his virus.”

“See if you can find a computer, although I doubt he would have left one behind. I’ll snap pictures of anything that could clue us in on his location.”

A wave of fatigue hit Zela. She rolled her shoulders and lightly shook her head. The past few days had been tiring—trying to track down a hacker was never easy. Thankfully, finding his lair had just uncovered quite a bit of options to find him.

Zela snapped a few more pictures of the equipment, but there wasn’t much they could use. As she opened a desk drawer, a sharp prickle reached deep within her sinuses. She pushed the back of her hand against her nose, trying to relieve it, but it didn’t stop it from spreading.

Her head bobbed forward. “Hhh… Ihh—TSChh! TSChheew!”

“Bless you,” said Makk, briefly looking her way.

“Th—thanks… Ihh—TSSchh!”

Makk chuckled. “Is the dust getting to you?”

“Guess so.” Zela sniffled, surprised by how wet it sounded. Dust never really bothered her, although the entrance to the building was covered in thick layers of the stuff, so it made sense. She rubbed her nose and sniffed again for good measure. “I think I got everything. We’ll have to check in with Rob and see if he can pull up vids from the monitoring satellites.”

“Again? How many favors does the poor guy owe you?”

She flashed a smile. “Let’s just say his debt is impossible to repay.”

The next morning, Zela sat in their usual spot at the counter of Vixi’s Diner. Ever loyal to his chronic tardiness, Makk was thirty minutes late. Zela nursed a coffee she’d had refilled twice already by the waitbot.

Head cradled in her hand, she stared at the glitching holograms of the Old World’s waitresses milling about, conjuring images of nostalgia no one could even relate to. They stood behind the counter in their pink shirt-dress and their frilly white aprons, holding a paper pad that had long gone extinct. The place was a weird mix of neon lights and fading relics of the past, but it had always felt comforting to Zela for reasons she couldn’t understand.

However, that morning, nothing could really comfort her. She’d woken up with an annoying headache, a runny nose and creeping chills that had left her struggling with the temp regulator on her jacket. She was either slightly too cold or slightly too warm, which was downright annoying.

And she’d never sneezed so much in her entire life.

“Hhh… Hh—TSSCHhhh! ET’TSChhh!” Zela groaned, closing her eyes. It was pretty clear that whatever had scrambled her Neuronex at the factory had also introduced one of the kid’s dumb viruses. “Motherfucker,” she muttered to herself. Now she had a personal reason to go after that asshole. The client might have asked for him to be captured alive, but no one had said anything about a little beating.

“Hey beautiful,” said Makk as he slid on the stool next to Zela. His smiled dropped when he took a good look at her. “Woah. You don’t look so good.”

His alarmed expression made Zela chuckle. “Don’t worry, it’s not implant sickness. I’m pretty sure I got infected with the kid’s virus.”

Makk narrowed his eyes and gently touched her face with the tip of his fingers. “This is so weird. How can a cyberware virus make your body react like it has an actual infection? Your skin is all pale and your nose is pink.”

Zela swatted his hand away. “It’s tricking my brain into thinking I’m infected, activating my immune system. These are just the effect of antibodies produced by my own damn body.” She sniffled, feeling the tickle in her nose growing stronger.

“Ehhh… Ihh—TSChhh!”

“Bless you,” said Makk, still looking concerned. “What virus is this even supposed to be? What are your symptoms?”

Zela grunted. “According to my research this morning, it’s probably a ‘rhinovirus.’ It’s a dumb thing people used to have often that didn’t do much harm. Just makes you feel run down with sneezing, sore throat, watery eyes, runny nose, chills, headaches.”

Makk frowned. “You should go home and rest. I’m sure I can convince Rob to pull those vids for you.”

“No way,” Zela said, sniffling. “You don’t have the brain power for that, muscle boy. Leave it to the pros.” She tapped the touch screen on the counter to bring up the menu. “Let’s eat. I want to catch Rob while he’s in a good mood. He’s one of those ‘morning person,’ if you can believe they exis—Ehh… Ihh—TSCCHhhh!”

“Bless you!” Makk shot her a pity look. “Man, people had it rough in the Old World.”

Zela pressed the back of her hand against her nose, irritated. This whole ‘appearing vulnerable’ thing wasn’t sitting well with her. “I’m fine. Just shut up and order your damn bacon.”

“Come on, Rob. It’s in East Bedlam, no one will even noti—Ehh’TSChhh!”

Zela’s head bobbed down as she aimed her sneeze away from Rob and Makk. They were in Rob’s secured man cave, surrounded by computers, their alternating flashing lights pulsating like a series of miniature hearts. The place was darker than the night, thanks to the metal walls painted black. Rob insisted that it made him feel safer when he hacked high profile systems. Like a “ninja in the shadows,” as he told anyone who would listen.

“Bless you,” said Makk, leaning on the desk next to Rob.

“What’s up with all the sneezing, Zee?” Rob stopped typing for a second to look up at Zela. “Are you broken or something?”

“I’m fine.”

Makk shook his head. “She’s got the kid’s new virus. Can you do anything about it?”

Rob sighed. “Nah man, I’ve been working on it all week. I haven’t figured out how to crack it yet. What did he give you? Strep? Sinusitis? Mononucleosis?”

“Rhinovirus.”

“Oh, whatever.” Rob rolled his eyes. “You’ll be fine. It’s the least offensive of them all.”

“See?” Zela said, looking pointedly at Makk and gesturing towards Rob. “Even he thinks it’s nothing.”

Makk shrugged. “You don’t look well to me. I still think you should go home and rest.”

“Guys, can you have your little domestic argument somewhere else? I’ve got a lot of work to do.”

Zela crossed her arms over her chest and leaned on the wall. The coldness of the metal on her neck sent chills through her body. She repressed a shiver as best as she could.

“Show us the vids and we’ll be out of your hair,” she mumbled.

“Zee, I can’t keep doing that. Every time I go back in, I risk getting found out. I’m sure there’s another way you can figure out where your guy is. That’s your actual job, you know.”

“Or,” said Zela, approaching Rob with a ruthless grin, “I can tell my sister about your little secret operation in here. I’m sure she would love to know that your remote job ‘with’ the government isn’t exactly sanctioned by the government itself.”

A look of recognition flashed in Makk’s face and he started laughing. “So that’s the unpayable favor?”

Rob grunted. “I should have never let her set me up with her sister. Now I’m on the hook for the rest of my life.” He turned towards Zela. “You’re a monster.”

Zela cocked her head. “I’m hurt. I gave you a lifetime of happiness with my amazing sister. Now pay up.” She walked to the back of the room where a worn leather sofa barely hung to life under piles of boxes and various devices. She managed to free up enough space for her tired body and snuggled in, folding her legs under herself.

Her head felt heavy and filled with cotton balls. Her nose was somehow runny and blocked at the same time, which made sniffling very difficult. She closed her eyes for a second, letting her head droop to the armrest.

Before she knew it, sleep swallowed her whole.

When she woke up, Makk was kneeling in front of her. “Here,” he said, handing her a cup of steaming coffee.

“Thanks,” Zela said, taking it. She sat upright and tried to shed the sleep from her brain. “Where did you get this?” She held the cup in both hands to warm up, even though her heat-regulated jacket should have done the job. Her body was a mess, as if it didn’t know how to act anymore. It wasn’t something Zela had ever experienced before.

“A convenience store nearby. Thought you could use it.”

Zela half-smiled, a curious tingling warmth filling her chest. She nodded towards Rob. “Is he done yet?” As she was about to take a sip of coffee, her nose rebelled. A sharp prick forced her head back as her breath hitched.

“Ihh—TSChhheew! ‘TSChhhh! Heh—Ihh’TSChhhh!”

“Bless you. I also got you this,” Makk said, presenting her with a soft, black handkerchief.

Zela blushed, but took it, as she could feel her nose running, threatening to embarrass her even more than accepting the gift itself. She wiped her nose quickly before shoving the handkerchief in her jacket pocket. “Thanks.”

Makk nodded with a smile. “Rob is done. He pulled the vids. Looks like the kid tried to cover his tracks but he’s not great with surveillance hacks. He took a cab from East Bedlam to an apartment in the north. We should be able to find him there.”

Zela pushed herself off the couch. “Let’s go.”

Makk put a hand on her arm. “Listen, are you sure you want to do this in your condition? This could get physical real quick. We don’t know if he has bodyguards or what kind of security he’s got. Maybe you should stay back and let me take care of this.”

Zela narrowed her eyes. “Makk, I swear to god, if you keep treating me like a frail little thing, I’m gonna break your neck in half.” Anger mixed with a touch of tenderness at his concerned expression. She bit her bottom lip, unable to reconcile the opposing emotions she was feeling. She sighed and softened her voice. “I’ll be fine, OK?” She put her hand on his. “Really.”

They waited until night to pounce. A cold rain had started falling, shrouding the streets in a thin fog. Zela used her Neuronex to get a floor plan of the building, and they devised a way to sneak into the building through the fire escape.

“Ready?” she whispered to Makk.

Makk nodded and waited for her to go up the metal stairs. She grabbed on to the railing but stopped abruptly, feeling a sneeze coming on.

“What’s wr—” started Makk behind her.

“Gonna sn—sneeze… Ehh’TSChhh! IHH—TSChhhew!”

“Make sure you get it all out of your system now,” said Makk, chuckling.

“Impossible. There are an infinite number of sneezes in this goddamn nose,” grumbled Zela before continuing her ascent.

When they got to the fifth floor, Zela peeked through the window. They had selected an empty apartment to minimize the risk of getting caught. “All clear,” she whispered. She used a special Neuronex program cooked up by Rob years ago that allowed her to deactivate the security on the window, then moved out of the way to let Makk cut the glass pane with his tools.

Once he was done, he looked at Zela. “All good?”

Zela sniffled and gave him the thumbs up before sliding through the opening. The small studio was completely empty and dark, illuminated only by the street lights shining through the windows. The pair walked up to the front door.

“H—hold on…” trailed Zela, holding a fist to her nose. “Hhh—KMPFFff!” She stifled her sneeze as much as possible, pinching her nose through her thumb and index finger. Her head throbbed for a few seconds, making her wince.

“You OK?” whispered Makk.

“Yeah.” She turned her attention back towards the door. “His apartment should be the one across the hallway.” Activating the heat sensor, she felt a flash of excitement when a bright orange and red silhouette appeared on her overlay. “We got him.”

“Any sensors out there?”

With a flick of the eyes, Zela used her Neuronex to check for a security system in the hallway. It identified a bunch of cameras and sensors, which she managed to deactivate fairly easily. “Should be clear now.”

They opened the door as quietly as possible, then slipped out, silent as cats. They each took a spot on either side of the door across the hallway. Makk gestured at Zela, something she interpreted as “should I break down the door?” She held up a hand, leaning towards the door. Turning up her enhanced auditive function, she held her breath and closed her eyes. All she heard were the sounds of tapping on a keyboard, and a faint synth music track, possibly coming from headphones the kid was wearing.

Suddenly, another tickle assaulted her nose, high up near the bridge. Her eyes grew wide, her breath hitching. Realizing what was happening, Makk’s face fell, panic written in the folds of his forehead. He grabbed the handkerchief from Zela’s pocket and gave it to her. Zela fumbled for it and covered her mouth and nose with it, trying her hardest to push the sneeze away. She pinched her nose hard through the fabric and stood there, hoping the feeling would pass.

Makk stared at her, raising an eyebrow. But the tickle wasn’t going away. Zela’s eyes watered and she shook her head as her breath hitched one final time. Before she knew it, Makk grabbed on to her and held her to his chest so that her face would be buried in his hoodie.

“Hhh—MPPFFKK!”

They both stood, unmoving. Zela could practically feel Makk’s heart pounding against her cheek. They waited for what felt like an eternity, but nothing stirred in the apartment next to them.

Zela relaxed and moved away from Makk, her face red. Yet as soon as the hallway light hit her eyes, a second, lightning-fast sneeze got away from her before she could even react.

“Ihh’TSCHHHHhh!”

This time, Zela heard the noise of a chair rolling on the floor in the apartment, then footsteps.

“Go, go, go!” she yelled, pointing at the door.

Makk immediately kicked the door down, his weapon drawn. He pounced on a human silhouette Zela barely had time to see. She rushed in after him, her gun drawn on the two guys brawling on the floor. She relaxed her finger from the trigger when she realized that the kid weighed about a third of Makk and looked like a twig. This was no contest.

Half a second later, the kid was pinned under Makk’s knee, breathing heavily, his face beet red.

Zela holstered her gun and rolled the computer chair closer to the kid. She sat down, sniffling. “Hey there, jerkface.”

The kid tried to spit on her, but he was too out of breath to do much more than puff out air from his chapped lips. Makk pressed down harder on his chest, and the kid grunted.

Zela chuckled, then wiggled her nose. “Ugh.” She prepared the handkerchief as a tickle burrowed in her nose. “Iihh’TSCHhhh! Ehhh—TSChhheew!”

“Bless you,” said Makk.

The kid started laughing. “I see you found my parting gift in the lab. Hope you’re fucking suffering.”

Zela wiped her nose, scoffing. “You’re a weird kid, you know that?” She took a good look at him. He couldn’t have been older than nineteen, maybe younger. A weak little thing that hadn’t seen the sunlight in years, judging by his pallor. Zela leaned back on the chair, frowning. “Why are you even doing this? Of all the viruses, you’re picking the dumbest ones that ever existed. Why not something really dangerous and fatal?”

The kid looked away. “I’m not here to kill people.”

“Then why are you even here?” asked Makk. “Why are you infecting some of the most dangerous people left on this shitty planet?”

“I wasn’t targeting the most dangerous people, just the ones with the most influence.” The kid shifted under Makk’s weight. “You people think you’re fucking immortal with your cyberwares. Look at you,” he said to Makk. “Does it make you feel good to hold me down like this with your fucking metal arms and legs? You think that makes you better than me?”

Zela rolled her eyes. Another organic on a cyberware rant. Of course.

The kid’s eyes darted back and forth between Makk and Zela. “You all think you’re gods. I’m here to show you that we’re all just as vulnerable as we used to be. If you keep implanting metal shit into your flesh, eventually someone will find the weaknesses and take you all out, and us with you.”

Makk shot a worried glance at Zela. She could tell the kid was bringing up memories of his upbringing, increasing his Neuronex paranoia.

“Well, thanks for making me feel shitty for a few days, I sure learned my lesson,” said Zela, her voice dripping with sarcasm. She kneeled down. “Wanna know my take on this? If it’s not this, it’ll be something else. Doesn’t mean we should stop progress.”

She stood up and pocketed the handkerchief. “The good thing is that you just helped us make implants even better. Good job finding the weakness, now we can make our cyberwares even stronger.” She gestured at Makk to release the kid. “It’s called ‘evolution.’ Look it up.”

Makk lifted the kid up on his feet. He turned to Zela. “Wanna get your revenge?”

Zela thought for a second, looking at the frail kid shaking next to Makk, who looked like a behemoth in comparison. “Nah. I just want to go home and sleep. Let’s get this organic trash to the client and call it a night.”

That evening, Zela laid on her couch, bundled up in a fuzzy blanket with her now trusty black handkerchief in hand. She watched the rain slide down in rivulets on the window, blurring out the city’s neon signs.

She’d brought the kid’s computer to Rob in the hopes that he could crack the viruses faster, but Rob had said that simply getting the data out of the computer would take days. Zela would just have to suffer through it until the virus ran its course. She couldn’t believe people used to do that in the Old World.

A knock at the door brought her out of her semi-comatose state. She checked the camera with her Neuronex. It was Makk, holding a grocery bag. She unlocked the door and yelled at him to come in. There was no way in hell she was getting up from her couch for the rest of the night.

“Hey. How are you feeling?” said Makk, removing his jacket and placing it on the kitchen table.

His tone would have bothered the hell out of Zela mere hours ago, but if she was honest with herself, she’d grown fond of his caring side. As much as the tougher part of herself wanted to fight to keep up with appearances, she was too tired to care about how vulnerable she looked right now.

She did feel vulnerable, after all. That’s one thing the kid had gotten right. And maybe he was right. Maybe she needed to feel vulnerable every once in a while to remember to be on her guards. But it didn’t have to be such a bad thing.

“I’m… doing pretty shitty,” she said with a hint of a smile, wiping her nose for the umpteenth time.

“Sorry to hear,” Makk said, sitting on the couch next to her. He put the grocery bag on the coffee table. “So, I did some research about this ‘rhinovirus’ thing. Apparently, it’s also called a ‘cold.’”

“That explains why I’m freezing.”

Makk scoffed. “Maybe you have a low-grade fever. They did say it was common.”

He scooted closer to her and put a hand on her forehead, then her cheek. Zela closed her eyes, her whole body humming from his tender touch.

“You do feel kind of warm,” he murmured. His eyes lingered on her for a few seconds until he moved back to the grocery bag. “Anyway, they said soup is supposed to help, so I got you some wonton soup. And some tea. They said to put honey in it, can you believe it?”

Zela raised her eyebrow. “Was everyone rich as hell in the Old World? Who can afford to buy honey just to dump it into a cup of tea.”

“I guess it wasn’t as rare back then,” he shrugged. “I just got you some sugar instead.” He plopped the box of tea and a bag of sugar on the coffee table. “Also, apparently everyone just wants to watch movies when they’re sick.”

Zela smiled. “Actually, that sounds pretty g—good… Ehh… Ihh—TSChhhh! HHh’TSCHhheew!”

“Bless you,” said Makk with a pout. “Why don’t I get this tea started to make you feel better, and then we can watch something. Your pick.”

“You know what I’m going to pick,” Zela said behind her handkerchief.

Makk stood up, rolling his eyes. “Whatever new horror movie just came out?”

“You got it.”

Zela grabbed the container of soup and sipped it, feeling the hot liquid warm her from the inside, soothing her throat. It was nice. People in the Old World were on to something.

She leaned back on the couch, savoring the quiet moment, looking forward to watching a movie with Makk. They never did take the time to do stuff like that, preferring to jump from job to job and keep busy.

Maybe having a cold wasn’t all that bad, after all.

[onecanonlife]

In which Tommy has a nightmare, and enderwalk!Ranboo is of the opinion that grass blocks make everything better.

(word count: 1,413)

----------

Tommy jolts out of a nightmare that he doesn’t want to remember, and a few seconds later, finds himself hyperventilating outside on the grass.

It’s not on, is what it is. He hardly asked for this, for these awful dreams and this inability to sleep for more than a few hours at a time at best, for this creeping certainty that Dream is breaking out, is going to come for him, and that it’s only a matter of time before something awful happens. He didn’t ask for any of this, but he has it, and he’s not moving out of his house, because that would feel like a concession, but on nights like these he wakes up and the dirt walls press in around him and he can’t breathe, and it is completely and utterly the worst.

So. Outside. Grass. Hyperventilating.

Calming himself down is old hat, by now. He figured out how to do it a long time ago, around the time when he realized that there wasn’t going to be anyone holding his hand anymore, that he was well and truly on his own, without a friend in the world. Other than—but no, he doesn’t go there. He knows better, now, even though his brain still tries to play tricks on him sometimes, tries to convince him that Dream is the only one who actually has his best interests at heart.

The point is, he knows how to do this. He’s used to it. And frankly, he’s glad that he is, glad that he can do this on his own, because he doesn’t want anyone else around him when he’s like this. Doesn’t want anyone else to see, doesn’t want anyone else to know that this happens, doesn’t want anyone else to be able to point at him and go, look, the great TommyInnit brought low.

So when he regulates his breaths and swipes the tears from his face and unclenches his fingers knuckle by knuckle, he looks up and most definitely does not expect anyone to be crouched in front of him. When he sees that there is, he scrabbles backward and lets out an incredibly manly scream, and he doesn’t think he can be blamed for it, because what the fuck?

“Holy shit,” he wheezes, “holy shit, you can’t just—” And has to stop, because it’s not just any weird crouching person. It’s his fucking—what’s the word for when a very irritating and terrible person marries your best friend? What’s the title for that? Annoyance-in-law?

In any case, it’s Ranboo.

“What,” he says, “the shit are you doing?”

Ranboo makes a sound that is not words at all. In fact, it sounds very similar to an enderman vwoop, which, alright, the guy’s half enderman, that checks out. Except, his eyes are also purple, and he looks rather taller than he normally does, even crouching down, so something is weird here. Something is very, very weird.

“Fuck off,” he says. “Go and, go and raise your shitty child or something. Sing ‘im a lullaby. Go on.”

He makes shooing noises with his hands, like one might do to a dog, or a persistent crow. Ranboo tilts his head very slowly, like a complete fucking weirdo, and then rises in one fluid motion, and goes walking off somewhere. Tommy stares after him, because he hadn’t really expected that to work. But alright, he’ll take it.

“That’s right,” he mutters. “Just fucking, fucking leave, go on.” He stares down at the grass, running a shaking hand through his hair. He is, maybe, not quite as recovered as he’d like. He’s usually not, after the initial panic, usually can’t make himself relax until the sun has crested the horizon and the sky has begun to lighten. He’s ruined for sleep tonight, that’s for sure.

But it’s alright. It’s alright, he’s used to it. He can do it. He can do this. He’s a big fucking man, and he can survive on a few hours of sleep a night, and he can avoid looking at himself in the mirror and remembering another face, eyebags just as dark, hair just as wild, eyes only slightly more desperate. He doesn’t have to remember things. Not if he doesn’t want to. He’s great at not remembering things, him.

Footsteps. He jerks, looks up again, and Ranboo is standing over him, and why is he so fucking tall?

Ranboo makes another vwooping sound. And then a little trill, almost like a bird, if a bird gargled gravel and then turned into an eldritch monstrosity. He crouches again, and then holds out his hands, and there is something in them, something that he is offering him, and—

Tommy squints. It’s a grass block.

“What am I supposed to do with that?” he asks.

Ranboo vwoops.

“Could you just stop being so fucking weird?” he demands. “For five minutes? I don’t think that’s too much to ask, really. God, you’re just. The worst.”

Ranboo shifts a bit closer, still holding out the grass block. Like he wants him to take it.

“I’m not taking your stupid block,” Tommy says, and accepts it.

Ranboo vwoops.

“Why would you even—” he says, burrowing his fingers into the dirt. A bit of it crumbles to the ground. He doesn’t understand how endermen manage to do this, keep these blocks in perfect shape, grass and all. “Why would you even give me this? What are you trying to pull on me, eh? It won’t work. You can’t pull the wool over my eyes, pal. You’re up to something. Why are your eyes all purple?”

Ranboo vwoops.

And then—Tommy remembers something. Something he wasn’t particularly trying to remember, and usually, that’s not such a great thing, but it’s not so bad this time. Because this memory is from just a couple of weeks ago, in Snowchester, one of those times that he was trying to hang out with Tubbo, but Ranboo was just there and wouldn’t leave, and Tubbo wouldn’t make him leave, so Tommy spent the entire time being vaguely pissed off. And he was trying not to pay attention to Ranboo, really, he was, except he remembers him saying something about how he gets anxious, and how holding blocks of things and putting them down places helps him. At the time, he made a point of not acknowledging him, because Tommy’s not an idiot. He knew what he was trying to do, and he didn’t appreciate it.

But—

He stares at the block in his hands. And then back at Ranboo.

He wants to be angry, at the idea, at the presumption, because who the fuck does Ranboo think he is, trying to patronize him like this? But Ranboo keeps up his soft warbles, and he finds his eyes filling with tears instead.

“Are you,” he says, and his voice is not choked, it’s not, “are you trying to help me?”

Ranboo vwoops. Chirps. And then reaches out, slowly enough that Tommy doesn’t feel the urge to flinch, and runs gentle clawed fingers through his hair.

“Oh,” Tommy says. And doesn’t lean into the touch. He doesn’t. But if, hypothetically, he does, that’s between him and Prime on high. Or at least, it would be, if all his muscles didn’t go lax a few seconds later, and if he didn’t accidentally on purpose tip forward against Ranboo’s chest.

The dirt slips through his fingers. But that’s alright, because one of Ranboo’s arms wraps around him, and the other keeps carding through his hair, like Wilbur used to do when they were younger and things were better and they were two halves of a whole rather than puzzle pieces that got bent out of shape. The way his head is, he can feel vibrations running though Ranboo’s chest, like the purr of a cat, and it’s going to lull him to sleep if he’s not careful.

He can’t let that happen. He has more dignity than that.

Except he’s very tired. And Ranboo is clearly—sleepwalking, or something. Not all there in the head at the moment. So maybe he won’t remember this in the morning, if Tommy makes sure to wake up first. And that would be alright.

“You’re still terrible,” he mumbles, but the words are slurred, and Ranboo’s arms are very warm and comforting, and he’s drifting. He can feel it.

So he lets himself. Ranboo’s warbles follow him into sleep, and he dreams of stars.

[spencersawkward]

*house call // wes (Dollface)*

ssummary: when her pet cat gives her a scare, Reader decides to call the vet to make sure everything is going to be okay. 

pairing: Fem!Reader x Wes

word count: 5.4k

content warnings: discussion of cannabis/cannabis consumption, unprotected penetrative sex, use of nicknames (baby, sweetheart), SoftDom!Wes, breeding kink, creampie. 

request: can you do a wes smutty one shot if you’re down?! 

A/N: to be fair, i haven’t watched Dollface in a minute, but i’m obsessed with the domestic vibes that Matthew gives off when he plays Wes and i just thought it would be super cute. anyway, this was super fun also i wanna fuck Wes. ok enjoy!

masterlist

the absolute best part of your day is when the package arrives at your doorstep. you impulse-purchased it about two weeks ago while you were hanging out with one of your close friends, and you've been looking forward to trying it every day since. 

or, really, for your cat to try it. 

you've read reviews and been extremely diligent to make sure the stuff is completely safe, and everything you've seen or read was singing the praises of this cat weed (which isn't actually cannabis at all, but catnip made to look like it).

as you take the cardboard box to the kitchen table and pry open the top with the help of a Swiss army knife, you're grinning. Klimt comes scampering into the room to see what all the fuss is about, sitting at your feet with his tail curled around his legs. 

"no peeking." you scold him gently. your kitten, the friendliest little rescue tabby around, simply stares blankly back. when you remove the wrapping from the glass jar and stare at it up close, you're impressed by how realistic it looks. the label shows cat-friendly ingredients only, but you unscrew the top and get a whiff of catnip. 

Klimt begins to weave in between your legs, nudging them affectionately and beginning to purr. you giggle and bend down to give him a few pets. his nose twitches; he tries to sniff at the foreign object, but you put it back on the table. 

"don't be greedy, babe." you scratch between his pointed ears and he lets out a whiny meow. 

it's about his dinner time, and you were hoping to give him his treat tonight after he finishes his dry food. so you make yourself something simple with the leftovers in your fridge and do some more work on your laptop while you two eat together. 

you've had Klimt for a while, now. you call him a kitten even though he's a full-grown cat-- he's just as playful and enthusiastic as any newborn. his eyes are the color of meadow grass, and his nose is scattered with tiny freckles. it makes him look like he's just come from digging around the backyard, but it really just adds to his charm. 

not to mention his ceaselessly social tendencies: Klimt is always around when your friends come over, worming his way in between you or sitting on one of the free chair cushions to listen. you wonder if he knows what you're saying sometimes, because when you talk about the embarrassing things you've done that day or the failed interactions you've had, he always lifts his head to give you something of a judgmental stare. 

once you've settled down for the evening and turned on the TV, you decide that now is the time. Klimt is aimlessly poking at a few of his toys. he bats at a fake mouse between his paws.

"kitten," you click your tongue and get up to grab the jar. "are you ready to try this stuff?" 

as if he's going to answer. he hears your footsteps coming back his way and watches patiently. it's only when you pour out a little bit in front of him that he gets curious about the stuff. you admire his movements as he bends down and examines. 

although you keep an eye on him while watching your show, you don't notice much of a change in him. he starts to roll about on the floor, which is to be expected, but it's only when he starts to chase around his fake mouse that things get interesting. 

you laugh as Klimt goes nuts, jumping back and attacking the thing like he's ready to come in for the kill. it's really funny, but you're interrupted by your phone buzzing. you told your friend that you were doing this tonight. 

"hi!" you answer the FaceTime call right away. 

"how is he?" you can hear the smile in Andi's voice as you turn the camera. 

"he's loving it." 

"oh my god," she laughs. Klimt arches his back, leaping so highly in the air, you raise your eyebrows. "I wonder how long it'll last." she muses. 

"I'm guessing we'll get about an hour more of this before he passes out for the next two days." you joke. he gets strong bursts of energy usually, but they only last so long until he's curled up on the window sill or in your bed. 

Andi and you talk for a while as Klimt tires himself out and plays with all of his favorite toys. you dangle a string in front of him for a decent amount of time, too, just to make him get up on his hindquarters. he's a natural entertainer, a lithe little thing who lets out a few irritated meows to demonstrate his impertinence. 

after about forty-five minutes, however, you notice your cat's behavior change. he keeps raising his hackles and rolling about, and something about it makes you nervous. he doesn't usually act like this, not even when he plays with the other catnip toys he's accumulated. 

"what's wrong?" Andi notes your furrowed brow as you look past the camera of your phone and at your pet. 

"he's just acting really weird," you pat the couch cushion to call him over, but he doesn't even glance up. "I don't know why." 

"maybe it's the cat weed." she suggests. you purse your lips and try to think. 

"yeah, but nobody in the reviews ever mentioned anything like this."

"I'm sure he's fine, Y/N."  

"yeah, I know..." but you're worried. Klimt is your pal, your cuddle buddy. as he rubs his cheek against the wooden floor, you feel guilt pool in your stomach. if he's hurt because of some dumb online purchase, you're never going to forgive yourself. "I'm gonna call the vet just to be sure."  

"oh, okay," she sounds surprised, but doesn't try to stop you. "let me know what they say." 

"I will." you hang up the phone and stare at your companion for a few seconds. he leaps into the air and does a somersault before letting out some deeply disturbing whine that reminds you to call the vet. better safe than sorry.  

...

when the doorbell rings, you're practically twiddling your thumbs anxiously. Klimt hasn't settled at all, and you haven't even bothered to change out of your lounging ensemble. you're pretty sure you look a mess, but hopefully the person won't care too much. 

you don't know who to expect-- your usual vet is an older woman who is friends with your mom, but her receptionist said she was out tonight and would send over another vet to check it out. 

when you swing open the door, you immediately regret the decision to stay in sweatpants. 

"hi, I'm Wes." the guy gives you a friendly smile and holds up his bag. it's almost comically old-fashioned, something out of an old movie, and you half-expect him to be wearing a stethoscope around his neck. 

he's gorgeous, though. definitely a good amount older than you, tall with brown curls and stubble. his features stand out to you even under the porch light, and your mouth guppies idiotically. 

"hi," you manage. his eyes flicker to your hand, which is seemingly blocking him from coming inside the house, and you jolt back a little to let him in. you clear your throat. "sorry." 

as he steps inside and you close the door behind him, getting one tiny moment to yourself, your eyes widen. way to make yourself look like a bumbling fool. 

"I heard that there's a tabby who got into some catnip?" you catch him looking around the front of your house, eyes catching on the framed photos before finding yours again. you can feel the heat creeping up your cheeks, but nod confidently.  

"yeah, Klimt. he should still be in the living room." 

"Klimt? like the artist?" he chuckles and follows you into the rest of the home. his voice has a nice timbre to it, something low and gentle that fits well with his occupation.  

"yeah, exactly." you turn to smile at him. 

you hear the cat before you see him. he's climbed to the top of his cat tree and leaps down onto the ground, paws hitting the surface in a way that can't have been comfortable. he chirps and looks up at Wes, whose lips are turned up with amusement.    

"are you the man of the hour?" he asks, approaching the cat. Klimt's pupils get enormous and he prepares to pounce on the newcomer. 

"careful--" you start to warn him, but the cat launches himself right into Wes' arms. the vet turns to you, holding him to his chest, and grins. warmth spreads over your skin with embarrassment. "sorry." 

"no need to apologize," he starts to pet Klimt, who is only slightly struggling to escape. he wants to go wild again, but Wes isn't going to let go. "they call me the Cat Wrangler at the office." 

"really?" you snort. he brings your pet over to the couch and sets him on the cushions, careful to keep him in place. 

"no way." he shoots you a dazzling smile. the joke makes you giggle, and you feel yourself become even more self-conscious about the outfit you're wearing. this is just your luck, having hot guys come over when you distinctly look your worst. 

Wes scratches between Klimt's ears and glances up at you again. "is there any reason in particular you're worried about the catnip?" 

"yeah, actually," you nod, brought back to reality. "I know it's supposed to make them more playful, but he's just been acting weird and I got worried that there was something in it that messed with his head." 

"can I see the container for it?" he asks. you go to grab the jar, only to remember that it proudly announces itself as cannabis for cats. profound embarrassment causes you to hesitate with the stuff in your hands. 

it's not like he's here for you to flirt with, but you're still thinking about how stupid and young you're going to look with this stuff in front of him, a hot older guy who seems to have his life under control. you peek at him once more from the kitchen, at the way he smiles and starts to talk softly to Klimt as if he were a peer. 

he's kinda crazy, and it makes you smile. 

"it's cat weed." you hand him the glass container, and Wes breaks into a grin as he looks at the front. 

"oh my gosh, I've heard about this!" his eyes move quickly over the label. you're in shock. 

"really?"

"yeah, it's hilarious. here, can you make sure our friend here doesn't move while I read the ingredients?" he gestures. the knot of anxiety within you loosens a bit. you nod obediently, going to scoop up your pet and sit him on your lap. he's still squirmy, but he doesn't look ready to attack either of you, thankfully. 

"hey, you." you greet your pal affectionately. his tail is wagging impatiently while Wes kneels on the ground beside the couch. there's a silver ring on his finger, but you notice with relief that it's not on his fourth one. 

when he sets the jar down on the coffee table with the kind of smile that hints at some secret amusement, you frown. "what?"

"nothing," he shakes his head. "Klimt is gonna be totally fine."

"are you sure?" you pet the feline's smooth coat. 

"definitely. you know how drugs affect people differently?" he asks. you want to say no, you don't know that because why would you, but then you remember that there is quite literally a glass-blown bowl sitting on your kitchen table. 

"sure." you reply honestly. 

"it's the same with cats: some just feel the effects a little more." he shrugs. you think this over for a second. 

"that makes sense." 

"yeah, I'd estimate about an hour more of this wildcat behavior before he takes a ten-hour nap." he cracks another joke and you find yourself totally charmed by him. something about the way he talks just makes your heart beat like crazy.  

"that's a relief." 

he chuckles and stands up, grabbing the bag (which he never even had to use) and starting to walk out of the living room. you can smell his delicious cologne as he moves past you.  

"sorry for making you come out here so late." you apologize from the couch. Wes turns to look at you with an easygoing expression. his free hand is tucked into his pocket.  

"no worries. you have a lovely home." he gestures to the kitchen, and then at the bowl sitting there in the open. you have to fight the smile on your face.  

"thanks." you're smirking. right before he's about to head back out, you ask a question that's been wriggling around in your mind since he arrived. "why no title?" 

"you mean, like, Doctor or something?" he stops in the threshold. one hand leans against it while he answers your question. you still can't get over how tall he is. 

"sure. I mean, you are a doctor, right?" it comes out more dubious than you intended, but he doesn't get offended, only smiles. 

"yes, I'm a doctor. I went to Davis." he points like the school is right outside your door. you nod.  

"cool." 

there's a silence where you just look at each other, and you forget that you look like you just rolled out of bed. he clears his throat. 

"to answer your question, I just go by Wes because you're not my patient-- Klimt is." he points to the kitten, who is now chasing his own tail like a dog. you snort at the sight. 

"how humble of you." 

"I know, right?" he's joking. you find yourself not wanting him to leave, even though you've really just met. he's so sweet and funny and handsome... your stomach is flipping over and over like a schoolgirl. 

and it's stupid that you can't think of one plausible reason for him to stay, but every step he takes shortens your time to think. so you just blurt, instead. 

"would you want a beer?" 

Wes pauses and looks at you, an unreadable expression on his face. "a beer?" 

"yeah, I mean... you came all the way out here and I just feel bad for causing a fuss over nothing." you scramble slightly to justify your words. you don't ever drink beer-- do you even have any? god, this is embarrassing.  

the vet checks the watch on his wrist, then smiles at you with a halting kind of enjoyment, before nodding. "sure." 

"okay, great." you turn on your heel to hide the grin on your face. he follows you again to the kitchen area and leans against the counter while you open the fridge. the best form of flirting you can manage right now is bending over shamelessly and taking your time to poke around. 

thankfully, there are three cold bottles left towards the back. you take out two and use the tool in one of your drawers to pop the tops off. he watches patiently, takes a sip when you hand the drink to him. your eyes meet. 

"so, what prompted the cat weed purchase?" he starts the conversation effortlessly, and you try to keep your eyes from wandering over the shape of him. now that he's just standing in front of you, you're noticing the way his sweater sits against his frame, his long legs and the way his head rests on an elegantly-proportioned neck. 

"I just saw it and thought it would be fun." you shrug honestly. he smiles.  

"do you think you're gonna let him try it again another time?"  

"I don't know," you cross your arms over your chest. "I'm a little nervous, but he also was having a lot of fun until I made him sit still." 

"fair enough." you both turn your gazes to the cat. he's nudging a little toy ball with his nose and watching it roll across the floor. there are tiny bells inside that jingle. Wes turns back to you. "what do you do?"

"graphic designer." 

"an artist." he raises his brows, impressed. 

"not exactly saving animal lives, but I get by." you take another sip of your drink. 

"it's not like that, mostly." he rolls his eyes playfully. 

"then what's it like?"

"I just see and talk to people's pets all day. it's a pretty great job, even when it's not. you know?" he's optimistic about it. you're drawn to his positive energy, to the way he smiles when he speaks like he's preparing to deliver a witty joke. 

 you're hopelessly attracted to him, and the space between you is becoming unbearable. even though he's a guy you just met, you can feel in your gut that something about this is just right. you want his body against yours. 

 "you okay?" he breaks what you only now realize is a silence, and you blink to clear the dirty images from your mind. 

"yeah." only thinking about you fucking me against a countertop. it must be the fact that you haven't gotten laid in a while or something, because you usually aren't this attracted to people within the first hour. it takes longer for you to even want to kiss them.  

"what kind of stuff do you design?" he seems genuinely interested as he shifts and continues to nurse his drink.  

"I work for a tech startup downtown, so it's a lot of website work to make sure it's navigable and pretty." you try to sum up your duties, but it's hard when his hazel eyes are so intent. he listens to every word.  

"do you do personal work, too? like, just for you?" 

"actually, yeah!" this sparks your excitement. 

"can I see?" his smile widens. "only if you're comfortable, of course."  

"sure." you're beaming.  

he stays put as you start to go out of the kitchen, but then you smile. "you can come with." 

"oh." he sets his beer down on the counter and follows you, slightly surprised. but you don't care; you were nervous before, but he's stayed for this long. maybe he wants you, too. 

once you get to your bedroom, you're grateful that it's been freshly cleaned. there's even a bouquet from the flower's market sitting on your dresser, and you head over to the desk to sift through the drawers for what you want. 

"cool room." he compliments from the threshold. he's careful not to make you uncomfortable, but also can't resist the curiosity that draws his gaze from wall to wall. you find the stack of papers and smile. 

"thanks," you place the folder in his hands. "these are some printed versions of stuff I did last year." 

Wes immediately begins to flip through the art. him seeing your stuff makes you nervous, so you pretend to focus on straightening up the few items that sit on your desk. you wipe your fingertip over a nonexistent film of dust. 

"these are amazing," he says, holding a card stock copy in between his index and middle fingers. "holy shit."

"thank you." you're trying to keep from smiling too hard. you can tell that he's being genuine with his compliments, and it makes your heart swell. 

"definitely. are you showing anywhere?" 

"at an exhibit downtown a couple months back, but I've been so busy with work that personal stuff hasn't really been on the table, you know?"

he nods in understanding and continues to go through until the end. when he's finished, he looks up and sees you, his eyes concentrated. he doesn't speak at first, and an undercurrent ripples across the room. there are about three feet between you, and you have no excuse to lessen it. 

he licks his lips slowly. you purse yours, unsure of what to say. 

"I'm glad you called tonight." his voice is lower, slightly uncertain, like he's testing the boundaries. except you don't want boundaries right now. you want to go wild on him. 

"me, too." you reply. it's in your eyes, that begging for him to do what you're scared to initiate. 

your tongue is pressed to the back of your teeth in anticipation. and when he sets the art back on your desk and comes closer, you feel yourself give in. bubbles of excitement travel up your body as he grabs your face and bends down to kiss you. 

it's full, passionate, not the kind of kiss you give someone you've just met. laced with desire and longing, you respond immediately. hands immediately run to his forearms, over his shoulders as he imposes beautifully on your form. it's so hard, you lean back slightly. your torso presses against his until he pushes you against the wall. 

the slight gasp that escapes your lips causes him to smile, followed by your moan and clutching fingers. the material of his sweater, the taste of him mingled with that sophisticated, gentle smell of cologne that you want printed all over your skin. 

"come here." he murmurs against your mouth and reaches down to the back of your thigh so you can hook your leg around his waist. you whine at the easy access he has to grind against your core, both of you desperate. 

"Wes." you pant into his open mouth. he sucks on your bottom lip before finding your cheek and jaw. his fingertips tighten around your flesh. 

"this feel good, sweetheart?" he checks in. coincidentally, his jeans grind against your panties at exactly the right spot and your hips jump. you release a pleasured yelp. 

"mhmm." 

"sounds like it." he latches onto your throat with a possessive excitement. you can feel him sucking and biting at the skin until you're positive there'll be marks tomorrow. you hope there are; purpled evidence of his touch. he digs his nails into your thighs. "you like it when older men touch you, baby?" 

he blows over your tender throat before attacking it again. you sigh contentedly at the way he mingles sensations for your pleasure. "yes." 

he grunts and nips at your collarbone, sliding the strap of your top down your shoulder so that he can effortlessly flutter his lips over the skin. you grip at him and toss your head back against the wall. his weight on yours is divine. it makes you weak, but that doesn't matter. he's practically holding you up at this point. 

when his hand pushes under the hem of your shirt and dances over your stomach, you arch your back for more. he's gentle yet firm, pulling you close like he wants to breathe your oxygen. he's tracing over your ribcage, all the way up to the valley of your breasts, before cupping one and moaning into your shoulder. 

he kisses you again with an aching hunger that can't be satiated. your tongues meet and Wes finds your hardened nipples beneath the thin fabric of your bralette. you sigh while he starts to circle one with his thumb.  

"you're perfect." he breathes. 

you want to bask in this moment, to enjoy the shock across your skin when he reaches his hand back down between your bodies to dip below the waistband of your sweatpants, but you're just so greedy. he could make you cum over and over and it would never be enough. 

"what do you want me to do to you?" Wes is hovering over your lower stomach, dangerously close to where you need him most. he's teasing. the warmth of his skin drives you mad. his breath brushes over the shell of your ear. 

"fuck me." it's the only response you can fathom. every other instinct in your body flies out the window and is replaced by a craving to sink your proverbial (and literal) teeth into him.

but he loves it, apparently, because he pushes you back against the wall with a nearly bruising force. "I can do that." 

with those words, he quickly grabs your other leg and lifts you into his arms, bringing you to the bed and laying you delicately on the mattress while you giggle. you stare up at him with an almost daydreamy lust. his cheeks are flushed. 

you only get a second of that heavenly sight, though, before he dips down and pushes your shirt up to see your tits and kiss up the chasm between your ribs. his stubble tickles your skin, which causes you to smile. 

by the time he's pulled your sweatpants off and tossed them to the side, you're whining for him to strip down as well. 

"what is it, pretty girl?" he murmurs against your tummy. when you try to squeeze your thighs, he pushes them apart. 

"I wanna see you." your fingertips touch at his sweater. he chuckles and pulls the garment over his head. it messes up his perfect hair even more and you love it, tangling your fingers in it. he bites his lip. 

"do you want me to taste you first?" he keeps stroking the inside of your thighs and staring down at the skimpy lace that you're positive that you've already soaked. you're making him crazy with the way you roll your hips against air, against nothing, seeking any kind of stimulation. 

"I can't wait." you shake your head. as nice as it would be, you're going to implode if he doesn't fill you up soon. he drags his fingers down your clothed slit and groans when he feels just how ready you are for him. 

"let's take these off then, okay, sweetheart?" he hooks his fingers in the panties and waits for you to nod before tugging them down your legs. you whimper at the cool air that hits your core, soaked and needy. Wes stares at your body on display for him. 

as he gets back up from the floor to kiss you again, you both work to remove the rest of his clothes. his skin is perfect under your hands. his chest is warm, solid, and when he climbs on top of you, his arms rest on either side of your head.

one hand comes down to grab his own cock and stroke it a few times before lowering himself to rub it against your throbbing clit. you whimper at the pressure; he's mindless when he feels how easily you cover him in your essence. 

"so fucking wet..." he groans while rutting against you. 

"Wes, please--" your breath hitches. "put it in." 

"begging?" he teases your entrance with the head and smirks. "good girl." 

"mhmm." you're smiling, but your mouth drops open when he pushes himself inside. 

it's a heavy feeling, him filling you up. he's thick and the stretching of your walls makes him groan and rest his head on your shoulder. he kisses the skin there while diving deeper into your body. 

you're shaking slightly from the mixture of pain and pleasure, his size forcing your body to work quickly to accommodate. your eyes are squeezed shut, but you run your hands over his back and shoulders to stay grounded. it feels like a dream. 

he starts to pull out, coated in your wetness while you whimper below him, and he grabs your face with one hand in a dominant, soft gesture. "okay?"

"yeah." 

he pushes back in. the air in your lungs is practically gone at this point, he's so deep inside. your eyes roll back and push your hips up to take him at a new angle. Wes finds his pace easily, rocking into your body at a manageable pace to let you get used to the sensation. 

every time his hips roll down and he buries himself in you, he presses on your clit and sends a new shock through your body. he leans on his elbows to get closer and feel every undulation of your body. you love how his thrusts force your legs apart, how he moans your name and causes the headboard to repeatedly hit the wall while maintaining eye contact. hazel irises that rake over your features with lust. 

"you feel so good." he speeds up a little when he hits a certain spot. you can feel him deep and hard, causing a small bump to rise in your stomach with each stroke. his voice is husky and dark. like a man starved. 

"fuck..." you drag your nails down his back. he groans at the red marks that you will no doubt leave for him. 

"clingy thing, huh?" he sucks at your throat affectionately. "I come over for one thing and you can't help yourself." 

hearing Wes speak through his own panting is like listening to a secret, and you never want it to stop. he's reveling in the sordid crush of his own wants, and the way he shoves into you shows you that he has no intention of slowing down for a while. 

"I'm impatient." you smirk. he pulls away to admire your expression. 

"so am I." he kisses your lips and starts to pound into you. the juxtaposition of his tenderness and the sharp snap of his hips to yours fills you with butterflies. you love how much he wants to ruin you. 

"Wes-- oh my god!" you whimper. he grabs your hips and yanks them closer to him so he can go as deep as possible, so he can hit your cervix. 

"that's right, sweetheart," he pants. you can tell that he's starting to lose control. "say my name. I want everyone to know what a good little slut you are for me." 

the commanding tone makes your body shake. "I- I'm cumming, Wes, please--"

"please what, baby?" he taunts. his index finger is tracing over your jaw. 

you don't know what it is that you're wanting, except more. as your form shudders and tightens, walls fluttering around his cock, you lose the capacity to speak. you grind your hips against him and cry out pathetically while he pushes you back down and slams ruthlessly into your pussy. 

"cum inside-- please, I need it--" you writhe. he groans at the request. 

"fuck, yes..." he sheathes himself. "take it."

you gasp as he repeatedly hits your weakest point and spills hot ropes of his cum inside you, still thrusting in and out and whimpering into your shoulder at the clenching sensation you give his cock. it's warm, strangely delightful, nearly sending you into another orgasm sheerly from the sight. 

he mutters unintelligibly as he empties himself in your pussy, but you catch a growled "so needy," between deep moans. you're clinging to him like you'll never have it again. you might not. 

he slows down, giving shallower thrusts while riding out his high and shoving his cum deeper inside. it turns lazy and messy, both of you panting, before he finally pulls out and rolls over next to you. 

you press the back of your hand to your forehead. it's sweaty from all the work he just put you through, but you feel amazing at the same time. your eyes keep flickering from the ceiling above to his rising and falling chest beside you. his nose twitches; he turns his head to look at your face. 

although you expect him to say something, he doesn't. instead, you just stare at each other. the air conditioner rattles gently in the background. you're not sure how long this lasts, this soaking in, but he's the first to break it. 

"hey." 

you find the corners of your lips turning up. "hi." 

"do you mind if I go get something to clean you up?" he asks softly, his fingertips finding your forearm with ease and drifting over it.

"sure. bathroom is the first door on the left." 

he gets up and you watch him gather his clothes, eyes glued to his perfect form. you can't believe you just had sex with your veterinarian. you don't regret it at all. 

he wanders out of the room and your eyes follow, only to see Klimt sitting patiently by the door. 

"what are you doing, perv?" you tease as he comes over and leaps up onto the bed. his kitten paws pad over the blankets and settle into the crook of your arm. you smile to yourself, recalling how sweet the vet was with him. "hey, Wes?" you call out. 

"yeah?" he comes back into the room with a warm washcloth and a small smile on his face. 

"would you wanna get coffee or something sometime?" you bite your lip. maybe he doesn't want to go on a date, but it's worth a shot.

"sure." he breaks into a grin that makes you giddy. thank god, because you really were hoping to see him again. 

you can't wait.  

taglist (lmk about adding/removal or add yourself to the list here!): @jareids @reidsconverse @xoxomgg @may-b-a-u-shewritestoo @la-vie-en-amour1 @g0lden-cth @treat-winchesterswith-kindness @kisseslikecoffee @spenxerslut @slutforthegubes @spookydrreid @depressedgothgrl @flipper-kisses @multixfandomwriter​ @willowrose99​ @gingeraleluke​ @chasemoonlight​ @spencerreid9​ 

[sunmoonandeddie]

saturdays

pairing: bucky barnes x reader

word count: 3,467

summary: Bucky Barnes has a new routine.

warnings: Some swearing

a/n:  This was my March 2020 one shot for my Patreon that they received early access to.  Let me know what y’all think!

Bucky Barnes has a new routine.

Sundays are for sleeping in before eventually making his way to Brooklyn, where he picks up three bouquets and an egg, bacon, and cheese breakfast sandwich from Sal’s bodega before going to the cemetery.  He sits against his sister’s tombstone—his parents’ to his right—and eats his late breakfast.  He sits and talks for a few hours before leaving the flowers on their graves.  He always has to have peonies, since those were Becca’s favorites.

Mondays, Tuesdays, Wednesdays, and Thursdays are for training.  He wakes up at five in the morning to go running with Sam, something he thought would end when Steve went back to be with Peggy Carter.  But he wasn’t bitter.  No.

But which thing he wasn’t bitter about, he’d never tell.

Along with the run, he spends most of the day sparring and battling simulations in the gym.  He has short breaks for meals, but he pretty much is on go until after dinner, when he goes straight to bed.

But Fridays are his favorite.  Because he gets to sleep in until nine-thirty in the morning, which is a luxury he’s not used to.  Then Sam and him grab a late breakfast together before Bucky goes into the city for his therapy session.

And Bucky likes his therapist!  Which he was really, really surprised about!  But Marlene is good.  Marlene is good because she doesn’t placate him.  She calls him out on his shit, and pushes him forward.  Because if it had been up to him, he would’ve stopped seeing her after their third meeting, when she had him drawing with fucking crayons that snapped in his hand way too easily.  But it’s been over a year since he started seeing her, and even though he still has his bad days, his bad days now would’ve been his best days before.

“So, you think you’re finally ready to go through Rebecca’s things?” Marlene asks, looking at him with a peaceful expression.

“I don’t think so, I am,” he says firmly, feeling a rush of triumph as a smile spreads across her lips.  “It’s time, you know?”

She nods in understanding, humming.  “Do you have someone going with you?”

Usually, Sam would go with him for things like this, and just in general.  They were attached at the hip, especially after the whole Steve leaving thing.

Yeah, they were both hit pretty hard with that.

“Yes, but I…”  He sighs, rubbing his hands on his jeans.  “I think this is something I need to do alone.  At least, the going through her stuff part…  But he is going with me to move the stuff to the Tower.”

“Good, good,” she says, her brows slightly furrowed.  “And how are you feeling today about Steve leaving?”

Bucky lets out a huff of air, taking a moment to think about it.  “To be completely honest with you…  I’m kind of over it today.  I have other things to do and yeah, I would’ve liked him to be here for it, but that’s not how it is.  And him leaving is more about him than it is about me.”  He shrugs, his lips pressed into a thin line.  “Just because he decided to go back doesn’t mean he wanted to leave me.”

Marlene sets her clipboard to the side, a warm smile on her face.  “Well, Bucky, I think we’ll end today on that thought.”  She stands up, offering her hand for him to shake as she does everyday.  “You’ve done well today.  You should be proud of yourself.”

He leaves with a wave and a “See you next week!” as he always does.

He hadn’t known about the storage unit full of his sister’s stuff until about eight months ago, when he asked Maria Hill if there was anything left of hers.  He knew that SHIELD had been the ones to take control of her assets when she had no children, since she was the sister of a Howling Commando and the best friend of Captain America.

Becca had died in December of 2013.  He’d missed her by less than six months.

It was heartbreaking when he first found out, and still is, if he was being honest.  But at least he has her stuff to go through, even though he has no idea what all is going to be in the storage unit.  Stevie hadn’t had anything other than what the Smithsonian had snatched up.

The car ride to the storage facility is quiet, Sam at the wheel.  Bucky still hasn’t gotten his license, since he doesn’t see a point.  Why should he when there’s the subway and Uber and even just good old fashioned walking?  “You’ve gotta save the Earth, Sam,” he says when he really feels like irritating the other man.

“You sure you’re ready for this, man?” Sam asks as they stand in front of storage unit 429.

“Yeah,” Buck says, punching in the key code and lifting up the door.  “Yeah, I’m ready.”  He flips the light switch on the wall, and is shocked by just how much stuff there is.  There’s boxes upon boxes upon boxes.

Sam’s hands go to his hips as he looks at it, whistling.  “Alright.  Let’s get it loaded.”

It takes several hours and three trips to get everything from the storage unit to the Tower, and by the end of it, the both of them just collapse on the couch with a couple of beers and a pizza to share between them.

But Saturday morning comes bright and early, and even though it’s his only day out of the week where he has absolutely nothing to do, Bucky knows he has to start going through her things.

The first four boxes are just clothes.  Clothes upon clothes upon clothes.  He finds a baby blue dress that she used to wear for church, starched to perfection, and he holds it to his chest for a long time.  He cries then.

And he knows that the fact that she’s hoarded so many clothes has a lot to do from growing up during the Depression.  He still finds himself falling into old habits of checking the price of food, despite the fact that he never has to worry about money again with his Avengers salary and the backpay from being a POW.

He finds his parents’ wedding rings, and the string of pearls his ma wore for special occasions.

And then he finds an old shoe box, and when he opens it up, he finds letters.  Letters upon letters upon letters.  They’re in bundles, tied together with fraying ribbon.  The paper is yellowed and soft from being folded and unfolded so many times, and he can see the looping black letters that covered the pages.

He takes the ones that look the oldest and unties them, he takes the top one from the stack and sets the rest to the side, before carefully unfolding it.

“Ruthie,” he says quietly as he reads the name at the bottom, not even bothering to read it yet.  “Ruthie…”  His eyes pop open as he suddenly remembers, remembers receiving letters everyday from a girl in the Bronx.  They were never romantic, but it was nice being able to write to someone and not having to hide how bad it was, like he had to with his ma and Becca.  She even sent her picture once, so he could know who he was writing to.  “Ruthie!”

He spends the rest of the day reading the letters, and passes out sometime around four in the morning with his face on a letter.  He takes the letters with him to his family’s graves the next day, reading to them after he replaces the flowers.

It takes him two more days to finish reading all the letters, in between breaks while training and staying up until he absolutely can’t.

He cries a lot while he reads it.  He’s not afraid to admit that.  But it’s nice to remember that he had a friend to listen to him during one of the worst times of his life.

Bucky’s almost afraid to look her up, to find out if she was still alive, and if he could go see her, to thank her.  They wrote back and forth until the day he fell off the train, and he knows that had to be pretty jarring for her.

But then Sam finds out about the letters—it would be hard for him not to, considering that he was walking around with his nose in the letters for days—and it’s all over.

Turns out, she’s alive.  She’s alive, and she’s still in Queens.

He goes the next Saturday, taking his bike all the way to the other borough.  He looks a little intimidating and extremely different from how he looked back then, but he hopes she recognizes him.  He really, really hopes she recognizes him, because otherwise this’ll be real awkward.

He stands in front of the door for a long time, taking his hands in and out of his pockets about eight times before he finally reaches up and knocks.

And then the door opens, and there’s Ruthie.

Well, not Ruthie, though at first glance, you’re the perfect picture of her.  You’ve got her hair and her eyes, and the curve of her lips.  But the nose is different.

“Can I help you?” You ask, raising your eyebrows at him.  You’re wiping your hand on a hand towel, peering at him like you recognize him from somewhere but you don’t know where.

“Hi, uh,” he says slowly.  His throat is suddenly so dry that he can barely talk.  “I’m Bucky.  Bucky Barnes.  I was pen pals with—”

He’s cut off by Ruthie herself appearing in the doorway.  She’s much older—she is ninety-nine, after all—but it’s definitely her.  “Did you say Bucky Barnes?”  The little old lady’s eyes widened as she saw him, her hand over her heart.  “Oh, my stars, it’s really you.  I heard about what happened to you, and I…”  She shakes her head, clicking her tongue.  “Why, it almost gave me a heart attack, you know.”

“Little Ruthie Pratt from Queens,” he says, reaching in his pocket and holding up the letters.  “I found these while, uh, going through my sister’s stuff.”

“I still have mine!” Ruthie says, pulling him inside.

It’s nice and homey and everything that Bucky had thought it would be.  The front foyer is covered in photos, and there’s quite a few of you.  You’re clearly one of Ruthie’s pride and joys, if the sheer amount of them has anything to do about it.

“I used to read these to my grandbaby here,” Ruthie says as she comes back with an old oak jewelry box in hand.  “Anytime she stayed the night—her parents worked a lot when she was growing up—she always asked me to read her one of my ‘Bucky letters.’”

“Grandmama,” you say, cheeks flushing as you avoid his eyes.

“It was so cute!  She used to recite them word for word along with me!” Ruthie teases as they go to the living room.

It’s quaint, with soft pastel colors dominating the room.  He sits on a floral sofa that’s got a circle with dark hair on it, the marking of a furry friend’s favorite spot.  He watches as you move to the kitchen, grabbing a pitcher of what looks like tea and a few glasses.

You sit beside her with the ease of knowing that you belong here, pouring yourself a glass.  “Grandmama, do you want some tea?”

She scoffs, rolling her eyes as she opens the box and looks for the oldest one.  “You keep that monstrosity away from me,” she says.  Seemingly remembering Bucky’s presence, she says, “My daughter’s husband is from Louisiana.  Ridiculous man got both her and my grandbaby addicted to that absolute sludge.”

The secret smile you give him as the two of you listen to her tirade about sweet tea makes him feel at ease, and sets the tone for the rest of the afternoon.

Things go on as normal, or as normal as they can.

And Marlene happens to think that all of this is absolutely fantastic for him.  She loves that he’s now spending time with Ruthie and you, reconnecting with his past while understanding that he doesn’t have to be the person he was in the letters.

He’s different.  He’s not the Bucky that Ruthie knew back then.

It’s an unusually warm day in November four months later when he takes you out for a coffee, just the two of you.  And it isn’t a date—really, it isn’t—but he finds himself wanting it to be about halfway through his second coffee.

And that’s why he starts talking about dating to Marlene, who had, quite frankly, been waiting for him to realize his feelings for a while.

“I think I’m in love with her,” he says as he storms into his therapy session, eyes wild and hair a disarray.  He’s clearly been worrying real hard about it.

Marlene looks up at him, peering over the silver rim of her glasses.  “Oh, really?” She says nonchalantly, as though she doesn’t have you in her notes about him.  “And why is that?”

Bucky can’t help the frown on his face as he realizes that she didn’t even ask who he was talking about, because she knew.  “I…  I don’t know,” he says, slumping into his usual chair.  “She makes me happy.  Happier than I’ve ever been.  And she always makes me laugh, even at the most inappropriate of times.”  His gaze softens the more he thinks about you.  “And she isn’t scared of me.  She doesn’t judge me.  She’s read about everything I did in the war, even before HYDRA, and she doesn’t care.”  His hands are sweating as he rubs them together.  “Actually, it’s not that she doesn’t care—she does care—but she cares because she… she loves me.”

You love him.  And sure, he knows that.  You’ve said that you love him multiple times, even if you only mean it as a friend way.

But the thought that he has someone who loves him that doesn’t have to is… groundbreaking.

“She loves me, and she wants me to be okay,” he says, looking up at Marlene then.

His therapist has a pleased look in her eyes, even if she won’t let it show with a smile.  “I think she’s good for you,” she says simply, her pen held loosely in her hand.  “Are you seeing her again soon?”

“I’m seeing her tomorrow night,” he says, his heart growing light.  “We’re grabbing a few drinks to celebrate her finally graduating from cosmetology school.”

It’s a big deal for you, completely something.  You’re smart, there’s no denying that, but when it comes to schooling…  You’d done well in high school, but college proved to be the bane of your existence.

You’d dropped out in the middle of your junior year, and that had been it.  You’d moved to Queens to live with Ruthie after, working various low level jobs and trying to find something that fit.

But you’d fit in at cosmetology school.  Hell, you excelled.  And you enjoyed it!  You enjoyed waking up in the morning and going to your classes!

You cried when you got your certificate, and it was now framed in Ruthie’s house until you start your first salon job in two weeks.

“Are you going to tell her about your feelings?” Marlene asks curiously.

Now that makes him pause.

“... Should I?” Bucky asks, feeling a wave of anxiety coming over him.  “What if she doesn’t feel the same way?  And she sees me as just a friend?”

“If she’s really your friend, she won’t abandon you just because you tell her you have romantic feelings for her.”

“You sure about that?”

Marlene fixes him with a look, raising one perfectly sculpted eyebrow.

He runs his tongue over his teeth.  “Fine.  You’re sure,” he says, slumping a little in his chair.  “Doesn’t mean it’s easy.”

She snorts, making a note on her pad.  “I never said it was going to be easy, Bucky.  Doesn’t mean it can’t be done.”

The next night, he spends an hour and a half trying to decide what to wear.  “It shouldn’t be this hard,” he grumbles as he switches shirts for the forty-ninth time.  “It’s just drinks.”

Sam, however, is having a great time watching his new best friend freak out over seeing a girl for the first time.  “I mean, she already agreed to going out with your ugly mug, man.  It’s not gonna matter what you wear.”

And in some way, that helps.  A little.

But he does have to threaten Sam with bodily harm if he spies on his date that’s not really a date.

He almost boxes him the ear when he insists for the fourth time that it’s a date.

He shows up at your door with a bouquet of flowers from Sal’s bodega, the buttons of his dark blue henley left open, exposing a smattering of chest hair.

When you open the door, the air is knocked from his lungs.  You look absolutely radiant.  The light from the sinking sun is giving you a halo-like glow, and he’s sure, not for the first time, that you’re an actual angel.

“Hi,” you say, a flush on your cheeks as you see the flowers.  “Are those…  Are those for me?”

He nods dumbly, trying to swallow down the lump in his throat.  “Y-Yes,” he says, pushing them into your arms.  “As a congrats.  For, you know, graduating.  And stuff.”

“Thank you,” you say as you take them, handing them to Ruthie.

She’s standing just inside the door, a giddy look on her face as she holds the flowers, watching you take the motorcycle helmet from his hands.  “Have her back by twelve!”

“Grandmama!”

“Fine!  Twelve-thirty!”

You’re clearly embarrassed by her antics as he helps you on behind him, guiding your arms around his waist.

“You ready?” He asks, his voice breathy.

A shiver runs down your spine as you nod, wrapping your arms tighter around him as he starts the bike, taking off.

“She doesn’t actually mean that,” you say as he leads you into the tiny, out of the way bar.  You’re fixing your hair, trying your best to appear presentable.  “I’m grown, you know.  I don’t…  I don’t have a curfew.”

A slow smile spreads over his lips as he listens to you ramble.  “I know,” he says finally, figuring he should put you out of your misery.  “Ruthie does like to tease those she loves.”

The bar is quaint, clearly a local place that tourists haven’t invaded.  He leads you to a high table, calling out your order to the lone bartender.

“So, I—”

“I like you,” Bucky says, unintentionally cutting you off with a wince.  “I’m sorry.  I didn’t mean to interrupt you, but I really, really like you, and I really, really want this to be a date, but if you don’t feel the same way then I completely understand and we can just forget that I ever said anything and everything can just go back to normal and that might be the best thing because, quite frankly, I haven’t dated since the forties and I have no idea how dating is supposed to work nowadays, but I’d really like to try it with you but only if you—”

His rambling is cut off as you place your hand on his, intertwining your fingers.  “Okay,” you say, like it’s the easiest thing ever.  “It’s a date.”

He stares at you for an embarrassingly long time, his mouth dry.  “Uh…  What?” He says quietly.  His heart is pounding at an unnaturally fast pace, and he honestly thinks he might be on the verge of a heart attack.

“I like you, too,” you say, smiling at the bartender as he brings you over your drinks.  You look so beautiful, your eyes the brightest thing in the dim lighting of the bar.  “So this is a date.”

“Okay,” he breathes out, a wave of relief washing over him.  “It’s a date.”

He’s a little starstruck as you continue on with what you were going to say before, a pink blush dusting his cheeks.  Your hand stays in his for the rest of the night, occasionally giving a little squeeze as though you’re reminding him that you’re still there and you’re not going to disappear.

And it feels good.

And okay, Marlene may have been right.

And yeah, Fridays might be good.  But as he sits there with you until the late hours of the night, he’s sure: Saturdays are his new favorite day.  Because Saturdays brought him a new beginning when he wasn’t expecting it.

[theliterateape]

We Killed Jason Todd

By Matt Markman

In 1988 my friends and I killed a kid.

He was just a boy really. We had help it wasn’t just me and my pals. there were adults involved, lots of them. I mean we were young we were just thirteen and really couldn’t comprehend the ramification of our actions, the adults knew what they were doing. I’m painting it to sound way more sinister than it was, and in today’s society, wouldn’t trend on Twitter but maybe in the ’80s, it was probably considered quite ominous.

To set your mind at ease, it was Jason Todd. You know, Batman's sidekick, The Boy Wonder, Robin—well, the second Robin anyways. And I helped kill him.

I was big into comic books but my favorite was, The Dark Knight, The Caped Crusader, The Batman… He donned the best costume, he had all the money and was the most intelligent of all the superheroes. That last trait right there, the fact that he was considered a superhero and he had no actual super powers made him cooler than the other side of the pillow. You know how The Big Bang Theory has convinced the world it’s an Emmy-winning sitcom worth watching? I think it’s the fact that Batman was someone any one of us could actually be. Sure we needed to start with a base coat of genius followed by a splash of handsome billionaire playboy then train overseas in martial arts for several years, but if you had those things you, too, could be a vigilante. You ask me today and I'd stand by the fact that Batman would beat Superman in a fight, say ten out of ten times. This is not debatable because super beings from another planet are not real.

My favorite thing about Batman, though, is his ability to balance out good and evil. He spawned one of the greatest comic book villains and fictional characters ever created, The Joker. They have tried and tried again but in my opinion never got close to the Clown Prince of Crime—maybe Negan from The Walking Dead, he's pretty ruthless. The Joker is what would happen if a stand-up comedian became a criminal mastermind, so basically the plot of the 2019 film Joker.

My love for Joker made sense because growing up I was always more into the bad guys than the good guys. Watching and playing with G.I.Joe, I was always on the side of Cobra Commander, the twins Tomax and Xamot, and Zartan because they were always more glamorous and eye-catching than the boring ass Joes. Just once, I’d like that “knowing is half the battle” part at the end of the cartoon to have been Storm Shadow giving us kids a tip on how to fuck up Shipwreck and his stupid Parrot. Megatron, Skeletor, Shredder, Mumm-ra…

The list goes on, but the antagonists always resonated with me. they had a much better and more intriguing agenda than the good guys did. I know that wasn't the purpose, we were supposed to cheer on the good guys, like the idea of saving the world and all, but the mayhem… It’s like Alfred Pennyworth said, “Some men just want to watch the world burn.” It’s odd because the bad guys in my life were real, the bullies and I didn't like them at all. They tormented me daily unprovoked because I was short and had big ears. Perhaps my love for the dark side stemmed for my desire to be on that side because in real life there was no Superman swooping in to rescue me from the clutches of Lex Luthor. 

There were two sides, and good had a lack of champions looking out for the weaker, smaller good guys. The bad guys in my neighborhood, well, they were real and never really foiled and more importantly, they always got the girl in the end. Fuck the good guys!

My admiration for evildoers achieving their agenda was tested in 1988, Batman was running a four-part series called A Death in the Family. It was your typical Batman arc. Somehow, The Joker was going to get the upper hand on The World’s Greatest Detective only to be bested in the end by Batman. But this time, the third comic decided to do something nobody had never seen in the industry. The writers were going to give the fans the opportunity to decide where they were going to go with the story, only it was an option between two different roads, one quite unconventional. Apparently a few years earlier, one of the writers, Dennis O'Neil, had seen a sketch they did on SNL where Eddie Murphy held up a Lobster—Larry the Lobster—and was asking viewers to decide whether Larry was boiled and eaten or was to be set free. The choices were offered in the form of two phone numbers both costing fifty cents a call. One number was a vote for him to be freed and the other number was a vote for Larry to be murdered, smothered in butter, and devoured by Axel Foley. Ultimately, after nearly 500,000 calls, the people voted for Larry the lovable lobster to be pardoned with a 12,000 call margin. The popularity of this bit intrigued O'Neil and A few years later he decided to implement it in his Death in The Family storyline.

In the third book, The Joker had taken Batman's sidekick, the Boy Wonder, hostage. He’d beaten him bloody with a crowbar leaving a cliffhanger to be wrapped up in the fourth book. The last page of the comic was full page and at the top read in true ’80s Do the Right Thing fashion: “Robin will die because The Joker wants revenge, but you can prevent it with a telephone call!” They even phrased it to steer you down the hero’s path, like you can literally be Batman with one phone call. Underneath the imploring verbiage were two numbers, dial one number; The Joker fails and Robin lives, Batman would once somehow saves the day. However, call this other number and The Joker succeeds and Robin dies. Gruesomely.

Wow! They were going to let the fans decide the fate of Robin, really this was one of my earliest introductions to a reality voting competition type show. In my opinion, it was a bad idea. Robin was always the worst. Go back and read through an adventure or two involving Jason Todd and tell me he wasn't always whiney and bellyaching. He was never going to be iconic or cool like Bruce Wayne or even his predecessor Dick Grayson—the first Robin. See, Dick got pissed off, decided he was tired of being in Batman's shadow, ditched the Robin costume, threw on a black blue and gold costume, moved to another city and became Nightwing. Dick was a go getter, ambitious. Grayson’s Robin was a winner, Todd's Robin was an irritating little bitch; he was not an innocent lobster.

I went to my mother and asked if I could make a call that was going to cost just fifty cents and I would pay her back or she could just take it out of my allowance. She wanted to know what it was for and mostly wanted to confirm it wasn't for an adult sex line, which costs more than fifty cents a minute, but that’s a different story. It was nothing as tawdry as phontercourse, I just wanted to help murder an annoying teenage sidekick. My mother response was “Oh, yeah, that’s fine.”

I think after it was exposed that it wasn't phone sex anything else I said went in one ear and out the other, surely she didn't think I was actually voting for a plucky comic book sidepiece to be murdered by The Joker. So that’s what I did. I cast my vote along with a majority of DC comic book fans that shared my detest for the boy wonder. Ten thousand votes were recorded with a narrow margin going to Robin dying. I think the writers never suspected that fans would go that route.

O’Neal himself voted for Robin’s stay of execution. A man of his word, Batman issue #429 was released and Robin was killed by The Joker in an explosion and we were to blame for it. Sad to say but you give a bunch of comic book nerds the power I think it would go bad every time. That day we were all proud to be The Joker's henchmen. I felt like a soldier at the end of Star Wars cheering madly while The Joker received his metal shouting, “I helped that happen!”

So many shows these days embrace our fascination with the anti-hero with the success of The Sopranos, The Shield, Breaking Bad, hell Narcos had me rooting for Pablo Escobar—Pablo fucking Escobar. I wouldn't say I was a bad person growing up. Quite the contrary, I was a shy nerd with no power to do anything but pick my books up after they were smacked to the ground. What I’m saying is don't give me the power to make important life or death decisions with your franchise because myself and the other dorks will have the bodies of Orko, Snarf, and Jimmy Olson lying in a shallow grave, just tell me what number to dial… or text.

Matt started performing standup comedy in 2004 in Las Vegas and is now a regular at every major comedy club on the Las Vegas strip. He released his first comedy album in 2016 titled Uncut available on iTunes. More about Matt and his upcoming appearances can be found on MattMarkman.com.

[iron--spider]

my favorite superhero

Tony sits there, cuffed to a chair in whatever the hell facility this is, and he stews. He doesn’t enjoy being kidnapped—his ego always takes a hard hit when he allows it to happen, and now that the end of the world has come and gone, he figured this kind of shit would fall off.

 But he stews, particularly angry, because this one is personal.

 Justin Hammer paces back and forth in front of him. He’s a little weightier than he was when Tony last saw him, sporting a patchy, uneven beard and what looks like a borrowed suit. Still an asshole.

 “Haven’t I been through enough?” Tony asks, twisting his hands in the cuffs behind his back. The iron arm is just not strong enough to break whatever the hell these are made of, and he’s angry because Justin thought ahead. When does Hammer think ahead, ever? 

 “Honestly,” Tony continues. “I’ve got kids now, you’ve gotta stop stalking me. I lost my arm saving the fucking world—apparently whatever the hell repercussions of all that got you out of prison, surely through no lawful avenues, so you’re welcome, by the way.”

 “Thank you very much, Mr. Stark,” Hammer says, pointing over at him. 

 “No, you know what, you’re not welcome. I take it back.”

 “You can’t take it back, you said it,” Hammer says, crossing his arms over his chest and holding his head high.

Tony sighs and looks away. There’s what looks like a kind of forcefield around where he’s sitting, and he sighs even harder. The room isn’t too large, with a vaulted ceiling, and Hammer’s situated himself on the platform in front of what looks like a couple empty offices. He prances back and forth above the few stairs that lead down to where Tony is, so he can stay above him.

 “You know, I’m really proud of this,” Hammer says, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “This whole thing, right? So I snag you, and then we set off that bomb threat over in Midtown, so all your other super buddies fly over there and just think you’re slacking on the job when you don’t show up. Because you’re still handling the lower level shit like that, I know what you’re doing. I even think that Strange guy is over there, so they’re all there and they’re probably all judging you for not helping.”

 “Cute,” Tony says, bitter.

 “And this place is state of the fucking art, Anthony, like this could be the Queen’s bunker, and I’ve got all the buddies that left the Raft with me protecting the perimeter—chiseled, rugged guys just—ready to beat the shit out of everybody—”

 “Nice, the guys that left the Raft with you, like you’re on vacation—”

 “AND we’ve got you in vibranium handcuffs, you’re welcome, your pal in Wakanda’s gonna be real pissed when he realizes how far into the villain layer his shit has gotten—”

 Tony looks at him, brows furrowed. “Villain layer? Layer—layer of villains? Is that what you were trying to say? And you’re including yourself there? Or like, lair of villains, like their lair where they keep their stuff—but that doesn’t really work—”

 “No, just, shut up,” Hammer says. “Forget it. But that—yeah, vibranium handcuffs, so you’re not getting out any time soon even with your shiny new arm. And that forcefield is brand new Hammer tech, even if your buddies did fly over here once they’re done with their nice little distraction, they’re not smart enough to take down the encryptions, not even Banner, I checked into his degrees and what he studied and covered all my bases.”

 Tony’s bitterness is mutating into something else, something more bitter and why the shit can’t this asshole leave him alone? 

 “Congratulations,” he says. “Today marks the first day in history that you weren’t a complete dumbass.”

 “Thank you, thank you very much,” Hammer says, bending over in a deep bow, hands whipping with a flourish. “I thought about every variable, every avenue, now we just need Miss Pepper Wifey to answer my calls and—”

 Tony experiences a flash of anger at that, and then a high pitched tone starts going off in his ears, and now he feels like a dumbass. 

 Peter. Was with Pepper. 

 Peter.

 Like a shining light in the darkness and someone Hammer has clearly not paid attention to despite all his fucking planning, because he would have mentioned it amongst all the other bragging. Spider-Man isn’t an official Avenger yet to the world, just among the group. And Peter would never think Tony is slacking. Because Peter just doesn’t think that way. 

 Tony’s heart warms, because even though there’s no indication, he knows Peter is coming to get him.

 “You know what?” Tony asks, looking up at Hammer again and interrupting whatever dumb shit he was saying. “I was wrong. You’re still a dumbass.”

 Hammer stares at him. “What? No I’m not. Why? But I’m not.”

 “You are,” Tony says, glancing away. “I’m not telling you why.”

 “Oh Jesus, Tony, c’mon,” Hammer says, waltzing down the couple of stairs from the platform he was standing on, like the supreme idiot he is. “You’re such a—”

 He stops, abruptly, and pulls out a small tablet from his pocket. His eyes narrow.

 Here we go. Let’s go Spider-Man. 

 It’s faster than Tony could have imagined, and he looks on eagerly. “Oh, what’s that? What’s going on? A little hiccup, maybe?”

 “Gotta be some kind of bullshit,” Hammer says. “Super friends are all at the coordinates I set them up at, my guys checked, my guys—oh my God, Raul.”

 “Oh my God, is Raul okay?” Tony asks, flexing his fingers a bit behind his back. “Where’s Raul, is Raul here? Is something wrong—is Raul sick?”

 Hammer glances up at him but he’s shaking more now, and his pacing gets more panicky and stilted. He holds the tablet with one hand and taps on some kind of ear com with the other, and Tony shifts back in his chair a bit, relaxing. 

 “Jason, Jason, can you hear me? Are you there? Buddy, the whole reason I gave you this earpiece is so you can report when I need you to report—”

 He gasps, dramatically, and looks up at Tony.

 “Not good?” Tony asks, raising his eyebrows. “Not good news? Did they go on dinner break early? So hard to find good help these days.”

 “Do you know somebody else?” Hammer asks. “I thought the Avengers were very exclusive, I thought you didn’t chat with all the other ragtag Times Square assholes.”

 Tony leans forward and stares at him just as all these red, fiery lights start going off on the ceiling, and Hammer looks up and around, dropping the tablet and letting it shatter. Tony catches a glimpse of it now that he can see the screen, and he watches as guard after guard goes from green to red.

 He looks back up at Hammer and grins, full of pride. “You don’t know shit about me if you don’t know who my favorite superhero is.”

 And with that, the door behind Hammer opens and the lights snap out, only leaving the soft purple glow of the force field around Tony amongst inky darkness. His heart leaps when he hears a gun go off, three times with angry ricochet, and then he hears Hammer shrieking like a little girl, followed by the unmistakable sound of Peter’s webs and a body falling to the floor.

 Tony sits there in darkness and silence for a long moment.

 “Uh, Spidey?” Tony asks, blinking in the purple glow. “Where are you, bud? You okay?”

 The lights click back on and he sees Peter kneeling on the ground, checking Hammer’s pulse. 

 “Oh thank God. You okay?” Tony asks again. “He didn’t shoot you, right? The asshole.”

 “No, he didn’t shoot me,” Peter says. He pulls off his mask and stuffs it in his belt, looking up at Tony with a grimace. “He just, like. Passed out. I didn’t even punch him. I was gonna hit him, like, to knock him out, but he was already passed out and I didn’t even use impact webs, Tony.”

 Tony snorts. “It’s fine, that’s just how he is.” He grins at Peter. “Thanks for coming, kid.”

 “Duh,” Peter says, approaching him.

 “I’m sure he’s got a computer around here or something, so you can disable the forcefield—”

 “Yeah, I already did that,” Peter says, walking right through it, and Tony watches, mouth agape. “For some reason he had a stealth mode, and I was able to mirror that and it put it on standby for twenty minutes.”

 Tony nods. “Alright, shit, that’s great, okay, plenty of time to figure out the handcuffs, find a key or something—”

 Peter walks around behind him and kneels down. “He was stupid enough to alter them and add a code and a second latch.” 

 Tony feels him do something, and then the handcuffs drop off, like nothing. He laughs, feeling a little lightheaded, and he gets up, turning around to face the kid.

 He feels completely and utterly in awe of him. He always knew Peter would surpass him, but he has with such grace and candor and it’s—amazing.

 Peter puffs out his chest and points down. “One day, I’m gonna be able to break vibranium with my own strength, and then I’ll tell King T’Challa—”

 Tony nearly launches himself at him, wrapping him up in a hug. He ruffles Peter’s hair and pats him on the back, sighing and holding him close. “I’m very proud of you. Very very. Really very.”

 “Oh,” Peter says, holding onto him. “Really?”

 “Shit, of course,” Tony laughs, wondering if he doesn’t say it enough or if that’s just Peter, always doubting himself. “I didn’t mean to interrupt. Go on.”

 “No, I’m—I was done. I’m just—I’m just gonna tell him.”

 Tony hugs him for a couple more long moments before letting go, pulling back and gripping his shoulders in continued appreciation of what he’s done here. “You’re the best, you know that? Better than Cap or Bruce. Better than all of them. Number one.”

 “Nah,” Peter says, but he’s grinning. 

 “That idiot,” Tony says, pointing over at Hammer, encased in webbing, “is one of my worst enemies.”

 Peter narrows his eyes. “Really?”

 Tony lets his arms drop. “Well. Definitely the most irritating.”

 Peter laughs. “C’mon, let’s get out of here. Don’t get mad, but I took one of the quinjets to come get you. But Friday flew the whole way so it’s technically like, not that bad.”

 Tony scoffs as they head for the way Peter came in, the red lights still flashing and indicating the absolute fucking wreck Spider-Man left Hammer’s facility in. “Kid, that quinjet? It’s yours now, I’m gifting it to you.”

 “Don’t say things you’ll take back later,” Peter says, leading him through the corridor, where a bunch of guys are webbed to the walls—some squirming, some still.

 “Nope,” Tony says, patting him on the back again. “I will not be taking that back.”

 “Okay,” Peter says, eyes wide with excitement as he grabs for his mask. “Then I would also like an Iron Man suit.”

 Tony scoffs and turns right when Peter does. “Okay, that—that we can negotiate.”

[ceilingfan5]

Wish you would write a fic where Barry runs into kravitz pre gerblins and post voidfishing

“Sildar Hallwinter, you are under arrest for the death crime of lichdom, as well as innumerable counts of necromancy!”

Barry looks behind him, and then around himself, as if maybe another Sildar Hallwinter has suddenly come into existence for this dark-robed asshole to be shouting proclamations in a funny accent at. 

“Well, bud, that sounded pretty impressive, but you’ve got the wrong guy? I don’t even go by that name, and I’m certainly no necromancer. I’m just a mercenary, a bodyguard, a fighter. Magic, I mean, magic is pretty neat, but even if I did get further than the level one textbooks I got under my bed, I don’t think I’d be, what, resurrecting people with it? Not to get nasty, but I’m sorta, uh, in the opposite line of work?”

The man with the scythe narrows his, honestly gorgeous, eyes and summons a great big ass tome out of nowhere to flip dramatically through. 

“Hallwinter, Sildar. Says here you’ve escaped the Eternal Stockade dozens of times. Do-zen-zuh.” His accent slips a little with his irritation. “You’ve come back to life four times in as many years! You-”

“See, that ain’t me? I think I’d know if I’d come back to life, but I’ve never died.”

“You have died almost forty-five times!”

Barry laughs. 

“You’ve got the wrong guy, pal! I’m just a nobody!” He thinks to the cave, and the secrets the coin has shared with him, and it kind of prods at his brain, but in that awful way that turns fuzzy when he tries to think about it, so he figures that can’t be it. “You could be talking about my father, he was a Sildar too, but he’s dead, long dead. I feel like if he’d turned into a lich, he’d at least have come visited me, you know?”

“Now listen here-”

“What’s your name? I go by Barry Bluejeans, and honestly, if we’re gonna keep havin’ this conversation I’d rather not hear that other name. Gives me the heebie jeebies. Too formal, you know? Doesn’t fit me. I never felt like a Sildar.” 

The reaper makes an exasperated noise. “If you must know, the name’s Kravitz!”

“Oh, like Lenny Kravitz?”

“Who??” 

Barry doesn’t actually know who that is either, but it felt right to say. And it was sort of satisfying to catch this guy off-guard. 

“Listen, Kravitz, I don’t think I can help you find your death criminal, but between you and me, you’re pretty easy on the eyes, so-”

“Are you fucking flirting with me?” Kravitz completely drops the accent. “You are the death criminal! You’re one of the worst death criminals I’ve ever seen! There are fifteen pages in my book detailing your crimes! Sildar-”

“Barry,” he reminds. 

“BARRY! You are coming with me to the Eternal Stockade and that’s that!” 

“Aw shit, are we gonna have to fight? I really didn’t want to get into a fight today.” Barry sighs, and he draws his sword. 

“It’s not going to be much of a fight,” Kravitz declares, tone a little haughty, and he dives at Barry. 

Barry wakes up in a cave an hour later and he screams and screams and screams. He’s been found. And he has to move.

[mymelodyheart]

Starting Over Chapter 30 ~The Last Stand~

Claire stepped out of the pub, inhaled the fresh cold Autumn air and plucked the phone from the back of her jeans pocket. She'd decided to give Jamie a call to find out if he was still working. She listened to the phone ring while navigating the pavement filled with people coming in and out of pubs and restaurants. The time spent with her friend John had been pleasant and refreshing. It was great to talk to someone who wasn't from within her social circle and not had to go into discussions about Jamie and her present concerns. For the first time in ages, she felt more optimistic. Maybe it had something to do with the change of scene after being stuck in the repetitive work, home and sleep cycle. Or perhaps it had to do with her decision to stop moping and thinking the worse of what's to come. Being alone with her own thoughts at the moment wasn't a great idea by a long shot, which could cost her at the worst of times her peace of mind. Geillis was right. She needed to be more proactive about her issues instead of dwelling on the negativity.

Jamie's voicemail came on, so she terminated the call, weaving through a small group of revellers as she came closer to her destination. If he wasn't home, she knew he would be soon. Mildly tipsy, she'd left John at the pub not long after a couple of his friends had joined them at their table. She'd made it a point that a pint of lager and a dram of whisky was her limit for tonight if she was going to make it to Jamie's place whole and without staggering. 

The sky was overcast and dark by the time she made it to Jamie's building and slipped the key into the main entrance, opening the heavy, wooden door. She hadn't seen his BMW parked anywhere in the street and thought he must still be working. Shivering and feeling the cold, she rubbed her hands together, craving for a nice mug of tea and the comfort of the snug recliner. She made a move towards the stairs, the sounds of her clunky boots echoing in the hall and the retro-styled wall lamp dramatically illuminating the interior as she started her ascend.

When she finally made it to the apartment, she slid the key into the lock, opened the door and slipped in. She heard jazz music coming from the surround system, and the lights in the hallway were dimmed.  Jamie's home!  Anticipation bloomed in her heart. He must have taken the taxi and left his car somewhere, a habit they both had when they'd had a bit to drink. Humming, she pulled off her jacket and hanged it in the cloak wardrobe. She stopped by the console table to deposit her keys and phone, and saw several post-it notes in Jamie's hurried writing and crumpled receipts. She absentmindedly glanced at them and lifted her head when she heard movements in the kitchen.

Impatiently, she toed off her ankle boots and headed towards the door that led to the open-plan room, a smile curving her lips when the smell of pizza made her stomach growl. It was a stranger's voice that froze her smile, a distinctly soft feminine laugh. She opened the door slowly, the lit kitchen illuminating a brunette girl with only a towel draped around her body. The girl was tall, and her long dark hair fell in soft waves just below her shoulders. She was pouring wine into two glasses.

Her head pounding and chest tightening, Claire stepped into the room. A part of her was screaming for her to leave immediately, but the other half wanting to see this through, to look Jamie in the eyes and show him she would not disintegrate. Although her feet weighed like lead, she took another step. And then another, the thin string of control almost at its breaking point, ready to snap at any moment. 

When the girl finally turned and realised she wasn't alone, she let out an ear-piercing scream that sent a pair of heavy feet running towards their direction and almost busting Claire's eardrums.

Claire's hand clenched, her fury pushing hard through her veins. She ignored the girl's screams and waited for Jamie to come out.   But ...

"Claire? What are ye doing here?"

Holy sweet Moses!  Instead of Jamie, she was greeted by a stark naked Rabbie. Flusteredly pointing her finger at his dangly bits, she clapped a hand over her eyes and looked the other way. "Oh for the love of God, Rabbie put that ...that ...that thingy away." Tall as Jamie as he was but a gangly version, no way was she ever going to look at Jamie's wee brother the same way again. And to say the very least, there was certainly nothing wee about him.

"It's a penis," he said, his voice tinged with amusement. "Jamie's got the same, ye ken?"

Oh God, he's even as cocky as his brother.  A hand still covering her eyes, Claire stomped her foot to make a point. "Rabbie!! I know what it is, for heaven's sake ...just put it away and put some clothes on, will you? I'm not speaking to you unless you're fully clothed."

"Roberto? What is the meaning of this? Who is this woman? What is she doing here?" the brunette girl rapidly launched the questions in a thick Spanish accent. 

" Tranquila querida, it's only my future sister-in-law," he soothed. "Come, let's get dressed."

Future sister-in-law? Oh, whatever next?

"But she saw your berenjena,"  the brunette pointed out, a sulk evident in her tone.

"You calling my cock an aubergine?" Rabbie gently chided. "Now that's uncalled for."

The girl giggled as Claire heard them move away, and only when she was certain she was alone, did she take her hand off her eyes.

With shaking knees, she collapsed onto the nearest chair and wondered what the hell just happened.

..........

Jamie checked his phone as he headed towards the parking lot and noticed he had a missed call from Claire. She hadn't left a message, and when he'd tried to call back, she didn't answer. He'd just finished a session of photocalls for a sports magazine and was hoping to catch up with her in the pub. And find out more about this, John.  But which pub?

His thoughts zeroed in on Joe and immediately called his number.

"Hey, buddy." Joe sounded merry, and there were music and loud voices in the background. He thought maybe he joined Claire at the pub.

"Hey, Joe. Is Claire with ye?"

"Claire? No, sorry, mate. I'm out with the lads from work. Have you tried calling her?"

"Aye, but she's not answering. She told me she's going to a pub, but I didn't have the sense to ask her earlier which one."

"Mmm, we usually frequent The Last Drop. Maybe you ought to try looking for her there."

"I will do." Jamie found his car, got in and closed his eyes, only half-listening, trying to remember his other purpose for calling.

"I hardly get to see you nowadays, buddy. Claire told me you've been really busy, and she barely gets to see you too. But then, work is work isn't it? Can't turn your nose up when the opportunity knocks. Got to take it by the ..."

"Joe." The moment he said his name, Joe stopped talking.

"Yes?"

"Claire went out with this doctor bloke ...whatshisname ...John from St Leonards. What do ye ken of him?"

"John? John Grey?"

"Aye."

"He's sound. Pretty straight-up guy, ace doctor and hilarious as fuck."

Jamie coughed, an uncomfortable weight settling in his chest. "So ye ken him good, aye?"

"Of course I do. I got Claire that temp job, didn't I? He's a good pal of mine."

Jamie got straight to the point. "Why is he hanging out with Claire? Doesn't he know ...eh ... she's with me?"

A few seconds went by before Joe let out a loud unrestrained laugh. "Whoa! Who are you, and what have you done with James Fraser?"

He muttered a curse under his breath. "Look, listen ...I don't have time for this. I haven't been around Claire lately, but that's all gonnae change very soon. It's just that I've been so busy with the sports complex and interviews and other stuff, I thought she might feel I've neglected her and all. And I was wondering if she'd said anything to ye or ye'd had any hints of her going off me and started seeing other people."

"Well, mate that's what happens when you don't keep an eye on your lass ...you snooze, you lose," he replied laughing.

Irritation skated his back. "Stop taking the mickey, Joe! If ye ken something, spit it out."

"Hey! Hold yer horses, man," Joe countered, this time his tone sounding more serious. "You can't blame me for taking the piss. Are you even listening to yourself? You start asking stupid questions, you'll get stupid answers. Fuck, Jamie ... sometimes you're a picnic short of a sandwich. What do you think of Claire? Do you think, just because you don't have time for her, she'd start seeing other people? She's got more depth than that."

Jamie banged the back of his head against the headrest of the car seat, biting his tongue so he'd not say anything he'd regret later. "Ah, bugger it."

There was a long silence on the other end. Jamie wondered if he had better luck calling up Geillis, but at his state at the moment, he didn't think he had the patience for her usual smart-ass remarks.

"John is gay." Joe finally spoke.

He straightened up. "What?"

"John is gay, and he has a boyfriend, but that isn't the point here. Even if John wasn't gay, you don't have anything to worry about Claire's devotion to you. And my piece of advice ...if your conscience is bothering you not spending much time with her this much, then I suggest you do something about it. She's been messed about a lot. And I sometimes wonder why she chose to be with a man who has a past like yours. But hey, I'm not judging. So if it feels like she is a little bit distant, it's just her self-preservation mode kicking in. She doesn't ask for much, Jamie ...but a little reassurance that you're there for her will go a long way. That's all I have to say to that."

Something loosened up inside of him, and he realised he'd been holding his breath and clutching the steering wheel in a tight grip. He allowed himself to slowly relax and breath. "Thanks, Joe," was all he could manage. Nursing unnecessary worries was probably the universe's version of biting him on the arse for all those times he'd broken many girls' hearts even though he'd told himself many times he'd never led anyone on. But right now, he needed to put those excuses and insecurities aside and focus on Claire and making their relationship stronger.

"Jamie?"

"Aye?

"Welcome to the incredible world of jealousy. For the price of admission, you get an inferiority complex, palpitations, cold sweats, and a nearly irresistible urge to commit murder, But don't worry, buddy it's all just part of the teething problem. You'll survive."

Jamie let out a laugh, said goodbye and hung up. 

Having Claire in his life was worth the self-doubt and every pain in the arse things that came with it. But Joe's words' kept repeating over and over in his head.  Well, mate that's what happens when you don't keep an eye on your lass ...you snooze, you lose.  It was meant to be a joke, but he didn't like that one bit at all. Just a glimmer of risk to his relationship, suddenly, all he'd worked hard for, lost all of its meaning. Back when his entire life was all about making money out of fear for a shortlived career, he'd been ready to sell his soul. Then he met Claire. He'd said he was done with Forbes, done with the paparazzi, done with everything but the feisty Sassenach that turned his life upside down. However, not much had changed from his old life. He was still running around, trying to court big names in the celebrity world to sell his brand. Then the realisation hit him hard that there's a possibility he could lose her for good if nothing changed and he couldn't, at that moment, ever imagine another man with her. If that happened, it wouldn't be a laughing matter. And if that happened, he would never find another woman like her and all he'd have to show for in his life were the long hours at work but with no one to share it with. Just like what Ned Gowan once told him not too long ago. He closed his eyes to keep those horrible visions at bay. But somehow the images still managed to seep into his consciousness, and it terrified the hell out of him. 

It dawned on him, he would give up everything, pay every cent of his fortune to keep Claire his.  What the hell is happening to me?  Maybe it had something to do with the time he'd spent with her when he didn't need to be anyone other than himself. Perhaps it was the way that, through her, he had taken a good hard look at himself and wanted to change. But he needed to do more to guarantee she wouldn't slip away.

But first, he needed to find her.

.........

Claire poured hot water over the chamomile tea bag in the mug and then a healthy measure of whisky in a tumbler. After the horror of seeing a half-naked girl in Jamie's kitchen and Rabbie in the bare scud, she needed the soothing effects of the herbal brew and the immediate heat of the alcohol to calm her nerves.

She lifted a hand and saw it was still shaking. She'd already taken the pizza meant for Rabbie and company out of the oven and washed the dishes to keep herself busy and pacify her jitteriness. Even the sight and smell of melted cheese couldn't entice her to have a piece of their untouched dinner, her earlier appetite gone and dissipated. The feel of walking into what's supposed to be a romantic setting clung to her, as did the guilt for doubting Jamie ...and if she kept thinking about it, she was going to need more than a dram of whisky.

Dropping down on the nearby stool, she allowed herself to simply be and for once to stop overthinking. So far it hadn't done her any good, only given her sleepless nights and probably making Jamie worried with her constant display of disappointment. These small acts of dubiety against her practical nature were starting to become a liability and a bad character trait. She really needed to pull herself together and give Jamie some credence.

Rabbie walked into the kitchen, hands shoved in the pockets of his jeans and a tinge of red highlighting the tips of his ears. "Hey," he said, clearing his throat.

They looked at each other for a moment and then burst out laughing.

He ran an impatient hand through his hair. "God, that was embarrassing."

She wiped the tears from her eyes. "You didn't seem embarrassed when I saw you bollock-naked."

"Oh, that ...no. I'm not embarrassed about that." He jerked a thumb towards the living area. "Ye weren't supposed to know what we were up to ...I meant, at least not here in Jamie's apartment."

"Your girlfriend?" she asked.

"Maria ...aye ...weel, it's complicated. We've been on and off for the last six months. Tonight wasnae supposed to happen. I called Jamie earlier if I could crash here for the night and he said yes since you hardly come here anymore. On the way, I stopped by the pub and saw her. We had a few drinks, and then one thing led to another, we came here for some privacy and then ye appeared. She's still rattled about ye being here, and she's gone all shy. I'll introduce ye another time since she desperately wants to go."

"It's getting late, Rabbie. You can stay. There's enough room."

"Thanks but no thanks. We're good."

She gave him an apologetic look. "Sorry for ruining your evening."

"Ach, think nothing of it," he reassured with a wave of a hand. He was about to turn and go when he stopped on his tracks. "Ummm ...Claire?"

"Yes?"

"Please don't tell Jamie I brought a girl here."

"If he doesn't ask, I won't say a word," she said, smiling. "After I've drunk my tea and whisky, I'll go straight to bed, so I don't think Jamie will get a chance to ask questions."

"Thank you," he said gratefully. "umm ...I cleared all evidence in the guest bedroom."

"Good."

"See ye around, Claire."

She nodded and waved at the girl, thankful she didn't have to go through small talks with Rabbie's on and off girlfriend. As much as she would have loved to know more about the beautiful exotic looking girl, she couldn't wait to be on her own. Suddenly feeling spent from the roller-coaster emotions she'd been through that day, she downed the whisky in one go. She and Jamie needed to talk. Jamie wasn't the only one dealing with these massive changes in their lives. In the space of three months, there had been enormous upheavals in both their personal and professional lives, and she needed to tell him exactly what she was feeling even if only to vent and release what was troubling her. Constantly letting her imaginations run away from her wasn't healthy and certainly not good for their relationship.

Satisfied with her logic, she went to Jamie's bedroom, undressed and put on one of his t-shirts. And then she went to the kitchen and poured herself another dram, forgoing the tea, and taking it with her to the living area. Placing it on the coffee table, she plonked herself down on the massive leather recliner. It was her favourite place to snuggle into beside Jamie's arm. It had a remote, a seat warmer and it reclined into full position. Pulling the tartan blanket over her, she made herself comfortable. Forty winks were all she needed to regenerate and rid herself of today's troubles before Jamie arrives.

As she began to relax, a sense of peace settled over her. She murmured occasional comments to herself, reminding her of the things she needed to tell Jamie and making a mental to-do list for tomorrow. Gradually her limbs became heavier, and her lids closed, the image of the list floating away with her awareness.

"Claire?"

Her name sounded like dark syrup and caramel, rolling from a tongue. She sighed and lifted her face upward, too drowsy to raise her arms - the distinctive scent of Jamie, soap, and a hint of aftershave connecting to her senses. 

"Hmmm?"

Calloused fingers caressed her cheek, and she leaned against that warm hand and kissed his palm. A low mutter escaped his lips. "Christ, Sassenach, I've been looking everywhere for ye."

"I'm here" She stretched, her muscles contracting and releasing in anticipation. She sighed. "And you smell delicious."

"Sweet Jesus, ye're killing me."

The foggy haze of sleep clouded her brain waves. She blinked and reached out to brush back a strand of curl that fell on his brow and trace the edges of his soft, full lips with a fingertip. "You're so beautiful," she murmured. "Far too beautiful for me, though. Aren't you, Jamie?"

"A dhia. What am I going to do with ye?"

His lips brushed over hers, warm, firm, and sure, sipping from her mouth like he was savouring an expensive glass of whisky. The taste of him exploded on her tongue, and she whimpered, opening to him fully. He kissed her slow, without any concern about taking his time, tasting and sucking languidly until she dissolved into the recliner and the flesh between her legs throbbed with need. 

Just when she was fidgeting to get more of him, he broke the kiss and stared into her eyes. "I was out of my mind searching every pub in Edinburgh for ye. And when I went to yer cottage, and ye weren't there, I thought ...I thought ...Christ I dinnae even want to say the words. Just thinking about it is tearing my guts out."

A little butterfly fluttered in her belly. "I'm sorry ..."

"No." He swept a hand over her hair and cupped her cheek, an unfamiliar light gleaming in his blue eyes. "I'm the one who owes ye an apology."

The unfiltered display of concern, dread and hope was visible in his face, making her want to alleviate the burdens on his shoulders and erase the worries she'd caused. He was trying so hard for her, a terrain she'd never encountered before when she was with Frank. She straightened and laid a soft kiss on his lips. "Well, I guess we just need to talk things over and ..."

Jamie gently pushed her back down onto the recliner. "Where do ye think ye're going?"

She frowned. "Ah, well, bedroom ... that's if you don't mind me staying over for the night," she mumbled.

"Is that so?" he whispered, a flicker of amusement lighting his eyes.

"Huh?"

"No."

"No?"

"Open yer thighs for me, Sassenach," he murmured, a muscle popping in his cheek. Without waiting for her reply or reaction, his lips coasted along her jawline, his hot breath on her skin, sending shivers spiralling down her spine.

"Jamie!"

"Sssh, let me love ye, Sassenach."

She wanted to object. There was so much she needed to say, express and unload, but her body had other things in mind. Her legs parted of their own accord, her desire to feel Jamie more potent than she realised.

Shifting on his knees by the recliner, Jamie slid his palm up her inner thigh. He stalled when he reached her centre and planted two fingers over the soaked seam of her panties, stroking the sensitive flesh underneath with deliberate slowness. Every particle of oxygen in Claire's lungs rushed out of her, lust turning the corner like a horse set free and thundering across the paddock. She could only close her eyes and allow Jamie to slip his hand inside the tiny scrap of garment that hid her modesty.

When his fingers slid down her wetness, her hips jerked on a moan and heat flashed in Jamie's expression. 

She grabbed his shirt, drawing him in for a kiss, to taste more of him.

"No," Jamie muttered.

"Please, Jamie. I need you. I want you inside me." They weren't the words she'd planned to say tonight. But she still meant it in a way that went beyond her physical need. She needed his presence, his heart, his love, his mind, his spirit, and everything that makes Jamie, Jamie.

"No, Sassenach," he whispered, shaking his head and biting his lip. His fingers parted her folds and teased her nub in a tight circle. "I want to watch ye."

Head dropping back, her brain started to short-circuit, and her pulse boomed in her ears. She almost cried out loud when Jamie's touch abandoned her briefly to push the blanket away and strip her panties off, baring her for his perusal. Not that she could find an ounce of shyness left to care at that particular moment. The way he was touching her, rid the last vestige of finesse and decorum she had left, writhing wantonly to the movement of his skilful fingers. She was so hot, she thought her skin would surely scorch if touched.

"Sassenach, look at ye. So fucking beautiful, so bloody perfect I could do this for eternity, and it would never be enough."

Jamie rubbed her swollen nub with his thumb, chuckling when her back bowed with a groan. His laughter subsided when he lowered his head and sucked the tip of her breasts through her shirt. Just when she thought she couldn't take any more of his ministration, he caught her nipple between his teeth and simultaneously, twisted his middle finger up inside of her.

"Oh God, oh sweet Mother of God," she whimpered. "I can't...oh, Jamie, please. It's too much."

"Aye, ye can,  mo chridhe," he said hoarsely, adding a second finger and pushing up her shirt to suck her nipple. "Move your hips more."

Jamie's command only drove her urgency higher. Unable to reply, her body did the talking and obeyed his instructions, her body thrashing as sob after sob escaped her lips. Her movements became more frantic when a coil inside her wound tighter and tighter, and his fingers delved in deeper. With her nerve endings going off like little bells, Claire moved her hips in time with his fingers. They drove in and out of her, faster and faster until she almost couldn't stand the oncoming onslaught of an impending release. It built, engulfed and intensified around her, just like in an opera when the act reaches a crescendo.

"Oh, my God, Jamie ...Jamie," she cried out, seizing the front of his shirt. "I'm...yes, yes, yes."

The climax billowed through her and clutched her muscles, blowing cinders at her nerves until she swore she would combust. Jamie's finger found her sweet spot and stroke it with swift, sure movements, a scream forming in the back of her throat.

"Aye, scream yer little heart out, Sassenach. That's my lass."

And she did, making her orgasm more luminescent and sweeping like she could jump into it and disappear. Perhaps she did for a few heartbeats, because when she finally opened her eyes, there was only the smell of Jamie's neck, the feel of his strong arms around her, even though she had no recollection of him pulling her close.

He kissed her softly, a small smile lighting his handsome face.

After her heart had settled into its usual rhythm, she reached out and touched his face. "Jamie, we need to talk." When he frowned, she quickly gave him a reassuring squeeze with her hand. "No ...it's nothing bad ...or anything like that. It's just that I have a few things I need to get off my chest."

Relief descended on his expression, softening his face, almost making her feel guilty she was the cause of the worried look. "Aye, tomorrow, we'll talk ..."

"But you're working, and we'd been putting this off ..."

"Are ye working tomorrow?" he asked, his thumb caressing the base of her neck.

"I have a late shift and ..."

"I'll take the morning off, and we'll talk." When she didn't answer, he pulled his phone from the back of his jeans pocket and made a demonstration of turning it off. "Phone off. Tomorrow, we'll have breakfast and talk. But tonight I just want to hold ye, is that alright, Sassenach?

She nodded, sighed and went limp, suddenly feeling drowsy but a lot lighter in her chest.

Moments later, he carried her boneless body to bed and laid her carefully down on her back. After a quick wash in the bathroom, Jamie stripped off his clothes, climbed into bed, and curved his front to her back, holding her tightly in the dark.

Just before sleep claimed her, she heard Jamie whisper, "Ye're mine, Sassenach as I'm yers," his arms pulling her in closer as if afraid she would get up and go. Before she could dwell on it, his words danced away with her consciousness into the oblivion of deep sleep.

[howlingmedic]

Coming Home: Chapter 5

Coming Home: 

Previous | Next

Synopsis: what happens when the person who finally made their world make sense is taken from them? What happens when the people who were supposed find her can’t?

Relationship: Stucky x Angel!OFC

Warnings: angst, references to religion, references to torture, references to wounds, poorly explained technology, probably incorrect science, shifting POV because I’m the worst, my shit writing

A/N: This chapter is two parts. One part is like normal. The other is actually something I wrote a while ago in 1st person from Allie’s POV, and is what inspired this whole story. I tried to change it to 3rd person, and I hated it like that, so I switched it back and left it as is. It also used to be a standalone chapter, but I decided both chapters were too short, so now they’re one weird chapter. 

Chapter Five: How they Got Here

“We gonna talk about it?” Bucky asked as they walked to the bikes they had acquired through their travels. Steve smirked. “Talk about what? It was just decorative,” he answered coyly despite knowing full well what Bucky wanted to talk about. The questioning looks had been impossible to miss while they got dressed. Honestly, Steve was surprised Bucky had held his tongue this long. “Steven Grant Rogers, you did not make a design alteration to your uniform based solely on aesthetics after a day like today, now spill,” Bucky huffed as he dumped his essentials in the saddle pocket. “I don’t want to serve the public anymore, at least not today. This is about us. The star… it didn’t seem right, not while I’m being selfish, so I took it off. Now, Let’s get our asses in gear. Jet should be touching down in an hour.” That firmly ended the discussion. It was that simple; Steve’s tone made that part clear, and his expression made it clear they could talk later when all three of them could be involved. Bucky shrugged and swung his leg over the bike. Steve decided in that moment that if they made it out of this, he was buying that man a motorcycle.

Five hours had elapsed since Tony’s phone call. Fury had called and informed them he had returned their status to active duty - Steve only slightly cringed at the comment - and that this was now an official mission. All requisite communication devices and extra weapons would be waiting for them on the jet. They also had been granted the full force of the Avengers - minus Banner, who would be standing by with Loki, Cho, Strange, and an entire med team on a separate jet. They were to meet the team just outside the tiny town they had been using as a base of operations in the southernmost part of Spain. They would then fly to Chad, which was where the heat signature had been. The rest was a rescue mission just like any other, except it wasn’t at all.

The tone on the jet was tense, and the air was electric. Nobody dared to speak a word for the first 10 minutes. Natasha gave Bucky a gentle squeeze on the upper arm, Tony clapped Steve on the shoulder and gave him a firm nod, and Sam gave them both one-armed hugs. Even during those silent exchanges, you could hear a pin drop. Once the jet had reached their cruising altitude, Natasha cleared her throat and stood. “Look, none of us like this situation. We all take this one personally because it is, but we’ve got a job to do. Everyone should have the plan shared to their tablets, I’ll pull it up on the big screen, and we can go over it one more time, but I think we’ve all committed it to memory by now.”

Steve lost track of what she said after that. He knew his part. It was the same as any other mission: use his shield, knock out or kill the bad guys, and don’t die. This time it just had the added task of rescuing the woman he loved. At some point, he stole a look at Bucky, who seemed equally zoned out. Everyone else’s faces were focused intently on their tablets. Natasha caught their gaze and gave them a weak smile; she always had a way of knowing. Once she finished talking, the jet fell silent again. Everyone seemed to be absorbing the gravity of the situation. Steve’s eyes remained fixed on the glowing blue form on the screen that had 45 Amps next to it. He wished they could pull the scan down, that he could forget that reading was far too low. Tony had told them it was one-tenth of what it usually was 6 hours ago. It was another hour of flying to Chad. Steve wasn’t sure if it had changed since Tony had first told them it was low. Nobody had commented on it, so he had to assume everything was staying stable, but somehow having a number tied to Tony’s comments made them more concrete.

Every once in awhile, he saw the form move. The first time it had given him hope. It had proved she was alive. After a little while, he couldn’t help himself, he studied every movement. Sometimes, it was just a shift. Like she was trying to get more comfortable. Others, he saw her jerk, and the number would drop. 45 down to 42, then it recovered to 44. 44 dropped to 39. Steve froze. Bucky looked up and sighed at the screen. Steve wasn’t sure if the sigh was from something Bucky was contending with internally or a reaction to the changing energy measurements. Steve quickly decided he couldn’t care right now, and his attention returned fully to the screen. When the number rose back to 42, Steve decided he preferred things when it stayed in the 40s.

Some of the panic seeped from his mind when the numbers on the screen stopped changing, and the eerily incandescent blob that represented Allie seemed to calm on the sceen. Steve glanced over at Bucky, and smiled softly at what he saw. Bucky’s eyes had fallen closed, but his breathing hadn’t steadied like he was sleeping. If Steve strained, he could hear him whispering. “C’mon, doll, just hang in there. We’re coming.” Then Steve’s eyes flicked back up to the screen eager to see if he might be able to watch Allie react. At first Steve’s heart soared: the number rose slightly to 43. Then, the world froze while the figure on the screen thrashed harder than Steve had seen yet before going inhumanly still. “Bucky! Stop!” Everyone’s eyes went wide, and they stared at Steve, who just gaped and stared at the screen: 43, 39, 35, 20, before coming to a halt at 17. “Fuck, Clint, fly faster!” Steve cried, his voice high and desperate.

The number on the screen didn’t look like it was going anywhere, which wasn’t the best outcome, but it was better than free falling. Bucky sagged in his seat, and Steve blew out a hard breath before he could focus on him. “I know what you were trying to do, babe,” Steve said under his breath so only Bucky could hear him.

“Doesn’t matter what I was tryin’ to do, Steve. Matters that I mighta almost fuckin’ killed her.”

“You had no way of knowing that would happen, so don’t you dare get all hard on yourself now. We don’t have time for that shit right now. We just gotta get in there, get her, get out. We’ve got at most three hours till she’s in the hands of the most capable people in the cosmos and back in our arms. She’s strong. She’ll pull through, pal,” Steve promised and hoped to anyone who was listening that it sounded more confident than he felt.

“Alright, alright, quit bein’ sappy before we go to work,” Bucky snarked. Steve knew it was nothing more than a brave face, but he knew better than to argue right now. Instead, he turned his attention back to the screen. 20 Amps. How many did she need to live?

It wasn’t supposed to go like this. I wasn’t supposed to be laying in a cell, filthy and chained up. I certainly wasn’t supposed to be drained of all my grace to the point where I couldn’t even hide my wings in a pocket dimension anymore. No, it wasn’t supposed to have gone like this at all.

I wasn’t even sure how long I had been gone. Over two weeks, but beyond that, I had no idea. Three weeks? Months? I was reasonably confident it hadn’t reached the point of being missing for years, but it was possible. Without knowing how long I had been unconscious, I couldn’t be sure of anything. Hell, maybe I was dead and in an angel’s version of Hell. Reports of The Empty were sketchy at best, so it was all theoretically possible at this point.

There was a whisper of Bucky’s voice in my head again. It was just barely audible, but he was begging me to hold on, promising me he was going to bring me home. I twisted and writhed against the chains again, felt the edges of the cuffs dig deep into the cuts on my wrists, ankles, and the joints of my wings. I screamed again, and my voice came out raw and broken, and the scream left me coughing and gagging with no moisture left to soothe my irritated throat. To spare what little grace I had left and try to heal it was to risk dying  - actually dying… or dying in whatever hellish delusion I was stuck in.

“How the fuck had it gone this wrong? How the fuck did they overpower us, and how did they know about angel cuffs? We had destroyed them all, destroyed any trace of them, and yet here they were,” My brain cycled through the usual questions that consumed my thoughts when I was coherent. Bucky’s voice crying, pleading with me not to let go, cut through the drone of my reflection once more. I ripped against the chains harder in hopes that maybe this time I could break them. I felt my shoulder pop out of its socket, and I tried to scream again, but no sound would come out. I had lost my last asset, my one way to punish my captors. At least my screams made me a nuisance, it made me unpleasant to be around, but now I had nothing. No way to resist them, no way to fight back.

And as if being trapped here wasn’t enough of a punishment, my own brain had finally turned against me. I was hearing my lovers’ voices calling out to me when I knew the cuffs binding me would block any prayers. The only conclusion I could come to as I slipped unconscious again and relived the moments that landed me here one more time was that I had to have lost my mind and begun hallucinating.

It started like any other day of clearing out some cell trying to carry out Thanos’ mission - there had been a surprising number since his defeat and the reversal of the snap. Identify, negotiate, fail to reach an agreement, arrest, clear the base, and destroy it while agents interrogate each member of the cell.

That’s where it had gone wrong. There had been more of them - enhanced members - hiding in a room below the floorboards, and they had ambushed us. Someone strong, stronger than any natural human, had clamped the cuffs tights over my wrists. The sudden lack of grace flowing through me had dropped me to my knees with a shriek, but the others couldn’t come back. They were evenly matched with their combatants. This crew had studied each of us meticulously. They knew what they were up against, and they knew the best way to get to three of the best hand to hand fighters in the world was to take one of them out of the equation and use that to distract the other two. I happened to be the one with a kryptonite.

Whatever had happened next was a mystery. I had come-to in a damp, windowless, and quite possibly subterranean cell somewhere in the Saharan Desert. Food had been chucked my direction once every so often. If it was daily, I had spent at least 14 days stuck in this hell hole hoping someone could find me, and that hope was the last thing I had binding me to any semblance of sanity, but that seemed to have slipped away.

Footsteps. That was the first thought I could form when I came to again. They were drawing closer, and I muffled a scream as I pulled myself into a ball. Maybe if I pretended to still be unconscious they would spare me for a day.

[rainandhotchocolate]

One Life Stand - Part 5 (Finale)

A/N - Hello it is here! The final part! Just a pre-warning, it gets a liiiiil smutty towards the end there… just in case you’re reading on the bus ;) I hope you enjoy!

“Marlene!” Y/N banged on the door of her house, “I need to talk to you!”

“Yes, hello?” Marlene laughed at Y/N slightly harangued expression. Y/N had been working up the courage to head over all-day and had taken to drinking a beer, or two, to see if that might increase the chances of being able to harass one of her best friends. 

“Sorry, I may have had a couple of drinks before coming over here” Y/N grinned sheepishly.

“It’s 12pm” Marlene raised an eyebrow at her.

“May had needed some liquid courage”

“To see me?” Marlene laughed at her, but Y/N’s expression remained extremely uncomfortable. I am the worst human in history. 

“I need to ask you a question” Y/N felt sick, she had never wanted to hurt her but didn’t quite think that would cover her sleeping with Marlene’s long-term crush.

“Is this about Sirius?” Marlene sighed and indicated for her to come inside. It somehow made it worse that Marlene already knew, Y/N head was racing. How did she know? Dear god was I so drunk the other night that I kissed him in front of her? I am literally the worst friend alive Jesus Christ almighty.

“Are you alive in there?”

Y/N pulled herself out of her spiral.

“Sorry yes, yes um… how did you-?”

“When he took you home” Marlene sat down on her couch, smiling up at her, “he wouldn’t do that for just anybody.”

“Oh” was all Y/N managed, avoiding Marlene’s gaze and staring at the floor.

“Look at me, will you? I’m not mad ok.” 

“What? I mean I would understand if you were, I am so so sorry I hope you know that I wasn’t- “ Y/N stepped towards her, sitting across from Marlene and looking at her closely.

“Ok, please stop!” Marlene was still laughing at her but sighed when Y/N stared at her, extremely confused, “look, I never had a crush on Sirius, not really.”

“But you- “

“Please just let me finish ok, this is important.” Y/N nodded watching Marlene as she began to tap her nails on the coffee table, “This isn’t exactly something I wanted to share on a whim. I… look I never meant to lie to you guys”

“Ok…? Is everything ok?”

“Yes, I just…” Marlene took in a gulp of air, “You really like Sirius, don’t you?”

“I mean I-“Marlene looked at her pointedly and Y/N sighed, “Yes, I’m sorry”

“Y/N, I’m a lesbian,” Marlene finally blurted out and she stopped moving, facing Y/N head-on. Y/N said nothing, but froze, staring at her. This was not what she expected to hear. 

“Please say something” Marlene watched her nervously, and Y/N moved closer to her, grabbing one of her hands.

“Marlene, thank you for telling me, I’m so sorry if I pushed you at all” Y/N paused, wanting desperately to say the right thing, “I hope you know that I’m here for you with this kind of stuff.”

“No, I know, I’ve been wanting to for a while I just, I’d told you about Sirius and when Lily messaged me that night, I didn’t want her hearing about well… that I wasn’t with a guy.” Marlene looked a little apologetic, “I had a feeling that you might come asking me about it ever since you bailed on my party, Sirius wouldn’t stop glaring at anyone who tried to speak to him”

“Yeah he can be a bit of a sour puss” Y/N laughed, still holding onto Marlene’s hand. 

“Yes he can, I mean men, in general, are a bit sour for me” Marlene winked at Y/N, squeezing her hand and letting go, “Can you not tell Lily or anything? I’d rather tell her myself.”  

“Of course! I wouldn’t dream of sharing this with anyone,” Marlene smiled gratefully at her, before turning back on her normal mischievous grin, “Now please leave and get a hard-on with Sirius. Remus said he hasn’t left his house in two days, it’s becoming pitiful. 

“Yeah ok, can do” Y/N pulled her into a hug, “I am genuinely sorry if I forced this for you.”

“Just get going, don’t let this awkward interaction stop you from going over to Sirius’”                                            

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

Y/N pressed the buzzer down hard, stumbling a little on the steps leading up to Sirius’ apartment block.

“What?” Sirius’ voice sounded irritated at someone interrupting his evening, but Y/N continued with her drunken plan regardless.

“It’s Y/N, you have to let me in, I need to talk to you”

“It’s really not a good time”

“Please, 5 minutes” Y/N begged at the soundbox, feeling a little stupid when she realised, he couldn’t see her. There was a pause where Y/N could feel herself sobering up to her stupidity before she heard the click that meant the door had been unlocked.

“5 minutes” Sirius’ voice came back again, but Y/N had already pushed open the door and was rushing towards his apartment. Sirius already had the door open and was blocking her from walking inside. He narrowed his eyes at her, Y/N grinning ecstatically with bright red cheeks.

“Are you drunk?”

“A little” Y/N mimed a little with her fingers. Sirius huffed at her, and Y/N caught a strong whiff of whiskey coming from his breath, “And you’re one to talk, did you drink a bottle before I got here?”

“Haven’t had the best of weeks” Sirius’ jaw tightened, and he continued to glare at her, obviously determined to seem as pissed off as possible.

“Not really the best way to get through a rough time”

“You’re one to talk! I tell you I need space and you get pissed and turn up at my apartment?” Sirius’ got louder, letting Y/N get under his skin, “I don’t need to be explaining myself to you anyway, you’re not my girlfriend.” 

Y/N, choosing to ignore the spite in his voice, continued to press him. 

“Please, can you just let me in?”

“I’m sorry, you’re here to have me discuss more about this. We’ve had this fight, Y/N, maybe I wasn’t clear enough for you if you want me at all in your life, I need some space.”

“But I don’t want space, I w-”

“This isn’t about what you want! For Christ’s sake, Y/N, we’ve been doing what you want for months now and it hasn’t exactly gone to plan now has it?” Sirius was yelling now, feeling extremely frustrated at the girl standing in front of him, “I’m not going to take it out on you that you don’t feel the same way about me ok? But that doesn’t mean I can just pretend that we are happy-go-lucky best pals. Look, can you please go?”

He tried to look calmer and moved the door slightly to close her out.

“No! Can you listen to me for one second? We haven’t had this fight, you never told me what you wanted!”

“You were clear with what you wanted, so it didn’t really matter did it?”

“Yes, it does, you absolute idiot, I wanted more as well, I want more” Y/N gripped onto his arm as he began to turn away and froze, not looking at her.

“Are you kidding me?” Sirius said quietly, his eyes closing and other hand reaching for his temple, “You are actually ridiculous, you know that?”

“Excuse me?” Y/N let go of his arm, shocked.

“You tell me, again and again, you want nothing more, you leave in the middle of the night just so you don’t wake up at my house – but of course, the moment I mention that I wanted something more you’ve suddenly changed your mind?” Sirius was laughing now, in a slightly creepy way that made Y/N a little nervous that he had finally cracked, “You just want what you can’t have don’t you? I don’t have time for you to be figuring out your own problems on me.”

Y/N took this moment of insanity to slip passed him and into the apartment, resulting in Sirius groaning loudly and rolling his eyes.

“Y/N-“

“No, you will listen to me, I am so SO sorry that I ever confused you with the way I acted, and I completely get where you are coming from but you have to believe me, I always wanted more, I just got worried about Marlene and then when I heard you slept with her-“

“I didn’t!” Sirius interrupted but Y/N waved him away.

“I know! I know, but you have no idea how jealous I felt when I heard that”

“So, you tell me to go after her? What a smart and logical plan”

“I didn’t say I wasn’t an idiot as well” Y/N smiled up at him and Sirius couldn’t help but bark a laugh in agreeance.

“I just, I get that you believe that… I just don’t know if I do” Y/N felt like he had slapped her, her stomach flipping over and over.

“Please, what can I do?” Y/N looked up at him, pleadingly, praying that there was something that would make him believe that all the stupid things she’d done were nothing but that, stupid things. Sirius stepped closer to her, and for a moment she couldn’t help but look at his lips, so close to hers, but Sirius merely opened the door behind him.

“I just need you to leave, ok?” He said quietly, not looking at her in the eye. Y/N could feel the alcohol she had so copiously drunk earlier in the evening clouding every logical synapse in her brain as she decided on potentially the dumbest plan she’d had that day. Grabbing the back of his head with one hand and his waist with the other, she kissed him.

He didn’t move at first, clearly a little shocked, but Y/N heard him mumble fuck as she pushed him into the door, closing it and pressing herself up against him and suddenly his tongue was flicking itself into her mouth. She moaned a little as their tongues touched and he grabbed the side of her waist, pulling her closer to him and edging his hand down to her ass, grabbing it roughly.

Breathing heavily, Sirius spun them suddenly so that Y/N was against the door and placed both hands on her ass so he could lift her legs up and around his waist, using the door to keep her in place. She ran her hands through his hair and began kissing down his neck and collarbone, sucking lightly every time he moaned.

“You might want to tighten your grip around my waist” he whispered into her ear, sending a small shiver down her spine as he pushed her harder up against the door and pulled her upwards so she was able to grip her thighs tightly. He let one hand go from her ass, moving it up toward her inner thigh. She gasped as she felt his fingers make their way between her legs and slink their way under her skirt and towards her underwear. Sirius watched her closely, smirking every time he felt her breathing hitch before he moved his thumb underneath the soft material and over her clitoris and Y/N couldn’t help but grab onto the edge of the bookcase standing next to her.

“Fuck, you are so wet” Sirius murmured, leaning in and kissing down her collarbone as she moaned at his touch.

“Let’s just say this isn’t the first time today I’ve thought about this” Y/N gasped in response, grinning as he bit his lip and continued to move his thumb lightly across her vulva. Suddenly he moved his fingers downward and pushed his index finger into her vagina.

“Sirius” She moaned, closing her eyes and letting herself move up and down slightly with his touch, “I want more”

Sirius slipped in a second finger, moving them in slight circles as he pumped them inside her, loving watching her writhe whilst wrapped around him, letting him feel every time she bucked her hips so she could feel more of him. He watched her breasts bounce, her head lightly hitting the door frame as he moved harder into her, loving how easy it was for him to get her to lose control.

Y/N could feel herself begin to drip onto his fingers, her brain wanting nothing more than to orgasm into him. She reached and grabbed the back of his head, pulling it in towards her lips.

“I want you to fuck me” She whispered, “please”

Sirius growled, but said nothing, pulling himself out of her and wrapping his arms once again around her waist. He paused for a moment, watching her catch her breath and stare back at him, waiting for Sirius to make the next move. Then, he pulled her away from the door and towards the nearest surface he could find, his kitchen bench, lying her across it. Y/N, however, sat up and used her legs to pull her pelvis against his. She kept her eyes on his as she reached down and unbuckled his belt slowly, enjoying Sirius’ face become more and more desperate as she took her time to pull down his jeans and reveal his very hard dick.

He stepped out of them, and bit his lip again, looking up at Y/N sitting on his counter, skirt hitched up around her waist and nipples now showing through her shirt. He raised an eyebrow, sliding his hands underneath her shirt, groaning as he felt nothing but her skin, her breasts bare and heaving.

“Didn’t think to put on a bra this morning?” he said, massaging her breasts roughly as she arched her back.

“Thought you might need some extra persuading”

“That’s a bit of a dangerous game to play” His eyes trailing down her body, her shirt now pulled up so just the edge of her breasts were showing as she lay back onto the counter again. There was something about only some of them showing that made his heart pound harder. Y/N grinned slyly at him.

“Might need to punish me then”

That was all Sirius needed to pull down her underwear and bring her hips up against his, pushing his dick deep into her. They both moaned together, Sirius leaning over the counter to push himself harder into her, Y/N using the edge of the counter to hold herself into him, gripping her thighs tightly around his hips once more.

“You feel so damned good, Y/N” Sirius moaned to her, transfixed by her body moving underneath him, breasts moving up and down from her shirt, her head pushed back onto the counter.

“You know I think about this all the time” Y/N looked up at him, watching for his reaction, “About you pushing me up against things, pushing yourself harder and harder into me”

“Fuck, Y/N” He growled at her, gripping tighter onto her body so he could control their movements further.

“Sometimes it’s all I can think about” She gasped as he pushed himself harder into her vagina, moving his hands towards her inner thigh, “How wet you make me, how much I want to feel you cum whilst on top of me”

He groaned loudly, moving his thumb further down her legs so he could press it once again onto her clitoris. She gasped, arching her back and pelvis up into him as he massaged her clitoris softly, building her orgasm into her stomach.

“Sirius, oh my god” She gasped again, her head going into overdrive as he stimulated both areas. He lifted her up so that she was sitting upright, being half held up by Sirius and half leaning on the countertop. He pulled her hair back roughly, revealing her neck so he could suck onto the corner of her shoulder.

“You think I don’t think about it?” He murmured into her shoulder blades, feeling Y/N’s heavy breathing underneath him, “About how good it feels to be inside you, watching you writhe because of me, hearing you moan my name”

Y/N moaned loudly at his words, making him smile cheekily at her, and move faster, wanting to hear her moan louder as the head of his penis pushed its way into her repeatedly. Y/N’s legs began to shake as she closed her eyes, concentrating on the pleasure that was getting stronger and stronger as Sirius pushed himself inside her. Sirius pulled her body closer against his, wanting to feel her shake.

“I want to hear you,” He said to her, lifting one of his hands underneath her shirt and placing his finger on her right breast, flicking her nipple lightly as she began to moan louder. Sirius’ breathing hitched alongside hers.

“Sirius” Y/N eyes rolled back into her head as she orgasmed, throwing her head back, “Fuck, yes”

“Yes, cum for me Y/N” Sirius growled, continuing to push in and out of Y/N as she rode out her orgasm until Sirius moaned loudly and pushed himself deeply into Y/N as he came inside her.

“Christ Y/N” Sirius gasped, leaning his body over hers, pulling out carefully.

Y/N couldn’t help but grin giddily at him, pulling down her skirt and hopping off the counter.

“I might take a shower if that’s ok?” Y/N asked him, still breathing a little heavily, her legs shaking.

“Sure, go for it”

“Feel free to join me… if you want,” Y/N watched him closely, holding out her hand cautiously. He took it, leading her into the bathroom. They were silent as they undressed, Sirius turning on the shower and stepping in, Y/N following him. It was probably the first time that she was with him and she felt genuinely naked. Sirius watched her as she unconsciously covered herself with her arms when she stepped under the water.

“You’re beautiful you know that” Sirius murmured into her shoulder, wrapping his arms around where hers were. Y/N couldn’t help but thank every god that she wasn’t facing him as her cheeks had begun to burn.

“I know that it might take some time to trust me, I get that you think I’m not really in this. But I am, I promise.”

“I’m sure you can prove your love” Sirius joked, laughing at her and Y/N elbowed him lightly in the ribs.

“I’ll do my best” Y/N turned around to face him, smiling widely. He looked down at her, trailing a finger along her collarbone.

“I do, love you, you know” He said quietly, still watching her.

“Why do you think I came over?”

“So not just for sex?”

“I mean that was just a fun bonus, you know” Y/N grinned again, winking at him. He pulled her back into his chest, letting the water run over them.

“I love you too” Y/N whispered into his chest.

Taglist: 

@averytruerayofsunshine @siriuslyjanhvi @blushingskywalker @blackpinkdolan @thebabblingbookworm @cherrie511 @imlukesnirvana @avengersassemblee @maraudersandco @sly-vixen-up2nogood @katbernoulli @sirius-lysad @evyiione 

Series Taglist: @minerva26love​  @katbernoulli   @aikeia @gollyderek @greatwombatblaze  @songforhema @laue-bb @brokenhearted-littlegirl  @avengersassemblee   @gemofthegalaxy   @ruefulposts  @dude-whatawave   @itsilvermorny    @cosmetology-and-poetry    @broadwaytrash101   @blackpinkdolan

[undertalethingies]

The Third Worst Day

Loosely inspired by the ninth chapter of @undertalethingems Unexpected Guests comic, and by the end of John Mulaney’s Delta Airlines bit. (“In fact, we’re gonna frame you for MURDER! [...] ~Because we’re Delta Airlines, and life is a fucking nightmare~”)

Sans was not having the shittiest day of his life, because everyone was on the surface and Frisk was being nice this timeline. 

The second shittiest day, though- well, no, not that either, technically speaking. Nothing was on fire except maybe Undyne’s house underground, and that just because no one could be bothered to put it out when everyone was moving to the surface anyway. (Please don’t ask about the second shittiest day of Sans’ life, he will not tell you and will instead have flashbacks)

Ugh, it was really indicative that this BS only ranked third.

So, the curtain opens on the third shittiest day of Sans’ life, and maybe, like, the eighth worst thing to ever happen to him.

What could be bad enough to rank on Sans’ top ten worst days list, though? (which is a list he actually made once, as a joke, and then he looked at it and kind of wanted to cry, before laughing instead because that’s just how Sans copes with things)

Well, you see, he was being framed for murder.

Flowey, specifically, was currently attempting to frame him for the death of the old royal scientist, W.D Gaster, who Sans had met maybe once in his entire life.

Admittedly, the fact that he actually remembered said meeting, and that there had been a previous royal scientist at all, was highly unusual.

He didn’t remember for anywhere close to the reasons Flowey was insinuating, though. No, the reason Sans remembered the old royal scientist had very little to do with the scientist himself and a lot more to do with how remembering across timelines was triggered in the first place.

Cross-timeline memory retention (which are the Official Science Words for it) was triggered by high levels of Determination. No more, no less. And Sans had very high DT levels for a monster. It was pretty much the only reason he’d managed to make it to adulthood with just a single point of HP to his name. (Undyne remembered a bit too, he suspected, though he’d never called her on it)

So the reason Sans remembered the existence of Gaster was the same reason he had what little knowledge he did of the RESETs, though he remembered far less of those, due to having fewer triggers for the memories to resurface. (The fact that no one knew who had built the CORE had been enough for Sans’ mind to fill in the blanks)

Flowey was saying that Sans remembered because he’d known the guy, which was just flat out wrong. The weed was insinuating that Sans couldn’t possibly due the things he did without being a scientist, which was partially true, and finally accusing him of killing Gaster, either to steal his research or because Sans was the Judge, (Nice of Flowey to out him, the little shit) which was blatant slander.

Sans could see that the others (excluding Alphys, who knew the story was bullshit) didn’t want to believe what Flowey was saying, but he could also see that, despite that fact, he was still convincing them.

Flowey, after all, was a very skilled liar. Especially when it came to convincing people of crazy backstories he’d concocted on the spot. It made sense, since he’d had rather a lot of practice.

As Flowey finished his story, Sans looked at Alphys. He texted her a question about an old promise he’d made to her that was suddenly not one he was sure he should keep. (He’d do it anyway, if she asked, but breaking it would make disproving Flowey’s allegations that much easier.)

“And that’s why- are you on your PHONE?” Flowey interrupted himself, looking hilariously offended for someone who was actively framing a guy for murder.

“Is that how little you care? You killed him and you can’t even be bothered to hear out the allegation?” Oh, so that’s how he was playing it. Sans narrowed his eyes, just a bit, before responding.

“eh, you looked like you were having fun. wouldn’t want to interrupt, ya know?” Earlier in the conversation, when Sans was still actively participating, Flowey had interrupted him several times. Alphys snickered at his jab, and hit the send button on her phone.

Sans checked the text, and inwardly sighed in relief. Seemed like he could take the easy way out here.

“Sans, please put away your phone. This is a serious conversation,” Toriel said. Sans supposed he had to agree to disagree on that one. This wasn’t much of a conversation at all as much as it was Flowey using his knowledge to manipulate the room in a way that allowed him to frame Sans for murder.

“yeah, don’t worry, tori. it was relevant,” She looked as if she doubted that, but she didn’t say anything. Sans sent Alphys a quick thank-you and stuck the offending device back in his pocket. He turned to look at Flowey, who probably would have shrunk from the ice in his gaze if Flowey had ever bothered to figure out how to read his expressions.

“so, you done, pal?” There were several winces around the room at the vitriol present in his tone, but none of them belonged to Flowey.

“Yeah, I think I’ve made my point pretty clear!” Flowey looked positively cheerful at the thought.

“good, ‘cause i’m getting pretty tired of hearing you speak. don’t want a repeat of the last time you tried something like this, right?” Last time Flowey had attempted something like this with Sans present, the weed had still been in control of the timeline. Sans had killed him before he could even finish his speech.

“Ha! You wouldn’t dare! Not when Frisk is-” Flowey cut himself off before he could dig all three of them (four of them?) into a hole they really wouldn’t be able to talk their way out of. Frisk shot him a glare, with an expression that said they’d probably kill Flowey themselves, if he didn’t shut his trap. The weed gulped audibly.

“A-anyway! Are you gonna explain yourself, trashbag?” Papyrus made the same pinched expression he always did when Flowey used that particular moniker.

“heh. sure, why not,” Sans’ grin turned predatory. 

“i’m not gonna bother asking you to back your claims with evidence, since we both know you don’t actually have any,” Flowey narrowed his eyes, probably thinking of a thousand ways to justify that, but Sans continued without giving a chance.

“you’re right that i used to be a scientist, so kudos for that, i guess. my leaving the field had nothing to do with gaster, though. it actually happened quite a while after that,” Sans preferred not to talk about this, but with Flowey forcing his hand, it seemed like the simplest solution.

“my leaving had nothing to do with gaster, and everything to do with the experiments that got alph fired,”

--

When Sans had been younger and more optimistic, he’d wanted to be a scientist more than anything in the world. He’d spend hours combing through the dump for old textbooks, and the few he found, he’d pore over until he had them practically memorized.

So when an ad went out saying that the new royal scientist was looking for an assistant, he’d jumped at the opportunity. Sans had spent hours studying for the required tests, barely even eating in his complete dedication to the task before him.

Sans didn’t know whether he’d had the highest score, or if he’d been selected for his blue magic, (a rare ability that was extremely useful for engineering) or if had simply been because he lived so close to the lab at the time, but he got the job. He’d celebrated for a day straight, and would probably have irritated the hell out of Papyrus if they’d been living together at the time. (Sans was in that young adult phase where he lived alone in a shitty apartment because he was trying to be independent)

When he’d first met Alphys, he was not ashamed to admit to having geeked out a bit. She was considered one of the greatest minds of their generation, after all. 

He’d tried to keep it to a minimum, though, (correctly) figuring that she wouldn’t have much use for him as an assistant if he was too busy with hero worship to contribute anything.

Though they’d been awkward together at first, they’d quickly warmed up to each other, and soon at least half of the new innovations exiting the lab had their roots in Sans’ ideas as much as Alph’s.

Quickly enough, they’d become best friends.

And then…

Then had come the Determination experiments.

Both Alphys and Sans had agreed it would be best not to allow the amalgamates out of the True Lab. Alphys had confined herself to her workplace, moving in a bed and her anime collection so she’d only have to leave for the occasional grocery run.

Sans had kept his status as her assistant under wraps, though, so he didn’t have to worry about being cornered by the victims’ families like she did. Papyrus had mentioned recently that he was looking for someone to go in halfsies with him on a housing lease in Snowdin, so Sans did what he did best, and ran away from his problems, packing his stuff and moving just about as far from Hotland as it was possible to get without entering the Ruins.

He and Alph stayed friends, though. When you’re the only two people who know about a catastrophic disaster like that, it kinda brings you together.

--

Sans finished his explanation with a nod to Alphys, before saying,

“and as for gaster, the only connection i’ve got to the guy is that i named an attack after him in honor of his scientific prowess,”

The room was silent for a few moments as everyone thought through his words. Suddenly, Flowey said,

“Yeah, that’s all well and good, but how did you even know about him? Everyone else forgot he ever existed!” Sans smiled secretively.

“probably the same way you do, asriel,” Let no one say he couldn’t give as good as he got. If Sans had to share his backstory, well.

Might as well take the flower down with him.

[keepcalm-and-beyou]

Machine Gun Kelly(Colson Baker)

Bad At Love:

🎶 I Believe That We’re Meant To Be, But Jealousy Gets The Best Of Me, I Don’t Mean To Frusterate But I Always Make The Same Mistakes🎶

We were good, heck we were great before I fucked things up to many times.. I was just BAD AT LOVE.

I loved her, I still do. But my jealousy it was something constant. I loved her which made me not be able to stand the near thought or sight of some fucking dude touching MY girl. Y/N she is beautiful the kind of beauty like she stepped out a magazine yet also had that natural beauty inside and out. She had perfect curves in all the right places, She was smart, she loved to read and learn new things on the daily. She was amazing at every thing. Her drawings, her writing, her singing, her acting, Y/N was talented in every way. Her biggest talent was making others fall in love with her even without trying. That particular talent didn’t help my Jealousy. I always watched guys look like they were love struck or horny dogs looking at my girl. Every overly friendly thing someone did would irritate me. I always made the same mistakes taking my jealousy over board which would end in a fuck load of fights. After one to many fights there was no more as there was no more us.

Our last fight I’ll always remember it. I regret everything from hurtful words, to hurtful actions. all the things I should of said to keep from blowing us up.

*FLASHBACK*

Me and Y/N were having one of those days bickering at every little thing. We have plans to go to a friends house party. We’re going with my boys Slimm, rook, and Pete. All the Guys get along well with Y/N but Pete he got along with her sometimes TOO well. Pete has always been a Friendly guy and Y/N is the same so fun and friendly.

I watched Y/N get ready for going to the party. She tried on a few short dresses with heels. Damn my girl looked smoking hot in everything she wore. It almost made me so annoyed how hot she was it just meant more trouble when it comes to guys hitting on her. She slips on a hot pink very short dress and looks at her self in the long body mirror. “That looks kinda slutty” I spoke without realizing I was speaking until she gave me that Glare of hers and making a huffing sound. “I need a drink” I say while walking away. I’m so agitated these days I’m annoying myself.

I decide to down a couple of drinks before we leave to clam ass down. Y/N came downstairs in a black sparkle short dress fitting her frame so perfect and matching heels.

“Hey gorgeous, hey man” Pete had appeared into view greeting us both. Y/N smiled at Pete saying a sweet “hello” “hey dude” I reply greeting my pal back.

I took a sip from my drink wishing this night was already over. “So we ready to go or what peeps?” Pete asks patting me on the back. “Yeah let’s go, Hey fuckers let’s go!” I yell out for slimm and rook to hear. We all heard them running towards us as we look at them play fighting. “Alright fellas behave” Y/N says in a joking hey flirty manner making my eyes roll and head for the door. If anyone is paying attention I hope they follow me so we can leave. Well everyone took notice and now we all sat in the vehicle. I sat beside Y/N as Pete seemed to have to sit beside Y/N too.

“Y/N you look very nice” Pete says smiling at her. I let out a small quite bitter chuckle that Y/N noticed while glancing at me. “Pete you don’t think it’s slutty?” She asked him mocking my earlier statement to her. “God no! You can never look that way in anything you wear, it’s always just perfect” he reply’s making me glance his way. What the actual fuck is he doing Trynna hit on my girl while I’m right here too.

The car ride finally ended we arrived at the party. Pete has helped Y/N out of the vehicle causing another eye roll from me and a huff. I head for the door but turn around quickly seeing my girl and Pete chumming it up laughing. “Hey you gonna come in with your boyfriend or what??” I speak loudly to her. She mumbles something to Pete and makes her way to me.

The party was like most loud music, dancing bodies, weed smoke, and blow on flat surfaces around the house. I sat smoking a blunt with slimm and some randoms on the couch. Y/N had disappeared to grab a drink. I was taking shots and smoking a lot of weed that I had just realized Y/N hasn’t been around for sometime. I sit up straight scanning the room for her. I’m pretty fucking hammered by now. And getting pissed off. I thought the worst like she’s somewhere with a dude cheating on me. Walking around I finally spot her with Pete .. of course.

They are leaning against a wall drinking and laughing, while standing way to close to each other. Pete looks like a love sick puppy starring at her. Who the hell wouldn’t love her though. His eyes look full of lust. Lust for MY girl! I clench my jaw still watching as Pete leans in to speak to her and she puts her hand on his chest laughing so hard at whatever he had said. He leans in closer so close speaking to her again. She’s smiling of course and wraps her arms around his neck.

I can’t even believe the rage I feel as I storm over to them ripping my best friend from my girlfriends arms and pushing him into the wall they were previously leaning on. “Get your fucking hands off each other” I yell at them. “What are you doing?!” Y/N speaks loudly at me anger in those beautiful y/e/c eyes. “Dude what the hell” Pete says unsure what’s going on. “Outside right now” Y/N speaks in a danger warning tone.

Once outside Y/N speaks up “seriously colson you can’t go causing fights with your best friend because what your jealous as usual!?” “I can do whatever the fuck I want when your out here being a hoe” I say angrily. “Your fucking ridiculous colson get over your self! I wasn’t doing anything wrong I was Not cheating only hanging with my friend who is Your friend as well” I got in her face yelling out “Liar” she pushes me backwards away from being so close to her while I aggressively push her arm away from touching me. She looses her balance almost falling over in her heels.

Y/N stood straightening her self out and slowly looking at me eyes now filling with tears. She opens her mouth then closes it. I watch closely as she wipes her tears away fast and starts shaking her head. “I can’t.. I-I can’t do this, i-I’m done Kells, we keep having the same fights and you don’t trust me, your physically fighting your best friend now..I’m sorry”

All those words hurt me, but I deserved the hurt, I didn’t deserve her, why can’t I just get over this jealousy, why can’t I trust a female to be true to me and love me. Not want something from being with me, just who wants me. Y/N is that girl the one I should be able to trust who shows me and my daughter crazy amounts of love and true kindness. All I do is stand here still and numb with my head down as she walks away to the street, to leave the party and to leave Me.

*END OF FLAHBACK*

The break up was 3 fucking months ago and it kills me still just how bad at love I am.

❤️

(Gifs & images not mine)

[sevensstories]

I Thought I Knew You Chapter 3: Day 1

Fandom: Hazbin Hotel Characters: Angel Dust, Alastor, Charlie, Vaggie, Husker, Niffty, Cherri Bomb, Fat Nuggetz Ships: Radiodust slowburn Updates: Maybe every Thursday depending on my schedule Warnings: Alcohol mention, drug mention, mature content, mature language

Chapter 1: House Arrest Chapter 2: Contraband  Chapter 3: Day 1 You Are Here Chapter 4: Day 2

Read it on AO3, or just read under the cut!

Angel Dust once again found himself in the dining hall, glaring at the demon sitting across from him. He drummed his fingers against the tabletop as he studied that ever-present smile. He knew it was Alastor who raided his room. He knew it. But what the hell could he do about it?

He couldn’t confront him, that would be admitting he had the stuff in the first place. The last thing he needed was Charlie finding out. Even if he confronted Alastor in private, more than likely that would lead to a very dead Angel Dust. If he could help it, he really preferred staying alive. Or, well, undead. He would consider retaliation, but he didn’t need other things he owned being taken because they were deemed a “bad influence”, or whatever else Alastor came up with to make his life more miserable than it already was. Knowing him, he would somehow make up an excuse to take Fat Nuggetz, and Angel Dust didn’t think he’d be able to cope with that one. So, short answer, he couldn’t do a damn thing.

God fucking damn it.

“Is everything okay, Angel Dust?”

The concern in Charlie’s tone snapped Angel Dust from his thoughts. He glanced up, met with a worried expression. He sighed and straightened up, setting his fork down on his plate. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just not hungry.”

Angel Dust didn’t miss the way Alastor’s smile widened just a notch and his eyes narrowed. “Oh but, Angel Dust, you’ve hardly touched your breakfast! Did you have a… rough night?”

Angel Dust felt fury bubble up in his stomach. Of course, of course the cheeky bastard would openly taunt him, because Alastor was well aware that there wasn’t a damn thing Angel Dust could do about it. However, after a second’s pause, a slow, easy smirk replaced his glare. Or was there? Angel Dust leaned his elbows against the table and rested his chin in his hands, making sure his chest was extra fluffed and in full view. His voice came as a low purr, his eyes half-lidded in a way he knew made other demons just melt. “Sure did, sugar. What, did’ya feel me thinkin’ ‘bout ya?”

Oh, how the tables turned. Alastors sadistic grin quickly faded, replaced with a nervous smile. “I, aehm… p-pardon?”

“You heard me, baby,” Angel practically moaned, shimmying his shoulders a bit and batting his eyelashes. “I mean, if you’re curious, you can always join me, I’d be happy to have the company.”

“I-I don’t, um…” There it was, damn it was too easy sometimes. One suggestive comment and that tough guy act just crumbled away. Whatever Alastor came up with as retaliation later, this was more than worth it.

“Angel Dust!” His attention snapped to Vaggie, who did not look happy with his little display. Her arms were crossed and she had a glare like she was trying to burn holes through his forehead. 

Knowing Vaggie and how much she disliked Angel Dust, she probably was.

“You really have to do this here?” She snapped. “Some of us are trying to eat, you know.”

“Yeah, and some of us are trying to get eaten,” Angel Dust retorted. Remembering Alastor’s rumored cannibalistic tendencies, he thought better of his comment and shot a wink towards Alastor. “In the fun way, I mean.”

It would seem as if that was Alastor’s last straw. He stood abruptly, almost knocking his chair backwards. His voice was filled with static and had a slightly panicked tone that was music to Angel Dust’s ears. “Would you look at the time! I have a… thing to do. Yes, a thing! Goodbye.” He was gone before anyone could stop him, not that anyone wanted to try.

“Wow, that’s gotta be his weakest excuse yet,” Angel Dust mused, examining the claws on one of his hands. “I think I’m actually getting better at this, and I didn’t even think that was possible.”

“You’re supposed to be becoming a better person,” Vaggie grumbled, standing and picking up her plate. “I’ve lost my appetite.

“Hey, two for one! Look at me go,” Angel dust grinned, clearly way to proud of himself. Even Charlie gave a somewhat exasperated sigh. 

“Angel Dust, I know you’re upset about being under house arrest, but do you really have to retaliate?” Angel Dust chose to ignore the soft pang of guilt he felt at the disappointment in Charlie’s tone.

“Who said I was retaliating?” He huffed, crossing his arms and slouching back in his chair. “Gotta entertain myself somehow, considering I’m not even allowed to go outside.”

Charlie frowned, studying Angel Dust for a moment before speaking. “I know this isn’t going to be easy, but it really is for your own good. We wouldn’t be doing it if we didn’t think it would honestly help in your redemption.”

Angel Dust almost couldn’t help the eye roll, because of course that’s what she would say. “Yeah, well maybe I don’t want to be redeemed. Didj’a ever think of that?”

“Of course you do,” Angel Dust didn’t miss the nervousness that tainter her smile. “I mean, why else would you be at the hotel? You volunteered, remember? To get better?”

“Oh gee, I don’t know.” Angel Dust stood, not bothering to pick up his untouched plate. “Maybe because this place is free? I needed a place to stay before the extermination hit, this is a place to stay that don’t charge rent. It ain’t rocket science, toots.” “I know you don’t mean that!” Charlie’s hopeful smile and the optimism in her tone were infuriating. “You wouldn’t be here if there wasn’t some part of you that didn’t want to get better, and that’s exactly what we’ll help you achieve!” 

“Yeah, sure, whatever you say. I’m going to my room.” Angel Dust didn’t give her a chance to respond before he walked off in a huff.  Who did she think she was? As if he’d ever actually fall for her little redemption scam. There was no way even she believed that bullshit. But, hey, who was he to tell her how to live her life. He made his way back to his room. If nothing else he could just snuggle with Fat Nuggetz, the only one in this whole damn hotel who wasn’t royally getting on his nerves right now. It wasn’t until his hand rested on the doorknob that he heard the radio static. 

That god damn radio static.

“Fuck off, smiles.” He didn’t even turn to face the demon that he knew had to be standing right behind him, creepy ass motherfucker. 

“I’m just checking on you,” Alastor purred, clearly recovered from earlier. Damn that was fast. “I mean, that is my job now, after all.”

“Oh bullshit,” Angel Dust pushed his door open and walked inside. Nuggetz perked up with his return, and shrank back when he spotted Alastor. “You’re just enjoying making my life as fucked as possible and we both know it.”

Alastor hesitated before venturing inside behind Angel Dust, glancing around the now familiar room. “Nonsense, my dear! I’m simply doing what any good, ah, caretaker would do and checking in on my ward.”

“You’re not a caretaker, you’re a warden.” Angel Dust flopped over on his bed, resting his upper arms over his eyes. “Don’t try to sugarcoat what this is.”

“Oh, I would never.” Alastor’s grin widened a notch.

Angel Dust peeked out from under his arms, irritation and bitterness leaving a sour tang in his mouth. “You just let yourself right on in now, huh?”

“You could say that.” Alastor absentmindedly spun his microphone in place. “You could say I’ve already acquainted myself with your quarters.”

Oh this brazen bitch. Angel Dust didn’t exactly expect Alastor to hide it, but this was ballsy as hell. “Oh, so you admit it then?”

“Admit what? You’ll have to be more specific.” Alastor’s eyes wandered back over to Angel Dust, clearly enjoying this little game he was playing.

“You know very well what!” Angel Dust sat up with a glare. “I get takin’ the drugs and booze, whatever, it sucks but I can deal with it. But the toys?! That shit’s personal!”

“You mean the items you were in no way permitted to have?” His grin widened, once again taking on a sadistic tone. “Why, Angel Dust, I’m only doing the work I’ve been assigned. Don’t you know, you’ll never be redeemed if you’re allowed to keep such… belongings.”

“Oh, what, so you can’t even say ‘sex toys’?” Angel Dust snorted, not missing the way those words made Alastor bristle. “We both know you don’t give two shits about redemption, especially my redemption, so save the act for Charlie.”

“Regardless of my feelings about redemption, yours or otherwise, I’ve been given a job to do.” The smirk Alastor was sporting was all the more infuriating. Oh what Angel Dust wouldn’t give to punch those oversized teeth right out of his mouth. 

“You don’t care about your ‘job’,” Angel Dust made air quotations with his fingers to emphasize his point, “you just wanna make my life miserable. Well, you know what, pal? I’m already in hell, so do your worst. I don’t got nothin’ ta lose.”

“Oh, we’ll see about that.” Alastor’s sinister tone sent shudders down Angel Dust’s spine, and he found himself rethinking his little challenge. Maybe that wasn’t such a great idea after all.

However, he was nothing if not stubborn. “I guess we will,” he huffed, crossing both sets of arms. “But I’ll say this. I betcha you’re gonna get sick of this little charade ya got goin’ long before ya get me ta give up.”

Alastor perked in interest. “Oh? Is that so?”

“Yeah, it is.” Angel Dust shifted uncomfortably, but he held his ground. He knew this was a bad idea, but damn it he was pissed and he had poor impulse control.

Alastor considered a moment, studying Angel Dust with an intensity he wasn’t used to. It took everything he had to stay still and not show Alastor how much he was doubting his own words. Far too long of a pause passed before Alastor spoke again, his demeanor far too relaxed and his grin much too sharp. “Well, then, in that case, how about a wager?”

Angel cocked a brow. “What kinda wager?”

Alastor took a step closer, leaning forward so he was closer to eye level with Angel Dust. “Oh just the kind where, if I win, you leave this little establishment. You go home, to your filthy studio, and you never come back. The kind where if I win, when I win, and I so much as see you again, I’ll be sure to see to it that ‘Angel Dust’ is never heard from again.”

Angel Dust felt his heart stop for a moment. Leave the hotel? He was here for a reason, and it wasn’t exactly by choice. He doubted he would actually be able to stay in the studio after what he had pulled, and even if he could Valentino was sure to make his life far worse than Alastor ever could. The thought alone made him sick to his stomach. On the other hand…

He was no stranger to deals, and he could get this to work in his favor.

Angel Dust put on a cocky grin to match Alastor’s, masking his own doubts. “Ya know what? You’re on, baby. But what do I get if I win?”

Alastor paused and drew back, considering. “Hm. I suppose I hadn’t thought of that, not that it will matter in the end. What is it that you’d want?”

Angel Dust considered a moment. What did he want? This was a big opportunity here, he didn’t want to waste it on a laugh. There were plenty of things that he could ask of Alastor, plenty of things that would make him squirm and be oh so satisfying to watch, but nothing that would benefit him in the long run. His mis-matched eyes widened when something came to mind. No, scratch that, there was one thing he could ask for. One thing that would solve all of his problems, if he could just hold out for the next month. 

He looked up at Alastor, newfound determination igniting his features. “Buy my contract from Valentino.”

Alastor visibly faltered, his eyes widening in shock. “...pardon?”

Okay, this was good. He threw Alastor off his rhythm, this could work. “You heard me. If I win, when I win, I want you to buy my contract.” He mimicked Alastor’s words in a faux display of confidence he prayed Alastor couldn’t see through. 

Alastor blinked away his shock and his wide grin masked anything else he may have felt. “Oh, is that all? Well that’s easy enough! Not that it will matter, you won’t be winning this little bet of ours.” Alastor offered his hand, a green glow emanating from his palm. A blast of air shot past them both from the sheer force of his power, and Angel Dust felt uneasiness settle in the pit of his stomach like a rock. Alastor, on the other hand, looked nothing but confident. Excited, even, like a predator primed to go in for the kill. Like he knew he had won. “So, do we have a deal?”

This was a bad idea.

Angel Dust hesitated just a moment before taking the hand and giving it a firm shake. “Deal.”

A burning sensation traveled from their conjoined hands up his arm, all the way to the side of his neck where it stuck like a pin. Angel Dust couldn’t help his wince, and he didn’t miss the way Alastor’s grin darkened.

This was a really, really bad idea.

And in an instant it was over. Angel Dust was left standing at a loss, whereas Alastor was already making his way to the door. “Wonderful! Just wonderful, pleasure doing business with you my good fellow! Now that that’s settled, I must be on my way.” Alastor opened the door and stepped through, offering Angel Dust one final glance that made his fur stand on end. “Until next time!” And with that, Alastor disappeared into the hallway. 

Angel Dust just stood there, trying to process what had just happened. How much of a mistake was this going to be? What were his chances of even winning? He had never gone through withdrawal before, but he was sure it was going to be a bitch. Could he really hold out for an entire month?

Then again, when his thoughts drifted to what Valentino would do to him if he ever dared to go crawling back to the studio, he realized he didn’t have much of a choice.

He was stuck with this deal, whether he liked it or not.

[yeenybeanies]

g/t prompt list

10. toy

hal jordan / green lantern & john constantine / hellblazer

1559 words

language warning. quite a few f-bombs

please keep comments to the tags!! thank you!! 

i wasn’t able to post anything last month because i didn’t have internet access on my laptop, but i do now, so here’s this short lil thing. enjoy!! 

“ Constantine! ” 

God fucking dammit. . .. More than he cares to admit, the voice, now much more booming than he’s used to, does startle John. The subsequent heavy bangs on the door certainly aren’t very pleasant either, each one sending a jolt through his bones and his very being. 

“ What the bloody fuck is he doing here. . .. ”  Jaw clenched tight, John winces under another assault to the door, and another shout from the outside. Noises are bigger right now. Everything is bigger, considering John’s newfound state of existence, standing at a solid three inches tall. 

“ I know you’re in there, Constantine. ” 

How the hell does he–––

“ Zatanna told me how to find this freaky house of yours. Said someone should check on your for whatever reason, so come on. I don’t have all day. ” 

Good. Maybe that means he’ll leave if no one answers. John would rather not be found in his current predicament anyway––least of all by Hal Jordan. Christ, he would never hear the end of it from him, and he’d go blabbing about it to everyone else too. No thank you. 

“ Come in. ”  God dammit, Orchid! Her silky voice rings through the house, almost as if coming from the very walls. From where he is, John peeks around the corner, down the hallway to the now open door, Just beyond the House’s alien-looking avatar stands one very confused man in black and green spandex. That’s definitely a space cop if John ever saw one. The real question is: why is he here? And the next two questions to follow are how did Zatanna know something was up, and why the hell did the House of Mystery let Hal in? 

“ You are looking for John. He is this way. ”  Orchid! John berates the House under his breath, and ducks back into his room just as he sees Orchid turn around and look directly at him. There’s no hiding from her; she is the House, and she seems intent on leading the lantern right to him. Damn her. 

“ Uh, o-kay. . .. Who are you again? ”  Hal’s voice sounds even more obnoxious from so high up. 

“ I am Black Orchid. John is in here, but he seems to be experiencing some difficulties right now. ”  She steps aside and gestures for Hal to enter the room, which he does, despite his growing confusion.  “ He is under the desk. ” 

“ He’s. . . under the desk? ”  Clearly the lantern is lost, but his gaze does fall to the desk. John knows he’s not quite fast enough; his eyes meet Hal’s for a split second before he ducks behind one of the legs. He has little time to mutter any curses to the house or the cop, though, as he quickly finds himself encased in a capsule of green light and lifted. He is helpless against the jostling and the lurching as he’s pulled from his hiding spot and brought out into the open, right before that rubbery mask. Fuck, Jordan’s a lot bigger up close like this. John isn’t one to be intimidated, but, right now, he’s certainly not comfortable. 

At first, Hal doesn’t say anything ( for once in his life ). John can feel him studying him, trying to work out what’s going on. Is it too late to convince him that this is all an illusion? 

“ Oi, if you’re just gonna stare, you can put me the hell down! ”  One tiny fist beats at the wall of light in protest. John isn’t overly fond of heights; being suspended in nothing but focus-powered green stuff over a fairly long drop is not his ideal situation. Nothing about this right now is his ideal situation. 

Perhaps he should have counted his blessings, though. The silent Hal is a rare privilege, and far more preferable to what comes next: the laughing Hal. John covers his ears and ducks his head under that first heavy bark of laughter. Each one to follow too is so damn loud. It feels like John is being shaken apart by sound. One blessing he can still count is that his little containment pod doesn’t shake with the lantern’s movement; the man’s practically convulsing with laughter, while John, despite feeling like his eardrums are going to burst at any moment, is pretty stationary. 

“ Hey! Glad to see you’re having a good laugh there, mate, but I’m kinda busy right now! If you’d kindly shut up and fuck off, that’d be great! ”  If only he could be so lucky, though. The sphere moves, and the movement sends John stumbling back onto his rear, his irritation growing by the second. Brows furrowed, he stares up at Hal through the green film. 

“ Wh––hold on––what the hell happened to you, Constantine? Get caught up with some sort of cricket demon or something? ”  Before John can answer, though, the green around him vanishes, leaving him to fall with a yelp into Hal’s gloved hand below. Oh, no sir, he does not like this. It’s squishy and warm, and the sound of this rubbery uniform scrunching together grates his ears. John scrambles to stand up, a little wobbly in the giant palm. The still-present chuckling isn’t helping much either. 

“ Let’s leave it at  ‘ or something, ’  yeah? Now put me down! I need to figure out how to––– ” 

“ –––I’m sorry, your voice is so squeaky right now. I can’t take you at all seriously like this. ”  Without any warning or consideration, Hal pinches one of John’s legs between his free index and forefinger and pulls him up, dangling him upside down while he flails helplessly. 

“ Mother fu––put me the hell down, you bastard! I’m not a bloody toy, and I’m damn-sure not playing with you right now! ”  It isn’t getting him anywhere, and he knows he can’t break Hal’s grip on his leg, but John continues to kick and wriggle, hoping that the notion will mean more than his actual strength. 

Unfortunately, this is Hal. While he isn’t the worst of the space cops, he’s still not the most agreeable, especially not in cases like this. 

“ So, what? You’re able to fix this, right? Or are you––snrk––are you stuck like this forever? ”  Hal looks so damn smug right now, and endlessly amused. John’s face is red, both from his embarrassment and frustration, and from the blood rushing to his head. 

“ I can fix it. I was in the middle of trying to fix it when you showed up and started acting like a right prick! Quit––– ”  That’s enough. John rubs his hands together and summons a bang of fire. It’s more like a pop at this scale––like a little bang snap––but it does as intended: it startles Hal into letting him go, though he’s quickly caught again after a few inches’ fall. 

“ Woah––easy there. Are you fuckin’ nuts? ”  Those hands close around John now, holding him more securely. It’s not much of an improvement, but at least he’s upright again.  “ Dumb question. I know you’ve got a few screws loose in the noggin’. ” 

“ You’re one to talk. ”  John wriggles and pulls one arm free, then the other.  “ I’ve got this under control, copper. Now, if you’d be so kind as to let me––– ” 

“ Go? Oh, fat chance, sour patch. ”  Hal shifts his hold, transferring John to one hand, fingers curled firmly around his middle. With his other, he pulls out his cellphone, much to John’s horror. 

“ Jordan, I swear to every god and devil and demon out there––if you take any pictures, I am going to make your life hell. ”  

“ You’re not very threatening when you’re normal-sized. How do you think you sound right now? ” 

Like a fucking joke, he imagines. The camera flashes, leaving John blinded for a moment. He swears on his mother’s grave that he will make Hal pay for this once he’s back to normal. Somehow. 

“ Great. Now that you’ve immortalized the moment, why don’t you be a pal and––– ”  

“ Hey, d’ya think whatever the hell shrunk you could do the same to Batman? I’d love to see Spooky all doll-sized. ”  Hal’s grip loosens just a smidge as he lifts John up higher, more near eye-level. John has to force himself not to look down, and try not to focus on the fact that he’s being held by an imbecile. 

Why did it have to be this lantern that came to check on him? Or any lantern at all? Or anyone? What the hell is Zatanna doing sending people to check up on John? 

“ If I were to turn that little monstrosity on anyone, it’d be you, you overgrown prick. ”  This is getting very old very quickly.  “ Alright, Jordan, you’ve had your fun. Let me go. Now. ”  And for a moment, it almost looks like Hal means to comply, but that goofy, shit-eating grin is back on his face just as quickly as it left. 

“ Nah. I’ve gotta show you to the rest of the league. ”