#i guess making thousands of $ by word for word repeating the works of small artists and never giving a shred of credit is praxis! amazing!

[comradecowplant]

my god people really love coming out of the woodwork for any sort of subject that even tangentially relates to compensating artists for their labor to twist it into "wow simp for U.S. IP law much? kekdoubleyou"

just say you don't respect artists & writers with your chest, makes you look less like a little bitch.

[finelinevogue]

just an idea, but what about the fact that harry has fine line on the setlist… 👀

just remember it’s all your decision and what your up for writing

Xx

fine line kisses

you made me cry writing this cause i had fine line playing in the background too🥹

word count: +1.5k

pairing: boyfriend!harry x reader

You were stood to the side of the stage when it happened.

Harry was on stage and about to finish his last song before the encore and you were ready to greet him with a loving kiss for all his hard work so far.

Just as you watched him finish up Watermelon Sugar, he walks to the side of the stage opposite to you and you wonder whether he's forgotten which side of the stage to come off from. However when you see him pick up his galaxy and cat painted guitar you begin to wonder what he is up to.

Harry walks over to the microphone as the crowd softens their deafening cheers to see what he has to say next.

"How are we doing Denmark?" He asks again, always checking in on his fans to make sure they're all still alright.

The crowd screams and settles down as Harry strums one random chord on his guitar, probably to check that it is working.

"This next song wasn't planned until about an hour ago. It's one that means a lot to me and I am aware it means a lot to all of you too." He pauses to let the screams deafen the stadium, as people begin to guess what song is going to be played next. "Tonight, though, I am playing this song for my girlfriend. This is Fine Line."

The familiar strum of chords sounds through the stadium and you have to keep yourself from letting your legs collapse beneath you.

Your eyes water at the mere first few strums of the guitar and your gaze doesn't falter from your boyfriend on stage.

This was not real.

It was hard to comprehend that he was finally playing Fine Line at a show that you were in attendance of. You always go on about it being his best song and how it means so much to you, but you never thought he would so openly declare that.

The fans would thank you later.

Throughout the whole song you sway your body gently and cup your hands together over your mouth. The tears don't stop falling as you quietly sing along with him. In a stadium full of thousands it just feels like you and him in this moment.

The crowd looks beautiful with their flashlights on and the lights in the stadium are dimmed to pink. The ambience is unforgettable.

Harry's vocals are something magical to behold too. He has never pushed himself to sing notes he finds difficult, just in case his voice breaks or gets hurts, but tonight he pushes all those boundaries. He sings in a higher key for the second verse and the crowd cheer because of it. You nod your head silently as you watch him present the best performance of his career.

With the horns too, the music is something else.

By the end of the song where it is just the instrumental you are fully crying and your body is shaking as you sob. The makeup that you had put on is no, no doubt, smudged all over your face.

"Thank you. Thank you so much." Harry repeats as he holds his hand of his heart and air-kisses all of his fans.

And before you know it, he is running off backstage to the wing that you're stood in.

You walk backwards as he runs towards you and the rest of his team. They all clap and cheer for him, just as the audience is. He only had three minutes before he has to go back onstage for the encore.

When he catches sight of you he can't help but frown. He walks over to you with his arms open wide. You, however, walk back away from him.

"No. Don't even..." You shake your head, still crying.

If he touches you now, you may never stop crying because of how much love you have for him. It'll all come to fruition with one hug.

"Baby, don't be silly. You need a hug." He chuckles as you still won't let him near you.

"No. You have ruined me. Look at me!" Your tone of voice shows Harry that you are only joking, but he still wants to be near you just in case a small part of you is genuinely sad.

"You look beautiful."

"I am a mess, no thanks to you." You let out a strained groan as you try to compose yourself.

"Was my performance that bad?" He teases, standing in front of you but no longer trying to touch you. He didn't want to overwhelm you.

"Fuck off." You give him a sarcastic glare. "You know it was good. Better than good, actually. And I'm... fuck... I'm really p-proud of you a-and I love you." You begin to cry again.

"Y/N, baby..." He says quietly.

"Ugh you're so annoying. Why am I crying?" You laugh in joke.

Harry laughs too, dimples out from smiling so hard. He never thought that his music could impact someone this much, but it makes him feel alive to see someone react so emotionally to his music.

"You're allowed to cry, babe, it's fine. You're alright."

"Don't even go saying things like that right now. It's too soon." You point a glare at him as you breathe to cool down.

"Okay, take some deep breathes with me. In, one, two, three and out, one, two three.." Harry repeats with you, stepping a little closer to you each time.

By the seventh count he has managed to wrap his arms around you, one around your waist to pull you infinitely close, and the other to cup around your head protectively as you rest it on his chest. You've stopped crying and he can tell your sadness is dissipating with every second he holds you.

"I love you so much." He says against your head, kissing the crown of your head a couple of times. He feels your arms squeeze around his waist in response.

"I love you too." Your response is muffled, since you're buried so deep into the softness of his chest.

"Sorry I made you cry." He laughs and you feel his chest moving from his laughter.

“Sorry I’m a blubbering mess.”

"It's okay. You can cry as much as you want, because I'll always be here to give you a hug."

"You'll set me off again if you're not careful." You warn him, before he says anything more smushy.

He laughs a giggle that makes you happy to hear, "Sorry."

"H! Thirty seconds!" Someone shouts to him.

You pull away from him. Harry reaches up to your eyes to wipe underneath any mascara debris. He smiles as he does so, making you smile in return.

"Beautiful." He reminds you.

"I love you." You remind him.

"I love you too." He smiles, "And stay right here, okay? I want to run straight off this stage, after, and proper kiss you. Don't leave me."

"You'll get your post-concert kiss, H." You nod knowingly, because he never misses it.

"It's all I'll be thinking about."

You blow him an air kiss in anticipation of the real one, which he catches and pretends to pocket until he can really get to kiss you.

[abiiors]

red lines - pt. 1 ║// matty healy x reader

a/n: i want you to read this very very carefully: i am pro-choice and i will always be pro-choice. and this is a work of fiction. also feel the need to add that this is more a collection of small vignettes??? ugh idk, hope you enjoy regardless cw: *deep breath* angst, pregnancy, mentions of abortion, mentions of vomit, (and other pregnancy symptoms), crying (so much of it my god) and arguments, mentions of smoking, illness, hospitals, panic attacks, reader has a good relationship with her mother so i guess that's a cw too, (most definitely inaccurate) descriptions of birth. wc: 4.6k

two red lines is all it takes to ruin a perfect life. 

two red lines repeated twice on two different tests that stare back at you from the counter—innocent and white and damning. the bathroom is utterly still, save for the tap dripping one drop every seven seconds. you would know, you counted it, used those seven seconds to ground you and stop you from spiraling into another panic attack for the three minutes it took to get those two red lines. 

pregnant. 

with two more weeks left on tour by matty’s side. 

gingerly you wrap them in toilet paper, make sure they’re safe and secure and nothing’s peeking out. you throw it in the bin, looking at it with a deadness on your face that you feel deep inside. then you call the reception and ask them to take out the trash. 

matty isn’t here. he’s on stage, serenading thousands of people who hang on to every single word he says, looking at him with all the love and adoration in the world. matty, your matty, who belongs as much to you as he does to the people, the fans. you should have been there too but there was the migraine and the nausea that wouldn’t go away. so you told him you would just sleep it off tonight. 

have an amazing night, babe. break a leg. and then a sweet kiss and a promise to see him tomorrow. 

and then the two red lines.

every time you blink you see them flash in front of you—like a promise or a warning. or maybe even a sentence. 

pregnant. 

a baby. 

a cause for happiness and celebration. 

and the conversation from a week ago that lingers in your mind, echoes inside your skull as if those words are the only ones you remember. 

i’m just not ready love, he says, not now. maybe not for another year or two. i don’t know, babies are a lot of work. and i am a lot of work. 

i love you, he says, kissing you deeply and tasting his own cum on your lips. i love you but a baby right now is a hard no. 

nothing in particular spurred this conversation really—just the two of you, naked, and tangled up in the sheets, his hand caressing your lower stomach and you letting yourself daydream. who knew the daydream was indeed reality? and now here you are, head in your hands—partly from the migraine, partly from the anxiety—waiting for him to be back. 

he will change his mind, you know it. matty loves you, and this baby is half you, half him. he will come around and you will be there to soothe his worries. you know he will hear the baby’s heartbeat and fall in love. 

you know he will treat them like the most precious thing in the whole world. 

the thought makes you smile and the door creaks open. 

“pregnant,” he looks at you warily, “what do you mean pregnant?”

the small smile on your face fades away. “pregnant with a baby, matty. what other kind of pregnant is there?”

you wonder if you meant to joke, if he will break character and laugh and everything will be okay again. maybe you just caught him by surprise, this is just a blip. in two more minutes, he will smile and drop down to his knees and kiss your still-flat stomach. he’ll say hello to them. tell them he loves them and then tell you how much he loves you, kissing you gently and pulling you into him. 

you can already feel his feather-light touch on your skin. his mouth lingering on your lower stomach on his way down. 

matty stills in place. 

“no…”

one word, it’s small and broken and so unlike him that you almost do a double-take. 

“what do you mean no?”

“i can’t okay?” his voice rises, “i told you i can’t!”

you can sense the agitation he feels, his hammering heartbeat and the shallowness of his breaths. his hands runs through his hair, spilling the curls everywhere. 

“you’re on the pill.” 

“i think…” you hedge, tears gathering in your eyes, “i think i missed a day.”

he snaps his head up to look at you. when matty first came back to the room, he looked happy and giddy—cheeks pink and hair stuck to his forehead from the sweat. now he looks grey and listless. like all the colour’s been zapped out of him. 

“you missed a day,” he repeats. 

“matty, please…”

but matty is already turning around and storming off to the balcony. through the glass you watch him light a cigarette with shaky hands, taking a deep drag before he tips his head back and blows it out. another drag, another blow. eyes closed. breathing that slowly goes from rapid to normal once again. 

five minutes later, only the stub remains and matty is back in the room. 

“i can’t,” he says firmly. “i told you i wasn’t ready.”

it sounds final. like a death knell. instictively your hand covers your stomach.

“i won’t,” you shake your head and the tears fall rapidly, first down your cheeks then your chin and onto your chest. “i won’t get rid of it.”

matty stares at you quietly, you stare back. it seems you’re at an impasse. 

twenty minutes later, you pack your bags. 

london is greyer than it has ever been, especially from your new flat so far away from the hustle and bustle of the city. not that you’ve had much time to get acquainted with the new area after being bent over the toilet for days on end, retching and heaving until there’s nothing left inside you. a hollowness so deep that no amount of food or water will fill it. 

so you eat strictly for the baby. pre-natal vitamins and supplements and a nutritious breakfast that you throw right back up. but you try. all for the sake of the tiny clump of cells dependent on you. the image of the two red lines has long been replaced with a grainy black and white rectangle. every time you close your eyes, you see the screen lit up with an image of your little bean, moving around. in some far back corner of your mind, you think they look happy.

at night you curl up on your cold bed, phone in hand, the baby’s heartbeat playing on repeat. it used to be his, your brain reminds you painfully. back when you slept all cuddled up with him. head on his chest, his soothing heartbeat lulling you to sleep.

you mother is worried about you. she calls at least thrice a day to make sure you ate every meal and took every pill. she comes every sunday to stock you fridge full of vegetables and fruits and make sure you have enough ginger and peppermint tea. sundays, begrudgingly, become your favourite. your mother, once again, becomes your best friend. 

but you can’t let her move in. can’t let her be a constant presence and drive you crazy and unearth him every chance she gets. so like clockwork, at 6 pm, you usher her out the door, tell her you need privacy and quiet and solitude. like every single time, she promises she’ll be back next sunday. 

and every single time she keeps her word.

one day you wake up to a change—a small one, really, but a change regardless. barely even noticeable at first. it’s your top that doesn’t reach all the way down. maybe it shrunk in the wash, you think. then the full length mirror reminds you of the reality. and the tiny little bump that’s seemingly grown overnight. 

your little bean. suddenly so real. so tangible. so present. 

“hello, little one,” you coo at your stomach, feeling a little silly at first. there’s no reply, of course, just the sounds of morning traffic coming in from the open window. but your eyes stay trained on the bump. “you weren’t so noticeable last night.”

nothing happens. no movement (of course, not. they’re too small for that.), no one appreciating the change with you. matty who should have been here to witness this…

matty who isn’t here to witness this. 

emotions swirl in your head so fast that it’s dizzying. this time there’s no tears falling one by one. there’s the sobs that come all of a sudden and the floodgates that open in the blink of an eye but he is not here to hold you or pull you into his chest when you gasp and gasp for a breath that never comes.

in a panic you dial the first number you can find in your contacts, gasping and yelling out broken sentences and panicking at whoever’s picked up. it’s 8 am on a wednesday, whoever you called must be utterly bewildered. yet when you can focus enough, you realise it’s a man’s voice replying. a familiar voice. shocked and equally panicked and asking you if you’re okay again and again. 

you pull the phone away from your ear and look at the screen. at adam’s name flashing on it. 

the first contact on your list. one starting with an a.

“fuck,” you mumble. “sorry, i’m okay. i’m fine.” and then you hang up, and rock yourself back and forth on the ground until your breaths resemble something normal. 

fifteen minutes later, there’s pounding at your front door and the bell rings incessantly. in your gut you know it’s adam. and it’s confirmed when his voice floats through the door. 

“open the door,” he urges. “i need to know you’re okay.” 

and so you pull yourself back up, harshly wipe away the tears and unlock the front door. 

it’s only been a month since you last saw adam but he looks different. his hair’s grown out, his dark circles are gone and in spite of the worried look on his face, he looks happier somehow. healthier. 

being back home with the love of your life and your baby will do that to you.

“you look well,” you croak out and then clear your throat. adam doesn’t take the bait. 

“do you need me to take you to the hospital? call your gp?” straight to the point as always. you smile at him fondly. 

“no, no i don’t. i’m okay, i promise.”

“you didn’t sound okay.”

“i meant to call my mum, adam. sorry i dialed the wrong number.”

“regardless,” he holds up a hand. “can you please talk to me. or talk to mat—”

“don’t.” the voice that comes out of you is stern. “he doesn’t want me or the baby. i will not let him talk me into an abortion.”

adam winces and rubs a hand over his face. perhaps that was harsh, you think, he’s not some evil villain. but none of it changes the outcome. in every single universe, you end up here—fresh off a panic attack in your living room, talking to your ex-boyfriend’s best friend. 

“how did you know where i live?”

at that he looks a bit sheepish. “i asked you mum. not today!” he reassures hastily when your eyes widen. “don’t worry. i asked her a few days ago. i wanted to… i’ve been meaning to check up on you.”

“and you couldn’t call?” you smile at him wryly. 

“no. i wanted to see you in person.”

“so you can report back to him?”

adam clicks his tongue and warmth fills your chest. he’s always been good to you, always been kind, and loved you like a little sister. you shouldn’t have cut him off like this. 

“no,” he says. “so i could make sure you were okay.”

it’s a small mercy that the morning sickness eases a few days after that as your bump continues to grow. more often than not, you find yourself with a hand on your stomach, drawing small circles on it and humming to it. lately, you’ve also noticed the little flutters that linger long after you stop humming. your baby responding to you. showing you they’re there. 

it’s not far before you approach the twenty week mark. the most important scan you’ll have throughout. you’ll find out the gender, you’ll find out if they’re healthy or not. 

and each time you think about it, it’s like the weight of the entire world is on your shoulders. 

the night before you contemplate calling your mum, nervous and panicked once again but it’s almost 11 pm. she would be deep asleep by now—she would be excited too. no need to put a damper on her mood. 

then you wonder if calling adam is a good idea. but you quickly scrap it. 

for the first time in months your finger hovers over the familiar name in your contacts. over the little heart that’s still next to his name that you never bothered to change. 

what will he say if you called him now? will he even pick up?

are you ready enough to brave it? 

the truth still remains. you want this baby, he doesn’t. the same impasse you were at months ago. if any of that had changed, he would have called you. he would have reached out… right?

so instead you do the second stupidest thing. you type up his name in google. 

your stomach churns with nausea or anxiety or just impending doom while the webpage loads—slow, too slow for your liking. or maybe time has simply slowed down and you’re too much of a coward to really face the consequences of your own action. 

the webpage loads. the frown on your face deepens. 

nothing. rather, the last article written about him specifically is from two days after the tour ended. everything after that is either recycled news, or some silly quiz about the band. nothing about him. no pap photos, no social media activity. absolutely nothing to indicate he’s even left his house in the last few months. 

you mind buzzes with all kinds of thoughts, swirls with wicked possibilities. you almost even text adam about it before the turning your phone off abruptly and chucking it to the other side of the bed. 

no more temptation. 

sleep is like a fickle friend—has been since the day you left the hotel room in tears. but you close your eyes and imagine your baby’s heart beating inside you in sync with yours. tomorrow, there will be a new recording to replace the older one. hopefully one that’s stronger. calmer. 

when sleep drags you under around three in the morning, you dream of his hands—fingers gingerly touching your stomach, resting on all the spots that flutter with movement. gentle hands that massage your sore feet and work out the kinks in your back. 

hands that you might never feel on your skin ever again.

the doctor smiles coyly and slides an envelope to your mother. it’s a little hush-hush secret, one she insisted on and begged till you relented. the gender reveal isn’t huge or flashy but you know there’s a cake waiting for you at home along with a few friends and family. and for the first time in months, you let the excitement of it wash over you. 

the scan was perfect! and now you feel a bit bad for clutching your mum’s hand hard enough till she’d winced (even though she hid it quickly and smiled at you in encouragement). so now here you are, thanking the doctor and practically skipping out the room with your mum laughing in tow. 

she looks lighter too, you realise, much more carefree as she gushes about her precious grandbaby and how excited she is to meet them. 

“we have to buy onesies!” she squeals getting behind the wheel and you laugh.

“we will, mum, but they’re going to grow out of it in weeks so you can’t go crazy, okay?”

she dismisses this with a wave and a pfft and you can already imagine the mountain of clothes she’s going to buy over the next twenty weeks. 

you nod off to the sound of your mum excitedly making plans for an elaborate baby shower, one that you’ll have to beg her to tone down, but her voice fades away soon. instead, you dream of him. your subconscious wonders what he would have been like today—maybe he’d cry out of excitement or being overwhelmed, maybe he would smile so wide his cheeks hurt. in some parallel universe the two of you would be in the baby aisle—hand in hand and cooing over tiny onesies. 

in this universe, you jerk out of the daydream just as your mum parks in the driveway. 

your friends and family don’t yell “surprise”, much to your relief. there are many hugs and congratulations. tears of happiness and jokes and then a delicious vanilla cake brought in front of you. 

everyone waits eagerly. no one brings him up. not even you, as you sink the knife into it and cut a slice. 

it’s pink. a gorgeous, pale pink. it’s a girl. 

everyone cheers. your mum hugs you and you sniffle into her shoulder while laughing giddiy. a girl, your baby girl. 

right then you know what you’re going to call her—you don’t need baby name lists on google or a hundred suggestions from your mother. you already know her name. 

mia.

mine and mine alone.

blink and twenty weeks go down to fifteen and ten and then five. each day it seems like you only get bigger and bigger, impossibly so. your life is filled to the brim with baby stuff, inside and out. everywhere you look there’s either a pram or a crib or pregnancy books. every time you get one spare minute you’re reminded of the back aches and sore feet. the constant hunger that just does not seem to go away no matter how much you eat.

your mothers visits increase from only sundays to whole weekends to three days a week. 

at first you protest—fuelled by hunger and hormones and mood swings. fuelled by the rage of a thousand burning stars as you stomp into the living room where she’s folding yet another batch of baby socks and blankets. 

“you’re suffocating me!” you snap, already on the brink of tears while she looks at you like you’ve grown two heads. 

“baby—”

“no! mum,” a deep breath and a few stray tears, “i’m not a baby. i’m having a baby for fucks sake.”

“language!” she scolds.

“stop it, just, please!” there’s not much you can do but stomp your foot like a petulant child. proving her point most likely. “stop acting like i need to be coddled and protected. just. stop!”

your mum looks speechless, too stunned to speak but the ball is rolling and now you cannot stop. 

“i don’t need you here. i don’t need you acting like i would crumble and wither away without you. i don’t need you and i certainly don’t need him—fuck!” you gasp for a breath, choking mid-sentence. 

the second those words spill out of you, you want to take them back but it’s too late. her eyes are already red-rimmed and glossy. one tear rolls down her cheek and that’s all it takes for you to break down completely. 

“fuck!” you repeat. “i’m sorry, mum. i’m so sorry.” that’s the only thing you can chant until she chucks the clothes aside and wraps her arms around you, shushing you the best she can through her own tears. 

for the first time in eight months you wonder about what if. and for the first time in eight months, you think about his words from that night. 

maybe not for another year or two.

you’re closer now to the one year mark that you’re to that night. mia kicks your insides again—her own version of support or maybe it’s her doling out punishment for never introducing her to her dad. either way, it’s not helping. all it does is spread pain throughout your lower body as you hold onto your mum, rocking back and forth. 

“it’s alright, sweetheart,” you mum whispers gently, kissing the crown of your head and cradling you like she used to when you were a kid. it makes your emotions worse. increases the ache tenfold. 

“i miss him, mum,” you admit finally, in a voice so small that you might as well not have spoken. but she hears it anyway. she hears it but doesn’t interrupt. she lets you speak. 

“every single day i wonder if he even gives a shit. or if he regrets leaving me, leaving us. i speak to adam and carly and i wonder if they ever tell him about me. i wonder if he even cares…”

you gulp down air, wiping your nose on the sleeve of your jumper and cuddling into her further. 

“and after everything. i miss him more than anything in this world.”

there it is. the truth, finally out there, finally spilled after months of pretending to be cold and callous. you wait for her to speak, to say something that will dull the pain and release you from this torment but she never gets the chance. 

because that is the moment your daughter decides to make her grand entrance.

it’s pain like you’ve never felt before. 

pain and panic and unadulterated fear. she’s not supposed to be here yet. you’re only 35 weeks pregnant—nowhere near full term. what if this affects her negatively. you blame and blame—first yourself; you must have done something wrong, right? ate something wrong or not taken the right vitamins or slept the wrong fucking way. then you blame matty. if he was here, you would have never been this stressed and unhappy in the first place. everything would have been smooth-sailing. 

and yet a small part of you yearns for him to be here. to brush your sweaty hair away from your forehead instead of your mother as the doctor yells at you to push. 

it’s all too much, all too soon. this is not how it’s supposed to be. this is not how any of this is supposed to be. 

the machines around you beep in a rhythm that’s all worng—it’s too loud and erratic and out of sync with the rest of the world. surely, that’s not how fast your heart’s beating. maybe the beeping is something else you’re unaware of. and yet your body feels hot and cold at the same time. too weak to move but pushing and contracting and tearing you apart from the inside. you’re vaguely aware of the screams that tear out of you, of gripping your mum’s hand so tightly that you worry, you’ve bruised it. 

but she’s strong, stronger than you’ll ever be. she endures and passes along some of that strength to you. 

“one more big push,” the doctor encourages. she’s a kind, middle-aged woman. probably someone who’s brought many babies into this world. she knows what she’s doing. but your body won’t cooperate. 

all you feel is a bone deep exhaustion that tries to drag you under as your mother taps your cheek. 

“a big push, baby,” she repeats. “one big push and her shoulders will be out.”

and that would almost be the end of it, right? so you nod with whatever’s left in you and breathe the way they taught you in birthing classes. 

and that’s how it goes. inhale. hold. exhale. gather strength. push. all of it done to a constant stream of rather futile encouragements. until you feel like you’re bursting at the seams and coming undone. about to unravel any moment. 

but then a tiny cry echoes around the room and the world comes to a standstill.

mia’s arrival changes everything in the blink of an eye. 

you have no time left for self-pity; every waking moment is occupied with feedings and nappy changes and laundry. you sleep when she sleeps, you hold her close every chance you get. you sing her and cradle her and shower her with enough affection for two people. she has you and your mum. she doesn’t need anyone else. 

slowly you let other friends and family visit—extremely selective and protective about who gets the priviledge but one afternoon when adam messages you know you can’t deny that to him. even when you’ve tried to keep him, and all of them by entension, at bay. 

in another universe, she would have been his goddaughter. you’re sure of it. 

so you let him and carly and their son visit, let them hold her and gush over her. carly instantly falls in love with her, cradling her close and trying to make her smile even though she’s just woken up. mia babbles at her and grabs her shiny necklace. 

you watch them transfixed, giggling at carly’s squeals and coos until adam asks if he could speak to you alone. 

“i don’t want to step over a boundary,” he starts and you know what’s coming but you let him continue. “have you thought about letting him know? that she’s already here…”

“i…” in all honesty, you had wondered if you should call him and let him know. but what if he still doesn’t care. “i didn’t. i couldn’t.”

adam’s face softens. “he’s back in london, you know? you could. you could try.”

that piques your interest. you hadn’t knows he’d left in the first place. “he’s back?”

adam takes a deep breath, eyes darting slightly and lingering on his wife as if he’s trying to steel himself. as if he has some news he’d rather not share. in the end however, maybe he chooses not to.

“yes, he’s back,” he says, trying and failing not to sound cagey. “he wasn’t until now. but if you would talk to him… just, i think you should talk to him.”

for the rest of their visit, his words linger in your mind. they stay even after the hanns leaving, promising another visit whenever you’re free next and you tell them they’re welcome any time. this time, you even mean it from the bottom of your heart.

but adam’s words come back to haunt you day after day as mia continues to grow. day after day you watch her learn about new things and figure out new stuff around her.

matty should be here. if not for him then for her. and once again you wonder about calling him.

one last chance. if he ignores this then he loses the right to his daughter forever.

so one tuesday morning, you gather the courage. you strap your baby to your chest and go downstairs to make some pancakes.

“after breakfast, darling,” you tell her, even though those words aren’t meant for her. “after breakfast we’ll call him again. maybe he will pick up. maybe he won’t.”

mia babbles when you kiss her head and flip a pancake, ignoring the worry that settles in the pit of your stomach. you’re so focused on the task at hand (rather, at ignoring the thoughts of impending doom) that you almost miss the doorbell that rings once and then again.

so focused that you have to scramble to wash your hands and rush to the door. maybe it’s your mum again, even though she wasn’t supposed to come today. it won’t be her first surprise visit, though. she misses her granddaughter far too much for that.

in a hurry you open the door, without even thinking about it twice. without even bothering to unstrap your daughter from your chest.

matty’s familiar face comes into view and for the second time in three months, the world comes to a standstill.

lemme know what you think <33

taglist: @scooby-doodoo, @partoftheairforce, @justgoatsbreakinghearts0855@beachesgetpeaches, @you-muppet, @mcabister, @alexmarie29, @at-her-very-foreign, @hfkait, @squishysoupy@sierraeslaprincesa@harrie-fic-center @alien-girl-violet@thereisaplaceintheheart @kennedy-brooke @lolidontknowanymore @theoriginalwhatsername@celestcies@sugarkane1001 @ari-turner @thewaywewereinsaigon @daphnesutton @beliefandsayingsomething @ros3chu @nothingrevealedeverythingdenied @zzzhealy @mattymybeloved @fck-off @indiaamars

add yourself to the taglist

[sloancameronspits]

Shattered Relics

A new Overwatch grunt who isn't quite ready for the field finds themselves enmeshed with a sweet archaeologist who saves them from peril. Venture x reader, hurt/comfort, romantic by the end. CW for non-life threatening injuries. Word count: 3014

This is something I wrote primarily for myself as a result of my Venture obsession and as an experiment in first-person writing, but feel free to insert yourself into it too if you'd like. The reader is gender neutral, after all. Loosely based on Venture's animated intro.

---

As the sands near Petra came into view, the reality of joining Overwatch fully hit me for the first time. It was possible, albeit difficult, to repress the anxiety in the training simulations. Here, thousands of miles from home, it simply wasn’t tenable anymore. I approached the front lines, where Overwatch soldiers were in conflict with Talon operatives attempting to steal a cache of precious artifacts. I wasn’t high rank enough to know any details about the artifacts, but the higher-ups seemed confident that their security was a critical task for Overwatch.

I repeated what I had to do in my head. Steady grip. Careful aim. A bullet whizzes past my head. Shit. Shit. I’m going to die. I drop the gun, falling to my knees in the sand. I knew this was a bad idea. I could hear shouts, but I couldn’t make out any of the words. Another bullet impact, far above me this time, followed by a horrible crack. I’m only able to look up for a moment before a shard of rock hits me, and consciousness fades.

---

The first thing I noticed on waking up was the red sandstone ceiling above me, followed by my surroundings. I was lying on a sleeping bag in a small cavern, next to a tent and unlit fire pit. Definitely not where I was earlier. Well, I’m not dead. The next thing I noticed was the intense pain shooting through my body. 

“Ow. Fuck. Ow.” I couldn’t restrain myself from shouting aloud to no one in particular. To my surprise, there was a response.

“Oh!” An exclamation, far too chipper for the situation, came from nearby. “You’re awake! I was starting to worry you were gonna be history.” A mop of messy brown hair mixed with sand, dirt, and a pair of extremely scuffed goggles came first out of the tent, followed by the rest of the strange person.

I was dazed. “Who… are you… with Overwatch?” My speech unsteady, I tried to sit up. Sharper pain shot through my legs. I winced and fell back down.

“I, uh, wouldn’t do that.” The strange person frowned. “You got beat up pretty bad.” They reached out a hand for a shake before realizing my position couldn’t accommodate such an action, sheepishly retracting it. “Sloan Cameron. I’m with the Wayfinder Society.”

I managed to pull myself together at least enough to hold a conversation. “So what am I doing here, I guess is my question.” I asked flatly, still stunned.

“Oh! Well that’s easy to explain!” Sloan’s eyes lit up. “So. We’re here at Petra trying to find some cool artifacts. I’m here, drilling away-” They gestured to the incredibly large drill resting beside their tent. “And I hear a bunch of commotion outside. I try to ignore it, but some Talon goons break in looking for any of our finds, so Venture jumps into action!”

I smirk. “Venture?”

Sloan glances away, embarrassed. “It’s uh, my codename. I think it’s cool. Anyway, I drove them out of the digsite and decided to help out the Overwatch fighters get rid of the rest of those Talon jerks.” The word wasn’t harsh, but their glare and tone made their hatred clear. “Oh! And then I spotted someone trapped under a rock. That would be, uh. You. And I couldn’t bear to leave someone injured there, so I carried you back here!”

“Thank you. I-” My incoming apology is cut off by a cough.

“Here.” Sloan lay a gentle hand on the nape of my neck, propping up my head and pouring water into my mouth. I hadn’t realized how dry my throat was - I wasn’t used to the desert. Their hand was rough, calloused from the hard work of excavation, but it still gave a tender, caring touch. My eyes fixated on their other hand, clutching the flask of water, and I slowly moved my gaze along their arms. Nicely toned - can’t be easy lugging around a drill that size. They were able to carry me, too, so they must be pretty strong…

“Ay. Eyes up here.” Sloan said sternly. When I met their eyes with mine, they gave another wide smile. “Figured if you were staring you’d at least want to see my famous smile.” One of their front teeth was chipped, but it didn’t affect the infectiousness of their joy one iota.

Caught red-handed, I couldn’t help but feel a bit of shame, even if they didn’t seem to mind that much. I finished the last of the water and let my head hit the sleeping back again. “So… Venture? Uh… Sloan?” I said, ending off with a lilt of uncertainty.

“Either’s fine!” They cheerily replied.

“Good to know. So, what about those artifacts you’re protecting?”

“Aha! You didn’t doubt Venture, did you?” They rummaged through their pack, furrowing their brow for a moment before triumphantly retrieving a small golden object with the face of Anubis. “This little ushabti is something I’ve chased for a while. It used to be in Cairo, but now it’s here in Petra. Now, you might notice that it’s shaped like Anubis. I’m not sure why it was brought here of all places, but I have some theories-” They stopped suddenly. “Sorry. I’m rambling.”

“No! Go on, I like your enthusiasm.”

“Really? Most people outside of the Society get bored. Anyway, I think there must be some kind of group here worshiping Anubis. I don’t have any proof of it yet, but why else would they bring it here?” They put a hand on their chin. “I guess they could just be thieves, but that’s way less fun.”

“Well, if you’re able to fight against those Talon soldiers, I assume you’ve got the wherewithal to deal with whatever horrible curses you’ll dredge up by disturbing a ritual site.” I joked.

“Oh my gosh. Do you think it’d be cursed? That would be so cool.” Their eyes were wide, lit with excitement. “I shouldn’t keep you up, though. You should really get some more sleep. I’ve called some of my colleagues back at base camp. They’re gonna come by and get you later tonight and take you back to get some actual medical attention.”

“Are the other Wayfinders like you?”

Sloan laughed. “No, they’re much more serious. They let me do my own thing.”

My mood soured, and from Venture’s expression it was visible on my face. “That’s a shame. I was really enjoying listening to you…”

“Hmmm…” Their eyes wandered as they lost themselves in thought. “I mean, you’re totally free to stay in my room at the outpost if you can’t get enough of little ol’ me.” They shot a pair of finger guns along with a wink.

“I… I’d like that.” I said, eyes fluttering closed. “If it’s not too much of a burden.”

“Course not!” Even with eyes closed I could tell from their tone they were grinning. “It’s a date.”

---

The boundary between sleep and consciousness was thin. My body needed the rest, but my mind was sick of sleep. By the time I finally woke up fully, night had fallen. The air was cold, but a fire now crackled at the formerly ashen fire pit. I made an effort to sit up - a successful one, this time. Perhaps the injuries weren’t as severe as I’d thought?

“Howdy hey.” Venture gave a quick wave from beside the fire. They were now wearing a thick yellow jacket and seemed considerably more comfortable, though they had a fresh few markings of dirt on their face. “Glad to see you up. I made some tea; ya want some?”

I nodded, and they passed over a nondescript mug filled with an enchantingly warm tea. “I’m surprised you’re able to keep this from breaking. I mean you’ve got to move around so much in this line of work…”

“Oh, they break. That’s why it’s so boring and cheap.” They said. “Plus, it means that my bags always come back with pottery shards even if I don’t find anything!”

I laugh and take a sip. “Well, the tea inside is still nice. Thank you.”

“Of course! My culinary skills are second to none.” They laughed a bit before adding quietly, “They don’t let me cook back at base after the incidents.”

I paused for a moment, then continued to sip a bit slower. “You’ll have to tell me about that some time.”

“Aaaaaaanyway-” They said, cutting me off a bit. “Your, uh, low-tech medivac will be here soon, and I can show you around the Wayfinder Society Petra Forward Operating Base! Hope you can used to rooming with two other people though, it might get a bit cramped.”

“Two? I didn’t know you had a roommate. I hope it won’t be too much for them.”

“Ah, it’s really no worries. Rosetta loves people!”

---

The trip from Venture’s makeshift campsite to the Wayfinders’ larger outpost wasn’t too long, though the terrain meant it wasn’t exactly the smoothest ride. Still, it was worth it to avoid the whiplash of hot days and cold nights of the desert. The outpost was sterile and scientific, upsettingly similar to the Overwatch training simulations I’d grown to despise, but it was nice to be somewhere climate controlled for the first time in a few days. 

“Here we are! Not much, but it’s mine. And now yours!” Sloan excitedly said upon us reaching their tiny room. Despite its size, it managed to contain a bunk bed and plenty of the archaeologist’s trinkets.

“You mentioned a roommate? Are they here?”

“Oh, Rosetta? Yeah, she’s over there.” Sloan pointed toward a nearby table.

Puzzled, I followed their finger. The table had a small rock with googly eyes stuck on. “Venture.” I said flatly.

They were grinning. “Anyway, I gotta go talk about my findings to the higher-ups. Feel free to get to know each other. I’ll be back later byeee-” They trailed off as they half-jogged away from the room. They really were a strange one.

“Well. Just you and me, Rosetta. How are you doing?” I asked, still harboring some strange belief that she might respond. She did not. I guess I shouldn’t have been surprised that a rock did not respond, but Venture’s attitude toward it gave me some pause, even if it was… unlikely. In lieu of a conversation with an inanimate object, I chose instead to view the baubles Sloan had chosen to bring along. It was a surprising amount for someone so nomadic, a table covered in rocks given less reverence than Rosetta, along with a few pictures stuck to the wall. There were a lot of pictures of Venture at the pyramids, smiling that wide smile that I had already become so fond of, along with a varied collection of other rocks. These didn’t seem to be given personalities, however.

I was still sore from my injuries, so I sat down on the edge of the bed and checked my phone. No messages. Of course. The rest of Overwatch probably thought I was dead. Probably for the best, as this might have technically been deserting. At least the signal was good. I flicked through social media idly. Nothing particularly interesting, but at least it was a distraction.

I lost track of time, and a quick knock at the door jolted me back to reality. It had been longer than I realized if they were already back. They gently opened the door and I immediately realized something was wrong. They were holding two ice cream cones, but their face was sunken.

“Want one?” They offered one of the cones to me, eyes staring straight down. I took it carefully, suddenly deeply concerned for them.

“Am I… causing trouble, Sloan?”

They shook their head, their mop of hair shaking with it. “It’s not you, don’t worry. I am just frustrated.” They flopped onto their bed, one hand raised to carefully protect their own ice cream. “Mind if I complain? I know you’ve dealt with a lot, but…”

I took a lick of my ice cream. “Go ahead. I want to know what happened.”

They sighed deeply. “I told my higher-ups about that ushabti I showed you. I told them that there had to be a deeper reason for Talon bringing it here. They looked me right in the eye and said I was being unrealistic; that it was probably just that Talon was stealing it to fund their activities.” They took a big bite out of their ice cream, then continued, voice quavering. They were on the verge of tears. “They don’t believe in me, y’know? They think I’m a kid. I’m twenty-six! I’ve been with the Society for ten years!” They winced. “Ow. Brain freeze.”

“Are you worried they’re gonna like, fire you?”

“Nah. Nobody else can fend off Talon agents like me, so my job security is really high. I just wish they’d believe in me.”

I thought for a moment. “Best way to get them to listen is to find some more proof.”

They sat up, trying to maintain their composure. “That’s what I was thinking. I didn’t expect anyone else to think it was a good idea. Usually people don’t.”

“I mean, I can’t exactly help directly… but I’d be happy to stay with you and provide whatever I can.”

“You can accompany me back to the dig site if you want. I’d enjoy the company at the very least.” They smiled bashfully. “Oh! We should probably wait until you’re healed, though.”

I took stock of my body. “A few more days should do me. I’m really not hurt as bad as I thought. Anxiety got to me, maybe.” I finished off my cone. “Do you guys get ice cream a lot here?”

“Nah, this is a treat since I had a bad day. I’ve got connections at the cafeteria.” They finished theirs as well. “Ice cream always makes me feel better. Working at an ice cream parlor was the only other job I’ve had. I was so excited that I could eat as much free ice cream as I wanted while on the job…” They sighed dreamily. “Turned out I couldn’t. I had just assumed that I could.” They grinned. “I got fired.”

---

A few more days of rest had me together enough to go out in the field. While Venture told me not to push myself and that they were fine waiting for me, I could tell in their eyes that they missed the digsite. There were other things I noticed about them, of course. The way their laugh sounded, their chipper greetings in the morning, the way their body curved in just the right ways…

It was worth spending the day in the hot desert sun, watching Sloan as they sunk deeper and deeper into the earth below them. Their beautiful hair was smothered by dust and sand, sweat pouring in rivulets down their face, goggles making impressions around their eyes. They were still beautiful, despite it all.

“SLOAN!” I yelled, trying to be heard, over the din of their excavator. “DO YOU WANT TO BREAK FOR LUNCH?”

Their excavator shut off, the drill spinning to a halt. They panted for a moment, then pulled off their goggles. “I uh…” They struggled to catch their breath. “If you need to, go ahead. I wanna go just a little bit deeper. The ground feels like it’s getting softer? It makes no sense.” They grinned. “I’ve gotta be close to a big discovery.”

I watched from a distance as they spun their drill back up, and slowly sunk beneath the earth into their current borehole. Slowly their head sank, and then they vanished, along with a scream. Shocked, I ran over and found the hole they were digging had collapsed into a much larger cavern.

“I’m okay!” Venture’s yell echoed from the bottom of the cavern. “Can you throw a rope down? There should be one in my bag.”

Trying to manage my panic, I hurried over to Venture’s bag and found a length of rope. I tied it to a nearby pole for the tent and threw it down the hole. “Sloan? Did you get it?” I shouted down. No response. “Venture?” Still hearing no response, I checked the strength of the rope. It was secure enough. I carefully climbed down, fearing the worst.

At the bottom of the pit, I began desperately searching for Sloan. It didn’t take long. They were standing in a strange glow, totally entranced by something ahead. I put my hand on their shoulder and saw it too. The far side of the cavern was dominated by a huge artificial structure, or perhaps a titanic Omnic - and it had the face of Anubis. I stood stunned.

After a brief moment, Venture broke the silence. “I knew something had to be here… I wonder, is this based on the Egyptian god, or the AI Anubis…” They trailed off for a moment before noticing my hand on their shoulder. “Oh! You’re here! I can’t take this. This has the potential to define my work for decades. I need to get more people out here. Gosh, there’s so many emotions.” Their eyes met mine. “I, um. Can I?”

I nodded silently.

They leaned in, cupping my face in their calloused hands. I wrapped mine around their shoulders, fingers in their messy, matted hair. It was not the most delicate kiss, but as I fell into their grip and let their lips meet mine, I couldn’t have asked for a more beautiful one. They held on, squeezing me tight, backlit by the glow of their new find. 

When they finally pulled away, eyes wide with joy, I managed to summon enough bravery to ask Sloan a question. “So, does this mean I can stay with you and the Wayfinders?”

They grinned. “It’s an unusual situation, but with a find like this, I’m sure they’ll be happy to keep you on as my special research assistant. And I’m happy to keep you on as my partner too.” Sloan said with a wink.

[koolades-world]

Obey me! brothers handwriting headcannons

gonna rank them best to worst by what I personally think!

1. Lucifer

He must have the world’s nicest and most gorgeous looking handwriting ever. Absolutely effortless. This man is constantly doing paperwork. He probably has a very nice, enchanted pen that never runs out of ink so he never had to worry about the pain of ruining something because he ran out of ink halfway through writing. His signature must look like a fancy font. Mc definitely asks just to watch him write because it’s so pretty and watching the magic happens makes it more real and believable. When he’s in a rush, his handwriting probably looks like a doctor wrote it.

2. Asmo

He works on his penman ship in order to have multiple styles of writing and a cute signature. He dots his I’s with hearts and connects his letters into hearts. How is he supposed to give out autographs if it isn’t exactly how he likes it? He uses this style of writing in class and on simple lists at home. The only time Mc has ever seen him not write super cutesy was when he was half asleep, which is rare on its own. It was worse than Beel’s handwriting, meaning he probably actively worked on his handwriting for so long. It was barely legible. Asmo made Mc promise to never repeat what they saw and burned this note after he has copied it down in his usual handwriting.

3. Satan

His handwriting is probably looks effortless, but it actually took him thousands of years to perfect it. Not that it was bad before, it was gorgeous actually. Almost too gorgeous, too much like Lucifer’s. After Belphie pointed it out in his drowsiness, he vowed to change it. So he did. I have to admire his dedication. While Lucifer’s is much larger and loopier, his is small and clean with very straight letters. If you asked really nicely while at someone like a cat cafe, he might show you what it used to look like, which is what Mc did. Satan can’t say no to you. He writes love letters often, where can can admire his penmanship and his sweet words.

4. Belphie

Despite always being in a state of rest, his handwriting is actually alright. It would be much better if he tried, but he rarely does that. The natural way his writing slants to the left and the way he connects most of his letters is endearing and feels very homey. If he actually tried, however, his handwriting would be better than Lucifer. I personally think both he and Beel and ambidextrous but prefer to write with their left hands. Belphie also seems like the kind to be very good at mimicking other’s handwriting and signatures, which is ideal for pranks. Mc once caught him writing a note as Diavolo to Lucifer to get him out of his office so they could prank it. You would have never guessed unless you saw him writing it.

5. Levi

At first I though his handwriting would be the worst, but I should never underestimate the power of an otaku. He can probably mimic his favorite character’s handwriting for short periods of time, and has definitely entered and won a contest that needed lots of handwritten letters for limited edition merchandise. Normally, when he needs to write things, his handwriting probably isn’t too bad, probably like a high school boy who just wants to go home. Most of his notes, if any, are digital anyways.

6. Mammon

I mean, his handwriting isn’t great, but it’s usually legible. When he doesn’t want something to be legible, he usually makes it so it’s impossible to read by writing nonsense quickly, usually to try and fool Lucifer into thinking he finished whatever paper task he assigned him. It never works. Lucifer has even tried giving him handwriting lessons but they didn’t work out, meaning Mammon tried something stupid enough for Luci to just give up.

7. Beel

Let’s be so fr right now. His handwriting is chicken scratch. It’s to the point where only Belphie and Mc can tell what it says. He also exclusively writes in uppercase with the occasional lowercase thrown in at random. Even though he can write with both hands, that doesn’t change the legibility. He can read his own handwriting, which is all that matters to him. It’s nice that a few other people can too. If he needs to leave any kind of notes, he just doesn’t because he knows nobody will be able to read it. He has Belphie do it, or he just sends a text. Poor baby.

[yesbutmakeitgay]

There's No Residue Of A Torturer Inside Of Your Eyes

GIF by sersi

Carol Danvers x Reader

We’ve Loved A Thousand Lives

Same beginning, different story every time.

Part 3

Assassin!R, First meetings.

Word count: 2.2k

A/N: Loosely based on Assassin's Creed, don't need to know anything about it to understand the story. (The Order = Bad Guys™️)

Masterlist | This collection | AO3

Captain Marvel enters her ship after an extensive mission wanting for nothing more than to relax and rest while reaching her next destination, that is until she senses someone else’s presence in her space home.

She slowly walks further into the dark ship scanning every area with her eyes.

When she reaches the living room, you turn the light on as if you had read her mind, revealing yourself comfortably sitting on the couch, "Captain Marvel?" you ask rhetorically.

She stops in her tracks, searching through her memory for your face and coming up empty, which only heightens her senses, "Who's asking?" She takes an offensive step forward.

You cross your legs, unthreatened, "If you don't want people to know who you are, you shouldn't parade your logo on your chest," you object, making her look down at her uniform.

"And you are?" Upon sensing no immediate danger she eases her guard slightly, but remains standing tall before you.

You notice her subtle change in posture, but don't take it as an invitation to mess around, "If you're as good as they say, you should know who I am." In your line of work you have learned not to reveal any information unless absolutely necessary.

She takes one look at you, and uses her limited clues to come up with a guess, "You're with The Order?"

You appreciate the skill in her attempt and take some pleasure in telling her wrong, "Quite the opposite."

It finally clicks in her mind, "You're an Assassin," she asserts in shock.

"Very good," you smirk.

"I didn't think you were real," she lets out slowly, dumbfounded. She had heard about the Brotherhood before, but it was always assumed to be a myth, she never thought she would get to meet one of them in real life, nor for them to be so…good-looking.

You shrug it off, it's not uncommon for you to hear that, "We try to keep a low profile."

Neither of you have moved an inch in this process, "What do you want with me?" Carol asks in genuine confusion. You simply look at her and raise an eyebrow to let it sink into her.

The gears in her brain start turning and her expression changes as soon as she realizes, "You're here to kill me." It's not a question. You sit back on the couch and extend your arms to each side to lay on the backrest with a small smile on your lips, her brows furl, "Why?" she asks, straightening her posture.

"Just following orders," she doesn't like your answer.

Carol does a quick scan of your person and detects a single pistol, a sword, and a small contraption she doesn’t recognize in your left hand glove, she’s not too concerned about her safety so she crosses her arms and confronts you, "What's in it for you?"

"Sense of duty and whatnot." There isn't a lot of sincerity in your words.

Still, she decides to take your reply for face value, "What's the duty behind assassinating Captain Marvel?" she questions, a little self righteous.

"You create destruction everywhere you go, it's the loudest secret amongst the stars." You lean your head sideways, as if you were stating the obvious.

Carol takes it as a personal attack, "I protect the universe," she corrects in a stern tone.

You find her defensiveness amusing, "And what do you get out of it? Seems like a pretty thankless job from the outside." You finally decide to poke the bear.

She stands in silence for a moment, suddenly speechless, "Sense of duty and whatnot," she repeats your words after a while.

As she fell victim to your tantalizing energy, it takes her way too long to remember that you're in her ship and she calls the shots here, with that in mind, she regains all of her confidence. Still fully aware of your movements she goes to the kitchen and gets herself a glass of water, "Aren't you worried I may have poisoned it?" you caution from your spot on the couch. Carol looks you in the eye as she chugs the whole thing in one go.

"Did you?" she challenges after swallowing the last drop.

"No." Your voice turns small at her power move. She has successfully turned the tables.

"This doesn’t seem like the Assassin’s way, I thought you preferred a more stealthy strategy," she taunts you.

Your palms begin to sweat and you are thankful for your gloves, you're not used to being the one getting grilled, "I had to take an extraordinary approach, given the," you gesture broadly, "circumstances."

She places her glass back on the counter and begins walking towards her place in front of you, this time, getting much closer, "Is it wise to announce your intentions in your target’s face?"

You’re paralyzed at the loss of control of the situation, "How would you rate my performance so far?" you stutter.

She looks to the side and pretends to think about it, "I respect your entrance and the initial ambivalence, but you’ve let the circumstances turn against you, I do value the clean appearance, though. C minus." Did she just compliment you? It can’t be, you’re getting too in your head.

It's no doubt she can take you in her sleep, but, much like the Assassins, she needs to find out what you know before ending you and, by the looks of you, Carol is very curious.

It seems you have gone down the wrong track, and if you wanna get to doing your job at any point, you have to get back to the task at hand, so you continue your case, "This isn't personal, Captain, it's pure business."

Carol weights her options, she doesn’t really want to hurt you, she’s just completed an exhaustive mission, and would also rather not make a mess of her living space, not to mention how she feels inexplicably drawn to you, "I don't suppose I could buy your loyalty back?" She watches you carefully, becoming acutely aware of whether you reach for your weapons and when you don’t, she decides to sit on the coffee table in front of you, coming eye to eye with you for the first time.

You swallow a lump in your throat, "Are you suggesting I have no morals?"

She knows she's making you nervous and she plans to use it to her advantage, "Everyone's got a price."

"How much do you make as an Avenger?" You try to hold your ground.

"Enough." It's somewhere between a brag and an invitation, "How much do you make as an Assassin?" She's beginning to enjoy the conversation.

"It's not about the money," you quickly respond in pretentious dignity.

"Everything's about the money," It doesn’t matter if she believes her own words, what’s important is she knows you probably do, "I can offer you a year's salary."

You can't tell if she means it, "Two," you test.

"One and a half."

Now you need to know if she's serious, "Throw in a date with you, and you may have yourself a deal," you offer, expecting her to back down.

She quickly eyes you up and down, "Okay."

She has rendered you perplexed, "Really? I didn’t think that would work," you say incredulously.

"I don't get a lot of company up here." Carol’s features soften slightly. You shake her hand and the deal is sealed, "You're gonna have to wait until we land somewhere safe though, the Stark Bank doesn't like it when I make extraterrestrial transactions."

You nod in understanding, "I'll take the date as an advanced payment."

Carol reheats some leftovers that Muneeba brought her and does her best to plate them nicely. You both sit at the table together for your impromptu date.

She stops herself before taking her first bite, "You didn't poison anything, did you?" She shoots you what you think is a playful look.

You chuckle, "We're not allowed to do that anymore, too many accidents." That's enough to break the tension and lighten the mood. "About this loyalty you seek," you begin playing with the rim of your glass, "you're not gonna ask me to assassinate anyone for you, right?"

She snorts, "I’m not a damsel in distress, I don't need that." You feel some relief, "I want you to stop killing all together."

You’re not sure that’s what you agreed upon, "That's not how this works, you wouldn't expect me to pay you a few hundred thousand to go retire in your Louisiana home for the rest of eternity, would you? Since, rumor has it, you cannot die," you pause, "is that true?"

She decidedly disregards everything you just said, save for the last part, "Mostly, though, I would rather not have to find out," she attests, giving you a semi warning look. "If you knew I can't die, why did you come?" Her features change into wonder.

Her question makes your heartbeat raise, "That wasn't in my briefing, I found out on my own," you stammer.

"And yet you’re here." She leans forward on the table.

You’re not gonna get her off your back, so you may as well tell her the truth, "It's not often I get such…fascinating targets, I wanted to meet you."

She feigns a gasp, "Are you trying to flatter me?"

"Is it working?" You smile at her antics.

"Keep trying," her belittling comes with a tinge of encouragement, "so, who decides your next target?" She steers the conversation.

"I don’t ask questions I don’t need the answer to."

"You just blindly kill whoever they tell you to?"

"They’ve never let me down before," you subtly gesture towards her, "who decides your next mission?" It's only fair you return the question.

"The Avengers, mostly Fury."

"Nicholas Fury, the mastermind." You have a lot of background on him.

"Are you gonna recite his bio for me?" she quips.

"I could," you respond smugly.

She doesn't need to hear the dirt you have on her boss, so she changes the subject, "You seem to be smart enough, how did you find yourself in such company?"

"I could ask you the same thing, Captain," you retaliate, "one day you find yourself in a situation by the works of destiny, you follow the path you believe to be right, and keep digging up a bigger and bigger hole until you realize there is no exit, you just have to keep digging in hopes you find a different way."

"I don't know about you, but I can get out whenever I want."

"Then why haven’t you?"

"I believe in what I do." She's a little offended by your words.

"You believe in fighting battles that render entire planets useless? In the mass eradication of races as mere collateral? In entire armies taking over a galaxy in your pursuit?" It's no secret you aren't Captain Marvel's biggest fan.

"I fight the bad guys, whatever they do to try to stop me is not my fault." She's well aware of the side effects of her job, but those are sacrifices that need to be made for the greater good.

"But it is your responsibility," you counter.

Carol looks down for a moment, "This isn't good first date conversation, is it?" Her voice turns sweeter.

You have to admit she’s right, "What should we talk about then? Baggage? Exes? Trauma?"

"Pick one," she smirks.

You stare at each other for an instant, "Tell me about your exes," you choose.

"Are we gonna pretend you didn't already do a background check on all of them?" She doesn’t stop looking at you as her smirk turns into amusement.

"My research isn't so extensive in that regard," you feel the need to explain making her grow skeptical, "how many?" you pry.

Her guard has been down since you sat to eat together, so she poses no resistance, "Three that I count, only one that matters, though." You nod, knowing exactly the one she's referring to.

"How many of them royalty?" you tease.

Carol looks at you bashfully, "Two."

Your eyes go wide, "That's more than I thought."

She wouldn’t have expected less, "What about you, how many exes?"

"Just the one that matters." There’s reminiscing sadness in your voice.

"The one that got away?"

"The one that got killed by one of my targets because I wasn't fast enough," you lament.

She immediately regrets having asked, "I’m sorry," she whispers, "I guess we're not that different after all, you and I."

To your surprise, you find her words comforting, "It's hard to find people who get it, I always thought time would make it go away, it never really does."

She carefully reaches for your hand over the table, "Yeah, but I think that's a good thing." There are traces of woe in her tone that truly resonate with you.

Maybe Carol Danvers isn't so bad.

When you’re done eating you help her clear the plates and do the dishes, you finish just in time for the ship to land on Earth, so you can hop off, "Where are you off to?" you ask her once you disembark.

"I thought you didn't ask questions you didn't need the answer to." The atmosphere between you is now completely relaxed.

"I don't, I need to know where to find you for our second date."

"I’ll be around, don't you worry." She shoots you a wink as you reach out your hand, instead of taking it, she pulls you in for a gentle hug, mimicking the grin on your face.

"See you around, Captain."

"See you, Assassin."

Yes, R's ex is Élise De La Serre, if you know what that means, you're welcome. Go look her up

[roses-ink-dipped-pen]

iif this is okay ? a villain (kid) who got out of an abusive household and is currently hiding in superhero's house ;; then superhero has a talk w him but villain was too out of it to comprehend what's going on around him like how does he just realized that he wasn't exactly safe in his own house :(

superhero noticed and comforted him ;; SORRY IF THIS IS SPECIFIC anything else is ok u dont have to do tis :3

Okay granted, I may have gone a little off script xP

This doesn't exactly take place in Superhero's house, but I guess the Agency Headquarters is technically their home...? I mean, it is convenient.

I still hope this is a decent little story to read. Enjoy :3

TW: Mentions of emotional/mental child abuse, murder, fire

The superior took solemn strides down the corridors of their headquarters, swallowing their anger after returning from a rather abrupt meeting with the city’s most prized and honored heroes. 

Superhero, as the leader of the band of saviors, stood by good morals and kindred acts of empathy. They refused to ever deny a crook who was willing to amend their offenses a chance at redemption.

Those who shamefully defined the word ‘good’ with scorn written on their faces were to be put to justice. The process was swift, yet ruthless.

“There is no room for evil.” The wisest and greatest victors of the side of good would repeat to their pupils a thousand times over, and the cycle would go on.

But Villain was just a child.

It was a shame, not many heroes understood the point of mercy.

After the leader had finished chastising one too many of their followers, they stormed off into the interrogation room where the unfortunate victim sat. The atmosphere inside was damp, growing tense as Superhero and Villain made eye contact.

Superhero walked in, not bothering to follow any precautions when it came to confronting evil-doers. This was not an interrogation to the commander, they did not think about the orientation, deflection, or threats. They knew that whatever Villain did, was a response to fear.

The young boy cringed in his seat as his father’s rival sat in front of him, the table that separated the two of them was littered with plushies. The only reason why Superhero had a pen and paper was to record anything Villain said that stood out to them. However many cruel works the supervillain has forced him to commit, and how many works were aimed towards him, they would make a check on their tally. 

Superhero was well aware of Villain’s innocence. Even though he worked alongside Supervillain prior to the ‘interrogation’, resulting in the assassination of the city official, Villain was not to be held accountable. Many beg to differ, and that irked Superhero.

“You don’t have to be nervous, I’m not like the others.” 

Superhero grimaced as they referred to their fellow members. Villain nodded, reaching out with a small hand to grasp one of the plushies. A teddy bear Superhero picked out just for them. 

“I’m sorry.” Was all Villain responded with. He’s said that nearly fifty times that day. Superhero heaved a long sigh.

“I told you, whatever you did was a decision made for you, entirely by your father. You had no role to play in the incident, and I want you to go to sleep tonight knowing for a fact that we do not think that you are to blame.” They assured with a gentle grin, anxiously picking up their pen to question the boy about what he had been subjected to under the authority of Supervillain. They didn’t need to ask.

Villain huffed, swallowing the salty taste in his mouth as he struggled to hold back his cries.

“Dad told me he would hurt me if I didn’t help.” The young boy blurted out after a few moments of silence, clutching their shoulders.

“It was my job to burn down the community center, but I was too scared to-” Villain was interrupted by a fit of coughing as he choked on his tears.

Superhero was amazed. Villain was crying in front of them, to them. They must be doing something right. Superhero didn’t wallow in their newfound pride any longer; they had a job to do. 

They got up from their seat to kneel down beside the weeping boy, extending a hand for Villain to hold. Gingerly, they hushed the boy, whose face was already buried in Superhero’s shoulder.

Superhero held on tight to the boy, picking him up in a comforting embrace. 

“Dad left me behind as punishment. He said you would get rid of me for good...” Villain whispered, he was too exhausted to speak up.

Superhero was more than disgusted at this revelation. Like hell they would ever think about putting a child to death. It just goes to show that Supervillain truly possessed a sick and twisted imagination.

Only now did Villain realize that he was never in the right hands to begin with.

“Nothing on this planet would ever convince me of doing such a thing. You are worth more than what you were made to believe, and I won’t stop at nothing to make you feel loved. Do you understand?” Superhero’s devastated tone convinced Villain that he was in the right place.

The two stayed locked in a hug for what felt like an eternity, before Superhero offered them some cookies and a movie of his choice.

Superhero put the ‘interrogation’ on halt and allowed Villain to take a break from the accident. Later that week, it was revealed that Supervillain had committed a total of 21 sins and misdoings, all of them directed towards Villain. The superhero marveled as they thought of 21 ways to get back at him. Putting all morals aside, they went to pay Supervillain a visit.

[captainjamster]

Starry, Starry Night

Pairing(s): Kyle "Gaz" Garrick & Reader Warnings: mention and description of suicide, alcohol and medication abuse, reference to organ donation, retching, nausea, major character death Wordcount: 1.5k Summary: Kyle picks up your call. AO3 Link: Right here! <3

A/N: Please check out the tags before you read this one.

Full fic is under the cut <3

���Mmmh, hello?”

The words feel heavy on your uncoordinated tongue as the line picks up.

“Hello, my name is Kyle. What’s going on tonight?”

Your heart drops for a second, and something like guilt stirs in your inhibited rational. He sounds young, not like the older individuals who usually work the hotlines. Young, with years left to relive this conversation. You sluggishly pull the phone away, thumb hovering over the end button, but his voice trails out the small speaker again with more concern this time.

“Hello?”

Fuck it. Won’t be your problem soon.

You slur out your name for the man on the other end, and he repeats it back. “Alright, and are you under the influence of any substances right now?”

“Fuckin’ all of them,” you grin, trying to keep up with how the stars swirl into vortexes against their black canvas. “Tryna – tryin’ to get a fatal concoct – hehe, cock – uhh, concoction in me. Poison in my tummy, yum.”

The confused snort he lets out tugs at your lips, and you can’t help the giggle bubbling up from your chest. “All of them?” He echoes, and you hear the familiar click click click of keys.

“S’not all of ‘em, tricked you. Jus’ alcohol, my medication, and uh… some shit a friend left in my car. Like a bottle of spirits, an’ ‘bout a thousand ‘n four hundred milligrams? Dunno what the other shit was, tasted bad.”

There’s silence for a moment as you listen to the clacking of keys again.

“I’m going to ask something a bit bluntly, okay?”

You make an agreeable noise, waiting for the question.

“Is this a suicide attempt?”

“F’it’s just an attempt, I’m gonna be so fuckin’ mad,” you mutter, cringing at the aching pulsating through your body.

There’s a moment where you hear him murmur something, and then he’s back at the line. “Can you tell me where you are right now?”

Realisation flickers in you, prompting your eyes open. “Ahhhhh, s’why I called, yeah.” He types again rapidly as you mumble the location. “Guess someone’s gotta find me, right? Better a professional than some – some poor fuckin’ guy.”

The man – Kyle – hums in agreement. “That’s good of you. You sound like a thoughtful person, considering those things even during a time like this.”

“Yeah, thoughtful,” you scoff. You know what he’s doing. “Can we just… S’okay if we talk for a bit?”

That wasn’t the plan. It was meant to be enough to give the address and then hang up. But the chill is seeping further into you, past the now-dirty fabric you carelessly threw on, and hearing his voice makes you feel just a little bit warmer.

“I’m not going anywhere. Got a topic?” Kyle questions, and you think you can hear him settle into his chair.

“S’pretty tonight. Clear sky.” It’s hard to force your eyes to stay open, the sparkling dots spinning in and out of view behind the canvas of the trees.

“Yeah? A long trip up that road to get there.” He mulls, and your aching legs agree.

“Yep, even longer walk.”

“Walk?” He sounds incredulous, and it brings back that dopey grin to your lips.

“Yeah, well. Sold my car last week.”

“Ah…” It falls quiet for a moment. “I see.”

“Don’t be like that,” you groan, wincing at the nausea as you shift against the dirt. “Savin’ the planet or some shit, right?”

Kyle laughs again, and you think the noise could get you higher than anything else coursing through you right now. “I like your humour.”

The compliment sounds more genuine than the last one; appreciation, not just pointing at empty positives. “Consider yourself lucky to hear it, m’not usually this uh, happy.” You offer, tasting bitterness in the confession.

“What are you like usually?” The question is tentatively curious, and you’re sure he means no harm, but the words tear through you.

“Dunno.”

Crickets chirp as you listen to the static whispers of silence, flicking through blurred memories. You don’t know if it’s because your brain is slowly slipping further into deterioration, or if you never wanted to remember in the first place.

“Tired.”

Moments of happiness feel far and few, peppered so sparingly amongst everything you’ve ever struggled through. When they cut you open, will they find anything but your rotted, ugly thoughts and the circuits they’ve carved into your mind? You hope your brain is better off in the hands of whoever gets it next. Maybe you’ll get to be some cool science demonstration.

“Friend had a baby last month. Couldn’t even feel something with the little guy in my arms.”

He was so small, staring up at you with big eyes, his warm hand wrapped around your finger. A chorus of ah’s and aw’s sung around you as the baby beamed, wet and gummy, up at your watery smile. All you could feel was a cleaver digging deeper into your heart.

“Jus’ wondered if I looked so hopeful when I was that young. An’ if this’s where my life was always going to go anyway.”

Something carves a fleeting shadow above you, blinking the stars out of and back into existence with the wide span of its wings. You think what it’s like to feel so weightless, amongst the branches rustling as a breeze picks up.

“Guess I was just born wrong. Here to make people happy until it – until I – wear off.”

It’s so quiet you think Kyle has hung up, until something rustles and he clears his throat. “You remind me of someone.”

The remark catches you off-guard. “Good or bad?”

“Both. He’d make you mad in the funniest ways; couldn’t even be angry at him. But he hid behind it, tried to help himself by helping everyone else. Good guy.”

The fondness in his voice squeezes at your heart in a way that hurts more than anything else you’re feeling. Has anyone ever talked about you like that? “You sound like a thoughtful person, talkin’ ‘bout others so nice.”

He chuckles at the call-back, and you wonder what he looks like. Is he as pretty as his laugh?

“Y’sound so young.” The words slip out before you can stop them.

There’s a hesitant pause before Kyle answers. “Few years off thirty. I’m a veteran,” he sighs. “Retired.”

“Retired?” The word is slurred as you echo it back, but he understands anyway.

“Lost a mate in combat. Was uh… Was actually the someone I mentioned before. Messed me up for a couple of years.”

“M’so sorry.” The words are getting hard to articulate, but it feels important to say them.

“Don’t be. It lead to better things. Found this organisation, realised I could do this for a job. So here I am, I guess. Six months next week since I joined.”

“That’s really nice. I’m s – fuuck, shit – so happy for you, Kyle.”

There’s noise from the speaker. “You right?”

“Feel funny, s’like… Dunno, m’stomach is gonna tear apart.”

The conversational tone slips as worry peaks back into his voice. “Just keep holding on, okay? Maybe you can work here too; we’d be menaces in the office.”

You know he can hear the hollowness in your laugh. “Yeah, sure. That’d be good.”

The sky is trembling more than before when your eyes flutter open, and it takes a moment to realise it’s you shaking, not the world moving. How much longer? Was it always burning this much? You catch the last syllable of your name, pulling you back to the phone resting in the dirt next to your head.

“Mmh.. M’here. What… s’your friends name?”

“… Johnny. He liked being called that.”

You hum, feeling the word in your mouth. “Johnny. Johnny. I’ll say hi to him for you.”

“Not just yet, okay?” His answer is strained, tinging the encouragement he’s trying to convey.

You don’t respond, forcing your chest to expand and contract. Nothing wants to work; everything is heavy, uncoordinated, and you’ve never felt drowsier. But you’re pulled back to the cold night’s air again as he calls out your name again, louder.

“Huh? Sorry. Jus’… so fuckin’,” you stop, groaning as something sears in your chest, “tired.”

“No, no,” he stutters, hitting aggressively at the keyboard in those nice sounding clacks. “Help is so close, just stay awake for me, okay?”

He sounds so desperate. Emotions well up in a chaotic rush; where was this compassion when you needed it? Why didn’t you just hang up? Is he going to remember the sound of your voice by next week?

“Oh, Kyle. Waited after I took ‘em, ‘fore I called. M’sorry.” You catch inaudible curses as something jostles. “Think you’re… t’only reason m’awake.”

“That’s good, that’s good – we’re gonna keep talking, okay?”

You don’t remember how to form words properly anymore, and everything sounds a little funny, like it’s travelling through cotton. Air comes in ragged gasps; you can’t pull it into your lungs through the fire that blazes up your oesophagus, forcing you to retch. The sky doesn’t look familiar anymore through your lashes, but as everything grows fuzzier, you remember the voice next to you.

“Fuck, ugh – fuck, Kyle?”

As you tune back into the distorted noises, hearing him choke out your name, you realise he’s crying. It takes everything in you to lift your hand, as if you could wipe the tears away from here. “T-Thank you. I, really hope – ah, shit – we… hah, meet again next time.”

banners by cafekitsune

[sihtricswife]

Prologue

Warnings: mentions of murder, violence, corruption, injuries and sort of imprisonment.

This was no place to perform surgery, it was unsterile, and dusty, and stained with red-brown patches of dried up blood from previous surgeries. Surgeries you had done under the watchful eyes and readied hands of Dr. Strong. And she was dead. Her daughter had found her, apparently it was a heart attack.

You didn’t believe it for a second. What you were doing crossed so many lines, but this was necessary, at least that’s what you told yourself. But if you were right about this…God, you hoped you were wrong. If you were right, that would mean you were in danger too.

You looked down at the corpse on the table in front of you, your eyes burning with tears. She’d been your mentor for over three years. She had taught you everything you know about medicine. She had always been there, ready to step in any moment, but never hovering.

You pulled yourself together and got to work, there had to be something. You inspected every inch of her body looking for signs of what you did not know. Finally you got to her head, taking a deep breath, trying to ignore her dead eyes staring back at you, you looked around her face, her neck, and then you saw it, just behind her ear. A small, miniscule puncture wound, one you often see after an injection.

Dr. Strong didn’t just die, she was murdered. And you didn’t need to guess who had done it.

•••

“Doc, Lawrence wants to speak with you.”

You didn’t move, staring at the smoke ribbons crawling into the sky. The smoke coming from Dr. Strong’s body. There was no ground to bury the dead anymore, so burning them was pretty much the only option.

“Doc,” Micheal repeated.

“I’m not a doctor yet,” you said softly, voice scratchy.

Micheal sighed, “You are now, Kid, you’re all we have left when it comes to doctors, get used to the title. Now come on, Lawrence says it’s important.”

“It’s always important with him,” you took one last look at the smoke before turning around and following Micheal down the dark halls of the base.

When Micheal stopped in front of Lawrence’s office he announced that you were there before stepping aside to let you in. The room Lawrence had chosen when he became leader in the resistance had been a good choice, the lighting was perfect, the only room in the base where there was enough natural light to make everything visible.

“Micheal said you wanted to speak with me,” you said after he kept quiet.

“Yes,” Lawrence mused in his usual mysterious drawl. He turned to fully face you, his rotting face no longer startling you, but never becoming less disgusting. You were glad you were standing a good few feet away from him. “As you know, you are now our only doctor. And we, as a military resistance, an army, need a doctor. And as you also know now, being a doctor for us is not exactly safe.” He looked at you with an expression you couldn’t quite decipher, almost like he was waiting for your reaction.

“We’re a resistance against a tyrannic organization that’s willing to sacrifice children for a possible cure to a virus that has already destroyed us, with thousands of soldiers and weapons that outnumber ours by percentages I don’t even want to know, no one is safe,” you answered calmly, wanting him to get to the point.

He chuckled, “I suppose you’re right, but you, as a doctor-”

“I’m not a doctor yet.”

“And who is supposed to finish training you?” He said it coldly, it was a low blow and he knew it, but he was right. Dr. Strong was dead and the only other doctors within a 100 mile radius worked for WCKD.

When you didn’t answer he continued, “Like I was saying, you, as a doctor, are on WCKD’s recruitment list, or their hit list, you choose whatever makes you feel better. This means you’re going to need to be very careful. You’re going to have a guard assigned to you at all times, you will not go into the city anymore, you will not go outside without consulting me. In other words-”

“I’m being imprisoned,” you deadpanned, glaring at him.

“That’s a harsh way of saying it, but yes, in a way.”

You nodded, quietly fuming. Tapping your foot impatiently while crossing your arms, you huffed out a breath of disbelief. You didn’t say anything, you just didn’t go against Lawrence, while you might not like him, you liked the people he led, they were your friends, and if something were to happen to them, you were the only one that could help. There were other people with medical training, but that stopped at simple bandaging.

“We can’t afford to lose another doctor,” Lawrence said, so that was final.

You were officially a prisoner.

…

Anxiety rushed through your body like an upcoming sandstorm. There had been word of a rescue group bringing in an immune that needed surgery. You had never done surgery without Dr. Strong present. You had done procedures completely by yourself but never without her there. She was always there, ready to step in, to answer questions, to guide you through the steps, to make sure you didn’t kill anyone.

Your safety net was gone, dead, soon to be forgotten by everyone because that’s what happened to the dead these days. You die, people get rid of your body and your name is never heard again.

While scrubbing your hands the best you could you saw that there was only one nurse in the room with you. You frowned, then you realized what had happened to Eliza a few days ago. God, you were no better than the rest. You shook your head to get rid of the thoughts and dried your hands before walking towards the young nurse, Becca, who gloved and gowned you.

Your hands shook when you held them loosely in the air above the sterile field. Your breaths were quick and shallow and didn’t provide you with enough oxygen to keep your head clear, your brain fuzzed and your eyes blurred, ears ringing and mouth dry you felt panic crawl to you like a rising tide to the shore.

“Dr, breath, you’ve done this before,” kind brown eyes looked into yours, soft hands grasped the sides of your face, grounding you, bringing you back.

“I’m not supposed to be a doctor yet,” was all you could whisper, your voice shaky and eyes watery.

“No you’re not,” Becca whispered back. “But you are, and you are going to save this boy, we are going to save him, together.”

Together.

It was all you needed to hear, you were not alone, Becca was here, and Dr.Strong was with you, her voice still ringing in your head. You knew what she knew, she made sure of that.

The door slammed open and the patient was wheeled in, spear protruding from his chest.

Your brain cleared, eyes sharpened and hands steadied. You were okay, and soon this boy would be too.

[orionares]

BTHB: Depression

BTHB: Depression 

NCIS: Los Angeles 

@badthingshappenbingo

—---

A/N: Trigger Warning for descriptions of depression.

A/N2: Takes place during 12x08 "Love Kills" and 12x09 "A Fait Accompli"

—-----

Glynco, Georgia

It's pouring out.

It's storming actually, dumping up to two inches of rain on Glynco and the rest of the Georgia coast. With the outside night classes canceled, Marty Deeks lies on his dorm bed and watches his ceiling fan spin. 

He could go to the dining hall and attempt to socialize with the other cadets or walk over to use the dorm building's gym.

But instead, he lies on his back with bruised ribs and shoulder pain, and just….lays there. 

Hey, Cadet! How was your day?

He could answer Kensi's text, received two hours ago. He really could. Hell, Deeks could picture himself rolling onto his stomach, taking his phone in hand and texting- I'm fine. The usual. Miss you and the team. 

It'd be easy. Simple. It'd also be a lie.

He isn't fine. 

—--

"I'm so sorry, Deeks."

His eyes fly open at the memory of the four words he's heard dozens of times since being cut from NCIS and LAPD. He can picture Sam and Callen's solemn expressions, the pat on the backs from other agents and even the glances from officers on the day he had turned in his badge.

God, the looks he'd gotten walking into LAPD-

Deeks lets out a slow long breath before glancing over to the clock on the dresser. 

8:15

I've only been here for twenty- five minutes. Great, he thinks before gingerly pushing himself into sitting up. Deeks rubs his bruised ribs- earned from an overeager ex- Marine during sparring- and winces. 

In the silence of his room, he can feel his chest tighten at the sudden surge of intrusive thoughts.

I hurt and I'm exhausted. I can’t sleep and I’m running on empty.

Unexpectedly,  he lets out a sob.

I can’t fail-

I can't-

His cellphone rings from behind him, causing him to flinch. Deeks grabs the phone and looks at the screen to see a video request from Kensi. He takes in another slow breath and musters the closest he can to a smile.

"Hey, Kensalina," he greets and sees Kensi laying back on her pillow on their bed. The sight of her makes his heart skip a beat and he takes a long moment to take in the sight of her. 

"Hi," Kensi answers softly. "It's what- 8 or so over there? I just wanted to check on you. How was your day?"

"I'm hanging in there, Kens. There's a storm that canceled a few classes," Deeks replies. He swallows and glances off to his left. "How's…how's it going over there?"

Kensi frowns and sits up on the bed. "It's fine….Baby, are you okay?"

He stiffens at her question and looks away from his phone. The tears forming in his eyes sting as he looks away and feels his wife's eyes on him even from a thousand miles away. "I'm getting it done, Kens-"

"You didn't answer my question."

 "I didn't.." He chuckles sadly before looking back at the phone. "Kens, I…I'm drowning and I don't know how to get out of this. I know I have two weeks left but I just….I don't know."

Kensi tucks a loose hair behind her ear. "I'm so sorry. I can come up for a weekend if that'd help?"

 "No, no, no- don't waste a couple of days on me," He mutters. "I just need to finish and maybe us driving back and taking some time for ourselves will help."

Kensi nods in understanding before a small warm smile appears on her face. "I have an idea that may help. Tell me three things that you are looking forward to when you come home."

"What?"

"Tell me three things that you are looking forward to when you come back home," Kensi repeats. She holds up the familiar desk pad and holds it up in front of the camera. "We can both list three things that we'll do when you come home, whether it's sleep in all day, surfing or whatever. Just three things."

 Deeks drops his head and sighs. "Kensi…I…. fine, I guess I could go see my surf students over in Malibu. They know I went to a work thing and might get a promotion." 

Kensi nods and scribbles 'surfing lessons' on her pad. "That's one. By the way, that taco truck that you've been fangirling over finally opened yesterday."

It's not fangirling, it's- He smirks at the thought and mumbles,"That's two. Look, Kens-"

Kensi sits up suddenly, cocks her head slightly and smiles with chin resting on her hand. "And I think…I'm pretty sure that there's another activity that we can catch up on when you come home."

"Kens-"

"The attic had been in need of cleaning for forever!" Kensi jokes. 

Corny as it is, Deeks lets out a chuckle, the first one in weeks. He settles in the warmth it brings.  "I miss you."

"Deeks,"Kensi smiles. " I'm going to ask you the same question every day until I drive up to you. You've been through so much and you are so loved and so amazing. You are almost done. Hold on to the things we talked about. Promise me."

God, he loves her. "I promise."

"Ok." Kensi sits up. "New topic- I've got a new story about Tiffany, Mindy and a six year old Facebook post. Up for it?"

Deeks lays back on the bed and replies, "Of course."

—-----

2,500 miles away, Kensi Blye listens to the soft snoring on Deeks via video chat. He'd only made it four minutes into the story before he'd gone quiet on his end. 

I knew telling him a story would work, Kensi thinks proudly. She places the pad back on her dresser , recalling the idea from a phone call from Nate.

"I'm really worried about him, Nate, and I don't know how to help him across the country."

He'd told her to start with something simple- "Just be there for him. Give him something to hold onto."

"I love you," Kensi repeats again as she relaxes into the pillow. "Good Night, Deeks."

[mischievouslittlecreature]

Part 10: Red Right Hand

Fandom: Peaky Blinders

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x Grace Burgess x OC

Summary: In the midst of trying to juggle a dozen developing situations at once, Tommy and Lucy separately encounter the new pretty barmaid.

Word Count: 2,971

Notes: Warnings for depictions of blood and violence.

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Chapter 2: The Guns

“I’ll hang out here,” Lucy said, coming to a stop at the entrance of the church. He pulled off his hat, running a hand over his hair to smooth it.

“Thanks.”

“Mm,” she eyed the church warily. “Are you sure that you won’t burst into flames the second you step inside?”

He gave a fond nudge. “You’re not funny.”

Lucy snickered, nudging him back even as he smiled, beginning to climb the steps.

“This won’t take long.”

Huffing to herself, she crossed her arms, leaning against a wall and pulling a cigarette from her coat. It was likely that Polly had called Tommy to see her in the church because she had caught some inkling about the guns. Or maybe she just knew that Tommy wasn’t telling her everything. Which meant she wasn’t going to let it go until he did. 

She was annoying like that. 

The guns. The guns were a problem, but also an opportunity. She could still remember that night at the yard, a lantern clutched in Tommy’s hand while the rain pelted down on them. Charlie and Curly using a crowbar to wrench open the crate. Lucy had been beside Tommy, her hand tucked into the crook of his arm, pressed against his side to seek refuge from the chill that had come with the rain. It had taken all four of them to pull one of the large boxes from the crate. And the machine gun that greeted them when they unlatched the box and pulled it open had glimmered against the downpour. 

Twenty-five Lewis machine guns. Ten thousand rounds of ammunition. Fifty semi-automatic rifles. Two hundred pistols with shells.

It was like fucking Christmas. 

But with them had now come that copper from Belfast. Probably sent down to Birmingham with the sole mission of finding and recovering the stolen guns. That was no small problem. 

The door to the church creaked open and Polly stepped out, chin held high with a small huff when she spotted Lucy waiting. She walked past her without so much as a hello.

Screw you too, you old witch.

Lucy pushed the lump of bitterness at Polly’s constant rejection down. No point in getting upset over something that would never change. A moment later, Tommy came out of the church. 

“What did she say?”

“Well,” he cleared his throat. “I told her about the guns.”

“Let me guess: she thinks we should throw them in the cut.”

“Something along those lines, yes.”

“Are you?”

Tommy sighed. “I don’t know yet.”

Lucy looked at him shrewdly. Much as he may have pretended that he hadn’t made up his mind yet, she knew him better. Those guns weren’t going anywhere.

“I need to go take care of some boys who have been making trouble at the Marquis for the past couple of nights,” she informed him as they walked. “I’ll meet you back at the shop after?”

“You know, we have people who’ll do the brunt of the enforcing for us, these days,” Tommy said, eyebrow raised.

“Yes. But these boys are repeat offenders. Clearly they aren’t taking our men seriously.”

“Mm. Try not to get blood everywhere.”

“You know I never make any promises in that regard,” she grinned. Tommy snorted, stopping to give her a quick peck on the cheek.

“Be safe.”

“Always am. I’ll see you in a bit.”

∗ ∗ ∗

Peeling off her coat and removing her hat, Grace hung them both on the peg in the backroom, smoothing down her white shirt once before stepping out behind the bar. Harry was already busy wiping down a table. He smiled at her kindly.

“Still not too late to back out, you know,” he said. Grace smiled politely and shook her head. He shrugged. “All right. To work you get, then.”

He’d given her an impromptu training session right after she’d convinced him to hire her, so she already knew where everything was. They only had a few patrons at the moment, crowded around their tables and muttering quietly amongst themselves. A group in the corner were beginning to grow rather rowdy, laughing boisterously as they gulped down their drinks. Between pouring beer and whiskey she busied herself with tidying things behind the bar.   

The doors slammed open and a tiny woman strode in. She was dressed like a man, in dark trousers with a matching waistcoat over a white button down shirt, a gray hat identical to the ones that the Peaky Blinders wore pulled over her head, a black coat swishing around her legs. There was a gun clutched in her hand. At the sight of her all laughter and conversation suddenly ceased, the entire pub growing eerily silent.   

She strode to the bar and settled the arm holding the gun down across it. Shaking dark red, bouncy loose curls out of her face, she grinned at Grace.

“Hullo. You’re new,” her dark green eyes glittered with genuine warmth, looking Grace up and down.

“Um, hello,” Grace wasn’t quite sure what else to say. The woman tilted her head, the light catching slightly, illuminating the shape of her cheeks. There was a doll-like quality to her, only accentuated by her porcelain white skin and short stature. But the mischievous sparkle in her eyes could only be described as devilish.

“Whiskey, please. Irish.”

Grace hesitated. Harry had yet to tell her what the rules were in regards to serving women in the pub. The woman pressed still smiling lips together. There was a smudge of something red across her left cheek. Either it was blood, or the woman had been terribly off the mark when applying her lipstick.

“Miss. Winters,” Harry said, appearing from the backroom. He nodded to the gun still settled in her hand. “Do you mind?”

Winters looked down at the gun as if she’d forgotten that it was there, smile widening as she placed it in the holster inside her coat. “Sure,” she cocked her head to the side. “You’ve hired a new barmaid, Harry.”

“Yes.”

Glittering green eyes landed back on Grace. She fumbled awkwardly with the rag in her hands, hoping that Winters didn’t notice how flustered her constant, grinning gaze was making her.

“Hi. I’m Lucy Winters,” she thrust out a hand to Grace. Taking it carefully, she forced herself not to look away from those bright eyes as she shook her hand. 

“Grace Burgess.”

“Where are you from, Grace Burgess?”

“There’s no need for an interrogation, Miss. Winters,” Harry said. Lucy raised an eyebrow.

“It’s alright,” Grace said quickly, moving to pour Lucy the whiskey she’d asked for. “I’m from Galway,” she set the bottle back behind the bar and nudged the glass of amber toward the red head. 

Lucy’s eyes narrowed a very tiny fraction, as if assessing if she was telling the truth or not. She took a slow sip of her whiskey. Around them, the patrons had begun to return to their conversations, but in considerably more hushed tones than they were previously.

“You have, um…” Grace bit her lip, unsure how to say it. She instead just raised a hand to her own face, pointing at her cheek in the approximate spot where the splatter of red was smudged across Lucy’s face. Lucy’s brows furrowed, a hand wiping down the opposite cheek. “No. Um, here,” she reached into her pocket for her handkerchief, reaching across the bar, hand cupping Lucy’s chin to hold her face in place as she wiped the fabric across her cheek. Her skin was startling, almost alarmingly, cold to the touch. The red stained the pristine white of the handkerchief. Yes, it was definitely blood. But clearly not hers.

“Thanks,” Lucy’s eyes still danced with amusement, and Grace glanced away bashfully, refolding her handkerchief and tucking it away. 

“How did that happen?” she ventured, carefully. Lucy’s eyebrows rose, and she swallowed down the rest of her drink, tossing a few coins onto the bar.

“That’s a story for another time, love. Glad to see you got things all cleaned up, Harry,” she called to him from across the pub, then pushed away from the bar and headed towards the doors. “It was nice to meet you, Grace from Galway!” she called over her shoulder, the door swinging shut behind her.  

∗ ∗ ∗

“The coppers picked up Arthur,” she said, poking her head into her and Tommy’s office, where he was reading over some papers. His head snapped up.

“What?”

“He’s all bloodied up. Said something about a broken finger, too.”

He shot out of his chair, following her to the kitchen, where John had just hauled Arthur into a chair. He groaned deeply in pain.

“We need some booze for the cuts,” Lucy said, moving to riffle through the pantry. At no sight of any bottles of liquor, she straightened. “Okay, where the hell is everything?”

“Polly went on a cleaning frenzy a day or so ago,” Ada said apologetically.

“I’ll go get some rum from the Garrison,” Tommy huffed. At the mention of the pub Lucy’s head lifted, jogging to follow Tommy as he headed for the door.

“Hey, when you get there, check out the new barmaid that Harry hired,” she said softly to him. “She’s pretty.”

“Is that so?” he shot her an amused look.

“Mhm.”

“You’re a strange woman, you know that?”

“You like my strangeness.”

He touched her cheek lightly. “I do,” his eyes darted over her shoulder at another groan of pain from Arthur. “I’ll be back soon.”

“Okay,” she watched as the door clicked softly shut behind him, biting her lip to hide her smile.

∗ ∗ ∗

“Are you a whore?” 

The question, from the man who up until that moment had her half hypnotized by his beauty and deep voice, knocked her completely off balance, lips parting and eyes widening. In his eyes–the lightest pair of blue Grace had ever seen–something cold and suspicious looked back at her. 

“Because if you’re not, you’re in the wrong place,” he didn’t even wait to see her reaction to his words, turning on his heel with the bottle of rum he’d ordered and stalking from the pub. For a moment Grace could only stand there, jaw clenching with anger and humiliation while her cheeks flared pink. She grabbed the notes he’d set on the bar and slammed the doors to the snug closed with a little more force than necessary.

“He’s one of them you warned me about,” she said to Harry.

“Look, Grace, you’re a friendly girl but be careful. If I say something’s on the house, then say nothing to whoever you’re serving.”

She nodded. Harry looked down.

“If they decide that they want you, there’s nothing anybody could do about it,” he shot her an apologetic look. “Lucky for you, since he got back from France, Tommy doesn’t want anybody at all. Except…” he hesitated.

“What?”

Harry shook his head. “They’re just rumors. I shouldn’t say,” he glanced down. “Some people say he and his assistant, Lucy Winters, have…something going on.”

“The woman who was in here earlier, with the red hair?”

Harry nodded. “But,” he shrugged, “like I said, they’re just rumors,” he shuffled around her quickly, to attend to the other patrons and probably to avoid any more of her questioning. Grace remained standing there for a long while, just staring at the shelves of liquor before her, the sounds of the customers behind her little more than muffled noise. 

∗ ∗ ∗

Lucy sat sprawled out in a chair, her feet propped up on another as she watched Ada and Polly fuss over Arthur. All the while John pestered Ada from the sidelines.

Watching them all without Tommy, it was a miracle that they were able to survive a few hours without his constant supervision.

The door slammed open, the Devil, conjured seemingly by her thoughts of him, sweeping back into the room, a bottle of rum clutched in one hand.

“Let me see him,” Tommy walked around to face Arthur, opening the bottle and handing it to him, working quickly yet carefully as he dunked the cloth seeping in a steaming basin of water and rang it out while Arthur took a large swig of rum. “Give me that,” he took the bottle back, pouring a helping into the cloth and cupping Arthur’s chin in one hand. Arthur inhaled sharply as Tommy pressed the cloth to the cuts on his face. “You’re all right,” Tommy assured, wiping away the blood. Arthur grasped him by the arm. As he started to speak, giving a report of what Inspector Campbell had told him, Tommy stiffened and pulled away. 

When he was done speaking, he was met with silence. 

Tommy looked down and away, to the cigarette in his hand. Lucy suddenly became very interested in examining the toes of her oxfords.

“What’s wrong with you?” Arthur asked. “Lucy?” his eyes snapped to her. “What the fuck is going on, eh? What do you know?” she didn’t meet his gaze, instead choosing to focus on her rings, fiddling with them. Arthur let out a growl and turned to Polly. “What the fuck is wrong with him lately?”

Tommy straightened, jaw clenching. Lucy’s shoulders tensed.

“If I knew, I’d buy the cure from Compton’s chemists,” Polly said, and turned away. Lucy could feel the beginnings of a fight building in the air, leaving her teeth on edge, muscles tense.

“You tell her, but you won’t tell us?” Arthur hissed at Tommy through bloodied teeth. Lucy’s head lifted in surprise at his tone. Usually Arthur was the nicest towards her out of all the family members outside of Tommy. “Why? We’re family! She’s not–”

“Careful, Arthur,” Tommy’s voice had dropped dangerously. “Careful.”

Arthur retreated, eyes darting between them. Lucy thought she saw a flicker of regret there, before his gaze dropped to the floor.  

“Maybe we should talk about this at another time, when you aren’t so hard to look at, Arthur,” she suggested. “We have a meeting to get to,” standing, she gave Tommy a pointed look. He nodded, stiffly. She didn’t wait around to hear what he said to Arthur in farewell, heading straight for the door.

Her fingers twisted in her hair, running through her curls before yanking her cap on. Tommy’s hand was warm, even through the layers of fabric she was clothed in, when he rested it on her shoulder and turned her to face him.

“Arthur doesn’t mean it,” his voice was a soft rumble. With a half smile, she rocked her head from side to side.

“Yeah, I know.” But the others do, she added silently. Tommy looked at her sadly. He tried. He really did. But there was only so much that even he could do. It wasn’t like he could force them to like her. “I’m fine.” Taking the cigarette dangling from Tommy’s lips and pressing it to her own, she took a healthy drag before handing it back to him. “What do you want to do about…all of that?” she jerked her head towards the door. They began walking down the street, away from the betting shop.

“I don’t know yet,” he admitted with a tired sigh. For a brief moment, she let her hand rest comfortingly between his shoulder blades. He shot her a semi-alarmed look. “I don’t actually have meeting right now, do I?”

“Hm? Oh, no. That was a lie,” she shot a look over her shoulder at the house. “Figured we better get out of there before things got ugly.”

“Mm. Thanks.”

“Did you see the new barmaid?”

He shot her a look. “Yeah, I did.”

“And?”

He shrugged. “You were right.”

“You say that as though it’s surprising–hey!” she gaped at him in mock astonishment as he elbowed her playfully, his lips pressing together in that way they did when he was trying not to smile. “You’re a right bastard, you know that, Shelby.”

He chuckled, offering his arm to her so that she could loop her hand through it, palm resting over his bicep.

“So? Did you introduce yourself?”

“Not exactly.”

Something in his tone gave her pause. “Tommy…what did you say to her?”

“Nothing.”

“Tommy.”

“I just ordered the rum and left,” at her unconvinced look, he sighed. “I asked her if she was a whore.”

“You what!?”

“Alright, listen–”

“Tommy…” she half whined. 

“Oh, as if you weren’t wondering the same thing!”

“Yeah, but you can’t just ask someone that!”

He shrugged, unbothered. “Why not?”

“It’s…it’s rude!”

“Since when have you concerned yourself with manners?”

When she shot him a glare, it was to find him looking at her with a smirk, clearly taking quite a large amount of glee in teasing her. 

Bastard. He was lucky he was so pretty.

“She’s never gonna talk to us again,” she complained. Tommy chuckled, patting her arm.

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that, love.”

She nudged him lightly. “Cocky.”

He just chuckled again at her chastising, smiling to himself for a moment more before his expression turned more serious. “Ask around about her,” 

“Harry said she had references. I haven’t had time to properly verify them yet, though.”

“Pretty, highly qualified barmaids like that don’t just show up. Not here.”

Lucy chewed on her bottom lip. Much as she knew he was right, there was a not insignificant part of her that was tempted to just for once throw caution to the wind. Grace was so pretty. And she seemed so nice…

“Maybe she’s just down on her luck. Like I was.”

Tommy’s eyes were soft like the sky on a warm summer day. “No one’s like you, love.” 

Her heart fluttered, shooting him an affectionate look before stretching up to kiss his cheek, squeezing her arm around his as they walked in comfortable silence. 

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Thank you for reading! Please consider leaving a comment, reblog, or like. I always appreciate feedback and love getting the opportunity to interact with you and hear your thoughts!

[dude-why-3]

Hiii, I'm here for Aruani writer game!

1, 2, 5, 7, 9, 14, 15

Hi Anna, thank you for the ask!! I'm sorry it took this long to answer but here we go:

Share your favorite part of your latest fic. And since the latest is chapter 11 of wpts, it would be this paragraph:

"What?" His eyes search hers for a few seconds before he says, “We’ll be alright."  Annie’s eyes narrow at his statement. “I know." Armin presses his lips together. He searches Annie's face, takes in her eyes, the black circles that seem to have gotten bigger in the past few days, the way she bites her lips and chews on the inside of her cheeks. The way she digs her nails into her palms, he's concerned she'd soon draw blood. He hesitantly reaches his hand out and brushes his little finger against hers. Annie sighs heavily, letting her shoulders slump and fist unclench. Armin’s eyes trail down to her palm, finding that she's only left a few marks. He sneaks his hand into hers, gives it a slight squeeze, interlaces his fingers with hers.  "We'll be fine," Annie repeats his words, her voice barely above a whisper.  "We will be." He gives her hand another squeeze, and this time Annie reciprocates it. She gives him a small smile before returning to her water droplets, her hand not leaving his.

2. Share your favorite part of your first ever fic

Thing is, I no longer have the original document of my first fic and I have deleted it off of the face of the internet, so I can't really do this one. But it was the scene where Armin and Annie were trying to get closer and he told her he really liked ducks and that they reminded him of her. It was written in 2020 and I think it's the thing that started the whole duck thingy lmao. I later recycled the scene in 'Who painted the sky?' so there's that.

5. Write about Armin and Annie's first meeting (in an au, i'll let you guess which one hehe):

He hears rustling from behind, and for a second thinks it’s an animal, but then the sound of shoes against dirt makes him reconsider. He gazes at his bare dirty feet as he continues his work, dreading whatever interaction might follow. He can only hope it’s just a passerby. That thought disappears when he hears a quiet, whispery voice calling his name. He doesn’t have to turn around to know it’s the mayor’s daughter. He keeps his head low, acknowledging her with a nod but not raising his eyes. Getting in trouble for even daring to be in her immediate proximity is not something he's willing to do today, so he keeps doing his work, raising the scythe and slamming it back onto the ground, dragging it towards him.  The girl doesn’t move one inch, her eyes burning holes in the back of his head. Suddenly, Armin is very aware of his scrawny figure, unprotected by the shirt he's abandoned by the side of the property when the sun got too unbearable. Eventually, he sighs and raises his eyes to her level. 

7. What was the inspiration behind your shortest fic?

My shortest fic is "The stars are beautiful tonight". The inspiration behind it is a winter night with a clear sky and thousands of stars. I tried putting the stars into constellations and then this idea came to me.

9. Which of your fics is your favourite? Why?

It must be Long ago, before we were born, not only because it's inspired by my favourite song from my favourite singer, but also because I wrote while being around my favourite people, so this fic is something really special to me. Also, I really love how I wrote it! Every word fits in its place so perfectly and it feels so intentional and I like the suspense I created in the beggining, when you don't really know what going on.

14. Tell us a detail you wrote that nobody commented on yet

It's a quite important plot point and I'm still hoping someone will figure it out lmao, so I can't do this one, sorry :3

15. Write a hurt/comfort/angst moment between them:

Annie storms out into the hallway. "I got no one!" she berates, her voice almost breaking, as she turns to face him. "I can literally count everyone who gives a shit about me on my fingers!" "Do it then!" Armin says. Annie holds out her hands, her palms facing him, her fingers extended outwards. Then, slowly, one by one, she lets her fingertips touch her palm, her hands forming fists. Her eyes, glassy, pierce through him, going right through his heart, breaking it in tiny little pieces. His eyes widen, and then they narrow.  "Zero," Annie says, her hands now trembling the slightest bit. "I got no one." Armin reaches out and takes her hand in his, caressing it with his fingertips before straightening one of her fingers. Her eyes narrow in confusion.  "You've got me."

[bisexualbumblebee-writes]

Of Princes and Witches Chapter 18- Legolas Greenleaf x OC

Legolas Greenleaf x Alphine Barrowes

Description: The Fellowship travels to the Black Gate to cause a distraction while Frodo and Sam grow nearer to Mount Doom. And it works.

Word Count: 2.4k

A/N: Guys, we are now only two chapters away from finally ending this series :( I almost don't want it to end. I had so much fun writing this. I honestly may write another series with an oc insert for either The Hobbit or Lord of the Rings after this haha. But, we must get through this and the next two chapters, so enjoy!

Alphine sat atop Talysan outside the Black Gate to Mordor. What was left of the armies of Gondor and Rohan were behind her and the rest of the Fellowship, who all sat on horses of their own (aside from Gimli, who rode with Legolas, Merry who sat with Aragorn, and Pippin, who rode with Alphine). The gate was closed to the rest of the world, with no life sounding on the other side. Everyone watched it in silence, waiting for something to happen, but nothing did. 

“Where are they?” Pippin asked nervously. Aragorn glanced at the Hobbit, sharing his unease (albeit subtly), before riding towards the gate. Gandalf, Legolas, Gimli, Eomer and Alphine followed him. 

“Let the Lord of the Black Land come forth,” Aragorn shouted at the gate. “Let justice be done upon him!” As if on cue the gates opened just a sliver, forcing the horses to back up a bit. Out came Sauron’s Lieutenant, whose face was little more than a large mouth with disgusting yellowing teeth and a helmet atop his head. A shiver shot up the Witch’s spine. He was horrific to even look at. 

“My master Sauron the Great bids thee welcome,” he started, voice hissing like a snake grew vocal chords. “Is there any in this rout with authority to treat with me?” 

“We do not come to treat with Sauron, faithless and accursed,” Gandalf responded. “Tell your master this: the armies of Mordor must disband. He is to depart with these lands, never to return.” The mouth laughed, and what a horrid sound it was. 

“Old Graybeard! I have a token I was bidden to show thee.” He held up what looked to be a silver shirt to the Wizard. Was that…

“Frodo,” Pippin gasped. It was Frodo’s mithril shirt. The mouth threw the shirt to Gandalf, who caught it with ease. 

“Frodo!” Pippin repeated, more panicked now. 

“Silence,” demanded the Wizard. 

“No!” Merry cried out, receiving the same response from Gandalf. Alphine’s arms wrapped around Pippin in an attempt to calm him down as the mouth spoke. 

“The Halfling was dear to thee, I see. Know that he suffered greatly at the hands of his host Who would’ve thought one so small could endure so much pain? And he did, Gandalf, he did.” The Witch’s eyes clenched shut in order to not tear up at the thought of Frodo being in any amount of pain. She bowed her head, nearly burying her face in the Hobbit’s hair. 

“And who is this?” Asked the mouth. “Isildur’s heir? It takes more to make a King than a broken Elvish blade.” Alphine heard the sound of a blade swinging, and when she opened her eyes Sauron’s Lieutenant no longer bore a head. 

“I guess that concludes negotiations,” Gimli muttered. Aragorn looked at the mithril short that still sat in Gandalf’s hands, then shook his head. 

“I do not believe it. I will not.” 

“What do we do now?” Alphine asked, voice nearly cracking before she cleared it. She’d been desperately hoping that Frodo was okay, but now she wasn’t so sure. Aragorn didn’t have an answer. They sat there for a few minutes as they attempted to figure out what to do, but then the Black Gate began to open again. Thousands of Orcs began marching through, which admittedly made the Witch gasp. 

“Pull back,” Aragorn instructed. “Pull back!” The five horses rode back towards the army they brought, the Orcs following them. The soldiers looked uncertain (borderline scared) at the sheer number of their enemy. 

“Hold your ground!” Aragorn yelled, beginning to ride across the front of the army to address them. “Sons of Gondor, of Rohan, my brothers. I see it in your eyes, the same fear that would take the heart of me. A day may come when the courage of men fails, when we forsake our friends and break all bonds of fellowship, but it is not this day! An hour of wolves and shattered shields when the age of men comes crashing down, but it is not this day! This day we fight! By all that you hold dear on this good earth, I bid you stand! Men of the West!” 

The soldiers unsheathed their weapons and stood ready, looking much more encouraged than they were before. Aragorn nodded in approval and wheeled around on his horse to face the oncoming enemy. No one moved as the enemy surrounded them, all waiting for Aragorn’s instruction. Soon enough they were completely surrounded. Alphine stood between Merry and Legolas, trying to keep herself calm as her eyes grazed over the many Orc faces. 

“Never thought I’d die fighting side by side with an Elf,” she heard Gimli grumble from the other side of Legolas. 

“What about side by side with a friend?” The Elf suggested, glancing down at Gimli with a smile. The Dwarf looked up at him, a small smile forming on his face. 

“Aye, I could do that.” 

Alphine smiled at his response as her hand reached out, brushing against Legolas’. He met her the rest of the way and gingerly grabbed her hand, interlocking their fingers and giving it a gentle, reassuring squeeze. They shared a weak smile, and Alphine felt much better knowing that if she died, it would be with him by her side. Aragorn stood in front of the army, pausing when he heard a hissed whisper of his name. 

“Aragorn…” It was the Eye of Sauron. “Elessar…” The Man’s sword slowly dropped to his side as he stepped forward, almost as if mesmerized. He snapped out of it quickly however and turned to look at Gandalf. The Wizard didn’t speak and instead held up Frodo’s mithril shirt for Aragorn to see. The Man smiled. 

“For Frodo,” he announced softly. And with that he raised his sword and ran forward towards the Orc army. Merry and Pippin were the first ones to shout and run after him, their own swords raised. That was enough to kickstart the Gondorian and Rohan army to follow them with their own battle cries. The two armies collided in a fit of slashing swords and clanging metal and the battle had begun. 

Alphine fought with a newfound vigor. Gone was her exhaustion and nervousness about the prospect of dying and was replaced with the willpower to at least go down fighting tooth and nail until her last breath. She once again harnessed as much of her power as she could manage to take out as many groups of Orcs as possible (though she’d since learned how to moderate it so she didn’t get as exhausted quickly). Between her bouts of magic she slayed Orcs with her sword. 

Screams and screeches rang from above, which made her look up. Ringwraiths had joined the fight from above, attacking as they did so in Minas Tirith. She lifted her hands and shot various spells at them to at least slow them down, but with so many Orcs surrounding her on the ground she couldn’t focus on them for long. Thankfully she no longer had to worry about the Ringwraiths as another screech was heard. It wasn’t a wraith this time, however, but an Eagle who intercepted a Ringwraith who was aiming for Gandalf. 

“The Eagles!” Pippin exclaimed excitedly from somewhere she couldn’t see. “The Eagles are coming!” And, just like he said, more Eagles flew into battle and engaged with the fell beasts that the wraiths rode on. 

Out of nowhere the Eye of Sauron flared, looking around desperately. Everyone in front of the Black Gate stopped to look at it confusedly. The Eye began screeching and groaning loudly shortly before the tower of Barad Dur began to collapse to the ground. Just before the Eye hit the ground it exploded in a ball of fire, sending a shockwave through the armies. Frodo was alive after all, and he had done it. 

“Frodo!” Merry exclaimed excitedly as Alphine gasped in both shock and delight. 

“He did it!” She cheered jovially, Gimli shouting gleefully afterwards. The Black gate began to collapse. The army of Orcs tried to run away, but the ground below them gave way and they were destroyed. Only the land that the peoples of Middle Earth stood on were spared. 

Alphine watched the chaos with an oddly overwhelming sense of joy, but it was abruptly halted as Mount Doom erupted. Immediately all noise ceased except for Merry and Pippin, who began to cry for their friends. The Witch covered her mouth in horror, tears springing to her eyes as she watched lava begin to flow steadily out of the volcano. 

“No.” Her gaze was quickly broken when she heard Gandalf’s exclamation. She faced him just in time to see him mount one of the Eagles. 

“Gandalf, what are you doing?” She asked worriedly. 

“I am going to find Frodo and Samwise. There is hope for them yet,” was all he had time to say before the Eagle took off with two others (one for Sam and the other for Gollum, who they knew was supposed to be leading them through Mordor), heading straight for Mount Doom. She watched them fly into the distance worriedly, beginning to pick at her nails absentmindedly. It was only when another hand grabbed hers that she stopped, looking at the hand’s owner. She wasn’t surprised to see Legolas standing beside her, though his gaze was also on the three Eagles. 

“Eomer, take them back to Minas Tirith to recuperate,” she heard Aragorn instruct from behind her. 

“What about you?” The new King of Rohan questioned. The Man didn’t answer, though it seemed that Eomer didn’t need one as he instructed his men to get the wounded on horses and head back to the White City. 

The only ones left were the members of the Fellowship, who were waiting for what very well could have been a miracle. Alphine bided her time by making sure no one was hurt and comforting the Hobbits. She knew that it may have been in vain, but she held onto the hope that Frodo and Sam had survived it. And her hope was proven right when she noticed three Eagles flying towards them after what felt like hours (though she knew it wasn’t). 

“Look! The Eagles!” She exclaimed, pointing them out to the others. All heads turned, and Merry and Pippin began celebrating when they realized that two of them held none other than Frodo and Sam. 

“To Minas Tirith!” Aragorn yelled, climbing onto his horse. The rest of the Fellowship scrambled to their horses. Alphine wasted no time in helping Pippin up once she was seated on Talysan. She barely allowed him to get comfortable before she clicked the horse's reins, forcing him to gallop off. The others followed immediately after. They rode under the Eagles’ shadows, heading straight for Minas Tirith. 

Alphine hadn’t been this happy since long before she met and agreed to join the Fellowship of the Ring. It had been a few days since the Ring was destroyed and the battle concluded after a long, difficult and terrifying fight. While she waited for Frodo to wake up, Alphine opted to help with healing wounded soldiers. Of course she agreed to do so, and in between healing she helped clean Pelennor Fields. Things had been coming along wonderfully thus far, and she couldn’t have been happier. Well, she could be, but for that to happen, Frodo would have to wake up. Until then she was content with her work as a distraction. 

After nearly a week passed, Alphine stepped out of the Hall of Healing. She’d been working since dawn arose, so she figured that it was okay for her to take a break. She sighed softly as she closed the door behind her, leaning against the wall beside it as she reveled in the peaceful moment. Well, at least until she heard her name being called.

“Lady Alphine,” a Gondorian guard she’d come to learn was named Irolas called as he jogged up to her. 

“Yes?” She responded confusedly, standing upright as he reached her. “Is everything okay Irolas?” 

“Very,” the Man responded with a smile. “I’ve been told to inform you that the Hobbit, Frodo Baggins, is awake.” The Witch’s eyes widened at the information. She barely had time to offer him thanks before she was running down the hall towards Frodo’s temporary room. Gimli, Legolas, Aragorn and Samwise stood outside the door, all turning to face her when they heard her approaching. 

“Is it true?” She asked, trying to contain her excitement as she came to a stop.

“Aye lass, he’s awake,” Gimli answered for them. Alphine’s smile widened (if it were even possible) and she moved to walk in, but was stopped by Legolas grabbing her hands. 

“Hold on,” he muttered, which made her look at him in bewilderment. “Gandalf wants us to go in one by one so he does not get overwhelmed.” The Witch sighed, though she understood his reasoning. 

“Oh, fine,” she huffed. Just then Gandalf’s head poked through the door and he said Gimli’s name. It seemed that was the Dwarf’s cue to walk in. He did so, stopping in the doorway to spread his arms out and yell jovially. 

“Gimli,” Alphine heard the Hobbit yell happily, which brought a smile to her face. \

The Wizard smiled then gestured for Alphine to come inside. She wasted no time in doing so, the smile on her face becoming wider when she saw Frodo sitting up in bed with Merry and Pippin on either side of him. He looked much better than he did when he first arrived back in Minas Tirith. He had been bathed (well, as well as he could be while unconscious) and it took both Gandalf and Alphine to heal what they could of any injuries he had. Seeing him so clean, lively and happy brought tears to her eyes as they met his.

“Alphine!” He said, almost relieved to see her. She laughed softly and wiped a stray tear from her cheek as she walked closer to him. Just a moment later she felt a presence beside her, and an arm wrapped around her waist. She leaned her head on Legolas’ shoulder as he and Frodo shared a smile. Aragorn was next, then finally Samwise. The six of them sat there, basking in each other’s presences and being happy that all of it was finally over.

[standfucker]

I loved this chapter so I'm just going to dive right into all the parts I loved so here we go

[He’d toss you roughly onto a nearby couch or chair and spend time inspecting your work, but after a few rounds of this you realized he was just forcing you to take breaks.]

I love how he could just use his words and *tell* you to take a break but no, this guy's going to play with his new toy and flaunt his power more!

[Vampires could subsist on animals, but they usually had thralls – humans willing to be fed from in exchange for protection, or lodging, or money – or some mix of the three. The only people with more land and wealth than the vampires were the Celestial Dragons. Not even most nobles could compare to the wealth amassed by the long lived race. The balance of power was shaky at best. Vampires were powerful, but few in number. Turning humans into vampires was tricky business, and vampire procreation was a long process, as such humans out numbered them nearly a million to one. Before there had been thousands of vampires, but a great war some centuries ago had wiped out most of them.]

Me taking in all this worldbuilding

seriously hooked onto this AU!!

[Honeysuckles were in the middle of that power struggle, but you didn’t like thinking about it.]

[“It… seems impolite to refer to it as feeding.” You admit, looking over at him carefully.

“It isn’t.” He answers gruffly. “Call it drinking if you want. You wanna talk rude? Most of us call drinking from honeysuckles dosing.”]

This was so good. Also I really like this reader, it feels awesome being this reader, they rule.

[“If I drink from you now, and you are addicting, or intoxicating, or whatever word that’s supposed to make me lose my senses, then I should be either recovered or exhausted by the time my partners return.”]

ARE WE GONNA SEE KILLER/HEAT/WIRE OMG

[Eustass’ fingers slowly slide over your throat, forcing your head back slowly before he pushes you roughly into the chair with enough force it causes the cutlery on your plate to clatter as the chair slams into the table.]

love the detail of the cutlery clattering to show impact!!

[“No ill-effects as far as anyone knows.” He repeats your words. “But you couldn’t look at me when you said it, so what are you hiding?”]

Ugh I LOVE this! I didn't even pick up on how the reader looked away but Kid noticed immediately! the keen perception, the strength, it's sooo good

[“I’m not a flower.” Your voice is small, and it feels like such a weak statement against an entire world that refers to you and those like you as honeysuckles.]

who hasn't felt like the judgment of the world is against them? I love this reader.

[You don’t have to look at him to know he’s irritated about something – no matter how old or young he might actually be it’s fairly easy to read his emotions. It’s a large part of what’s made it easy to relax around him, even if does shift gears swiftly sometimes, you never have to guess too much.]

love this detail!!

[He reaches out and tilts your jaw around a little, exposing your neck in different ways.]

this is making my knees weak!!! ( ;A;)

[“… They teach us that it’s painful.”

“Never know a thrall to cry out in pain.” His grin takes a lascivious tilt. “Not to say they don’t cry out.]

cue me leaning forward, wondering if this universe goes by 'euphoric bite' rules O.O

[“Mm, if I want to. Maybe I like hurting my meals.” He tilts your chin up so you’re looking at him.]

god, he just OOZES threat. it's so incredible, I dont know how you do it so well. you're amazing at this

EVERYTHING about the bite scene--the buildup with kisses, the tension, the pleasure--it left me breathless! I swear I could feel my own neck tingling. I LOVE the line [a strange insanity takes you, as though you’d risk death to feel the peak of that pleasure.]

[“Dhampir? Humans can’t get knocked up by vampires.”]

👀👀👀 well that makes things easier for us in later chapters don't it?

[“It’s what they call the vampires who have taken oaths to the World Government.”

Eustass stills, and the air around him seems to move on his behalf. His gaze nearly spears you to the chair you’re sitting in.]

ruh roh. I guess that's new to him, and it's not good.

Ooooogh the descriptions of his anger were so on point and the way he snapped at you and you run and everything, just, so good, I am EATING IT UP.

I'm so so so glad I had to go to sleep so there's still one more chapter left for me to read. I literally cannot wait to read what happens next! not to be selfish but I am wishing you tons of muse for this story because you have been killing it with every single chapter. Cannot believe shit this good is free. God I love fanfiction. Thank you for your hard work!

Honeysuckle: Red

afab!reader x Vampire!Eustass Kid

cw: Vampire AU with blood, violence, gore, some very marginally dubious consent, 18+ only

Summary: Vampires are real, and the World Government has ways of maintaining the balance of power and peace between humans and Vampires. Most of it is simple extortion, but one person's desire for freedom threatens to upend the delicate balance and change the world completely.

Tag List: @keiva1000

Chapter 4: Bite

Eustass’ idea of having you do what he wanted seemed to be mostly chores. He had you dust, and sweep, and clean almost constantly. If you weren’t eating or sleeping, you were doing chores. He’d toss you roughly onto a nearby couch or chair and spend time inspecting your work, but after a few rounds of this you realized he was just forcing you to take breaks.

Your only real concern was that there wasn’t much conversation between the two of you. The one time you brought it up he said that you’d just have to wait and see. Well, his exact words had been to not worry your “fairytale filled head about it.”

Over the course of about four days, you were slowly pulled into his schedule. Sleeping during the day was unusual for you, but it was surprisingly easy to adjust to. You’d been up most of the night the first day you’d stumbled into the manor as it was.

Meals were simple, but certainly more than enough food. He would grumble that you’d better not complain, but you were just glad to be getting regular meals.  You had been certain in your mad dash to leave the facility behind that you would be going long stretches without food. If you’d died of starvation while being free, then so be it, and so this was a far cry better than you had anticipated.

The beginning of the fifth night, as you were eating breakfast – a few slices of toast with honey on them and some fruit – your curiosity got the better of you.

“Have you, um, eaten?” You ask the question, but you’re pretty sure you know the answer. If he’s left the manor in the last few nights, it hasn’t been for long as far as you could tell.

Vampires could subsist on animals, but they usually had thralls – humans willing to be fed from in exchange for protection, or lodging, or money – or some mix of the three. The only people with more land and wealth than the vampires were the Celestial Dragons. Not even most nobles could compare to the wealth amassed by the long lived race.

The balance of power was shaky at best. Vampires were powerful, but few in number. Turning humans into vampires was tricky business, and vampire procreation was a long process, as such humans out numbered them nearly a million to one. Before there had been thousands of vampires, but a great war some centuries ago had wiped out most of them.

Now there were a few hundred at most.

Honeysuckles were in the middle of that power struggle, but you didn’t like thinking about it.

“Vampires don’t eat, princess.”

“It… seems impolite to refer to it as feeding.” You admit, looking over at him carefully.

“It isn’t.” He answers gruffly. “Call it drinking if you want. You wanna talk rude? Most of us call drinking from honeysuckles dosing.”

You can’t help flinching at the term. Convincing the world that all honeysuckles were addictive was the greatest lie the World Government had ever gotten away with.

“I’m still not convinced.” He says his tone freezing you in place as he stands behind you. “Everyone should be back by morning. I was going to wait, but if you’ve been lying.” His hands rest on your shoulders and suddenly you wish you hadn’t eaten breakfast.

“I haven’t.” You insist. Your voice is quiet, and your heart is pounding.

Eustass’ hands hold you in place easily, as he leans down and speaks low into your ear. “You’ve heard the stories, same as me, I’m sure. The Government protects the little honeybloods, because the terrible, monstrous, evil, blood-sucking vampires can’t help from drinking the little darlings dry. So sweet is your blood, so powerfully addicting, that we fall into a terrible bloodlust from it.”

“I’m not addicting.” You say the words, but there’s a vivid image in your mind of your cold and lifeless body on the floor, drained of blood and a feral Eustass Kid screaming in the dark manor.

“But your blood is still intoxicatingly sweet,” you can almost feel his lips brush against your skin, before he leans back a little. “If I drink from you now, and you are addicting, or intoxicating, or whatever word that’s supposed to make me lose my senses, then I should be either recovered or exhausted by the time my partners return.”

The chair you’re in is turned around easily, and those burning gold eyes are regarding you before he leans down. “Mm, princess?”

You’re struggling to meet his gaze when he’s so close. “I’m…” You swallow thickly, forcing yourself to look at him. “I’m a Honeysuckle Red, we… I… supposedly empower anyone who drinks my blood.”

“Empower?”

You nod. “Like adrenaline.”

Eustass’ fingers slowly slide over your throat, forcing your head back slowly before he pushes you roughly into the chair with enough force it causes the cutlery on your plate to clatter as the chair slams into the table.

“You said you weren’t a drug, little flower.” His eyes have that dangerous red hue to them, and his grip is immovable. By his grace alone you’re still able to breathe and speak.

“Ah-addicting… I said I wasn’t addicting.”

His eyes narrow and his grip tightens for a moment. You do your best to stay still, hoping that he doesn’t mean to snap your neck and save himself the complications. The tense moment seems to drag on, but you don’t avert your eyes.

“Side-effects?” He questions as his grip loosens.

“R-reds are the…” You stop and look away. “There’s no ill-effects, as far as anyone knows.”

“And you?” He prompts.

“Huh?” You look up at him and tilt your head a little.

“No ill-effects as far as anyone knows.” He repeats your words. “But you couldn’t look at me when you said it, so what are you hiding?”

“N-Nothing. Nothing!” You assert as his fingers start to tighten. Your face flushes and you look away. “It’s like … it’s like talking about an object.” You say finally, face and ears hot in anger and embarrassment. “Classifications. Purities. Effects. Addiction levels. Like we’re not even human.”

You’re quiet for a moment, Eustass doesn’t move his hand away but there’s no pressure behind it.

“I’m not a flower.” Your voice is small, and it feels like such a weak statement against an entire world that refers to you and those like you as honeysuckles.

You hear a quiet growl come from Eustass before he pulls his hand away. You don’t have to look at him to know he’s irritated about something – no matter how old or young he might actually be it’s fairly easy to read his emotions. It’s a large part of what’s made it easy to relax around him, even if does shift gears swiftly sometimes, you never have to guess too much.

It’s much better than the false kindness of the faculty.

“That was a lovely chat.” He says sarcastically. “But I’m still hungry, princess. What’re you going to do about it?”

“… I wasn’t aware I had a choice.” You admit, looking at the golden eyes that are regarding you coolly. A smirk slips across his face.

“You’ve had a choice since you chose to run away, little gift.” His voice is gruff, but the words are kind, or at least kind enough. He reaches out and tilts your jaw around a little, exposing your neck in different ways. “And I can choose if I give a shit.”

“… They teach us that it’s painful.”

“Never know a thrall to cry out in pain.” His grin takes a lascivious tilt. “Not to say they don’t cry out. But no one’s fed from a hon-.” Eustass stops mid sentence and frowns deeply. “Only one way to know, sweetheart.”

“Would you… could you stop, if it hurts?”

“Mm, if I want to. Maybe I like hurting my meals.” He tilts your chin up so you’re looking at him. Despite the heat in your face you’re able to return the gaze.

“You haven’t hurt me yet.” You say, knowing he’s had plenty opportunity to do so.

“If you want me to hurt you doll, you just have to ask for it.” He answers and you wonder if you’re both talking about the same thing anymore.

“I…” You wondered absently if being free meant wondering which choice was going to be your last, or if this was a unique situation. “Would like for you to eat.”

“I won’t starve in the next few hours.” He counters. There’s a glimmer in his eyes, and you feel like you’re being stalked.

“I know.” He offers his hand and helps you to your feet from the chair.

“Scared?”

“Nervous.” You admit.

Leaning down, he hums softly, pulling your collar aside. There’s enough give to the shirt that he can pull down both of your shoulders easily. The air against your skin makes your breath come back shaky and you can feel the grin coming from him.

“Not yet,” he says softly, kissing your neck. The soft sensation was unexpected, and you feel a shiver run through you as a small gasp escapes you. “Relax,” he commands, pressing another soft kiss against your neck.

His lips are hotter than you expected, and the pleasurable feeling from the tender kisses is distracting you. His hand presses against your back before his tongue presses against your skin. The new sensation makes you squirm and gasp, and he holds you in place. You can feel your heart beating faster and the rush of blood from it is a little dizzying.

“Eu-Eustass…” You’re not sure what you mean to say to him. That the pleasure is nice, but the anticipation is killing you, or that you don’t want him to feed, you just want him to keep making you feel good.

You didn’t know something like this felt so good.

He cradles your head with his hand, holding you even as the pleasure building inside you seems to demand you move.

“Shhh, (Y/N),” his voice hums against your skin, and there’s a second of fear as you realize what’s going to happen. The pleasure hardly relents however, and the fear subsides.

The hard pressure of smooth bone is against your skin for nearly a third time, and the sharp pain is so brief you’re not even sure you truly felt it. Pleasure jolts from your neck out into your body and you can’t stifle the euphoric cry that escapes your lips. The delicious sensation continues to build as he feeds from you, and a strange insanity takes you, as though you’d risk death to feel the peak of that pleasure.

Before you can even truly near it Eustass pulls away.

“Haaaa-Fuck.” He keeps his grip on you as he takes another deep breath. He seems to steady the two of you against one another for a brief moment before he has you sit back in the chair.

“Holy fuck.” He swears again. His skin is flush red down to his abdomen, his fingers flexing as claws extend and contract. There’s a wild aura around him, and you half expect him to howl like some werewolf.

He takes a step back, but it seems more for your comfort than his concern. The air around him is crackling and chaotic, but there’s no struggle or madness on his face.

“I feel like I could break the Red Line.” He says, his breath is coming out heavy and his usual fluid movements seem to flicker. You almost expect him to start teleporting around the room. “How long does this last?”

“… They say for as long as the Dhampir need to win a fight.”

“Dhampir? Humans can’t get knocked up by vampires.” He says it dismissively, but he’s still looking at you for clarification.

You swallow. It’s not like you haven’t been spilling state secrets to him all this time, but this one feels heavier than the rest. “It’s what they call the vampires who have taken oaths to the World Government.”

Eustass stills, and the air around him seems to move on his behalf. His gaze nearly spears you to the chair you’re sitting in.

The room’s been dark since you began eating, your “day” starts at sunset, and the manor is kept almost completely dark because there’s no need for Eustass to need light, and neither of you wants to give away the fact that you’re in the manor. Small sources of lights are provided so you can do your chores and move around without issue, but nothing more than that.

Right now, it seems like all the light from the moon and the candle at the table are being overpowered by a darkness rolling around Eustass. There’s a fury in his eyes, a deadly anger and an unsettling calm all at the same time. You can’t tell if he means to kill you for what you’ve told him, or if he’s keeping himself in check to keep from harming you.

The sound of his breathing is the only noise in the room. The air shudders with every exhale.

“Go to your room.” The words come from him clipped and sharp, barely controlled. “NOW!” He bellows when you don’t immediately move and the sound forces your limbs into motion.

The torrent of emotions from the last few minutes causes tears to sting in your eyes as you run toward your room. The euphoria, the pleasure, the rush, all crushed underneath the weight of the fear that made you run.

Even before you could make it halfway up the stairs you heard the front doors open and close with such force it nearly shook the entire manor. It was amazing that they hadn’t simply shattered in the frame. By the time you made it to the doors of your room you were at least certain that he wasn’t furious at you. You might not know him well, but Eustass Kid seemed the kind of vampire to simply bury whatever truly angered him.

Whatever he had left to do, you only hoped he returned.

[baroquebucky]

first name basis

in which only you can call bucky by his first name

word count: 1.6k

masterlist

a/n: hi bffs !! hope ur all well <33 thank u to this request for this v fluffy fic <333 hope u guys enjoy ! sorry for any typos :P

It was quiet, the soft pattering of raindrops on the window and the city ambiance filled the Brooklyn apartment. It was somewhat empty, but Bucky had said it was just because he had just moved in. You knew he was lying.

The two of you were sat up with your backs against his headboard, scrolling through channels to find something to watch. He had an arm around you, holding you close to him. You were leaning into him, your head lightly resting on his chest.

“there’s never anything good on anymore” bucky grumbled and you smiled.

“you sound like an old man” you chuckled, taking the controller from his hand and flipping through channels, finally settling on some nature documentary about lions.

“i am 106, you know that right?” He teased you and you rolled your eyes, elbowing him lightly and causing him to groan dramatically. His antics made you elbow him even harder, laughing as he pouted at you.

“oh boohoo” you teased him, sticking your tongue out. Bucky gasped, eyes widening at your actions.

“i cant believe you” he frowned, smiling as he tackled you and caused you to fall over, he pinned your hands above your head, looking at you with soft eyes. “you’re gonna pay y/n” he smiled, peppering kisses all over your face before finally gently placing his lips onto yours.

It was a soft and tender kiss, nothing but pure love and sweetness. The kind that you smile into and blush while your lips are still connected, the kind bucky always wanted.

As the two of you pulled away he wasted no time in pulling you to his side, leaning against his headboard and letting your head rest comfortably on his chest. It was quiet, neither of you speaking and just focusing on the lions on tv, occasionally making comments about how cute the cubs were.

“your middle name is actually Buchanan?” You blurted out, causing bucky to jump a bit. He looked at you confused before nodding his head.

“yeah it is, why?” He smiled at your question as you thought silently.

“dunno, it’s just, Buchanan” you giggled and bucky blushed.

“are you making fun of my middle name?” He asked, trying his best to hold back the smile on his face and you shook your head quickly.

“no! i mean, a little bit i guess” you laughed and bucky smiled brightly at you, loving the sound of your laughter.

“i can’t believe you” bucky frowned and you pouted, moving up to kiss his jawline.

“oh angel, you know your middle name doesn’t change a thing between us” he smiled at your words, loving the way you so easily caved. “tell me your full name” you smiled at him, “wanna hear you say it” you giggled and he rolled his eyes before sighing.

“James Buchanan Barnes” he spoke, his voice smooth as he stared at you, a smile on his face when you hummed.

“James” you spoke, the name rolling off your tongue like it was the most wonderful thing in the world. Buckys heart raced, his face flushed and his stomach was in knots. “you know that’s a lot better than buchanan” you teased, craning your neck a bit to look at bucky.

“say it again” he whispered, his heartbeat in his ears as you looked at him confused.

“that your middle name is ridiculous?” you smiled and he shook his head.

“no doll, my name” his voice was soft, just above a whisper.

“James” you repeated the name, smiling at the bashful smile on his face and the way his face flushed as you spoke his name.

“‘t sounds nice when you say it” he mumbled, his face was hot and you scrambled to sit up, cupping his face with one hand and kissing his lips before speaking up.

“well, how about we toss bucky out the window and i call you james, yeah?” You suggested and he nodded, smiling at you before crashing his lips onto yours.

Bucky didn’t know what it was about it. Maybe it’s because you were the only person since steve to make him feel like himself and not like an ex assassin. Maybe it’s because you helped remind of who he was, not the winter soldier but James Barnes. Maybe it was the way you said his name and it sounded as sweet and smooth as honey. Bucky didn’t know and he didn’t really care much, he just knew he only wanted you to call him that.

“hey guys!” You smiled as you and bucky walked into the compound hand in hand, giving the team a small wave before you and bucky headed into the kitchen.

There was some big game on tonight and the team was having a watch party, everyone gathered into the living room excited as they watched some pregame stuff. You and bucky were working in the kitchen, you had offered to make dinner so you wouldn’t have to pay an absurd amount for some takeout.

The sound of the tv was quieter and you and bucky were quick to take out all the ingredients needed from the kitchen, placing them on the counter. Bucky loved helping you cook so the two of you moved easily together in the kitchen.

Sam and steve walked into the kitchen, smiling as they saw you cooking, the smell of the food in the air.

“you guys need any help?” Sam asked, looking at how easily you and bucky handed things off to each other.

“could you help set the table up? the forks and spoons are over there” you smiled and Sam nodded, grabbing the stack and handing the forks to steve. “James can you pass me some of the salt please?” You asked, not thinking twice, bucky handed it to you with no hesitation.

Steve and Sam were grounded in their spots, shock on their faces as they processed your words.

“did- did you just call him James?” Steve asked, brows furrowed at you. You smiled at him and chuckled, completely confused as to why it was such a big deal.

“yeah, why? I do it all the time” you shrugged your shoulders, bucky had a bashful grin on his face, grabbing some cups and shoving his friends away and towards the table. Steve and Sam looked at bucky as he set some cups down on the table with them.

“so they can call you James but when i do it i get a knife two inches from my face?” Sam spoke crossing his arms across his chest and frowning at his friend. Bucky rolled his eyes, ignoring him and going to get more cups.

“can you tell everyone the foods ready?” You asked bucky, grabbing the plates and placing three filled with food into his arms. He smiled, kissing your temple before heading to the dining room.

“foods ready!” He called out, you could hear the team cheering as they all sat down around the table, excited to eat.

“james can you come get these please!” You called out, everyone whipping their head around to you.

“wh- James? You call him James?” Rhodey scoffed and you looked at him with furrowed brows.

“well yeah that’s his name isn’t it” you laughed and he nodded quickly.

“i called you that one time and you threatened me” Rhodey spoke and bucky blushed, taking the plates from you quickly and rushing to give everyone food so they would stop talking.

“glad to know I’m not alone” Sam laughed, looked at Rhodey, natasha nodded.

“he told me to not call him that” steve frowned and you felt your face heating up.

You were the only one that called him James. You could feel your heart fluttering as you locked eyes with bucky, smile on your face when he walked over to you to get the plates for you and him.

“didn’t know you were so protective over your name buchanan” you teased and he rolled his eyes, the rest of the team already eating and talking amongst themselves after you told them to hurry and eat before the game started.

Bucky smiled and snaked his arms around your waist, leaning down and kissing you softly, the two of you smiling into the kiss before pulling away.

“only like it when you say it doll” he whispered and you blushed, heart skipping a beat as he kissed your forehead and let go of you, carrying the two plates in his hands and leaving you in the kitchen. You but your lip and smiled, following him quickly and eating with the rest of the team.

While steve and Sam cleaned the table up and tony and peppered filled the dishwasher you cuddled up with bucky on the couch, eyes closing when he ran his fingers through your hair.

“i love you” bucky mumbled and you smiled, “love you so much y/n y/l/n” he spoke, kissing the top of your head.

“and i love you so much james bucky barnes” you whispered, placing a soft kiss to his cheek before cuddling back into his chest, eyes fluttering shut.

His stomach fluttered and his heart skipped a beat. Sure it had been thousands of time that you had spoken his name, calling him james in any and every tone. But everytime he found himself blushing and smiley, he found himself wanting to hear you say it again, and again and again.

Maybe it was because you helped ground him. Or maybe it was because you helped him become himself again.

As bucky looked at your breathing peacefully on his chest, drifting to sleep despite the the cheers from the rest of the team he realized why he loved hearing you say his name.

It brought him back home. And home was here, with you.

It was with you and his family as they watched a game together, huddled together and squished into three sofas.

[lix-ables]

5, 25, and 28 w mean bin 🥺🥺🥺 maybe some collar and leash play too? dying for mean daddy bin content

no bc mean bin + collar and leash play >> i hope you enjoy baby!!

5 + 25 + 28 ; "you heard me. take. it. off." + "listen to me good, pet" + "fuck, you look so pretty when you're a mess for me." (minors dni !!) mostly collar + leash play, mean dom!bin, teasing, edging and marking, use of pet names (pet, angel), slight dumbification???. wc; 797 (the way i got carried away—)

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changbin is not the one to come home pissed, and you knew that. but today was different, just as you opened the door to welcome him, instead of the usual loving, soft face he had on, it was replaced with his eyes dark, his fists clenching and unclenching over and over. 

“take your clothes off, and wait for me, kneeling down,” was all he uttered to you, before heading into the bedroom to what you guessed to be him freshening up. “w-what?” you mumble, confused, your brain cross checking if you heard him right. 

“you heard me. take. it. off.” changbin gritted his teeth, setting his bag on the couch. “don’t make me repeat a thousand times, pet. i’m sure you’re not that dumb.” you shake your head, fingers working nimbly on removing your clothes, stripping down completely when he walked into the bedroom. with your chest bare, and your pussy exposed, you felt cold, chilly even, and the windows weren’t open. you relaxed your shoulders, kneeling in front of the couch, before you felt a brush of a rough material brush past you, and you gasp.

your eyes set on the object in changbin's hand, eyes widening — a blue collar with a matching leash. his other beckons you to him as he sits on the couch and you crawl up to him, your knees slightly scraping the floorboards. changbin smirks at the way you approached him, his fingers immediately wrapping around your neck, earning a small mewl from you. "now, you listen to me and listen to me good, pet. you're going to take everything i give you, and you're not going to fuss about it, yes?" 

you nod in response, his fingers tugging you forward by holding the back of your neck, his free hand unclasping the collar and putting it around your neck. your eyes look down a bit, watching his hands move to tighten it, but not too much to mess with your breathing. "already so fucking pretty. i like it." 

he pats the seat next to him, and you get up, your hands in front of you, showing him how well behaved you can be, and how well you can obey him, and sit down next to him. that's when his hand reaches for the leash, hooking it onto the collar, a sharp tug on it to pull you closer. his hand wraps around the leash, while his other trails up your knee to spread your legs, and a cool breeze hits your wet core. "already so wet, and i haven't even touched you yet. you're soaking, angel."

"'s for you, binnie.." you whimper, and he slaps the side of your thigh, earning a moan out of you. "did i fucking say you could talk? i didn't. all i'm going to hear from you, is your pretty sounds. so don't you fucking dare hold back."

"yes sir…" you manage, and changbin doesn't hold back from teasing your folds, his fingers diving into your cunt already, and in response your walls react, clenching around his finger. another moan leaves your lips, your mouth open, your head thrown back against the couch. your body slouches a little only for changbin to tug on the leash, making you sit up once again. "no, pet. you're not going to give in already. i just fucking started."

changbin's fingers move, pumping in and out of your pussy, his thumb teasing your clit, working at a fast pace. your back arches a little, and your hand reaches to clutch onto changbin's wrist that holds the leash, nails wanting to dig into his skin from the pleasure you're feeling. "too much, hm?" he whispers, pulling his finger out from between your legs, bringing it to your lips, a single word leaving his mouth. "suck." 

your lips open, taking his finger in, your tongue twirling around it, as you start sucking his finger, only for him to pull out, and continue with what he was doing — teasing you. tears started forming at the corner of your eyes, and you bite your lip, knowing it would be swollen any minute now. your thighs kept closing around his hand every other time, which made changbin tug on the leash.

your thighs shudder as he moves his fingers over your clit, your walls squeezing around nothing, desiring for his cock. "fuck, you look so pretty when you're a mess for me, angel," he mumbles, pulling his fingers away from you, and you whine. "don't think you deserve it just yet," changbin smiles, bring his fingers to his own lips, licking your arousal from it. "even prettier when you ride my cock, won't you? wearing that collar, looking so dumb and pathetic. something only i get to see, right?"

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