#i worked on this. for three days after i figured out how my tablet works

[the-californicationist]

Bone Deep

AO3 Link -- MDNI -- TW: emotional hurt/comfort, make up sex

Your husband, John Price, has fallen into a pattern of behavior that seems to be moving him farther and farther away from you. But, you refuse to play second fiddle for long. 

You were drenched. It had been raining in such a way that made you think the Lord had gone back on his promise. Perhaps the rainbow had been painted just to placate you. Perhaps, you thought as you wrung out your hair on the porch, you would be drowned after all. 

It sure felt that way. Work had mounted up to the point of a fever-pitch. You had three projects due and one to revise. Not to mention, your husband had been home and yet almost fully invisible. 

John Price was back on something like leave, but he was never around. You saw evidence of his presence all over your floor and table and furniture. Socks, dirty plates, dead tablets, scraps of paper with Russian names scribbled on them... He was hunting Makarov in your kitchen and your hallway and your bathroom, and he was leaving that trail of breadcrumbs both literally and figuratively all over your house. 

You’d gone to bed alone for two nights in a row, and as you nearly tumbled over a pair of his sneakers in the foyer, caked in wet mud, you decided that it would not be three. 

“John?” You called out.

There was no reply, but a pale blue light shone under his office door. 

You popped open the latch and saw him hunched over the computer screen. 

“John.”

“Hm?” He responded, but he didn’t turn around. 

“John!”

“What?” He roared, spinning in his chair and glowering at you, shaming you for interrupting him.

“Okay,” you nodded, resigned. 

It would be a cold day in hell before you accepted that tone from anyone. You’d gone in there expecting to have a rational conversation, but your husband had raised his voice to you like you’d been a naughty dog. 

And you were absolutely not going to take that sort of treatment.

You made it to your bedroom in a quick three strides, pulling your overnight bag from under the bed. You shot your best friend, Cana, an SOS text. She lived two hours away, but you didn’t mind. You’d drive all night through the rain if it meant getting out of this prison that you used to call a home. 

Okay, maybe that was a little dramatic, but you had boundaries. Clear ones. And he knew he had crossed them. He just didn’t care. 

You started to pack as you fumed, tossing in a few days worth of clothes, your toiletry bag, the essentials. Then, the bedroom door clanged open, its handle slamming into the railing on the wall. 

“What’s this?” John waved a hand over your bag. 

“When I married you, I married a partner, not a ghost. The only reason I know you’re home is because you leave your fucking laundry for me to finish all over my floor. I’m not going to clean up after you like some maid. Then, you raise your tone at me, disrespecting me? No. When you’re ready to be my husband again, you know my number.”

He scoffed,

“All this bloody drama over some dirty socks?”

You stared at him in a way that told him just how serious you were. The silence between you stretched on for eons, expanding in all directions. You smiled, 

“You know it’s not the socks.”

The look in his eyes said: yes, I know it’s not the socks. But, his pride wouldn’t let him say the quiet part out loud. 

So, you left. 

Starting up the car was hard. Backing out of the driveway was harder. But, every mile you drove simply steeled your resolve. You knew his work was important, but you were important, too. You’d always be his wife, but you needed some space. 

You texted your boss when you made it to Cana’s house; you were taking a few days off. A night of tears and comforting hugs (and strong margaritas) passed, then a morning. Then, a night… and in the middle of it, you saw your phone light up. Despite the million other notifications you received every day, you knew it was him.

John: hey

You: hey

John: can i call

You: one sec

You sneaked out of bed, untangling yourself from Cana’s lanky arms, and lugged your phone out to the front porch. You were about to curl up on her big patio chair when you were stopped in your tracks at the sight of a big black truck idling in the driveway.

You sighed, standing there staring at your husband. He killed the engine and stepped down from the cab. As he approached you, looking up at you from the bottom of the stairs like a wide-eyed disciple, you noticed that his blue irises were ringed in pink, bloodshot and puffy. He hadn’t shaven, and he looked pale. 

But, even though you were still hurt, and even though he looked a little worse for wear, it was hard to ignore the carnal ache in your belly when you watched the muscles bulge and flex in his immense forearms as he crossed his arms in front of himself. The way his chest stretched out his black tee shirt, a tuft of fur peeking out of the crew neckline, the sleeves struggling to contain his round biceps. The way he chewed his full bottom lip when he had something important to say. It was enough to test your resolve.  

“Hey,” you said in a small voice, holding your arms around your body for comfort. 

Suddenly, those sharp eyes focused on you with rapt attention, and he stared right at you, speaking in a low, gravelly purr, trying to keep his voice down,

“I’ve been a proper arse.”

You tried to hold back a smirk. He continued,

“I took advantage of you. I’ve been hunting this fuckin’ bastard for so many years, and I’ve got him cornered. It’s all I can think about. Every night I think if only I was a little quicker, or maybe just bloody braver, I could stop him from killing more innocent people. I let him into our house. Into your life. And I shouldn’t have let my work come between us,” John’s expression softened, and he uncrossed his arms, hooking his thumb into his jeans pocket, “And I’m sorry.”

“Thank you,” you said quietly, still waiting for his next step. Being sorry was only part of it. 

“When you come home tomorrow, it’ll be different. I’m gonna pull my weight again. You have my word that I’ll only work when you work, and when you’re home,” he squared his shoulders, rocking his hips forward, nervous energy coursing through his body, “I’ll be home with you. I promise.”

You nodded, shifting your weight, staring down at your feet. Then, he called your attention with a caught breath and words that hurt you bone deep,

“You are coming home, right?”

You tried your honest best to fight the tears, but your body shuddered through a sob and you gasped in a sharp breath of air. He moved to hold you, to ascend the steps and repent, to be forgiven, but you held up your hand stopping him in his tracks,

“I won’t have you speaking to me like that, John. I won’t…” You thought about your words carefully, “I can’t be treated that way.”

“I understand, love. Believe me,” he chuckled, “I never want you to feel like that again.”

The way he rubbed his thumb across his sternum made your own chest hurt. He tried to approach you again, stepping up the wooden stairs, creaking under his weight, and he angled his chin up as if to kiss you. But, you stepped away, guarding your own heart for just a while longer. 

The hunger in his eyes followed you like smoke from a fire, warming you with its heat. 

“I’ll be home in the morning, John,” you said, turning to go back into the house. 

The next morning, as you packed, you thought about his promise. You hoped that you were heard. Truly heard and not just for a week of good behavior. You deserved to be respected, and you wouldn’t let your relationship with him become so one-sided again. 

When you pulled into your driveway, you expected to be greeted with the same dark, empty house. As you moved to pick your feet up over the usual mess of shoes, you discovered the foyer scrubbed to a high shine, and there was nothing to stumble upon. All the shoes were shoved into their little cubbies, and there wasn’t a dirty sock in sight. The living room was bright, clean, and John was standing in the middle of it, waiting for you. He took your bags, and scooped you up into a long, tight hug. 

You thought he might try to kiss you, but he didn’t. He just held you against him, breathing in and out, not letting go. Your face was buried deep in his chest, and you could smell his aftershave mixing with the strong scent of his cigars, and a slight musk that was all him. You wanted to feel his fur against your cheek. 

Suddenly, he grabbed your chin in his hand, making you face him, and he said in a dark, warm tone, 

“I’m gonna be the me that you need me to be. From now on. I swear it.”

You felt his soft lips touch yours, kissing you chastely, then deeper, chasing your taste, finding your tongue, licking along its length, savoring your mouth like a treat, cherishing every suck and nip and bite. 

“I missed you, John,” you admitted, feeling hot tears staining your cheeks, not realizing you were crying. 

He wiped them from your temples, smearing them into your skin, cradling your head in his hands so carefully as if you were made of glass. 

“I’ve been away. But, I swear, love. I swear, I’m back. I swear…”

His lips met your wet cheek and took your tears with them. 

“I swear…” 

He kissed your neck, holding your head in his huge paw.

“I swear…” 

You ran your hands over his neck, encircling him, tugging at his shirt, needing to feel his skin. He hooked his arms over his head and rucked the shirt off his back, tossing it on the couch. He pulled you into his lap as he sat down, sinking into the cushions, kissing you like you might disappear again. 

“I’m so sorry, love. Please forgive me,” John growled darkly, his deep voice rumbling between kisses. 

“Forgiven,” you said, forcing him to look at you.

Then, he put his forehead to yours and let out a deep sigh, closing his eyes and simply rubbing your back, trailing his hands over your hips, pulling you in closer to him. 

Tentatively, as if testing the waters of a deep well, you rocked your hips against him, seeing if you could get him to take the bait. If you had your husband back, you wanted to seal that promise with more than just a kiss. 

He groaned,

“Mm, I don’t deserve that.”

You repeated the motion, feeling the twitch of his fat cock inside of his jeans, and you narrowed your eyes at him,

“Sex isn’t a reward. It’s our connection, and I need to feel you. I need my captain back.”

He smiled, nuzzling your jaw, peppering your skin with little, chirping kisses, 

“Pretty girl… I missed you so much. What was I thinking?”

You shrugged, playing coy as you slipped off your leggings and set to undoing his buttons, opening the fly of his jeans to see the shock of dark hair and the swollen prize nestled in it, 

“I dunno. Maybe you just needed a reminder?”

As you teased him at your entrance, letting his head play in your wet folds, you began to sink down onto his shaft, spearing yourself onto his length, rocking back and forth with a tantalizing rhythm. 

“Mmngh,” he sighed, his eyes staring, transfixed on where your bodies reconnected. 

Finally, after some effort, his girth was fully sheathed within you, warmed and cradled by your soft heat. You began to lift yourself on your knees up and down, dragging all the way to his rosy head and then sliding all the way back down to those brown curls, enjoying the faces he was making against his will. 

However, he didn’t put up with your performance for long. Before you knew it, you were laying on the couch with your knees on your chest, taking every inch of his cock as deep as it would go. He had a gentle curve that, in this position, rubbed exactly where it needed to, pulling you along from one orgasm to the next like you were a kite, fully at his mercy and high as hell. 

Your mind swam with murky, unintelligible thoughts, and he fucked you harder and harder, pounding himself into you like a machine. Sometimes you forgot his strength… and his stamina. 

You whined a bit, your timbre changing from other-worldly pleasure to mild discomfort, and he picked up on it like a hound. He slowed, inspecting you, looking for the broken pieces. 

“You alright, missus?” He said, kissing you, thrusting shallowly now, checking in with you.

“Can we sit?”

“C’mere.”

John pulled you into his lap and continued his efforts, rocking himself back and forth, holding your body like a toy. Then, he snaked his hand between you, giving your clit something firm to rub against, and you felt the tingles begin to build inside of your belly, a coil tightening, a dam under pressure, a firework ready to burst. 

He was facing you, so you began to kiss him in a slow, supple way, letting your mouth fall open and your lips meet his with the lightest touch. John matched your energy, getting lost in your ritual, sending out the tip of his tongue to play and taste you again. 

He pulled away and licked his fingers before returning them to your folds,

“Mmf-fuck. You are so bloody good.”

“I want you to come in me, baby,” you confessed, resting your forehead on his, trying to catch your breath. 

You saw the surprise dance through his expression. 

“You sure?”

You knew it wasn’t something you allowed very often. You’d been off of your birth control for a few months, trying to give your body a break from the hormones. And even though you weren’t trying for a baby, that was always a dream that you shared. For John, it was the ultimate dream. 

“Yeah, I’m sure,” you nodded, kissing his smiling mouth.

“Oh, fuck me,” he growled darkly, gripping you around your waist, changing the angle to something wholly transcendent. How did he do it? How did he know where your body needed him to be? It was absurd. 

Everything was bright and glittering as you came around him, and you felt yourself squeezing his cock mercilessly, coming down his shaft in hot, thick coatings of creamy slick, unable to stop it from flooding out around him. 

He, too, was erupting. He gasped for air, grunting in loud, animalistic shouts, his whole face contorted into a pleasure-filled rage, pumping you full of his soft, warm cream, frothing it with his rough movements. 

Eventually, he flung his head back, holding you to him in a tight hug, his entire body moving and reacting without his input, fully on instinct. You held him back, clutching him against you like a lifeline.

You thought he would slip out of you once he was down from his high, but he didn’t. He simply held you to him, sweaty and desperate, letting himself soften inside of you. It was as if he didn’t want to leave. 

“Thank you, love,” he kissed you again, shuddering yet powerful. 

“It’s nice to have you home, John,” you smiled, letting his soft laughter warm your heart, basking in it like the sun. 

[writersdrug]

Thinking about Simon with a goth! gf, and introducing his team to you.

Warnings: cursing, very slight nsfw, pda

Typed this up on my lunch break, not thoroughly proofread, ending is meh but it's been rotting in my brain so I had to push it out. Feel free to send me asks about this headcannon, I'd love to write more about it! <3

Simon insists on dragging his team to the nearest pub after a particularly rough day, offering to buy then a round of whiskey. They are all reluctant at first, complaining about aching backs and heads, and Price saying that the missus was expecting him.

Then Simon mumbles something about how his girl would've loved to meet them.

"Yer wha' now?"

"My girl."

Suddenly, Gaz's headache is gone. "Must've just been dehydrated, I suppose." Soap's back feels much better, after being able to sit in the car for just- five minutes, now. And Price? Apparently, the missus was at a dinner raffle for her charity- thing, and he'd just now remembered.

So, drinks and a quick bite at the pub you worked at. It was settled.

Simon leads them in shortly after parking the truck. The other three quickly scan the room for anyone who stands out. As Simon brings them to a booth in the back, they all take a seat, heads on a swivel for some pretty thing to come bouncing over and latch herself onto him.

"Gonna hit the head." Simon says. "I'll put our drinks in- she'll bring 'em over, she'll be done with 'er shift soon."

As he leaves, Soap, Gaz, and Price all sit there in a few moments of observatory silence. It's much harder to sample the crowd, they realize, since there's apparently no dress code for the servers. Johnny eyes each person like a hawk, until he sees a potential pick.

"Tha' one." He says, nodding towards a busty, long-legged blonde. Price and Gaz follow his line of sight to her as she leans against the bar, playing with her hair and laughing at something her friend says. Her bootcut jeans and frilly top accentuate her curves, and it's obvious that every man in her vicinity is ogling. "Twenty on 'er. Seems like he'd be into swimsuit models, eh?"

Gaz humms, scrunching his nose disapprovingly. "Nah, mate- too simple."

"Feck is simple 'bout 'er?"

"I mean for Simon." Gaz corrects Soap. "Don't think he'd want someone so... ditzy- no offense to her." He adds. "I think he wants a girl who can hold her own, in the physical and the figurative sense. Someone..." he narrows his eyes, searching through the crowd of people. "Like her."

He discretely points to a woman across the bar. She's playing darts with a few people, and hits the bullseye perfectly just as Soap and Price look her way. Her tank top and cargo pants show how defined, yet lean her muscles are. She looks like she could last a few decent minutes in a brawl. "I bet on her."

"Well I'll raise ye forty - I ken LT wants someone more... passive."

"Forty it is, then. I'd love to have you pay my bill tonight."

"If I may..." Price chimes in, leaning against the back of the booth with a smug look, arms folded over his chest, "I'd love to get in on this little game o' yours, and walk away with eighty pounds t'night - because you're both wrong."

Soap smirks. "And how's tha', Cap?"

Price smooths his fingers over his mutton chops. "Well, for starters, I'm a bit ashamed o' you boys. Neither of those girls actually work here, do they? Mm?"

Gaz groans, letting his head drop against the wall behind him. It takes Soap another moment, but then he remembers Simon saying this was where you worked. The whole point of them going to this specific pub was because you'd already be here, on the clock.

"Shite..." he mumbles.

"Alright, sir." Gaz says defeatedly. "Lay it on us."

Price leans his elbows on the table and points his finger straight ahead; Gaz and Soap both follow it to the bar, where a sweet-looking girl is punching orders into a server tablet. She has long, silky, red hair, and a petite frame. She smiles so kindly at every patron who speaks to her, and when she makes their drinks, she is quick with it, still engaging in conversation as she shakes the mixer with a powerful arm. Despite the crowd, she seems to be managing fine on her own.

"Her." Price says, tucking his hand back onto the table. "Y' see that face? The way she talks to 'em all? How she's soft and tough at the same time? Imagine that birdie tucked under his wing, eh?"

Soap and Gaz can imagine it. She's a cute little thing, a social butterfly, it seems - the perfect polar opposite to Simon that just might be the perfect fit.

"And I know he's got a thing for redheads." Price adds.

"Piss off, how d'ye ken tha'?" Soap grumbles.

Price shrugs. "Call it intuition."

Simon comes around the corner, carrying several glasses of neat whiskey. "Sorry-" he says, setting a glass in front of Price, and handing out the others as he sits down on the end of the booth. "She's on 'er way now."

"No worries." Price says, trying to hide his smirk. "Didn't know y' were into redheads, Simon."

Simon pauses, looking down at the table in confusion - then he chuckles. "Yeah, s'pose I am. How did y' know? Did she come by already?"

Price laughs. "No, son. We were just sayin'-"

"Hey baby!"

You turn the corner and lean down, squealing as you throw your arms around Simon's neck and kiss him. The other three look on with shock, and Soap is about ready to throw this random woman off of Simon, until he holds you just as tightly and kisses you back.

Price's smirk falls right onto the table when he realizes that he is just as wrong as the other two.

You're Simon's bird. Simon's raven. Black, styled hair, with black lipstick that is currently smudging Simon's chin. You have a choker - no, several chokers, wrapped around your neck, as well as a tiny corked bottle filled with red liquid that makes Soap and Gaz nervous, dangling from a chain. Long, black-painted fingernails, with small spiderwebs decorating the tips, caressing his face and the back of his neck. Your arms and legs are covered with torn fishnets and small tattoos, and you're wearing a black number with a corset, paired with studded Doc Martin's.

You finally pull away and look at the rest of them. "Sorry- nice to finally meet the lot of you." You say, shaking each one of their hands. Your eyes are striking, with full, dark lashes, eyeliner, and red contacts. Gages and a bull ring, too. Soap feels a shiver run up his spine when he looks at you head on, and Gaz hasn't picked his jaw up off the floor since you came around.

"Erm-" Price clears his throat, "pardon us- call me John. This is Kyle, and Johnny." He gestures to the other two, still watching you with a mix of curiosity and awe.

"I've heard so much about you. It's good to put names to the face." You say with a smile, shaking the other two's hands. Gaz manages to smile a bit, but Soap has the same shocked expression plastered onto his face.

Simon has a love-drunk, black-smudged smile on his lips as you sit down in his lap. "She's been wantin' t' meet you all for a while, now. Sorry I kept 'er a secret."

"To be fair, I'm usually hard to find." You say, grabbing a napkin and wiping the lipstick off Simon's face. "I'm either here, at class, or roaming around and people-watching... at night, of course. People are more interesting when it's dark out." You traced a fingernail along his jugular as he stared up at you.

"John 'ere knew you were a redhead."

"How?! Oh my god- are my roots showing?"

"Nah, luvie, he's just observant. 'S our job." Simon places a kiss to your forehead. You smiled, leaning into the kiss.

"Oh, kitchen's about to close. You wanna split a burger, Si?"

"Sure, get what you like."

"'S no onions ok?"

"Fine w' me - chips?"

"You know it." You giggle, making a show of squishing his cheek and biting it. You turn to the rest of his team with a smile. "You boys hungry?"

Price is the first one to speak, taking a heavy breath in, causing Soap and Gaz to finally snap out of their trance. "Erm- whatever you get, we'll do the same. On us tonight."

"Oooh, you sure?" You asked, raising your eyebrows. Simon looked at Price curiously.

"You positive, cap?"

Price nodded. "Lost a bet."

Simon looks even more concerned. You pat his shoulder and stand up. "I'll go punch it in, be right back." You give him a peck on the cheek, and begin to walk away - Simon's attention returns to you as he hooks a finger in the chain choker around your neck and tugs you back.

Soap, Gaz, and Price all watch, stupefied, as you land back in Simon's lap with a giggle. He grabs your chin between his thick fingers and kisses you on the lips, shamelessly letting his tongue slide past your teeth and squeezing your thigh. You laugh into the kiss, letting him devour you for a moment, before tapping his cheek and breaking away.

"I got fifteen minutes to put everyone's order in, Si."

"That's plenty of time, dove."

"Yeah, but then kitchen will get mad for doing it last minute, and I don't want-"

He chuckles, gently shoving out off of his lap and smacking your rump through your skirt. "You're fine, go on."

You smile, then disappear behind the booth, boots thudding against the hardwood floors.

Simon looks back at the three of them - Soap is staring between you and him, a blush covering his face. Gaz immediately turns to look at the wall, scratching his chin, and Price is gazing into his whiskey, though there's a lingering surprise in his eyes.

"So- what bet?" Simon asks, adjusting his hips; Soap notices his hand reaching down to palm at the fabric over his groin. "I don' remember bettin' nothin'."

"We weren't bettin' on ye pullin' her out ye pockets, LT." Soap comments, trying to avoid Simon's eyes. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out forty pounds, slapping it onto the table.

"It makes sense..." Gaz, chimes in. "With your whole skeleton look, she fits you."

Simon slowly smiles, understanding what they had bet on. "Oh... I see. Lemme guess - you thought I's with someone more... simple? Lile that blonde at the bar, is tha' right?"

"Tha's what I said!!" Soap exclaims, dropping his fist to the table. "You got te give me credit fer pointin' t' a swimsuit model first, aye?"

"Oh- because every bloke on earth is shallow enough to care about swimsuit models." Gaz scoffs. "I at least picked someone who didn't look so bloody helpless." He gestures to the girl playing darts with her friends. "You don't even know if the other girl's a model."

"Well, one can imagine..."

"Feel as though I's the closest..." Price mutters under his breath, making the other two glare at him.

"Ye were not."

"Get off your high horse, cap-"

"Well- try this." Simon leans on his forearms with a smug look on his face. "My bird? She's a model, and she's a black-belt in Judo, and-" he looks at Price- "she's a natural redhead."

They all look between Simon and you, as you stand behind the bar and punch their orders in, laughing with the other redhead. Their eyes would drop onto the table if they were any wider.

"You sly dog-" Gas comments with a chuckle.

"I don' believe ye." Soap says, crossing his arms. "Wha' kind o' model?"

"Lingerie."

Price chokes on his whiskey.

"Bullshit." Soap snaps. "Pictures or ye lyin'."

"Nah." Simon sighs, leaning back in his seat and daking a sip of his whiskey. "Not the ones I have, at least. But pick up the last "Bloodletting" magazine, and she's there."

They all sit there, a bit dumbfounded, watching you walk back to the booth. How on earth did someone like Simon land someone like you?

Simon's full of surprises, even in his personal life.

[fyonahmacnally]

Thank you to @rainbow-rebellion for the amazing prompt!

“W-Wait…you’re going to Midvale this weekend? You’re spending the 4th of July in Midvale? With the Danvers? The same place I am going?” Lena asks, voice an octave higher than usual as her panicked green eyes dart between her computer screen, her cell phone, and the woman sitting in front of her. “K-Kara didn’t mention anything at lunch yesterday.”

Oh fuck! Lena thinks. This can’t be happening. Sam knows me too well. This is a disaster. Fuck! That’s it, I have to find an excuse not to go. 

Sam’s hazel eyes scan her boss and longtime friend’s face with a smirk. “Well, that’s because she just asked today. I ran into her on the sidewalk on my way back from lunch with Andrea. She invited the two of us as well as Ruby, but Rubes is going to be with her friends all weekend. So, it’s just Drea and I.” 

Shit, Andrea will be there as well. Goddammit, Kara. Drea knows me better than Sam! Gay panicking. You’re gay panicking. Okay, it’s fine. Everything is fine. You’re fine, Luthor. Get it together. You’ve hidden your pining for years. You can handle a weekend with your friends. 

The brunette CFO raises a brow in question, an act picked up from the raven haired genius over their years of working together. It’s obvious the youngest Luthor is panicking over the presence of two of her oldest friends. No, she’s full on gay panicking. Sam does her best to stifle her laughter for Lena’s sake, but just barely. “Why are you being so twitchy about it, Luthor? Drea and I have been going to game nights since I moved back to National City. Besides, all of us already know you have the hots for blondie.”

The L-Corp CFO grins as she watches Lena’s posture shift from nervous to defensive. The entirety of their friend group knows Kara and Lena have been pining over each other for years. Sam is more than aware of the reason her friend is being squirmy about her and Andrea spending the weekend in Midvale. Lena knows she and Andrea know her better than the rest of their friends. The two of them know her every little tell and both of them live to give her shit about it. 

Sam gives the youngest Luthor one final devilish smile before leaving her office. Lena knows she is absolutely fucked with the Arias and Rojas duo.

Lena does her best to put things out of her mind after her conversation with Sam. The first two days of her week fly by. It’s suddenly Wednesday, she’s finished her work for the day, and is currently standing in the middle of her walk-in closet trying to figure out what to pack for her four day weekend in Midvale. 

The past few years with Kara around have provided a crash course in “comfy clothes” as the hero calls them. She has even accumulated a lot more casual clothing, but it doesn’t mean she has figured out how to pack for a holiday weekend, much less one held primarily outdoors. Honestly, she never really had holiday weekends while growing up with the Luthors. How the hell is she supposed to know these things? 

She sighs and glances down at her watch, she should have been finished packing hours ago.

Kara will be at her penthouse any minute and she has exactly three things packed – her toiletries, her tablet, and her glasses. They are supposed to leave at 7:00 pm, which is exactly 45 minutes from now. There is absolutely no way she will have all of her shit done by Kara’s proposed departure time. 

The Kryptonian wants to beat everyone to her childhood home to help Eliza set-up for all the guests. Lena pulled out all the stops and tried her best to get out of going after learning Sam and Andrea would be there, but the lovable reporter wielded her deadly pout and any further attempt died on her lips. So here she is, packing her suitcase. She was originally excited for the trip. It was supposed to be relaxing, but now she’s certain she will spend the entirety of the trip tense as a mouse in a room full of cats. 

Lena sighs, again. She can already feel her anxiety climbing and shakes her head. Get yourself together, Luthor. Accept the fact you’re the mouse and will be tormented by two very devious cats. Fucking Sam and Andrea.  

She gets lost in her thoughts. The next thing she knows, warm arms wrap around her waist causing her to shriek like a banshee. Once she calms down and wrangles her heart out of her throat, she smacks Kara for scaring the hell out of her quickly followed by shaking her now aching hand. They tag team her packing and get it done much faster than she would have alone. Unfortunately, she let her heart eyes cloud her judgment and allowed her years-long crush to take care of her swimwear for the weekend. There is no doubt in her mind she is going to regret this decision later as she has no idea what awaits her.

You are a fucking gay disaster, Luthor. Useless, pining queer disaster. 

Unfortunately, Kara Danvers is her kryptonite. Lena Luthor cannot say no to that woman. It’s impossible.

Read the rest on AO3 - link at the top.

[callsignfate]

Valeria x chaotic wife pt.4

(To everyone who likes these, here you go part 4. enjoy because I have a few more posts for today)

Part One/ Part Two/ Part Three/ Part Four/ Part Five

Part Six/ Part Seven/

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R/N: I used to wish to grow up faster and be an adult.

Valeria: yea, well, how did that go?

R/N doing paperwork: very fucking awful. What do half of these words fucking mean?

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Valeria opening the door: Today on where is my wife: dead, lost, doing something stupid with my workers, or injured.

R/N trying to hide Valeria's men: GO GO GO

Valeria: you've gotta be fucking kidding me-

R/N: They volunteered to let me paint their nails black.

Valeria: I'd believe it at this point.

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R/N: Do you ever wonder if there is supposed to be a path in life and if you go off of it bad things happend and we just call it back luck?

Valeria: I think I was meant to run Las Almas. Become El Sin Nombre.

R/N: Intresting.

Valeria an hour later watching her wife do something stupid and almost kill herself and her men somehow: ..or maybe this is the punishment for going off of the path.

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R/N: Do you ever question what you do?

Valeria: No, do you?

R/N: I love that you think I even stop and consider my actions. Not even for a second.

Valeria: Yea. No, I figured that out.

(Valeria, unlocking the handcuffs you put yourself in thinking it would be fun.)

Valeria: Next time, do it infront of your body so you can open the door and not scream and make everyone think you are dying.

R/N: I'm glad you already knew I'd eventually do this again.

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Valeria, watching you put another piece of tape on your glasses after you fell and broke them for the millionth time: they might as well be held together by your hopes and dreams

R/N: Actually my hopes and dreams were to marry you, and I've already done that.

Valeria: I should be appreciative but that's just sad. Nothing else?

R/N: ... maybe get new glasses?

Valeria: ...We should get you a hobby.

R/N: I annoy you all day a hobby would distract me from that.

Valeria: YUP DEFINITELY NEED A HOBBY...and don't say annoying me is a hobby.

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R/N: I tried cooking as a hobby.

Valeria doing paperwork: that's great sweetie. Can't wait to try it.

R/N: Who knew knives could be so sharp.

Valeria finally looking up: HOW AND WHY ARE YOU COVERED IN BLOOD?!

R/N: ...tin cans can also be sharp.

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Valeria: Just sit right there. Don't move. You have your phone, a tablet, snacks, and a book.

R/N: Yea but why am I sitting in your office with you today?

Valeria: We are out of band-aids and I need to get my work done.

R/N: So I get to spend all day with you?

Valeria: ...Yea no I see where I went wrong when I planned this. None of my paperwork is getting done is it?

R/N: Oh, no, definitely not.

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[brf-rumortrackinganon]

Interview transcript

YouTube's transcript services don't include punctuation or indicate who's talking. I did the best I could trying to figure out who was speaking when without having to watch the video.

I'll put it below the cut.

But here's the TL;DR -

Archewell is launching a new website for parents to help them deal with the loss of a child from cyberbullying or social media use, as well as to help them navigate the effect of social media on their children's mental health.

There's a lot of word salad.

Meghan uses her suidical ideation from February 2019 as a way to connect with people. She becomes visibly uncomfortable when the interviewer brings it up, to the point that she asks Meghan about it and Meghan gives some word salad. I wonder if this was the bit that made her start screaming at the producer (per CDAN).

Edit to add: I just watched the snippet when the interviewer is talking about Meghan's suicidal ideation, and HOLY COW BATMAN. She hasn't blinked that fast or that much since royal days. She definitely didn't like that line of questioning. Or she was trying to "one tear, left eye, go."

the Duke and Duchess of Sussex inaugurate a new online site today that most of us will never have occasion to visit a good thing it turns out Jane Paulie talks with Megan and Harry about their undertaking and the reasons behind it.

on a brilliant summer day near Santa Barbara last week a group of friends got together this was not your typical receiving line

hi

the Duke and Duchess of Sussex better known as Harry and Megan are definitely big Huggers it was a meeting of an exclusive Club

 oh it's good to meet you

and one that none of them wanted to join most of the parents here have lost a child directly or indirectly as a result of exposure to online social media Harry and Megan are trying to give them and parents like them some place to turn for help it's called the parents Network in

association with the couple's charitable archwell foundation and officially launches today

oh my gosh I'm so so happy you're here

thank you

Megan herself knows a thing or two about online bullying and how do you do and of course her husband Harry is no Stranger to that either or to unspeakable grief

the central topic is the loss that these families have suffered stories that need to be shared because the parents who are listening who have not suffered a loss think that they couldn't but they could they certainly could and that's I think one of the scariest things that we've learned over the course of the last 15 17 years that social media has been around and more so recently is that that it could happen to absolutely anybody I mean we always talk about in the olden days if your kids were under your roof you knew what they were up to at least they were safe right and now they can be in the next door room on a tablet or on a phone and can be going down these rabbit holes and before you know it within 24 hours they could be taking their life our kids are young they're three and five they're amazing but all you want to do as parents is protect them and so as we can see what's happening in the online space we know that there's a lot of work

to be done there and we're just happy to be able to be a part of well you when your children ask for help someone you know is is there to to give it you know not if you know how to help thank you at this point we've got to the stage where almost every parent needs to be a first

responder and even the best First Responders in the world wouldn't be able to tell the signs of possible suicide like that that is the terrifying piece of this you can't tell this story to everybody people don't understand

it's something Donna and Chris Dolly know all too well they 17-year-old son CJ died from suicide after what they believe was depression fueled by social media use

but your son had a demon in his bedroom

I think so yes we had no idea what happened to our son you know he had a beautiful car he worked and and did that he had a job he liked sisters loved him parents adored him yes and he was happy he was a happy kid

like so many parents in their place the dollies say a factor in their son's depression and death was his smartphone a device designed to be so addictive that he couldn't put it down not even in the minutes before he died he still had it in his hand the phone that's how addicted he was he couldn't even kill himself without posting about it first and like the dollies it's often impossible for parents or anyone else to see that someone was so deep in despair that they'd consider taking their own

life Megan Markle has been there as she told Oprah Winfrey in 2021 look I was really ashamed to say it at the time and a sham to have to admit it to Harry especially um because I know how much loss he suffered mhm but I knew that if I didn't say it that I would do it and I I just didn't I just didn't want to be alive anymore

you had a an an experience that connects you to these these families and I see you touch your husband's hand in just the way I knew uh that you would be looking after each other if I went places but the connection that you have with people is they know you you had suffered too personally contemplating killing yourself is what suicidal ideation was and I'm I'm dancing around this because I see you're uncomfortable

with my even even going there do you I understand why you are though

I wasn't expecting it but I understand why you are because there is a a through line I think and when you've been through any level of pain or trauma I believe part of our healing Journey certainly part of mine is being able to be really open about it and I you know haven't really scraped the surface on my experience but I do think that I would never want someone else to feel that way and I would never want someone else to be making those sort of plans and I would never want someone else to not be believed so if me voicing what I have um overcome will save someone or asks or encourage someone in their life to really genuinely check in on them and not assume that the appearance is good so everything's okay then that's worth it I'll I'll take a hit for that

what does it this inperson Gathering was just for the launch the parents network will meet mostly online but group facilitator Leora wolf prusan says the important thing is what the group will talk about we're going to stop expecting you to be done with your grief in a year we're

going to to stop um telling you that we're tired of hearing the stories of Internet harm like we will say your kids' name over and over again cuz they existed and they mattered and that we know that it wasn't your fault that's it right it wasn't your fault this happened to you and now we as a community get to create something with you knowing that we're helping  thers and and even if that saves one kid and one family's heartache that's enough

these are some of the group's charter members Taj and Seline Swanson Jensen whose son Tanner died from an overdose of drugs pushed online England was the youngest of she was the young as 14 years old Brandy and Tony Roberts who lost their daughter England to suicide after online bullying and pear Mendoza whose son Eli died when a painkiller he bought online was actually a lethal dose of fentanyl

thank you for being here but I have to you know ask why would you do this why would you do this

simple answer so others don't have to live what we've lived and will continue to live I don't expect anything from anyone this is just a Labor of Love in honor of my son and all the other children that have lost their lives to fenel this is for the mother who cannot get out of bed for the dad that won't leave his house I stand here for them too I hope that one day when it's my turn to go home I'll see my son and he'll he'll tell me good job Mama

The idea here is that there is comfort and Power in numbers with the goal as Harry himself once said of turning pain into purpose and the two of you this is um it's a modest beginning you know it's not an army of parents no yet no um but

What are your Ambitions?

I think you have to start somewhere I think the simplest thing that anyone watching this or anyone who's able to make change to look at it through the lens of what if it was my daughter what if it was my son my son or my daughter who comes home who are joyful who I love and one day right under my roof our entire lives change because of something that was completely out of our control and if you look at it through the lens as a parent there is no way to see that any other way than to try to find a solution.

[creative-caramel-coffee]

Nightmares

Pairings: Wandanat x R, Pepper x R (platonic)

Word count: 1.1k

Summary: R has been having trouble sleeping, can her girls figure out why?

TW: implied insomnia, nightmares, night sweats, anxiety, mentions of loss and death, trauma discussion (hydra),

A/n something a bit different. Plus I added in some pepper content because I think she’s cool :)

For the fourth time this week you woke up in a cold sweat. Your pjs sticking to you uncomfortably. Nat and wanda were away on a mission for the week and despite being reluctant to leave you they had to. Director fury’s orders.

It was almost becoming normal for you to spend hours tossing and turning trying to sleep only to wake up in the morning even more tired and feeling gross in the damp sheets and clothes.

With a sigh you pulled back the covers knowing you had to change the sheets again so the room didn’t smell bad. Trudging into the bathroom you peeled off your clothes dumping them in the wash and making a mental note to wash them and the other three pairs of pjs you had soaked through. With am exhausted sigh you stepped into the shower melting at the feeling of the warm water washing off the remnants of an awful sleep.

After a shower, you had changed the sheets before going off in search of breakfast.

Shocked to see pepper standing in the kitchen tapping away on her tablet.

“Pep?” You asked.

“Oh hi y/n/n long time no see huh?” She said looking up. “I had to come remind Tony about the meeting and thought I’d stick around a bit. He was ignoring my calls thinking it would get him out of his work.”

You laughed slightly, their dynamic was adorable. Pepper was motherly to all the avengers and worried a little too much sometimes. On top of the stress of running stark industries you often made her take breaks.

“Honey you look tired, are you feeling ok sweets?” She asked coming and laying a hand on your forehead.

“Im fine, just haven’t slept well lately.” You shrugged as she removed her hand and frowned.

“Well, I know a but about not sleeping from Tony’s late night adventures in the lab. And i know how important it is to sleep. As well as how stressful it can be for your partner to be risking their life somewhere off grid.” She smiled softly.

“Yeah, it’s tough. But I’m doing ok.” You said.

“Well the bags under your beautiful eyes say otherwise.” She smiled, pepper had always been a flirt, it was her way at getting back at tony for his earlier days as a playboy. Of course you and pepper were just friends but it was fun to get under Tony’s skin. He was very protective of pepper and probably always will be. “i think wanda and Natasha might be getting back early as well. I’ve had Jarvis keeping tabs on them for you and he says their work was almost done around lunch time yesterday.”

“We got back last night actually.” A voice came from the doorway and you turned launching yourself into Nat’s arms. “Hello my love.” She said placing a kiss on the top of your head. “Now whats this about not sleeping?” She asked tilting your head up to face her.

“Its nothing.” You said and before she could reply you felt a tap on your shoulder. Spinning around you launched yourself at wanda, wrapping you legs around her waist. She chuckled and stabilised herself against the wall.

“Sweets you look tired. And i know you missed us and probably haven’t eaten breakfast.” She said studying your face.

“Why don’t you and natty take a nap in our bed and I’ll make breakfast for the three of us and pepper. Because we all know she hasn’t eaten.” She said shooting pepper a look returned with a sheepish smile. The only one who more of a mother than pepper was wanda despite being one the youngest of the team. She just had a natural caring instinct.

“Alright. Sounds good to me.” Nat said as wanda passed you to her. You laid your head onto her shoulder and closed your eyes. Wanda cooed at your sleepy form.

“Go take our baby to get some sleep and I’ll call you down a bit later.” Wanda said.

“And you.” She turned to pepper. “Are going to drink a glass of water and not just coffee and take a shower while i get breakfast ready. God knows you could use one to relax a bit.” She said and pepper saluted and walked off to her part time room in the compound chuckling to herself softly and still tapping away on her tablet.

You didn’t remember falling asleep but you woke up to a hand on your shoulder and a familiar wetness on your clothes.

“Baby are you ok?” Nat’s worried voice came

“Yeah ‘s normal.” You said slurring slightly

“Baby how long has this been going on.”

“Four five nights.” You said sitting up and getting up to change again.

After another shower and Nat had changed the sheets you walked back down to see how wanda was doing with breakfast.

“Hello sleepyhead, just in time.” She smiled and you saw pepper sitting at the table with damp hair freshly showered and beaming at you and the promise of real food and not just coffee.

After the four of you had eaten and wanda began to clean up you were sat chatting to pepper as wanda and Natasha were in the kitchen.

“Y/n/ns been having trouble sleeping. She’s exhausted and when i woke her up she was covered in sweat.” Nat said to wanda frowning.

“Oh poor girl, i forgot this time of year is always hard for her. But she’s been doing so well lately it completely slipped my mind.”

“Why is this time of year hard?” Nat asked drying off a plate with a towel.

“Its the time of year that hydra killed her brother. I held her for days in that cell until she couldn’t cry anymore tears.” Wanda said with a sigh. “Its been five years but i think us being away only intensified her anxieties about loosing loved ones, she’s most likely been having nightmares and hence the sweating.” “Aww our sweet girl.” Nat said shaking her head.

After the kitchen was clean wanda and nat led you back to your shared room. Promising they would never leave you in this time of the year again. You had teared up, thanking them and as you fell asleep in their arms that night you didn’t have nightmares for once. Knowing your girls were safe in your bed.

MASTERLIST

[saraannsworld]

Today My son and I pack our car up once again to drive the now all to formeler drive down to Grand Rapids. I remember our first trip being so overwhelmed. Not knowing and, having no idea of where I was going. Trying so hard to be the image that my son needed of culm and collected. We at that time where starting what we did not know would one day become a normal part of our lives. The stress of it all was second nature.

This time we would pack books, games, tablets and headphones. Plot our trip to Noodles & CO, and the ever so familiar just incase bag of clothes and snacks. We still leave earlier because the hospital has the most confusing parking garage. Even after three years of arriving there I still feel my shoulders tighten, and my chest feel heavy knowing that I always get it wrong. We always are rushing in the door. My sons stress rising with his connection to me always ending in a “Henry I just need to focus can you give me a moment”fallowed buy the overwhelming shame that I did what I said I would not do next time.

Now the attempt to make the trip not so bad my son sees through. Knowing all to well it never takes as long as promised and knowing all to well he will have things done he hates. We would do our best to try not to think about it. To focus of our favorite pasta dish hugging our anxiety to help it wash away. We would focus on how this time we might get answers on what has plagued our lives for three years.

This time I wonder how big the void will be when we get the answers we have searched for for so long. Will we miss our tips more than we thought? Or would they become distant memory’s we could now laugh at. Process making it another experience that made us yet stronger again although we never asked for it. Would we cry when got our answer, or laugh. Maybe we will be so in shock that we actually figured it out we wouuld awake in the night with the relisation we were done. The overwhelming relief causing us to cry until the tiers stained our cheeks and every time you gasp for air a lite seasoning of salt would fill our mouth.

As I packed my bag so proud that I finally thought of what I needed to carry us through this hopefully braise you God, thank you lord conclusion I could not help but feel hopeful. It is hard not to when you watch a kid who should be playing in the yard with friend and laughing at things only kids think are funny. Somehow smiling and laughing while wires string from his head chest and arm. When your eyes look upon him all you can think is this is work for adults, this is what you do later in your life. Somehow his later is now, and he finds the joys and focus on them. Asking things like “ Can we get the potato’s from the hospital?” Reminding you all to well that he is just a kid.

[idontknowreallywhy]

This one accosted me while I was trying to write something else (which appears to be A Pattern for me and writing… well… anything actually). It is very much inspired by many enjoyable conversations / informal therapy sessions with @astranite who shares my “what’s really going on with Scott” headcanon, and at the same time helped me figure out what might be going on with me too. Thank you for everything and for helping me nudge this into something shareable.

It’s also inspired by @sofasurf’s amazing set of fics about Scott’s struggles in the early days post Jeff disappearing. It’s absolutely right that after an initial crisis his brothers and grandma would have put in measures to stop him needing to work so hard and bear it all alone and I love how she tells that story.

And yet… we have Scott who 6 years later is still up late sat at that thrice-darned desk.. brothers aside, he’s CEO of a company that would employ a lot of competent people to sort out all the nitty gritty paperwork. So why is he still frequently found asleep there 6 years on?

This is my attempt to figure out some of the Reason… and not in any way a side quest distracting me from my own Big Document nemesis. Nope.

It is, however, 99% projection for which I hope you’ll forgive me. Hopefully it’s not too out of character.

Sort of an emotional hurt-comfort thing. The ending is very silly because that is apparently how I roll.

Trochilidae

Scott shook his head irritably as his eyelids drooped and flung out his hand to grab his mug… which promptly took a nose dive off the desk.

Allowing himself to face plant the polished wood for a moment he acknowledged he was, at least, lucky it was empty. Something he really should have remembered as that would have been the 5th time he had raised it to his lips only to be disappointed at the lack of caffeinated wake up juice within.

Not that it was doing any good. He scowled. It never did. The miraculous transformation from ‘Sleep of the Dead’ to ‘Alert and Ready’ that the brown stuff could bring about in Virgil and Brains remained a mystery to him. Drinking it kind of kept him grounded though, maybe that was just habit by now. Nevertheless… he shoved his chair back and stood up, glaring at the chunks of ceramic on the floor: a job for future Scott. He went to get a new mug.

Re-entering the living room, he surveyed the scene. All was quiet. Deep breath… stretch out shoulders… he tilted his head from side to side to shift the tension in his neck with a satisfying series of cracks.

1am. No problem.

He was nearly done and then he could get to bed and get a solid 4 hours oblivion before his morning run.

Back at his desk, he took a fortifying gulp of focus juice, put on his determined face, picked up his tablet and swiped up to open the annual report again. He blitzed through another three paragraphs, noted down 4 questions for the board, one for the accountant and one further point to follow up with Jack, the Tracy family lawyer, before his eye was drawn to the broken mug scattered across the floor.

Probably shouldn’t leave that.

Gordon might wander by in those flimsy deck shoes and mortally wound himself.

He laid the tablet back down, pointed at it and muttered” don’t go anywhere” to the document that had been tormenting him. Blinking rapidly as he realised quite how little sense THAT had made, he crouched down to nudge the scattered fragments into a pile he could scoop up into the waste basket.

From this angle he realised there was a lot more than just decimated mug and coffee splatters down here… there were crumbs galore, odd, sticky patches and… yes he was pretty sure that the mysterious patch of shadow tucked away under the back corner of the desk was the better part of a club sandwich. He shuffled over, crablike, and reached underneath to retrieve it, sniffed it cautiously and was just concluding it was unlikely to be worth the subsequent food poisoning when John’s hologram popped up in front of him. He didn’t even glance up to see the inevitable raised eyebrow.

“Don’t even say it, John.”

Obediently his space-brother remained silent.

“I’m nearly done. I’m just signing off the annual report for the board meeting tomorrow.”

“From… under the desk?”

Blue eyes were cast upwards as Scott strode over to the kitchen to dispose of the rancid but weirdly tempting sandwich. There was no liner in the food waste caddy. He tutted and placed the plate on the counter top to deal with in a minute.

“Obviously not, I just spotted that Gordon had left something gross lying around and we don’t want a repeat of the taco incident.”

“Okay, and what are you doing now?”

Scott looked down at the cleaning bot in his hands.

“I… well it’s clearly not been working, the place is a health hazard so I was just going to see if I could…”

This time he did raise his eyes to meet the eyebrow of judgment.

Holding up the bot for John to examine, he grinned at his little brother and shook it gently.

“Look it has googly eyes! I bet that was Gordon.”

“Unlikely to be causing the malfunction. Get Brains to take a look at it tomorrow. Or Alan, he needs the practice.”

“True. Oh, did you see the note his teacher sent through?” Scott returned the bot to its housing and jogged over to his desk to pull up the email in question. He sat down and started to type a reply.

“Scott.”

“Mmhmm?”

“I saw it. It’s non-urgent.”

“Yes but while I think of it I might as well…”

“It’s 1:27am. Why don’t you just sign off the report and get some rest. It’ll keep.”

A melodramatic huff and the offending document was returned to the screen.

“You’ve been reading this for the last four days, Scott. What’s the issue? Can I help?”

“There are just so many points I need to follow up before I can put my name to it.” Scott highlighted a particular paragraph. “What if the data this is based on is inaccurate? I haven’t seen it!” He stabbed at another “These assertions here… is it ok to say that? I need to check the industry standards for…” he gestured vehemently “six or seven of these baseline metrics. The grammar in the narrative paragraphs feels clumsy. And I haven’t even started proof-reading it for typos yet!”

Scott took a deep shuddering breath and rubbed his eyes with the heels of his palms, weaving his fingers into his hair and gripping slightly harder than was comfortable as if that would ease the headache he knew was starting.

“The accountants have checked it, the divisional heads have checked it, Jack has been all over it at least twice. Virgil and the engineering team went through it with a fine tooth comb last week, they’ll know the baselines. I’ve checked it myself. Even EOS had a look.”

The response was barely audible.

“But what if… it’s not good enough? If someone missed something and… I didn’t spot it…”

“You don’t have to spot everything Scott. We pay smart people very generously to spot things. As CEO you are allowed to rely on them.”

Silence.

“Please… can you trust us?”

Holding his breath to fight a wave of nausea, Scott flipped to the final page of the document and added his digital signature.

With ninja-like speed John had saved the file and forwarded it to the board.

“It’s done, big brother. Go and sleep in your actual bed for a change.”

A swift shake of the head and muttered curse as big brother realised he’d gnawed through his bottom lip again.

“Can’t.” He stood up and paced the room.

“You know, maybe you shouldn’t have caffeine so late. Even Virgil…”

Scott’s snapped explanation that it made no difference whatsoever and that John KNEW that was forestalled by a series of beeps followed by a low hum as the cleaning bot started trawling across the floor.

“EOS?”

“Yeah, I asked her to see whether a firmware update would sort it.”

“Right.”

The brothers watched in silence as the little machine zigzagged around the room, bumping from one obstacle to another in an apparently haphazard fashion.

“It doesn’t seem very efficient does it?”

Scott sank suddenly to the floor in an effort to hide the fact his legs had turned to jelly.

“No, but it’ll get there in the end and everything will be done and it will all be ok.”

He snorted at his brother’s lack of subtlety and rested his forehead on his knees, concentrating on breathing evenly. He was fine. It was all fine. Again.

A few minutes passed before he noticed a faint high pitched giggle and his moment of peace was interrupted by the cleaning bot repeatedly bumping into his hip. He lifted his head to glare at it only for his eyes to make contact with the outsized googly ones jiggling wildly with each collision. His shoulders shook and he pressed his lips together to try to contain the rush of emotion rising up in his chest.

“EOS!”

As John turned to lecture the AI about when it was and wasn’t appropriate to annoy older brothers, the bot froze, all unblinking innocence gazing up at him. Scott let slip the smallest chortle then, after a beat, exploded, throwing back his head with howls of laughter, tears running down his face

It took him a while to compose himself enough to notice he was now lying on his back on the living room floor, John smiling down at him like some benevolent heavenly messenger. Smugness permeated through EOS’s voice as she enquired whether the Commander was much better now. He hiccuped. Then nodded. As he peeled himself off the floor and patted the cleaning bot absently, Scott found himself seized by An Idea.

And so it was that as Gordon awoke with his dawn alarm to find a 6-day old sandwich with giant eyes watching him from his bedside table.

The screech of a horrified squid echoed through the villa and was swiftly followed by the slamming of doors and the thundering of feet as most of its occupants tore to the rescue of a brother in distress.

The eldest brother remained precisely where he was, warm and comfortable, listening to the chaos and bemused voices. He smiled to himself and drifted back off to sleep.

[AO3]

[gonabs]

After a long stretch of doing absolutely nothing creative, I made the decision to attempt to learn blender and to try to get back into drawing in the same short span of time.

I promptly destroyed my blender tutorial project by toggling something that I couldn’t figure out how to undo. I then went on to attempt to draw and discovered that my tablet stopped working due to a software update.

After three hours troubleshooting the tablet issue, the whole thing became a perfect outlet to misdirect frustrations on all current life issues onto, thus stressing out my wonderful boyfriend in a way that he doesn’t deserve.

I fixed the tablet issue after walking away from it for a day and I have this singular sketch of Husk that I created between 1:00-2:00am to show for it.

Happy Summer 🎉

[queenwendy]

Sometimes I get morbidly curious and scroll through the terf tag (bad idea) and half the time it makes me sad but the other half it makes me laugh my ass off because like… they seem to think anybody can walk into a doctor’s office, declare “I am trans!” And just get sex reassignment surgery??? Like, what???? That isn’t how that works at all

I’m a trans woman in the western US, and I am lucky enough to have A) supportive family and B) really fucking good healthcare through my family. To be clear, if you do not have A and especially if you do not have B good fucking luck getting blockers, much less hormones or dear god surgery! It’s nigh impossible!

In early 2018 when I was almost 15, I came out to my parents. Immediately I was put in therapy (that had more to do with the depression and suicidal ideation I experienced while in the closet than being trans). While social transition (different name, different clothes) happened pretty quickly, it wasn’t until my mental health stuff was dealt with that my therapist and doctor, both on the trans youth specialist team, started talking HRT.

The first step was puberty blockers. To get that approved I not only needed parent permission and a ton of forms, I was all but required to bank sperm (as a 15 year old!) and I had to socially transition and meet a bunch of WPATH requirements (I actually like WPATH a lot, to be clear) and wait through a months long waiting list just to get an appointment with a psychiatrist, who then asked me a bunch of questions (he was nice, I do not remember the questions, this was years ago) to ensure I didn’t have some other problem. After passing that, I got a prescription for nogonadotropin as a puberty blocker.

From the time I first told doctors I was trans to the time I had my first blockers shot, a little over 6 months had passed. To be clear, in the US, that’s fast. In the UK? That’s impossibly fast.

It then took another 6 months of blood test, questioners, meetings with my doctor and my parents and my therapists before I was finally cleared for estradoil tablets. 1 mg/day. I got them nearly on the year to the day from when I came out. I was nearly 16

Again, that is crazy fast.

Within a year and a half my estradoil doseage had increased to 6mg/day and I was on 100mg/day of progesterone as well. Eventually that became 200mg/day. Years later I switched from estradoil tablets to estradoil shots.

The entire time I have seen the same therapist, not just for trans healthcare but also mental health stuff. I got SSRIs for anxiety, got an ADHD diagnosis, etc.

In fall of 2022 (I was 19), I reached out to my doctor to say I wanted bottom surgery. We had talked about doing it before, but I had always said “I don’t know if I’m ready.” I was unsure. And even though I could have gotten at least an orchiectomy after I turned 16 if I really wanted to (with parental permission and I am sure so much medical red tape I would have been an adult by the time it happened), I never wanted it. My doctors were surprised I wanted it, so were my folks.

I had to meet with my therapist several times, coordinate with a social worker, and get 2 or 3 letters of recommendation from doctors. Then I needed to unravel who and what my insurance cost and find surgeons I wanted to consult with. That took MONTHS. It wasn’t until fall of 2023, a full year later, that I was FINALLY was able to schedule with two of the three surgeons I wanted (we’ll get to that third one in a bit).

It is now the last days of august 2024. I had my first consultation, which was out of state, earlier this month. It went well. If I had scheduled a surgery date right then and there, there would have been a year long wait time. Which again, is a very very small wait time. I didn’t though, because I wanted to consult with other surgeons and I knew that would be smack in the middle of graduate school.

My second consultation (which, ugh, I need to do some phone calls for to figure out transportation!) is in a few months. The third one? I’m still on a waiting list to GET A CONSULTATION.

To be clear, neither my parents nor my doctors ever pressured me into anything. My folks were completely blindsided when I came out and had basically no idea how to proceed besides using a different name. My doctors always said “well, here’s your options and all the risks. You want that? Okay, think on it for a month and we’ll discuss next steps at our next appointment.” All of this was my choice. Mine. And they never tried to stop me either, just make sure I was being safe and following procedure.

Both my younger sister and my cousin on my mom’s side are trans as well. Considering we have several blood relatives on that side of the family who are also LGBTQ+ going back at least to the 1940s, assume there’s a genetic predisposition for it. Both my sister and my cousin have had a lot harder of a time getting HRT, even though my sister has the same insurance, same provider, same psychologist as me (idk what my cousin’s insurance situation is).

Odds are, I will have my graduate degree (environmental engineering) before I undergo surgery. Maybe even before I have a date for undergoing surgery. If all goes well, I graduate in may 2026. I’ve agreed with my girlfriend that once we graduate in 2026 if we’re still together I’ll feel comfortable getting engaged, so it’s very possible that I will be fucking married before I get SRS. Y’know, assuming it isn’t outlawed or anything.

When I was 14, I figured out I was a girl. Without talking to anybody, I knew I wanted a female body and that the puberty I was going through wasn’t right. Looking back, there were times I almost knew when I was 11, when I was 7, when I was only 3. At that age, I considered “surgery is something I might do when I’m older. I dunno. Right now I have crippling depression and cheat dysphoria, I really just want to be called the right name and pronouns and have HRT.”

I am now 21. I haven’t undergone any surgeries in that time, at all (except wisdom teeth removal ig. Does that count?). I have had one (1) SRS consultation, and the soonest I could get surgery is a year from now, but odds are it will be in two years. Maybe three even.

There is no epidemic of children being told they are trans and getting surgeries. That doesn’t fucking happen. If you’re really worried about kids getting unnecessary surgery look into the weird world of rich white girls getting facelifts and breast enlargement surgeries and stuff. At no doctor’s office in this country can you walk in with one set of genitals and walk out with another at the drop of a hat. There is a YEARS long medical process that happens before a consultation is even scheduled. And before that there is a trans person’s entire earlier life of doubt and questioning and fear and pain.

[girldragongizzard]

Chapter 20: What a day that was

I was right.

Dragons are people, and as people we can interpret our instincts and decide how we follow them. I do think other animals can do this too, and often do, but we are too removed from them to see it most of the time. We can’t interview them.

Whitman was, after all, able to communicate through gesture and writing in the playground sand.

His feet are too clumsy to use a tablet or oversized keyboard.

His name is Joel, actually. He wrote that in the sand.

We had to ask him a lot of yes and no questions, with him elaborating with glyphs and words occasionally, but we did interview him.

He’d attacked me originally because he was desperate and scared, and thought it was the thing he was supposed to do to secure his territory. Which he perceived me to be in, or too close to.

He’s been living on the streets for several years, and was pushed into the woods of the southern foothills by losing that challenge to me.

We don’t have a lot more information than that. We’re looking into getting him his own AAC of some sort. He’s frustrated beyond belief that he can’t talk anymore, and angry that I can actually say a few words and he can’t.

And, at the coaxing of Rhoda and Chapman, I ceded him the South West portion of my territory, from Chestnut street to the water, which includes the park we’d just fought over, plus a number of businesses, including two of the more well known brewpubs. It’s twice the land that I’m left with.

I’ve got most of downtown, and a network of friends who are making sure I get what I need. And my building is where I get my identity from, anyway. I don’t need all that space to be mine, really. Not logically, anyway.

Negotiating with my emotions is a different matter, but I’ve been working on learning how to do that for a couple decades now. That’s a huge part of what my therapist is for.

It’s Tuesday morning, the day of my next appointment, and I’m hanging out with my friends and the staff of my coffee shop in the lobby. We’re less afraid of other dragons attacking now.

Rhoda, Nathan, and I have been filling the others in on the details of yesterday’s events, and how the negotiations went. 

Chapman’s at work, and I won’t see them today until maybe when we cross paths outside our therapist’s door. And that’s OK. It’s fun.

Things are not completely resolved.

I have no idea if anyone will ever figure out why we dragons are a thing now. But, I do know it’s a thing Chapman and I are going to keep poking at for the rest of our lives until we uncover it. Together, hopefully.

But, also, there’s a lot of legal and political work to do. And, as Mayor Chisholm warned, it looks like I’ll be seeing some court dates in the future. Which should be stressful, seeing as the court house is in Waits’ territory.

But, hopefully, by then, I’ll be negotiating with Waits over my Discord server, and we’ll work out a plan. First step there is to get a team out to Waits and make sure they have access to the internet and their own form of AAC. Rhoda is planning on calling the Opportunity Council to see if they can help with that.

Astraia has made diplomatic contact with the dragon I’ve been calling Loreena, using human partners as go-betweens, and learned that her name is Tannis. And I didn’t get much sleep last night, because the three of us were trading ideas for how to contact the others.

We’re people. We can act like people. And humanity has created some pretty nifty tools to help us do that, too. And most of us are already familiar with them.

We just have to use them.

There’ve been a lot of times in the past week where it felt like it was falling on me to solve all of these problems. And every time I failed to succeed at whatever I was doing, it was hard not to feel like I was failing myself.

The thing is, I’m not the queen of the local dragons. I’m just me. The loudmouth who lives on the roof of the Magnolia Apartments. And my job, really, is to get along with the people I know, dragon or human, and maybe not get in their way.

And the morning songs are feeling better every day.

Oh, yeah, and the people in that helicopter were members of a private wildlife management company, Equisetum Wildlife, owned by one Daniel Säure, also owner of Morning Glory Corp, and working with the Sheriff, specifically. There’s a bit of a legal and political mess regarding what happened last night that I don’t fully understand, even after it was explained to me, and I’m hoping it shakes out in my favor. 

We’ll see.

Säure, it turns out, also owns the daily newspaper, which is why it’s even still in business. I think he might be a billionaire. So if he decides to back my opposition in court, we’re going to need some serious help.

I’m trying to put that out of my mind, for now.

It’s a little hard, because Nathan takes that tidbit of knowledge and really verbally chews on it, talking about conversations he’s had with Seagull. And the Kims take the bait, and it turns into a whole discussion over the counter during the slower hours of late morning.

I huff and turn to Rhoda, and she raises her eyebrows at me, tilting her head in my direction sympathetically.

I want to talk about something different, but quietly, so I don’t hit talk on my tablet, instead turning it to face her when I’m done typing.

“Chapman says maybe you like me,” I say, like a teenager. It’s so hard to figure out nuance on this thing, even when taking the time to write a full sentence. Nuance usually requires too many words, so I often lean on other people’s grace and forgiveness for the resulting bluntness.

Rhoda reads the sentence carefully and then leans back to sip her coffee, smirking at me through the whole gesture. Then she studies me a little bit and says, “I’ve always wanted to be your friend, Meg. I do like you, and care about you. And I’m really glad you’ve opened up and we can talk more freely now.” She sits there for a little while at that, and I spend that time wondering if she’s done talking, but then she says, “I’m going to put it like this. You have never been like any of the monsters of my ancestors that might have been called dragons. But I’ve always recognized that you are a dragon. And I like the kind of dragon I see in you. Especially after yesterday. So I’m honored to be your friend. Now, if you’re asking me if I might like to see myself as a member of your chosen family, whatever that means, that’s something we’ll have to work on. We’ve only really started actually talking to each other, after all. But I think we’ve made a good start.”

I like that. That feels comfortable.

So we sit there and smile at each other for a while.

Afterward, I climb to my roof to lie spread out in the sun for an hour or so. Half of the time I’m up there, I know that Chapman is attending therapy during hir lunch break.

I have an alarm set on my tablet to let me know a good time to set out for therapy, so that I get there early enough to trade finger guns with Chapman in the lobby.

Well, I’m not using my human disguise. I hate that thing. And I’m only using it in emergencies, to keep it secret and effective.

So, my finger guns look like trigger fingers looped around imaginary guns, because I can’t fully straighten my individual claws out while holding the rest tight. They don’t work independently quite like that.

Still, we know what we’re doing, and we both wink in the process.

And then I walk into my therapist’s office and hunker down for my session, carefully placing my tablet in front of me.

“Meghan,” she says. “Before we get started, I want to report on the homework I gave myself, looking into your case and options. Are you OK with that?”

“Yes,” I say.

She’s startled to hear that come from my throat, but smiles and blinks and nods, saying, “Unfortunately, it really doesn’t look good on the SSI front. Nationally, there is a lot of arguing going on about it, and it looks like it’s going to take them a while to work anything out regarding dragons. And while the State of Washington is fairly progressive, they aren’t in charge of regulating how SSI is handled. That’s purely a federal program. However, you should be able to qualify for SNAP and Medicaid through Washington the instant you lose your SSI, so you’ll have that as a cushion.”

“Okay,” I say.

“Do you have some way of making sure that you have shelter, or a way to pay rent? Are you going to need help with that?” she asks me.

I look down at my tablet and poke it, “Maybe.”

“OK,” she says. “Let me know what kind of help you need.”

“Yes,” I say. I’m starting to wonder what Chapman talked to her about, but it’s none of my business, unless Chapman shares it with me later. In any case, I’m getting help now, obviously. But I’ll keep all my resources open and ready to use.

“I wish I could do more for you in this regard, but it’s really not my specialty. I can maybe help you find a caseworker, though,” she says. 

I feel like maybe my counselor hasn’t learned much about what just happened. Maybe she was too focused on the SSI thing and didn’t pay attention to local news. That’s OK.

“Thank you,” I type.

“Are you OK with this?”

“Yes,” I say.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

I am very sure about it. At this point, bureaucratic garbage like that feels like it might give my life a sense mundanity that I need. I almost feel like I’m ready to tackle it all myself, which would be a whole lot of progress on my C-PTSD if it turns out to be true. I’ve still got a lot to process, mind you. But the SSI thing feels like the least of my worries right now. And there are a couple of things in my life, Rhoda and Chapman specifically, that I’m really looking forward to having to deal with more often. And I'm having a hard time not focusing on them, really.

So, I make a point of preening and composing myself to pay attention to my counselor, as a show that I’m ready to change topics and move on.

“Well, then,” she smiles, leaning back. “Tell me about your week!”

Oh, wow, this is going to be a long hour.

---

Epilogue

Wednesday morning, I think.

Before I even open my eyes, I can tell something is wrong, because I’m not lying on my roof. The surface under me is not level. My head is downhill, and I can feel rocks and knurls of dirt underneath me.

I can hear insects and the birds sound different. And there’s no sound of cars or people anywhere.

I’m pretty sure I came into consciousness hearing the sound of a receding helicopter.

When I crack open my eyes, I can see that it is well past dawn, and I haven’t heard any dragons calling out their morning songs.

The sky is absolutely blue from horizon to horizon, and I’m surrounded by mountains that do not have nearly as much snow on them as I’d come to expect. It is the end of summer in the era of severe climate change, of course. It’s still alarming and heartbreaking.

Looking out toward what I think is the West, I’m seeing a deep valley between sharp peaked mountains, and more mountains beyond that. And I can tell I’m pretty damn high up. I think I’m on another mountain myself, but it’s very rounded and covered in grass. It’s not one of the tallest.

A moving speck off in the far distance draws my eyes and appears to be the helicopter I heard.

And as my head darts this way and that, while I take in my surroundings, I feel something dangling off my left horn. And if I swing my head hard enough it swings briefly into my peripheral vision, but it’s too close for me to see what it is. It’s heavy, and I see a dark green, but I’m guessing it may be orange to humans.

I reach up with my claw to try to scrape it away. But it won’t come off.

I get sort of an idea of its shape from doing this, from feeling around with my foreclaw. It’s like some sort of puck attached to a thin metal cable.

And it takes me a bit to figure out how it’s attached to my horn.

Some asshole has drilled a hole through my horn and threaded the cable through that.

I’ve been tagged!

My purse and tablet are missing. I don’t have anything but this device.

I’ve been tranqed in my sleep, tagged, and then released into the wild.

Hearing my challenge cry echo off the distant mountain tops as it is currently doing would probably be a sublime and meaningful experience under normal circumstances, but I’m way too angry to appreciate it right now.

Maybe somebody else does.

To be continued…

[jamneuromain]

I Knew You Were Trouble

Steve Rogers x Reader (You)

Life Lesson:  There's always going to be a coworker that you don't like.

Warning: Cursing? A lot of cursing (?

A/N: This is my entry to @ronearoundblindly's Ro's 1-1-1 Challenge <3 Based on the inspiration from Eclipness. I mostly do the editing work :3 Basically some short snippets of your life being a task force leader in the Avengers.

*

Past

You heard of the funny business, that Rhodey commenting on Peter Quill, the legendary Star Lord, “So he’s an idiot?” To be honest, even if you are barely the type to joke around and have fun at the workplace – mind you, you work for the Avengers, the place that a single mistake could cost the lives of millions if not billions - you could barely keep the amusement off your face for three full days after you heard the anecdote.

“You’re laughing now, but I’m telling ya’,” Rhodey sipped his coffee, his words were more of a warning and a piece of advice to you, when you both and seven new recruits happened to be in the coffee room during the break and Rhodey shared his experiences in past missions, “sooner or later you’d figure there’s someone dumb as hell and you’ll feel the exact same way.”

The new recruits burst out a new round of laughter, but you shook your head with a small smile. The warmth of your coffee mug prickled your fingers slightly as you picked it up, “I’m sure it is not as bad as it sounds. We have the best agents here in the compound. They are the best of the best of the best.”

You knew Rhodey for a long while now. In fact, he was one of the instructors in your early years of army life. However, it wasn’t until later that the Avengers Initiative became more stable that he introduced you to this line of work, when all the other Avengers are either too busy or too incompetent (and yes, Rhodey was referring to Tony when he used this word) to lead a special task force that dealt with missions that were not quite Avenger’s level, but tricky if put in the hands of normal agents and squads.

And for the record, Rhodey wasn’t talking about anyone specific this time when he said “someone”.

While you thought otherwise. Sure, there will always be an annoying coworker or colleague at work, but you were certain that you could keep it professional.

Oh boy Oh. How wrong you were.

**

Now

“Cap has been on this mission for six months, and now he needs your help on this lead.” Sam, who has been like a big brother since your arrival, and even more brother-like when he knew about your army life, opens the conference room door for you. He flashes his pearl white teeth, “Debriefing starts in two minutes. I know this is your first time working with him. Don’t worry, he doesn’t bite.”

The glass door opens, and there stands Maria, mission dispatch officer of the Avengers Initiative, who simply nods and gestures you to sit down, checking her tablet and probably taking notes on her brief later. Your task force teammates sit on either side of the table, talking or minding their own business.

“Good luck!” Sam waves and disappears down in the corridor.

A few seconds and Maria still hasn’t started debriefing.

“Maria, do you need a couple of minutes?” You ask in confusion, seeing that Maria has no intention of introducing your next mission.

Maria raises her head from the tablet, blinks in confusion, before realization hits her, “we’re still waiting for one more.”

Debriefing was supposed to start three minutes ago.

No matter who comes through that door next, you’re going to show him, or her …

“Sorry everyone. There’s been a little incident downtown.” Steve Rogers, the blonde bulky super soldier rushes through the door, crashing himself down the chair beside you, “hello, you must be the leader of the task force. I’m Steve. Nice working with ya.” As he extends his hand.

You shake his hand out of politeness, while Maria starts pulling out the map of hostile locations where the lead points to.

It’s hardly likely for you to show him … some moves or anything.

But Captain Rogers is one of the greatest soldiers ever walk the Earth.

It’s going to be pleasant working with him, right?

… right?

***

The first mission that your task force is on this lead, you hand Steve full authority of commanding you and your unit.

Literally every recon mission you have been on, whether leading the task force or when you were in the military, was orchestrated perfectly. You get in, gather the info, and get out. Easy peasy.

But no.

You heard of the saying that goes around in the compound. “Every recon will turn into a full-on engagement.”

Whoever says that remains anonymous, but it’s no secret that these missions refer to Captain Steve Rogers.

It was an urban myth, you thought. How can someone as experienced as Steve Rogers, a man who has been through actual World War II, could make mistakes and blow up a simple recon?

You were proven wrong.

“Coming in hot, four o’clock!” Steve shouts as he blocks an RPG with his vibranium shield, explosion and dust wrap around him and engulf him in flames.

You curse under your breath, hands steady on your sniper rifle and take out another guard on the gate.

It wasn’t his fault, nor your teammates’. When the recon became an engagement with hostile members of this organization. It was … purely bad luck?

When some guard hit the panic button, setting the entire place in lockdown, and yelling in the comms that he couldn’t see his pal heading to the bathroom on the security cams.

But still, this NEVER happened before.

You join the messed up battle field as Captain Rogers plans for extraction, which includes getting in the RV (seriously, RV? These bad guys sure know how to have fun) and blasting the concrete walls using the new plasma cannon that you snatched from the bad guys’ weaponry room.

“Do we know how far is the blast radius of this thing?” You are in favor of getting out, but you aren’t in favor of killing yourself when getting out.

“We’d have to wait and see then.” Captain Rogers says in extreme optimism, covering your six when you and your teammates cram in the bus-like RV.

David, the mechanic expert in your team, plops up the skylight with the help of his teammates, holding the dangerous cannon and nodding to you, “we’re ready.”

“On my mark, go!” Captain Rogers hops on the RV as well, and tells you to drive.

The firing gradually ceased, as the enemy agents sure are baffled as well why you are driving towards a wall.

“NOW!” He shouts to David, who steadies himself and fires the cannon with a spectacular aim.

Oh, the plasma bomb-thing hits the wall alright. It blasts a hole with a radius of ten miles, taking down the whole wall with it, and burning a few yards of trees near the castle as well.

You hit the gas pedal and go through the hole – technically there isn’t a hole. There used to be a wall. You take the RV through the empty space which used to be a wall, and get out of sight of the enemy agents.

While your teammates lie down and rest, some taking care of their wounds with a first aid kit they found somewhere, you spare a glance at Captain Rogers. Ash and dust smear his pretty face, hair all tousled and his helmet lost – again, you heard that the equipment room produces ten helmets per month for him, just because he’d lost one somewhere almost on a daily basis during the mission.

And you know. You just know.

He’s reckless as hell and you won’t enjoy working with him.

Not one bit.

****

He hurries on the Quinjet before you and your task force take off.

“What’s this mission?” He speaks to you in a low voice, placing his shield near his feet, taking a seat right next to you.

“Caribbeans. For the felon codename ‘Tower Gate’.” You fasten your seatbelt, instructing the pilot to take off, “I thought you were on another mission?”

“Tower Gate? I thought he was in Spain?” He furrows his brow in confusion.

You clench your jaw, trying to make your voice sound calm, “the last mission when we,” you point at you and him separately, “were pursuing Tower Gate in Spain, and he got away, was six months ago.”

“Oh, right.” He pauses for a moment, clearly taking in you and your teammates suit up as divers, “what’s with the suit?”

Inner peace. You tell yourself. Inner peace. Breathe in. Breathe out.

“You didn’t get briefed?” You eye him, almost speechless, trying not to sound mad, “we are going to dive into the ocean to approach the island. Does your heavy armor…” work in the ocean? Won’t it drown him???

That would be tons of reports to write.

“I’ll figure something out.” He smiles, leaning back against the cockpit when the plane hits a small turbulence and he sucks in air and rubs the back of his head with a painful expression.

You kind of know where he gets his crazy ideas from.

He probably banged his head a lot during missions without his helmet.

Speaking of, “where on Earth is your helmet?” You can’t help but ask.

An embarrassed smile lingers on his lips, “kind of … lost it. During the last mission, and equipment room hasn’t produced the new batch yet.”

“Lost it???” You raise your voice by an octave, “and you’re going on missions like this?? Without your helmet?”

He definitely banged his head a lot.

……

“I’m telling you, Maria. He has the worst intel, rushes in front of the whole team without even a proper plan in mind, and he keeps putting himself in danger, which I will not tolerate when I’m running missions.” You complain to Maria Hill, who looks thoughtfully on hearing your reasons to kick Steve out of your team, or stop running missions with you at least.

“I’m sorry, but Steve can pick his own missions.” Maria shrugs, “however, I can forward your opinion to him, if it helps.”

If it helps?

You huff and leave the room.

*****

“Hey, I think we’re supposed to go over the briefing for the mission tomorrow.” You are stopped by Steve Rogers on your way to mission dispatch center. He taps your shoulder and asks if you could join him in the conference room.

“But there’s no mission tomorrow?” You shake your head for clarity, “what’s the codename for this mission?”

“Code name Streetlamp.”

“That’s … Agent O’ Hare. O’ Hare is working on ‘Streetlamp’.”

“Uh… where can I find Agent O’ Hare?”

You know O’ Hare. Not so well, but you know him. He’s one of the new recruits at the time you were brought in. His office is right next to yours and you occasionally bump into each other in the coffee room.

“He’s … on leave.” You choose your words carefully.

“When will he be back?”

“The day after tomorrow.”

“He’s got a mission tomorrow. Who authorized this?” Steve furrows his brows. Even though he’s extremely handsome, you still want to punch him in the face.

And you are extremely sorry for O’ Hare too.

You bet Steve is going to wake up in the middle of tonight and think about how he should have NOT asked you this.

“His father passed away and he headed back to his home to arrange the funeral.” You sigh, feeling the blood pumping in your head, “and you authorized his leave. You are the only person who can authorize senior agents’ leave.”

“Wait I do?”

“GO ASK THE HR NOT ME!” You exclaim in frustration, “I’m not your secretary!”

“Oh. Umm… okay. Have a nice day.” Steve looks apologetic. And it seems he is heading towards the HR department.

Jesus Christ. He needs a secretary or an assistant or something.

Why doesn’t he have one?

Why doesn’t anyone see that?

Is Avengers Initiative that broke?

******

Steve was wounded in action during a mission together.

Apparently, he still has the power to choose which mission he participates in.

Sure, he was wounded when he was crazy enough to draw fire from half of your opponents.

Two ribs, a cracked skull – see, you knew he’d get hurt when you realized his helmet has gone missing again – and a broken arm.

Touching. Truly. But you prefer it if no one gets hurt.

You went to the medic bay and sent flowers and shit, leaving shortly because you have leave for the mission briefing.

Out of curiosity.

Just out of curiosity.

That Steve decides to poke around the phone.

It should take two days to heal and he can’t really paint or read, with his headaches and the cast on his arm.

The small and handy phone seems like a way to kill time.

See, no one, and you mean no normal person, would check other people’s Whatsapp signature.

But Steve, being completely ignorant to modern day social rules, accidentally clicks in your profile and reads your signature: SGR is a big dumbass.

And your twitter, which he almost magically found, your twitter that was unattached to the rest of your social media, but he stumbled upon.

“Jesus F Christ pay ATTENTION this is YOUR mission brief???!!!”

“You are the team leader??? Could you TRY NOT to get us killed????”

The dates of the post miraculously click with the missions you went on together.

“Parachute. The fucking dude jumps off without a parachute. From the plane. WITHOUT A FUCKING PARACHUTE!!!”

“THAT FUCKING SHIELD ALMOST KILLED ME YOU CAN JUST TELL ME IF YOU WANT TO SPEAK AT MY FUNERAL”

“I should resign JFC I might get an aneurism for working with this dumbass”

“The helmet the helmet the helmet how many times do I have to say put the FUCKING HELMET ON”

And the one from the very start: “Maria asked me why the enemy fortress seems different on satellite image. What can I say? Because we BLEW THE FUCKING WALL and BURNT the ENTIRE FOREST DOWN???”

Steve would argue that he’s not a dumbass before he read all the posts on your twitter.

But now he doesn’t have any evidence to back him up.

He does sound like a dumbass when you repeat his actions in your tweets.

*******

You were hauled up in the middle of a night in your bed for new updates on your last mission. Afterall, villains work 24/7 and don’t care what time zone you are in.

You yawn behind your coffee mug, but the rest of the participants seem energetic when they are in Russia, adjusted to the local time zone already.

Steve, not surprising, was also in the meeting. The background of this online conference looks like his office in the Avengers compound. Clearly, he too is a bit disturbed by the conference at 2 am, as he tries to focus but you can still see the tiredness on his face.

Your phone pings with one new message as you yawn again, failing to cover your tiredness with your mug this time.

Steve Rogers: I heard that the Avengers Compound is haunted in the middle of the night ;)

You double check your surroundings.

You are at home, only that your online meeting background was set with a virtual office background, looking like as if you are in your office right now.

Focus on “AS IF”.

You chew on your lower lip not to reveal the smugness as you type back.

You: I’m at my house. But is there something just floated behind your back just now?

The next second, you see Steve panics and looking over his shoulders frequently, having Maria and Tony stop and ask him if everything is alright.

Nope. Everything is not alright.

You are completely wide awake at this point, as Steve blushes and tells them to continue.

You did not miss that he adds a jacket to his thin T-shirt as soon as the briefing continues. The super soldier serum does nothing to compete with the chillness coming from the bottom of his heart for fear of ghosts.

You hide your smug smile behind your coffee mug.

Steve Rogers. Fear of ghosts. HA!

Is Steve cute? Do you like him when you are not on missions? Sure.

Do you still think he’s dumb as hell and want to punch him in the face whenever you are on missions together? Hell yeah.

A work I hold dear: Attached

This, absolute this. This is the fic that started my madness of (writing for) Steve Rogers and dragged me down to hell of sinfully hot Professor Rogers :3 This is an absolute masterpiece that I'll forever hold dear (and definitely rush back to if I ever get an email saying that another chapter has been updated)

My work that I hope gets more attention: Wishful Thinking

I know it's yet to finish and dark and everything but def I hoped for more responses to a fic with a few chapters that I haven't managed to work out ;_;

[aurumacadicus]

Stuckony and space cruise ship AU for the 5 headcanons?

A space CRUISE SHIP!? :0 You are all so creative and here I am like "lol how can I make these men as stupid as possible." Anyway we have the return of feline-based alien Tony.

Steve and Bucky get hired on the cruise ship so they can travel. They know they'll never be able to afford it otherwise, and because the cruises can last for up to five years, there is a cycling crew; they get two days off a week, along with a full month off after six months working. They're feeling kind of lost after their military service and this seems like a good time to explore while they're trying to figure out what to do with their lives, so they sign up for a five-year cycle. Technically they're both supposed to be waiters, but the manager watches Steve get super flustered with just one (1) alien flirting with him and he gets booted to bartender instead. Steve considers this a godsend even though it's technically a demotion--he doesn't get the tips he would have as a waiter. That being said, Bucky leans into being flirty and more than makes up for it. It's not like they're looking for dates, since they're pretty happy with what they have. Still, sometimes Bucky tells him about an interesting (and interested *wink-wink*) customer who's willing to wait for their day off to... 'meet up.' Steve contends the girl with the tentacles was the most fun, but Bucky is very passionate about it having been the genderless alien who could fuck them both at once was better.

Tony Stark is infamous for taking long cruises. Many people say it's because his species will just randomly drop dead if they're too stressed, but mostly it's because he's actually the head designer on most of the engineering for the cruise ships. He's there because he's checking out how things are running. He's working. It's not a vacation. Or. Well. Sometimes it is. There's only so much he can do when he's waiting for the ship to shift into different gear. Also Pepper and Happy have threatened him with making him take a different cruise ship to make him fucking take his vacation time if he doesn't. So sometimes he lounges around and pretends he's not anxious to get back to work. (His species does not randomly drop dead, but he's not gonna tell anyone that. It's great for when his board of directors start getting annoying and he can just rub his chest and they all get nervous he's about to die and shut up.) Pepper had made noises about Tony needing to take some vacation time again, and it's been a while since he's gone on a long-term cruise, so he signs up to do a three-year cruise to check on things and drink margaritas while sailing through stardust.

Bucky sees Tony first. He's at one of the nice tables, for people who are especially important. He's never heard of the name Tony Carbonell, and searching him on his tablet doesn't bring up much. He's not high enough in the pecking order to serve at those tables (maybe next year, when the next wave of one-year contracts come on). Tony is incredibly attractive. Bucky has seen him lounging on the deck during the warmer parts of the trip, booty shorts slung low on his hips, crop top baring a muscular stomach, and he wants to lick it so badly. So he takes note of the things Tony orders by peeking in the kitchen. He knows Tony likes to have margaritas, and martinis, and the occasional mojito or gin fizz. So he tells Steve the next time Tony orders something, send him a 'complimentary' espresso martini. (It won't be free you idiot it's coming out of my tips oh my god.) Steve has seen Tony working out in the gym. The ship has a massive rock climbing wall, and Tony scales it as if it was as easy as scaling a fucking ladder. He is impressed not only by Tony's physical skill, but also how quick-minded he is. Some of the paths on the rock climbing wall are difficult, and Tony has scaled them all, even one where he had to leap five feet to the next hand-hold. So, the next time he gets an order for Tony, he adds an espresso martini, because Bucky says it'll catch Tony's interest, and Bucky's always been better at this thing than him.

Tony raises an eyebrow at the espresso martini, but he does enjoy it, and when he turns to peer at the bartender, he gets a shy wave. That's pretty cute, honestly. He waves back, smitten. He's gonna eat the bartender alive. Except apparently the bartender has a boyfriend. Tony is not technically opposed, but the boyfriend looks a little more... outgoing? Experienced? And he was kind of looking forward to debauching the bartender. Then again, he's never actually had sex with a terran before. It might be nice to tick that box. Two of them even! The pair don't get off until nine, so he has plenty of time to think about it. He takes a the couple hours to wander the ship from stem to stern, observing the go-kart track, the Ferris wheel, the mini golf course. This ship has a lot more amenities than the ones he usually travels on. He'll have to check on the energy pull for everything, do some research. He's been feeling kind of antsy, doing nothing. (Being done by no one too.) Maybe, after he's rocked these Terrans' worlds, he can get some work on the reactors done. Tony pauses by the pool and wrinkles his nose. Water. He's seen the Terrans in it, swimming laps, and then moving over to the hot tub. He doesn't see the point of just sitting in wet. Maybe it's a Terran thing. Maybe he can ask, if the Terrans are in any condition after sex.

"HOW COULD YOU DO THIS TO ME," Tony yowls once he comes back into his body. "I don't see what I've done wrong," Steve says, crossing his arms over his chest with a scowl. "You were enjoying yourself. Bucky said your eyes crossed." "I'm on this stupid cruise for THREE YEARS and now all I'm gonna be able to think about is getting railed by Terrans," Tony wails. "I have work!" "Oh," Steve says, looking smug. Tony points in his face, scowling. "Don't fucking get smug. You knocked over a bottle of wine when you waved at me. You were supposed to be shy. I was supposed to ruin you!" Steve squints at him in confusion. "Bucky had you sit on his face for an hour, how are you supposed to ruin me when he's my boyfriend?" Tony is absolutely incensed that Steve has a point. "Shut up." "No," Steve says, reaching out to idly scratch around the base of Tony's tail. "Bucky will be back with snacks soon and he'll take your whining at a challenge, so get it all out now." "I can't believe I'm gonna ask you guys to fuck me again," Tony mutters, fuming. Steve raises an eyebrow. "You don't have to." "No, I'm gonna," Tony sighs in frustration, and then is too distracted by the smell of fried piscosos as Bucky shoulders his way into the room to notice or care when Steve bursts out laughing.

Bonus: Steve and Bucky show him the beauty of the hot tub because somehow even with his superior spine he is sore. He still doesn't like sitting in wet but he has to admit the heat and the jets do wonders for his aching body. "Don't fucking touch me," he snaps when they try to get handsy. If they do, he will surely lose the battle to his instincts and thump them, maybe even show claws. All he can do is sit and sulk. It's the funniest thing Steve and Bucky have ever seen but they can't possibly tell him so.

[deluxewhump]

The Scry

Marginal Gains

CW: noncon unmedicated surgery mention, forced labor, whumpee with supernatural power, guilt, old fashioned soft h/c, forced carewhumping, scar reveal

“Marginal gains,” Max muttered in his best impression of Martin Olson. “How about exponential ones?”

It was bittersweet. The competitive side of him was elated, looking at the numbers over and over like his eyes were transposing a zero somewhere.

But there was no mistake. In the last week he’d put up two more major contracts, both with multimillion dollar companies in Milwaukee and Minneapolis. Their legal teams gave the green light after looking over the paperwork, and the necessary signatures were right in front of him, the figurative ink already dried.

He e-signed the bottom of the contract for Milwaukee and saved the file.

It felt good. He’d been back and forth with a logistics company in Boston for weeks now, wasting his time and breath on the phone to their obtuse CFO about the minutiae of the contracts wording.

Meanwhile, there were clients like these two out in the Midwest, eager and ready to pull the trigger on a contract the same week they recived it.

He’d never have found them if it wasn’t for the tireless efforts of his precog, Carlo.

And therin was the bittersweetness.

He’d bought a folding cot for his office, some soft blankets. He made Carlo a bed and gave him a tablet to watch movies, tv shows, play on the internet. He fed him lunch every day, made sure he had the mini fridge stocked with different kinds of drinks— his favorite pink lemonade, sparkling water, those little Starbucks iced drinks. He took him home every night and weekend.

But it was all a lame apology— a bandaid pasted over a wound that required stitches.

He’d used Carlo’s scrying abilities to find both his new clients. It had taken several sessions. They’d find out a piece of information and follow it to its end, where they’d begin to see the shapes of the gaps in the information they already knew, not unlike the game of Wordle they played every morning, trying to beat each other's score.

Carlo would go lie down after each scry, shaking and pale and sick, and Max would dig until he thought he had the next lead for Carlo to chase down like a supernatural bloodhound.

And so they fell into a terrible routine where Max did the legwork, and then pointed Carlo's precognition at a hunch like a flaming arrow in the dark.

And it had taken a toll.

He sent the signed contract back in it's email thread, clicked out of his browser and stood to go check on the boy.

“How’re you feeling?”

Carlo gave him a grateful little smile from the cot. Even though his pain was for Max's benefit, and Max did it to him, he acted like it wasn’t so. Like it was some other source that caused his suffering and Max was the one who provided a place to rest, who spoke to him softly and petted back his hair from his sweaty brow.

“Do you need me?” the boy asked.

Max's heartstrings pulled.

“No, little one. No more today. Or this week, for that matter."

The nicknames came easily, someow even easier than calling Ingrid babe for the first time after they’d gotten together.

Honey, sweetheart. Little one. Carlo seemed to like it, and it took away some of the captor and captive dynamic he felt when he was torturing the poor kid for information— which, Ingrid told him, was a twisted way of looking at it.

But it’s how it felt.

“I can,” Carlo assured him. "If you need me."

He was sitting on his cot with his back to the office wall, wrapped in a blanket with the tablet on his lap. He was pale. Max reached out and brushed the backs of his fingers on his cheek. He was warm to the touch.

“You’ve done amazing work this week. Two major new clients on my account? Contracts executed? That’s three months of digging around and making shots in the dark for me.”

“Did we get the profit margin you wanted?”

“We did.”

Carlo beamed at him, his eyes glassy like he had a fever. A chill went through him and he closed his mouth so his teeth wouldn’t chatter as he shivered. “Good,” he said when it passed.

Max sat down on the cot beside him. “I’m sorry I did this to you.”

Carlo dropped his eyes shyly. “It’s okay. I know you have to.”

“I wanted to refuse, at first. But…”

Carlo shrugged, way ahead of him. “It’d just be somebody else, if you did. Or worse.”

“Worse?”

He picked at the soft edge of the blanket Max had bought him. “They could just give me back.”

Max was quiet for a moment. Carlo never volunteered anything he didn’t want to talk about. The fact he brought it up made Max more comfortable asking a follow up question.

“Back where?”

Carlo hesitated.

“Do you think they've bugged your office?” he asked finally.

Max almost huffed but second guessed himself. Now that he thought about it, he wouldn’t put it past Spartan, or Martin Olson. And honestly, he signed some things regarding the precog without reading all the fine print (they designed it that way, it would have taken hours.)

“Possibly, yeah."

Carlo thought about that. He pushed the blanket to his hips and pulled up the corner of his shirt to reveal a deep and alarming scar running down the side of his body like a whip weal.

“What did that to you?” Max asked quietly.

Carlo opened a notes app on the tablet.

A doctor, he typed.

Max felt his stomach turning. He asked for the tablet and the boy turned it over for him.

Were you sick?

Carlo took the tablet and started typing.

They study us. In a hospital. Research.

Max stared at the words on the screen, not wanting to look into those dark, expressive eyes at this very moment.

“Against your will?” he said softly. If his office was bugged, they’d lost the context of the conversation by now.

Carlo blinked at him. “I don't get one of those."

Max felt slightly sick. There was no air all of a sudden. None of the tenth floor windows opened, of course. He willed the AC to kick on.

Carlo looked from him to the tablet, like he was contemplating saying something. He decided, and Max waited as he typed something out and turned it around for him.

I don’t want to leave in case I go back there. I can't do that again They kept me awake.

Max stared at the words, comprehension coming too fast and slow all at once, creeping and settling in.

“Awake for…” he nodded at Carlo’s shirt, where he now knew there were scars on his belly.

Carlo nodded, one single dip of the chin.

“Jesus.”

Carlo swallowed, looking away now like he was embarrassed.

Don’t overreact, Max told himself. He doesn’t want pity. He wants you to understand him.

He leaned forward and beckoned Carlo closer to whisper to him. Carlo leaned in, and Max held him gently by the back of the neck. “No one’s going to take you from here. From me. We’re leading the pack right now. This is exactly what they hoped for.”

Carlo dropped his forehead so it rested on Max’s shoulder. It was a touching gesture. This was the closest they’d possibly ever been, physically, he realized. He was almost holding him.

And why not?

Slowly, he draped his arm around his back, scooping him closer. Carlo came to him, closing the distance so they were pressed together with his chin tucked down and his cheek pressed against Max’s shoulder.

He wrapped his other arm around him and held him, his too-warm body giving off heat like a furnace in his arms.

“I think I’m learning,” Max murmured to him. “I’m getting more precise, understanding how to use your power more sparingly ... and with more accuracy.”

Carlo reached up and hooked his arms loosely about Max’s neck. He could feel the tension leaving him, how much he liked being held. The thought of someone keeping his helpful, sharp, sweet precog awake for surgery made him angry, but as usual when it came to the precogs it was a directionless, impotent anger. Where could he direct it? Some faceless doctor? A team of them? Some shadowy government operation? Whose fault was this? Whose responsibility?

The salt in the wound was that it wasn't just Spartan gaining financially from Carlo's pain. Max knew his own paychecks next month were going to be the largest he'd ever made.

“I'm going to get as good at this as I can," he promised. "So we can do what they want, and not have to hurt you too much.”

“You don’t hurt me too much,” Carlo told him, muffled against his shirt.

"Anything at all is too much," Max said, and kissed the Scry chastely on the top of his head.

[kaylinalexanderbooks]

Find the word

Thanks @i-can-even-burn-salad for the tag!

My words: bring, cling, sing, ring

Your words: can, man, tan, ran

Tagging with no pressure @mk-writes-stuff @blind-the-winds @little-peril-stories @sarandipitywrites @sarahlizziewrites @eccaiia @sleepywriter00 @gottestod-writes @gothamxwattpad @willtheweaver @mysticstarlightduck @aalinaaaaaa @cowboybrunch @poethill @finickyfelix @ohnomybreadsticks @dyrewrites + ANYONE

TSP intro

TSP tag list (ask to be +/-): @thepeculiarbird @illarian-rambling @televisionjester @finchwrites

Keep reading for:

George is about to find out his power (flashback)

Carla and Carmen scene I'm kinda proud of

Someone is figuring things out

Oh no Carla is hurt

Bring - from The Secret Portal Part Two (George POV)

I leaned back in the chair, exhaling my annoyance. Jef Holtman was one of my father’s closest allies. They may have been friends, but I was only four when Dad died, so I only had other people telling me they were. I couldn’t imagine why my own father would like someone like Dr. Holtman. The one who hated my sister for supposedly being Inutilia. Eventually, I pulled out my tablet and tried to read. One of the teenagers, Isananika, teleported in at one point to take Eliza to bed so Damian could stay with me as long as he needed. The hour dragged on until finally, the APTA machine beeped to signal it was done processing the information. Damian yawned and wiped the sleep out of his eyes as he examined the results. My heart pounded. I could be a chronokinetic. It was a small possibility, but I hoped that was the case so I could help Carla. But maybe I would have intangibility, which was cool but not something that seemed particularly useful for the predicament. Maybe healing would be able to help Carla. The healers we did have couldn’t do anything, but maybe there was a way I could figure it out. Teleportation? Maybe I could find a chronokinetic and bring them here. Telepathy could help me communicate with Carla. Superstrength didn’t seem useful. Dad was working on using superspeed to reverse chronokinesis, so that would be helpful. Flight wasn't helpful, neither were any of the elementals. Maybe if I had dimensiokinesis, I could find a universe where they had more chronokinetics— “George!” Damian’s voice got me out of the mind spiral I found myself in. I realized I was sweating, and my heart was pounding.

“How did you know about that?” “Carla—Miss Baxter, I knew you growing up. You’re supposed to be twenty. You’re a chronokinetic—it doesn’t take a genius to put three and one together.” Carmen removed the sampling tube to place it into the computer. “Furthermore, Jedi and I did find your brother’s journal detailing his process to save you.” “You read George’s journal without his permission?!” “No, we asked him. He agreed we could see it. It’s not like your being frozen in time should be a secret. It’s not a big deal.” Carla fiddled with her hands. Maybe, but still, that time still haunted her. “Your father was actually working on a similar formula, in a complete coincidence. But Raissa Kamanzi was attempting to replicate a chronokinetic’s power, so he decided to try to counter it. He didn’t complete it.” “Why not?” “November 13, 2010.” Carla felt as if her blood had been frozen by a hydrokinetic. “That’s the day he left.” “I thought you’d remember.” “He was very angry. I never found out why.” Carmen’s back was turned, but Carla felt the tensity in the air. Carmen knew why, but Carla decided to back down. “Can I tell you something?” Carla asked, adjusting her glasses before returning her right hand to her lap to clasp the left. “After Pia died… I really missed you. You were a defining part of my life then. And… I’d like you to still… be that.” Carmen didn’t answer. She just stood and waited for the computer to finish its analysis.

Cling (how have I not used this??) Clasp - The Secret Portal Part Two

Spoilers in purple italics

Sing - from The Secret Portal Part One

“Hm,” Charlie mused. She set her tablet down and turned back to the hologram, zooming further in on the Numu district until the Tue Peena’yakoróo forest took up the screen. She scrolled toward the Taabe Village, keeping her eyes on the trees. She stopped when her eyes landed on a blob in the center of the hologram. She clicked on it to expand, and the hologram shifted its view to the front of the building. The program she had up automatically brought up all of the information she needed to know. It was registered under an unfamiliar name. She clicked on it, revealing a man who appeared to be of Tribus origin. He was apparently an ultimate—when he was alive. He’d been dead for nearly thirty years. Charlie scrolled down to his known relatives. He never married, never had kids. He had a sister—but she was under maximum security. He did, however, have a niece. Charlie clicked on her name, and a young woman around eighteen materialized in front of her. Apparently, that was the most recent picture, since she was supposed to be in her late forties by now. She disappeared a few months prior to her uncle’s death. Charlie saved the woman’s information, uploading it into a file to send to her superior. She pressed the comm button on her desk. “Oh, Rhe-ett,” she said in a sing-song. “You know how I have the most boring job in TRA?” “It’s hard not to know when you keep reminding me every day,” Rhett growled over the comm. “Check your inbox.” There was a pause before Rhett said, “What does she have to do with anything?” “I’ll explain in full later—maybe at the next meeting. Just put all available assets on this Carmen Asghar. I think she might be a lead in something big.”

Ring - from The Secret Portal Part Two

Carmen slid her glasses back on. “That black smoke can change atomic structure, but without being able to control her powers, I cannot provide an accurate enough sample to test what is going on.” “How have her powers worked before?” “She had to get angry.” “So…” Jedi gestured to Carmen to fill in the blank. “Making her angry doesn’t seem too hard,” Carmen muttered, crossing her arms. “Maybe I have to—” She stopped at the opening of the door, jumping to her feet at the sight that entered. “What happened?” George Baxter was setting his sister on one of the examination tables before Carmen finished her query. “We were in group training. Ash accidentally sent out a psychic blast, and it hit Carla.” “Accidentally?” Carmen spat, struggling to find the telepathic monitors. George suddenly had them in his palm, handing them to her, and she took them, placing them in the points around Carla’s head. “How does one accidentally hit someone with a psychic blast?” “Well, she did intentionally create the blast,” George explained as Jedi dragged over the psychic wave monitor. “But I think she only did it as an attempt to get out of Carla’s power.” Carmen paused for a split-second at the monitor before resuming. “She was able to break out of a chronokinetic’s hold? Psychically?” “I think so,” George said, his hand reaching up to twist his father’s ring that hung around the chain on his neck in concern.

[darkhangels]

2. this night of ritual

enjoy the silence masterlist 

morpheus x f!reader

warnings: swearing

words: 3399

A raven

A sacrifice

A death

Waking up panting ,you clutched at your chest desperately heaving to get your breathing back to any kind of normal rate. Wiping the tears from your cheeks you let out a frustrated sigh.

You were tired, so very tired. 

Something had to be done.

With a new found sense of resolve you stepped out of bed and almost instantly a piercing, unbearable pain washed through your head. Oh yeah, that's one of the new side effects of these nightmares by the way. 

Cradling your head with the palm of your hand you practically stumbled to the medicine cabinet in the kitchen, surprised to find Lorna sat by the wooden table with a glass of orange juice.

“Hey, this is a surprise” You muttered trying your hardest to smile through the headache sent directly from hell itself.

Lorna took a swig of orange juice before replying “Good morning, should I even bother asking if you had the nightmare anymore?”

Popping the paracetamol out of the packets and into your hands, you let out a snort. “Yeah, probably for the best to not ask” Grabbing a glass and placing it under the running tap water, you harshly swallowed the tablets and guzzled down the water before turning back to your friend with a quizzical and suspicious look on your face. “It's your day off, shouldn't you be sound asleep with your girlfriend right now?” Placing the glass down and wiping your mouth you muttered to yourself “Or doing other things?”

Lorna scowled “I heard that!”

You smiled cheekily to yourself before Lorna continued. “I figured I’d start packing today, while you were at work”  

“Oh” That crushing weight of loneliness descended on you yet again. “Yeah, of course, that makes sense” You nodded, trying to not let the disappointment be shown.

“I’ll be gone by the time you get back though, going out for dinner with Veronica” She beamed.

“Ooh la la!” You purred, teasing Lorna.

“Shut up!” She giggled.

“Shit. I gotta get ready for work” You grumbled looking at the time before speedily heading towards your bedroom to get dressed for the day.

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

It was a cold morning as October started to draw to a close so you were more than happy to be greeted by the warmth of the coffee shop. 

You heard your name being called and instantly turned to the direction of the voice only to be greeted by Corey. 

Great.

Corey was another one of your co-workers and a friend of yours, well more like acquaintance or ex. There was a relationship there once upon a time (once upon a time was seven months ago)  but well it didn't work out. Corey wasn't your type and you weren't his, it seemed like the relationship was formed more out of convenience than anything else. 

At least that's the story you told most people, your honest story? Corey didn’t want you, he wanted a girlfriend not an actual person. His ego took up too much space not leaving you any to just be you, not a showpony, not a performance or an idea of what a girlfriend should be.

After three months together you had to put your foot down. Which went down so well as you can imagine. Corey got over it in like a month though and started to pretend the breakup was mutual and on good terms, to protect himself from embarrassment or maybe he truly believed that's how it ended?

Still despite it all, you put on a polite smile and made small talk with him. 

“Hey Corey”

“Fucking freezing out there huh?” He said, watching you with a deep gaze.

You shivered putting on your work apron “Yeah winter is for sure on its way” You awkwardly chuckled.

“I’ve got my hoodie in the back if you wanna wear it, yknow” Corey suggested watching you shiver.

You looked down and licked your lips “I’m alright, thanks though Corey” offering him a smile. 

He nodded curtly and went back to the customers. You breathed through your nose in relief he didn't push any further. He was just being gentlemanly, that's all. 

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

The day dragged on as it always does when your shifts are with Corey. After plenty of conversations the main subject of course being him. You were thankful when 17.00pm finally rolled around and you could finally go to the bookstore. 

On the street you worked there was a large, ancient bookstore crammed to the edges of books, new and old (mostly old). You didn’t visit too often but you had a purpose today. You were going to get rid of those nightmares one way or another and if anywhere in town would have the answers, it'd be this place.

The walk there was about three minutes, fairly straightforward, only one dodgy alleyway to cross and you're practically there. The sound of your ringtone made you jump out of your skin as you swore under your breath reaching inside your coat pockets to pick up the phone. Studying the phone screen you saw it was no other than your mum. Bracing yourself with a breath you answered the phone.

“Hey mum, what's up!” You said cringing at the forced enthusiasm that left your own mouth.

“Sweetheart! Hey I hope you’re good. I wanted to wait until we could meet up to tell you but I just couldn’t wait!”  A voice excitedly said through the phone.

You snorted a bit. “Ok what is it?” You continued to walk down the street now bustling with people leaving their offices and traveling back to their respectful homes . 

“I’m getting remarried!”

Oh.

Uh oh.

“Darling, did you hear what I said?”

“Oh yeah, yeah congratulations mum. I’m so happy for you! Uhhh when did this happen?” You said frantically trying to find any inkling of any kind of excitement.

“Well, Mark took me out last night and we were at this moonlit dinner and he hid the ring in my food and I almost choked on it, but still!”

“Romantic!” You agreed, trying your hardest to sound convinced at what you were saying. “So when is the wedding?”

“December! We haven't got an exact date yet but we both wanted a winter and festive wedding”

“December?” You stuttered. “Mum, that's so quick that’s like under 2 months away”

“I know, but it won’t be too hard for us though, not many people get married in December so we shouldn’t have any scheduling conflicts”

You sighed before rubbing your forehead “I am really happy for you Mom”

Your mom's voice sung through the phone “Awe thank you dear, Of course you're also going to be one of the bridesmaids along with Marks daughters”

Shit. 

“That's great!” You cheered in an overly shrill voice.

“Oh and Marks friend has a young single son around your age who will be at the wedding in case you were interested, if you get what I'm saying ”

You rolled your eyes as far as they could. “Mum” 

“Just think about it!” She added. You reluctantly agreed as you bit on your lip and shook your head in disbelief.

“Look darling, I've got to go, but I'll keep in touch about the details!”

“Alright, mom, Congratulations” You said again trying desperately to sell your fraud happiness.

“Thank you, Bye!”

“See ya” 

You hung up and resisted the urge to throw your phone across the street. Great and in case you needed anything else to worry about you had a family wedding coming up. 

No one likes family weddings and it's not as if your family was the worst by any means they were just…mean, sometimes.

Between your mother always trying to set you up with someone despite your disinterest, the invalidation of your feelings and the general talking down. It made you livid, like at any second you were about to break and it would all come flowing out as everyone stared in horror.

Blinking back tears of frustration and setting it out of your mind, as you always do, you looked up at the shop in front of you and focused on the matter at hand.

The warmth from the lights within the store glowed in the darkened autumn evening. Creating a gentle auburn aura cascading through the windows and door of the shop. 

Gently opening the door, the bell above chimed notifying the old man perched at the till of your presence. The man had a kind face sprinkled with wrinkles and flecks of grey hair. "Good evening". He studied you over the top of his glasses but still beamed a friendly smile.

"Hey" You responded with a smile of your own now gracing your face. 

With a nod the man returned to marking the pile of books stacked on the counter and you quickly set off to find your destination. Your plan? Well you didn't really have a plan. Just find every book to do with sleeping. Psychological, Metaphysical, you name it. If it has to do with sleeping and dreaming, you were buying it.

In 10 minutes you had picked up 6 books. Some written by doctors, some by hippies and some by people who just fancied themselves expert's after a lifetime of sleeping and dreaming. 

As you got to the till, you set the books down with a hefty slam and looked at the kind man. "Just these please and a bag if you have one" Smiling nervously hoping he wouldn't ask any questions.

The man picked up the first book and scanned the title, he did the same with the second and third and fourth. He looked over to you with one furrowed eyebrow. "Trouble sleeping, dear?" 

You chuckled and nodded. "Something like that" 

The man considered you for a second before taking off his glasses slowly. "You know we have a book out back, extremely old and rare about sleeping, it takes more of a classical approach on the spiritual side of sleeping" He hesitated before he continued. "But if this is something you really care about and seem passionate about" He emphasized the word passionate almost as if he could smell the desperation lingering inside of you. "Then I can sell it to you for half the price"

Your eyes widened at the strangers words "You would do that?"  

"Aye" The man nodded.

You saw the kindness in his eyes and realized he was telling the truth. "No I couldn't, please that's very kind of you but I shouldn't"

"Please, my dear, We've had this book for over a decade now and quite frankly I'm not sure what to do with it but it would make me beyond happy to see it go to someone who needs it" 

You looked up at him and saw the way he studied your face, it seemed like he knew more about your struggles then the man was letting on. But you were hopeless and you were desperate. "Alright then"

He gave you a bright smile before trudging to the door behind the counter and wading through the endless stack of books. 

With a sigh you looked back at the books you had picked up and wondered, hoped and prayed they would work. But what if they didn't? What if they didn't work and you were stuck with these nightmares forever? Terror seized your heart and the dark blanket of anxiety fell upon you yet again. 

Your dreams had always been so pure, hell even your nightmares were pure compared to this new repetitive nightmare that had plagued your slumber. Never, even in your childhood, had nightmares been something normal for you.

Maybe that's why. Maybe you hadn't had enough bad dreams as a child and now they're catching up to you, in a sultry abundance. 

"Found it!" The man's voice sang, pulling you out of your own thoughts. 

Your head snapped up and watched the man put a thick hardcover book on the counter. Wordlessly you pulled it closer and studied it. 

The cover was a faded scarlet red with gold entailing crafted into the material. The front of the book had an image on top, something easy to miss if your eyesight was poor. A mask of some sort similar to that of a plague doctor in the same rich gold that gleamed in the lights above you. 

The book itself was clearly decaying. Letters started to fade and pages with several rips and bends in them. Just how old was this book? 

The keeper stored all of your books into a paper bag.

"How much do I owe you?" You smile at the man as you reach for the purse in your pocket.

"30" He responded.

"30? for all this?" your eyebrows furrowing.

"I like to throw in a discount for customers who I like," He gave a cheeky smile.

You looked at him with a mischievous glint in your eyes before sliding him 40. He went to argue but noticed the determined look on your face and instead thanked you.

Gathering the bag and putting your purse back you started to leave the shop. “Please, do tell me how you get on” The shopkeeper called and you nodded in agreement.

“Good night sir”

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

Trudging through the door and setting your books down, you heated up some leftover pasta in the microwave for dinner and peeled off your work clothes into your pyjamas. Throughout the apartment you realize a few of Lorna's items are missing. Oh, right. 

Swallowing the harsh lump and pushing the thoughts to the back of your mind, you settled into the sofa in the mini living room and stuck the TV on, not really paying attention more for background noise as you ate. By the time you were finished and settled down from work it was 8pm and you anxiously threw your gaze to the books lay on top of your counter.

Was there even any point? The chances of any of these books holding the answers and cure to your torture were low. But you had nothing else to lose.

Something had to be done.

With a bold huff of air you grabbed the stack of books. And began your quest.

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

11pm. You had skimmed and scanned the books and nothing of relevance was to be found. Mantras, essential oils and Freud held no cure or secret answer. 

“You've got to be shitting me” You muttered rubbing your now heavy eyelids. There was one book left. And yet something inside you made you hesitant to open it.

The heavy book laid unopened opposite you and your eyes squinted almost trying to intimidate it, dominate it, let it know you weren't scared. 

You reached out and grabbed it, studying the flecked gold symbol on the red book. The man acted strangely when talking about the book. He said it was old but, maybe there is more to the story. In fact he actually hadn't told you a single thing about the book apart from the fact it was old. It could have all been bullshit. A prank on you just for laughs but, no, that doesn't seem right. The man seemed genuine, just eager. 

The pages of the book were yellowed and in very fine print. A lot of the passages were in Latin and some in characters you had never seen before. There was one page that had been dog tagged and you instantly turned to it. There was that sigil again. With a word written in large black ink. “Morpheus” You whispered out loud. The God of Dreams. “Sandman, right” You chuckled to yourself. 

Underneath was a ritual of invocation, presumably for this god. The ingredients seemed pretty simple in fact you only needed one thing, an offering. Popular offerings included : Sand, Poppies and feathers. 

You gulped as your mind raced back to the image of the raven's wings being ripped.

The ritual seems easy enough. Get the offering, say a couple of words, no need for blood spill or sacrificing of virgins. But still did you want to do this?

The book didn't specifically note what kind of magic this was so you doubted it was anything satanic. Though at this point you might’ve just gone along with satanic magic if it had done the trick.

So what was your plan? If this really worked, though chances are low, if it did you would ask this god of dreams to please stop the nightmares, surely he would listen. You only hoped he was a benevolent god, one that after seeing your desperation would cease the nightmares from existence. 

If it didn't work? Well you hadn't thought that far ahead yet.

Chewing on your bottom lip, you looked at the rest of the open books, all with no answers. Then your mind drifted to the gruesome images of your nightmare and your decision had been made. It had to be worth it right?

No sand. No poppies. You needed to find a feather. 

“Think, think. Where could I find a feather?” You paced up and down your apartment before looking out the window. And realization hit you. In the spring a pigeon had made a nest just outside your apartment above your window. The pigeons had left a couple of months ago, but a feather or two had to have been lurking, caught in the guttering or a cobweb.

Opening the window quickly you stretched your arm out, praying to not accidentally brush against a spider or any other kind of bug. Feeling something soft stroke your hand you grabbed it and pulled your arm back inside. 

“No fucking way” You deadpanned staring at the item in your hand. 

A black and white feather. It was skinny and withering. But it was a feather nonetheless. Feeling an outburst from your success you grabbed the feather and ran to the book.

Holding the book in one hand and the feather in your other, taking a deep breath and shaking your head, preparing and hyping yourself up to read the ancient ritual. “Here goes nothing”

“I stand here among the waking world seeking an audience with the God Of Dreams, Prince of Stories, Third child of the endless. I stand here in utter devotion and in utter desperation invoking The King Of Dreams. Speak to me now in tongues of Dreams and Nightmares alike. Let me into your realm and you into mine. Speak to me, Dream of the Endless. Speak to me, Lord Morpheus!”

Your eyes had been squirmed shut as you spoke the last line, daring to open to see what was in front of you. After a couple of seconds of painful science you peeled one eye open cautiously before opening the other. You scanned your apartment. To find nothing. Not a single thing. Everything the exact way it was before.

Disappointment crawled into your heart and you slumped on the spot you stood. Letting the book fall to the table in front of you and discarding the feather on top of it, you swore under your breath. 

You were dispirited, tired and worst of all: embarrassed. I mean did you really think something was going to happen? Had you expected a 10ft man with horns and goat feet in your living room, Pinhead asking you what your pleasure was, or maybe a genie voiced by Robin Williams about to give you three wishes?  

You tried to fight back the tears that came but what was the point. It was hopeless. One quiet sob left your throat before you turned off all the lights and crawled into bed, knowing your fate and the restless sleep you were about to have. 

You’d cry tomorrow. For now you needed to sleep.

And then, the strangest thing happened. 

There was no raven,

No sacrifice. 

No death.

When you fell into your slumber you found yourself not in the dingy dark dungeon crawling with rats but instead in a bright, ethereal cathedral? Warmth relief ebbed through your body like rays of sun. It was quiet and there were no cloaked men to be seen. It was nothing, nothing but peace. 

And the dam broke.

You fell to your knees in hysterics. You had done it. You had broken the cycle.

And the tears mixed with laughter wouldn't stop. Even if it was for one night you had finally done something right. 

“You requested an audience?”