#it’s not a catastrophe but i’m mad. sorry

[ineffableuser]

PLEASE I AM SO MAD

LOOK AT THIS SHIT

THIS PART OF HANNIBAL TAKES PLACE IN ITALY

YOU’D EXPECT THEM TO GET THINGS RIGHT THAT ONE TIME IT ISN’T JUST ABOUT MAFIA, AND YET

I will now explain in detail some mistakes in this wanted poster because it is both extremely frustrating and hilarious

“Voluto per omicidio”. That’s supposed to be “wanted for murder” but since in English “want” can have different meanings it’s actually “desired for murdered”, instead of “ricercato per omicidio” as it should be said when talking about a wanted criminal

Small mistake, “marrone” means “brown”, referring to eye and hair colour, but Italian adjectives are numbered so it should be “marroni” (yes, even for the hair)

The “Caratteristiche Distintive” paragraph begins with “Dott. Lecter”, without putting the needed article “il”

The second sentence of that paragraph begins with the pronoun “Lui”, “he”, which can be and usually is omitted by natives since verbs already imply the subject

Third sentence begins with “Egli”, which is pointless too and also a rarely used, more posh version of “Lui”

Still third sentence, one of the worst things about this. “Egli sarà disegnato alla cultura”. Where do I even begin? “Sarà” is “will be”, I don’t see why they used a future tense while putting a present tense right after, but do you want to know the funniest thing? This whole thing is supposed to mean “he will be(?) drawn to culture”, but we all know that “draw” also means this: ✍🏻. GUESS WHICH VERB THEY USED

“Dott. Lecter è ben arredata”: lack of article again, also this translates to “Doctor Lecter is well furnished” and the word for “furnished”, which is referring to Hannibal, is feminine

Last line, the one with the phone number at the bottom of the page, talking about how you should contact local police or call the number if you see him. Last few words “o chiamata”: they probably meant “or call”, but “chiamata” is the noun “call” (the verb “to call” is “chiamare”)

It’s both hilarious and frustrating. I was glad to see that they spoke Italian relatively often and that it wasn’t all a mafia-centered parody, but apparently asking, possibly paying a native/Italian speaking person on set (like Fortunato Cerlino, the actor that plays Inspector Pazzi) to check this thing instead of typing on Google Translate and calling it a day is still too much to ask

What can I say?

Grazie e vaffanculo

I don’t think there’s any need to translate that too

[morganski-19]

Chills Right to the Marrow Part 26

ao3 link| part 1 . . . part 23, part 24, part 25

Wayne walks into the hospital, the information that he’s been given still running a marathon he can’t finish. Too caught up stumbling in all the unbelievable hurdles. Struggling to keep his footing on ground he thought was solid. But it’s cracking underneath his feet.

All these kids, all this time, went through that. Something that the authorities should have dealt with, but left up to children and regular civilians. Causing people to die and get hurt. Be left with trauma the regular public will never understand, and might not even believe.

Wayne doesn’t even know if he believes it. Even though he knows it’s true. It’s just his brain trying to find the fault in the truth to market it as a lie. So he can be mad a something a little more real. More feasible.

“Hey, Wayne,” Dustin calls out to him, causing him to stop in his tracks. “Did Steve talk to you, he said he needed to. I don’t know what about though.”

“Nothing you don’t already know,” he says simply. Each work breaking a small line in his heart.

Dustin rolls his eyes. “So you won’t tell me either, great.”

“Woah, I was tellin’ you the truth. No need to give me that tone.” Wayne might be slightly out of practice, but that parent voice came back real fast.

“Sorry,” Dustin mutters under his breath, crossing his arms. “I’m just sick of people hiding things from me. I’m not a kid anymore.”

But he is.

“But you are.”

He groans. “Sure fine, I’m still technically a kid. But I’m older now, I understand things more. That has to count for something.”

“Sure it does. Doesn’t mean you’re going to part of every conversation though. There are some things that you don’t need to be a part of. Things you don’t need to worry about.”

“People always say that, but I don’t believe them. First they say it’s nothing to worry about, and they they’re almost dying. I’m tired of that.”

And there lies the real reason for this frustration. The need to be involved so he knows exactly what the problem is. So he can try to get ahead of it. Stop it before it becomes catastrophic.

This kid has already had some much of his life change before his eyes. Without question, straying from the established plan. There’s no planning for life, but especially not the way Dustin’s had to live it. The way any of these kids had to live it. Or the adults.

Wayne sees the pain that imbedded itself into all of their beings. The way their eyes dart around, trying to see the unseen. And their bodies to predict the unpredictable. Pulled taught with string, ready for the next fight. For the next big thing.

If he could give anything to help them get one moment’s peace, he would give it. No one deserves to live like this.

“Look,” Wayne places a hand on Dustin’s shoulder. “I don’t have all the answers for you, and I’m not sure what specifically you’re talking about. But I do know that these people care about you, and know that you care about them. There are always going to be things left unsaid, and things kept from you. And you’re not going to get anything if you come from a place of anger instead of compassion. Explain why you want to know, then maybe they’ll tell you.”

Dustin nods, taking a moment to think. Wayne watches as he processes where to go next. Sees the fragility that lies beneath his frustration.

“Do you think they would really tell me?” he finally asks, so unsure of it all.

“They might. And if they don’t, they might give you a better answer than telling you it’s none of your business. That means they listened to you.”

It’s what everyone wants at the end of the day. To be heard.

“That’s at least something, isn’t it?” Wayne finishes, looking Dustin in the eyes. Showing him that he listened. That Dustin was heard.

Dustin nods. Still not looking completely satisfied, but better. “I guess so.”

Wayne gives Dustin’s shoulder a clap before letting go. “You off to see Eddie?”

“No,” he shakes his head. “I just came from there, my mom wants me home for dinner.”

“You have a ride?”

Dustin nods his head.

“Alright. Tell your mom thanks for me, for the dinner. It was very nice of her.”

“I won’t tell her that bit. Unless you want an entire casserole on your doorstep tomorrow.”

Wayne chuckles on his way to Eddie’s room. A real laugh. It’s starting to feel less foreign now.

Eddie’s playing with a stress ball when Wayne enters. Or less so playing and more like squeezing. Mumbling something under his breath before letting go.

“Hey Wayne,” he says. Concentration still on the ball.

“What do you got there?”

Eddie groans, head dramatically hitting the pillow. “Some stupid exercise the new nurse gave me to do. Something about starting to get back ‘motor functions.’ I’m supposed to count how long I can squeeze it.”

“What’s your record?”

“Ten seconds. Trying to get it to fifteen.”

He squeezes the stress ball again, fine for the first few seconds, but starting to shake around the halfway mark. Fingers twitching as they start to release the grip. Eddie’s face scrunching, trying to get them to stay just a bit longer.

“Ha, eleven.” He releases his fist, the momentum of the ball causing it to roll out of his hand. “Take that.”

The ball rolls off the bed toward Wayne’s direction. He picks it up, taking a second to give it back to Eddie. Wondering if it’s right to bring up that he knows.

“You just missed the guys, by the way,” Eddie starts before Wayne gets the chance to. “Finally got off their asses to come see me.”

“They came by a few times while you were in the coma.”

Eddie rolls his eyes, like that doesn’t matter. But really Wayne knows he’s just annoyed. These kids were his friends before spring break. He thought they were going to be after too.

“Yeah, but not while I was awake. It’s one thing to come and see me when I’m asleep, it’s a different thing to come and see me when I’m awake.”

“That’s true. Did you ask them why it took them so long? Maybe they had a good reason”

Eddie groans. “You can’t go a few weeks without trying to give me a life lesson, can you.”

Wayne laughs again. Sits with how the air sits in his lungs so light. Makes his whole body so much lighter.

He doesn’t need to talk about what happened with Eddie right now. Not yet. Not when Eddie’s trying to figure out how to live again. Not while he’s still trying to get them a place to call home.

Everything will come out when it’s time. He knows that. Right now, they can forget for a while and just be.

next part

tag list (capping at 100, only 5 spots left): @the-they-who-nerded, @insteviewetrust, @croatoan-like-its-hot, @jettestar,

@tinyplanet95, @steddie-as-they-go, @slv-333, @littlecelestialmoth, @thatonebadideapanda,

@fandomsanddeath, @marismorar, @wonderland-girl143-blog, @glass-bottle03, @gutterflower77,

@here4thetrama, @goodolefashionedloverboi, @jaytriesstuff, @cryptid-system, @manda-panda-monium,

@resident-gay-bitch, @anaibis, @xxsutherlandxx, @forevermineliv, @mugloversonly,

@gregre369, @n0-1-important, @different-tale-student, @spectrum-spectre, @tartarusknight,

@devondespresso, @swimmingbirdrunningrock, @cheertain, @anti-ozzie, @autumncrocusandladybug,

@greeniebean911, @cr0w-culture, @stillfullofshit, @connected-dots, @daisynotquake,

@morgannotlefay, @a-little-unsteddie, @dolphincliffs, @maskofmirrors, @me-and-my-sloth,

@papergrenade, @waelkyring, @sweetheartprincess28, @katouasobj, @astercomoasflores

[ellecdc]

Grounded (for til college)

CBBH-verse: Harry and Ron are read their Miranda Rights after the Flying Car Catastrophe of Second Year as requested by fans of the CBBH series 😊

Over the past eleven years, there have been many family meetings amongst the Potter, Black, Lupin, Weasley, Longbottom and Lovegood tribe.

A family meeting was called when a five-year-old Draco and Harry began fighting over who got to perform the big brother duties for Jasmine Potter, and then again a year later for Aurora Black.

A family meeting was called when every glass, vase, pot, and basket in the manor were turned over to 'stop nargles from hiding in them' (it was Luna).

A family meeting was called when someone moved all of the pots and pans in the house onto the roof (it was Harry). 

A family meeting was called when someone started drawing moustaches on all of the pictures and portraits on the walls (it was James). 

A family meeting was called when Fred and George pranked Neville by hiding his toad, Trevor. Each member of the household spent three hours looking for him – Lily later found him hidden in her underwear drawer. 

Another family meeting was called for going through people’s underwear drawers.

Family meetings were called quite frequently, what with the number of members these families had within them. They were called for fights, for updates, for announcements and for check ins. 

But there are two things that have never happened since these families began calling family meetings:

Never, not once, has James Potter ever called a family meeting. And never once has a family meeting been called whilst the children were away at Hogwarts.

Until today.

“Is it really necessary I’m here?” Regulus drawled as he leaned against the wall behind you in the headmaster’s office as he studied his nails. “I mean, I don’t even have a spawn to punish.”

“Sshh,” Remus spat loudly from his spot beside you standing at attention like a soldier. “You’re gonna get us in trouble.”

“Dad’s mad guys...” Sirius mumbled from your other side. 

“Is it bad I kinda feel sorry for Harry and Ron?” you asked your husband quietly.

He shook his head in response. “Honestly, I don’t think I’ve ever seen him so mad.”

“Please, 10 galleons he doesn’t even give them a warning.” Regulus added from his place.

Sirius scoffed. “Oh, you’re on.” 

The murmurings were interrupted when the two twelve-year-olds were ushered into the office with Dumbledore and McGonagall trailing behind them. 

Before anyone could make sense of what was happening, Molly Weasley stood from her seat beside her husband and began screeching.

“RONALD WEASLEY. WHAT ON EARTH WERE YOU THINKING?”

Ron’s face brightened to the likes of his hair as he tried to hide behind Harry. James stood beside Molly with his arms crossed. 

“Okay, I know now’s not the time.” You whispered to your husband, “But James’ arms look really good when he stands like that.” which was met with an exaggerated nod of his head.

“When he’s less mad, we’ll tell him.” 

“It was the platform! It was charmed or something and wouldn’t let us on and we missed the train!” Harry tried to argue.

“So, you opted to steal the Weasley’s car and drive it across the country!?” James asked incredulously. 

Harry instantly deflated.

“It was reckless, it was stupid, it was dangerous.” He continued as he started to pace the room, eyes never leaving the forms of the two second years. You gulped loudly on their behalf. 

“You could have been seen. You could have been hurt. You could have died.” He carried on. 

“Your father is now going to be facing an inquiry at work and it is all your fault!” Molly added.

Remus’ eyes furrowed as he leaned into your side. “Well, I mean his father did illegally charm a muggle vehicle...” But you elbowed him hard when the death stares of Molly and James turned towards you. 

“You have absolutely no idea the kind of trouble you could have caused. That you have caused.” Molly continued as she returned her attention to the boys.

“You two have always been mischievous, which I feel I have taken in stride because you are, after all, the product's of Marauders. But this? This exceeds mischievous. This borders insanity.” James said severely. You and Remus exchanged a wide-eyed gaze.

“Mr. Potter and I have discussed your punishments, young men.” Molly stated as she considered the two boys in front of her. But it was James who read them their sentence.

“You will spend the entire summer working at Uncle Moony’s bookstore.” 

This was met with a “what!?” cried out from Ron, Harry, and Remus.

“Why do I have to be the bad guy?!” Remus cried in distress.

“I don’t think you are, Moons.” Sirius said with a chuckle. He turned to regard his friend when he saw a look of understanding cross your features.

“I think it’s Regulus.” You clarified for the werewolf with a smirk.

Sure enough, the three of you turned to see a disturbingly wicked grin spreading across Regulus’ face.

“They’re just lucky Lily was at work and couldn’t be here for this.” Sirius muttered as you all turned your attentions back to the boys. “They’d be working for Regulus ‘til college.” 

[keyrey]

He's a fighter—in choice of words, that is.

My head-canon is that doting husband!Kento Nanami isn’t as soft-spoken and wise with his wife as he was back when they dated. Now, he’s quick to make a comeback when needed. Which happens to be quite often. Picture this:

Kento's sharp tongue is a result of dealing with his 'cocky and catastrophic' co-workers all day and night. (His words.) He’s armed not only with a sword but also with a collection of blunt, yet somehow witty retorts. It’s all part of his personality. And the constant patter of rain on his leather brogues didn’t exactly lift his spirits either. He was more than ready to see the clock strike 6:30 on his shiny silver watch.

He drags himself home, utterly exhausted. His eyes are half-closed and puffy, his lips cold. Despite his fatigue, he greets his wife with a tender and loving kiss, though it’s clearly accompanied by a silent message of, ‘I’m dead tired, but I’m doing this so you won’t get mad at me.’

"You need to invest in a better lip balm, Nanami."

"Oh, is that so?" Kento probes his lip with genuine curiosity. They might be a bit chapped, but is it worth the joke? Not necessarily. He’s familiar with her sarcastic streak; it can get a bit old, but he usually lets it slide.

"Yeah, it scratched my lip a little," she replies, her tone laced with mirth.

He fires back, "I suppose I do... but you need to invest in a comb." His deadpan delivery signals the start of their roast battle. Her aversion to combs is evident in the wild, tumbleweed-like mess at the back of her head. It’s a sorry excuse for a ponytail. She insists that hair wash days are only once a month, leaving her locks to form their own chaotic masterpiece.

"Oh, we’re starting this now, huh?" His wife pumps her tiny fists in the air, initiating a playful fight. A playful fight usually means he just stands there, hovering as she tries to provoke him. To no avail, of course.

Rule one of the husband/wife roast battle: Never lie.

"You need…" She struggles to come up with something since Kento is just too goddamn perfect on the surface. "A cookbook! Yeah, that’s right!" She shoots back with a triumphant grin.

"My cooking is immaculate. If it were that bad, why do you hover around the kitchen waiting for seconds, hmm? Care to explain, my love?"

He’s good. Damn it.

"…I’m tired of bread!" Her voice, though frail, is filled with fire. She crosses her arms, standing her ground.

Kento’s rare, toothy grin widens as he counters, “You adore my bread! How about you invest in some respect before I invest in a cookbook?”

She narrows her eyes, a mischievous glint forming. "Respect? Sure, right after you learn to pick up your socks from the living room. Or did you think the 'floor monster' would get them?"

He throws his head back, almost hilariously hitting the edge of the chair. He knows he’s met his match. "Touché. I’ll get on that… right after I bake some bread. White or pumpernickel?"

"You know I love your pumpernickel. What a bitch," she mutters, relenting with a frown on her face.

"I heard that, honey," he says in a low, affectionate voice.

"Good!"

And thus ended their roast battle. You can bet Kento had their house smelling like warm bread and butter.

She’ll get him next time, right?

Probably not.

You see that? He's already thinking of more comebacks. How she keeps her shoes strewn all around? Check. How she clogged the shower drain a total of 15 times in the past two weeks? Check. Don't even get him started on her cooking. Oh god, someone call 911. Food poisoning for you, you, and yes, you too!

[hannahssimblr]

The day I leave the beach feels like the last chapter of a book. I awake that Wednesday to change. The sky, which held steady and cerulean all summer, perfect, porcelain, is a mottled grey as clouds roll in over the beach. I swim, early in the morning, in a sea that is choppier than before, the waves crashing over the rocks and tossing foam into the air, and over the shore now slimy with seaweed.  

I spot Liam in his wetsuit, board in hand, and I wave. He waves back, and I have the striking realisation that this may be the last time I ever see him.

I say goodbye to Joe and Kasper at the door that morning, their PlayStation games and the half-filled bags of Doritos they never finished bundled under their arms. 

“Good luck with it all,” says Joe. “We’ll see you around.” It’s a thing you say to a person when you’re not sure you will, and as I watch them go from the window, there’s a finality to it. It’s like I’m watching them leave, not just with their games and their snacks, but with a phase of my life, too. We’ll never be together in the same way, and never be these exact versions of ourselves again. 

Shane is the next to go. After a thorough clean of the bedroom, the sheets washed and dried and put back on the bed, ready for next summer. He drops a hand onto my shoulder. 

“Good luck in Germany, yeah? Maybe I’ll come and visit.”

“You should.”

“Yeah, I might.”

“If you do, I’ll see you there.”

He nods and ducks through the door, and to his back, I shout “Good luck in college!” He lifts a thumbs up into the air, and he’s gone. 

And then there is Jen. With a click of her last suitcase, she has packed up, and in the empty house, there’s nothing to distract us anymore from the new, yet ever present rift between us. 

We’ve barely spoken since the festival. I haven’t known how to, despite her pleads, and made a big deal of getting Kasper to sit in the passenger seat during the ride home. I asked him all kinds of questions about himself, realising only then, to my immense guilt, that it was the only bit of effort I had made with him all summer. 

I spent the days between then and now away from the house. Swimming, cycling, driving into town and just looking around, reading a book while the last of the summer tourists milled about, still in their flip-flops and sun hats as though they hadn’t noticed that autumn had already taken up residence in the shadows. 

I’d come home before dark and stay in my room while the others watched their movies and played their games. One night, I heard Jen crying softly in bed. I didn’t ask her if she was okay. 

Now, once again, I avoid her as she sits on the floor surrounded by her bags, by arranging a stack of books on the shelf. One of my sketchbooks is there, complete with a thousand drawings of the summer. I leave it where it is.  

A clock ticks somewhere in the room. 

“I’m sorry you’re so mad at me,” Jen says to the back of my head. 

“Same.”

“I still think you should give me a chance to explain myself.”

I sigh. “I’m not ready to talk about it.”

“Okay. Have you seen her? Have you talked to Evie?”

“No, I haven’t.”

I turn around to see her hugging her knees to her chest. She looks remarkably small like that, and her hair, which was so bright in June, has faded with the salt water and the sun, and now her brown roots are showing. 

“I think I’d like to get the bus home.” She mutters.

“That’s alright. Do you want a lift to the station?”

“No thanks, I’ll just walk.” 

I don’t argue, and before that hour is out, she, too, is gone, and I am the last man standing. 

Turn off all the lights, switches and the hot water. Store the garden furniture. Leave the fridge running. Double check ALL doors and windows are locked. 

This is all contained in a cheerful email from my father, followed by a paranoid diatribe about all the catastrophic things that will happen to the house if I fail to comply. There’s something about a potential flood or explosion in there, I think, but I barely skimmed the bulk of it.  

Thanks for the essay lmao.

I write back.

Be home at 2.

I do my last check of the house, then stand by the door for several minutes just looking at it. The kitchen, once a hub of activity with friends chatting over breakfast and a sink full of dirty dishes, is now deserted, immaculate, and quiet. I realise I hate endings. I do not want to dwell on things anymore, or be sentimental, or hang on to the past. 

I lock the door behind me and get into my car without another look back.

Beginning // Prev // Next

[birdiesaves]

THE MARTIAN ( novel by andy weir ) change as necessary !

mankind reaching out to send people to another planet for the very first time and expand the horizons of humanity blah, blah, blah. 

i’m pretty much fucked. 

they got the parades and fame and love of the world, i got a firm handshake and a hot cup of coffee when i got home.

i would only be “in command” of the mission if i were the only remaining person.

what do you know? i’m in command.

it wasn’t your fault. you did what you had to do. 

in your position i would have done the same thing. 

it was a ridiculous sequence of events that led to me almost dying.

everyone thinks i’m dead. 

ok, i’ve had a good night’s sleep, and things don’t seem as hopeless as they did yesterday.

i won’t be able to whip something up with tinfoil and gum.

fear my botany powers!

but hey, time is the one thing i’ve got.

i wonder if they'll ever find out what really happened.

i’ll spare you the math. the answer is _________

bleh. i’m going to bed

my life depends on you

i played a lot of dungeons and dragons.

i have an idiotically dangerous plan 

i suppose i’ll think of something. or die.

the answer is: i don’t know.

all i accomplished today was thinking up a plan that’ll kill me

also, i have duct tape. 

after a search of everyone’s personal items i found my answer.

that was sarcasm, by the way.

this all sounds like a great idea with no chance of catastrophic failure.

do you have any idea the magnitude of shitstorm this is gonna be?

how come aquaman can control whales? they’re mammals! 

i expected it to be cold, but jesus christ!

now, on to my next task: sitting around with nothing to do for 12 hours.

i ask for a picture and i get the fonz?

the whole world’s been rooting for you. 

really looking forward to not dying. 

please watch your language.

sorry we left you behind, but we don't like you.

you're sort of a smart-ass.

your request for “anything, oh god anything but disco” is denied.

no. you’ll fuck it up and die.

i took it apart, found the problem, and fixed it.

i don’t see anything... i can hear it, but... it’s down here somewhere, but i don’t know where.

the subtle and refined “hurl my body at the wall” technique had some flaws. 

named after the greek goddess who traveled the heavens with the speed of wind. she's also the goddess of rainbows.

i'm not giving up. just planning for every outcome. it's what i do.

your poster outsold the rest of ours combined.

why are you such a nerd?

you should try to be more cool. wear dark glasses and a leather jacket. carry a switchblade.

you started my training by buying me a beer.

so now i have to do boring-ass experiments with test tubes and zzzzzzzzzz....

frankly, i suspect you're a super villain.

just once i'd like something to go to plan, ya know?

no? ok... what was that!? oh, nothing? ok...

for now i just want to go home.

there's always hope

are we just watching a tragedy play out?

you’ll survive this. i don't know how, but you will. 

i've defiled enough historical sites for now.

tomorrow night, i'll sink to an all new low!

tomorrow night, i'll be at rock bottom!

be a smart-ass to a guy seven levels above you. see how that works out.

i remember when you were shy

the attitude comes with the job

and by “enjoying” i mean “hating so much i want to kill people.”

there aren't many people who can say they've vandalized a three billion dollar spacecraft. but i'm one of them.

what's our role in all this? if something goes wrong, what can we do?

how do you come up with this shit?

i admit it's fatally dangerous, but consider this: i'd get to fly around like iron man.

i need you to come back in and make a bomb.

i knew that guy was a mad scientist!

i think we should just go with my iron man idea.

well if you won't let us then- wait... wait a minute... i'm looking at my shoulder patch and it turns out i'm the commander. 

give me a minute. you're the first person i've seen in ______.

i think about the sheer number of people who pulled together just to save my sorry ass, and i can barely comprehend it.

i represent progress, science, and the interplanetary future we’ve dreamed of for centuries. 

they did it because every human being has a basic instinct to help each other out. it might not seem that way sometimes, but it’s true.

yes, there are assholes who just don’t care, but they’re massively outnumbered by the people who do. 

[sturniololoco]

Can’t hate you pt 3

Sturniolo Little Sister (SLS) X Nathan Doe

Warnings: Cussing, hitting, mentions of SA later in the series(and no, it was not Nate), etc.

ᡣ𐭩 . ° .° ᡣ𐭩 . ° .° ᡣ𐭩 . ° .° ᡣ𐭩 . ° .° ᡣ𐭩 . ° .° ᡣ𐭩 . ° .° ᡣ𐭩

SLS/N’s POV

I was sitting alone in my room, alone, in the dark, mindlessly scrolling on my phone when I got a notification.

Nicholas Sturniolo just posted 12 new photos

I clicked on the tab, then scrolled through the pictures, laughing at a few, especially at the one with Chris and I.

But then so got to the bottom, looking at the last three posts.

Nate and I side by side smiling, Nate and I back to back with a sweet tea, then a blurry shot of my chucking my sweet tea in his face.

The picture was too blurry to make out the anger and hatred I felt in that moment, and I was glad.

I scrolled down to check the comments:

Omg the last one 😂. 104 ❤️

aww! 47 ❤️

Oh my gosh I totally ship Nate and SLS/N!!! 1254 ❤️

I felt my face go red at the last one. Slamming my phone down onto the comforter, I sighed leaning my head back on the pillows.

Just before I stood to go take a shower, I saw the headlight pull into the drive way through my window.

The sound of the door opening and the boys talking filled the house. It sounded like they were now sitting on the couch talking.

But then the sound of footsteps coming up the stairs caught my attention.

it was probably Nick coming to scold me. Or thank me for the good shot.

But when the door was flung open, a sweet tea covered Nate walked in, closing the door behind him.

“Wow, knock much?” I asked him, nonchalantly going back to my phone to hide my red cheeks.

His shirt was soaking wet, making it stick to his toned stomach.

What is wrong with me?

“I’ll start knocking when you fix your attitude.” He said, crossing his arms over his chest.

I rolled my eyes, still trying to hide my cherry red face from him.

“What is your problem?”

I wish I had another sweet tea to throw at him. instead I slammed my phone into the bed and stood up, getting close to his face.

I was no longer blushing. I was mad.

“What is my problem? Are you serious? My problem is the fact that you show up here, expecting everything to go back to the way it was. But you need to understand that it won’t, not after what you did.” I say, tears of anger welling up in my eyes, only to over flow into my face.

Nate’s face drops as he looks down at me, his arms still crossed over his chest.

“You can’t still be mad about what happened senior year?” He says, his tone no longer mad, but questioning.

I look at him, dead in the eyes. I don’t say a word, know if I speak, I’ll break.

I give him a stern nod, tears pooling over my eyes.

“SLS/N… I-I’m sorry…” he starts, reaching out to touch my arm.

I take a step back before going around him, saying,

“I don’t think sorry is gonna cut it this time.”

-

After leaving my own room, I went to Nicks and showered in there, throwing on a fresh love suit that he got from Chris.

I walked downstairs with wet hair to see the boys sitting in the couch watching a movie and eating pizza.

After grabbing a piece, I sit next to Nick, who just so happens to be sitting the furthest away from Nate.

I can feel his eyes on me the whole time, not even watching the movie, but I don’t dare look up.

It’s not worth the risk of him thinking I care about him again.

-

“we’re going to bed” Chris says, standing up from his spot on the couch.

Nate stands and follows him, as he’s sharing a room with him. There door closes as Matt stands, saying that he’s going to bed as well.

Eventually it’s just Nick and I, sitting in silence, that is until he speaks.

“So, uh, what happened with the sweet tea catastrophe?” Nick asked giving me a goofy smile.

I can’t help but laugh, that picture was hilarious.

Nick is the only person who knows what happens with us in high school. He knows why I don’t trust him.

After explaining what happens, and complimenting him on his camera work, he says,

“I think you should give him a shot.”

I whip my head around to stare at him, giving him crazy eyes.

“Woah, don’t break ya neck on me! I’m just saying, I can see the way he looks at you. And I know you blush almost every time he talks to you.”

I try to stutter out an explanation, but I can’t think of one.

I hadn’t been blushing! Had I?

“I-well…okay, maybe, but still. I cant let myself get sucked back into him. Not after what happens last time.” I say, feeling the tears well up in my eyes at the memory.

he gives me a small, sympathetic smile before saying,

“listen, I know you’re scared and upset, and you have every right to be. But take into account that it was high school, we were all dumb back then, some of us still are.”

I think about his words, carefully. I may not trust Nate, but I can see where he’s coming from.

“At least try? That’s all I’m asking.” Nick pleads, grabbing my hand and giving it a little squeeze.

I look up at him.

“I’ll give him one more second chance.” I say.

Nick smiles, pulling me into a hug, and that’s how we fell asleep.

-

“Sis, wake up. We gotta go film a car video for tomorrow.” Matt said, petting my hair til I woke up.

I sat up quickly, forgetting where I was. Checking my surroundings, I quickly found out that I was still on the couch but a pillow replaced Nick.

I quickly walked up to my room to get read, already knowing my hair was a mess.

-

The car was kinda tight with 5 people in it, but we managed. Nick and Nate were in the back, leaning over me, who was sitting on the car floor behind the center console, to get into view.

The topic of today’s video was memories with Nate and growing up with him in Boston.

Per usual, everyone was acting silly and joking around, but I stay r rather quiet.

Yes, I had many good memories with Nate, we used to be best duo in Somerville.

Until he changed that, so now the bad memories overpowered the good ones.

“You and Nate used to be really close before we moved, what stories do you got sis?” Nick said, poking me in the back.

I turned slightly to look at him. He gave me a knowing look back.

“I’ll give him one more second chance.”

I sighed, knowing he was right, I should give him one more second chance.

“I-um… yeah, we used to ride bikes and stuff around our neighborhood.” I said, my face turning red as soon as the words leave my mouth.

I mentally face planed myself for sounding so awkward.

“Wow. BORING! I remember…” Chris said making the car laugh, my red face finally sinking back into my skin.

The I felt a singular finger rub up and down my arm. But this time it wasn’t Nick.

Just as my face went back to its fire truck shade of red, my phone buzzed.

I opens it to see Nate had texted me. For the first time in months.

we need to talk. Tonight

-

We made it home from the car video with little fuss. We grabbed dinner from Canes on the way home, but this time, I told my brothers my order.

After excusing myself from the living room, I made my way up to my room to shower.

But before I could turn the water on, there was a knock on my door.

And this time, I knew who it was.

Maybe a little smut next chapter 🤫

@idkwhosnyla @babypat08 @eyelessdemon00 @christopherowensturniolo @sturnsxx @freshloveforthefit @matty443355 @sleepysturnss @emeraldgreenbeautiesstu @sunsetsturniolos @hoesturniolo @x4nd3rsukz @chr1sgirl4life @sstvrnioloo @sturns-posts @chrisstopherfilmed @kylasrealityx @zoeysturnioloooooo @comet235 @islaasblog @sturnioloblogs @defnotayonna @mattsleftnipple03 @thematthewlover @mattsaq @idkhowtosleep

[cer-rata]

Fic WIP: "World War III"

Billy was halfway through taking his shirt off when his phone started ringing.

His work phone. Crap.

“Uh, Sorry, I need to take this real quick–”

“Yeah, sure. I’ll be here.”

Billy offered a grateful smile before turning around and grabbing his phone. He squinted when he realized who was calling.

“Hey, Conrad, this is a really bad time–”

“Yeah, yeah it’s a really bad time actually, fucking catastrophic, that’s exactly why I’m calling you.” Billy opened his mouth to ask a number of questions, but Conrad started up again. “Hey, sorry, that sounded flippant, I am actually concerned about what you’re currently dealing with. What uh…what’re you dealing with?” There was a bit of an echo as he spoke.

“Um.” Billy sputtered. “N-nothing, just uh, just kind of occupied–”

“OH MY GOD ARE YOU GETTING LAID!?”

“Conrad!” Billy was sure his face was going to shoot off of his skull from the sudden blood pressure.

“Sorry, I’m just excited for you, I thought I was going to have to set you up or deal with it myself–”

“What!?”

“--so I’m glad you have some game. I am about to ruin it though. Sorry. I bet I can fix it, or again I can just–”

“Conrad, focus! What's going on? What’s so urgent, why's there an echo–”

“Oh that’s just the acoustics in Black Adam’s gulag.”

“WHAT?!” 

“Okay, please don’t be mad at me–”

“Conrad, why are you in Kahndaq?!”

“I was trying to do my job! I got an alert that a really powerful and important love was in danger of breaking, and I was like ‘yeah, send me there right now!" And then I was in their throne room.”

Billy resisted the urge to scream. “You blindly teleported into a dangerous situation without thinking? Again?”

Billy could hear the pout in his voice. “Duuuude, c’mon, don’t bully me, I’ll cu–”

“I’m going to let Teth execute you.”

“Oh, I’m not trapped. This is a regular jail. No, I'm more concerned about the fight Adam and Isis started having after he spiked me like a football. He did NOT like my relationship advice. Isis did. Anyway, It sounded like they were about to start World War III or something, and like…”

“...If they split up, who rules Kahndaq…”

“...And what happens when they’re not keeping each other tethered? Yeah Adam is kind of a–well he spiked me like a football cause I said he needed to listen more–but also I think Isis is stronger than him in some ways, and I mean…what WOULD she do if she wasn’t in Kahndaq? Plus Osiris would probably go with her too from what I gleaned about their connection–”

“Amon is there?”

“Yeah, I think he’s coming down to see me, that’s what the proximity scan says. Gosh, he seems dangerous. But he’s also sort of dreamy? Like he’s a real cutie and he’s got that haunted look that I apparently gravitate towards–”

Billy groaned and shook his head. “I’ll be right there, do not flirt with Amon–PLEASE do not flirt with–”

“Skkchchh–I can’t hear you, I think–schkkkksss–his scary magic lighting powers are interfering sksssshhhh. Well, see you when you get here!”

Billy sighed and ran his fingers through his hair, before turning back around and offering a sheepish smile.

“Um…sorry….can we…reschedule…?’‘

[justanotherescapism]

Old Wounds

The Ninth Doctor x Reader

Word Count: 610

God, you were done with him. He didn’t trust you to look after yourself, even to see your own family. You had traveled across time and space with him but returning to your home was a no go. Last time, it hadn’t gone well but you missed them. You were sitting away from him in the Tardis, he was choosing where you would go next. Running around the controls, with a big goofy smile on his face. When you first joined him on this adventure, he would let you choose where you should go. Or at least give you a choice. But now it’s the Doctor’s choice and only his, well not actually but it sure felt like it. He must’ve noticed that you were stropping, choosing to ignore you. Asshole. 

“I think I’ve found our next destination.” He said excitedly. You didn’t turn around. “C’mon, you’re not still pouting are you?”

“I am actually.” You looked at him and his smile left his face. You were mad, and he knew it. Not stropping or pouting, angry.

“What’s wrong?”

“Seriously?” 

“What?”

You groaned, he did this all the time, acting like he didn’t know. “Fine, let’s go to your mystery place.” The doctor turned towards the controls before pressing the button, looking at you again. Your face hadn’t changed. He shook his head, you rarely got angry, always happy to go with him anywhere. Just yesterday you were laughing and talking about the planet you went to last week. Now, you had put a distance between the two of you, and it made him uncomfortable. It wasn’t the first time this had happened. He tried not to get too attracted to his companions but you were different. You had reinvigorated his drive in his life. 

“No. Not until you tell me what’s wrong?” He folded his arms over his chest, his lips drawing in a hard line. 

“You’ve got to be kidding me. You seriously don’t know?” 

“No. I have no idea. Clue me in.” 

“We talked about it yesterday! Why are you doing this?” You stood up, looking at him, he looked confused. He looked at the floor, blinking. “You can’t remember?” 

“I don’t…”

“I want to see my family for once, I want to see my home. But now you choose where we go, what we do. I just go along with it.”

The Doctor looked ashamed, he does remember that now, he hadn’t taken it seriously. Last time you had gone home, it was a catastrophe, many died due to an alien invasion and it had been detrimental to Earth. After this, you were terrified, blaming yourself for bringing that back with you. The Doctor had tried to calm you but you were inconsolable for days, you’d barely leave the Tardis. Sometimes you still cry out in your sleep. He couldn’t take you back there, not when you had hurt so much from the last time. 

“I was worried that you would open old wounds.” He looked into your eyes, they were sad now. “The last time we went…”

“I know.” You sat down again, in defeat, “I know.” 

He came across to you, sat beside you. You had a few tears running down your face. He wrapped his arm around you, pulling you into his chest. The Doctor wasn’t sure what else to do but apologize. 

“I’m sorry.” He said, you looked up at him. His eyes met yours. He leaned down, giving you a gentle kiss. It was warm and soft, his hand rising to your cheek. He pulled away, wiping your tears with his thumb. You smile softly, letting him know, you forgive him.

[melon-wing]

Not-So-Secret Soulmates [Scar/Grian]

[[FANFICTION MASTERLIST]]

Grian stood at the small grave, looking at the name with a pained expression. His heart ached for the friend he had just lost, even when he knew it wouldn’t be forever. He hadn’t meant to kill Bigb. He had managed to convince himself they were secret soulmates so much that he had forgotten Bigb had still been connected to Ren after all. He probably wouldn’t have built that trap otherwise. Or maybe he would have done it, but he would have apologised to Bigb before they had perished. This way he had actually celebrated his secret soulmate’s death, indirectly, but still. He had cheered. 

Grian almost felt as if arms were embracing him and he wondered if that was really the case. He remembered being a ghost last time. He had still been able to stay in that world and while he had just watched, maybe soft touches were possible. Him and Scar had been able to hear the shouts of the dead in their first game after all. Sometimes the wall between the dead and the living got thinner as emotions ran high. 

“I’m so sorry, B. I didn’t mean to kill you. I wished things could have been different. I really… I really wanted to be with you”, he whispered into the cold night air.

“You wanted him to be your soulmate instead of me, didn’t you?”

Grian jumped, whipping around so quickly he almost fell, the feeling of the soft embrace immediately disappearing as a cold shiver ran down his back. How hadn’t he heard Scar walk up to him? It was so unlike him to not pay attention and Scar usually wasn’t one to hide his presence well enough. It took him a moment to overcome the shock to realise Scar was still waiting for an answer, his eyes looking deep into his and it was as if he was pulled into these brown pools filled with uncertainty and sadness.

“Yes. I wanted him to be my soulmate. He was the one I was disappointed about most when we discovered he wasn’t my soulmate.”

Scar let out a small laugh, but there was no joy in it, it sounded so hollow.

“I mean… I knew that. Why am I even surprised? I just never thought you’d admit it just like that. But yeah, it’s true. Nobody would have been happy having me as a partner. I’m irresponsible, I mess up stuff and I don’t think before jumping into action. I’m the worst at this and anyone would have been better. I’m a walking, talking catastrophe.”

Grian could see something breaking inside Scar as his voice reached a higher pitch as he spoke, cracking every now and again, his words making him spiral downwards even more. 

“Scar-”

“No. Don’t you dare deny it now. You know it’s true! I pretended I didn’t hear you scream when you found out. I pretended it was something else that made you this upset, but I knew. I knew we were soulmates before you did. I knew the moment I stepped foot into this weird world. Because how could it ever be anybody else other than you?”, Scar ranted on, a shaking hand pushing his hair from his forehead as he looked at Grian, his eyes a mixture of sadness and madness. He was losing it quickly and Grian was too overwhelmed to know what to say to him. “Scar, please…”

Scar just shook his head, eyes moving from Grian to the grave behind him. “I thought this time we could win together. Me and you until the end. This time we wouldn’t have to fight to death. I didn’t want to see you cry again like last time. It was so hard to keep pretending then and not just hug you. I promised myself to protect you.”

“Wait… pretend?”

The glint of madness seemed to disappear and Scar smiled softly, but still so sad as he recalled the memories of their first game. “Grian. I’m not that bad at fistfighting. I’m a clutz, but even I don’t stumble that often and fall face first into a cactus. I didn’t want to hurt you. I let you win. Had I known you’d cry over my dying body like that I would have just accidentally fallen into a ravine before we ever reached that damn ring of death.”

Grian only stared at him, thinking back to their encounter in the desert, not trying to linger too long on the memory of the screams and blood. Now that Scar had said it, it seemed so obvious. Not even Scar was that much of an idiot when something was important to him. Apparently winning had never been important to him.

“I- Thank you, I think?”

Scar just shook his head and Grian was pretty sure getting gratitude wasn’t the reason he had brought it up.

“It’s in the past now. We were a great team back then. Not so much anymore. What happened to us, G? I thought you enjoyed being with me, even if I can be an irresponsible buffoon sometimes. We hang out all the time on Hermitcraft. We have lots of fun together, don’t we? Why do you hate being my soulmate so much that you want to team up with someone else?”

Grian pressed his lips together, glancing everywhere but at Scar’s face. He hadn’t known his attitude would hurt Scar this much and he knew he owed his partner an explanation, but he had a hard time admitting it out loud, when he had only ever told Bigb about the way he felt.

“I didn’t want to be the one to kill you again”, Grian finally whispered, looking up from uncertain eyes at Scar who seemed slightly shocked at his confession. “If you weren’t my soulmate I could have tried to do the same thing I did last time: Stay as far away from you as possible and make sure we’re not on the same or on opposing teams. I know this is a game and I know we all respawn… But I didn’t know back then. The first time. I thought I had killed you. And I couldn’t… I couldn’t fight you again. A piece of me broke that day, Scar, and I have been unable to repair it.”

“What?” Scar just gasped out, looking at him as if he was processing those words for a moment and then a bit of the sadness disappeared and he seemed less lonely and broken as a hopeful glimmer appeared. “So you teaming up with Bigb…?”

“He was helping me, Scar. We spent so much time together because he’s one of my best friends and he knows me. And I tried to replace you with him and I’m sorry. I didn’t know it would hurt you this much. It’s not that I don’t like you… I like you too much.”

Scar seemed to stop, all thoughts coming to an abrupt halt as his wide eyes looked straight into Grian’s. And then suddenly his cheeks started to turn pink as his shocked expression morphed into a small shy smile. It was an expression that made Grian’s heart race faster again. It was funny how the smallest of changes on Scar’s face could make him react like this.

Scar finally stepped up, taking a hold of Grian’s hand. “You don’t have to do this. Keeping your distance. I promise I’ll make sure nothing happens to you. We don’t have to fight and even if we die”, Scar took the hand to his lips, kissing it softly, looking up from the hand at Grian, “We’ll be right back together. I will be there when you wake up on Hermitcraft. We’ll be together. This is not real, Grian. We aren’t dying.”

“I know…”, Grian whispered, looking at Scar, those bright green eyes looking at him from beneath long eyelashes. “I just. I’m scared. What if I make enemies and you die because of me? What if I stumble and fall? What if some mob gets to me?”

Scar just shrugged, smiling fully now as he lowered Grian’s hand once more. “Grian. Do I look like someone who thinks he could win this? I cost you two lives already. So if you stumble, I’ll just have to catch you and put you back on your feet again. And if we die, I’ll be happy knowing we did our best together as a team. And once this is over we can be together without worrying. Back home.”

Grian smiled back at Scar. He just couldn’t help it. Seeing that smile was always too infectious. There was still a deep worry inside him, but yet he felt calm as well. Yeah, he might die and hurt Scar. But Scar wouldn’t mind. Scar would still be there waiting for him once he woke up again. Scar lifted his free hand up, letting it rest softly on Grian’s cheek and Grian leaned into the warmth of that touch, closing his eyes for a moment, allowing his constantly racing mind to slow down for the first time since this game had started. When he opened his eyes, all he could see and think of was Scar. Scar with his soft locks and bright smile. And with those deep eyes that looked at him with so much affection. It was truly a miracle he hadn’t suspected before that his feelings weren't one sided. “Promise me, Scar… Promise you’ll stay by my side. Don’t sacrifice yourself for me this time.”

Scar smiled and nodded.

“You’re not alone. Not in this world and not in the next.”

And as they both leaned forward their lips touched to seal the promise and Grian could feel a spark running through his whole body and he just knew that even if they didn’t win, he had gotten everything he ever wanted in this miserable world. He had found something precious that would stay far longer than the time they’d spend here. He had finally found love.

[darsynia]

Shipping and Handling | Ch 1: Vicinity

(Stucky x Reader slow burn, Steve x Reader fast burn, Friendship all around)

SERIES MASTERLIST | STORY MASTERLIST | NEXT

Summary: There's a chance you and Steve aren't the only people dealing with the strange chemical bond from Mistress, so you agree to submit to daily tests that should help Dr. Banner figure out what's happening, and maybe how to stop it. The problem? Seeing each other every day brings a new set of side-effects that both of you hide from each other and Banner until things come to a head-- not just for the two of you, but also for the man who has to deal with you: Bucky Barnes.

The interference/involvement of Mistress has complicated everything. It may have also awakened something lovely enough to make navigating the ethical, emotional, and physical dilemmas worthwhile. Length/Warnings: 3,487 / sexual situations, male masturbation Prompt: @allcapsbingo April Adoptable: Sex Pollen ((I know, right??))

Tags: @starryeyes2000 @munstysmind @ronearoundblindly @chickensarentcheap @themaradaniels @tiny-anne @deepbatched @whiskeytangofoxtrot555 @wolfstar-marvelsfan @icequeen1371 @chibijusstuff @nekoannie-chan @brooke0297 @caplanreblogsfics @hails270105 @venusfalling @zzz000eee @eralen @mrsevans90 @myinconnelly1 @thorinsmistress @cjand10 (had a little hiccup with duplicated names that aren't in my backup, and some not linking, sorry about that)

Excerpt:

Steve’s outward appearance of calm is deceptive, but he can’t risk hinting at the turmoil he’s going through, so he’s trying to focus solely on gathering up the take-out menus.

It’s… not going well.

He’s not good with slow stress. Emergencies, yes. Slow-rolling catastrophes with no clear path for remedy? Not his thing, particularly not when he can’t use his strength, use his hands to make things right.

Steve groans aloud. Everything slants sexual lately. Everything.

Chapter One: Vicinity

He’s falling, and there’s nothing you can do about it.

You wake up in the proverbial cold sweat, startled enough to remember only snippets of the bizarre dream-world you’d been caught up in. As if it were a natural thing, you’d been on a spaceship staring out at a planet-sized giant head, and while you were processing that part of the dream, an energy beam had struck your oval-shaped ship, cracking it apart like an egg. Because Steve had given up his buckled seat for you at the start of the voyage, he had nothing to anchor him in the emergency, and he’d been sucked out of the breach. All you could do is watch him fall away from you, knowing that you’d make things worse if you followed your instincts to rescue him.

The phone at your bedside buzzes, and you pick it up-- it’s Bucky, one of two people who bypass the Do Not Disturb setting. Despite not having performed last night, you’ve slept in, which is unusual.

“Hello?” you answer, cringing as soon as you hear the sound of your sleep-graveled voice.

“I woke you up? It’s past nine!”

You’re glad it’s Bucky and not someone who would be actually mad at you for sleeping in, but still. Not cool. “You think I keep Day Worker hours unless I have a show? Be real, Bucky, that would be annoying as hell.”

“Yeah, that’s fair. Is there one tonight?”

“No, rehearsal from lunch to four for tomorrow’s, though. Nineties Night. I’m thinking I might spike my hair to match the choker I’m going to wear, what do you think?” Not really, but you apparently woke up spicy.

“Don’t, I like your hair.” Bucky’s voice is gruff, and he clears his throat with a cough and continues like he’s said something out of line. “Come to my place after and we’ll get take-out. Steve says you two have to see each other once a day anyway.”

You’ve done take-out at your place multiple times with Bucky, but you have only been to the tower once.

“It’s a-- that sounds good,” you say lightly, shifting away from ‘it’s a date’ language. It feels off to use that phrase when Steve’s involved. “What time?”

Bucky’s sigh tells you his invitation had been impulsive, and he’s annoyed to be asked about logistics. Something about knowing that without being told floods you with affection for him. “Whenever? After four, I guess.”

“Dress code?” you tease.

“Wear clothes, please. My roommate’s dealing with some things and I can’t promise he’ll--”  

You nearly choke on your own spit at his audacity, but the distinct sound of Steve’s voice in the background of the call startles you into sliding your knees up to your chest, awareness prickling all over your body. It suddenly strikes you as maybe inappropriate to hear his voice while you’re in bed, like it’ll screw up Banner’s test results, or something.

The conversation you’d had with Bucky last week about not wanting to ignore the Mistress thing in conversation with each other had clearly prompted his cheeky comment, but it sounds like Steve didn’t appreciate what he’d overheard. Ordinarily you’d call for him through the phone, but that feels possibly inappropriate too. You’re very aware of the open window’s drift of cool morning air on your bare arms, of the way the fabric of your nightgown feels on your naked body underneath. Chances are you’d be activating similar feelings in Steve, too. Just from hearing you.

The power in that knowledge is kind of intoxicating.

You decide to compromise, because the raised male voices on the other line have ceased, replaced with silence. “Bucky?” you hiss-whisper into your phone.

“You didn’t hang up? Give me that!”

Steve’s yell is loud through the phone, and you clamber out of bed, the neckline of your summer nightgown shifting over in the process, exposing your left shoulder.

“Dee?”

It’s Steve. Across from you, your dresser mirror shows a reflection that’s almost more disheveled than the day you’d met the man. The whole situation is so absurd that you actually take a second to hold up your phone and snap a picture, thinking you’ll joke about this someday, when it all blows over.

“Dee??”  

“Shoot, yes, sorry Steve, I’m just--” Mixing that image with the distress/concern in his voice has tuned your mood in a dangerous direction, and your smoky tone of voice is on board. Clearing your throat and avoiding the mirror, you say, “Sorry, go on?” The line is silent for a long few seconds.

There’s no way in hell that calling out his name right now will do him any good whatsoever.

You kind of want to do it, though.

Finally, Steve returns, and he opts for his Captain America voice. “Bucky dropped the phone when I caught him joking about this whole situation. I think the three of us might need to set some boundaries during your visit. He said around four. I’ll see you then.” He hangs up before you can respond.

You’ve been horny all day, but helpless to do anything about it. The problem is, you’ve got Rogers on the brain, and his shift to Cap mode on the phone made crossing the boundary to think of him as Steve feel wrong and uncomfortable. The good news is, your mood worked really well for the songs the band practiced all afternoon. Unfortunately, the heat of the day and the fact that the boiler’s still on in the building had all of you hot and miserable.

It’s 4:17 when you finally get out of there, sweaty blouse stuck to your back. You feel like a wilted flower, so you decide to call up a taxi service to the tower instead of walking.

As you wait for your ride to arrive, you wonder if Steve’s day was similar to yours. The good news for the evening is that the two of you shouldn’t be as keyed up as you were yesterday. Banner’s explanation of his pheromone theory had been confusing and hard to pay attention to with Steve right beside you, but you recall him saying the longer the two of you stay apart, the stronger the compulsion is.

The taxi arrives and you get inside, giving the destination as Avengers tower. Speaking the location aloud brings up something else you’ve been avoiding. Bucky’s ‘someday I’ll introduce you to my best friend Steve, we’ve known each other since he was little’ is a far cry from the reality: ‘my best friend Captain America has been famous for longer than whole generations of your family have been alive.’ 

For the first time, you realize that ‘since he was little’ has a vastly different meaning than the one you’d been assuming. Bucky really is an infuriating, lovable shit sometimes. It’s with that combination of low-level sexual frustration, amused annoyance, and bedraggled appearance that you arrive at the tower. The guy at the security counter calls the apartment with a dubious expression that makes you worried he's judging you, but the man eventually nods and directs you to an elevator.

“He’ll meet you in the hallway,” he says, leaning into the elevator car once you’ve boarded to call out a code phrase to the AI that controls the elevator. The guard gives you one last once-over and adds, “It changes every week,” confirming your suspicion that their floor is restricted.

When the door closes, your imperfect reflection in the silver coating has you scrambling to adjust the moist cling of your blouse on your breasts. Unkempt twists of hair are glued to your cheeks and forehead with perspiration, and you’d completely forgot that for an easy ego boost, you always apply performance-quality red lipstick for final rehearsal.

In short, the security guy had a point.

The doors open before you get a chance for a last once-over after your adjustments. The best you can do is a weird crossed-arms stance with your hands spread wide to obscure just how lovingly your damp red top is cupping your assets.

Thankfully, the man standing in the hallway is Bucky Barnes.

You rush out, dropping your hands to gesture at yourself. “Do you see this? Mirrors and I are enemies today,” you tell him, eyes wide. “I guess I’m lucky the guard downstairs didn’t call the cops instead of the apartment!”

Bucky trails his piercing blue eyes along your outfit, his expression impassive at first. For the first time ever in his presence, you feel a little objectified, but you shake that off. After all, you told him to look-- and given the growing appreciation in his gaze, he’s at least giving you a bit of a self-esteem boost. When Bucky’s finished, having followed through by taking in your pencil skirt and crimson sandals with his head tipped to the side, he finally looks you in the eyes.

“Nice toenail polish,” he smirks.

“I don’t know why I put up with you,” you gripe under your breath. “Please tell me you have a shirt I can borrow? They still have the heat on at the venue, Babs is tearing out her hair. If the forecast is right about how hot it’ll be tomorrow night, we’ll have to hand out free cups of ice to keep an audience.”

“Yeah, but we got a gauntlet to run before that,” he tells you. The apartment door’s open, and he stands to the side, gesturing for you to precede him.

“If it’s related to another set of metal doors and a scary British voice telling me to hide, I’ll just walk home, spring heatwave or not.”

“She’s here?” Steve says from inside. He comes out right as you walk over, and both of you stop within inches of each other. “You’re late,” he says-- but the tone of his voice is the exact same stressed, desperate, needy one you’ve tried not to fondly remember. 

You almost respond with, ‘Oh, Steve, if you’re going for ‘stern,’ be careful, but you can’t imagine saying that in anything other than your flirty lounge singer persona, and that would cross too many lines, especially today.

“I got here as soon as I could!” you tell him, drawing yourself up indignantly. Steve opens his mouth to respond, but his gaze is caught first by your lips, then your shirt. You’re confronted with the effect you have on him-- a short, pained breath leaves his lips when his eyes drop to your chest and then quickly back up.  Steve’s eyes dilate, and his throat works as he swallows, twice. He’s as handsome as anyone you’ve ever met, and you’ve done more than meet. An errant (exciting, ridiculous, improper) thought rises to the surface.

This man is your lover.

You suck in a breath, unable to avoid the flood of heat you’re struck with, and your reaction breaks the spell.

“I thought we agreed on four?” he says plaintively, as though somehow you wouldn’t look like this and he wouldn’t clearly like it as much if you’d only been on time.

“All right, none of this shit needs to happen in the hallway,” Bucky says, shouldering his way past you to spin Steve around with a hand on either shoulder. Embarrassment spurs you to quickly follow, and you shut the door, leaning against it with your arms and hands once again trying to cover your clinging blouse. “You: grab the fliers from the kitchen,” your best friend instructs Steve, shoving him in the right direction. He points at you and jerks his head toward the hallway. “You: follow me.”

“Shirts. Why is it always shirts?” you ask.

“Indiana Jones, right?” Bucky says, walking into the room at the end of the hallway. He whispers something you can’t hear, because you’ve stopped at the threshold. Bucky turns around and frowns at you. “I’m not looking to ramp him up, so will you please come in here?”

He seems pretty stressed, so you swallow your worries about being trapped in yet another room in this particular apartment, and walk in a little ways. It’s not enough for Buck, whose ‘hurry up’ arm gesture doesn’t look very non-threatening with his metal arm.

“What are you--” you begin, but he interrupts from over by the closet, sliding a chunk of wire hangers over with a scrape of protesting metal.

“I said what color… undergarment? So it doesn’t show through.”

“Shit, good point, thanks,” you say, coming over. “It’s red, to match the blouse.”

To your surprise, you can see his ear turn red as Bucky coughs and fiddles with a few hung-up items out of your sight.

“This work?”

He hands you a medium blue button-down, long sleeved. “There’s, uh, a bathroom through there. I can sit on the bed, in case you’re freaked to be stuck again.”

Bucky looks like he’d gladly crawl out of his skin to avoid this entire conversation, but there he is, offering to let you change clothes in his private bathroom while he stays close enough to break you out, if need be. You’d go over and hug him if it wouldn’t make ‘awkward’ into ‘unbearable’ for him.

You nod, rushing into the bathroom to change. There’s a basket with towel rolls you’re certain a housekeeper put there, and you grab one of the washcloths to clean up with before buttoning on the shirt. It’s long, so long you spend most of the time rolling up the sleeves and trying to figure out how to tuck the tails into your skirt without looking dumpy.

Steve’s outward appearance of calm is deceptive, but he can’t risk hinting at the turmoil he’s going through, so he’s trying to focus solely on gathering up the take-out menus.

It’s… not going well.

He’s not good with slow stress. Emergencies, yes. Slow-rolling catastrophes with no clear path for remedy? Not his thing, particularly not when he can’t use his strength, use his hands to make things right.

Steve groans aloud. Everything slants sexual lately. Everything.

Leaving the stack of menus on the counter, he rubs the back of his neck and paces the kitchen. In a way, he’s in an immediate emergency right now, albeit a private one: he’s turned on, has tried to ignore it all day, but then you’d shown up late looking like that. It had taken him back to the weeks of staying away, when he’d woken late at night awash in guilt and arousal after yet another dream of the time together in his bedroom. In most of them, he’d stalked over to the light switch and flipped it on so he could see you, sweat-soaked and needy.

He sticks his head into the sink and uses the sprayer on himself in a vain attempt to cool his ardor. All that does is get water in his ears.

From the other room, Bucky says, “Steve?”

“Hang on,” Steve calls out, blindly grabbing for the dishtowel draped on the oven door. When it doesn’t come right away, he yanks at it-- and the entire door of the oven comes off.

“What the hell?” Bucky’s standing in the doorway, and you’ve crowded in beside him to see what’s going on.

“I’m not sure what happened. I just wanted to grab a towel.” Steve’s shoulders are already soaked from his wet hair, and somehow the cloth in his hand is still connected to the detached door at his feet. At least the tempered glass is still intact.

You squeeze past Bucky and come over, gently freeing the towel from Steve’s hand and crouching down to mess with the underside of the oven door. He closes his eyes tightly and starts focusing on his breathing. It’s all he can do to keep still and hide the effect of seeing you sink down to the floor, but he’d forgotten you’re not the only other person in the apartment.

“Steve.”

Steve’s eyes pop open at the menace in his friend’s tone, but right then, you stand back up, the dish towel in your hand and an amused look of confusion on your face.

“It looks like someone reinforced this crochet clasp with metal thread!”

Both of Bucky’s fists are clenched, and Steve has no idea what you’re talking about. Then he looks over at you.

You’re wearing his shirt. It’s hanging loose, and the hem extends past your hips. It’s so easy to picture what you’d look like wearing it some morning after spending the night.

“I-I need a new shirt,” Steve stammers out. Bucky has just enough time to sidestep out of the doorway, and once through, Steve runs.

He manages not to slam the door, but the way his head clunks back against the wood is probably audible in the kitchen. Pulling in huge breaths, he ignores his wet shirt and starts fumbling at his belt.

It’s wrong, he knows, but the way you look wearing his shirt, seeing you practically kneeling at his feet --Steve can’t hold himself back. He’s been on edge all day, and he’d only understood why when you’d walked back into his home in all your sexy, sweaty glory. Anticipation. Whether or not it ought to have happened, the two of you have a bond, one that includes permission for all sorts of things his mind dwells on at the most inconvenient times.

The door rattles in the jamb as he shoves his trousers and briefs out of the way. There’s no way he wants Bucky to have any idea what’s going on here, so he thumbs on the lock (it’s a fig leaf, but one that might give him a few seconds to hide what he’s about to do, if need be) and fall-walks over to the bed with his pants around his ankles. 

Seconds later, Steve has slicked up his hand, collapsing back onto his pillow with a heartfelt groan that’s as quiet as he can make it. Mistress is ruinous, because this devastating pleasure is almost rewriting his DNA as surely as the serum did. Two months ago he would never have pictured himself doing anything like this, but now he’s fucking his own fist in the same apartment as someone who could be his best friend’s girl.

Steve’s touching himself while he’s thinking about you, and he can’t-- he won’t stop. Indulging in this glorious, delirious pleasure has got to be the lesser of two evils.

Despite that conclusion, guilt wars with lust as his hand speeds up, hoping like hell that he doesn’t make too much noise. It’s maybe better than before the drug, as though his body has been rewired, away from heroism and into hedonism. Every little movement ratchets him further toward ecstasy, so much so that Steve tortures himself with variations; a twist of his hand here and there, thumb swirling the head of his cock. He's got the fleshy part of his palm crammed in his mouth to remind himself to be quiet.  

Just as he wonders how much more he can take himself apart, Steve feels his peak rising, and he’s disappointed, which brings up more guilt. You’re a real person, someone he’s laughed with. Someone he could really like.

The thought occurs that if he’s going to train his aroused brain, guilt is the worst possible catalyst.

Steve forces himself to still, to breathe.

“Change it or stop,” he whispers to himself. “She doesn’t deserve that.”

He casts around in his mind for something different, but stubbornly, not something that would force him to stop. Your body’s sated, exhausted curl on his old bed in the time before the two of you had been rescued. The way your weary, heat-tired expression had combusted into frustration at him in the doorway to his apartment. You, simply wearing his shirt.

You’ve wormed your way into intimacy with him in more ways than Steve had realized, ways he likes.

Need overcomes his willpower, and he gives himself permission for a single gentle stroke. The intense sweetness of it gives him an idea, one he’s entirely certain he might go to hell for.

Steve moves his hand slowly, tentatively, and oh fuck, he could picture you doing this so easily. What would your face look like if you could touch him with ease, with patience, without urgency?  

Ironically, this sends him into a rough, mindless frenzy, the white-hot pleasure reinforced by flashes of you in scenes of a possible future; furrowed brow cooking while you complain about how inconvenient the broken oven is, stepping out of the shower in a ratty old bathrobe, hair wet, your skin freshly scrubbed.

In his mind's eye, you're clasping his hand palm to palm, lifting your head to kiss him as he moves slowly inside you, unhurried, loving.

As his orgasm barrels through him, Steve realizes this is far, far worse for his relationship with Bucky and his fledgling something (friendship? More? Does he deserve more?) with you than simply rutting out his sexual frustration with the entire focus on his filthy, unworthy thoughts about your red blouse.

Next Chapter...

[not-a-space-alien]

Tinytopia Chapter 12: Monoculture

Story Masterpost

On AO3

Thanks to my beta reader, @appelsiinilight

In this chapter: Advanced botany lessons

***

Thistle tightened his grip on Marigold, to his right, and Pixie-Jax, to his left.  “Okay, on three.  Ready?  One.  Two.  Three!”

None of them moved.

Moon, hovering in the air next to the tree limb, tut-tutted.  “Come on, now, you’ll never fly if you keep your feet on solid ground.”

They were all learning how to fly.  Thistle had a new prosthetic wing.  Marigold had only recently recovered from a catastrophic injury, and his muscles were atrophied.  Jax had never actually flown before.

And they were all discovering just how scary it was to learn how to fly.

“I’ll go if you two go,” Jax said.

“I’m sorry,” Thistle said.  “I’m just nervous.”

Marcy was waiting down below to catch them.  “You can do it!  You can start with just jumping down.  Thistle and I were making good progress just doing that.  Just jump!  Do it together!”

“Okay,” Marigold said.  “On three.”

“One.  Two.  Three!”

None of them moved.

“For God’s sake, do I have to push you off?” Moon said, exasperated.

“You don’t have to be holding each other’s hands,” Marcy said.  “It might be a better idea to go separately?”

“No!” Thistle yelped.  “I need to be holding hands!”

Marigold smiled.  “Do you remember the old, old oak tree where Mother’s Mother taught us to fly?”

Thistle felt warm and fuzzy at the memory.  “Yeah.  We were so small, and so high up off the ground.”

“You still are,” Moon said, perching behind them in a threatening way.  “I’ll push you off if that’s what it takes to make progress.”

“All right, Moon, let them go at their own pace,” Marcy chided.

Moon dropped down, hovering under the branch once again.  “Come on, I know y’all can do it!”

“Okay.”  Thistle crouched down.  He’d done this before.  Surely he could do it again!  It shouldn’t be that hard!  “On three.  One.  Two…”

An image flashed in his mind, suddenly and forcefully–a startlingly clear picture of him throwing himself off the branch and successfully flying.  You can do it!

It took Thistle a moment to remember that was how dryads communicated, beaming images directly into your head like that.  He startled and hugged the branch, looking around wildly.

Trilloras was down by Marcy’s ankle.

“You!” Thistle raged.  Suddenly he found it within himself to dive down; he spread his wings and flapped in a controlled fall towards her.  “You have a lot of explaining to do!”

Trilloras shied behind Marcy’s ankle.  Marcy stepped to the side.  “Oh, did you come to cheer them on?”

“Forget that!”  Thistle hit the dirt and stormed over.  “You’ve got a lot of nerve to just ignore us, you know!”

Trilloras scratched the dirt with her foot.

“Here’s something interesting, a lot of new magical creatures are showing up and telling us a dryad told them to come here.  You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?”

Trilloras’s leaves all wilted inwards, and she dashed away and smacked into a nearby root, disappearing into the tree.

Moon wafted down to land gracefully beside him.  “Thistle, my dear, you really need to speak to her less… forcefully, if you want her to be less shy.”

Thistle sighed.  “Fine, fine.  Sorry.”

Marcy knelt down.  “You can come back out.  It’s okay.  We’re not mad at you, we just want to know.”

“I’m mad at you,” Thistle muttered.

Trilloras very slowly reformed from the bark of the tree, her two beady hollyberry-red eyes watching them all.

“I’d like an explanation,” Marcy said.  “If you have one.  Please?”

Trilloras’s rootlike feet planted into the ground.  Another image flashed out–her roots going down, way down, and something akin to spectral, magical roots branching out even further.  The sinuous knots expanded out until they touched a tangled network of similar structures, like a nervous system.

“Are the… dryads all connected?  Like vines?”

Trilloras nodded.

“Do you… share information that way?  Communicate?”

Yes.

Marcy thought for a moment, then sat back, laughing.  “Oh my God.  Everyone started showing up here because they heard about us literally through the grapevine.”

Trilloras flashed them an image of Marcy shooing small creatures away from the house–turning them away.  Are you going to?

“Thistle, should we tell the dryads to stop sending people here?” Marcy said.  “It makes me a little nervous that everyone knows we’re here, but now that word’s out, it seems like we can’t really undo that anyway.”

Thistle was torn.  It went against everything he’d been raised with to advertise their location and invite everyone in.  On the other hand… it was exciting having new people over.  And if they needed help, like Auburn and Jax, how could they say no?

“No,” Thistle said.  “Well… not right now, maybe?  You’re right that I don’t think we can realistically keep people away now… But I think we’re going to need more space, if, um, if more are going to show up.”  Maybe they could have something in the yard, for people who were new and not sure if they were trustworthy enough to let into the house yet?

“I can talk to Colin about it.  Thanks, Trilloras.”

“It really would have been better if you’d asked first,” Thistle said, grinding his teeth.  “Before telling everyone about all our business.”

“All right,” Marcy said placatingly.  “Nothing we can do about it now.  Although, um, Thistle is right, Trilloras.  Maybe in the future, ask first.”

Trilloras bashfully pulled her arms in.

Marcy held her hands up for Jax and Marigold to step into, but Trilloras tugged on Marcy’s pantleg to get her attention again.

“Oh?  Do you need something?  Is that why you came out?”

Trilloras nodded, then flashed them another image:  across the tangle of magical information-sharing roots, Trilloras showed them the feeling of another dryad: this one in terrible pain, raging helplessly and directionlessly.

“Oh no,” Marcy said.  “Does someone need help?”

Trilloras nodded.

“You only came out because you needed something!” Thistle said hotly, prompting Trilloras to scuttle behind Marcy again.

“Come on now, Thistle,” Marcy said.  “It's for someone else, not her.”

As much as Thistle loved being angry, he couldn’t deny it was much more in-character for him to help.  Thistle crossed his arms.  “Fiiiiiine.  What's the problem?”

Trilloras dumped a very complicated image onto them:  images of a cornfield, a dryad whose consciousness was split between all the plants.

Marcy gasped.  “Is there a dryad occupying crops?  That can’t be good, right?”

We told her not to.  She wouldn’t listen.

“So this other dryad is in somebody’s corn?” Thistle said.  “Who cares?  She’ll just leave when it’s time to harvest it, right?”

Trilloras looked uncertain.

“What do you need help with, Trilloras?”

Her mind is fragmented.  She was too ambitious and took multiple plants.  It split her apart as it grew.  She was upset her plants were destroyed by humans, so she took their plants instead.  Bad things happen to dryads when they take humans’ cultivated, unnatural plants, and even more bad things happen when they take multiple plants.  But she would not listen, and now she can’t hear us.

“She can’t hear you?”  

Trilloras flooded them with images of this other dryad driven to pain and aggression, stalking through the corn agitatedly.  Her mind is gone.

“Okay.  That’s… bad, for sure.  Are you worried she’s going to be found by the humans there?  Or hurt?”

Yes.

“I don’t see how that’s our problem,” Thistle said, still being petty.  “Dryads have managed themselves fine without us till now, I don’t see why you have to draft Marcy to help.”

“I want to help!” Marcy rushed to clarify.  This sounded fascinating.  “But is there a way to help her?”

The forest is coming to fix it.  She will die if they get to her before we do.

“Oh,” Thistle said softly.  “So, when this has happened before, the other dryads normally just fix it by killing whatever dryad this happens to?”

Trilloras nodded.  Sap welled up suspiciously near her eyes.  Thistle felt acutely her desire to save her sister’s life.

“Okay,” Thistle said.  “I guess we can try to help.”

“Yes!” Marcy said.  “Okay.  We’ll do our best.  Will it help if we convince her to leave the corn?”

Yes.

“Okay.”

She won’t listen now, but if we were there with her, maybe…

“Okay,” Marcy said.  “We’ll go there, and we’ll see if we can talk to her.”

Trilloras nodded rapidly.

Marcy held out her hand.  “I’ll take you there.”

Trilloras blinked at Marcy’s hand, then eased into it.  Her roots grew and entangled around Marcy’s fingers, like a snake.  It felt weird.

Thistle climbed into her other hand with Jax and Marigold, and Moon landed on her shoulder.  She felt a bit like a mother possum.  “Okay, everybody ready to go back inside?”

She ferried the small creatures back inside and set Jax and Marigold down next to their houses.  “We’re going on a bit of a field trip to help Trilloras,” she announced.  “Does anyone want to come too?”

When Thistle repeated the query in Pixish, Severa slithered over.  “I will join.”  She climbed up Marcy’s arm rapidly and settled around her shoulders.

“Can I go?  I want to go!” Jax said, bouncing.

“Sure.”

“You have to ask if you want some of Trilloras’s hair though,” Thistle butted in.  

Jax sheepishly climbed into Marcy’s hand next to Thistle.  Privately, Thistle thought having a dryad who was actually willing to talk with them on demand would be immensely useful, so he hoped Jax could manage a dryad incarnation.

Auburn, who’d been clinging to the pullup bar, sleepily said, “I want to go too.”

“Did I wake you up?  Sorry.”

“It’s okay.  I want to help.”  He spread his wings and dropped down, clinging to the back of Marcy’s head.  She briefly had a thought about her childhood fears of a bat getting tangled in her hair.

“It’s okay if you don’t want to.”

“I want to.  I’ll help.  I’m helpful.”

“Okay.”  Laden with Thistle and Jax in one hand, Trilloras in the other, Severa around her neck like a fashionable scarf, Moon on her shoulder, and Auburn’s little hands gripping her hair, Marcy was suddenly very afraid of falling over.  She felt a bit like a rock climbing wall.

She carefully made her way over to her laptop on the dining room table and opened it.  She opened it and opened her preferred maps program.  (The author will decline to specify the brand since they are not paying for product placement.)

“Can you show us where we’re going?”

Trilloras blinked at the screen, completely uncomprehending.

“This is a map.  Do you know how to read a map?”

Trilloras transmitted a single, intense emotion: confusion.

“It’s like–it’s like an aerial view, like we’re flying looking down at the ground.  Here.”  She flipped the toggle to the satellite view, so they could see all the trees and greenery.

This seemed to catch her attention more, but she merely climbed out of Marcy’s hand and craned her neck in a very interested way.

***

It took some doing, but they eventually managed to get Trilloras to help with navigating to their destination.  

Marcy started her car and dumped the menagerie of tiny creatures onto the passenger’s seat.  They formed a little pile inside the semicircle of Severa’s coils, which was so adorable Marcy struggled to keep her eyes on the road as she drove.

Auburn snuggled the closest to Severa's torso, clearly trying to gain some maternal affection.  Severa’s reciprocation was limited by the fact that he was a grown ass man and not an actual baby, but she allowed it and didn't pull away, which she would have with basically anybody else besides Thistle.

“So what exactly are we going to do?” Jax asked eagerly.  “Are we going to fight the big dryad?”

The word big gave Marcy pause.  It hadn't occurred to her till just then, but… she had no idea if this other dryad would be the same size as Trilloras or not.  “Um, we're just going to talk to her.”

“I'm sure between all of us, we can come up with an appropriate diplomatic strategy,” Moon said.

Marcy was secretly very relieved he was here.  As effective as Thistle's “just be nice and make friends” strategy had been… she wasn't looking forward to the inevitable first time it failed.  “I hope so.”

Trilloras’s route led them into a dusty back road.  The car bumped ungracefully and kicked up gravel.  Farmland replaced trees out the window.

“We must be getting close,” Marcy said as the crops changed from kale to corn.

Marcy had to keep prompting Trilloras for directions, but eventually she pulled over at the dryad’s instruction.

The dust settled around the car’s tires and the heat assaulted Marcy as she stepped out into the bright sunlight.  A bird cawed somewhere in the distance, but other than that, it was quiet.

She walked around the car and opened the passenger door.  The collection of tiny creatures all climbed up onto her like she was a bus.

“Okay,” Marcy said.  “Um.”  She turned towards the cornfield, unsure of what to do.  Trilloras was being incredibly unhelpful with regard to what their strategy should be.  “Trilloras, does she have a name?”

Cordyca.

“Okay.”  She looked out over the corn, which waved gently under a breeze.  “Um… Cordyca?  Hello?”

Nothing.

“We know you’re there!” Thistle shouted.  “Come out!”

That prompted some movement.  Apparently a pixie was a more worthy conversation partner than a human.  The stalks shifted, as if with anticipation.

“Um,” Thistle said.  “So, we’re here with Trilloras, and, and she says you need to leave, or something bad is going to happen.”

The corn rustled far in excess of what the light breeze would suggest.  A single stalk creaked and bent over, pointing an ear of corn directly at Marcy.

“Um.”  Marcy clasped her hand on it like it was a microphone.  “Hello.  Trilloras said the other dryads have been telling you that you need to leave the cornfield, but you weren’t listening to them.  We thought it would be harder to ignore us if we came out here in person–I mean, if we could talk face to face.”

A second stalk of corn bent at an unnatural angle, seeming to peer at Marcy’s face, the silk scruff wiggling like fingers.

“Um,” Marcy said.  “We can help you relocate, if you want.”

Trilloras climbed up Marcy’s arm, shivering her leaves and roots, clearly communicating with the other dryad privately.  Marcy really wished Trilloras would just work with her.

“Oh, for Heaven’s sake,” Moon huffed.  He removed his sunglasses from his breast pocket, put them on, and hovered in the air over Marcy’s head.  “Look here, you, I think what you need is someone to give you a firm talking-to.  You can’t keep simply ignoring your sisters, and you can’t keep sitting around here in some hapless humans’ corn being all pissy.”

No response.  Moon gestured around.  “Look at this place!  It must have been cleared for farmland five decades ago!  You have to move on!  The wellbeing of the collective depends on us all working together to avoid disrupting humans too much.  Trust me, I know, and they are going to make sure you do your part even if you don’t want to.”

The stalks groaned and shifted, and the dryad reached out and touched them mentally.  It was jarring, scary, and overwhelming in a way none of them had ever felt before.  Marcy knew instantly this dryad was older than Trilloras and much, much larger.  She was suddenly sweating more.

“Don’t make her mad,” Auburn pleaded.

“Ah,” Moon said, now considerably less confident.  “Uh, well, what I’m trying to say is your dryad brethren, or, or sister-en, have to put you down like a mad dog if you won’t behave yourself for the sake of us all, and your little sister, here, Trilloras, cares for you very much and would very much like to see-”

The plants rumbled, now a gathering sound like a predator growling, and the leaves reached out towards him.  Marcy stepped back slightly, and Moon grounded himself on her head.  “Ah,” Moon continued.  “Really, what I’m trying to say is, is, you need to-”

A particularly long stalk whipped out from the field and snapped Moon off Marcy’s head, dragging him into the corn.  He let out an undignified scream, which instantly turned into outraged shouting.

“Shit!”  Marcy turned and dumped all the other small creatures back into the car.  “Shit!  Shit!  You all stay here.”

Trilloras wrapped her roots around Marcy’s wrist like a bracelet.

“Except, you, yeah.”

“Be careful, Marcy!” Thistle shouted, which was drowned out by Marcy slamming the car door shut, terrified of anything happening to any of them.

“Moon!” Marcy yelled, trying to peer over the stalks, afraid to touch them.  “Moon!  Shit!”

“You won’t have me like this!” Moon’s voice shouted faintly.  “You scoundrel!  You bombastic cur!”

“Shit.”  Marcy delicately slid her hands between the stalks, parting them.  She took a step into the corn–not only did it physically resist her, but it prompted another growl.  The leaves near the ground started climbing towards her.

“Shit, shit, shit.”  She took a step back, and the corn that had been reaching menacingly towards her retreated.

Moon’s voice was getting further away.  “I’ll tan your hide, you rakish ginger-snap!  There’s only room for one rumbumptious creature here, and it isn’t you!”

“Moon!” Marcy yelled.  “Try to get above the corn!  If you can fly back over to me, we can get out of here!”

“You chicken-hearted fribble!” Moon’s outraged voice echoed.  “How about a taste of this?”

Marcy heard a jet of fire like a flamethrower.  “Shit!  Moon, you’re going to burn the field down!”

“Maybe that’s what this white-livered sneaksby needs!”

Smoke rose up over the field.

“Moon!” Marcy screamed.  “For fuck’s sake!  I’m serious!  I can’t help you over there!”

To her immense relief, she saw Moon’s figure flit up into the air above where the fire was.  An ear of corn was hurled into the air after him, which he dodged.

“Over here, doofus!”

Moon turned around, dodged a tentacle of cornstalk trying to grab him, and jetted over, landing in Marcy’s hair.

“Fuck,” Marcy said, seeing the mass of plants agitatedly getting more and more full of motion.  The plume of smoke thickened.  “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.”

Marcy dove into the driver’s side, started the car, and slammed the gas.  A curling tendril that had been trying to ensnare her back tire snapped off.

***

Well…  They hadn’t helped quite like they’d wanted to, but Trilloras seemed less worried–apparently a dryad could survive their plant being burned if they fled.  Which was what Cordyca needed to do anyway.

Marcy came out of the donut shop and sat back in the car, turning the A/C on.  “We’re clear.”

The creatures which had been hiding in the center console emerged.  Jax was first onto Marcy’s lap.  “What did you get?  What do we have?”

“Um.  There’s a few cream-filled ones.”  Marcy put the half-dozen donuts on the passenger’s seat with the lid open.  “It was cheaper to just get a box of them, so I guess everyone can just have their own.”  It was wildly excessive, but whatever.

Severa sniffed the donuts disdainfully.  “Thistle can have mine.”

Marcy sighed and pulled up her phone, where the news coverage of the burning field was still going.  “I guess just burning the whole thing down is one way to fix it… though not the way I would have picked.  Are we going to get in trouble?”

Thistle stood on the doorhandle to peek over the window.  “Surely not.  Nobody saw us, right?  And they’ll be able to tell where in the field the fire started, so even if they saw you, it wouldn’t look like the fire started from where we were.”

Moon stood in the donut box, picking off sprinkles one by one to eat.  “You’re welcome.”

“Moon, respectfully,” Marcy said.  “If we’re going to meet freaky shit like giant dryads, maybe you should choose your words a bit more carefully.”

Moon reddened.  “Ah.”  He licked a bit of frosting off his finger.  “I suppose I can be a bit overconfident at times.”  It was probably as close to an apology as they would get.

Auburn was trying to nibble on a donut and evidently not enjoying the taste.  “Is she going to be okay?”

Marcy started the engine.  “It seems like it might be clear by now, so… I guess we can go look.”

They retraced their steps, past firetrucks with no sirens going, tired-looking rednecks that Marcy felt the need to apologize to.  She pulled over in the same spot as before, then got out.

The field was mostly gone, charred stubble all that was left on the ground.  A bit of it was still smoking.  Marcy took a few steps in, shoes getting dusty instantly.

She let out a sad sigh.  “I’m sorry, Trilloras.  We just made it worse instead of better.”

Trilloras slithered down Marcy’s leg and into the fertile soil, picking her way over errant stems.  She didn’t seem upset–in fact, she seemed to be homing in on something.

There, pushing its way up between the bits of blackened plants and white, charred mass, was a second dryad.  It was smaller than Trilloras, just a whisper of a sprout, and its body was dried and burned like charcoal.  It was crying silently.

Trilloras came over and knelt down, scooping up the second dryad into her arms.  The crying stopped.

Marcy knelt down.  “Is that her?” she whispered in awe.

Trilloras nodded.  Everything has been burned away.  She can start over.

Thistle hopped down.  “That’s wonderful.”

“She can take one of the plants in our front yard, right?” Marcy said.  “We can keep an eye on her and make sure everything is okay.”

Trilloras hugged her sister to herself, washing them all with relief and the feeling that everything was going to be okay.

***

@static-stars

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@ratcatcher0325  @crazytinygirl @bittykimmy13  @whumpsday @theroyaleemily 

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@imber-rose

[murphyoclock]

Angst (2/2)

Thank you for all the love so far! My requests are open for some ideas and I have this spicy Cillian fic in my mind that I'll start writing this weekend!

Summary: Your and Tommy's argument gets out of hand when you provocatively try to make him jealous at his charity party. 

This is part 2; click here to read part 1

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x Reader

Warnings: language, fluff and some steaminess

AN: Sorry for the slow start! If you like my writing, please reblog, comment or follow. Thank you xx

.............................

A soft tingle travels across your body as you slowly open your heavy eyes. The sun is shining through the large bedroom windows, leaving warm spots on your exposed legs. You notice the familiar smell and comfort of your and Tommy’s bed.

“Tommy?” You mumble, turning around to notice that his side of the bed is empty. 

“She’s awake, Ada,” Polly’s voice calls out. She places a cup of your favorite tea on the bedside table and lights a cigarette. “How are you feeling, love?” 

“Where’s Tommy?” You ask and try to sit up, but an excruciating pain buzzes through your head, forcing you to lay back down.

“Trying to clear his head... Although I’m not sure that’s even possible at this point,” Ada smiles sarcastically.

You are clearly perplexed and don’t remember much from yesterday. You recall watching Tommy get ready in the bedroom and joining the party to have some drinks with Ada. Other than that, your memory is gone. But guessing from Ada’s and Polly’s facial expressions, something bigger must’ve happened. Did you get blackout drunk or is there more to it? It can’t be just it. Every time you had too much to drink in the past, Tommy would be by your side the next day, offering you tea and France’s freshly baked croissants. Today’s different.

Polly notices your confusion. “He should be here soon. I’ll leave it to him to explain.”

****

One hour passes until Tommy finally gets back to Arrow House. His messy hair, the dark shadows under his eyes, and yesterday’s suit clearly signal that he didn’t sleep last night. Despite his tired appearance, you can’t stop noticing his natural beauty that has astonished you ever since you met him in the streets of London 2 years ago. It still baffles you that someone as powerful and attractive as him chooses you.

Tommy steps closer and sits down on the bed, he’s observing you but not saying anything. The way he looks at you with those eyes never fails to make you nervous. It’s not a negative kind of nervousness, but more a sign of how intrigued you feel by everything he does. Never in your life before, has a man’s body language been able to hold so much power over you.

You finally manage to sit up and lean your head against his broad shoulder.

“What happened last night?” you ask carefully, trying to sound as innocent as possible.

“Remember that bastard Harry from yesterday, eh?” he clears his throat, his gaze studying your reaction, “That scum bag put something in your fucking drink, (Y/),” he states, his pulsing neck vein exposing the anger he’s been trying to hide.

Tommy gets up and lights a cigarette. He rubs his jaw and starts walking around the room nervously.

“(Y/N), you scared me to death. I thought it was something I did to you.”

Looking up at Tommy, you notice his immense feelings of regret and pain. Seeing him like this breaks your heart and feels wrong in every way. You decide to let him explain what exactly happened yesterday, not interrupting him once. As Tommy keeps explaining, the memories from yesterday become clearer, and with it the feeling of shame and guilt. You have every right to be mad at him for not making your relationship official, but it wasn’t really your normal behavior to get drunk and then grind on other men on purpose. At least not the grinding part. However, Tommy was as much a part of the catastrophic evening as you were, and thankfully he took responsibility for it.

“I’m so sorry, Tommy. It didn’t want the evening to end like that,” is all you manage to say at first. 

Tommy takes a last drag from his cigarette, puts the butt into the ashtray, and sits down on the bed with you. He grabs your hand carefully and kisses the back softly, making you blush at the immediate touch. Before you can say anything else, he touches your chest and pushes you down gently so you can lay on your back. Seconds after, his large frame hovers over you, his mouth wandering from your jaw to your neck. Stopping at your neck, he starts biting and sucking softly, obviously intending to leave a mark behind.

“I’ll never make you feel like this again. And I’ll make sure, nobody will harm you ever again,” he states.

“Tommy...” you whimper as his warm breath provokes the familiar excitement between your legs. He pulls away from your neck to press his forehead against yours, staring deeply into your eyes. A sudden wave of shyness rushes over you, causing you to let out a little giggle which then causes Tommy to smile at you. Witnessing your sudden change of character when he touches you, even looks at you, excites him. He knows that no man has made you feel like this ever before. Around Tommy, letting your guard down and becoming a little bit needy is an easy task. It’s in his nature to care for you and protect you.

It's when his large hand meets your jaw that you’re forced to look at him again. “One thing I’ve learned from yesterday...” he pauses, “is that I don’t want men to ever look at you without being afraid for their life. And you know why?”

“Why?” you stutter at the seriousness of his tone, knowing damn well that the answer will make you burst into a thousand pieces.

“You tell me,” he answers, now sounding more demanding than before.

Clearly enjoying himself, Tommy lets out a little laugh at your innocence. His hand, that’s still placed on your jaw, now moves down to your throat, making you whimper in pleasure again. Giving you one last amused smirk, Tommy positions his mouth right next to your ear, his aroused voice whispering, “You are all fucking mine... (Y/N) belongs to Thomas Shelby and no one else.”

The way he says it with such casualty and confidence makes your eyes widen in ecstasy. With that slow deep voice, that man could make you do absolutely anything for him. It’s almost pathetic.

Your thoughts are suddenly interrupted as you feel a soft squeeze on your throat, Tommy looking at you with pure lust. “Say it,” he demands seriously.

Taking a few breaths, you softly grab his wrist that’s been putting slight pressure on your throat and move it towards your mouth. As if he could read your mind, Tommy’s thumb traces over your bottom lip, asking for entrance to your mouth. At this point, you can’t stop arching back your hips against his hardened crotch. The desire you feel becomes almost unbearable as you allow his finger entry to your mouth, sucking on it lightly.

“I’m not gonna repeat myself again, love,” he hisses, getting more impatient.

You’re desperately trying to compose yourself but are also wondering, what would happen next if you didn’t say what he wanted to hear. Not wanting to cause drama again, you finally manage to answer, “I’m all yours. I belong to Thomas Shelby and no one else.”

���Good girl,” he smiles, clearly happy with the answer you’ve given him. Without any warning, Tommy forces his lips onto yours. The kiss that was meant to be gentle quickly ends up in devout passion. Still on top of you, Tommy then intertwines his fingers with yours, positioning your hands above your head. The heat in your body becomes unbearable as he kisses the tip of your nose. 

“(Y/N) ...You’re everything to me. You’re my fucking other half,” he speaks, slightly out of breath. Tommy pushes his forehead against yours again while his hand cups your red face. He takes a deep breath before asking what you’ve been waiting for: “(Y/N), nothing in life gives me as much joy as making you happy and protecting you. I love you so fucking much,” his voice almost cracks, not used to the emotion it takes him to speak his words, “I want you to marry me... Marry me, so that everyone in this bleak country can know who you belong to.”

Your chemically unbalanced brain doesn’t even manage to properly process what just happened. Euphoria takes over your body as you enthusiastically answer yes. Like two teenagers in love, both of you start chuckling and exchanging small kisses.

“You know,” Tommy pauses for a moment and laughs cheekily, “I would fuck the shit out of you right now if I could, but Dr. Wilson has ordered bed rest for the next few days.”

“Oh, shut up, Thomas Shelby,” the stupid grin on your face almost hurting your cheeks. It wouldn’t be Tommy if he didn’t make an inappropriate joke whenever he could. After all, that is one of the many reasons you love him so much.

____________________________________

Tags: @juey20000 @elenavampire21 @mgs30 @vesta-ro

[stvrlvr]

Love and Lies ¡!

﹒⟡﹒Pairing: Bf!San x fem!reader

﹒⟡﹒Genre: Angst, Slightly Suggestive

﹒⟡﹒Word Count: 904

﹒⟡﹒Warnings: San is in the Mafia, anxiety, terrible communication, cursing, they don't really solve their issues (please talk things out irl), it gets suggestive at the end. (lmk if I missed anything)

﹒⟡﹒A/N: I'm going to a hell of a writer's block so I apologise if this isn't good <3

(requested)

Soft and calming moonlight seeping in from the barely closed curtain along with the calming rain hitting over the house was the complete opposite of what was running through your mind.

The television was the only sound as you were too consumed in your own thoughts, sitting by the window. Each passing minute echoed with unanswered questions, pure worry painting your features. Even the clock seemed to be mocking you, ticking away as you waited for your boyfriend’s arrival.

3:00 a.m. hit and there wasn’t any sign of San being even close to home, you wanted to go to sleep, forget about this, pretend you didn’t care, unfortunately, you couldn’t. You reached for your phone once again, its screen flashing your loving wallpaper of him and you, the happy memory washing away as there were no notifications or phone calls.

Your eyes began to grow heavy as another hour elapsed, however, the anxiety kept you awake. You were tired, mad, worried, confused, scared, furious. He was making you feel every single emotion without even being here. How could he have such a hold on you?

The sound of the lock being opened snapped you out of your catastrophic thoughts. San entered, taking off his shoes and locking the door behind him, not noticing you were still awake.

“What the fuck?” You said into the dark house, startling him.

“Woah, Y/N. You scared me” He softly said with a light chuckle.

“Me? I scared you?” You said in a stronger voice. Was he so incredibly clueless? “I’ve been worried sick about you. Why couldn’t you tell me you were arriving this late? Why couldn’t you return my calls? Why, San?”

He was shocked at your harsh tone, like a deer caught in headlights he stepped back slightly and sighed. “Don’t worry about it, I’m sorry.” He tried to lean in and kiss your forehead but you pushed him away.

“Don’t. Where were you?” You just wanted to know what the hell was your boyfriend doing at these ungodly hours, you could be happy to hear anything as long as it wasn’t that one thing.

“It’s complicated, okay? We’ll talk about this tomorrow, love” He carried out the same calm tone.

“No. We will talk about this right now. You can’t possibly expect me to act normal after you practically disappeared for the last 6 hours” You were enraged, his ambiguity only adding to the fire.

Okay, he was also getting mad now, your constant yelling stressing him out of his mind. “You don’t want to know, princess”

“I do want to know. Just tell me” You stepped closer, he was driving you closer to the edge and so were you.

“I said, you don’t want to know. That is a no. Final answer” He started walking towards your bedroom, being done for the night. “Fucking god! Would it kill you to tell me the truth for once?” You followed him into the dark room, stopping abruptly as you entered.

Now that he had removed his coat you saw his blood splashed shirt, then he started to remove his tie “San? What happened? Is that-”

“Blood. It’s blood, it isn’t mine” He stated. Oh, it was that one thing.

You were flabbergasted. Why had he gone behind your back to do the thing he promised not to do? On top of that, he thought you wouldn’t even notice. “See? It’s complicated.” He spat back now that you were finally quiet.

“Choi San, you better tell me why the fuck did you go on another mission.” You said in a cold tone, being way too mad that you were becoming numb.

“It would just put you in danger” He continued getting ready to go to sleep as you stood there with your crossed arms, waiting for your answer.

“I don’t care, San! I don’t care if it ‘puts me in danger’. That wasn’t my question.” Frustration continued pooling deeper inside of you.

“Calm down, okay?” He was annoyed at your extreme reaction.

“I won’t calm down until you tell me” You sat down on the bed, crossing your legs and looked at him waiting for your answer. You already knew he went back to Ateez, but you needed to hear him say it.

“I know I told you I wouldn’t, but they needed me” He had admitted what you had been longing for all night.

“Was it that hard?” You sighed out tiredly. “You’re not mad?” He asked in a confused tone. “Oh, I am but not because you went back to Ateez. I am because you didn’t fucking tell me”

“I’m sorry” He leaned in to kiss you, you wanted to pull back and continue yelling at him but your body betrayed you. You returned the kiss, a little more passionately that you would’ve liked.

He lowly chuckled at your sudden passion. “Oh? Someone’s no longer mad” His hands moved to rest to your hips. “You can’t just kiss me and assume I won’t like it. We’ll talk about this in the morning.” The kiss had blurred the lines between anger and desire.

Gently, he pushed you back into the bed, kissing you and whispering sweet ‘sorrys’ in between. “I’m still furious but you know that fucking shirt makes me weak and I never knew blood could look so good on someone”

“Oh, princess. You’re in for a long night”

masterlist

[paperstorm]

The TK fan here. I guess I feel mad about the spinoff because two episodes in and TK has had the one of the lowest amounts of screen time in the first 2 episodes. People keep saying he’s got more coming with the Enzo plot. But that’s episode 8?

I’m in bad mood today and the lack of TK these last 2 episodes hasn’t helped my upset over the cancellation.

I apologise bringing it to you.

It’s okay to be worried and anxious it really is. I’m sorry you’re feeling that way. I would just really urge people, to the best of their ability, to not decide what’s going to happen before it’s happened and then get all sorts of feelings about something that your brain is making up. We’ve only had two episodes, we don’t *know* where the rest of the season is going. It looks like tk’s gonna be involved in some heavy TNT scenes tomorrow, Ronen said that episodes 7, 8, and 9 are basically all tarlos. The fact that he’s had lower screen time in just two episodes doesn’t mean anything, this is far from the first time that’s happened. There are lots of episodes he’s barely in. And those seasons didn’t ignore him completely just because he wasn’t prominently featured in every single episode. This season will be the same. Anxious brains love to catastrophize, combat it by reminding yourself of the actual facts and not the speculation 💛

[sugutoad]

Choose five of your favorite ocs (be it yours or another) and pass it on to 5 different peopl! Spread oc love

Aw, this is actually a cute ask! I adore all types of ocs. (Also I may or may have not cheated by adding 6-7… but shh.) Also this list is NOT IN ORDER at all (just noticed all of them are from house of the dragon!?)

Ok, since we can list our own, I had to add in my baby, Myrielle Vallici! She is an oc I hold so dear to heart! Offer me a tragic but sweet character (bonus points if they have a catastrophic change in life and personality) and I’ll eat them up any day. She cares, hurts, envies and has great ambitions and it all slowly eats her up slowly and slowly. (She thinks she is all high and mighty, but nope! She is just a pawn for the Gods) ALSO DEEPLY RELIGIOUS GUILT? She was born out of my love for characters like Anne Boleyn, Anne and Isabelle Neville, Sansa and Margaery. How can I not love this little red head? And eldest daughter syndrome? Love her (also pretend she has dark red hair? Please. Her other counterpart is Demelza but her hair is too light and she isn’t wearing the proper clothes… so imagine a little mix!)

Another self oc, but Alaric Vallici! Character who tries too hard to prove himself? Check. A bit mad? Check. Incestous? Check (don’t tell anyone). I absolutely love him! He is so loud and pretty, but also a body that contains all this anger and self-doubt in him. If his sister is the moon, he will try to mold himself into whatever he can to fit certain standards (sorry Alaric, Aegon is the sun to Myrielle’s moon) but he is the third and the eclipse in a way. Ans I’m an enemy to lovers fan! How can I not tell you guys about his disastrous and adorable arranged with Cerelle Lannister!?

Ok, I swear this is the last of my ocs and then I’ll move on to others! But youngest baby of the Vallici siblings — Nymeria Vallici. She is the most underdeveloped but I still love her! She is always in her siblings shadow and wants to be acknowledged but at the same time she doesn’t. My Aelfwyn and Arya coded character. She hates this family. AND SHE CLAIMS A DRAGON! How can you not like someone who doesn’t claim dragons!? While I’m still developing a certain arc for her, I wanted her to be the only siblings who declares for the Blacks. Does she think Rhaenyra is the rightful heir or does she doesn’t like her family? (Yes. The answer is is yes.) also I love myself a chaotic little monkey and I did want a female character who tries to fight

HOW COULD I NOT LOVE AELYS? Aelys Targaryen belongs to @coffeebooksrain18 ! Her relationship with Aemond is absolutely adorable! Who am I lying — it’s fun, possessive and dark! And IM OBSESSED? She is such a Daemon character. Well, she is the daughter of Daemon and Princess Reader (who I would have added on the list if she was an oc because I love her too!). But all jokes aside, she is so pretty and fucked up in the head AND WHO DOESNT LIKE THOSE SORT OF CHARACTERS? She is dark, but at the same time, she is so soft and loving to her family. Everyone can be damned, famiky always comes first in Aelys’ heart and I adore those sort of characters.

I could not do this without involving @emilykaldwen ‘s, Abrogail Strong. I love how sweet and supportive she is! Istg she is so close to my heart. I read her fanfic for Aegon content, but I stayed for Abrogail! She is a character I deeply resonate with at times — not being able to say no, a little bit of a people pleaser and always trying to put others above her own needs. Her character arc is a beautiful one where she learns to stand up for herself and I love those moments in characters!

Last but not least, one of my favorite is Valaena Celtigar by @celtigxr . I LOVE HER! she is so silly at times, and she has this whole build up of insecurities. She is me and I am her, I swear! She has such realistic struggles and amazing relationships.

Thank you for this ask!