#jesus the sun is rising right now when did it stop being pitch black

[momentomori24]

Anyway, it's like going on 6AM and I've been thinking about billford, so here's a snippet that my head cooked up before I forget.

[ashintheairlikesnow]

i know where you’re writing in the timeline right now with the Jake and Kauri fight but... uhhhh can I get a Jake being protective as fuck set sometime in the timeline before that? Because I just. Protective Jake. He’s protective over Chris but Jake protective over kauri???? Need (like if u have time and aren’t too stressed lol)

CW: Recovering whumpee, abuse survivors, past pet whump, referenced dubcon attempts, touch starved whumpee, Jake makes a brief crude reference to metaphorical self-harm

“Jesus, man, take the fucking hint and fuck off.”

Jake’s voice wakes Kauri where he sleeps on the couch folded out into a bed, lying on his side with a pillow hugged close to his chest, buried under a pile of old quilts. Nat buys them from a church down the road that runs a daycare, Jake says, during their yearly Christmas market. A new one every year.

Kauri doesn’t really care where the quilts come from, but he loves the way Jake speaks to him, calm and quiet-voiced, never too long, never angry. He is disappointed by and loves the way that every time he tries to see if he can be grateful for Jake, he is gently pushed away - but then still held, after. 

The touch isn’t the same, but no one holds it back from him. No one leaves him alone in rooms. No one uses refusing him as a way to make him desperate, make him beg.

No one calls him names here, either.

“I’m not going to try and make him talk to me this time, Jake, I just-”

“What? Couldn’t fuck him up enough the first time, decided to come back for round two?”

Jake’s voice is rising. Even as his eyes open, Kauri can feel the woozy relief of the painkillers still moving through his veins, holding back the worst of the bandaged, slowly healing wound that throbs over his collarbone on one side. The doctor they made him see gave him shots, soothing him through his tears, but now the wound doesn’t hurt like it did before, it doesn’t feel hot to the touch, the look of it has changed.

Now it’s just pills. 

Kauri can handle pills.

He shifts, pushing a white-and-pink quilt off from over his head, black curls springing wildly to life as he slowly sits up. At the foot of the little makeshift bed, Keira hums, her sensors picking up his movement and change in heartbeat. She whirrs softly in greeting, her broken wheel clicking.

“Who-... who’s at the door?” He whispers. His heart races as Jake’s voice rises even more.

“Well, we’re all good on our bank accounts this week, so trust me - you can call Nat if you need to meet, but you’re not coming in. He’s not your goddamn knife to cut yourself with ‘cause you’re sad, asshole.”

Vincent Shield, Keira’s soft robotic voice intones, faintly metallic. 

Oh.

Kauri swallows, remembering the last time, meeting the eyes so like his own and then waking up with a pounding headache a few seconds later in Jake’s arms, being carried to lie down in a bed. He hasn’t seen Vince since.

He pulls his knees up to his chest, looking to the side, through the open doorway, knowing Jake and Vincent are just out of sight. The light from the small entryway spills into the living room, giving just enough light to see like if he only stepped through, he would be going... somewhere else. 

His end of the living room, through, is pitch-black darkness, lit only by Keira’s visual sensors, two red dots that give her the appearance of eyes. 

This time, he hears Vince speak. Melodic and fluid, a trained actor’s voice, deeper than it seems like it should be. Kauri knows all of this. It’s his own voice, if he’d lived a different life. A better one.

A life where he escaped Owen instead of loving him.

Kauri’s eyes close as he drops his forehead against his knees, tears building hot and demanding. He misses Owen so badly it hurts, right now, listening to the person Owen actually wanted, less than twenty feet away.

“That’s not fair, Jake.”

“No. It’s not. But that’s how it is. You can’t show up here at fucking midnight and act like you have some kind of goddamn kinship just because you feel guilty. Not only does he not want to see you, which he’s made real damn clear, but-”

“I just want to-”

“Shield, will you listen to me?”

There’s a thump, sound of rustling. Kauri raises his head, hands tightening on the quilt he still has pulled up over his feet. His arms twitch, muscles acting out a phantom race of electricity along his nerves. His collarbone throbs. His throat bobs as he swallows, feeling hands wrapped tightly around it.

I love you, Vince, so much, and you’ll never leave-... can’t leave if you’re dead, can’t, can’t leave me-

Kauri shudders, hearing his own voice pleading in a rasping whisper, begging for his life, on his back next to the coffee table, staring into Owen’s green eyes as black spots danced in and out of his vision.

At some point he’d stopped trying to say he wasn’t Vince. At some point he’d been begging for Vince’s life, laid like wet paper over his own, drying over his face, making him someone else. Someone he was always supposed to be. Someone he never was.

“Fucking Christ, Stanton, I have to work in two days-”

“That sounds like your problem. I’m telling you to leave Kauri alone, I’m not letting you into this fucking house. It’s not good for him.”

“I just want to-”

“Vince.” Jake’s voice drops, deadly soft. Kauri breathes in soft pants, trying to stay quiet enough not to be heard.

Kauri heartrate accelerate, Keira says softly. Adrenaline. Kauri afraid. Keira reassurance provide. Kauri safe. Kauri is good. 

“Keira, I-”

Kauri good.

“I know that you feel guilty.” Jake’s voice stays low. “I know how much it fucking hurts that someone’s out there who took the pain that was aimed at you. I know, okay? Trust me, I get it way better than you think I do. But your guilt will hurt him, and he needs to feel safe here. We can’t keep him safe if he’s scared you’ll show up. He’s already a runner, and he has to know he can leave whenever he wants-”

Kauri hitches in a harsher breath. 

I can leave whenever I want. I can leave whenever I want. I can-

“-and that we can keep him safe. Right now, I have to keep him safe from you, too. Got it?”

There’s a pause. “Jake. This only happened because of me, because I ran-”

“No.” The anger bleeds out of Jake’s voice. Kauri hears an edge of the compassion he speaks to the other runaways with, now. “Vince. They never do it because of anything you did, or didn’t do. They do it because of what’s inside them. That piece of shit never hurt Kauri because of you. He hurt Kauri because of what’s inside of him.”

“Guess you’re the goddamn expert.” 

Jake huffs nearly-silent laughter. Kauri still hears it, though. Some of his fear dissipates. The anger is gone, the danger is fading. “I am even more of an expert than you think I am. Go home, Vince.”

There’s another sound of movement. The door opens and closes. A car starts, sound of gravel, and headlights move past the windows as it drives away. 

There’s quiet, for a moment. The entryway light turns off. Kauri waits for the sound of Jake on the creaking stairs, but instead he sees the rough outline of him in the dark, peeking into the living room, blinking in surprise. “Kauri. That woke you up, huh?”

Kauri swallows, and slowly nods. 

Jake sighs, but he has a slight, reassuring smile on his face, and no anger. “Yeah. I should’ve guessed it would.” He moves into the room, eyeing Keira slightly warily. “Do you need anything, before you go back to sleep?”

Kauri’s heart is still beating too fast. The room is so empty, with Kauri in it alone. 

“Will you... watch TV with me? For a while?”

Jake sits down and shifts until his back is against the back of the couch, pushing a pillow behind him. He grabs the remote off the side table. “Absolutely man. Only TV, though.”

“Right. Only TV.” Kauri stays where he is, knees to his chest. Jake turns on a cartoon show about a family, and keeps the volume low. 

Kauri wakes up when the sun rises, only to find himself draped in the quilts to keep him warm, and Jake back upstairs. A glass of water left for Kauri to drink is the only sign he was ever there. 

---

Tagging: @burtlederp , @finder-of-rings , @endless-whump , @whumpfigure , @astrobly @newandfiguringitout , @doveotions , @pretty-face-breaker , @boxboysandotherwhump , @oops-its-whump @cubeswhump ,  @whump-tr0pes @whumpiary @moose-teeth

[thirstystarkey]

HATE CAN SOUND LIKE LOVE • JJ MAYBANK

Summary: JJ and Y/N have always fought, since everyone can remember. They both have short tempers and a endless love for surf and chaos. But what happens when they have to pretend to be a couple? Well.. people always said that hate can sound like love sometimes.

Warnings: Mention of underage drinking, drugs, minor violence, some smutty scenarios and a ton of sexual induendos, JJ being a hot idiot and Y/N a wild girl brat

CHAPTER 05

The sun beamed down on them, a soft breeze was felt and the serenity of sunrise at the cut was ethereal. Y/N slowly woke up, the sunlight stealing her from her dream state, it was too bright outside which made difficult to open her eyes but still she could feel a hot and heavy limb on top of her stomach, JJ had rolled in his sleep and at the moment was almost cuddling the girl he so dearly swore he hated.

“JJ..” Y/N called softly trying to wake him up.

The only answer she got from him was a muffled complaint, something along the lines “Let me sleep tiny temper.”

JJ always teased Y/N for her height, it was almost religious for him. She was shorter than all the pogues but probably the fiercest. She was the only one who answered right back at JJ’s stupid sayings.

“You’re pushing you’re luck.” Y/N mumbled taking JJ’s arms off of her.

“Wanna know something really interesting, that I’ve always wanted to tell you?” JJ asked the girl with a raspy low morning voice. Y/N cursed herself for thinking it was kinda hot.

“What is that Maybank?” She answered with curiosity filling her body.

“Any shorter and you’d probably fade out of existence.” The blond boy winked at the redhead, supporting this body in both elbows.

“Jesus Christ JJ, fuck you and your stupid bullshit.” Y/N raged while getting up, stepping inside to shower in the microscopic bathroom the boat had.

“You wish you did baby.” He laughed and more said it to himself but she still captured it.

Once free of JJ Maybank, Y/N washed her face with cold water in the attempt to calm her down. This time it was different. She didn’t understood it. JJ was acting different around her. More provocative and way more suggestive.

“Stupid ass mop head..”

That was the last thing she said before striping bare naked and running pleasant lukewarm over her body. She felt relaxed after all that tension built first thing in the morning. Running her hands through her ginger hair while spreading shampoo all over it, almost felt therapeutic and Y/N was sure that if JJ wasn’t around she’d probably had already sang her lung out, preforming the best show to the bottles.

But all that peace couldn’t last when JJ Maybank was in the same boat as Y/N, while she was rinsing off the conditioner the door swang open and Y/N could hear and feel JJ walking.

“JJ seriously?” She asked in a high pitched voice. “Get the fuck out, don’t you see I’m naked, in the shower.”

“Oh dear don’t think too much of it, I just need to piss.” He said like it wasn’t a big deal.

Y/N was reder than a tomato behind the blue curtain separating the pair. She could head everything, even though she wished she didn’t.

“You are disgusting Maybank.” She made sure to speak loud enough for the boy to hear. He flushed to toilet ruining the nice water temperature, almost freezing Y/N in place. “Fuck you mop head, get out JJ!” She demanded in a pretty annoyed voice when she realized he didn’t leave and by now her shower was finished.

“I need to brush my teeth, vertically challenged.” JJ sassed.

“And I need to dry off.” Y/N sassed back.

“Then dry, I’m not hiding the towels.” He laughed with a mouth filled by toothpaste.

“You can’t be serious.” She said holding her body trying to cover herself. “Pass me the fucking towel at least.” She requested, not to nicely.

“Don’t think so.” JJ said and Y/N fumed at his voice. She didn’t really care anymore. Y/N was over the pettiness in their fights.

“You know what? Fuck this.” She said before opening the curtain.

Y/N was quicker than a fox, grabbing the towel and wrapping the soft fabric around her in seconds. JJ was fast to turn his head not to look at her, he never wanted to make her uncomfortable even if he enjoyed teasing her past was tolerated. He got a glance at her body, now wrapped in a towel.

“Fuck you.” Y/N looked at him through the mirror while brushing her teeth.

They were sharing a bathroom. A small bathroom.

“You smell nice.” JJ said to her after putting down his toothbrush, she felt his breath hitting her skin making Y/N flinch.

“Can’t say the same thing about you.” Y/N answered with a big smile on her face leaving JJ alone to shower.

While he did she got dressed, in the same clothes as the day before but with a bikini she found lost at the boat instead. She recognized it as on of her own. When JJ stepped out of the bathroom he didn’t care to put on a shirt staying only in his black surf shorts.

They both sat waiting for their friends to pick them up from this cruel prison. Y/N’s mind traveled to a far place keeping her lost in her own thoughts, that at this moment consisted in JJ. The hot sun hitted his skin making it glisten, but a voice woke her from her daydream.

“Stop staring at me.” JJ laughed rising his sunglasses to look directly at her. “Or take a picture, it’ll last longer.” He winked before putting them back on.

Y/N didn’t got down without a fight, and if he wanted to play dirty so she could. And sure enough the girl got up taking of her shirt caughting the boy off guard.

“I will make sure it’s my new porn.” She sneered with a filtry voice, stealing JJ’s sunglasses.

Y/N won again and this time she wasn’t even trying to. She went inside grabbing one of the surfboards making sure to get rid of her shorts in the process.

“Now who’s the one staring.” She teased him when she caught JJ trying not to stare at her.

There were no waves in the river but still she could just peaceful float in her surfboard while the pogues made their way to pick them up. That was her plan but JJ followed her steps jumping in the water, ruining her peaceful moment, he swam to her, supporting his elbows close to her in the surfboard.

“I’ve been thinking about something.” JJ started.

“Well then don’t think to much about it or your little head might explode.” She joked leaning forward.

“We should prank them.” The boy suggested. “They deserve it!”

“As much as I hate to admit it, JJ you are totally right.” Y/N agreed while the sun warmed her skin. It was a nice day today.

“We need a plan smart ass.” He said. “I need you and your plotting brain.”

“I know you do.” She said with eyes closed.

Everything about it screamed recipe for disaster but in a strange way it brought happiness to Y/N.

“Oh shit-” JJ screamed after trying to get on the other side of the surfboard, making it turn upside down. Y/N fell into the water.

Taking by surprise she made her way back to the surface, ready to scream at JJ who had all of his hair wet and stuck to his face, making her laught at the view, quickly he shook his head and his hair went in every direction and back, splashing Y/N’s eyes.

“You idiot!” She flinched closing her eyes, splashing him back.

“I guess this is how Jack and Rose die in titanic.” The blond boy bantered.

“Because it takes finesse and focus, none of which you have.” She bantered back at him trying to get back up on the surfboard. “Carefully JJ!” She warned him while he mimicked her moves. “I am really the brains of this relationship.”

“Stopping being so full of yourself princess.” He sassed.

By the time they both found balance Y/N saw the HMS pogue getting closer and closer, but for some reason she didn’t want to leave now and she cursed her thought shaking her head right away in the attempt to shut her thought.

“Look they’re alive! They didn’t kill each other.” She heard Pope cheer in the distance, JJ laughed with a open smile at the comment and Y/N followed observing him.

Why didn’t she wanted to leave? That question burned her head.

Tag list 💞

@thatsonobx @starkeybaby @this-is-bigger-than--us @ahhireallydontknow @tomzfrog @alotbnouf @outerbankstings @jj-maybank-stan @jellyfishbeansontoast @rafecamerondeservesbetter @im-a-strange-thing @tangledinsparkles @tomfreakinghollandneedsaoscar @helplessquotess @tembo-ndoto @poguebx @k-k0129 @grincheuxsalope @pleaseminho @obxmxybxnk @stilinskiandsuch @certainstatesmantoadartisan @lcil123 @fandom-phaser @sexualparkour @myrandom-fandomlife @outofstyles13 @lasnaro @kristineee-obx @sw-eat-ing @strangebirds2 @kiarascarreras @jjswhore @milamaybank @marveloucnco @downbytheouterbanks @write-from-the-heart @justcallmesams @annedub @drizzlethatfalls @tovvaf @drewswannabegirl @whoreforouterbanks @newhopenessie @maybebanks @thecutside @poguesrforlife @shawnssongs @popcsheyward @xxxxxxxxxxxxxooooooooooooo @jayjaymaebank

[josy1986]

Hooking Up: Pitch Perfect AU Finished!

Jesus christ this proved to be more difficult than I’d thought! Ok, I gotta say I used my artistic freedom A LOT, but *shrugs* if you can do better, goodluck writing xD

It proved to be too long to completely post it here but the entire chapter will be posted on my AO3 page where I post everything else ^^

@pitchslapped @rejection-isnt-failure @dammiteliza (this was your request I believe)

Hooking Up: Pitch Perfect AU

Chloe felt giggy as she walked around the bedroom of Beca’s first love, the two of them had broken into the massive house to recreate Beca’s first time.

Chloe hardly remembered her first time, she was 16 and still going to high school. She remembered it was over before it really began, probably because the guy she was with came a minute after they started.

Perhaps he was nervous, perhaps it was his first time, Chloe didn’t remember, she didn’t care to be fair. Her first time with a woman was different, she was 18 then and the woman in question knew exactly what she was doing, getting both of them off at the same time. Of course after that, Chloe never saw the woman again. There had been many others she’s been with since then, no relationships, no affection, no touchy feely kind of situations. Just sex.

She liked it that way, she got what she wanted and left, usually leaving the guy hanging with his ever present boner.

Beca’s first time however was the opposite from Chloe’s. Beca’s ex was gentle and a few years older than the brunette. A bit more experienced or that’s how Beca called it at least. Beca’s ex was also a woman.

Chloe walked deeper into the modern furnitured room and flopped down on the bed, letting out a hum of approval at the feel of soft sheets. 

“Damn… she sure enjoys her luxury.” She chuckled and turned around on the bed, now laying on her back. She pushed herself into a sitting position and settled on the edge, pulling Beca closer and started to undo her belt buckle.

Beca just took both of Chloe’s hands and the redhead looked up in confusion. “No, if we’re recreating my first experience, we’ll do it my way.” Beca whispered, looking down at Chloe who pulled her hands back gently in surrender.

“Alright…” She agreed and settled back down on the bed, her shoes removed and discarded somewhere on the floor. She watched Beca remove her own shoes and crawled onto the mattress with her.

“Well, since we can’t recreate it completely, I’ll be acting as my ex and you’ll be me in this scenario.” She said, clearing her throat. The seriousness of the brunette’s features caused Chloe’s heartbeat to quicken. 

What the hell… calm the fuck down, its just sex… Chloe told herself but swallowed hard when Beca settled flush with her body. When Beca tried to cup her cheek, Chloe let out a nervous snort which was louder than she had intended.

“Chloe…” Beca said seriously, but there was a gentle smile present on her face.

“I’m sorry..!” She whispered. “You’re so serious about this.” She whispered, playfully biting her lower lip.

“Well we were serious then, so I’m serious now.” There was a warmth in Beca’s voice that Chloe never noticed before and the redhead nodded.

“Alright, I’ll be serious too then..” She promised and Beca just rolled her eyes playfully. 

Slowly, Beca started to unbutton Chloe’s shirt, revealing soft skin and a black bra underneath. Chloe stated softly how much she sucked at it and started to unbutton Beca’s shirt in return, the brunette smiled but didn’t stop her.

Beca sat up a bit straighter once her shirt was all the way open, removing it and tossed it away where it landed somewhere on the floor. She removed her own bra and disregarded it in the same manner as her shirt. Beca raised an amused eyebrow when she saw Chloe swallow. I guess she likes the view.

Beca crawled back on the bed, once again she settled right next to her partner in crime. Her naked chest flush against Chloe’s.

Chloe watched Beca closely, tracking her every move and felt her nerves getting the better of her. She’s had sex before, lots of times and with many different people, but this? This was completely new to her. Being gentle, taking it slow, enjoying the feel of someone else’s body against your own. What surprised her the most was that she didn’t want to rush things either. She wanted Beca to take her time.

Beca’s hand tenderly caressing her, fingertips sliding from Chloe’s face, down her neck between the valley of her breasts and settled on her stomach. Dark blue eyes looked down and bore into icy blue ones. Then, Beca leaned down, closing the gap between the two. Chloe’s eyes widened and when Beca was not even half an inch away from her, she flinched and turned her head slightly in reflex. Her chest rising and falling faster ever so slightly while panic took a hold onto her heart.

Beca pulled back slightly, a worried expression on her features. “Is this okay..?” She asked, the words only meant for Chloe and the redhead stiffened beneath Beca’s body.

She had done many things known to mankind, done anything there is to do under the sun but not kissing.

Kissing someone required a new level of intimacy, one Chloe never experienced before. People who kiss are in love, or at least that’s what the movies and stories make you believe. Chloe didn’t believe in love, didn’t believe she deserved such kind and gentle gestures with a past like hers. The things she’s done, the people she hurt, Chloe accepted it and yet somehow… Beca looked down at her, such worry in her dark blue eyes. The tenderness present in those blue orbs made Chloe feel something she never did before, she felt her heart ache. Ache to be touched, to be loved, to be cared for and to be wanted for more than just a quick fuck.

A warm hand gently cupped Chloe’s cheek, breaking Chloe’s train of thoughts and she tried to swallow the thick lump of nerves that started to grow in her throat. Only now did she realize that she was holding her breath, unsure of what to do next while her heart was hammering behind her breasts. One arm was trapped under Beca’s body but she used it to hold the brunette close, her fingertips pressed firmly against the muscles of Beca’s back. Her other hand rested on Beca’s shoulder and while she took a shuddering breath, she finally nodded at the brunette’s question.

Chloe watched how Beca leaned down, slower this time, as if giving Chloe the time she needed to adjust to the situation, or perhaps to give her time to push her away if she really wanted to. But Chloe didn’t push Beca away, nor did she recoil or flinch when soft lips were pressed against her own.

Continue to read the rest of the chapter here and here 

https://archiveofourown.org/works/28674369/chapters/70673697 https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13791687/2/Pitch-Perfect-Bechloe-moments-and-more

[scoopsgf]

IRONDAD BINGO: Halloween (pt. 1)

“We’re lost.”

“We are not lost.”

“Sure, sure… except, y’know, we are.”

Tony sighs long and hard as he turns around. He glares but it’s a moot effort seeing as Peter isn’t even looking; his eyes are directed upward and he squints, face scrunched up. “I know the way back to my own home, thank you.”

Peter hums. “Hey, remind me: which direction does the sun rise in?”

“I’m sorry, did you skip fourth grade science?”

“Just humor me.”

“The east.”

“Yeah,” Peter nods, “so that’s west, there, and I mean, I guess my eidetic memory could be failing me, but I’m pretty sure that when you’re standing on the front porch of your cabin, you can see the sun setting—but we’ve been walking away from the sun—ergo, the wrong direction.”

Tony blinks. “What?”

“Oh my god, your IQ is like a thousand and you can’t figure this out?”

“Excuse me if I don’t speak teenage idiot.”

Peter puts his hands on his hips and god, it’s sort of terrifying. He looks the way Pepper does when she’s had it up to here—it’s an expression that has no right to be plastered across the face of a seventeen year old kid, but here they are.

“You might as well just call me foolhardy upstart and admit you’re a hundred years old.”

Tony pinches his brow. His head is throbbing from being slammed against the windshield so hard the glass had cracked. Odds are he has a concussion, and unlike his travelling companion, he doesn’t have super healing. Peter’s cuts and bruises are already fading, but he’s still limping from the ankle Tony figures is either twisted or broken—it’s hard to tell, seeing as Peter’s an expert at downplaying how badly things hurt.

Still, it hasn’t stopped either of them from bitching up a storm for the last half hour.

“When we get home, you’re putting fifty bucks in the Sass Jar.”

“It’s really cool that you assume I actually carry more than ten whole dollars on me.”

Tony looks up at that. “You don’t carry more than ten?”

“Not all of us are billionaires!”

“But what if you need food?!”

“‘It’s a banana Michael, what could it cost, ten dollars?!’” Peter quotes, brushing past Tony; “How expensive do you think things are?”

“Okay, what about gas?”

“Oh, you mean for my car that you just totalled?”

Tony scoffs. “I did not total the car—you totalled it when you jerked the wheel to avoid the deer.”

“Would you rather we had hit it? Because a) we totally would have messed up the car anyway, and b) a deer could be dead.”

“What are you asking me here?”

“Well I guess…” Peter narrows his eyes, “are you a cold hearted bitch?”

Tony stops in his tracks, hands at his waistline, and scans the trees like he’s waiting for someone to pop out and tell him it was all a funny joke, ha ha, you can go home now!

No one comes: no magical elves or gnomes or goblins or whatever the fuck else lives in these woods. To say he’s disappointed is an understatement.

“No, I am not a cold hearted bitch. Yes, I am glad the deer is not dead; do I think you should have screamed ‘brake’ instead of driving the car into a ditch? Yes. Do I think your car insurance policy will cover this accident? Probably not. Will I be buying you a new car? Maybe. Any more questions?”

Peter sniffs. “None at the moment.”

They continue on in silence as the sun sets. Neither of them speak again until the sky is painted black. There are no stars, there’s no moon to see by. Both of their phones had been completely decimated in the crash and, despite Peter’s claims, Tony isn’t a one-hundred year old man carrying around a compass and a monocle.

So they’re pretty much walking without direction.

“Ow,” is what finally breaks their petty, mutual silence treatment. Tony whips around at the sound of twigs snapping and sees Peter with one hand braced against the trunk of a tree. It’s hard to tell, but he thinks the kid might be grimacing with pain.

“Pete?”

“I’m good.”

Yeah, no. Tony won’t buy that for a second.

“Have you been impaled? Bitten? Shanked by a woodland creature?”

Peter’s head jerks up. “I’m sorry?”

“Good, you should be. Now fess up, what hurts?”

“Nothing, I just stepped on my ankle wrong again.”

“So: your ankle hurts.”

Peter shoots him a look and this time Tony can see it, given how close he’s hovering. Tony just shrugs before kneeling down to feel at Peter’s leg and—yeah, that’s swollen.

“It needs cold compress,” he says.

Peter sighs. “You wouldn’t happen to have an ice pack on you, would you?”

“Don’t get smart.”

“Are you implying that I’m not already?”

Tony snorts as he brushes the mulch off of his knees. The air is cold and sharp around them and he’s pretty sure—

A fat drop of rain hits his shoulder. As usual, he’s always right.

“Gross,” Peter grunts. “Now we have to walk in pitch black through the woods, during a storm, and we’re both dying.”

“Hey, no one is dying—”

“It feels like I am—”

“It’s a bum ankle, it’s fine, we’ll get home and we’ll fix it—”

“No, I’m gonna keel over—”

Tony resists the urge to just fall onto his back and let the ground swallow him whole, but he’s pretty sure it would just vomit him back up again. Instead, he offers his side for Peter to lean against and they continue their joyous jaunt through the woods—in the pouring rain.

“You know what this is?” Peter asks rhetorically. “This is the part of the movie where we die.”

“Uh, no, the sluts always die first.”

“So just you.”

Tony rolls his eyes. “Anyone who’s not a virgin,” he says, and then after a lengthy pause between them, “You’re being suspiciously quiet.”

“Oh, was I?”

Tony is keeping his head down to avoid the rain, and also in a vain attempt to spy any roots before they trip over them and break all of their fucking ankles. “So you and MJ?”

“I’m not about to have this conversation.”

“Uh, I beg to differ.”

“Since when is this the sort of thing we discuss?”

“Since now, I guess.”

“Well I’m not comfortable with the topic.”

Tony sighs. “Okay, fine, I’ll leave it be.”

“Good.”

“Good.”

“Fine.”

“Except—”

“Oh my god—”

“Except, okay, except: remember to always always use protection—”

“Tony, I’ve already had this conversation with May—”

“Never try to coerce anyone into having sex with you, never keep going after they say no, always read their body language—”

“Tony,” Peter stops, “shut up.”

“No, Peter, this is important—”

“Seriously, read my body language and shut up.”

Tony frowns. Peter is standing bolt upright, ears perked, soaking wet. Tony can just see his profile. “What is it?”

“You don’t hear that?”

Tony listens, and then he listens some more, and then finally his mere mortal ears pick up the faintest rustling sound. It’s growing gradually closer, and louder, and Tony’s heart rate is definitely starting to pick up when—

“Tony?”

“Jesus God!”

Tony throws his hand up in the face of Pepper’s flashlight. He looks to his right and sees that Peter has wrapped his arms around the nearest tree and is resting his forehead against the bark, breathing hard.

“Hey, Pep,” he says, trying for a light tone. “How’d you find us?”

“Your trackers,” she says. “We tried calling, but—” Tony pulls out his crushed up phone. “Ah.”

At her waist is Morgan, wearing a plastic pink jacket and holding a flashlight of her own. She points it right in Peter’s face and he hisses. “God, you gremlin.

Morgan giggles. “I thought you got eaten by a bear.”

“Unfortunately, no.”

Tony snaps his fingers. “Hey, hi, focus up: how far are we from the cabin?”

“Fifty feet?” Pepper guesses.

“Are you serious,” Peter deadpans. “Fifty feet. Really. Oh my god.”

“See?” Tony smiles. “I told you we were walking in the right direction.”

“Only after I corrected us!”

[a-tamed-dragon]

HTTYD: Outlander!au

In the words of Squidward Tentacles: “Well, here you go.”

It only took 2 hours to produce about 1K words of the blurb I was ranting about earlier. I guess it is my work-in-progress for now to see if anyone out there would be interested in reading more. 

The Outlander AU - this is just a blip where Astrid is picked up my the Haddock’s. The setting is the same as the HTTYD-verse and so are the characters. The storyline, however, will follow Outlander but veer around if I keep writing it to fit the characters and plot better. Maybe dragons? Let’s see where this test-drive takes us. 

Let me know if you are interested in more, DM me or comment on this post :) It just takes a single person to sway me haha.

Best,

Prue

———-

I looked around me- looked for a way out, but what good would being alone and exposed be as it has led to this. Barefoot and in a shift with no weapon on me- not the best odds, therefore foolish to take the chance on my own. No. Escape, as of right now, was not an option.

           As I looked out into the trees, seeing my breath rise in the near frigid temperature, gentle hands announced themselves on my waist with barely a graze.

            “It’s time we get on our way, Mistress” He spoke quietly into my ear from behind my back, keeping a politeness that, although not dissipating my still ravenous impulse to comic a crime, kept it in check. The safest thing to do was to keep within, at least for now, everyone’s good graces.

           He lifted me up to side-saddle at that. His fingertips were nearly inches away from meeting when they wrapped around me. His hands were big, in fact, every one of them was taller than the averagr man. The one who had lifted me, though, was lean but strong enough to lift me a few feet intot he air with absolute ease.

           “Tuff, ride ahead and tell Stoick what we are bringing.” The large, balding man with the peg leg shouted form his Clydesdale of black and white to the absolutely morose young man hidden behind a combination of pure grime and matted, wiry hair. If you can call it that. I guess I am a ‘what’, then.

           “I will hold it with my life, good sir.” He said with solute and a nod before riding off into the now falling darkness.

I watched from my perch, fully aware of .. of… I couldn’t recall his name... Ren.. lifting himself up behind me. I adjusted with him like a rag doll of sorts as I was too busy absorbing what I was seeing and hearing. They all oggled me, the greasy black haired one and the large mustachiod one pulled up on there horses while talking in the group but could not stare more clearly at me. I starred back, trying to hold the chatter of my teeth from showing from the cold.

The addition of another person in the single-person suited saddle had me pushed forward, causing me to sway and nearly lose my balance. Ren was talking over me when I gasped:

“Jesus Fu-“

“Wooh.” he stopped and steadied me with a grasp on my left arm. “Can’t have you falling.”

He chuckled under his breath, a half-smile pulled the corner of his lips up, a crooked left smile. It was humorous, amused, and calm. As cold as I was, and despite how bitterly stubborn to stay bitterly cold that I was, a protest died in my belly once Ren’s arms encircled me from below my elbows and along my hips to still hold the reigns. He maneuvered his heavy cloak to fall around me too, engulfing me in a warmth that I would silently relish as it kept me from freezing, but show an outward reluctance for.

With a shout the 4 men’s horses moved out. We lead in the front, the rotund man just nearly behind us, followed by the other two. The movement of a horse was not something I was used to and to keep from slipping my back was pressed into the riders chest while he kept his elbows ineard to lock me in place as we traversed the terrain.

It was silent for a long while until the oldest man began singing something in a language entirely foreign to me. The other two in the back pitched in and they proceeded to perhaps scare every living creature within ear shot. That’s when he decided to say something-

“Falling asleep, are you?”  He whispered lowly. 

Wide awake I was, though, trying to memorize every bit of my surroundings to figure out how to get back. Where was I? When was I?  So engulfed in my own thoughts I barely heard him speak and questioned if I had even heard anything at all.

He waited, his breath in my hair. Where our heights nearly matched had his chin at my ear. He could not look clearly over my head. Finally, as he patiently waited for a response from me, I breathed:

“No.”

“Hm.” He hummed with a thought. “You know,” He shifted mis sentence and pulled the now nearly fallen cloak back around in front of me, I held it shut in front of my chest as he handed me the pelt. “If you tell me where you are from, or why you are out here, a wee lass all on her own, it’ll be easier for you than waiting until we get back home.”

Still looking perfectly straight ahead of me I replayed his words in my head again, choosing my response not on the merit of question response, but that of priority.

“Where is ‘home’?” As clearly as I tried to speak, I could not keep the trembling of chill and adrenalin out of my voice.

I knew he could here it and perhaps even feel it as I my entire body began trembling as the sun set and the temperature dropped even lower.

“Home?” He shifted yet again, I held my breathe, unsure of what he was doing as His left hand reached in between us and he pulled at the fabric in front lf him. Unsure I held my breathe and braced, ready to push away.

“ Why, it’s the most dangerous place in the world, it’s about... hmm... twelve days north of Hopeless,and”

He had pushed the fabric of his overlayer away and be scooched me back with his left arm bared across my mid section like I weighed nothing to press back into his chest. His mouth was right at my ear again, still not releasing me from his bar, causing me every nerve in my body to reanimate and grow nervously close to threshhold response.

“a few degrees south of Freezing to Death.”

“Where?” I interhected and tried to hold my impatience disinterest in his long-winded spiel.

He paused, I could feel his chin turn towards me, perhaps in mild surprise at my change jn nathre. As he was about to answer men began shouting in the back. Ren cursed under his breathe and slowed the horse down to a slow walk.

“Hello? Gentlemen, could you please hold your minds?” He shouted over his shoulder.

The round man began shouting at them also.

“ We was havin such a nice time and you have ta start up again?” He scolded.

I looked over Ren’s opposite shoulder but could not see far back enough as I was sitting side saddle to the right while looking over my left.

“Idiots.” Ren groaned, laughing it off.  

I was still looking over his shoulder, at what? Nothing in particular anymore. It had become too dark and hazy to see clearly; I could not make out a visual marker from the ground to the tree tops above.

The conversation had died with that; I would not know where I was so long as they did not know where I came from.

I fought the lull of sleep with all of my might, never has the will to sleep and the will to stay awake sparred so furiously for dominance. I could keep my eyes open, but it was getting hard to keep my head from going idle. Around what I felt like the hour and a half mark, with open eyes and a nearly fuzzy mind my head fell back and hit the captor’s shoulder. I snapped up again, shaking my head and releasing the cloak from my fist which had grown ridged- cricking as it lifted to rub my eyes.

“Sleep, Mistress, ‘till be an hour yet before we are home. If you’re not going to talk, then be ready to meet the redt of us.” He bunched the cloak around me again, using the arm which bared across me to now reach over and hold it closed in front of me just above my own.

I wouldn’t sleep, I did not know these men and would not let my gaurd down to sleep. I shook my head.

“ No?” He chuckled “ I’can tell you have the urge to from every time your head hits my shoulder.”

I couldn’t tell why be was talking, but it still made me nervous he would try something like the Red Coat.

I jumped again when the horse faltered for inly a second and I lost my balance.

“Heyyy, easy boy.” He called his horse. I had gripped his forearm that layed on my hip and pushed back into him. As the horse recovered and tread on he placed a bared arm around me again, the intimacy was more than uncomfortable and he said “ I apologize mistress for the close quaters.” There was an uncertainty now in his voice, implying he was nervous also, or atleast uneasy with having a strange woman in his saddle now.

His sense of propriety certainly was bordering archatic, but whatever kept his hands from me.

We were almost there, but where?

__________

There she is, guys. Let me know your thoughts, I would really appreciate feed-back.

Thanks!

[b-beeprichie]

A Ghost Of You

Title: A Ghost Of You [1/?]

Paring: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier

Rating: M

Summary: When sixteen year-old Richie Tozier moves to Derry, Maine, he’s convinced nothing can change how much he hates it. His parents don’t care, his only friends are out of state, and the boy living next door definitely isn’t helping.

Word Count: 2,516

Warnings: Child Abuse, Child Neglect, Character Death, AU

A/N’s: Hey Tumblr! Welcome to my first Reddie fic. I haven’t written in years but I couldn’t get this Ghost!Eddie prompt out of my head. This will be posted in chapters.  Hope you like it! Shout out to @gazeboseddie & @second-fannypack for offering up their time to do Beta work.

Clouds blocked off the rising sun, the town of Derry cast in the soft blue of early morning fog. They had been on the road for hours now, skipping through shades of black until the sun peeked over the rolling hills of Maine. It was early enough that the roads through town were still empty, and the streetlights reflected orange off the glare of Richie's glasses from where he sat in the backseat. He was crowded in by boxes, face pressed against the cool window glass. It was really the only thing keeping him calm -  watching the way his breath fogged up the glass, wiping it away with jittery fingers, and starting over again. Breathe, wipe, repeat.  It wasn’t easy to be in the car for so long. He had already been yelled at more times than he could count for his constant chatter, having only his walkman now to keep him company for the remainder of the drive. He didn’t want to talk to his parents anyway, and he never wanted to move to Derry, Maine. What kind of town was called Derry anyway? It sounded like a fucking cow town, small and simple, not at all what Richie was used to back home in New York.

The car came to a full stop, Richie too busy sketching finger drawings of dicks against the glass to notice. It wasn’t until his mom began shouting over the music spilling from his walkman that Richie jumped, simultaneously wiping the glass free of graffiti.

“What?!” He shouted and turned to look at his parents, annoyed with being interrupted from what was obviously going to be a beautiful work of art.

“We’re here, Richard, get out the car and don’t talk to your mother that way.” His father chastised from the driver seat, causing Richie to roll his eyes when neither of them were looking.

Not that they would have cared either way. They weren’t particularly good parents, and not only from a sixteen year-old’s stand on things. It’s not that they didn’t try, but alcohol wasn’t exactly a good solution for solving problems, and his parents tended to insist on finishing bottle after bottle. They didn’t care about much of anything unless they were drunk, and that never ended well. Richie touched a fading scar on the back of his hand from a particularly bad argument that had ended with his mother flinging a bottle across the room, and him having to clean it up. She apologized for days afterward, and as a result his dad had even bought him a new bike, which now sat strapped to the top of the car.

“Whatever.” Richie grumbled to himself, climbing out of the back seat to stretch his long legs while he took in the surrounding neighborhood.

It’s just as he had imagined, old colonial homes fitting into the perfect image of a suburban neighborhood. Richie had only seen the house in pictures, after his parents had made the purchase and announced that they were moving. It’s nicer than their old place, he honestly couldn’t complain about that part. However, he was still miles away from his school, from best friends, and from his life. At least they didn’t move in the middle of the school year, but the summer had just started and now all his summer plans were gone down the drain.

The movers had gotten there days before, setting things up while the Toziers made their ten hour drive into town. There wasn’t much left to do at this point, aside from unpacking the few boxes that were strictly left for them, like most of Richie's room, his dad’s dental equipment, and family photos. You know, the important stuff. It was barely past 8am, leaving the whole day to unpack what was left and settle into cheese town. With a loud groan and the cracking of his knuckles, Richie grabbed a box. Better to get started now before his parents began bitching at him. He was in the process of fighting to get a box out the backseat when he noticed the house next door, the tall grass catching his eye. The downstairs windows were boarded up, there was no car in the driveway, and the lawn looked as if it hadn’t been cut in ages. It was the only house in the neighborhood that didn’t quite fit, and Richie would’ve assumed it was abandoned, had it not been for the kid he saw staring out at him from the upstairs window. Even with the aid of Richie's coke bottle glasses, the kid was hard to see, but it was obvious that he was staring.

“Jesus Christ.” Richie swore under his breath and nearly dropped  the box in his hands that was clearly labeled as fragile.

He caught it quickly, the glass inside producing an alarming clinking sound. Richie glared at the kid who clearly had a fucking staring problem. Responding without thought, he shifted the box in his hands to give the guy the finger, waving it around angrily in front of his face. He would have shouted if his mom weren’t right on the porch, already bickering with his dad about something. The rude gesture did its job, though, as the kid snapped out of his one-sided staring contest. He even had the audacity to look shocked, quickly followed by annoyed. He had been the one staring, watching Richie as if he were some sort of freak. He disappeared after that, the spot he once stood empty and dark as his shadow retreated in the background. What an asshole.

For the rest of the day, unpacking was an easy, albeit exhausting, distraction. Between dealing with his parents and the summer sun rising high in the sky, Richie was sweaty and gross by the end of the day, and ready to lie down in his new room. There were only a few finishing touches needed before room was actually his, and the sixteen year-old bopped around while he stuck posters to the wall and hung up pictures of friends from back home. He hadn’t had many friends, but the ones he did have were like family, always there for Richie when he needed them. He definitely wouldn’t have that here in Derry, not with the milk town simpletons he was sure made up most of the town's population. Richie grumbled just thinking about the kid he saw earlier, and cautiously peeked out his window to see if he could spot any movement next door. The house had been strangely silent, with not so much as a light turning on or a door opening all day. Not that Richie cared or anything, it was just weird. The kid was weird, too, with his snooty face and judgmental stare. Everyone here was probably like that.

Now Richie barely made out the shape of something moving in the window across from his, before the light turned on and the kid was suddenly right there, staring again as if he hadn’t gotten a good enough look the first time. Richie nearly jumped out of his skin with fright, letting out a loud shout and instantly growing annoyed. Seriously - who did this guy think he was?

His mouth moved but Richie couldn't make out what he was saying. Probably something bratty, from the looks of him. He looked like more of a dweeb than Richie did, and that was really saying something. At least Richie dressed his age, while this kid looked like someone's dad, even in pajamas. Richie frowned and stepped forward to open the window, propping up the screen so he could lean half way out and really get his point across. The distance between both houses is far enough that it couldn't be jumped, but close enough to get away with talking if they both stood there. It was quiet in the neighborhood, late enough that everyone is asleep aside from the insects living in the tall grass.

“Hey!” Richie shouted and reached for the first thing he could get his hands on which happened to be an eraser.

He flung it outside, a satisfied smirk curled his lips as it hit the window across from his home with an audible thud. The kid rolled his eyes and glanced over his shoulder, looking longingly at something before he opened the window. The kid still looked a bit off, pale despite the fact it was summer and the heat in Maine was outrageous, and he definitely still looked like a prude but holy hell Richie found him kind of adorable. Richie almost felt bad for flipping him off earlier - keyword: almost. Sure, he was adorable but it didn’t change the fact that he was obviously a stalker.

“Can you maybe not throw things at my window?” This fucking kid had the nerve to say as he whispered angrily out the window.

“I don’t know,” Richie responded sarcastically, already reaching for something else to throw. “can you maybe not stare into my bedroom window at night? I mean I know I’m hot stuff but if you want to see me naked you could at last ask instead of staring like some sort of pervert!”

The kid gasped and sputtered in frustration,his face flushing an angry pink. In hindsight, maybe Richie should’ve stopped calling him a kid, since he didn’t look that young, just a lot smaller. Maybe even the same age, if Richie was being generous. But anyone shorter than him was a kid if he had any say.

“W-What? I was not...I am NOT a pervert!” He huffed and all but leaned out the window, finger pointed in Richie’s direction. “You were looking in my window, and you were looking in my window first !”

Richie rolled his eyes, made a face and mocked the other boy in a high pitched voice, a hand moving along with his mouth to enhance the performance. It was a pretty great impersonation in his own personal opinion, and definitely did not warrant the baseball that flew through the window and hit him square in the face. Richie had no time to react; he barely registered the kid, shaking with rage and swinging his arm back, until something hit him hard enough to knock him to the floor, throwing his glasses from his face.

“Oh shit, I’m sorry!” Richie could hear over the sound of his own groaning as he rolled around on the floor, nose held in his hands. He could smell blood. Jesus fuck, that kid had an arm on him.

“Oh what the fuck!” Richie groaned and sat up, ready to jump out the window and take this kid down. “A baseball?!” Richie grabbed the object, a smear of his own blood on it. “A baseball, you hit me in the face with a fucking baseball!”

Richie full on shouted, blood dripping down his chin. The fact it was well past midnight never crossed his mind, as Richie’s parents had learned quickly to sleep through their child's antics. They never stirred while their son was shouting curse words just down the hall.

As for the kid, he looked genuinely apologetic. He turned the strangest shade of pink Richie had ever seen while he fidgeted with the front of his faded oversized sleepshirt.

“I’m sorry!” He looked over his shoulder and lowered his voice back down to a whisper. “I didn’t mean to I just-I got mad, I’m sorry, I’m so so sorry. Oh god you’re bleeding, you need to go to the doctor.” The kid paced back and forth in front of the window, muttered to himself about hospitals, plastic surgery, and possibly having a panic attack.

The kid’s reaction was intense, but despite the blood and the gnarly bruise Richie would have in the morning, it didn’t hurt that bad. Richie pulled the hem of his shirt up to stop the bleeding, wiping it away the best he could.

“Hey kid.” Richie spit blood out the window. “Take a fucking breather, it’s fine, look.”

Richie turned to the side to show off his nose, bloody but not broken. The kid gagged dramatically but managed to pull himself together.

“It’s Eddie, my name is Eddie.” The kid - Eddie, still looked flustered and in shock, but he breathed deeply to calm down while he stood with his hands on his hips.

“Well Ed’s, I’m Richie, nice to you know...meet or whatever. If you call stalking and assault a nice meeting.”

“It’s Eddie, not Ed’s, just Eddie.”

“Excuse me, Eddie.” Richie leaned against the windowsill, he pointed at the drying blood on his face. “You almost broke my nose, I’m pretty sure that means I can call you whatever the fuck I want, seeing the last person to take balls that hard to the face was your mother.”

Eddie paled noticeably from his already unhealthy shade of white. He looked almost afraid, not at all the reaction Richie was looking to get out of him. This startled Richie, and he became even more unsettled when he spoke Eddie's name and got no response other than a fearful look in the other boy’s eyes. Was there something behind him? Richie took a deep breath and quickly turned around expecting to see someone standing behind him in his bedroom, to explain the suffocating sensation that had washed over him.

There was nothing, just a few empty boxes, a lamp, and the clock on his nightstand reading 1:32am. Still, Richie couldn't shake the eerie sensation. Goosebumps had risen on his arms and he visibly shivered.

Richie turned back around, ready to bitch at Eddie for freaking him the fuck out, but the light was now off and the window was closed, blinds entirely still as if no one had been standing there in the first place. Richie squinted, but tried not to think too hard about it. It was late, maybe Eddie’s parents had woken up. They were probably good, unlike his own, the type to care if their son stayed up too late and shouted swear words at the neighbor.

Richie waited a minute before he shrugged it off and went to the bathroom. He still had blood on his face, it had started to dry and crust over. In the mirror he could see the bruise that had started to form. He should ice it. Richie turned his head from side to side, noting that it wasn’t the worst he'd ever had. Richie had actually broken his nose once before and that was awful, a fight at school that ended with him in the hospital for a broken nose and bruised ribs. With the rest of the blood cleaned off, Richie stared at himself in the mirror. His mind went back to the boy next door, that dark feeling that someone had been watching them. He shook his head to clear his thoughts, instead focusing on how easy it had been to get under Eddie’s skin. Richie smirked to himself. The summer had just begun, after all, and he had new plans to spend it annoying his new neighbor.

[12-99-30]

November: we’re close to the end

I have a bad habit of thinking of Yesterdays. I am remembering how different things were a year ago today. How I said the same thing last year, too. A year is a lot of time to move pieces around, but it’s not until I sit back and read old journal entries I’m reminded of how much has happened. Exactly a year ago I was experiencing my first break-up; transitioning into ‘singlehood’ and grieving a relationship. I was also beginning to serve in ICF, understanding the hardships of ministry. I was having a lot of ‘firsts’. Comfort was being redefined and the things I thought were forever were proven to be fleeting. Things continue to look different each season, but I’m getting used to different. I’ve adjusted to the pace of life that accelerates and forces change.  

There were days this month I felt like a stranger in my skin. Having struggled  with physical insecurity in middle school, it felt strange and unwelcomed to have it returning again. It feels childish to say I felt “ugly”, as if my vocabulary wasn’t expanse enough to capture the deeper discomfort of watching my body feel unkempt despite extensive efforts, but it still seems the only appropriate word.  I also felt like a stranger in my home. I couldn’t shake this feeling that nobody understood me some days. As a child, you inevitably grow up seeing parents as people rather than figure heads. They are humans with a past; a life before you. But there will always be a veil that separates parent from child. A slight idolization for the people you wanted to believe did no wrong because their love was perfectly imperfect. I’ve seen and heard things that resulted in micro-tears of the veil I held close to me. Things that friends laugh at, things that may not seem like a big deal. But the veil has torn where the dissonance from what I see and what I know alters my perception. People tell me not to look, but it’s staring at a car accident while driving on the interstate. The right thing to do is look forward, but you try to sneak glimpses anyway. My curiosity didn’t kill me, but disrupted my peace. People wonder why I start crying or dug for information in the first place. I wonder too. 

I searched for people who would give me the perfect answer; one that gives me validation in my vulnerability and listens closely to my concerns. Every answer and response never seemed to satisfy this longing for more. Something with more empathy and compassion. More understanding and comfort. How silly it sounds to type it all out. I guess I am reverting back to middle school lol.

It took me a while to break this monotonous cycle, but I realized how much I was thinking of myself. I unconsciously made myself the center of my life and it perpetually made me more insecure. Physical insecurity is not solved by simply “loving myself” -- a modern-day cliche that puts pressure on myself to love every impurity. Through grace, I have eternal comfort from God and in that I surrender my crown to seek out the perfect answer in myself and others. I’m training my mind to constantly reevaluate and reposition my heart to rely on You. I hope to extend this grace to my parents, who are like me. Imperfect beings. 

This month felt transitional more than anything. November always seems to be the month where parts start to move in motion, but not yet picked up traction. I hope to have a better focus in December and have something worthy to share with you all. 2020 was one continuous turmoil, but I hope to take these last days and redeem it all. I am in the process of simplifying my life and concern myself with things that matter and the people who push me to get there. I’m building character that is deep. An inner confrontation with my desires and habits. 

---

A story my mom shared with me that I want to share with you all.

Ba Ngoai: Maternal Grandmother On Ngoai: Maternal Grandfather

My Ba Ngoai had already finalized the plan. They would leave when the streets got dark, two hours past midnight with ample of time before the sun rose. She was going to take my mom and her two brothers, and escape Vietnam to leave to America. The trip would take about two weeks on boat, sailing along the China Sea to eventually dock in Japan. Ba Ngoai already knew she would leave On Ngoai behind, since the Communist officials had him jailed in a re-education camp for judge officials. She thought of herself and her children, and knew this was their hope for a safer life. 

My mom was 8 years-old at the time, just having finished the third grade. She was proud of this achievement, but knew she had to pass the exit-exam in order to advance to fourth grade. She was anxious, not wanting to be left behind as her peers advanced. She had been continuously asking Ba Ngoai (her mom), if she could visit her dad in jail. She wanted to share with him this achievement, and hear him say “Good luck” for her exam. On the night of the escape, Ba Ngoai had finally told her they were going to take a trip and visit her dad. Excitement and nerves filled within her. She had two things on circulating in her mind the night of the escape: her third grade exit-exam, and that she would finally be able to see her dad after months of separation. 

As she packed a small bag, she reminded Ba Ngoai, “I need to come back home and study for the exam,” Ba Ngoai nodded her head and gathered her children to tell them to stay quiet as they went to visit On Ngoai. 

My mom said she doesn’t remember much, but she remembers the night being pitch black. Holding her siblings and mother tight, they would walk through long fields of grass until they settled in a rural house. She asked Ba Ngoai where her dad was. 

‘He’s coming’ She would say. 

‘Okay, but I need to go back home and study for the exam,’ my mom would remind once again. 

Soon, they boarded the bottom of a cramped fishing boat. Over 30 passengers, all families and strangers alike, had one goal: survive. 

‘Where’s dad?’ My mom would ask. 

My Ba Ngoai’s answers were no longer, “He’s coming” but rather “Stay quiet.”

My mom remembers people being raped, people dying, and people on the verge of death by illness and starvation. She didn’t quite understand what was going on, and feared she would never pass the third grade. Each passenger would receive a fistful of rice to sustain them for that day. She cried to Ba Ngoai, wanting nothing more than to go home, eat a full meal, and take her exit-exam. A family-friend slapped her across the face, telling her to ‘shut up’ and stop crying. I think she stopped worrying about her test after that.  

She remembers days where she would hold her breath to prevent any sound for escaping as police would investigate the boat for any illegal emigrants. Nights where ocean waves would rise above the boat, with lightning bolts that would surely take her life. The boat would flip and hurl people across the steerage, water flooding in. In the midst of darkness and a storm, she prayed to a God she had not yet fully believed yet. She had only heard of Jesus, and figured if she was going to die, there was nothing to lose by praying to Him. She would pray and thank Him again when passing cargo boats would donate food in secrecy to help fellow passengers.

In two weeks, they would reach Japan and stay in camps until they found sponsorship from a Vietnamese family already in America. Though she didn’t understand the gospel then, she continually owes her life to Jesus. The days she thought her life would end at 8 years old, she lives now until 50 (and counting) with engraved resilience. 

These are the story of boat people I wish to carry. The story of my mom and her ability to believe in the unseen. 

[maniibear]

One of my fics I managed to save from Imzy for the prompt Recover. Tony mourns JARVIS during and after the events of AoU. 

Word Count: ~1900 Warnings: None? Sadness, I guess. 

The sun is a sliver on the horizon when Steve jogs down the steps of the Bartons’ farmhouse. 

Laura had mentioned they might need more firewood and since she’s taking their, and now Fury’s, descent upon her home in complete stride, Steve didn’t need to be told twice. There’s a different kind of cacophony outdoors, one that fades to the background more quickly, but it’s kind of terrifying in its serenity. After all, what did the planet care about Ultron or his plans for stolen vibranium? 

Weak, dusty light playfully limns the Quinjet and the trees alike as Steve makes his way to the barn. It fades like a kiss by the time he reaches the wooden door, which is supposed to be locked, but stands open just enough to offer a glimpse of a figure sitting alone in the dark, illuminated only by the artificial and decidedly unplayful light of a smartphone.

Steve sighs in relief, shrugs tension from his shoulders when he recognizes Tony’s particular silhouette. The team's looking for you, and you’d rather be with your tech, he wants to ask, only what he hears stops him in his tracks. Somewhere above the million sounds of nature, Steve’s enhanced hearing picks up Tony’s breath and a specific, aching wetness in it. Damn.

Steve slips into the barn as noiselessly as possible. 

“Tony?” he ventures uncertainly, and the way the other man's body just curls in like a wounded animal confirms his suspicions. For a moment, Steve considers leaving and sparing Tony an audience and embarrassment, but that somehow feels like him showing his age.

Feeling stuff isn’t embarrassing, and it’s about damn time we start acting like it, Sam’s voice echoes in his head. Then, Tony’s shuddering breath becomes obvious even to someone without super hearing and Steve figures the darkness would provide plausible deniability if he wanted.

He sits on the wooden bench beside Tony and a quick glance at the Starkphone in the brunet’s hand makes things obvious. It’s footage of the city near the Wakandan coast, where the Hulk locked arms with the Hulkbuster armor. It’s obviously witness footage. It’s streaked with blood.

“Oh,” Steve sighs, because his own throat closes with grief. Probably for the best, because there’s a lot he wants to say, and none of it sounds right. He fidgets because inaction bothers him, but he’s not certain what to do. He desperately wishes Sam were here, but in the end, he settles for pressing his calf against Tony’s, a solid reminder of his company.

The next few seconds pass like this-- heavy silence punctuated by Tony’s quiet sniffling. Eventually, Steve reaches for the phone; the weak resistance he’s met with melts when he insists on tugging the thing out of Tony’s hands and switching it off. The pitch darkness that falls upon the barn then is almost a relief. Steve is tired, still raw from Wanda Maximoff’s number on his head, but he doubts he’ll sleep tonight, so this is what he has to be content with.

“We took a hit,” Steve echoes Tony’s words on the Quinjet. “But we’ll make it right. We’re Avengers,” he says and feels stupid before the words finish coming out of his mouth.

Tony just takes a measured breath and replies, “I miss JARVIS."

His voice is so small, so lost that Steve forgets to breathe. Any reassurances of ‘you can rebuild him’ die on his tongue because Tony says ‘JARVIS' like there just can’t be another. God, now he really wishes Sam were here. But Sam’s not, and all Steve has in the way of a field kit is the physical act of holding Tony to keep him from shaking apart.

Tony’s whole body goes rigid when Steve wraps an arm around his shoulders. What’s visible of him in the opaque blackness is torn, distrusting, but needful enough that Steve feels a mournful twinge. It’s going to be delicate handling, so he wisely avoids Tony’s neck and keeps his whole stance open and tentative. 

Remarkably, Tony doesn’t shrug him off.

“It’s—it’s my fault,” he says instead. “I let him down. He always had my back and I. Mmh."

Steve tightens his hold, just to do something, because fuck, he’s the wrong person for this. He’s barely caught up to modern day tech and he is so far from being able to wrap his head around somebody who lived and breathed it and—

Steve recalls the hologram Tony bought up back in the Tower, a small, expertly crafted sun disfigured in—what did Bruce say—not strategy but rage. His photographic memory recalls every shredded pixel, every aborted synapse and torn neuron and if he reconciled that with this grief —Jesus Christ! Tony had come upon the mangled body of his most loyal sentinel and nobody had even paused for a moment of silence.

Steve feels ill. “Oh god, Tony, I’m sorry."

“I should have been monitoring him.” Tony rasps. “I mean, it’s what he did for me, right? Kept an eye on me so I didn’t end up torn to bits. Because I’ll tell you, New York wasn’t easy. Mark VII wasn’t ready, we weren’t fucking ready, but J rockstarred it out there. And god, I remember when Dad—"

Judging by the abrupt wince that follows, Steve suspects Tony bit his own tongue to cut himself off. It tells him a lot, though, but it’s so much he can’t even begin to unpack; not with Peggy’s voice still echoing in his head.

“Breathe,” he instructs evenly, sliding his palm from Tony’s shoulders to his back, unconsciously mimicking the motions of his own childhood.

Silence falls again. Steve pays attention to the rise and fall of Tony’s breath and glances out to the farmhouse. He left his own phone inside, but someone’s probably going to come out looking for them soon.

“You lost a friend,” he acknowledges. “That’s…I get it. It feels like the world makes less sense."

“No, it makes sense. " Tony counters. "I have a mission, and a pretentious twit of a robot in the middle of it."

“Tony, stop,” Steve shakes his head. “I mean it, we need each other more than ever now. This is too big for us to not be a team."

“Ha!” Tony’s voice is muffled, like he’s scrubbing his hand across his face. "No, you don’t understand. This doesn’t end well for the team."

That sounds fairly ominous, and Steve should probably ask about it, but he’s so damn tired. Visions of the dance hall and of Peggy flash at the corner of his mind like pages torn out of a book. 

“We can take care of ourselves,” he says wearily. “You know that."

“What I know,” Tony begins and it sounds less like an acknowledgement than an argument, then he falters because Tony is tired too. “Fine. I know."

Steve’s glad it’s dark and nobody can see his smile at the grumpy retort. Another pause rolls between them, in which Steve can feel Tony’s ribs expand as wide as his own and hear their simultaneous outbreath—mournful, but somehow lighter in its sharing. Instinctively, he draws Tony’s head to lie on his shoulder. Perhaps unsurprisingly, there's no resistance, so Steve follows suit, rests his cheek atop a thatch of soft hair, and thinks he could weep at how terribly he needs this.

“But really,” he murmurs, not minding at all that Tony wiggles closer. “Together."

“But really,” Tony echoes. “You still have faith in all this…cotton candy?”

Someday later, Steve will put it into words—this whirl of what it really feels like to watch Tony care too much about code and people and everything else that peeked over the horizon to gaze raptly at tomorrow. But for now, he just bundles up the warmth pressed against his side.

“I do.”

-

Later, when the world is safe again and Tony’s plans to build the Avengers a home upstate come to astounding fruition, everyone gathers around a beautiful plaque mounted at the entrance to the data crux. Everyone in this case means the core team— Natasha, Tony, Rhodes, Thor. Bruce is still missing without contact; Clint is also not present, but he does manage to secure a line.

“Am I late?” he asks over the microphone. Clint's voice and image on the screen are scratchy. He’s certainly not connecting to the Avengers facility from his farmhouse, but damned if anyone can tell where he is either. "Am I…no? Oh good, didn’t wanna miss this. Who’s going first?”

Everyone automatically glances at Tony, and Steve helpfully tilts the Starkpad so Clint can too. Tony looks flustered, but Rhodes squeezes his arm and raises his eyebrows encouragingly.

“Ok,” Tony takes a breath and raises his glass of whiskey. “To JARVIS. Um. You did good, buddy; best of us all. And I’ll miss you…I—“ His voice quakes, and Rhodes’ comes right back to steady him.

“Hey, come on, we’ll miss him, too.” Colonel Rhodes raises his own glass. “To JARVIS, for saving my ass in Pakistan, Tokyo, oh, and that one arms dealer in Colombia. We captured him alive, but I’m pretty sure he died inside after J started roasting him.”

“I’ll drink to that,” Natasha confirms, and chooses her next statement with usual consideration. “We lost a teammate in this fight. I know that.”

There’s something immensely powerful in her handful of words, if Tony’s stunned quietude is any indication. Steve sneaks a quick glance at him before it’s his turn to talk. There is so much he still doesn’t know about Tony and JARVIS or the memories that bind them, but he doesn’t need a map of the brain to know love.

“It was an honor,” Steve says softly. “JARVIS jumped into this before all of us, kept the world safe from Ultron until we could figure out how to defeat him.”

“Aye,” Thor agrees. “Though he was a spirit of light and numbers, JARVIS fought hard and well from the digital realm. He shall have a seat of honor in Valhalla for eternity.”

“Yeah, man, to JARVIS and Valhalla,” Clint’s affirms over the speakers. “Bet that disembodied punk’s running the place by now.”

“Of course,” Tony retorts haughtily. “And you can bet he’s gonna figure out the real deal with that hammer, too."

Everyone's laughter echoes down the polished halls like a breath of fresh air, along with the chime of shot glasses meeting in front of the plaque before they all drink to Tony’s erstwhile copilot. There’s a palpable sense of closure to this one thing among a thousand other open questions and raw wounds; Steve feels it even after the team disperses and he’s left alone with Tony under another sunset.

Steve immediately picks up on a certain undercurrent of restlessness. He’s lingering; they’re both lingering, and it’s jarring against their shared instinct to do. Only Steve’s not sure he’s welcome to do anything about these newly risen slew of feelings for Tony. Now that they aren’t bowed under exhaustion or covered in darkness, surely, that certain ache, that ravenous need is back deep down where it belongs.

Or is it? Steve’s heart jumps to his throat when Tony sidles up into his space, and the familiar weight Tony’s slighter shoulder resting against his makes him want to weep all over again.

“That was good,” says Tony, falsely conversational. “Plaque was a nice touch."

“Oh, sure,” Steve replies unevenly, and falls right into the moment. “So, Jarvis. Was he someone you knew…?"

[evereds-blog]

DEAN EVERETT. outdoor poolside, 9 pm.

something is off. 

it isn’t pertinent enough that it changes his course of actions but just so the fact of it lingers in the forefront of his mind, dangling from the side... in other words, just enough to ruin a perfectly good moment between man, nature, and his tobacco habit.

dean’s brow furrows and his eyes narrow at the night sky as he props his elbows behind him on the fence to support his weight, lips curled around his lit cigarette and he thinks: could he just have forgotten to do something? you know, the usual trope: left the oven on, didn’t lock his door behind him, or maybe he left his keys somewhere? that’s what seems most likely and reason suggests that he ought to just forget about it, he’ll be done in a few minutes time anyways. even if there was a fire, he lives in a house of superheroes, does he not? they’ll, like, take care of it. he’s sure. probably. the thought prompts a light chuckle out of him and with that rises the smoke that leaves him and he watches it go. his eyes glaze over, prompt his eyelids half shut, and the corners of his mouth rise into his signature grin.

he lets his eyes shut all the way and simultaneously exhales the weight of the day from the bottom of his chest and he relaxes, wholly, for the first time since sun up. such a moment is rare for someone like him, you know, but he won’t mention it to anyone: it’s not like everyone around here isn’t in the same situation. 

he doesn’t know where he goes when his eyes close and he doesn’t care. all he can think about is the breeze of early summer whistling against his cheek and as the moon rises and the distant murmur of the constant commotion inside the building -- the sound of home. even when it comes time to ash his cigarette, he simply lets it fall to the ground without opening his eyes and smothers it with his foot. when he does open his eyes, it’s only because he’s expelling the last of the smoke of the cigarette and he always watches it go up. always. once the smoke clears dean is left with the sight of an unusual amount of the stars for being so close to new york city and the view calms a part of him he didn’t know could be so soothed. if he could stay here the whole night, he would, he thinks. 

FINN CARSON. security lab, 9.15 PM. 

overwhelmed and left winded from the happenings of the last twenty four-some hours, finn stumbles and he lands into his seat ( he thanks every higher power that could possibly exist that the chair was exactly where it was and that his legs gave out exactly where they did ) with absolutely no intention to do anything than his job: watch, maintain. weapon refining could wait for the morning, and so could his dozens of side projects -- for someone who didn’t sleep very much, he can’t believe he’s never felt as tired as he does in this moment. honestly, he has to have passed this point before? then again, all nighters surrounded by his army of machines within the comfort of his lab was a whole other type of tired than negotiating, off base, with the actual leaders of everett. the ones who never showed their damn faces and shoved all the actual work off on him -- those ones. this type of tired is from the bottom of the very soul. 

as if on exact cue with his muscles relaxing into his chair -- and not a second more to spare, mind you -- the absolute worst case scenario happens, and the aforementioned soul of his leaves his body in time with his heart dropping to his stomach. 

all systems down. 

his seeing eye ( as he likes to call it -- robot eye just seems a little... tacky? ) whirs and it adjusts to night vision as darkness falls around him and the recruit sitting next to him, but finn takes an entire five seconds to process the fact that his system has been shut off. more than that, it’s not coming back on. none of the back ups are. mind you, this didn’t just mean power: if all of the backups were down, then there was a high chance that the rest of the security was down, too... and that was impossible. he can’t wrap his head around it. his system is more than just advanced, it’s magically protected -- there was no way to stop it unless he willed it, and he sure as hell didn’t, so that leaves the question of who. a question that strikes fear, the rawest and realest he’s ever felt it, into the pit of his stomach and all throughout him. 

it takes everything in his power to lift his wrist with the communications ‘watch’ to his mouth and attempt to contact violet, elliot, remy, anyone else but every channel he tries to tune into is static, static, static. with no ability to reach anyone and hand out instructions, finn’s left with only one choice. 

ten seconds after the lights go down and not a moment more, the panic aching through every inch of his body fuels him into action and he looks towards his recruit, dusty rhodes. the younger seems unfazed judging by his facial expression alone but finn notices the anxious tap of his foot and he remembers -- hadn’t he been struggling to paint a vision of his earlier? could this be related? unfortunately, he has no time to deliberate and instead barks an order out, filling the shoes of leader for possibly the first time in the two years since stepping into them.

 “ listen to me, dustin. you gather every last member of our team and you bring them to the panic room, and you will not leave until instructed. when you find elliot and violet, tell them to do a perimeter immediately and keep doing that. there’s no other explanation -- we’re under attack. when you find remy, alert him that we’re in defense. send your captains, emerson and aurora, here for direct orders from me. when they return to the panic room, they’ll give out individual orders. someone should be on their way here by now, so you’ll only be alone a few seconds. make sure no one is alone, and --” the light of dusty’s mobile phone flashes on finn’s face but he doesn’t flinch. “ grab a weapon next to the door on your way out. i need to get this system back up now,” by the last word, finn is looking his subordinate in the eyes and he takes him by the shoulders, both hands ( metal and organic both ) clasping tightly onto them. “ can you do this? ” he asks, even though the reality of it is that even if dusty can’t, he has to. 

there’s no one else. 

DUSTY RHODES, VIOLET SULLIVAN. the round up, 9.17 - 9. 20 PM. 

what could he have said? no? it was a direct order from the guy in charge of everyone physically here on base and more than that, it was the most important job anyone could’ve been given in this moment: securing the team. the most important job. given to him. dusty, the psychic recruit who had predicted this without even knowing it by painting a pitch black canvas. 

yeah, he was the one to be doing this, alright. jesus fucking christ. 

in the end, he doesn’t actually say yes or no -- he whispers out the word “ ... shit? ” and then he just nods, grabs his weapon, and darts out of the lab and into the mayhem that is everett headquarters in the dark. immediately he can hear voices, concerned, confused, even a little hostile but they’re too far away and his vision is limited solely to the beam of his cell phone’s flashlight. his body is running on pure adrenaline as he scans each area, growing more frustrated with each room than the last -- the building was a maze that was hard enough to get around when you had the lights on and knew the place, even. and what does dusty have? minimal light, and like, two months of experience here. he knew people on his team who had been here the full two years and still got lost. 

heart pumping through his chest and sounding out in his ears like the beat of a drum to the tune of something he doesn’t recognize and based on the terror it strikes through him, he hopes he never comes to be familiar with it. by the third room he resorts to cupping his hands around his mouth and calling out, �� team! who can hear me? come towards my voice, orders from finn! ” as loud as he possibly can, which is louder than even he anticipates. the shock of his own voice brings him to an abrupt stop and within just seconds, one of his supervisors runs up to him: violet. 

over the beating of his heart and a vague but still intrusive ring in his ears, he can barely make out her words and it’s then that he realizes something is physically wrong with him -- heart over his chest and breaths coming out in pants, he feels like he can’t catch his breath. his mind is racing with all the what if’s and the guilt of not knowing a thing about this -- not being able to predict this, not being able to do the only thing he could do! short breaths turn into downright wheezing and he doubles over, hands on his knees and his eyes watering. shit. he has to find everyone, give them finn’s orders, and he can’t even speak to the one of what, a billion other team mates? the frustration brings full, genuine tears to his eyes that slip past his eyelids down his cheeks and he shakes vigorously, most notably in the hands on his knees. i’m going to be sick. i can’t breathe. am i choking? 

suddenly, hands cup his face and he’s guided gently by the lift of his chin to look at violet and when he does, the fear is painted more vividly in his expression than any other expression he’s had since coming here. 

violet hums out a careful ‘ shh ’ and kneels to his level, holding his cheeks still so she can keep his gaze and when she speaks, she does so clearly, calmly, and only after confirming can you hear me? when he nods his head as much as he can in his current position, she whispers, “ good... it’s okay. breathe, baby. i heard you say finn had orders. he wants me and elliot to come to him, right?” 

still unable to form a coherent thought, dusty nods in her hands again. 

violet strokes his cheek with her thumb and wipes away a stray tear, her hums filling the air again. to the right of them, the team captains and elliot both enter the room with a small herd of other members behind them; by the sight of them, she assumes they were all in the same place. probably a movie. a light of theirs flashes to them and she looks towards it only long enough to communicate: quiet. attention back to dusty, she puts herself in finn’s shoes and measures procedure against that to guess what he said next. “ remy and rory too, right? the captains and supervisors, so he can set a plan? everyone else in the panic room? ”

another nod.

violet smiles softly and she moves her right hand to rub his back over his shoulder and then help him stand, whispering another good job during the transition to the world of the upright. she supports him in the brief moment she has to address who’s there and she shines her own flashlight, immediately beginning to account for who can do what. 

“ alright, elliot, remy, rory, go. i’m right behind you,” she assures and they go on without question, leaving her to assess the rest of who’s here: danny, jae-eun, logan, mae, and riley. they’re missing two. dean, flynn. “ danny, mae, and riley, head to the panic room with dusty. jae-eun and logan, you look everywhere for dean and flynn and do not separate. everyone got it? ” violet says, looking at the group firmly and when she receives unanimous understanding, her face softens significantly and she helps dusty regain full balance, who now seems more under control -- although, quite sheepish in front of this new audience. mae keeps him close. 

before departing, violet walks backwards towards the direction of the lab and gives them one last look over. “... and be safe, you guys. all hands on deck.” there isn’t time for her to wait for a response but she makes eye contact with each of them individually before turning on her heel. 

the group heads to their destination in a huddle and jae-eun and logan split off, side by side to search the remainder of the building. 

SUPERVISORS & TEAM CAPTAINS; security lab. 9.21 - 9.22 PM. 

violet isn’t far behind the triad headed towards the lab but the amount of paces between them and how long it takes her to fill them is long enough that when she enters the lab, her first step inside is on cue with the lights turning back on. she’s greeted to the sight of finn, hunched over and absolutely drained of all his power -- more than that, she’s never seen him look so defeated.

it breaks her heart. 

finn stays hunched in his chair, arm over his stomach and eyes on the ground; he already knows exactly what to order of them, but the energy it required to fuel the magic part of his system is beyond his limits and he is completely winded. 9:15 through 9:21, all systems were down. it took him six minutes to restart it and given the sheer power it took to run all this, that was a miracle. yet, all finn could think about was how it was too long. too long for their defenses to be down. 

when he catches his breath by even an inch, he forces out labored speech. “ vi... eli, perimeter. every corner. go. captains...” finn pauses to take a long breath, and he sputters, but he looks up now at him. “ divide into two. remy, you’ll stay in the panic room with the majority of the team... keep them calm. rory, you hit the perimeter with logan, flynn, dean, and jae-eun. be prepared for anything. they got past my system. go.”

there are no questions, and there is absolutely no hesitancy in their obedience. finn turns to the plethora of cameras in front of him and begins scanning them, first confirming whereabouts of his team individually. 

he doesn’t think to look outside until it’s too late.

MOST OF THE TEAM. panic room, 9.22 PM. 

remy and rory enter the designated waiting area one after the other, the former just a step ahead and they’re greeted to the sight of almost everyone on the couches -- keyword being almost. 

emerson’s expression was already deeply set into concern but it reaches a whole new level when he scans the room and counts heads only to find there’s two missing. he looks around, not sure who to question. “ is this... this is everyone you found? we are missing two. WHERE are they? ” he asks, his voice lowering and reaching a level of demanding assertiveness that is unheard of. who can blame him, though? not a single face that looks back at him does. after all, his brother is missing. 

when the crowds attention shifts to rory, the same look of sympathy is applied -- dean. the other missing one. her brother. 

there’s a moment of silence between all of them, before jae-eun breaks it. her voice is soft, but she says this: “ we couldn’t find them, but... we know they didn’t stay in one place. don’t worry. if anyone can defend themselves, it’s them.” she reasons, and remy looks back at her, unable to refute that. he clears his throat. “ so be it... they are supposed to be on perimeter, anyhow... jae-eun, logan, rory, you are too. find them and then focus on finding our assailant. do not separate. back here in an hour for a progress update. ” 

yet again, unanimous understanding is exchanged throughout the room before orders are acted upon.

FLYNN EDWARDS. housing unit, then outdoors, 9.16PM.  ****

when the lights go out, flynn is the only one in his designated room within the housing unit building -- which is connected to the main building, yes, but it’s also the only way to get to the main building outside of having a key to the front door ( only the supervisors did )... via technology, via elevator. just as he’s the only one alone, he also happens to be the only one who doesn’t react with panic: and here’s the kicker... it’s not because he’s calm in the face of danger, which is true but it isn’t why he isn’t panicking. he just doesn’t think of the fact that security is down. to him, its a power outage. 

to him, it’s a smoke break. 

wordlessly, flynn makes his way down the complex stairs and he walks out the back door, around the ‘main’ building and towards the back of that, near the pool. it takes him several minutes to make it around the building and in that moment, he’s in no rush.

if only he knew what was happening at that moment, right where he was going. the pool. 

DEAN EVERETT. the poolside, 9.15 - 9. 20 PM. 

fifteen minutes have gone by of him standing here, elbows against the fence around the pool with the imprint marks to prove it and he has done nothing but smoke, watch it float, and stargaze. his grin has reached maximum potential at this point and he’s thinking about how he should drop by mae’s room maybe, surprise her, but his thoughts are cut off abruptly when the building behind him suddenly isn’t lit, and neither are the outdoor lights around him -- even the pool. 

shit? 

eyebrows furrowed, dean isn’t immediately aware of what this means -- he knows it’s bad, sure, but his mind doesn’t jump to attack until he hears a foot step, and his heart comes to a stop.

he closes his eyes and with everything he has, he centers himself. just like a mission. it’s nothing, but be prepared, he thinks to himself and when he opens his eyes, he’s in battle mode. “ show yourself, coward, ” he calls mid-scan around the yard around him, wishing he had brought his phone with him. he couldn’t see shit and although it’s not as bad as when he was a little guy, he’s got a whole thing about the dark and associates it with some bad memories -- worst ones he’s got, in fact. the sooner he gets out of here, the better; but moving towards the building could very well be a trap. 

little did he know, he was already in the trap.  

silence fills the air around him for a full thirty seconds but when that last moment ticks, he hears it. a voice... it’s hard to make out, almost like it’s coming from underwater? but it keeps repeating itself. dean looks towards the pool, which happens to be the only light he has with the moon reflecting off it, and he steps closer, concentrating on listening. 

is that any way to speak to your mother? the voice says. 

apprehension turns into downright terror when he hears it clearly, because when he does, he knows the voice. he knows the voice, because it’s hers. his mother’s. his dead mother, who he killed -- who was the self proclaimed ‘queen’ of the water, and who was the reason he was afraid to swim. but she’s dead, so it can’t be her. he knows that. but as he stares from a distance at the ripples, he can’t help walking forward. he knows it isn’t her, but he has to look. he has to look up close, he has to make sure it isn’t. killing her had been an accident in self defense, but it was the reason he was still alive. her being back... it just wasn’t an option. 

when he reaches the edge of the pool, he squats down and looks into the water, but all he can make out is his own reflection. yet, the mantra repeats over and over, louder now that he’s closer. the lower he squats, the louder it is and the slower he lowers himself -- it’s not real, it’s not real. eyes wide open, he stares at his reflection unrelentingly, leaning over it and getting closer, closer. the voice is getting even louder and he wants to stop with every fiber of his being, but he has to know. 

reaching a hand towards the water, he lowers it until his finger is hovering just above it and that’s when he feels something is really wrong; that’s when he goes to pull his arm back, but his reflection changes right before his eyes into the very person he sought to prove dead: his mother. dean’s eyes widen and he opens his mouth to scream but nothing comes out -- not of his mouth. her reflection is broken by her coming out from underneath it, seizing him by the wrist and pulling him until hes half at danger of falling in. 

this isn’t happening. this isn’t happening. he’s had this nightmare a thousand times over, it isn’t real! it can’t be? but if it can’t be, then why does he feel the concrete of the edge of the pool scraping his stomach? why does... why does she stop? usually, at this point in the dream, she pulls him under and it’s over. but she’s looking at him in the eyes and squeezing his arm, twisting it back, hovering him just an inch above the water. 

from the outside point of view, there is no woman. it looks as though dean has twisted his own arm and he’s laying on his stomach, trying to put his head in the water but just hovering, frozen in fear. but no one’s there to see it except for the assailant himself, shrouded by bushes and focusing all his fear manipulation energy on the boy in front of him; the bastard child of the love of his life, the killer of her. caesar was his name, and he was behind the system shut down -- as it turns out, he followed the one named finn home and use his power to make his fear a reality: system shut down. the perfect distraction to get rid of the one he was actually after. dean everett. although the projection of his beloved wasn’t in fact her, the effects were real. the boy’s arm was really breaking, and he was really going to go under. 

dean looks into his mother’s eyes and his lip quivers but he can’t say anything -- the only sound he makes is the whimpering that comes out when she twists his arm beyond it’s limits, but that comes to a stop when her other hand reaches past him, beyond the pool edge, and into his pocket. when she takes it out, she takes his pocket knife with her and opens it inches before his face. 

this is when dean starts to struggle, coming to the realization that this isn’t a nightmare -- his arm is broken and she’s going to kill him with his own knife, ghost or not. “ you can’t! you’re dead! ” he argues, his pleas falling on deaf ears; or, dead, actually. she doesn’t react to him in any way because she’s an illusion with a mission: a real life nightmare written by caesar. dean comes close to escaping her grasp but as if a warning to stop moving, he’s sliced on the cheek; the cut is deep and vertical, only centimeters away from his eye. there’s a million fighting tactics he should be able to use, a million he is able to use, but how can he? it’s her. the most he can do is push, push, push away and once he’s cut, he’s completely frozen and even closer to the water. he looks down and widens his eyes when the end game here is realized -- her finishing what she started when he was so young -- and the second he looks away from her, he’s stabbed. 

the knife leaves. it happens again. and then again. and once more, but the fourth is the last; after that, her arms wrap around him and she plunges downward full force, taking him with her.

FLYNN EDWARDS, poolside. 9.21 PM.  

flynn rounds the corner just in time to see the lights come on from inside and he groans outwardly, exasperated that he’s spent this entire time walking around only for there to be nothing to complain about anymore and he’s about to phase into anger, but something peculiar catches his eye out the peripheral. with the lights around the pool shining down on the water he can see... bubbles? really big ones, even from a distance. he doesn’t know what it is about this observation that strikes him as urgent but he teleports via flame to inspect at the pools edge, and what he sees when he looks down is his team mate, dean, drowning -- bleeding, too. 

caesar is long gone, but flynn’s immediate reaction isn’t to fight anyways; before he’s even thinking of options, his body is in the water and he’s plunging down towards the smaller male to get him. he wraps his arms around him all of the way and he springs upward, getting him as quickly over the edge of the pool as physically possible. reviving him is a sequence of adrenaline that if asked later, flynn wouldn’t remember; it isn’t until he’s coughing out the water that things slow down and by that point, all he can see is the blood. it’s all over him, it’s all over dean, it’s on the concrete and all he can do is try to stop the bleeding -- that he uses his shirt for, propping the other up in his arms and holding it to the wounds from behind as a head of blond, wet hair lay against his collar bone. dean shakes in his arms with a ferocity and he sputters out words but they don’t form correctly, his gaze set on nothing ahead of him, the effect of caesar’s attack yet to fade -- and it wouldn’t for a few hours. 

flynn removes his glove from his hand and tosses it aside, paying no mind to the fact that the marks are exposed as he brushes dean’s hair out of his face and holds the shirt keeping his wound closed as tightly as he can. beyond this, he isn’t medically trained and he doesn’t think moving him further is the right thing to do but he quickly remembers the camera, as well as the sound surveillance and he hopes to god that finn is nearby the control room. 

“ hey! we need help out here! ” 

TEAM. panic room, 10:00pm. 

the perimeter search comes up blank and almost forty minutes after the incident, the entire team ( minus finn, who has set to improve an already perfect security system, struck with grief and guilt ) of everett is gathered in the safest room of the building, absolutely silent in mutual shock and general anxiety. although the attack wasn’t fatal and dean lay in recovery to the far right of the room with both mae and flynn at his side, the wounds were severe and the fact was this: they almost lost a member of their team tonight and they were defenseless, distracted, and vulnerable. 

the worst part is that it’s far from over -- in fact, no one’s saying it but this incident sounds like it may be the first of many to come.

[dogshemp]

Here We Go Again

Then On the 12th hour of the first day of October 1989, 43 women around the world gave birth. This was unusual only in the fact that none of these women had been pregnant when the day first began. I was one of those children. A mystery to everyone and feared by most. Some thought we were abominations, children of the Devil himself. Others thought we where the next Jesus Christ and should be worshiped. No one was prepared for what would come next. There was a man, his name was Sir Reginald Hargreeves. He was an eccentric billionaire and adventurer, he resolved to locate and adopt as many of the children as possible. He got 8 of them. The world would only ever hear about 6 of them. This is our story. Today The day had started out like any other for the 6 Hargreeves children. They went on with daily lives not knowing that their lives were about to change forever. For better or worse was still to be determined. Number 1 “Luther” Luther woke up at 23:28 hundred hours and rolled out of bed. Quickly pressing the off button on his alarm clock before the high pitched noise gave him a headache. He moved his large body around the small space, his shoulders getting stuck momentarily in the small hallway that leads into his kitchen. He quickly watered his little plant that sat on his counter as he did every morning. He never really liked gardening, but it was a small piece of home. Something to remind him of where he was from. So he did his best to try and keep it alive. He pulled on his work suit and stepped out of his apartment for the first time that day. His first task of the day at Moon Station 01. He bounced his way over to the container with his white bag. He tried to place it inside the container, but there was nowhere for it to fit. Bags where overflowing from the container. It really needed to be shipped out soon. He did not want a pile of trash building up on the moon. Once he shoved as much in as he could he made his way over to the point where he could see the earth clearly. He planned on watching the sun rise behind the earth as he did every morning. Only this morning he was distracted halfway threw bye his wrist band beeping alerting him to a message. “Incoming transmission.” It told him. He flipped it open to receive the message wondering who it could be. Father never messaged him this early. Any hopes of a typical day had vanished the second he read that message. Number 2 “Diego” Diego, on the other hand, was not having such a peaceful day. To most, his day was crazy, far surpassing anything they could handle but to Diego, it was just another day or night of kicking ass. He was out listening to the cop radio like he always does when he overheard a call about a home invasion. It was a family of four. Man, wife, sun, and grandmother, all tied up with there mouths taped shut as the robbers held them at gunpoint and smashed up there place looking for anything valuable. He watched through the window trying to find the perfect time to get in there. When everyone was out of view, he opened the window and quietly crawled in. When one of the robbers walked back in the room, he stepped forward grabbing him by the neck and pulling him out of view of the others. He quickly snapped his neck and tossed him aside as he walked into the main room. His black suit and mask with all his knives made him very intimidating. The man closest to him tried to shoot him, but Diego easily punched the gun out of his hands. Before flipping him through the air and glass living room table. Another decided to throw something at him, but Diego was fast and quickly ducked out of the way. It hit the wall behind him and shattered. He pulled out one of his knives as he still kneeled on the ground and tossed it at the man. It went right into the man's arm pinning it to the wall. Another tried to attack him, but he grabbed onto his arm and twisted it until it broke as he did that he kicked the other man who wanted to attack him from behind. Then threw the man whose arm he smashed into the wall full of pictures of the family. He quickly took out the rest of the men and walked around to pick up his knives. “Your family is safe now.” He told the family as he turned to leave the apartment. Before he could make it out of the room, the newscaster on TV caught his attention. He walked around the corner where he could see the tv. “We’re going now live to a breaking story.” The man on the tv said. Number 3 “Allison” Allison was walking the red carpet in an elegant red gown. Not a normal everyday life but for her, it was just another Friday night. She stopped in front of the photographers as they all yelled at her for attention as they tried to get the best picture of her. Or the worst, whatever could bring in money for them and their gossip magazines. “Allison! Have you heard the news?” One reporter yelled at her as he continued to snap pictures of her. She was confused by his statement but kept smiling knowing it could be a number of things. “When was the last time you saw your father?” He asked, and this time she was thrown. No one asked her about him not anymore. Not after a few years ago when she made it clear she would not talk about her family, ever. “Have you heard from your brothers?” Another asked. “Will you wear Valentino to the funeral?” Then her assistant walked over and pulled her away. As they walked away, her assistant whispered in her ear telling her something she didn’t know how to feel about. Number 4 “Klaus” Klaus rolled off the top bunk in a surprisingly chipper mood for someone who was about to head back out into the real world, with real temptations. One thing he was never good at was controlling himself around those temptations. “Hey, you, stay strong.” He said to one of the men he pointed at as he walked by. “I believe in you. Okay?” “You, not so much.” He pointed at another. “Bye, Klaus.” A big sad man behind a counter said to him as he started to walk by. He handed him the small bag of his belongings. “We’ll see you soon, Klaus.” He said as he tossed him a 30-day sobriety chip. He caught the chip and hurried out of the center. Once he was outside, he rushed straight to an empty ally where he knew his dealer would be. He quickly made his way over making sure to look over his shoulder to see if he was being followed. He paid for his drugs kissing them and skipping off into the darkness. He doesn’t remember much more from that night just waking up in the ambulance hours later. He was happy to be alive even high fiving the EMT that was until he saw the news that was on the little tv screen that sat in the back with them. “Moments ago, police reported the death of the most eccentric and reclusive billionaire.” The reporter said waking him up fully as he listened to the rest. Number 7 “Vanya” Vanya was at the concert hall practicing her violin. The Phantom of the Opera played through the hall. Its perfect melody filling up the empty space. The violin had always been her safe place. The sound was peaceful to her. Always able to comfort her when she needed it the most. Her and her violin against the world. Once she had perfected her routine, she backed up and started her long walk home. Only stopping once when he was her fathers face on TV in one of the shop windows. “Breaking news Sir Reginald Hargreeves is dead.” The headline read. “Dad…” She said as she tried to let it all sink in. As she stared at the tv as if mother nature was telling her fuck you the sky opened up, and it started to down poor. You are leaving her cold, wet and all alone out in the rain. Jasmine “Number 8ish.” Jasmine was doing what she does every Friday night, getting wasted in the one diver bar her small Arizona town had. She sat at the bar on a wobbly stool that she was sure she was going to fall off of. She was on her fourth glass of bourbon when a large man with a beard sat next to her. She could feel his eyes on her, but she focused on nothing but her drink. She knew without even looking at him that he was not a local. The locals did not know much about her; she never stayed in one place long enough to make friends. But everyone knew there was something off about her and stayed away. This person apparently had no idea who she was — only seeing a hot, prettiest girl sitting alone at the bar drinking her sorrows away. “Can I buy your next drink?” The man asked her. “No.” She answered as she finished her drink and motioned for the bartender to fill her up. He quickly did as she asked, he was a smart man. He knew all 5’6” of her was the most intimidating person he had ever met. “Hey let me pay for that for you?” The man said again as she reached for her new drink. “I said no!” She snapped at him causing the lamps in the bar to start flickering slowly. No one paid much attention to them, it was a shitty bar with shitty electrical. She looked over to the man for the first time to see that he was actually attractive, but she was genuinely not interested. “You don’t have to be such a bitch. I’m just trying to be nice.” He said as he stood up towering over her. He was trying to intimidate her. “No your trying to get me drunk so you can get in my pants.” She told him as she stood up to face him. He towered over her by a foot, but she was not intimidated. She did wish she would stop swaying though. “I don’t think you need help with that. You're getting yourself drunk all on your own.” He said to her. She could physically feel her blood starting to boil. She was convinced this man had a death wish. All the lights in the bar suddenly light up really bright as if they were about to explode. Which they where in Jasmine couldn’t regain control. She took one deep breath before looking back at the man. “Look I don’t want any trouble. I’m going to go sit over there.” She told the man as she pointed to the table farthest away from him. “And you'll just stay over here.” She did not wait for an answer before turning to walk away from the conversation she was having. She only was able to take one step before the man brought his massive hand down on her ass. Everyone in the bar looked there way, waiting to see what would happen. This jerk was laughing as if he did something to be proud of. Everyone else sat in silence. Suddenly every light, electrical socket, and anything plugged into them blew up. Peace's of metal and glass flew all over the room. Everyone ducked for cover except for Jasmine. The peaces of glass seemed to avoid her as if they had a mind of there own. She turned around to face the man who had touched her. Her eyes were now glowing yellow and her skin around her eyes started cracking and burning threw was a light so bright it hurt to look at. The man had so shield his eyes from the pain. She looked down at him, and it was almost too easy. He was on the floor looking anywhere but her. As if he did he would die from her stare alone. She walked over to him and grabbed him by the color of his shirt. “Say you're sorry.” She told him. He didn’t say anything he was too scared. “Say you're sorry!” She yelled, this time holding her other hand close to his head as a ball of fire formed there burning the skin on his cheek. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry!” He yelled out. Satisfied with his apology, she tossed him aside before looking around the bar at all the scared faces. She walked over to the bar and placed down a roll of hundreds. “For the damages.” She said to him as he cowered away from her. “I’m taking this.” She told him as she reached over the bar and took a bottle of jack. She took one more look around the room before heading for the door. “Looks like I’m gonna have to move again.” She said to her self once she was outside in the cold night air. She opened the bottle and took one long gulp before climbing into her truck. The second she turned on her car the radio that she had left on filled her car with voices. If she wasn’t so drunk, she would have taken in what they were saying right away. It wasn’t until she was stopped at a stop sign five miles from the bat that she truly heard what they were saying. Her father was dead. “I guess its time to head home.” She told herself as she took one more swig and turned her truck around. Leaving all her stuff behind, she hated it all anyway.