#mentally bracing for fix it fics honestly

[shalomniscient]

i feel like arlecchino is the type of parent to attend all of her child's performances if they do ballet or participate in a drama club or something.

arle's constantly busy with lots of dangerous and concerning things about which her children don't really need to know, and yet she makes it just in time every time. she definitely takes a seat in the front row, so she can observe her little star without any obstructions. moreover, this way her baby will see her and understand that daddy's here to support them. this will definitely cast an extreme confidence boost! she's also the type to applause louder than everyone else. she isn't too emotional during or after the performance but she makes sure that her child is acknowledged they did their best and she is proud of them. she doesn't pay attention to other children at all, her eyes are on her baby all the time and once their gazes meet, she gives her little darling the warmest and the most reassuring smile ever. a thought about you also crosses her mind for a second, after all you were the one to rehearse all these things with your baby and arle makes sure to properly show her gratitude to you after the performance when babies are already fed, washed and tucked into their beds by you two...

arle doesn't really rehearse with her artistic children at home due to being in charge of too many things, usually you are the one who's responsible for helping them to memorize their lines ans stuff. arlecchino definitely feels a bit guilty because of it, the amount of effort you two put isn't even in her opinion. so, she takes care of providing her children with best costumes ever created by the best tailors. if you think about it, it might look funny... a big strong influential arlecchino ordering small and shiny princess dresses or puss in boots costumea with tiny artificial swords attached to them. well, that's just adorable.

– milk nonnie

i like to think that arle, as a harbinger, has a personal tailor, likely an ex-hearth member. they are functionally in charge of clothing the entire sevchino family; everything is custom made, nothing bought at boutiques (sorry chiori 😔😔😔 arle just likes to spoil her family). which has its own merits, that being all of our clothing fits really well and lasts a long ass time. honestly, even irl, if i had the money i would be commissioning nearly every piece of clothing i can get. there's just something so special about tailor-made stuff.

anyway milk my beloved this was so <3333 to read, im weak 😭😭😭 arle being sweet and soggy for the kiddos HSKJDSGKHGKDH i need her saur bad........ the next genshin update will either make me or destroy me, fr 😭😭😭

[darthkruge]

Anakin Skywalker x Reader ~ Help

Summary: The five times the Senator!Reader needs Anakin’s help but refuses to ask for it and the one time they do

Warnings: Language, reader is afraid of vulnerability, reader is going through it, angst, violence, fluff (it ends on a positive note, I promise)

Words: 4k

A/N: This idea has kinda been bouncing around my head for a hot minute and I finally decided to just go ahead and write it. And somehow it became the longest fic I’ve ever written! Is this self-indulgent? Who’s to say?!

(not my gif)

I.

Okay, so a right, then a left, then another left, then-

You groaned. You’d been going over the cryptic instructions Padme gave you back at the temple but they were, unfortunately, not helping. It was your first time alone in Coruscant and you were completely lost in the painfully literal sense. You had just been given your first actual mission with the Council as a senator, something you’d worked your entire career for. As an added bonus, you were on the same planet as your boyfriend, Anakin Skywalker. 

You’d gotten close over the last year and were elated when he asked you on a date the last time you were in the same place. This was the first time you were together in the two weeks it had been since then. 

Anyway, you were currently wandering around the bustling Coruscant streets, looking for the market. Well, you were looking for the market. Now, you realized you would probably never find it and were just trying to make your way back. 

You debated calling Anakin. You could. He would be able to guide you home easily, you rationalized. But it’s Coruscant! How difficult could it be? If people came here for missions all the time and didn’t get hopelessly lost, so could you! And Anakin was probably busy anyway, you didn’t want to disturb him. Besides, the relationship was so new! You didn’t want to annoy him. After weighing the odds, you pushed down the urge to reach out and decided to just find your own way.

This logic was ridiculous, you realized far too late. Fuck. There was no way around it, you were going to be late. Or at the very least, cut it exceptionally close. You started running, heart racing. It would be so stupid to be late to your first actual Council meeting because you got lost. You wanted them to take you seriously and think of you as a professional. Tardiness as a first impression went against all of that!

After sprinting and taking several aimless turns, by some stroke of magic you found your way to the Temple. You checked the time and realized you had two minutes to make it to up several flights of stairs.

Fuck it. You decided, taking off in a run. You took the stairs two at a time, stumbling occasionally before unceremoniously bursting through the doors to the meeting.

You gulped in air quickly, chest heaving while you desperately tried to calm your heart. You inelegantly brushed a hand through your hair and gave an awkward smile. 

“Hi, uh, everyone! Hi! I’m,” You took a quick break to breathe in some more oxygen as your gaze shifted to Anakin. He looked amused and concerned as he took you in. He gave you a discreet and supportive smile and head nod. You gave your own in return. He believes in me. “I’m Senator Y/N L/N” 

II.

Honestly, you didn’t know how your speeder had broken. You’d been flying them for years and, despite being a senator, you were pretty damn good at it. It was something that gave you solace as a kid, those little moments of freedom. Even then, though, you were a decently cautious person and didn’t break many of them.

Thus, you ended up in your current predicament. Staring at the fried wires under the hood of your speeder, trying to figure out what the fuck went wrong. You knew Anakin was freakishly talented at fixing basically everything. He could probably look at the speeder for 10 minutes, know what’s wrong with it, and get it back to you in perfect shape.

You think this is why you don’t want to tell him. What if he thought you were stupid? Shouldn’t you be able to figure this out yourself? You fought with your instincts, feeling the conflict build inside you.

You knew he wouldn’t judge you. You knew he’d be glad you came to him for help. Even so, you felt physically incapable of moving to call or find him. 

Frustrated, you turned back to your work. You decided to pull this one gear, thinking it might do something. Well, you were right about that. A stream of oil sprayed out of the speeder, coating you in its thick, black paint. You stood there frozen for a second, trying to mentally comprehend that you had just been sprayed with oil because you were too afraid to talk to the man you were in a literal relationship with!!

You groaned, wiping your hands on your pants before grabbing a towel to wipe some of the grease off your face. You walked back into your apartment quickly, praying to the Maker that no one would see you like this. Honestly, they’d probably smell you first and run the other way.

You finally got back without problems and made a bee-line straight to the bathroom. Pulling off your clothes and turning on the hot shower, you sighed as you finally felt the oil washed off your skin. You spent about twenty minutes in there, scrubbing furiously to ensure you didn’t smell like a fucking garage. 

Finally, you went out and saw Anakin sitting on your bed, messing with a piece of wiring. 

“Hey, Y/N! Did you know your speeder was broken? It looks like you blew a cable, easy fix, don’t worry. I’ll have it ready for you by tonight.”

He looked up and saw your exhausted state and the clump of dirty, grease ridden clothes you were holding. 

His brow furrowed, trying to piece it together. “Maker, what happened to you?”

“I had a fight with the speeder. And lost”

Anakin bit back a laugh before his confusion compounded. “Wait, you know I can fix this, right? Why didn’t you tell me?” 

“I didn’t want you to think I was an idiot. I mean, I did something and broke an entire speeder and somehow didn’t even know what I broke! It’s humiliating!”

“Cables are hard, it’s not your fault you didn’t know what to do, love.”

“Really?” You asked, unconvinced. 

“Really. Come on, let’s go throw those clothes in the wash and I’ll get back to fixing this.”

“Oh, no, Ani you don’t have to-”

Anakin cut you off with a kiss, distracting you enough to quickly take the clothes from your hands.

“I’ll have it ready within the hour, my love.”

III.

Who the fuck decided to put the plates that high up?!

You jumped again and again, arm outstretched as far as possible. Once again, you didn’t even get close. Sighing, you looked around the apartment and noticed a ladder. It looked a bit unsteady but you would be fine, right? You were a whole ass senator, you were sure you could handle an old ladder. 

Pulling it over to you, you climbed up and reached out. Much closer this time, but you still couldn’t reach them. You went on your tiptoes, eyebrows furrowed and lip bit in concentration. You angled your body just a little further, a little further-

The ladder was suddenly ripped out from under you and you desperately shot your arms out, hands clawing to try and stop your imminent fall onto the hard kitchen tiles. Bracing yourself for the inevitable pain, you squeezed your eyes closed. 

“Y/N!!” You heard as your fall suddenly stopped. You opened your eyes and noticed you were barely floating above the floor. Anakin ran toward you and noticed the ladder strewn on the floor beside you. 

“What the hell were you doing?” He said, offering you his hand and pulling you up.

“I was just-” You gesture lamely to the plates, realizing how ridiculous you must look.

“Y/N, no one can reach those! Next time, just call me, I’ll get them for you!”

“But-” You sigh, hating this. “I wanted to be able to do this, I don’t want to rely on you and your Jedi powers all the time”

Anakin’s gaze softened. He knew you had trouble relying on others. Even so, he couldn’t even start to think of what would have happened if he’d arrived home even 10 seconds later.

“I know, baby, I know. But, please, try. You’d have to rely on me a lot more if you break your legs falling off a ladder.” 

“I know” You reply softly, giving him a shy smile. “I’m working on it, I promise”

IV.

You’d been up all night working on a new presentation for the Council. You’d spent hours going over it, the facts, the plans, the details. Everything was set. Well, everything except one little piece. To make your point stronger, you needed the statistics from the latest Jedi missions. 

The only people with access to those were Anakin and Obi-Wan. You knew, logically, that if you asked Anakin he’d give them to you without hesitation. He supported you always and knew that you only used your power as a senator to improve lives. 

Even so, there was that part of your brain that told you he wouldn’t give them to you. He would think you’re just trying to use him for his connections as a Jedi. Or perhaps he simply wouldn’t care enough to search through the reports to find the information.

All of this was, of course, completely inaccurate. But you’d never had someone who actually wanted to help you. It's always been “okay I’ll do this for you but only if you do this for me, too.” No one ever looked out for you and you’d grown accustomed to it. It’d become almost comforting, in a way. At least you knew what to expect. 

This was how you ended up seeing your beautiful boyfriend across the halls of the Jedi temple and walking another way. Your heart tugged painfully and your brain screamed at you. Why don’t you allow yourself to trust him? Why would you assume the worst? Why can’t you fight these thoughts? 

You took one more look back at him. You didn’t want to be closed off by any stretch of the imagination. You wished you could turn off the thoughts and the doubt. You knew Ani didn’t deserve it. You sighed. There he was, training by himself in the courtyard. You looked away and took a moment to compose yourself before your legs carried you away and toward your good friend.

“Hey, Obi-Wan, could you help me with something for the next Council meeting?”

V.

You were running. You were running and as fast as you moved, you never got closer to him. You were never safe. A masked figure was chasing you and you just couldn’t get away. Your legs burned with the effort, your lungs straining to grasp oxygen. You were exhausted to your core, your sheer panic the only thing keeping you awake. 

You looked back and saw the man gaining on you. Tears started streaming down your cheeks. You knew what he was capable of and had no doubt he would kill you if he caught you. You didn’t want to die, not like this. You didn’t want him to beat you. You were so, so scared. You screamed as he caught up to you, your body no longer moving. You pleaded with your legs to work, reasoned with the heavens, did anything you could, and yet you wouldn’t budge. 

The stranger’s claw of a hand twisted around your neck, squeezing. You fought. It was pointless. You began to black out, feeling the life slip out of your body. Dark spots appeared in the corners of your vision and you tried once again to kick your way out of his grasp-

You bolted awake, eyes shooting open. Your chest was heaving and tear stains marked your cheeks. You placed your hands on the bed sheets, bunching them up and trying to feel the texture to remind yourself that you were safe. You tried to breathe, tried to calm yourself but nothing was working. 

You got up, pacing quietly. Out of all the nights to have a nightmare, it had to be today. The one night you and Anakin weren’t together. Since you had to hide the relationship, you couldn’t technically share an apartment. This didn’t stop you from spending basically every night together, though. His chambers became yours after the first month or so of dating, neither of you wanting to spend time apart. 

But, unfortunately, the Council seemed more cautious as of late and you didn’t want to risk it. Thus, you decided to spend tonight apart. Still, you couldn’t bring yourself to care right now.  You grabbed one of his Jedi robes, pulling the black fabric around your body. You were immediately calmed by his scent and wrapped it closer around you. You started to make your way down the hall. You knew it was risky but after that nightmare, you just needed him. 

You made it to his apartment, went to knock on the door, and abruptly stopped. What are you doing? You can’t just go to him! He’s exhausted, he’s been working all week! He finally got home from a mission and you want to wake him up in the middle of the night because you had a nightmare? It wasn’t even real! Maker, get a hold of yourself, Y/N! 

Your hand hovered over the door. You wanted him, you did. But those lingering thoughts, those lingering emotions remained. A childhood of neglect, of constant feelings of unimportance left scars you couldn’t avoid. You hated that your parent’s inability to show you affection or care manifested in your inability to be vulnerable. Despite this, you somehow understood. You’d spent years letting them in and only getting invalidated in return. Like all patterns, this one wouldn’t go away just because you wanted it to. 

Now, every time you tried to let Anakin in, it’s like an alarm was tripped in your brain. Every part of you that wanted to allow him to know you was combated with the overwhelming fear that, if you did, if you went to him for comfort or help, he would think of you as a burden. He’d leave, just like the rest of them did. So you pushed the urge for comfort aside, dropped your hand, and made the lonely walk back to your room. 

You got back to your room, mentally beating yourself up. You wished your brain worked differently. You wished you would allow yourself to be loved. You wished you could trust, fully and completely. You sighed. Knowing you wouldn’t be getting any sleep, you made yourself a cup of tea and sat on your cough, the room solely illuminated by the moonlight. You kept Anakin’s robes around you, wishing it was his arms. You sat like that until morning, sipping the drink on and off until it grew cold. You were zoned out, staring out the window at the Coruscant traffic. Your thoughts either drifted to him or your past trauma. Maker, you wished you could change it. 

I.

Fuck. You’d been driving around on your speeder, zipping in and out of alleys, for the last twenty minutes. There was a bounty hunter after you. A damn good bounty hunter, at that. Being a high profile senator, it made sense you’d run into the occasional person trying to kidnap you. Or kill you. 

Damn, this bitch is good. You kept trying to lose them but you couldn’t shake them. You didn’t even  know who they were but it didn’t matter, you supposed. At the end of the day, regardless of who was in that speeder, they wanted you dead. And if you didn’t figure out how to get out of this mess, you would be. 

They’d been shooting at you for a while now but you’d been able to avoid the blasts. Whether it was skill, luck, or a combination of both, you weren’t sure. Even so, you didn’t know what to do. You couldn’t shoot back at them, as you stupidly forgot your blaster. Who could blame you, though? All you wanted to do was go for a ride to clear your head, you didn’t expect to be fucking shot at!

You continued like this for a while. All you had to do was get back to the Temple. You were probably about 10 minutes away if you continued at this pace, 7 if you really pushed it. You looked ahead and saw the walls of it come into view and suddenly safety didn’t feel so far away. Despite the circumstances, a smile graced your face. You could do this. 

Or maybe not. As you tried to swerve between more buildings, they hit you. You felt your speeder plummet 10 feet instantly and screamed. Your engine sputtered and your heart dropped. Mind racing, you tried to drive but came to the chilling realization that there was no way you’d make it back. Your engine was done for, it wouldn’t make it 3 minutes, yet alone all the way back. 

Your mind went to him. Anakin. Fuck, you loved him. You let out a humorless laugh. Since you started dating, you almost never asked him for help. You couldn’t let him in. Something in your brain stopped you every single time. And yet, now, all of that felt stupid. It felt juvenile. When you looked at your speeder, slowly but surely stalling and the bounty hunter approaching, you felt this overwhelming sense of clarity.

You were going to die. This person, they would get to your speeder and shoot you. You didn’t have a single weapon. It was inevitable. Your mind, however, wouldn’t relent. It was stuck on him. In this moment, you pressed the comm button in your speeder, hoping beyond hope that it would still work. 

“Y/N?” Anakin’s staticky voice cut through the speeder and went straight to your heart. 

“Hey, Ani” You said, your voice broken up with unshed tears.

“Y/N? Where are you? What’s happening?”

“I’m- Anakin, I’m in trouble. A bounty hunter is after me, my speeder is hit and going to stop working probably within the next 20 seconds. I don’t have any weapons to defend myself. I, I, uh, I need your help”

“I’m coming to get you, stay where you are.” His voice was firm, his need to protect you overruling everything else in his body. 

“I’m just a few-”

“I’ve got you, love. I can sense you in the Force. I know where you are”

Of course he could. You took a few deep breaths and you speeder sputtered out, stopping in a deserted alleyway. You looked around and saw the bounty hunter, now obviously male, stepping out and making his way towards you. 

“He’s here, Anakin” Your voice was tight, anxious. You were quiet, paralyzed by fear. 

“Please, Y/N, fuck! Hold on, I’m almost there”

“Ani, Anakin I’m scared! Ani! Ani!” You were hysterical now, screaming and sobbing his name as the man punched the top of your speeder, fracturing the glass. He pulled you out of it by the hair and threw you harshly onto the concrete. 

You yelped in pain as he kicked you directly in the ribs. He backhanded you across the face, the power from his hit making blood pool in your mouth. Harshly you spit it onto the ground, looking up at him with pure hate. 

He placed the blaster to your head, right on your forehead. You let your eyes flutter closed. Your knees were scraped, legs bruised. You were sure at least one of your ribs was broken. You could feel blood running from your temple. Your arm was radiating pain from landing on it. Despite all this, the only thing you thought of was Anakin. Funny, you thought, how the brain chooses what to focus on in its last moments. All you hoped was that he didn’t feel responsible for your death. All you hoped was that he knew you loved him. 

“You’re finished, Senator”

“I don’t think so” Anakin’s smooth voice, tight with anger, cut through the air. His lightsaber unsheathed, he swung it directly into the man. You gasped, everything happening so quickly. As soon as the blaster was gone from your forehead, you scrambled back. 

Anakin walked up to you but, from the shock, you pulled back even further. 

“Hey, hey, it’s me, it’s Anakin, okay? I’m not gonna hurt you”

You whimpered, looking at him and placing a hand on his jacket before harshly jumping into his arms. He gripped you to him, both of you sighing in relief. 

“You came for me” 

He looked at you like you were insane. “Of course I did! You needed me, you called! I’m always going to be there for you, Y/N. I am always going to show up”

“Thank you” You said, voice muffled against his chest. His hands raked through your hair while you just breathed him in. His scent comforted you, his strong chest and large arms grounding you after a day so intense and horrifying that nothing felt real. 

You were still trembling, the aftershocks quite apparent. 

“I’ve got you, I’ve got you. You’re safe, he’s dead, he’s gone. No one’s ever gonna hurt you again, I promise.” Anakin whispered these affirmations into your hair, holding you until the shaking ceased. 

“Thank you for calling me, Y/N. I know that couldn’t have been easy for you.”

“It wasn’t that hard, to be honest, I- wait? What do you mean, you know it couldn’t have been easy for me?!”

Anakin looked at your sheepishly. “You honestly think I haven’t noticed your problems with asking for help? We’ve been together for almost a year and, contrary to popular belief, I can be quite perceptive. I didn’t want to call you out on it, I assumed you’d be embarrassed. But I’m glad that when it actually came down to life or death, you called me.”

“I’ve always known I could call you, Anakin. Please, I don’t want you to ever think my inability to be vulnerable is rooted to anything you do. You’re, fuck, you’re perfect. You’re kind and compassionate and caring and you’re always looking out for me. Look, I know I haven’t been too open about my past and I still struggle with that. I guess what I’m trying to say is I’ve never had someone who actually wanted to be there for me. This thing where you care and want me to come to you when I’m hurting or simply just want affection or company or help with the little things, it’s foreign to me.”

Ani’s heart broke at your words. “I’m sorry I didn’t know you back then, Y/N. I hate that this” He said, gesturing between you both “is unique to you. But, seriously, anytime you need anything I’m someone you can come to. I honestly want you to come to me. Regardless of if you think it’s something small or this life-altering favor, ask me. I doubt I’d turn you away and, on the off chance I do, I’m not gonna hold that against you.”

“You won’t leave? Even if I show you all of me? Even if I rely on you?”

“I won’t leave you, beautiful. So long as you allow me to show you all of me, too. And you let me rely on you, too.”

Your eyes widened at his words. “Of course! Of course, Ani! I’m here for you, I got you, too, always.”

“I know you do” His flesh hand went up, cupping your cheek. 

“I know you do, too.” You sighed into his touch. You were exhausted beyond belief, your body and mind pretty much shutting down from the stress of it all. Even so, you relaxed further into his body. Yeah, this was new. Yes, it was scary. But you were going to try. Even though it terrified you, you wanted to be loved. You wanted to be loved by him.

--

tagging julia bc she asked when i was textpost-complaining about having to edit this <3

@anakinswhore 

[writteninsunshine]

He’s Going The Distance - Chris Redfield/Ethan Winters - SFWish

Title: He’s Going The Distance

Author: Reno

Fandom: Resident Evil 7: Biohazard

Setting: Medbay, Post-Dulvey Incident

Pairing: Chris Redfield/Ethan Winters

Characters: Chris Redfield, Ethan Winters, Random Nurse

Genre: Hurt/Comfort/Romance

Rating: M

Chapters: 1/1

Word Count: 1386

Type Of Work: One-Shot, Part of the For All These Times series, Whump Bingo Fill #2

Status: Complete

Warnings: Gay, Slash, Yaoi, MLM, Pre-Slash, Canon-Typical Violence, Dissociating, Blood, Deep Wounds, Trans Male Character, Trans!Ethan Winters, Possible OOC for Chris, Medical Equipment, Medical Treatment, Stitches, Sutures, I.V.s, Pain Meds

Disclaimer: I don’t own anything.

Summary: Was Ethan truly so used to pain that he didn't notice that?

AN: Hey guys, it’s me again! Just thought I ought to say, if you want vague updates and to talk to me more, I have a writing Tumblr, too! Twitter is Sunshinecackle, and Tumblr is Writteninsunshine! I also have a writing Discord that is currently pretty dead. xD If you want it, please contact me on Twitter!

More whump fic bingo! I’m really enjoying these, they’re too much fun to write. Oops, I like to punish Ethan even if he doesn’t deserve it. He’s so whumpable. I hope you guys are enjoying this, I know I sure am. This one is for my editor, Gryph, who is the best editor I could ever ask for. MAJOR shout out to her!

Resident Evil Fic Masterlist

Ethan Whump Bingo Fic Masterlist

He’s Going The Distance

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

There was an old thought resurfacing as Chris looked at Ethan. A man who could live through anything was what S.T.A.R.S. had wanted, Ethan would have been welcomed into the fold. The man was a machine when it came to surviving anything. Despite this, he seemed too oblivious to notice when something was wrong with him. All the healing fluid in the world couldn’t help the man with how much constant pain wracked his body. It was almost impossible to discern one pang of pain from the rest. That hand was a nasty wound, the staples not quite sanitary when they’d been secured into his skin.

But that wasn’t what he’d noticed just now.

“Ethan,” He began, his voice soft and wary as if speaking too loudly might shatter the other man. “You’re bleeding.”

“I am?” His voice sounded exhausted, hoarse, and so soft Chris barely heard him.

Tugging him closer for inspection, he unbuttoned Ethan’s shirt and pulled it away like a pair of curtains. Yanking up the undershirt he wore, Chris paused a moment to stare. Unable to help how his fingers splayed over the other’s stomach, eyes taking in the thick scars beneath his pecs. His thoughts turned away from the injury for a second, he only stopped when he reached the center of Ethan’s chest. He took in the soft peach fuzz there with a quirk of his lips he wasn’t in control of. Finally, his fingers fell over the thick gash leaking over Ethan’s pale skin, and the touch made Ethan recoil some. 

“Don’t,” Chris warned, eyes narrowing a little as he reached around, pulling Ethan close again by his waist, a hand on his middle back, “You’re hurt. I’ll fix you right up.” 

Leaving Ethan for a moment, he returned with a basin of warm water and a few washcloths. Where he’d gotten them from, Ethan didn’t know, and he couldn’t find it in himself to care. 

Dragging one wet cloth over the blood, he cleaned Ethan up despite his hisses and gasps of pain. What was the best option was going to hurt, so Chris started by applying a local anesthetic gel to the area around the wound. He must have found it when he brought the rest of his supplies, Ethan figured. He winced, flinching when Chris’s hands got too close to the weeping injury, but he sucked in a deep breath and bit the thin skin on the inside of his lip. It was all he could do to keep himself from making any more noise.

“I’m going to have to give you stitches.” Honestly, Chris was worried that Ethan was going to start leaking organs. It was deep, and he could almost touch the other’s rib bones. Ethan had really taken a beating, and it was hard to fathom how he hadn’t noticed this. Then again, he was in shock after everything that had happened, after all of the mental and physical trauma he had taken. Maybe it wasn’t such a strange occurrence. 

After all, he was a civilian. He hadn’t been meant to find these kinds of things. If he had stayed away, he would have been blissfully unaware, but there might have been a worse problem on Chris’ hands by the time they arrived at the scene.

“Okay.” Letting out the breath he’d been holding, Ethan nodded just slightly to save him from aggravating his pounding headache, “Just… Do it quickly. I don’t feel good.” Swaying, he felt his knees begin to buckle, and Chris caught him in a tight embrace. This wasn’t going to work with Ethan standing, anyway.

Hefting him up bridal style, Chris carried Ethan like he weighed nothing. Sitting him down on a nearby gurney, he removed his shirts and set them aside. They were stained, torn to hell, and bloody. He’d have to get him a change of clothes. Helping ease him to lay down so that his right side was facing out, he ran a hand over the other’s chest in a hope to help calm him. Maybe it wasn’t entirely innocent, but he was trying to stay focused here.

“This might hurt, but I promise I’ll be quick.” All Chris got in return was a soft murmur he couldn’t hear, let alone understand. If nothing else, Chris was efficient, and Ethan looked like he was going to faint. That might help him do this without Ethan bellyaching the whole time. Stepping away, Chris grabbed a first aid kit, opening it up and setting it beside Ethan on the cot. Digging out a needle, some antiseptic, and surgical thread, he worked the thread through the eye of the needle and set to work.

The laceration was likely already infected, if not by something typical, then by the mold Ethan had been exposed to. With a little sigh, Chris poured some of the liquid over it, making sure to use gauze to get it inside. The forceps he had grabbed entering it made Ethan grunt, but he was too tired to try and fight it. Chris diligently worked on cleaning him up, wiping at more blood before grabbing the sterilized needle. He wiped it down again with a clean antiseptic wipe before starting with the initial stick. Ethan didn’t seem to notice this, due to the numbing gel, and Chris was glad for it.

With the easy glide of the needle and his skillful hands, he made quick work of the stitches, hoping not to bother Ethan too much. Once they were tight, he cut the cord and cleaned up the wound once more, wiping away the gel with a few medical towelettes, before drying the area. To make sure it would stay clean, he rubbed another cloth damp with warm water on the site before running more of the wipes over it. A dry rag then worked over the glistening flesh, and he didn’t stop until he had patted him dry.

“Ethan, I need you to sit up. I have to wrap this.” Chris spoke, breaking the silence in the room they were in. Unfortunately, it seemed that Ethan had fallen asleep, or maybe passed out, so he had no choice but to gently shake him awake. “Ethan, you have to sit up.”

Ethan nodded absently, slowly pushing himself up with the other’s aid. Bracing himself on his shaking arms, he let Chris wrap him up with gauze from his stomach to his shoulders, surprised by his gentle hands. Once Ethan was bandaged up, he was allowed to lay back once more, and Chris didn’t think about his next action. Kissing Ethan’s forehead gently, he petted a hand over the skin and the other’s sweat-damp hair.

“You should be alright, now. I’ll keep an eye on this.” Voice quiet, he smiled slightly, hoping to keep him at ease. It didn’t seem like Ethan was going to panic, though, too worn down to do much but flutter his eyelashes. “Sleep, now. I’ll get you some pain killers when you wake up.” God knew he’d need them. Moving the gurney around so that he could be more comfortable and closer to the setup for the I.V., Chris sighed in relief. Already asleep, or so he hoped.

Settling in a nearby chair, Chris pulled out his phone. He’d be stuck here for a while, for sure. It wasn’t like he had anything better to do, he’d been set to guard Ethan while his tests were being done.

Ethan didn’t wake for what felt like hours, and when he did it was with a groan of pain. Chris was quick to give him water and a shot of morphine that he was instructed to administer through the I.V. that a nurse had given Ethan. At the very least, he was going to be taken care of.

“Thanks.” Ethan managed, his voice cracking halfway through. 

“You need care.” That much was obvious. Chris combed a hand through the other’s blond locks once more. “If that means I have to do it, then so be it.” There was an odd fondness he felt for Ethan in this moment, watching him nod, his eyes glassy and distant. “You’ll be okay.”

With any luck, he’d bounce back from this. He’d been through hell already, what was another ordeal to save him?

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

AN: There we go! It’s not super shippy but I’ll still tag it, just in case. Also, this probably makes more pain for the start of The Village, but that’s okay. I might write something about it when I’ve seen more of the game. I got it preordered for my birthday but it’s at my friend’s house until I can see her again. I’ve been watching it, however, so I’ll get there eventually. I hope you guys enjoyed it!

Prompt: Ethan Doesn’t Realize He’s Injured

[canyouhearthelight]

The Miys, Ch. 149

So, I was super busy on my normal queueing day and wasn’t able to set this up. And by ‘super busy’ I mean ‘doing laundry, weeding flower beds, and taking several naps’, bc I have upwards of 24 niblings and a super-full time job that make me exhausted.

I’m not kidding, I recently told @baelpenrose “I had a birthday party to go to, yes it’s the third Saturday in a row, don’t worry about keeping track because there are SO MANY”. 

What doesn’t make me exhausted? Y’all. The likes, the comments, the reblogs, the ‘hey, this person reads my stuff AND Bael’s stuff’ ( @feral-possums-in-the-bog, @drbibliophile, looking at you in a very loving way). Also the speedrunners... all of you who have ever, at any point, found this fic and decided to read every single chapter as quickly as possible ( and have or haven’t shamed me for needing to update the masterpost or page links), you keep me going like nothing else. I, too, like a good binge read, so I know I’ve done something worth... something... when someone else binges like that.

“So the Ark is semi-organic?” I glanced over and resisted the urge to trail my fingers along the walls of the corridor.

“That would be the closest Terran approximation, yes,” they confirmed. “It is not sentient in any form, but all exposed surfaces, for example, are grown in-place of a material native to our home planet.”

“So cool,” I whispered. “Is there a benefit to that, aside from being more sustainable?”

Noah rubbed two liw alongside their sensory organs, and let out a soft buzz - essentially rubbing their face with a sigh. “It is very rare for any species that achieves sentience to reach a level of technology that allows for faster than light travel without what you refer to as sustainability being included in every aspect of their culture.”

“Oh.” I felt ashamed and focused on my feet for a few steps, paying close attention to the feeling of the deck plating through my soles, any uneven textures that I came across turning into canyons of perception.

“In the case of the material coating the surfaces of the Ark,” Noah continued, clearly picking up on my discomfort, “it serves a largely hygienic function, much as Else currently provides.”

“So, that’s what Xio was referring to when she said that Hujylsogox ships largely decontaminate themselves?”

“Indeed. Where my species absorbs impurities from the air and any surfaces we come in contact with, the lining of the corridors, rooms, and vents can purify the rest within a Galactic week.” That worked out to eleven and two-third days as we currently measured them on the Ark, or fourteen and a half days on Earth. “Biofiltration is a very common way to sanitize spaces that often house multiple species to avoid destructive interactions, although the coating we use is known to be the most efficient organic solution.”

Surrendering, I ran my fingers over the wall.  Even knowing that it was grown, it still felt like sandstone under my touch. “If it is so efficient, why don’t the Ekomari use it on their ships?”

Their fingers on both vomu clacked as they tapped them together. “In absence of another organism to ingest the larger particulates, sypo is what you would consider to be too efficient.”

“Feathers clog it up?”

“Like you would not believe,” they hummed deeply - a groan, clear as day. “It actually ends up starving the sypo.”

Unbidden, my mind’s eye flashed back to the nightmares that Else had shown me early on: large flakes of the walls falling away and littering the corridor floors. “So, that was a very real thing?” There didn’t seem to be any reason to clarify, given how clearly the images had blared in my head.

“Correct. We believe that Else understood the nature of the material and was trying to show you what was happening in a way they thought you would understand.” A heavy liw gently patted my shoulder. “They meant well, even if they did not realize that it would backfire.”

I was about to ask what the Ekomari use in place of sypo as a biofilter, but my databand signaled me. Judging by the fact that it chimed, flashed, and vibrated against the bones in my wrist, this was incredibly urgent. “I’m sorry, Noah, one mom - ah, fuck…” Pinching the bridge of my nose, I mentally braced myself for what I knew would be coming in the next several days.

“Wisdom, you are distressed.”

“Departmental notification from Pranav and Zach that they will be doing system security testing over the next week. Which means Derek will be doing his best to hack into our systems and take them out, while Pranav and Zach take notes of vulnerabilities and then fix them afterward.”

The face-rubbing sigh was back. “They are not including basic ship functions in this testing, correct?”

I shook my head, relieved that I could at least provide that assurance. “Negative. Only the systems that humans will be replicating on our own once we are on Von.”

“This is still terribly inconvenient. These tests increase tension across the Ark to quite difficult levels to be around.”

“I know, and I’m sorry. It’s mostly from what happened Before, at least for the older members of the crew.  I mean, we got a Global Parliament out of it, but… there were a scary few years before we got there. And then the End happened, and the hack felt like some kind of warning looking back.”

Noah buzzed thoughtfully. “You are speaking of the gap in data we found when we were trying to download your planetary database.”

A part of me wanted to laugh at the fact that Miys continued to refer to the internet as a ‘planetary database’, but the topic was so upsetting that any kind of joy felt obscene right then. “It was… another terrorist attack, honestly.  They weren’t unusual, as terrifying as that is - I mean, you admitted yourself that not all of us were worth saving.  There was a petrochemical hack maybe five years before this one, and the attacks had been ramping up slowly even before that.  But this one.”  I shook my head trying to clear the thoughts from my head. “What we were told is that this group knew we would never take action against climate change, something about how the rich corporate would never take it seriously until they had to actually live in the nature they were destroying.”

“You are doubtful of this.” Noah’s statement was far from being a question.

Couldn’t blame him, since I didn’t believe half of what we had been told, or maybe that it was only half the story. “I wasn’t old enough to remember, but it is a recorded fact that there were actual people on Earth who had more wealth than any single country on the planet, and one was particularly known for building his fortune on the backs of employees who were worked to death or nearly to death.  It’s hard to believe that had nothing to do with it, you know.”

“If being reminded of this event causes such distress among your people, why run so many tests?”

“The hack killed people, Noah. It destroyed entire small countries, caused a lot of violence and wars. The ultra-rich may have been the targets, but the casualties were mostly people who never knew what was happening.  We want to make sure it can’t happen again.  That’s why we warn everyone what’s going on, so they know it’s not the same thing, but still do the testing.”

More clattering of vomu signaled Noah thinking again. “Your global economy depended strongly on the concept of wealth and the concept of money.  But with the current economic model you exercise, such a data security breach would not impact it.”

I shrugged. “We still worry. Not to mention the fact that, at some point, someone may try. We can try all we want to avoid the catalyst of the original events, but some of our better qualities can be just as terrible with just a twist.  Curiosity, confidence, and justice and easily turn into pride, vindictiveness, and prying. Which can lead to blackmail. And that’s just one example. Still sure we’re worth it?”

Another thoughtful buzz with some mild clicking. “I have seen your people endeavor to save a species that could have destroyed you.  I have seen you, specifically, mourn someone who deliberately attempted to end not only your life but the lives of the entire Ark.  There is much evidence to give us faith in your compassion.”

All I could do was shake my head. “I’ll try to have faith in your faith,” I murmured with a weak smile.

<< Prev  Masterlist  Next >>

[wayward-mikaelson]

Winter's Doll-Chapter Eleven

Word Count: 2988

About: Bucky find out about Nadia and Thor leading to bickering during a mission

Characters: Nadia, Bucky, Steve, Natasha, Wanda, Sam, Tony (mentioned), and Thor (Mentioned)

Pairing: None

Warnings/Trigger Warnings: Training, Mentions of one night stand, Bickering, Injury, Blood,

A/N: Getting closer to the end of Series One of this fic!!!! Yes there were be a sequel but I still need to plan it out before I can write it down.

This piece of work contains work made for the 18 and up crowd. Please read at your own discretion. Please do not copy and paste my work anywhere, you can reblog and share the links of my post. This work is cross posted onto WattPad and AO3 under the same title. Links to all my other social media can be found in the pinned post on my profile. Feedback is welcomed!

Forever Tags: @hobby27 @donnaintx @myinconnelly1 @elansaidaris @magssteenkamp @440mxs-wife

Marvel Tags: @soccer-100000

Winter's Doll Tags: @supernatural-love14 @loudlylovingalpaca @kingkhibas

Bucky/Sebastian Tags: These tags are open

Masterlist

Marvel Masterlist

Winter's Doll Masterlist

Chapter Ten

Favorite Fic Masterlist

By the time Nadia is healed from Bucky’s night terror attack, the team was preparing for a mission. A mission that didn't involve Nikola Alekiev, which for Nadia was a breath of fresh air. For the last few weeks, Nadia had been consumed with every little detail of her brother's last few years of life. She rewatched his vlogs, directing what she could. Seeing if there was something she had missed. Seeing if there could have been some sort of secret message hidden that only she could find.

But there had been nothing.

Nadia sat in the training room, her hands were wrapped and prepped for the punching bag before her. Bucky stood beside the bag watching Nadia. This was to see if she was fit to go on this mission. Both physically and mentally. Per Steve's orders and Bucky was there to help Nadia out.

"You're lost in thought," Bucky took a step towards her. "Wanna know how i can tell?" Bucky knelt down and fixed one of Nadia's wrapped up hands.

"Oh," Nadia simply said. She had even realized she drifted off and messed up her wrapping. She had been doing that a lot. Probably why Steve wanted to see if she was fit. "I'm sorry."

Bucky chuckled. "Don't be," he looked up at her and smiled. "You have a lot on your mind. There," Bucky stood up and looked behind him. "You sure you're up for this mission?"

Nadia huffed and glared at Bucky. "You too? Really? I thought you were on my side and helping me."

"Nadie," Bucky slowly said. "I am, but from an outsiders point of view, it looks like you aren't capable of handling a simple mission."

Nadia took a deep breath and stood up. Bucky was right, she really wasn't in the right mindset for any of this. But she also needed something to distract her from anything Nikola related. Nadia also knew she needed to put it aside for the time being.

"You're right," Nadia moved in front of the punching bag. "But, I need a distraction. Clear my mind of anything related to Niks last moments. Even my parents." Nadia took a firm swing at the bag.

Over the last couple weeks, Nadia's parents were non stop calling. They'd call any chance they'd get, at any given time of day. It was getting pretty annoying and Nadia had told her parents that when they call, they disrupt work but did they listen? Nope. They took advantage of the situation they were in. Which was a crappy situation.

“Mama,” Nadia told her mother that very morning. “You and Papa need to stop calling. I’m being serious. You’re disrupting work and training.”

Nadia’s mother huffed over the receiver. “Well, Nadia, there isn’t anything to do here. When will we get to leave and go back home? I miss my bed. I miss the little shrine area I made for your brother.”

“Mama! Stop,” Nadia was close to losing her shit. “If you don’t stop calling I will disconnect every wire in this compound to give my team some peace. Now will you please put Clint on the phone, I have to talk to him.”

Once Clint was on the phone, “I don’t know where she’s getting the idea that there isn’t anything to do here,” he joked. “She loves to be around the kids.”

“My mother is dramatic, Clint,” Nadia sighed and put her head on the counter. “If her or my dad give you any more issues or whatever, tranquilize them.”

Nadia hit and kicked the bag, while Bucky held it in place. He really didn’t need to, Naida really wasn’t beating the shit out of the bag, just enough to let out some steam and frustration. It was what she needed, and she didn’t know why she didn’t think of it before.

“Okay,” Bucky pulled away from the bag. “This isn’t going to help prove you're ready for the mission.”

“What?” Nadia was breathing hard.

Bucky didn’t answer. Instead, he gripped Nadia’s arm tight and spun her around until she was flushed against his chest. Slowly, he brushed the hair from her face, not showing an ounce of emotion. Before Nadia could comprehend what had just happened, Bucky spun her back around until he had her in a choke hold, with both his arms. The hold wasn’t tight, but tight enough to keep Nadia in place.

“What the fuck, Bucky?” Nadia started trying to get out of his grip.

“Easy, Nadia,” Bucky’s voice was neutral and firm. “Do what you need to, to get out of this.”

Nadia stopped and thought about what she was going to do next. She knew she couldn’t throw her head back and hit Bucky’s face, his arm was protecting it while holding her in place. If only she was able to reach the bobby pin in her pocket. Why did she have a stray bobby pin? She didn’t know why, just that there was one in her pocket.

“Do I need to walk you through this?” Bucky asked after a moment.

“No,” Nadia grunted. “I got this.”

Nadia dived into her surroundings. She couldn’t use her upper body due to being held tightly. She really couldn’t use her hands cause they were pinned to her sides by Bucky’s arms. Which was smart honestly. Nadia was only left with her legs. She pictured the way Bucky was standing and found that his stance wasn’t the best.

With a small chuckle Nadia said, “Brace yourself.”

Before Bucky could say anything, Nadia kicked a leg towards his unstable one and pushed out from under him. The two of them fall backwards, causing Nadia’s head to smack right into Bucky’s face. Bucky groaned and let go of Nadia, giving Nadia enough time to roll off Bucky, only to turn around and straddle him and grip his neck.

Bucky stared at Nadia in surprise. “Wow, um, that was unexpected.” Bucky somewhat was expecting to be knocked down, but not Nadia sitting on top of him. Oh the times he’s imagined what it would look like and now, there she was with a grip on his neck and a firm look in her eyes.

“Next time give me a warning,” Nadia let go and got off Bucky. As much as she loved having her legs on either side of the man under her, she couldn’t stay much longer. The moment she felt the slightest bit of arousal, she had to get up. “So,” Nadia gave a smile and crossed her legs together, hoping to ward off the ache that was slowly creeping in. “Did I pass?”

Bucky sat up, trying to let go of the imagine that was now embedded in his mind. “Um,” Bucky started to say. “Yeah,” he shook his head and stood up. “That was good. Really good.”

Nadia noticed that Bucky was acting a bit weird. “Are you okay?”

Bucky turned towards Nadia. He knew he couldn’t tell her the truth, it’d probably freak or weird her out. “You have a hard head, kind of gave me whiplash or something.” Bucky smiled and winked at her. “I’m going to go let Steve know that you’re up for this.”

***

“Wait, wait,” Wanda sat down on the couch next to Nadia. “Back up.” She waved her hands around with her eyes closed. “You what?”

Nadia had quickly found Wanda to tell her what had happened. Wanda, knowing just about everything about her little crush on Bucky. When she told Wanda about what had happened in the training room she just about coughed on her drink.

“I sat on him,” Nadia felt her face burn up as she said the words. “Oh, God.” Nadia covered her face. “Of all the things I could have done! I straddle one of my good friends?! Why, why, why?”

Wanda scooted closer and took hold of Nadia’s hands. “Nadie,” Wanda’s calm voice had Nadia looking up. “One, it was a training exercise. Two, I can already see the things you wanted to do to him.”

Nadia groaned. “Wanda, no, please?”

When Bucky left Nadia in the training room, Nadia couldn’t help but think about the things that she could have done to him. Obviously, if he felt the same towards her. She wanted to slowly slide back until she felt his clothed cock pressing on her clothed and aching core. Nadia wanted to rock and grind her hips until she felt Bucky get hard enough to flip her around and pin to her training mats.

Evening thinking about again was making Nadia feral. She needed to get that feeling taken care of before she went on the mission. If Steve would let her, that is.

“So, are you going to admit it now?” Wanda reached over to pick up her glass of water. “Or do I need to drag it out of you by reminding you more.”

Nadia didn’t like the game Wanda was playing. “Fine,” Nadia stood up and put her hand on her hips. “You win.”

“Really?” Wanda cocked an eyebrow and leaned back in her seat. “What did I win at?”

“I think I’ve fallen for my best guy friend and I don’t know if he feels the same,” Nadia waved a hand at Wanda.

“You think?” Wanda scrunched up her nose.

“Fine, then,” Nadia licked her lips and looked down at the floor. “I’m in love with Bucky.”

“Now, that’s what I wanted to hear.” Wanda smiled. “But.”

“But what?” Nadia asked, flopping back onto the couch. “There isn’t any buts except, does he like me? Only you would know.”

Wanda set her glass down. “I was talking about Thor. And I’m not sure, Bucky is pretty private in his mind. He knows how to keep things locked up.”

Nadia felt her breath get caught in her throat. She hadn’t thought about that night in almost a month. So much had happened after sleeping with Thor that she thought she forgot it. Nope, the memories of that night had started flooding her brian.

The Bar.

The table sex.

The sex on her desk. That still had nail marks on it.

The shower sex that was supposed to be a clean up session.

Then Thor held Nadia until she fell asleep.

“What about it?” Nadia asked slowly.

“Are you going to tell him about it?” Wanda was the only person who knew about Nadia and Thor.

“Should I tell him I slept with Thor?” Nadia asked softly.

“Thor’s practically a team member,” Wanda answered. “Wouldn’t want it to be awkward if..."

“You slept with Thor?”

The voice caused the color in Nadia's face to drain. It wasn’t who said it because Nadia knew who it was without turning around. It was how it was said. The sound of disbelief and hurt? Was that hurt Nadia heard in his voice? Everything in her body told Nadia not to turn around but she did anyway.

Bucky stood in the entryway of the living room. The look on his face was emotionless but Nadia saw the look in his eyes, those bright blue eyes, looked pained for a moment. When Bucky looked down, he shook his head and looked back up at Nadia. The slightest bit of emotion that Nadia saw, it was long gone now. Bucky’s eyes were just as emotionless as his face.

“”Bucky,” Nadia softly.

“Steve wants to see you,” Bucky turned on his heel and left the room.

Nadia turned back to Wanda whose lips were in a straight line. “You knew he was there, didn’t you?” Her voice was firm.

“I didn’t,” Wanda shook her head.

But it didn’t make the situation any better. Why did Bucky’s reaction bother her so much?

“What’s up with Bucky?” Sam came into the living room. “I said hi to him and he told me to fuck off.”

“He overheard me saying I slept with Thor,” Nadia started to make her way out.

“Ah,” Sam nodded his head. “I see now.”

“See what?’ Nadia asked.

“It’s still so funny that the two of you don’t see it.” Sam walked away, leaving Nadia even more confused than she was before.

***

“Nadia, Bucky,” Steve had just finished briefing everyone for the mission. “The two of you will walk the inside perimeter. Make sure none of Rumlows men gets through. Fire only if you’re being fired at. And for the sake of this mission, be cordial.”

Since Bucky found out that Nadia slept with Thor, the two of them have avoided each other like the plague. When other members of the team found out, it all made sense. But this mission they wouldn’t be able to avoid each other and Steve knew that. That’s why Steve paired them together. He had hoped that maybe they’d talk it through and put it behind them.

“At least Thor had the sense to shoot his shot,” Tony had said. “Barnes is too slow for this time.”

“At least Bucky’s a gentleman,” Steve had snapped at him. “Thor hasn’t been able to keep it in his pants since Jane dumped him.”

Now, while Nadia gears up next to Bucky, the two of them are dead silent. Nadia could feel the glare he was giving her the whole time. The tension between the two was going to get one of them hurt or killed.

Don’t speak unless it’s about the mission, Nadia thought as she strapped a thigh holster to herself. Her suit wasn’t her stealth suit, it was just a plain old suit similar to the one she trained in. According to Tony, he wanted to add something to it and it’s been in the shop since.

“Ready?” Bucky’s tone was neutral. “Or are you waiting for Thor to come so you can have more of him.”

Nadia never wanted to bitch slap someone in her whole life. “You know what Barnes,” she took a few steps towards Bucky. Bucky could see the anger steaming off her entire body. “You can go fuck yourself.” The venom in her words cut Bucky but part of him didn’t care.

“Bucky,” Steve’s cool tone was next. “Just focus on the mission.”

Nadia spun on her heels and made her way out of the quinjet. She didn’t have time for this and it was too late to drop this mission. She worked too hard to prove that she was capable of this. All she had to do was get through this mission and once they were back at the compound, she was going to pack a weekend bag and go see her parents.

The mission was going smoothly. Bucky and Nadia were quietly walking the inside perimeter, not talking to each other. The only time they spoke was if Steve checked in to see how they were doing. It was perfect until Bucky opened his mouth.

“Why him?” Bucky asked Nadia.

“What?” Nadia looked back at Bucky. He had been walking slow.

“You know what I’m talking about, don’t play dumb,” Bucky taunted.

“You know what,” Nadia spun around and stood chest to chest with Bucky. The look of surprise with a hint of ‘oh shit i messed up’ in his eyes, gave her some pleasure. “It doesn’t matter to you who I fuck. Okay?!”

“Nadia,” Natasha’s voice warned in the coms.

“You guys need to do this another time,” Steve also warned.

Nadia ignored. “So what, I slept with Thor. It was a one time thing. I was drunk. He’s the one who came and checked on me, not you. If it were you, well, it would be another story wouldn’t it. Now shut up, put your whatever this is aside, and let’s focus on this mission.”

Nadia turned around and the next thing she felt was something ripping through her suit at both her shoulder and stomach. The suit she wore wasn’t Tony’s fancy bullet proof fabric. This was just plain old spandex like fabric. The pain that followed made Nadia wish she passed out. But she didn’t, she felt the pain radiate through her whole body as she fell to her knees.

“Nadia,” Bucky yelled. He was right there pulling her out of the line of fire and into an empty room. Bucky knocked everything off the only table in the room and laid Nadia down. Soon he was pressing his metal hand firmly on the wounded stomach. Nadia could feel the blood slowly seeping out of her.

The pressure from Bucky’s hand was enough to make Nadia scream, but she couldn’t. The intense pain in her shoulder was keeping her from doing that. Only a few whimpers came out here and there and Bucky was there to give her calm and reassuring words.

“Nadia’s been hit,” there was panic in Bucky’s words. “Good news, bullet went clean through her shoulder, didn’t hit anything important. Bad news, the bullet that hit her stomach is still in there. I gotta get it out.”

“Do you know where it is?” Steve asked.

“Barnes, don’t do anything, I’m on my way,” Natasha said. “Sam, can you get a visual on where they’re at.”

“South part of the building,” Sam’s voice seemed to echo in Nadia’s ears. But the only thing that she could really focus on was the look on Bucky’s face. There was fear and worry written all over it.

“She’s right,” Nadia breathed out. “Better to get me back to the quinjet and out of here.” But Bucky just stared at her. He didn’t know how to tell her how sorry he was for being an asshole. He felt the same kind of guilt he felt when he discovered he hurt her during a nightmare.

Natasha showed up a few moments later. She was going to cover Bucky and Nadia while Bucky carried her back to the quinjet. “It’s okay,” Bucky whispered when Nadia groaned. “It’ll be okay.”

And that was the last thing Nadia heard before passing out.

[yepiamthesmileyface]

sick/injured fic) + 56 (awful first meeting) = 83 (this fic)!

CW: vomiting, sick fic (not covid19 related), vaguely h*rny tho*ghts, overuse of em-dashes and parentheses

Arthur sniffles, wiping his nose on his sleeve irritably. He is not sick, no matter what his uncle may have implied when he clocked in. If he was actually sick, he wouldn’t have come to work (read, wouldn’t have been able to come to work). He isn’t sick, because being sick is the worst, and if he were sick, he would have to bundle up even more in the already-sweltering Texas summer, and he would have to lie in bed all day, not doing anything, just sitting there alone with his thoughts and  —  no. Just…no.

So, no. He isn’t sick. If only his stupid runny nose would just get the memo. He swipes at his nose with his sleeve again, bracing himself on the sun-heated frame of the car he’s in the middle of fixing. The engine in front of him swims a little. He blinks hard, trying to force the details to sharpen back into focus. It doesn’t exactly work.

“Get it together, Kingsmen,” Arthur growls to himself, shaking his head to clear it. He only succeeds in making himself feel steadily dizzier, swaying on his feet as he clutches at the metal with growing desperation.

A large, warm hand touches his shoulder lightly. The beautiful, smooth baritone of the most handsome man Arthur has ever seen (seriously, it’s unfair that anyone should be allowed to be that attractive, he reminds Arthur of the few pictures of Michelangelo’s David he’s seen online, but if David had a fluffy pink pompadour and warm, tawny brown skin but was still completely gigantic and could probably pick Arthur up with one hand  —  customer, he is a customer, Arthur is trying to fix his car for money, this is not the time to develop a crush on a stranger  —) sounding from behind him, audibly concerned. “Hey, are you feeling okay?”

Arthur blinks again, trying to make sense of the man’s words, then turns to tell the hot customer that he’s just fine, thanks. But as he turns around and opens his mouth, his stomach rolls. Arthur barely has time to get his head down so he doesn’t vomit on Hot Customer’s chest and  — vomits directly onto the man’s pristine purple converse. Arthur stumbles away, spluttering and choking out half-formed apologies along with more bile and the remains of the cold pizza he managed to force down for breakfast. His knees buckle, and he collapses to his hands and knees a bare few steps away, retching and coughing.

Hot tears sting his eyes as bile stings his throat, humiliation and pain a double edged sword cutting straight through him. He heaves one more time, a trickle of bile burning out of his throat. Far too late, his stomach settles a little.

As much as he wants to curl up in a ball and never come out, or perhaps sprint away and run out into the desert never to be found again, he forces himself to stand and face the customer, shaking like a leaf. “H-holy fuck I’m s-so sorry, I’m so fucking so-sorry, I  —”

Hot Customer steps forward, his shoes making an unpleasant squish that both of them wince at. He pauses for a second, kicking off his vomit-soaked shoes and socks before continuing forward barefoot. He reaches out a little, hesitating before putting a bracing hand on Arthur’s shoulder, steadying his shaky, swaying stance. “It’s…it’s okay. Let’s get you somewhere where you can sit down, it’s okay.” His voice is about a pitch higher, disgust evident in the curl of his lips, but his hand is steady and firm, and Arthur can’t help but lean into the touch.

“I’m so  — so sorry,” Arthur blurts again, wiping at his mouth. “God, I can’t  — I li-literally can’t apo-apologize en-enough, I’m  — I didn’t  —  didn’t even th-think I was  —”

Hot Customer steers him towards the garage, an arm around his shoulders (and Arthur’s not quite so far gone in his haze of guilt and horror and dizziness that he can’t feel how well-muscled said arm is). “It’s okay, I promise. It’s not the first time someone’s vomited on me,” he tries to joke.

Arthur just shuts his eyes, shame flooding every inch of him as he is led back towards the office, fighting back tears the whole way.

Distantly, he can hear the bell above the door jingle, Hot Customer making quiet conversation with Lance, who sounds pissed-off-but-secretly-worried (Arthur is very good at reading the different nuances of pissed off in his uncle’s voice). He staggers over to collapse in one of the chairs set out for waiting customers, leaning over to put his head between his knees, letting the sounds wash over him in unintelligible waves.

After a few moments that stretch out like hours, his head stops spinning quite as much. It’s enough for him to make out his uncle, who sounds much closer now than he was a minute ago, say archly, “Not sick, huh?”

“Sorry, Uncle Lance…” Arthur groans, not picking his head up.

Lance clears his throat, the awkward grimace audible. “Go lie down in the breakroom, I’ll give ya a ride home once this is dealt with. I don’t trust ya behind a wheel right now.”

Arthur groans again, curling up tighter. The whole scenario is making him feel like he’s back in high school, and he’d dropped out of high school for a reason. “‘m fine, really…just need a bit of a break, ‘s all…”

“Do I need’ta take you back to my house t’make sure you actually rest?” Lance threatens.

Arthur’s eyes fly wide, and he sits up straight, immediately listing to the side as his head violently protests. “N-no, I’m  — Uncle Lance, that’s n-not  —”

“Those are your options, kid. You’re not gonna work yourself through this shit. Whether you recover at my place or your apartment.”

The blush still staining Arthur’s cheeks deepens a few shades, and he can’t stop himself from glancing over at the amazingly attractive man whose shoes Arthur just ruined. Michelangelo’s-David-But-Hotter is standing a few feet away, typing on his phone, clearly trying to give them some privacy. His bare feet stand out like a sore thumb against the rest of his immaculate appearance (for fuck’s sake, he is wearing a waistcoat). The sting of mortification rises to a higher peak, and Arthur, finally, just nods.

The rest of the day passes in a blur. He falls asleep in the breakroom without even obsessing over how horribly he fucked everything up for more than a few minutes, then falls asleep again in his uncle’s truck, and then again on the rickety couch in his apartment. The next day is spent much in the same way, though he falls asleep in his bed most of the time. But on the third day, as Arthur’s fever begins to drop, there’s a knock on the door.

Arthur, wrapped in a thick comforter (after he admitted to himself that he yes,he really is sick, and subsequently stopped ignoring every signal his body sent out, the chills made themselves known with a vengeance), makes his way to the door, frowning in confusion. His foot catches the handle of a discarded screwdriver, and he pitches forward, crashing against the door. With a litany of various swears, he scrabbles to right himself, and finally manages to open the door just a crack. He peeks through and comes face to face   —   or, really, face to chest   —  with a dapper purple waistcoat. His face goes pale, then bright red as he slowly peeks up to meet the eyes of the unbelievably attractive customer whose shoes he literally vomited on.

Said customer looks torn between amusement and concern. “I…are you alright?”

“Fine!” Arthur squeaks, backing up a little and grabbing for the shattered remains of his dignity. He opens the door wider, so it looks less like he’s trying to hide (even though he definitely wants to). “I’m fine! Uh. What are…what are you doing here?”

Hot Customer looks a little sheepish, one hand coming up to rub the back of his neck. “My parents run a restaurant here in town, and I…well, I wanted to bring you some soup?” He proffers a takeout bag.

Arthur eyes the bag, deeply confused. The logo on the front is familiar, two stylized hot peppers forming a heart. He grimaces a little, swallowing hard as he glances up at the other man. “Thanks? I   —  your parents run the Paradiso? Also, uh, I…really don’t want to look a gift horse in the mouth here, but…how spicy is this….?”

Hot Customer grins at him. “Apparently, they’d already heard from your uncle that you were sick, and had an order ready to go when I asked.”

Arthur relaxes with a nod, then blurts, “Okay, why the hell are you being so nice? I literally   —  I puked on your shoes, and you’re bringing me, a stranger, soup?!”

“You’re sick, I’m not going to hold that against you. If I   — if this comes off as creepy or invasive or anything, I totally understand, but it’s not like   —  I’m not mad at you or anything.” Hot Customer (Arthur really needs to get his name, he’s not a customer of Kingsmen Mechanics anymore and while he is hot-with-a-capital-H, it feels weird to mentally refer to him as Hot Guy) shrugs a little, offering the bag again.

Arthur stares at him for a moment, dumbfounded, then reaches out to take the bag. Their fingers brush as Hot Customer hands it over, and Arthur has to fight down a blush, with arguable success. “I’m   —  I’m Arthur.”

Hot Customer beams at him. “I’m Lewis. It’s nice to meet you.”

Arthur hesitates. “I…I’d invite you in, but it’s kinda messy and I’m still a little sick…”

Hot Customer   —  Lewis   —  shakes his head, his smile still at full force and full beauty. “If you honestly want company, I’ve got something of an iron immune system. And, well, I’m used to a little mess.”

Arthur nods again, stepping back so Lewis can come in. He quickly kicks the screwdriver away from the door, sending it spinning off towards the wall. “It’s a bit more than a little mess, dude.”

Lewis takes a step in and scans the room, and Arthur has the sudden, panicky urge to shove him back out into the hallway and slam the door, immediately hyper-aware of every tool, nut, bolt, screw, empty pizza box, and dirty item of clothing in his living room. He draws his blanket cape tighter around him, shuffling further in. “Uh. I’ll   — if you gimme a minute I can clear off the couch, or   — I do have a table in the kitchen, actually, I   —”

Lewis shakes his head, glancing at him amusedly. “Seriously, it’s fine. I have both my own apartment and three little sisters, I’ve got no room to judge you over your place being a mess right now.”

Arthur shrugs, shutting the door behind him and facing down the irrevocability of hot guy In his messy apartment with a twisting stomach. At least, Arthur’s desperately hoping it’s just the anxiety twisting his stomach. Vomiting on Lewis again would be the absolute worst possible second impression. “I just  —  I feel like I should apologize, I mean…I literally puked on your shoes, like, the minute we met, and now you come over and find out that no, I just live like this  —”

Lewis, apparently entirely unconcerned with the state of Arthur’s apartment, begins carefully picking his way over to the couch, sitting down and  — starting to stack the mess of mugs and empty takeout containers on the low table in front of it. “Arthur, I know we don’t really know each other, but…you’re sick, I’m not going to take the state of your apartment mid-illness as a reflection of how it usually is.”

Arthur decides against informing the hottest guy he’s ever seen in his entire life that no, his apartment is normally like this, and clears his throat. It turns to a few dry coughs, but he’s able to fight those back pretty quickly. He sets the takeout in the newly-cleared space on the table in front of the couch and flees to the kitchen. He grabs a spoon from the dishwasher and takes a moment to put his face in his hands, try not to hyperventilate, and wonder what the hell he thinks he’s doing.

Momentary freakout over with and armed with a spoon, Arthur heads back out to the living room, sitting on the opposite end of the couch from Lewis and toeing a dirty sock under the couch. The rickety couch creaks ominously under their combined weight, and Arthur holds his breath, but it settles in comfortably. Arthur lets out a sigh, putting the container of soup in his lap and prying the lid off. He hesitates, chewing on his lips and glancing at Lewis, who’s started to look a little awkward, fiddling with the buttons on his shirt sleeve. “So, um…your parents run the Paradiso?”

Lewis’s wide smile comes back, and Arthur has the immediate, all-consuming realization that he would do literally anything to make Lewis smile at him like that. “They do! I…didn’t move here with them because I was still in culinary school at the time, and it’s…a bit of a commute,” he chuckles, and Arthur goes bright red.

He eats some of his soup to give his poor heart a moment to steady, the spice simmering just below the upper reaches of his tolerance level. “You’re going to culinary school?”

“Just graduated, actually! That’s why I’m here, in Tempo. My parents want me to work at the Paradiso for a bit, and keep an eye on the girls.”

“That’s  —  that’s really neat. And really nice of you to move down to Tempo, of all places, so you can keep an eye on your sisters.”

Lewis smiles at him and shakes his head fondly. “They’re handfuls, really. But what about you?”

I’d like to get a good handful of you, Arthur’s traitorous brain murmurs appreciatively. His face flames, and he ducks his head quickly. “I’ve  —  I’ve lived here since I was twelve, and I work at my uncle’s garage. That’s  —” he clears his throat, a fresh wave of anxiety bubbling up. “That’s pretty much it. I’m not all that interesting, sorry.”

Lewis scoffs a little, leaning towards him. “C’mon, I’m sure that’s not true!”

Arthur, now desperate to change the topic and escape from the awkward air his self-deprecation sparked, glances around the room frantically. His eyes land on the TV, and he clears his throat again. “So, um…what kind of movies do you like?”

It’s utterly astonishing to Arthur that despite everything, he and Lewis end up talking for hours. The topic shifts from movies to video games to music to collectables to pets (when Galaham woke up and immediately began to demand his freedom, wheeling around his enclosure loudly) to anime. The soup goes cold in his lap as they talk, almost completely ignored.

They’re in the middle of a debate on whether magical girl animes are better (Lewis) or mecha animes are better (Arthur) when Lewis’s phone begins to ring. Lewis takes the call with a small frown and a hand raised to call timeout, switching to rapid-fire Spanish.

Arthur waits, only catching every fourth word or so (languages have never been his strong suit, and he only took two and a half years of Spanish in high school). After a minute or so, Lewis hangs up and glances at Arthur, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. “My mamá  wants me back home so I can babysit.”

Arthur’s stomach sinks, but he nods, pasting on a crooked smile. “No problem, dude. Thanks for the soup and the company.”

Lewis stands up and holds out his hand. “Give me the soup, I’ll heat it up for you.”

Arthur startles, suddenly remembering the soup in his lap. “Oh! Right, yeah. You don’t have to do that, I can do it myself…”

Lewis shakes his head firmly. “You’re sick, I’m not going to make you get up and microwave it when I’m here and already up.” He reaches for the soup in Arthur’s lap, and Arthur’s brain short-circuits.

To save himself the embarrassment, Arthur hastily hands Lewis the soup. As Lewis heads to the kitchen, Arthur presses the blankets to his face and lets out a soft whine that wants to be a scream. He handed Lewis the soup because he wanted to avoid the fantasies that would come from Lewis reaching for his lap with that fond smile, but they’re bubbling up in his mind anyway.

Lewis comes back into the living room with the now-steaming container of soup and that affectionate smile. He puts it down on the table in front of Arthur, then hesitates, visibly bracing himself. Arthur braces himself for a comment on the weird scream Lewis probably heard, or his creepy behavior, or a gentle letdown that Lewis is straight, but, instead, Lewis blurts out, “Can I get your number?”

Arthur blinks, bemused, and his smile grows. “Sure? I mean, how else am I gonna win this argument?”

Lewis laughs, just a little louder than the rest of the ones Arthur’s heard. He pulls out his phone and hands it down. “Yeah, right. I’m not budging on this one, Art. Here, put your number in.”

Arthur quickly saves his number, hesitating for a brief, agonizing moment before putting his name in simply as Arthur. Just because he was kinda-maybe-sorta flirting for the last few hours doesn’t mean Lewis was, too. Lewis probably thought they were having a friendly conversation and nothing more, so putting a heart after his name was both terrifyingly presumptuous and completely inappropriate. Of course, none of that stopped it from being a tempting idea.

He hands Lewis’s phone back with a grin. “Text me when you can. I’ve got nothing better to do and we’ve got a score to settle here.”

Lewis smiles back, and there’s something in his eyes that Arthur can’t quite place, something almost heated. “Talk to you later, Art.”

[anomander-dragnipurake]

Possessed Chapter One: Possession

I've become quite fond of the 'King Boo possessing Luigi' concept, especially with all the angst potential it brings with it, so much so that I became filled with the intense need to write a fic about it and so I have. This is also my first fic for the Mario Bros. fandom and it's honestly one of the angstiest things I've written in a long time which is not what I would've expected my first fic for this fandom to be but it was a *lot* of fun to write. Enjoy! :)

Luigi wasn’t sure what woke him but something had. Sitting up, he looked around the room for it. He’d fallen asleep on the living room chair again, watching TV. It was off now though, so were the lights, only the moonlight flittering in through the window allowed him to see that the room was empty.

With a hand that was only slightly trembling, he grabbed the remote from the coffee table and pressed the power button because if he’d fallen asleep watching TV it <em>should’ve</em> been on. Nothing happened though. Pulling on the switch for the lamp next to his chair also did nothing. … The power was out. … Was that what had woken him

The power going out was a fairly normal thing. It happened sometimes and was nothing to worry about, it’d probably be back up soon. … But why did it have to happen in the middle of the night? It was too dark!

Gritting his teeth, he forced himself to stand and start carefully making his way towards the hall. He was going to go to bed and sleep and not be afraid of the dark. Even if there could be ghosts hiding in it there probably weren’t and even if there was, he’d defeated more than enough ghosts by now that he shouldn’t be afraid of them anymore. … He still was though because his brain apparently wasn’t into the whole being logical about this stuff thing.

He paused upon reaching his bedroom door. Thankfully it was the first door near the start of the hall because it was dark further down with now windows to allow moonlight to leak in. It was like staring down into an abyss, he hated it.

“Puppy,” he called down it anyway, lifting his voice as loud as he dared. He braced for Polterpup to race out of the darkness and jump him but nothing happened. Normally a single call was enough to get him to come running, apparently not today though. He was probably out back, digging holes again. Luigi should go stop him because he wasn’t supposed to do that but… he’d barely made it to his bedroom door, no way did he want to go all the way to the backdoor, outside, and then all the way back here when it was so dark. … He did have a flashlight in his room though so…

Turning back to this bedroom door, he opened it and… screamed. King Boo was waiting just inside, grinning wide and laughing. Luigi only managed to backpedal a few steps as the light in King Boo’s crown grew and then with a sound much like a thunder clap flashed, replacing the utter darkness with blinding light. There was a vague sensation of falling as something pulled Luigi’s consciousness down. Something was terribly wrong about that but…

-

He came to laying on the floor, facing the ceiling. It wasn’t completely dark anymore, there was a light coming from… somewhere, it had a purple tinge to it. That was odd, what was…

King Boo’s laugh, though very similar to other boos’ was still distinctly his and unmistakable for anything else. Luigi screamed and… nothing actually came out of his mouth, nor did his body move to scramble away as he oh so desperately wished to do. More laughter from King Boo.

‘This worked so much better than I thought it would.’ His voice came from inside Luigi’s head. How? Why? What was happening?

Luigi sat up but much slower than he would’ve liked, his face twisting into an evil grin. He looked down at his hands, flexing them and closing them into fists as if he were working out stiffness. He wasn’t in control of this or himself in anyway. But if he wasn’t in control of his body than who…

“I am,” King Boo said out loud, using Luigi’s mouth. It was a horrible, gross, awful realization that would’ve had Luigi shuddering with revulsion and horror if his body were still his to control. This kind of violation was something beyond anything he’d ever even considered a possibility let alone something that someone would do to him.

King Boo laughed as he stood up and stretched. An echo of his glee about a plan of his finally be successful hit Luigi, making him feel almost sick. Which only furthered King Boo’s delight. He took a breath as if to say something, probably a taunt about Luigi’s revulsion and horror but a sound drew his gaze to the left.

It was Gooigi. They’d come out of their room and was now staring at Luigi and King Boo. Their face was nearly expressionless as always so what they felt about whatever it is they saw was impossible to guess but Luigi wanted more than anything to beg them for help. It… didn’t seem to be coming though.

King Boo grinned and took a menacing step towards them… or tried to. He stumbled instead, landing face first on the carpet. Even though it hurt and despite the circumstances it was kind of funny; big bad King Boo couldn’t even walk properly.

‘SHUT UP!’ King Boo shouted internally, making Luigi do the mental equivalent of a flinch, all mirth gone from the situation. ‘It’s not my fault you’re stuck with an inferior way of moving around. I can fly remember? I don’t need legs.’ He pushed himself back to his feet and brushed himself off. “What are you looking at?” he said in an almost growl as he glared at Gooigi. “Go away.”

Gooigi stared for a few seconds more before switching their flashlight on. They flashed it but that did nothing but hurt Luigi’s eyes a little. It didn’t seem to bother King Boo any as he tried walking towards them again, this time with more success even if his balance was still very off. Gooigi responded by switching to the dark light which was normally effective against both boos and possessed objects but… seemingly not this time.

Before they could attempt anything else, King Boo was in front of them. He spat on them and as always when even a drop of water touched them, they started melting, making a vague ‘uh oh’ sound. They’d ultimately be fine and would reform in their tank but watching them melt was still unpleasant. … And with them gone, there went Luigi’s chances of immediate rescue because he’d never gotten around to having E. Gadd modify the tank so Gooigi could get out on their own.

“That takes care of that then,” King Boo said with a satisfied simile as he turned away before Gooigi was even all the way melted.

W-what are you going to do to me? Luigi dared to venture at him, his inner voice quivery with fear. He wanted to be angry and he should be but… anger was hard even when he wasn’t terrified.

King Boo didn’t respond with words of any sort, just a spike in that echo of his evil delight as he started making his wobbly, careful way further down the hall. The purple light coming from somewhere on Luigi’s person wasn’t much of a light source, it barely illuminated anything but it was better than nothing. Though when they reached the hall mirror in a few steps, Luigi would’ve preferred it not be there at all as King Boo stopped to look into it.

Luigi’s hair and mustache were now a stark white. His eyes mostly empty white except for a tint of purple around the edges; very reminiscent of King Boo’s eyes. The purple glow was from King Boo’s crown, it was smaller on Luigi’s head but still unmistakable as anything else. This… was probably the worst thing to ever happen to Luigi and that was saying a lot.

“I like it,” King Boo said with an evil grin that looked wrong on Luigi’s face. “Your outfit is gross though; we’ll have to fix it before we go talk to your friends.” He pulled the hat off and tossed it aside so the crown would rest more naturally on his head.

‘Talk to your friends’, that could only mean…

“Yep,” King Boo interrupted the thought. “You really think I’d possess you and <em>not</em> drag you around in front of your friends? What would the fun be in that?”

No, no, please no! Luigi hated to beg but he did <em>not</em> want his friends to see him like this and… most of all he didn’t want <em>Mario</em> to see him like this.

“Too bad! His reaction is the one I’m <em>most</em> looking forward too. But before that, it’s been a long time since I piloted a meat suit, I apparently need some practice.” So he wouldn’t trip at a bad time again… if only Luigi could appreciate the humor in that thought.

-

A short time into King Boo’s ‘meat suit’ practice he decided to make everything worse by taunting him ruthlessly. Luigi did his best not to react because that’s what King Boo wanted. He was doing mostly okay at it for a while… until King Boo found a button to push anyway.

‘What do you think Mario will think of you when he sees you like this?'

That… was a good question? What would he think?

'Maybe he’ll be happy.'

Luigi really shouldn’t respond but… Why would he be… happy?

'Because, I’ve defeated him three times now. Each time you’ve had to save him. But normally he’s the hero, right? And you’re just a sidekick at best. Thus, by saving him, you make him look like a fool. So maybe he’ll be happy to see you’ve finally been defeated by the one foe he’s never been able to best.'

Logically Luigi knew that couldn’t be true; Mario was his bro, he’d never be happy to see him like this. But… what if it was true? He’d never indicated he had resentment towards Luigi for having saved him three times now but what if he was just good at hiding it? Mario had always been better and stronger than him, it made sense he wouldn’t want to be saved by someone like Luigi, right?

'Exactly! Heck when he finds out maybe he won’t even want to…’ King Boo tripped over the coffee table, banging Luigi’s shin and landing on it hard.

Despite not being in control of his body, Luigi felt the pain just as strongly. It sucked but it did serve to knock him out of his spiraling worries. Of all times to worry about Mario possibly secretly hating him, now was not it. He was <em>not</em> going to let King Boo taunt him into worry about that.

With an annoyed huff, King Boo straightened and resumed walking practice, seemingly unphased by the pain. The fact that his coordination was so bad was the only mercy in the situation, hopefully it would take him a while to get past it.

-

Polterpup finally decided to return from outside a short while later, interrupting another taunt from King Boo. He froze, his glowing eyes locking onto King Boo and Luigi a half second before he started growling. Luigi had never heard him growl like that before, it made him want to pull back. But instead of course, King Boo approached.

“Go ahead, attack me.” He grinned as he held Luigi’s forearm out, the perfect target for a Polterpup to jump up and bite.

He looked like he was going to, rearing back ready to pounce, but faltered instead, his angry growl petering out. He barked and ran in a little circle a few times. When he stopped, he sat down on his hunches and whined up at Luigi rather pitifully. After a few seconds of King Boo waiting and probably hoping for him to attack, he barked again before turning and bolting back through the front door. Well… at least he didn’t attack so Luigi wouldn’t have to add <em>that</em> to the list of traumatic experiences he was going through tonight. Maybe… he was going for help?

'He’s probably abandoning you. But even on the off chance he does go for help, it’ll be in vain. You’re my hostage now and I don’t intend to give you up anytime soon.'

[sighmurderbot]

Irish Coffee Chapter Two

Title: Closing Time

Chapter Rating/Warnings: G, I don’t think there’s even any profanity in this one

Word Count: 2.4K

Summary: They meet over coffee and Kierkegaard. There was a spark in his honey-brown eyes that drew her to him. There was a sadness behind her bright smile that drew him to her. Spencer Reid/Original Female Character. Slow burn coffee shop meet. Strangers to friends to lovers. This fic is also available on AO3, it’s ahead of tumblr currently!

previous chapter//next chapter

“Friends are those rare people who ask how we are and then wait to hear the answer.” 

- Ed Cunningham

It had been a tiring Thursday, which is saying something. Thursdays were the one day a week I only worked at the coffee shop, just coming in for a few hours to close, meaning it was the closest thing I had to a day off. That being said, somehow the denizens of DC had decided this was the Thursday to descend on this coffee shop and just...be assholes. My head ached from the amount of focus and energy it took to process complaints and orders simultaneously while making drinks and keeping the cafe clean.

It might only be a three hour shift, but sometimes it’s a long three hours.

I finished wiping down the table in front of me and stood, arching my back to stretch it out. 

I’m not sure what caught my attention. A flicker of movement, perhaps, or maybe just the sense of someone else nearby.

I glanced towards the front of the store, scanning the city street on the other side of the floor to ceiling windows.

And there he was.

He looked a little worse for wear, his clothes wrinkled and hair mussed, as if he had only slept briefly and in uncomfortable places. Light spilled from the streetlamp above him, his high cheekbones casting harsh shadows across his skin.

His eyes widened a little as I spotted him.

I couldn't stop the smile that spread across my face upon seeing him. He intrigued me, and...I'll admit it, I thought he was cute. The door was still unlocked and I waved for him to come inside. 

Maybe my Thursday is starting to look up!

He seemed confused at my gesture, glancing over his shoulder and pointing a hesitant finger to his chest.

“Me?” he mouthed, eyebrows drawing together in a confused frown.

I rolled my eyes and grinned, quickly making my way to the door and holding it open with one arm. Cool air rolled in off the street, ruffling a few flyaways around my face.

“Come on in!” I exclaimed. “We don’t close properly for another ten minutes.”

He shoved his hands into his pocket, rocking back on his heels a little.

“Are you sure? You-you probably already cleaned everything and I don’t want to be in the way.”

“Don’t be silly,” I smiled. “Just come in, sugar.”

He ducked his head and stepped inside. I watched his shoulders relax slightly as he stopped a few feet into the store.

“What can I get ya?” I asked, crossing to behind the counter. His eyes flicked from the menu to me and he tilted his head a little, as if in confusion. I felt my lips twitch in a small smile.

I wonder what he’s thinking, he looks baffled…

“Sir?” I asked, thinking it was perhaps not a good idea to let on that I overheard and remembered his name.

“Why do you call me sugar?” He asked. His tone wasn’t accusatory or upset, simply curious. My cheeks reddened slightly.

“Well, that’s your order, right? Uh...large mocha with extra sugar?”

He nodded, a pretty frown still wrinkling his forehead.

“You remembered?”

I looked down, chuckling a little. 

“It’s not every day a nice man reading Danish philosophy comes in and is kind enough to talk to me like a person,” I said honestly.

More confusion from the man before me. I worried that I had said too much, scared him off. I serve hundreds of people a day, remembering one customer might come across as creepy or weird or-

He cut off my train of thought as he spoke.

“You think I’m nice?”

The question was genuine, he blinked a few times like he was having trouble processing what I said.

“...yeah,” I laughed a little. “I mean, I obviously don’t know you, but I get feelings about people. My feeling is that you’re nice.”

“Huh,” he said, eyes returning to the menu above me.

“So…” I gently prompted him. “What can I get you? Same thing?”

“Oh! Yeah, same thing please.”

“Have a seat anywhere!”

It only took me a minute to finish making the drink, and instead of calling it out at the counter I walked it to his table.

He looked up as I set the drink in front of him, giving me a closed-lip smile and wrapping long, delicate fingers around the warm cup.

“Reid,” he commented into his cup. I almost missed it. “Doctor Spencer Reid. That’s my name.”

Doctor Spencer Reid. That’s a nice name, I decided.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Doctor Reid,” I said with a smile. “Katie, but, you already knew that.” He nodded and looked back down at his coffee. 

“Let me know if I can get you anything else, Doctor,” I said, then turned to finish closing. He seemed like the quiet type who preferred to be alone, or maybe he’d just had a long day.

“Uh, Sp—” he said as I turned around, so quiet that I missed most of what he said.

“Sorry?” I turned around, pushing some hair back towards the ponytail it had slipped out of.

He looked up and his gaze swept over me, analytical and probing. I found myself nervously twisting my apron tie around my fingers.

What is he looking for? What does he see? 

“You wear a hearing aid,” he said matter-of-factly.

Oh.

I nodded silently, my face falling before I could catch it.

What’s he going to say? Berate me? Mock me? My thoughts were perhaps a tad more bitter than intended, and I tried to keep that out of my voice.

“Yeah, sorry,” I said, cringing inwardly at how flat I sounded. “I can’t pick up certain frequencies.”

“You know,” he said, taking one hand off his coffee cup as he began to gesture with his words. “The use of hearing aids has actually been proven to reduce cognitive decline and lower the risk of developing dementia.”

What’s he doing? I thought, thrown off a little, but not upset by this turn of events. Is he...trying to make me feel better?

“There was a study conducted in Europe, two out of three people who used hearing aids wished they had gotten them sooner,” Spencer continued, both hands involved in his gestures now. I began to fear for his coffee. 

“They lead to a better social life, mental and physical health, and job performance. So...it’s a good thing. That you have them.”

“Yeah, I guess so,” I accepted, watching him with a small smile. He seemed embarrassed after his small outburst.

I gestured to the chair across from him.

“May I?”

He nodded, taking a sip of his sugary drink.

“So,” I said, taking a seat. “You’re studying philosophy but you’re also a doctor. How’s that work?”

If I thought he looked embarrassed a moment ago, he was downright flustered now.

“I, uh…” he fiddled with the cardboard protector around his coffee cup. “I am a philosophy student,” he said. “But I already have my doctorates in Mathematics, Chemistry, and Engineering. And another bachelor’s in Psychology.”

He suddenly fell silent, eyes fixed on the steam coiling out of the slit in the cup’s lid. I couldn’t keep my impressed admiration off my face, smiling as I opened and closed my mouth, trying to process something to say.

After I hadn’t replied for a few seconds he looked up at me from beneath his lashes. He was almost wincing, as if bracing himself for ridicule, mockery, disgust.

Just like you, my mind prompted. 

I gave him a wide grin and set my folded hands on the table, leaning forward a little.

“Doctor R— Spencer. That’s amazing, you don’t look much older than me.”

“I’m 26,” he replied, almost automatically, then frowned. “Wait, what?”

“That’s amazing,” I emphasized. “You’re amazing, that’s a huge accomplishment.”

I watched a light shade of pink spread up his cheeks.

“Oh, uh...thank you,” he said unsurely.

Waiting for the other shoe to drop.

“I mean it,” I said, meeting his eyes. “You must have worked incredibly hard for those.”

“Well, I have an eidetic memory and an IQ of 187 but...college isn’t friendly to 12-year-old high school graduates.”

I gave him an empathetic grimace.

“Sometimes it’s not the course load that’s the hard part of college.”

“You can say that again,” he agreed, taking another sip of his coffee. “I thought you weren’t a student though.”

I pressed my lips together, looking down at my hands.

“Not anymore,” I said shortly.

“Oh. I’m sorry,” he said, but it sounded like he was reading out of a book. I didn’t really mind. People don’t understand, they can’t, not really. 

“I’m working to go back.” I don’t know why I said it, why I told him. It wasn’t any of his business, but for some reason I wanted Spencer to know I didn’t drop out because I screwed around, I didn’t want him to think that I didn’t care.

“Everyone has their own pace,” Spencer said. “At least, that’s what my mom told me.”

I felt my breath catch in my chest, and I gave him a small smile that I hoped wasn’t as sad as I suddenly felt.

“My mom told me something similar,” I found myself admitting. “Run your own damn race, she told me.”

Spencer tilted his head, as if asking me to explain. His eyes were fixed on me, I felt almost shy about being the complete focus of his attention, but I also had a feeling that anything Spencer did was the absolute center of his focus.

“It means that everyone has a race they’re running,” I said. “And you should focus on yours, not anyone else’s. If you focus on someone else’s race you’ll probably trip while trying to run your own. If...if that makes any sense.”

“It does,” Spencer assured with a small smile. 

“Heh, moms, right?”

I let out a slightly nervous laugh, but something in Spencer’s eyes, an understanding, calmed me.

“Moms,” he agreed with a small smile.

We shared a quiet moment, just looking at each other. His face was too harsh and angular for a man with liquid honey eyes and perfectly curved lips. I wondered where he worked, what stressful career painted dark circles like bruises under his eyes and stripped the softness from him.

“I should close up,” I said finally, regretfully. 

“Oh, yeah, of course,” Spencer hurried out of his seat, almost knocking over his coffee but deftly catching it before it could tip too far. “I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” I replied, maybe too quickly, as I stood as well. Spencer arched an eyebrow.

“I just-” I started, then exhaled a laugh and looked down at my shoes. “I don’t get to have a conversation with...well, anyone, very often.” 

I twisted my apron tie around my finger three times, then unspireled it. 

“I don’t really talk with anyone outside of work,” Spencer admitted. He didn’t seem upset about it, it was simply a fact of his existence. 

“That’s kinda sad,” I said, my hand flying to my mouth right after. 

“I’m so sorry,” I said quickly, hand returning to harassing my apron ties. “I didn’t mean-”

“No, it’s okay,” Spencer cut me off with a shrug.

He really doesn’t seem upset, I guess some people are happy that way.

“Well,” I smiled up at him. “If you ever want to talk to someone you don’t work with, you know where to find me.”

He nodded, returning my expression.

“Thanks.”

I noticed how he kept a respectful distance between us, and remembered how he hadn’t offered to shake hands when we swapped names. 

Touch avoidance.

He seemed to notice everything, and with an eidetic memory he’d remember it all, so I carefully filed this away. Even though I might not be able to compare to him on memory, I could still try and remember something important to someone who had gone out of his way to be nice to me.

“Can I walk you out?” I asked, glancing around the room to make sure I had finished closing.

“Uh, yeah, sure.”

“Great.”

I gave him a bright smile.

“Wait here, I’ll be right back.”

I hurried to the back room to grab my coat and bag. A few moments later I returned, and Spencer was still there. For some reason I had almost expected him to disappear, almost as if he wasn’t ever there.

But there he was, tugging on the sleeve of his cardigan and shuffling in place.

“Ready to go?” I asked, tugging my coat around me. It was old, and too big for me, and frayed at the bottom, and I had to patch the elbows last winter, but it was warm.

And it was hers.

Every time I pulled the old blue coat on it was like a memory of a hug from my mom.

Spencer nodded.

“Andiamo!” I exclaimed cheerfully. Spencer’s attention perked.

“You speak Italian?”

“A little, you?”

“I’m passable.”

I grinned. 

“I’ve only spoken with you a little, but something tells me you’re a sight more than passable.”

Spencer cracked a smile, ducking his head to hide his pleased expression.

“Maybe I’m closer to fluent, but I’m not there yet.”

I made my way to the door, hitting the lights on my way. The shop fell into darkness, the only illumination the emergency lights and the city ambience outside. 

“It was really nice to meet you, Spencer,” I said earnestly as he joined me on the sidewalk outside. I locked the door and gave it a rattle to make sure it was secure, then turned to him. He tipped the last of his coffee down.

“It was nice to meet you too, Katie.”

“I’ll see you around?” “Yeah, probably.”

He raised the now-empty cup.

“You’re the only one who puts enough sugar in,” he joked, and I laughed with him. 

Raising my hand in farewell, I set off to catch the bus and he began walking the other way. Once I reached the corner I glanced back at the tall figure, passing in and out of sight under streetlamps as he drew further away.

When was the last time I talked to someone who wasn’t a coworker? I wondered. No time was easily coming to mind and I grimaced. It wasn’t easy to maintain a social life while working three jobs.

It’ll be worth it, I assured myself, Friends can come later, I need to do this.

I was dedicated to my goal, and I’d stick to it, but deep down I was hoping to see the handsome Doctor Spencer Reid again. 

A friendly, casual acquaintance. It’ll be nice to see a friendly face every now and then.

And that’s truly all I hoped for, for now.

[inforapound]

Emboîté Part 4

A/N - Part 4 of @youbloodymadgenius writing celebration fic. Than you so much for your likes and comments. This is by far the most over the top sap I have written. Be warned. Pairing – Ivar and Sarah     (Aethelswith)

Words – 2,800 approx

Series Warnings – explicit smut, dance industry inaccuracies, fluffy Ivar, possessive Ivar, semi-slow burn, ‘baby’ used as a term of endearment. 

The atmosphere had shifted. More for him than me perhaps. There was an energy around him, an openness. He smiled more when speaking, gesturing with his hands. Actually, told me about himself. About his role in his family’s importing business and tales of the trouble, he and his brothers caused when they were young. Their fighting so brutal, I was surprised they were all still alive. He spoke about the condition he was born with. The ongoing pain and struggles, touching only briefly on the multiple surgeries he had in attempts to stabilize his brittle bones. He talked about losing his father who had been in and out of his life growing up, always preoccupied with business. It was a mental download of sorts, listing the events of his life as if he had just emerged from some form of emotional confinement.

Then… he spoke about his mother. The adoration and sorrow in his words, in his eyes and in the way he held his entire body, braced, nearly made my tears fall. It was beautiful and shattering the way he described her and their bond and how he struggled, still, to be close with anyone since losing her five years ago. Listening, I wanted so badly to reach across the table and take his hand in mine as he explained the feeling of being alone in his grief. His brothers not effected in the same way and never understanding his heartache. Telling him to man up and get over it.

“Some things you don’t get over,” he said in finishing, looking up with wide eyes.

“Some things you don’t get over,” I agreed, nodding softly. Leaning forward, I looked straight into his raw eyes. “Hopefully, we just learn to live with it a little easier.”

Our eyes stayed fixed on one another’s, but I still noticed the way his adam's-apple dipped with his swallow. The way he ran his tongue over his bottom lip, preparing his next words. There was more he wanted to say.

“I have never brought anyone here before,” he blinked looking down at our plates of barely touched food.

“Really?” I was genuinely surprised. “I must be special,” I laughed lightly.

“You are.”

Heat bloomed on my face and I glanced down at my wine, needing to escape the intensity in his gaze. Something was happening with us. I had been feeling it all day and now I knew it wasn’t just in my head.

In my peripheral, I saw the waiter moving toward our table and I was relieved for the interruption, worried that if I looked back up at Ivar, my soft blush would turn a crimson red.

Glancing up, I flinched, Ronan Dorst stood beside our table; looking as startled as I likely did.

“Ronan!” I exclaimed.

“I saw you over here and wanted to say hello...”

“Now you have,” Ivar cut in, a clear threat in his tone. Barely turning his head, he narrowed his eyes up at Ronan.

There was no question, these two knew and hated each other and if I had been Ronan, the disdain in Ivar’s cold face would have had me running out the front door.

“This is quite a surprise,” Ronan said, bobbing his head as if to taunt. “A step up from your usual company, Ivar.”

My eyes shot back to Ivar and he all but growled at Ronan’s words.

“But then, you are no stranger to paying for women.”

Slamming his hands down on the table, Ivar gripped the edge and began shifting out of the booth to stand. Leaning forward, my hand shot out, grabbing his wrist, nearly knocking over our bottle of wine.

“Please don’t,” I rushed.

Flicking his eyes back to mine, his attention stayed fixed on my pleading face, silently asking him to ignore Ronan’s provocation.  

“Please,” I repeated in a whisper.  

The fight of his fury showed on his face as the muscles in his jaw flicked under his skin. In this strange moment with Ronan intruding on what we were creating, I felt like Ivar’s safety ring. His voice of reason.

“Go,” I said to Ronan in a disgusted tone, never taking my eyes off Ivar’s.

Scoffing loudly, Ronan shook his slicked-back hair and turned, stalking away from our table.

Looking down, Ivar lowered back into his seat, ruffling his suit jacket as if shaking off dust. He looked barely constrained as we sat in silence for some time. Anger simmering under his surface and me too shocked to say a word.

Without looking up from the table, he began to speak.

“Her name is Rebecca and I grew up with her. We all did. She is an escort for…,” inhaling, his voice trailed off for an instant, “for... various reasons. I am not good at dating.” His eyes darted around the linen tablecloth. “When I need a date, I often take her. I pay her. She needs money. She knows Ronan…but I have never, ever, not even once slept with her. Not once. We used to make out after school on the couch in my parent’s family room, but I swear to you, Sarah,” his eyes shot up to mine, “I have never paid for sex.”

“I believe you.”

That was the truth, I did.

“You do?” his eyebrows lifted.

“Yes…. I don’t think you are someone who needs to lie. Or explain themselves. Not to me, not to Ronan Dorst. It is none of my business anyway.”

“I want it to be.”

There it was.

It was my turn for my breath to hitch. He was looking at me with such sincerity, almost desperation. Jesus, he was asking me a question with his beautiful wide eyes. 

Before my mind could think of how to respond, he slid out from his side of the booth and moved around toward me, sliding onto my seat. Lifting his arm over the back of my shoulder, he placed his hand down between my bare shoulder blades. Immediately whimpering, I closed my eyes as a shiver ran through my body. His touch felt charged and I wanted more and God, did he ever smell good.

“Sarah,” he whispered my name like it was a confession. A line formed between his eyebrows as if the thought of me caused him pain. Leaning forward, he pressed his lips to mine, and I felt my fate seal.

His lips, oh God, his lips. His soft, warm, beautiful lips pressed against mine. I had never felt anything so delicate, so intoxicating, even the room and its soft light seemed to spin around us. Every sense in my body sparked and I kissed back, opening my mouth for him to slip his tongue inside. He moaned in what sounded like sweet agony, and I answered with a whine as he slid his warm hand up my neck, curling his finger into the back of my hair.

Pressing harder, his tongue slid in and out, tickling over my lips and tongue. It grew more passionate as our mouths followed the rhythm of the other. I had never experienced a kiss like this before. Felt another’s emotions so powerfully through such simple affection. It made me think, every kiss in my life had merely been preparation for this moment. For him.

My heart raced and I squeezed my thighs together to dampen the ache beginning. When he pulled back and looked at me with desire and longing, I knew he felt the same.

Touching his forehead to mine, his other hand gently landed on my thigh exposed by the high slit in my grey dress. Slowly he pushed upward, shifting my dress higher up my leg and I pulled my head back.

“We shouldn’t.”

Flinching, he frowned as if I had just slapped his face. Utter rejection showed in his eyes and gone was any trace of passion.

No!

Lifting my hand, I cupped his rigid cheek, bringing my mouth back to his.

“I only meant not here. Take me home.”

---

He had left the lights off when we entered his apartment, leading me down the hall to his bedroom by the hand. The only light was a blue hue coming through the blind-less windows from the city below.

Lying on our sides, facing each other, the anticipation buzzed in the air between us as we stared into each other’s eyes. The low light reflecting in his brilliant blues, his face painfully handsome. 

Running the backs of his fingers down my cheek, he looked at me as if I couldn’t possibly be real. As if I was some fleeting apparition that might evaporate from his grasp. I had never felt more desired in my life. There was such honestly in his touch, his hands skimming across my skin, my neck, my chest and down my sides to where my dress was fastened.

Taking his time, he pulled the zipper down my ribs, helping me to sit up so he could lift the fabric up my waist and over my head, dropping it to the floor behind.  

Rising onto my knees, I kneeled before him, helping him undress, removing his shirt, pants, and briefs, everything until we lay naked together. It felt ceremonious. Meaningful. As if we were baring ourselves and preparing to formalize a decision that had already been made.

Embracing, our arms and legs entwined, our lips reconnecting. His mouth was soft and his breath warm, his movements passionate with an edge of need that my body instinctively responded to. My skin tingling like it somehow recognized the feel of his. It was exhilarating, making my heart pound as my hands roamed his broad shoulders, tight stomach, and his defined chest; my fingers running through his thick dark hair. His body was astonishing. Sculpted, with skin that felt as soft as the material of my dress. And, by the way his eyes closed, his breath held, I knew my touch felt as sacred to him as his did to me.

It was powerful. Overwhelming. My chest fluttered and I felt alive, hungry for more. I just wanted more.

“Sarah,” he whispered with longing in his voice, and the way he said my name pulled the air from my lungs.  

When his lips found mine again, gone was the frenzied kissing and heavy hands from the elevator ride up, instead, his mouth‘s tender movements matched my own, our lips, my lips, swearing some silent vows that we would never again feel alone.

“Sarah,” he repeated, his voice almost breaking. His face looking anguished.

“What is it?” I pulled back, my face mirroring his.

“I haven’t stopped thinking of you since that sidewalk at the hotel. Your face...its burned into my mind. Then today, watching you dance, taking your picture… it killed me not being able to touch you. Having you here now….it feels like a dream. You look like a dream.”

Closing my eyes, the fluttering returned to my stomach and I felt tears spring behind my eyes. Hugging me tight to his warm body, this strong, fierce, dominant man, needed reassurance. Needed affection, my affection.

I kissed him hard. My mouth and tongue hungry, my emotions pouring out into his mouth. My hands running all over his body, up to his face, down his neck and over as much of his back as I could reach.

Lifting my leg over his hip, I pulled myself closer to his body, feeling like he was still holding back. When his hand grabbed and squeezed the cheek of my ass, I rolled my hips against him, encouraged by the size of his stiff erection. Grunting into my mouth, the flood gates opened, and he ground his hips back, his tongue delving deeper. Groans of relief and desperation, desire and comfort coming from us both.

Between our close bodies, his standing cock rested on my belly, mere inches from my aching core and the anticipation was killing me. My wetness making my folds slip and slide against each other as I rocked my hips toward him.

“Ivar,” I whimpered, and he leaned up, covering my mouth again with his. My body wanted to race but something told me to savour it, this intimacy marking something important.  

Moving my hips forward, the underside of his hard shaft slid between my lips causing him to suck air in through his gritted teeth.

“Sarah!” he exclaimed, grinding his cock back against me in search of more of the slippery sensation. “I’m trying so hard not rush, but,” he pressed his forehead to mine, and I could see the tortured look in his eyes.

“It’s okay,” I whispered as I tilted my hips forward, the head of his cock pressing against my entrance. In one fluid movement, I pushed down hard, plunging on to him, gasping as he filled me so perfectly.

Mouth gaping, his eyes flashed wide. The feeling of his length and thickness, stretching and spreading my walls was so intense, so rousing, I struggled with whether to stay still and enjoy the wave of pleasure rippling through me or move and rut hard against him.

Deciding for me, his hand grabbed my hip as he carefully slid out, almost to the tip and pushed back in, moaning loudly, his eyes staring into mine. It was profound and I understood how some people wept after making love.

Beginning to rock my hips in time with his, I began panting from the delicious feeling of him inside, but I wanted more. I wanted everything. Wanted his mouth on mine, cock plunging deep, hands everywhere. I wanted all of him.

“You… feel…God…” his strained words fell quiet. 

The thrusting of his hip sped, my own hips now braced in place receiving him as he drove deep, the angle perfect, hitting some sweet spot I had only heard of.

Reaching around my hip, his fingers found the back of my entrance, grunting at the feel of my slick coating his length as he steadily pumped in and out.

Hissing, he kissed me, his tongue diving back into my mouth.

“This is so much more than what I imagined. You are so fucking perfect.”

I felt I could climax just from the emotion in his words.

“More,” I whispered looking at him and his eyes narrowed with desire, his movements getting stronger. “More,” I tipped my head back, my walls starting to contract. Ivar knowing exactly what was happening and what I needed. “More,” I repeated as he began pounding into me, my arms gripping tight around his neck.

Feeling the climb toward my finish, I panted loudly, my hips beginning to buck, chasing my release. I couldn’t stop.

“I’m going to...” I mumbled as he pushed his tongue back into my mouth.

“Me too.” He broke away. “Can I cum in you?”

“Do it.” I breathed as my orgasm crashed over me, my mind suspending and my womb contracting with a snap. Freezing, I couldn’t even grind against him while he slammed toward his own end. Dropping my head back again, I couldn’t stop the animal sounds coming from me as he rutted hard, again and again, one last time, before thrusting and holding deep, shooting his warm load inside. Fuck, it felt amazing, the sensation prolonging the quivering inside me. Him throbbing and our juices mixing together.  

I lost track of where my hands were, grabbing his ass, his back, his built shoulders. Feeling near delirious, it was only his firm grasp around me, his cock still inside, that held me down to earth.

Cupping my face with his gentle hand, he brought his lips back to mine and kissed me, his body still shuddering from the strength of his climax.

“Fuck,” he lowered his lips to my neck, and the top of my shoulder, his hands, running down the side of my face, my arm, my breast, my behind. “Sarah,” the seriousness in tone pulled me back from the cloud of bliss I was adrift on. “I want to be with you so badly. I just...” he shook his head,” I’m crazy about you. Tell me we’ll be together.”

Ivar Lothbrok, without arrogance, without his cool, abrupt exterior was asking me to be his girlfriend. My heart could have exploded. 

Opening my eyes, I pressed my lips to his face, peppering kisses across his cheeks and nose, finally back to his mouth.  

“I want to be with you too.”

And with that, we were bound.

@youbloodymadgenius​​​​​​​ @naaladareia​​​​​​​ @whenimaunicorn​​​​​​​ @lol-haha-joke​​​​​​​ @ceridwenofwales​​​​​​​  @jaydelesley4​​​​​​​  @sweeneythots​​​​​​​ @funmadnessandbadassvikings​​​​​​​ @fangirl-nonsense​​​​​​​ @thiahilmarsdottir​​​​​​​ @redama​​​​​​​ @mdredwine​​​​​​​ @didiintheblog​​​​​​​ @yourpurplequeen​​​​​​​ @londongal2810​​​​​​​ @fields-and-fields-of-poppies​​​​​​​ @readsalot73​​​​​​​ @hexqueensupreme​​​​​​​ @silly-bullshit-collector​​​​​​​ @littlecarolina94​​​​​​​ @oddsnendsfanfics​​​​​​​  @youbelongeverywhere @blonddnamedhandz​​​​​ @waiting4inspiration​​​ @flowers-in-your-hayr​​ @zuxiezendler​​ @heavenly1927​​ @squirrelacorngliterfarts​ @jzr201​ @hecohansen31​

[amuseoffyre]

Britpicking Index

Some useful compare/contrasts for non-British people writing characters in Britain :) (Also, vice versa, because me and my editor have had some run ins over things I didn’t realise had different names in the US). Feel free to add more if you think of them. These are the main ones I’ve encountered and seen discussed in various forums.

Apartment

Flat. We occasionally use apartment now, purely because Americanisms have slipped into the lingo, but mostly, we call them flats.

Bangs

Have never understood why they’re called bangs. We call them fringes.

Bathroom (Going to the…)

Nipping to the loo, having a slash, nipping to the little girl/boy’s room.

Candy

Sweets. Just generally sweets of any kind.

  Chips

Crisps. Because they’re crisp, I suppose?

On a related note, chips over here are the great big chunky potato fries. The little skinny ones (ie. Like McDonalds or Burger King’s) are French fries, but generally, people will still call them chips.

  Cookie/Biscuit

Honestly, this one is… all over the place because US biscuits sound like savoury scone-type things but are very much not savoury scones because they’re served with gravy. Or apparently with jam/honey/other stuff.

Meanwhile UK biscuits are generally small, crunchy and sweet. But I have been reliably informed that a biscuit =/= cookie. However, some things that UK manufacturers call cookies are – in fact – biscuits. Do not trust cookies that crunch and hurt your teeth.

Fannypack

Um. So fanny is a certain area of genitalia over here. Just... worth knowing. We also call them “bumbags”.

Faucet

Tap. Also, we have separate taps for hot and cold in older buildings. Because Chaotic Evil :)

Freeway

Motorway. (More road/traffic information at the bottom)

Garbage/Trash

Rubbish. Bins are the general receptacles for it. 

Gas (Gasoline) and Gas Stations

Petrol and petrol stations. Same stuff, a lot more expensive from what I’ve seen of pricing per gallong versus per litre.

Grill (For cooking)

This one tripped me up very hard in one of my short stories. My US editor and I were as confused as each other when we described them to one another.

We do have grill pans here (ie. The pans with the ridged bottom) and we do the outdoor grilling thing over a flame as well, but generally in the UK, if we say ‘grill’ we are talking about the oven broiler.

Outdoor grilling is just called barbecue unless on a large/professional scale, when it miraculous turns into a grill. The George Foreman grill is also a thing, but I haven’t seen them show up in fic all that often.

Jelly

Jelly = jam, ie. the spreading stuff for sandwiches and things. Jello, on the other hand, is called jelly.

  Jumper

Not a dress. These are generally the knitted kind of pullovers/sweaters. Christmas jumpers are definitely a thing.

Lemonade

It’s a trap. It can refer to a) freshly squeezed lemon juice, b) fizzy lemon juice or c) lemon-ish-flavoured-ish fizzy drinks like 7Up and Sprite. And to add to the trap, it varies in every shop and restaurant. Good luck!

Line/Lining up.

Queue/queuing. Also getting in line.

  Movies (Going to)

Going to the cinema or going to the pictures.

  Pancakes

Yes, I hark back to The Discourse of crepes versus pancakes. UK pancakes were not like US pancakes in my tothood. They were thin, rolled-up things that were more like crepes. However, Scotch pancakes (or drop scones – no idea. Not a frigging scone) are like chibi US pancakes, thick and fluffy. Ingredients vary across the board. I’ve seen recipes including butter and soda and everything. The most basic recipe is pretty much eggs, flour, milk.

 Pants

This is a big one that shows up an awful lot. The word pants in Britain tends to describe underwear of some variety, so you can imagine that this gives a very different mental image of a scene if someone is wearing tight pants in a fancy restaurant.  Pants can be anything from tighty-whities to full-blown granny pants.

Generally pants get called trousers over here. We have the usual varieties of jeans and leggings and things, but generally, full-length leg coverings? Trousers.

Pie

Generally, a pie is savoury, unless specified otherwise.

Pumps

Technically, some shops do refer to them as pumps, but most people I’ve encountered in my 30+ years of living here just call them shoes and define by other means (ie. ballet flats, beach shoes etc)

(Also, fun fact, pump is frequently used as slang for a fart. So someone putting on a pair of pumps...)

Refrigerator

Just fridge, usually.

Roommate

Unless you are literally sharing a room with them, they’re a flatmate. Also, UK universities don’t generally do shared dorms. Everyone gets their own private room, though not everyone gets their own private bathroom.

Sidewalk

Pavement or footpath depending on how rural said walkway is. (More road/traffic information at the bottom)

Shopping Cart

Trolley. If it doesn’t have one wonky wheel, you are Blessed.

Sneakers

Generally, trainers. This can cover any kind of laced-up shoe that is used for sport or is kind of casual and flat, although we also differentiate between Converse, tennis shoes and such as well.

Plimsols are those lace-less slip-on canvas shoes used by kids for indoor sports. They are awful and smell like rubber.

Soda

I can’t give a fixed answer for this one. There are some areas that call all fizzy drinks “pop” while there are other regions which call all soft drinks/fruit drinks “juice”.

 Store

Shop. Superstores, on the other hand, are supermarkets. On a related note, going grocery shopping is generally just known as “doing the shopping” or - more northerly - “getting the messages”.

Street cars/Trollies

Trams. This was a matter of great and heated argument back in the day. Fortunately, there aren’t all that many in the UK, so unless you’re writing in specific parts of the country, it shouldn’t be an issue.

Suspenders

Braces. Because using the word suspenders over here is generally referring to the stockings-and-suspenders variety, with strong hints of lingerie involved. Kind of a nudge-nudge, wink-wink, wahey! kind of thing. Because sometimes, we never grow past the Carry On films.

Trunk (of a car)

The car boot or just ‘the boot’. Similarly, the hood of the car is called the bonnet.

TV

Called either TV or telly. Daft little thing, but putting the telly on reminds me of home :)

Washcloths

Flannels or facecloths.

Some minor oddities that may be useful:

Eggs

We don’t refrigerate them. We don’t have to. Some people keep them in a special shelf of the fridge, but generally it’s not necessary.

Laundry

In British houses, washing machines are generally in the kitchen. Don’t know why, given that Europe tends to have them in bathrooms or laundry rooms. (Useful to know, we don’t call the baskets laundry baskets/hampers. They’re generally just referred to as “the washing”)

Also, a lot of houses don’t have tumble driers. Outdoor drying is still quite common (weather permitting) on lines strung for the purpose between poles or on a whirligig contraption in the back garden. In Scotland, blocks of flats often have a shared “drying green” which does exactly what it says on the tin. Except, because it’s Scotland, I believe they named it ironically.

If you don’t have a tumble drier and the weather Gods are displeased, then we resort to the good old-fashioned airer, a murderous contraption of metal rods (usually coated in white plastic) that unfolds (and bites the unsuspecting finger when it collapses for no good reason).

Recycling

Oh. good. god. In the name of trying to make us save the planet, we have bins for everything. In my area, we have a regular bin, a recycling bin, a garden waste bin, a composting bin and a glass-recycling box. I know places that have more. I know places that have less.

They’re usually on weekly rotations and it’s an absolute nightmare trying to a) find space to store them and b) find space to put them out for the rubbish collection. Some areas that are mainly blocks of flats have large communal bins with similar distinctions, but I think pretty much everywhere is burdered with an excess of large plastic bins.

Roads and the Use Thereof

We drive on the left side of the road with the driver’s side on the right of the vehicle. Intersections are called junctions and I think roundabouts are a much more common phenomenon in Britain than in most sensible countries.

We still have the usual road signs and things, although British variations thereof. You can find British traffic signs by any basic search online. Traffic lights are usually just the three colours - red, amber, green - but you do occasionally get ones with extra signals for cyclists and the like.

Cycle lanes are about, but they’re not as common as somewhere like the Netherlands.

Which brings me to crosswalks - we have two common varieties: zebra and pelican. Yeah, we’re eccentric like that.

The pelican crossing is the one where you press the button and wait for the little green man to give you the all-clear to walk. It’s called Pelican because it used to be a semi-acronym - "pedestrian light controlled crossing".

Zebra crossings usually have no buttons. Some of them have striped poles with roung yellow/orange lights at the top, but not as much anymore. These kind of crossings give pedestrians the right of way, although a lot of drivers seem to ignore that rule.

Technically, they do have their names, but most of the time, we just refer to them as “the crossing”. No one really differentiates between pelican and zebra anymore.

School/college/variations.

Generally, we have state schools (government funded, variable on quality) and the independent schools which are the fee-paying ones for people who want to go private. Be aware that public refers to independent schools in some places, but to state schools in others. Children are entitled to education between the ages of 5-18.

For the early school stages, it varies depending on region. Where I am (Scotland), you have 7 years of Primary school (P1-7) and up to 6 years of Secondary school (S1-6).

I get a bit confounded with the English system because it seems to vary a lot depending on region. Primary covers most for the early years, up to age 11, but then you get a cocktail of Lower/Upper, Sixth Form and College for the secondary years depending on which area you’re in.

We don’t use terms like sophomore etc (I honestly thought that was the flag-code thing)

College is generally seen as the stepping stone between school and university. You don’t need to go to college in order to go to university in a lot of areas, but in some regions, your final year of school is done at college. It’s all a bit confusing.

University is where you go if you want to study a degree. Again, the courses vary by length depending on subject. A standard bachelor degree is 3 years in most places (except for stuff like medicine and architecture). Masters are an additional year (or two) on top of the Bachelor. Anything beyond that is variable depending on both university and course. We call the unis for short.

Swearing

Depending on region, the strength and frequency of profanities varies. For example, I’m in Scotland and one of the ladies I work with has used the c-word as a verb. Someone was playing the fool and she described them as “c*nting about”. My boss was usually ill if she didn’t drop f-bombs 8+ times a day and usually while laughing. It’s rare not to hear someone on the bus swearing on a daily basis as well.

Going back to the previously mentioned fannies, please enjoy an infamously Scottish advert:

So swearing. Yes. Variable. Definitely something to be aware of.

[grace-writes-shit]

Yours From The Beginning (Sherlock x Reader)

Request:  Hey I love your fics and I was wondering if I could request a Sherlock x Reader fic using prompts 5 and 24. Thank you very much 💕 5 “It’s midnight, what do you want?” 24 “I’ve never felt this way before and I’m terrified, to be honest.”

Words: 1027

Warnings: Domestic violence, abuse, blood, angst.

Characters/Pairings: Sherlock x reader

A/N: I apologize for my long absence! I've been going through some mental health stuff, on top of college and moving... But I’m back! I have 4 more requests in my list and we are almost to 300 followers! I can’t believe it! Thank you guys so much! (Also imagine this gif as Sherlock coming to save you!)

All was silent in the building. The tenants of 221 Baker St. all slept on peacefully in their beds. John snores ever so softly, wrapped tightly in his tan sheets. Mrs. Hudson would mumble in her sleep, occasionally a scolding tone would slip out with Sherlock’s name as the subject. But these two are not what held the detective’s attention.

The doorknob quietly jingled as a key was inserted. How he got a copy was beyond the tenant of 221C. (Y/N) was curled up into a ball amongst her lavender blankets. She twitched in her sleep at the sound of footsteps closing in on her bedroom.

The door squeaked open, something she refused to fix specifically for this reason. She was a light sleeper.

“It’s midnight, Sherlock, what do you want?” Her rough, sleepy voice sounded from the mound of blankets. Sherlock didn’t stop as he made his way to her bed, lifting the duvet and nudging her to move over. She groaned and wiggled to the side, allowing him to lay next to her.

This isn’t the first time the two have shared a bed. Having grown up with each other the two knew each other like the back of their hands.

“What’s the matter?” She mumbled, wrapping her arms around him like she does when he’s in a mood. He was silent and she honestly didn’t mind. He seldom answered her if he didn’t want to. Most of the time he just wanted peace and quiet and that’s what she provided. As well as an ear to listen if he needed one.

He buried his face in the crook of her neck and tangled their legs together. She was wearing shorts. It sent his heart beating wildly. The softness of her skin, the gentle but firm grip of her arms around him, and the forgiving pressure of her body against his, it all had his mind fuzzy.

As children, (Y/N) was a cute kid but always covered in dirt, hair frizzy and band-aids covering her legs and arms. As teenagers, (Y/N) sprouted into a spitfire of a woman. Always questioning their teachers, getting into detention for talking back. Or for the time she shot a boy in the junk with a paintball gun for talking bad about Sherlock.

He hadn’t seen her for years after her family moved away in their junior year. They kept in touch, though. Sending letters and exchanging phone calls. He would tell her of the college he attended and the cases he solved after college.

She would indulge him of her career as a freelance writer. And of her boyfriend.

Robert wasn’t a good man. He was so charming and kind upon first getting to know him. He would take her out and make her feel like a princess. That was until they moved in together. He was smart, hitting her in spots that were easily hidden. Berating her and isolating her from her friends.

But she managed to stay in touch with Sherlock, not telling him of what was going on, however. Knowing how Sherlock was, she was able to keep it hidden from him, talking as normally as she had before this all happened.

But why not tell him? Simple. She didn’t want to seem weak. She was always able to handle herself growing up. So, she can handle this as well…

She broke, though. Robert had come home smelling of perfume and booze. He threw a vase at her head. She couldn’t remember why. She couldn’t remember much of that night. All she remembers is barely reaching her phone after Robert had passed out on the couch. Her vision was red with blood and the buttons of her phone were smudged red as she called Sherlock.

He had shown up to find her in a puddle of her blood. He nearly thought her dead, if it hadn’t been for the shallow rise and fall of her chest. Mycroft’s men had rushed in and swept her up and to the nearest hospital. Sherlock stayed behind.

He showed up at the hospital with bloodied fists and a split lip. After that, after her recovery, Sherlock arranged for her to move into 221C, where she had her privacy but was within reach of him.

That had been four months ago, and her hair was still boyish short from having her head shaved in order to stitch her up. Robert mysteriously disappeared, thanks to Mycroft, who thought of the woman as a little sister.

Having her here now, all grown up and beautiful, it awoke something in Sherlock.

“I’ve never felt this way before and I’m terrified, to be honest.” He murmured into her skin. She jerked slightly; having thought he had fallen asleep.

“How do you mean?” She carded her fingers through his dark curls. He tightened his arms around her.

“My heart races when I’m near you like this, my mind is hazy when I think of you. And I’m paralyzed when you smile at me. The air leaves my lungs when you cry and it’s as if the world turns grey. The thought of losing you feels like I’m dying.” Sherlock curled around her. Almost afraid of her response to his confession. He felt her take a deep breath and he braced for the worst.

“Shit, Sherl…” Her voice came out in a sob. His head shot up to look at her in the dim light. Tears glistened in her (e/c) eyes. A smile painted her face, however. His brow furrowed.

“Did I say something wrong? I-I apologize… I figure you don’t feel the same for me. I’d understand if-if you only saw me as nothing more than a brother or a close friend, but I-”

“Sherlock.” She cut him off, cupping his slightly scruffy cheek. He hasn’t shaved in a few days because of his latest case. She liked it.

“Yes?” He breathed.

“Just shut up for once.” She grinned, pressing her lips to his. Truth be told, she had always loved him. From the very beginning. She just figured the man who said love was weakness wouldn’t love her in return. 

Oh, how she was wrong.    

[logansanderslove]

Logan 3.0  12/?

CO-AUTHOR: @demented-dukey

Summary: Remus is an incorrigible flirt, and Logan can only bear the innuendo for so long until something has to give. Passions erupt, but there are more lasting repercussions than either could have predicted, including a significant transformation to Logan himself! How will these new changes affect the delicate balance of Thomas’s mental state? When a new dark side threatens the lives of several of the other sides, will Logan and Remus’s love be strong enough to save everyone, including Thomas?

Ships: INTRULOGICAL

Sanders Sides: Logan, Remus, Thomas, Roman, Virgil, Patton, Deceit

Fic type: Drama, Romantic, Action, Flirty

Trigger Warnings: no character deaths, but a lot of very close calls. Consensual knife play and blood play, and lots of bloody fighting and monster attacks. If you’re sensitive to unsympathetic characters, some parts flirt pretty close to that, but there’s also a lot of extenuating circumstances to explain the situation, and there’s a happy ending once you get through the angst and misunderstandings. Self-harm and references to such, and suicidal tendencies.

MASTERLIST 

Chapter 12: Logan’s Return

Roman glanced at the clock on the wall - it was late, and most of the sides were asleep. On the TV screen, Moana was silently singing her heart out, closed captioning rolling across the bottom of the screen, but Roman wasn’t really watching it anymore. Virgil had taken Thomas back out of the mindspace and was keeping an eye on him while he slept. Patton was sitting on the floor next to the couch where Deceit was stretched out - they’d decided not to move him too much until after he’d had a chance to heal a little more. Pat had been keeping vigil with Roman until about an hour ago when he’d started nodding off, and Roman turned down the volume of the movie so it wouldn’t disturb him (Roman had started the movie marathon hours ago, turning the volume up to drown out the yelling coming from Logan’s room).

Now, the mindscape was quiet, and the muffled yelling had long since faded. Roman hesitantly considered it a good thing, hoping that the plan had worked. Standing up and stretching, Roman padded over to Logan’s door and quietly cracked it open, slipping inside. He braced himself for the worst - finding his brother cold and dead and bloodless in the chair next to Logan’s bed - and was deeply relieved to see the two figures entangled on the bed, deep in slumber. There was more blood than Roman would have liked to see in congealed puddles and dried splotches all over the tarp and under the chair, but the reward seemed to be worth the price paid. Roman crouched down and waved his hand, using his powers to make the blood and the tarp vanish. He picked up the now-sterile knife and set it gently back on the side-table, and looked around to see if there was anything else he could fix. Remus’s shirt was in a discarded pile of bloody tatters, and Roman removed the stains and repaired the tears, folding the shirt neatly and draping it over the back of the chair.

Nodding his approval, he looked around one last time and saw that Logan’s eyes had cracked open, deep blue irises watching him. “Hey,” Roman whispered, waving shyly. “Sorry to wake you.”

Logan smiled faintly, slowly glanced back at his boyfriend, then he very gently scooted forward and sat up on the edge of the bed, leaning his forearms on his knees. 

"Don't worry about it, Ro. You didn't wake me up. I've been nodding in and out of it for a while." He turned his head. "Re, on the other hand, was out seconds after his head touched the pillow." he sighed. "To think what he did just to get me back is incredible."

Logan then turned back to face Roman, who had sat down on the chair. "I'm sorry."

Roman raised his eyebrow. "For what?"

"For everything that I did. I remember now. In the Subconscious, I basically hunted you and Dee, now Deceit is barely functioning because of me, I could have killed my boyfriend, I probably would have killed you and Deceit if I had found you, and all of this was just a huge mess." Said the neutral side.

Roman was quiet for a moment, then he sighed and shook his head. "No, Logan...no, no, don't blame yourself. That wasn't you. We all knew the day that Fury built himself up enough would be a day of pain. We all knew that. And I am just so sorry that you were the one who had to be weighed down by it."

Logan sighed, nodding, then he took Roman's hand and pulled him into a hug. "Thank you. For all that you've done...for all of us. You care about me, you care about your brother, about Dee, Patton, Virge, Thomas...I swear, there are times when I admire how well you handle taking care of us."

Shaking his head, Roman waved off the praise, “You give me too much credit. I’d probably still be searching for you in the subconscious if Dee hadn’t shown up when he did, and I’m pretty sure he saved my life telling me to manifest the dragons and then hiding us from Fury. He’d be dead if not for Patton’s healing powers - there’s nothing I can do to help them, or to help Virge take care of Thomas.” He sighed, staring at his empty palms, “My skill set… it’s useful, but it’s also severely limited. I’m great at helping Thomas write videos, but when it comes to this… I can’t do much, but I can try to take care of your guys while you do the important stuff.”

"Speaking of," Roman looked up, "Can I get you anything? Food? Water?"

Logan smiled. "You've forgotten your other incredible gift. Kindness." He nodded. "A glass of water would be fantastic, thank you, Roman." 

The Prince nodded and stood up, walking into the Common Area to grab Logan some water. The intellectual turned slightly, looking down at his boyfriend sleeping so peacefully, no doubt dreaming of some beautifully gorey situation where he was the blood-covered victor. Logan brushed his hair gently, sighing.

Staring at his shirtless torso, Logan smiled as he traced his finger over the constellations that marked Remus as his own that weren't under bloody bandages. Putting a hand to his own chest, he almost felt empty without the scar that Remus had branded him. His lips twitched up in a subtle smile. He'd just have to have Remus give him a new one.

The door opened again and Roman walked in with a glass of water, handing it to Logan then sitting back down. It was quiet as Logan took a few sips of the drink, then Roman sighed.

"Logan, are you okay?"

Logan set the glass down on his nightstand, turning his head with a confused expression. "How do you mean?"

"I mean, how are you feeling with Fury and everything? How are you managing it? And...what does it feel like?" asked the Prince.

“I don’t know,” Logan answered honestly. “Most of it is still fuzzy, but a few bits and pieces are starting to come back.” He closed his eyes, trying to focus, trying to remember, but his head just started to pound. Logan rubbed his temples, “I’m… scared. I’m horrified at what Fury has done, at the lengths he pushed Remus to go to get me back, and I’m terrified that it’ll happen again.” He smiled crookedly at Roman. “I believe it’s mostly the lack of knowledge about Fury’s powers and triggers that are the driving force behind my current anxiety. Similar to Dr. Beck’s theory that it’s a patient’s distorted view of reality - for example, the inability to understand the objective causes and effects operating in the concrete situations facing them - that lies at the root of their psychological suffering.”

Roman blinked, offering an easy grin, “You’ve lost me, specs, but it sure is good to hear you sound like yourself again.”

Logan rolled his eyes, but smiled back fondly, “Dr. Aaron T. Beck - he’s the psychiatrist regarded as the father of cognitive therapy, and his pioneering theories are widely used in the treatment of clinical depression and various anxiety disorders.”

“Okay…” Roman nodded slowly, “I’m kinda following… What’s that got to do with Fury?”

“One of the most common types of psychotherapy is cognitive-behavioral therapy. The purpose of the treatment is to help an angry person recognize the self-defeating negative thoughts that lie behind anger flare-ups.” Logan explained, waving his hands animatedly as he talked.

Roman tapped his fingers thoughtfully, “So, you think that if you can predict what will cause Fury to 'flare-up', you can keep him under control?”

Logan shrugged, “It’s a working theory, and will need further testing before a functional plan can be implemented.” 

“Fury said…” Roman trailed off, and Logan waited patiently for him to continue, “He said he was bonded with you, that it was impossible to separate him from you.”

“He may have been telling the truth,” nodded Logan, “The transition I went through when I became a neutral side could have permanently merged us together, and it may be only a matter of time until we fully integrate.”

“I was thinking about that,” Roman said, “Integrating with Fury might be the only way to fully control him and to stop him from putting Thomas and the rest of us at risk again. But I wanted to know how you felt. Do you want to fully integrate with him?” Logan paused, considering, and Roman continued hurriedly, “If you don’t, I’ll find a way to separate you, Logan. I swear it. I don’t care how impossible it is. Deceit managed to get rid of Fury once, and we can do it again. We’ll keep doing it as long as we have to, for the rest of Thomas’s life. You don’t have to do this.”

Logan gave a pained grin. "Again, your kindness never ceases to amaze me. However, what you brought up... I'm not entirely sure what I want. I do want to be able to be my own person again, but then I lose all of this," he gestured to himself and his new appearance. "And I don't want to lose this. It feels good. But I'm also nervous about what could happen if Fury and I fully integrate."

He then rubbed his chin. "You said that Dee was able to do away with him in the past?" Asked the scholar and Roman nodded. "Perhaps I shall see him when he wakes up and ask him to suggest a way. He knows Fury better than anyone, therefore he'd be the one with the most knowledge."

Roman leaned back in the chair, nodding. "Makes sense. I'm just happy to see you functioning again." He then sat up straight. "We should probably go see how Thomas is doing!" He said with a slightly panicked tone. "When Fury took over, he caused Thomas to basically crumble into the worst panic attack I have ever seen. Even Virgil was absolutely terrified. He's watching over him now."

Logan immediately rose to his feet and strode to his dresser, opening a drawer and retrieving a black polo shirt. After slipping it on he spun around with a nod. 

"Let's go."

Pausing by the bed, Logan leaned down to kiss Remus, carefully eluding the hands that clumsily reached out to pull him back into the warmth of the sheets. "Gonna check on Thomas, love."

"Mmmkay." came the sleepy, slurred response, "Wah m'cm w'th?"

"No, go back to sleep," Logan said, stroking his love's hair. "I'll be back soon enough. Dream of me?"

Remus hummed happily, snuggling back down into the pillows. Tucking the blankets around him, Logan gave him one more kiss on the forehead before pulling himself away.

He followed Roman as they sank out of his room and into Thomas's bedroom. Virgil looked up, the eyeshadow deep and dark under his eyes, but he smiled in relief to see Logan, "Welcome back."

Logan offered a small smile. "Apologies for being gone in the first place." His eyes moved to Thomas and his smile disappeared. "How is he?" His voice was more of a whisper now.

Virgil sighed, his hand on Thomas' shoulder. "Better. It'll take some time, Logan. What he went through, what Fury did to both him and Dee, it's going to take time to mend." He looked up to see the guilt in Logan's eyes. Virgil sighed, then took Logan's hand and sat him down next to him. "Logan, you need to get it out of your head right now that you are to blame. This was not your fault. Had any of us been inflicted by Fury, no one would be in control either. That's what Fury does. He basically rips the power away from the host and takes the wheel, steering them any which way he wants. Typically violently."

Roman sat down on the floor, crossing his legs. "So, how did Deceit get rid of him years ago?" He asked, Logan's gaze moving to Virgil to await the response. Virgil sighed.

"Well, believe me, it wasn't easy. He and I had talked about it for days, weeks even. We knew we had to do something, but we soon discovered that only Deceit was strong enough to face him down." Virgil lifted up his sweatshirt and his shirt to show a large, jagged scar that ran across his chest. Both Logan and Roman's eyes dilated in shock as Virgil closed his eyes, letting his sweatshirt fall.

"The thing about the wounds from Fury? They don't heal like normal wounds would. Deceit and Remus' wounds will leave permanent scars, not ones we can just vanish." He pursed his lips. "When he found out that Deceit and I were planning to entrap him, he basically took me 'hostage', you might say. Told Deceit that he'd kill me if he didn't back off. Of course, I told Deceit to ignore him, that we needed to do this, and so Fury just ran his sword right across my chest. Next thing I knew I woke up in Deceit's room in excruciating pain with bloody bandages covering my chest. I don't know what Deceit did, but when he got back, he told me that Fury was gone. I still have no clue how he stopped him."

Virgil looked up at Logan. "You need to understand that now that Fury is latched on to you, your life is never going to be the same. I hate to be that person, but if you don't keep a handle on things, people will die." Said Virgil matter-of-factly. 

Logan didn't realize he had stopped breathing until his head began to pound, and he choked a bit, then he nodded to Virgil's point. "I have every intention of doing my very best and everything I can to keep Fury in check." 

Roman nudged Logan's leg with his boot. "And we're all here to help, Lo. Anything we can do, we'll do. We all want what's best for Thomas. Not only that, but what's best for each other, as well." He then smirked. "Besides. I'm pretty positive that from now on my brother isn't going to let you out of his sight after losing you." 

Virgil shrugged. "I doubt you'll mind, though." He winked, and Logan chuckled with a nod. He glanced to the side at the still sleeping man. 

"We should let him be. He needs sleep to heal and rejuvenate."

Roman yawned. "I think we should all head to bed." He said as Logan stood and offered his hand to Virgil. 

"Agreed.”

Virgil and Roman sank out, headed to their rooms for some much-needed rest. Logan hesitated, taking one last long look at Thomas’s sleeping form, before sinking out. He rose up in the common room, wanting to check on Patton and see Deceit’s wounds with his own eyes before he headed back to bed.

Patton was still slumped next to the couch, snuffling softly in his sleep. Logan’s gaze was caught by the figure stretched out on the couch, the torn and blood-soaked clothing peeking out under bandages, and his own battered face resting on a cushion. He crouched down next to Patton, gently shaking his shoulder. “Hey.”

Snapping awake, Patton blinked several times behind his glasses before he recognized who had woken him. “Logan!”, Patton cried, and suddenly Logan had an armful of the puffball knocking him back on his butt. “I’m so happy to see you!”

“It’s nice to see you too, Pat.” He chuckled softly, returning Patton’s hug, “How are you doing?”

“Better now that you’re back!” Patton smiled, but the expression fell when he looked at Deceit. “And better than Dee’s doing, by a long shot.”

Logan took another look at the bandages, but it was hard to see the extent of the damages without removing them. “He looks like he’s pretty stable at the moment?”

“He is!” Patton assured him, “He’s a lot better than he was! But… he hasn’t woken up yet or shifted back, and I worry.”

“It’s still a good sign. Give it time.” Logan rubbed Patton’s back, trying to comfort him. “The others neglected to mention that Deceit was wearing my form when he was wounded.”

Patton nodded. "Yeah. He wanted to distract Fury, so he took on your old form to prove that Fury wasn't fully you, that Logic wouldn't do what he had done, and I think he also did it just to get on Fury's nerves." He said, and Logan sighed, then tussled Patton's hair.

"Why don't you head to bed, Pat? I'll watch over Dee for a while. I owe him that." Logan said, and Patton nodded as Logan helped him to his feet.

"Okay, Lo. Thanks." He said through a yawn, shuffling off to his room. Logan moved to the couch, sitting on the edge and feeling his shoulders sag as he stared at the man before him.

It was odd to be looking down at himself when he was really looking at one of his friends, and it was even stranger that it was him from years ago.

Logan brushed Deceit's hair back, shaking his own head as the immense guilt flooded over him. He knew it wasn't really his fault. Fury had basically pulled him out of the driver's seat and jumped behind the wheel. 

But Logan still had a part of him that blamed himself.

"I'm sorry, Deceit. I swear, no matter what it takes, I'll make sure that we get you back. I'll take care of you."

[buckyodinson]

Sutures (Cable x Reader)

This wasn’t a request but I’ve seen Deadpool 2 twice now and I’m actually in love with Cable and there are hardly any fics about him yet so I thought I’d write one while I had a spare hour. I’m sorry about all the requests I still haven’t done. I promise I will get to them soon. I completely finish school in about 3 weeks time so I’ll have all summer to be free and write again.

This was based on a prompt I found while deleting some old notes and then this fic just kinda happened.

“You’re beautiful.”

“Don’t try to hit on me right now.”

- Reader is injured after an X-Force mission and Cable helps fix her up.

This is probably also wildly ooc but idk it just happened.

Word count: 1,300ish

You were all back in the X-Jet on the way to the mansion after a mission. Domino was remarkably, but unsurprising unscathed from the mission - Lady Luck was on her side yet again. Wade was missing an arm, but it was already starting to grow back, and everyone was happy to ignore the process. Colossus had some dents but was otherwise fine. Cable seemed to be okay, he was just quiet, as per usual.

You, on the other hand, had a fairly large cut on your stomach, and you could feel yourself bleeding out, but you didn’t want to make a big deal about it until you got back to the mansion, because you knew Colossus, especially, would freak out and wouldn’t leave you alone. Thankfully, your combat gear wasn’t skin tight or revealing, so the wound wasn’t too obvious. The fact that your suit was a very dark red, almost black, also helped.

You were doing a pretty good job of hiding it until you hit a bit of turbulence and got shaken about and you hissed in pain. You closed your eyes and leant your head back onto your headrest, and took deep breaths to try and ease the pain. Cable was sat across from you and he seemed to be the only one who noticed you hiss. His eyes narrowed as he looked you over, trying to deduce the problem.

Then he noticed the pool of blood forming on the floor underneath you, and started to get worried, “You alright over there Y/N?” he asked with a raised eyebrow.

You opened your eyes, and smiled before humming and nodding in response, unsure if your voice would give away your pain.

“I need a verbal answer, darlin’. Because it looks like an awful lot of blood is coming out of you currently.”

“I’m fine Cable.” You attempted to say in a relaxed manner but your voice was strangled as you said his name, because you were rocked side to side by the landing. Your arm moved slightly from where it was in front of your stomach, and Cable noticed the blood coming from the cut.

He started to get up to look at the wound but before he could make his way over to you, you’d already gotten up and sprinted out of the open door and into the mansion. He cursed to himself and ran after you, leaving the rest of the team to wonder what had just happened.

Cable managed to catch up with you pretty easily, since you weren’t moving particularly fast because of the injury.

“Hey, just let me help you.” You heard his gruff voice from behind you, but you carried on walking to your room. He ran to stand in front of you, forcing you to stop.

“Honestly, Cable, I’m fine. I can deal with this myself.” You stepped to one side, and he mirrored you, then you tried the other way and he did the same. You sighed in defeat, and motioned for him to join you.

You walked silently to your room, unlocking it and gesturing for Cable to walk in before you. He did so and stood around awkwardly before you told him to make himself comfortable.

He didn’t want to impose so sat at your desk rather than on your bed or sofa, which were the pieces of furniture you pointed to.

You went into the bathroom to find a needle and thread, and some bandages, then walked back out and put them on the desk next to Cable. He started to thread the needle while you found some alcohol, glasses and a towel. You sat in the chair next to him and poured two drinks.

“Well, for me to patch you up, you kinda have to show me the wound, darlin’.” He smirked. You slowly peeled your shirt off to reveal to large cut on your abdomen.

“Jesus Christ, Y/N.” His eyes widened when he saw how bad the cut was.

“It’s fine. Stop gawking and just sew it up.” You rolled your eyes as you took a sip of your drink.

“Y/N you should have told someone how bad this was. You shouldn’t have waited so long to clean this up. You could get an infection. You sho-“

“For God’s sake, Cable. Just sew me up or I’ll do it myself - like I was going to anyway.”

“Sorry Darlin’, I care about you, is all. I don’t wanna see you beat up like this. This is gonna hurt, okay?.” He said as he leant forward to start his sutures, and you braced yourself, cheeks burning slightly at his confession.

He was very soft with you and tentative not to hurt you. While you grimaced and winced occasionally, you were watching him work with a smile on your face, and a vague blush adorning your cheeks.

“You know, you’re beautiful Darlin’.” He smirked and looked up at you, and you quickly looked away.

“Don’t try to hit on me right now, Cable. Your hands are covered in my blood - and I’m definitely sure that’s not good for the metal. Just finish stitching me up, and maybe continue this when I’m not bleeding out anymore.”

“Sure thing Doll.” You blushed at the nickname and looked intently into your glass as if it was the most interesting thing you’d seen.

A few more minutes went by and Cable finished his work, put a bandage over the stitches and went to your bathroom to wash your blood off of his hands.

He came back to sit in front of you, while you wiped at your stomach with the towel to remove some of the blood. He picked up his drink and just observed you.

You smirked and asked “Like what you see?”, and you were met with a chuckle from the usually stoic man.

“Well I do, now I know you’re not gonna bleed out and die on me.”

“Thank you for this, Cable. I know I could have done this by myself, but I guess it wasn’t all that bad having you around.”

“No worries princess.” You looked away, embarrassed by the nickname. “Oh and also, you can call me Nathan if you’d like.”

Your eyes widened when he told you his name, since it had been a mystery to the team for the past month or so Cable had been with you.

You thought for a little while before replying, “You know, as nice of a name as Nathan is, I have taken a liking towards Cable. It’s very rugged and cool… and maybe even a little bit sexy.”

His eyebrow peaked, “Oh really?”

You shrugged your shoulders before standing up and turning to put your glass down on the counter. You began to stretch your arms up but each arm was caught by metal and flesh, respectively.

“Be careful doll.” He spoke softly into your ear as he moved your arms back down, “You’ll rip your stitches and I’ll have to start over again.”

You felt his breath against your neck, and you turned in his arms, “You spending more time here isn’t necessarily such a bad thing.”

“It kinda is if you’re always bleeding out.”

“Well what if I could guarantee you a stay where you won’t have to play doctor?” You smirked up at him.

“I’d like that a lot.” He smiles back down at you, and you leant up to catch his lips.

He melted into the kiss, and rested his hands on your hips, being careful not to press himself completely onto you. Your hands snaked their way around his neck as you leant up further, and you felt the metal on the side of his neck. Brushing your fingers against this sent shivers down his spine, and you made a mental note of that for future reference.

It’s safe to say a few stitches did end up getting ripped that night due to strenuous activity.

[mizmahlia]

Angst Prompt: You Broke Me

Taken from this list here. 

This was inspired by yet another play-through of Batman Arkham Knight. During the scene where Batman’s being hauled off to Arkham to confront Scarecrow, Alfred tells Bruce he’s being tracked through the city. Bruce insinuates that Jason is the one tracking him, and my brain went “WHAT IF JASON TRIED TO STOP THAT TRUCK TO TRY AND FOIL SCARECROW’S PLAN BECAUSE HE HAD A CHANGE OF HEART?”

And, well, now we have 4.4k words of angsty Jason Todd fic.

Spoilers for Batman Arkham Knight

I borrowed a few lines of dialog from the game, as I wanted to fix the ending. Because of reasons.

Warnings: Mentions of torture, some swearing, Jason does shoot some people, and there are some mental health issues depicted.

Jason ripped his helmet open and leaned against the fire escape, trying to catch his breath. The sensor on the building where Scarecrow demanded Batman turn himself over was tripped five minutes ago and he'd sprinted over the rooftops from halfway across Bristol. He knew he didn't have much time until the truck left, taking Batman to Arkham for his unmasking, but he knew he had to try to stop it.

He hoped Bruce noticed the red Bat symbol hastily painted on the building when he'd gone in. He climbed down the fire escape and crept across the street to a deserted SUV that somehow hadn't been vandalized yet, breaking the driver's side window. He got in, hot-wired the engine and brought up his gauntlet screen to check the GPS tracker. At the same time, he tapped into the audio feed from the back of the truck. He was already listening to the audio feed from Bruce's cowl and had been most of the night.

The red dot on the screen began to move and Jason put the SUV in gear and pulled out into the street after it. He heard Alfred tell Bruce the truck's movements were being tracked. Well, that was quick. What no one knew was that Jason installed the tracking device and microphone to make sure Scarecrow didn't double-cross him. He'd wanted his chance to end Bruce, after Scarecrow had his fun. But after their confrontation at the mall, Jason's mission objectives changed drastically and it went from being an assassination mission to a rescue op. Oh, the irony. So between the hacked comm feed and the microphones in the truck, he could hear both sides of the conversation. He rolled his eyes when Bruce replied. "I knew he would." He stomped his foot to the floor and took off after the truck, chasing it out of Kingston and over Mercy Bridge. He knew the fear toxin levels in the back of the truck were rising rapidly. He listened as Scarecrow taunted Batman, telling him the nightmare was almost over and his failure was almost complete. Jason's gut rolled at the thought he'd helped orchestrate this. He knew he had a lot of shit to work out now, but he couldn't allow Scarecrow to finish their plan. Not after what happened earlier. Not after he'd seen the look on Bruce's face. You can't fake that kind of shock, not even if you're Batman. He raced over the bridge and through the side streets of Bleake Island, the truck only a few blocks ahead of him. He just needed to stop the truck before it crossed onto the bridge to Arkham Island; if it reached the bridge, there was no cover and no way to get Batman hidden long enough for the fear toxin to work its way out of his system. As he rounded a corner, he spotted the truck at the next block. He needed to nudge the bumper with the SUV to force it off the road. He grit his teeth and gunned it through the intersection, ignoring the blaring horn from a car that had the right of way. The car clipped the rear passenger side of the SUV, sending him careening off course. "Fuck!" The SUV fishtailed as he tried to keep it from sideswiping a burned-out garbage truck. He cranked the wheel and caught up to the truck. "Brace yourself, Bruce," he muttered. Jason mashed his palm against the horn before colliding with the rear bumper, watching as the truck swerved and hit the curb, rolling into a vacant lot before coming to rest on its roof. He parked the SUV behind an empty school bus and climbed out, staying low and in the shadows as he crept toward the truck. In his ear piece, he heard Bruce groan, apparently still in the back of the truck in range of the microphone. "Mother, don't go. Please.." Jason froze and flattened himself against the side of a building, guilt and panic and fear churning in his stomach. He sank to his knees and clawed at his helmet, gulping in the cold night air when it opened. Bruce was reliving the night his parents died. He closed his eyes and inhaled slowly, trying to pull himself together. It had only been a few hours since their confrontation, since he'd learned Bruce actually believed the Joker had murdered him almost three years ago. Hours since he realized every single reason he had for planning this entire op was bullshit; that the Joker and Harley had beaten him and scrambled his brain until he honestly believed Batman would give up on Robin. That Bruce would give up on him. He scrubbed his hands over his face and choked back a sob when he realized how thoroughly fucked up this all was. He was furious with Batman for seemingly abandoning him, for letting this happen and replacing him. He'd been through absolute hell- the beatings from the Joker, the meds Harley forced down his throat, the days and weeks of isolation. While most of it blurred together, he remembered the day he broke with absolute clarity. The exact moment he knew he was never going to go home, when he wished they would just kill him. It was the day the Joker showed him the photo of Batman and Robin. A Robin that wasn't him. He felt sick all over again at the memory and leaned forward, his hands on his knees. When he was sure he wasn't going to vomit he sat back against the building. He was shaking. The Joker did terrible and sadistic things to him just to spite Batman, because he wanted Batman's attention. And after everything Joker did, no matter how horrific, Batman never did what was necessary to stop him. It was a vicious circle of murder, terror and nightmare-inducing behaviour that Jason got caught in the middle of and had paid the price for. But then Bruce had seen his face and he'd been genuinely surprised. That's when the small glimmer of hope, hope that Bruce hadn't really forgotten about him after all, took hold and royally screwed everything up. Anger replaced the fear and the panic and Jason laughed, and it sounded so, so wrong. Suffice to say his mental and physical well-being were treading on some pretty thin fucking ice at the moment. A groan from the overturned truck drew his attention and he turned, leaning around the corner. The driver pulled himself from the cab and crawled toward the back of the truck. One of his legs was clearly broken. Jason took several deep breaths to ground himself and he stood up, drawing his sidearm and securing the helmet in place once again. He stalked around the corner and stopped in front of the driver, cocking his head to the side. The driver looked up at him, relieved at the sight of the Arkham Knight standing in front of him. "Sir. We got run off the road, I didn't see who it was." He pulled himself into a sitting position and looked up at Jason, the grimace when he jostled his leg replaced by a confused frown. "We heard you split after your fight with the Bat- you okay?" Jason flicked the safety off his gun. No, I'm definitely not fucking okay. "I'm fine. Change of plans. I'm personally escorting Batman to the Asylum." The driver nodded and leaned against the side of the truck. "You sound so different without the voice modulator. So young." He reached into his jacket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes, lighting the last one and tossing the empty pack back toward the cab. "The guy in the cab is out cold and my leg's broke. Wish I could help you get the bastard to Arkham." The memory of Batman standing over him earlier, offering to help him, saying they could fix this, flashed through his mind and Jason flinched. "Your help won't be necessary." He fired a round into the driver's chest and he went still, the cigarette dropping to the asphalt next to him. Jason knelt behind the truck and pried the door open, revealing a semi-conscious Batman. He holstered the gun and reached in, dragging Batman out and clear of the truck. Jason knelt next to him and studied him. The suit was in tatters; in addition to the bullet he'd fired into Batman's abdomen hours ago that appeared to still be lodged there, there was now a new hole in the right side of the Bat symbol on his chest. The armor plating was scratched and filthy. The cowl was scuffed and dented, and Bruce’s nose was definitely broken underneath it. He had some nasty bruising forming along his jaw. The cape had holes in it and his gloves were coated in grime and blood. All to try and save a city that tried to kill him on a nightly basis. "You look like hell, B," Jason said quietly. "You just don't know when to quit." At the sound of his voice, Bruce's eyes opened and he looked up at Jason. His pupils were dilated, the blue of his irises almost non-existent; he was still deeply under the influence of the fear toxin. Before he realized what he was doing, Jason released the catch on his helmet and opened it again, allowing Bruce to see his face. His eyes widened and he reached a hand toward Jason. "It can't be..." "Yeah, it can be." Jason sighed and his chin dropped to his chest. "We've gotta get out of here; Scarecrow's going to realize the truck isn't on schedule. C'mon." He tugged on Bruce's arm to get him to stand, but he remained on his hands and knees. "You can't be him. I watched Joker shoot him." Bruce's voice went eerily quiet. "I watched Jason die." "I wish I had," Jason muttered. "But we don't have time for this." Bruce backed away from Jason and shook his head, like he was trying to clear it. "No. I failed him. I need to find him. He was right here the whole time and I..." His eyes darted frantically around the empty lot, no doubt searching for the car. "I need to tell him that I didn't know." His eyes met Jason's and the despair in them made Jason shiver. "I searched that asylum for weeks. How could I not have known he was there?" Jason bit his lip and closed the front of the helmet again before he lost control of his emotions. He's afraid he failed me? He heard the rumble of a large truck down the street. "We need to leave. Now." He pulled Bruce to his feet and led him toward the back of the lot, away from the street. There was a mechanic's garage the next block over that probably had a vehicle they could use to get Bruce back to the cave. As they walked, he looked back over his shoulder at Bruce. He was completely lost in his own head and unaware he was being led through Gotham by the man who'd helped orchestrate everything he'd been through. But considering he was allowing himself to be led around meant he didn't believe himself to be in any danger. Something no one (apart from Superman) could do was force Bruce to follow someone he didn't trust. Jason wanted to cry at the irony. He picked the lock on the door of the garage and pushed Bruce through before closing and locking it behind them. He steered Bruce toward a chair and he sat the moment the backs of his knees hit the seat. "Hang tight while I find us a ride." Jason started rifling through the rack of keys hanging above the counter, momentarily forgetting about Bruce until he started talking again. He froze and dropped the set of keys he was holding. "I'm still in control, Joker. You won't get the upper hand." Jason turned and leaned against the counter, his hands gripping the edge tightly. "What did you just say?" Bruce looked up at him and Jason swore his eyes were a neon shade of green. He backed away from Bruce, knocking over a canister of rusted bolts. The sound echoed loudly throughout the shop and Jason flinched at the noise. Bruce was looking right through him and spoke to whoever it was he saw. "You won't break me, Joker. You can't." Bruce looked down at the floor for a moment before glancing up at Jason. His gaze was still vacant, his mind was long gone at the moment, but at least his eyes were back to blue. "I'm already broken." Jason picked the keys up off the floor and glanced out the window, using the key fob to find the Chevy they would use to get Bruce back to Alfred. It was parked just across the lot from the door and he breathed a sigh of relief. "Come on, Batman. We need to get you back to your butler." He turned back to find Bruce watching him. And he was lucid. "He'd love to see you, you know." Jason crossed his arms and leaned back against the counter. Despite Bruce not being able to see his face, his focused his gaze on the floor anyway, too embarrassed and ashamed to look him in the eye. "I highly doubt that, after everything that's happened tonight." Bruce stood, carefully making his way toward Jason. He stopped several feet away. "We all thought you were..." he trailed off for a moment, clearing his throat. "I meant what I said, earlier." It's not too late. We can fix this... Together. Jason felt the anger rising again. "Not that simple. You have no idea what he did to me." The look on Bruce's face said otherwise. Jason narrowed his eyes, forgetting Bruce couldn't see it. "Based on what I saw in the video he sent me, I have an idea." Jason shook his head and turned toward a sedan with its tires missing. He punched the trunk, leaving a considerable dent. To hell with being quiet any longer. "That was five minutes, Bruce. He had me down there for OVER A YEAR!" Bruce, to his credit, said nothing. "You have no idea what they did to me," Jason continued, trying to keep from getting hysterical. "I held out for six months before I gave anything up. Six months! And do you know why I finally gave up, after everything they put me through?" He retrieved a photograph from his back pocket and flipped it at Bruce. He reached for it and turned it over, his face growing even paler. "Yeah. I found out I was replaced. So it turns out you deserve all the credit for this one, Batman," Jason said, his tone pure venom. "You broke me. Not the Joker, not Harley. Not the guards who took turns beating me. It was you." "I'm sorry about all of this, Jason. But you need to know there's more to it than that. Consider the source. Please." Bruce put the photograph on the chair behind him. "You know what the Joker was capable of." "I certainly do now." Bruce sighed deeply and his hand went to the wound on his abdomen when the muscles tensed painfully. He looked much older and wearier after the events of the night. He sat down again and reached for the medical pouch on his belt, before remembering he'd removed it. Jason reached into his own belt and fished out a small bottle of pills, tossing it to him. "Here. It's hydrocodone. Should take the edge off." Bruce nodded and took three of them. Before he could speak, half a dozen members of the militia stormed through the door. "Sir? You found him! We're here to bring Batman to the asylum. Scarecrow is waiting." Bruce looked at Jason and gave a subtle nod, a look of determination back on his face. I'll do it for you, if that's what it takes. Jason turned toward his men. "Get him there in one piece, or you'll all wind up like the driver. Are we clear?" "Sir, yes sir." "And don't tell Scarecrow I had to round him up. He's got enough to worry about." Bruce stepped in behind several of the militia and headed toward the door. He glanced behind him before he stepped outside in time to see Jason nod once. You won't have to. I'll get there.

Based on the radio chatter he was listening to, Scarecrow had indeed changed the plan. The militia were now under strict orders not to let the Arkham Knight anywhere near the Asylum. Their orders were to shoot him on sight and shoot to kill. It didn't bother Jason in the slightest. Considering the one man who'd been kicking their asses all over Gotham that night was the one who originally trained him in the art of covert ops? 

He'd take those odds any day of the week. But one thing he wasn't ready for was how he'd feel being back on that godforsaken island and staring at the Intensive Treatment building. It wasn't even where he was headed; Scarecrow was set up in the mansion to the east, but in making his way past armed guards and sentry guns, he had to go the long way around Intensive Treatment to get there.

He barely made it to cover behind an overgrown hedge of ivy before he was throwing up, once again feeling the sting of the cold water they poured over his face and the phantom pains of a crowbar, and hearing the sizzle of a branding iron as it was held to his cheek. Strangely enough, it was Robin's voice in his ear piece when he spoke to Batman that brought him back to the present. He forced himself to focus as Scarecrow and Batman started talking. He shook his head and climbed to his feet when Scarecrow bragged about robbing Gotham of hope. He'd been robbed of that, too, once. There was no way he could let Gotham be robbed of whatever hope it had left after tonight. He was only a few hundred yards from the mansion and there were five men between him and the front door. Jason changed the display in his helmet to night-vision and quietly assembled his sniper rifle, taking position on his belly. On his next exhale, the man closest to him went down, followed by his partner ten yards to the right. And when the other three came to investigate he hit them with a smoke grenade before coming up behind them, choking them out. As he was dragging them into the bushes, he heard Commissioner Gordon and Scarecrow arguing, followed by a gunshot he heard both through the ear piece and through a broken window of the main entrance hall of the mansion. Jason froze. Gordon and Bruce were talking now and neither of them sounded like they were in pain, which means Scarecrow likely just shot Robin. Something in Jason broke loose, something he hadn't felt in a long time. An urge to protect someone. He knew full well Tim Drake could hold his own in a fight and he'd tested that himself on several occasions. But the fact a Robin was just shot so someone could prove a point? He didn't care who it was- the son of a bitch would pay for that. Jason sprinted toward the mansion, taking the steps two a time and running a thermal scan of the entrance hall. There were only four people on the screen: Gordon, Bruce, Tim and Scarecrow. He was about the kick the door in when he heard Scarecrow's voice, full of surprise and amusement. "Wayne? Bruce Wayne?" He was too late; he hadn't made it in time to stop Scarecrow from broadcasting Batman's identity to the world. Had he not panicked when he'd seen the Intensive Treatment building, maybe... With an anguished groan, he slid down the door and buried his head in his hands. But he heard Bruce's voice in his head, from when he was much younger and worrying too much about things outside of his control. What-if's don't help people, Jay-lad. Focus on what you can control. He opened his eyes and stared at the Intensive Treatment building, resolve replacing the panic. He could still stop this- he could still stop Scarecrow from killing Bruce, Tim or Commissioner Gordon. Jason stood and brought up an old floor plan of the building in his HUD as Scarecrow continued talking. "Now the world can see you for what you truly are. A legend laid bare. Powerless. Human. Afraid." He heard Bruce moan in pain after the telltale hiss of Scarecrow's injection delivery system pumped him full of the liquid fear toxin. He had to get in there as soon as possible if he was going to get them out alive. But he couldn't barge in the front door and risk Scarecrow shooting any of them just because he could. There was an old service entrance to the kitchen around back that he could use to gain entrance. He made his way around back through a maze of tangled shrubs, broken shutters and fallen bricks, listening to Scarecrow drone on to his live audience about fear and how necessary it is, and how useless Batman was now that he'd been unmasked. No wonder he'd been so insistent on killing Batman before their plan really got off the ground- the man talked constantly. Jason broke the lock on the door and carefully made his way in, listening as Scarecrow continued taunting Bruce, this time about his friends being hunted down and killed for his actions as Batman. It wasn't Bruce's reply that made his blood run cold, but the laughter that followed it. That cackle, the way it made his skin crawl and the hair on the back of his neck stand up. It sounded just like the Joker. Jason rushed to the sink and retched, the sound of that laughter too much to bear. His heart pounding in his ears muffled the sound of Bruce being injected with another dose of toxin. He struggled to breathe normally, growing lightheaded as he began to hyperventilate. He could hear Scarecrow getting angry that Bruce wasn't playing along anymore and Jason knew he didn't have much time left to intervene. He turned and studied the floor plan, following the maze-like hallways until they opened up into the rear of the main entrance hall. He stuck to the shadows and made his way toward the light thrown off by the bank of television monitors mounted against the eastern wall. Bruce was strapped to a gurney that was tilted upright, Gordon knelt on the floor next to an unconscious Robin, and Scarecrow was grandstanding in front of a lone camera. Jason watched in horror as Scarecrow turned from the camera and injected Bruce a third time. He chambered a round in his rifle and lined up his shot, but hesitated when he heard Bruce speak. "I'm not afraid, Crane." Scarecrow stepped back as if he'd been slapped, drawing a gun from his waistband and holding the barrel against Bruce's forehead. Now or never, Jason. Show him you're still here. Jason shouldered the rifle and looked down the scope, the laser sight landing on the gun in Scarecrow's left hand. One shot sent the gun flying. The second shot broke the restraint holding Bruce's arm. Bruce grabbed Scarecrow's wrist as he was going to inject him again, wrenching it around and forcing the maximum dose into Scarecrow's chest. "What's wrong? Scared?" Bruce towered over Scarecrow as the toxin took effect and as he let him go, Jason could see the panic on Scarecrow's face even from his vantage point. Scarecrow stumbled backwards, right into Gordon's fist, and wound up unconscious on the floor. Bruce looked up from where the shots were fired, immediately finding Jason's position. Jason froze, not knowing what to do or say. All he could manage was a nod. I'm late, but I'm here. For everything he'd been through tonight, Bruce managed a small smile and a nod in return. I knew you would be. With that, Bruce crouched next to Gordon and Tim. As Jason turned to leave, he heard Gordon tell Bruce that Tim would be okay. He made his way back out the way he entered and stood at the fence, looking out into the bay and back at the lights of the city. The skies were clearing and he could see the first signs of dawn off in the distance. "Are you going to be alright?" He startled when Bruce's voice came through his ear piece. That meant he was wearing the cowl again. Jason chewed his lip for a moment. "I really don't know." There was a pause and Jason could hear the jet approaching the other side of the island. He turned and watched Batman grapple up into the cockpit. "When all of this settles, whenever that may be, I'd like to talk. If that's okay with you." Jason's eyes watered and he swallowed hard before he answered. The jet hovered over the north end of the island and Jason would be money Bruce was scanning to see where he was. "I.. I'll be around. You'll know where to reach me." The jet banked and headed off toward the Manor, not back into the city. "I left something for you in our usual spot." Jason turned and began the trek back across the island, giving the Intensive Treatment building a wide berth. "The keys to the Bentley?" He could feel Bruce's eye roll through the comm link. "Information. Resources. Something to help you settle into life again." Jason stopped next to his motorcycle and shook his head. "When the hell did you have time to do that?" Bruce answered without missing a beat. "I have a butler, remember?" The link clicked off and Jason got on his bike, heading back into the city. He had some things to take care of before he went back to his safe house, mainly rounding up straggling members of the militia for the GCPD. Then he'd make a stop by the Gotham Knights baseball stadium, where they used to watch ballgames every Saturday, and see what Bruce left for him. He had no idea what his future looked like or what it had in store for him, but the very fact he was planning for one meant he was headed in the right direction. For the second time that night, he allowed himself to hope. And that felt pretty good.

[starfangssecrets]

I Dare You

So, this is a little fic for my favorite My Hero Academia couple, Kacchako. It’s based off of the little comic done by @amettt, with her permission, and you can see it here!

Uraraka Ochako peeked from around the corner of the hallway that led into the common area, her heart pounding as she spotted her target. He was conveniently by himself on the futon, busy with some game on his phone. ‘Probably something violent.’ She thought nervously as she continued to observe him. Even though there a significant distance between them, she could spot the back of his neck from her position, and swallowed nervously as she thought back to what led her to her current predicament.

“Truth or Dare?” Ashido Mina asked gleefully towards a nervous-looking Jirou Kyouka. All the girls from Class 2-A were in the pink girl’s room, either sitting on her bed, lounging in one of the chairs she had available, or situated on her floor. Dressed in their sleepwear, what had started out as ‘just hanging with the girls’ had turned into a game of Truth of Dare thanks to the outgoing pinkette.

           The purple-haired girl looked like a deer caught in the headlights for a good few seconds, before she cleared her throat and looked away. “Truth.”

           “Is it true that you see Kaminari as more than just a source of entertainment?” Ashido asked without missing a beat, already expecting that response from her shy friend.

           Caught off guard by how fast the question was delivered, Jirou stuttered. “W-what kind of question is that?!”

           “The kind that’s a simple ‘yes’ or ‘no’.” Hagakure Tooru giggled. Asui Tsuyu and Uraraka Ochako nodded in agreement.

           Cheeks aflame, the audio orientated hero-in-training focused her gaze on her lap. After a beat of silence, she gave a jerky nod.

           “I knew it!” Hagakure cheered, her hands shooting up into the air unseen by her friends, but obvious in the way her bunny pajamas shifted. “I’ve noticed that you seem extra smiley after talking with him lately.”

           “Is it that obvious?!” Jirou nearly shrieked, mortified.

           “No,” Yaoyoruzo Momo reassured, “just by those who really know you.” She rubbed the clearly distressed girl’s back, further comforting her.

           While that was going on, the game continued, Yaoyoruzo spun the bottle for Jirou, and Hagakure was selected. When asked, she picked Truth, and the still flustered Jirou blurted, “Do you like black sulfur ramen?”

           ‘That’s random.’ The girls thought, but Hagakure took it in stride.

           “No, I think it’s super weird!” Hagakure announced. “No matter how it’s prepared, I still feel like I’m eating ink, and that just kills my appetite.” At Jirou’s nod, the invisible girl grinned. “My turn to spin!” With great eagerness, she reached out and spun the empty plastic bottle they were using. They all waited to see who it would land on.

           Uraraka stared at the bottle, nervous jitters ensnaring her as it came to a stop, pointing in her direction. The feeling increased when all the girls turned their attention to her. She had been quieter than normal, her mind elsewhere, and had a feeling they would use that against her. They, after all, had been friends for over a year now.

           “Ochako-chan!” Hagakure sang, her voice brimming with playfulness. “Truth or Dare?”

           “Uh…” Uraraka stalled. On one hand, she would be forced to be truthful in her answer to whatever question Hagakure asked her. On the other, she would be the first one to pick the Dare option in the game. Who knew what they would throw at her if she picked that option…

           ...but she’d be damned if she told them what had been occupying her thoughts. Or rather, who.

           “Dare!” Uraraka finally decided, the waver in her voice belying her uncertainty, but she stuck with it.

           “Aww.” Hagakure pouted. “I wanted to ask a question about, well, you know.” She giggled, making Uraraka blush as the other girls joined in. “Demo, I didn’t have a dare in mind because I was sure you’d pick Truth…”

           “Oo! I have one!” Ashido grinned. Uraraka did not like it one bit.

           “Tell me.” Hagakure demanded excitedly as she leaned closer to the horned girl. It was a testament to how well they knew each other that Ashido was able to lean in and whisper her dare into her friend’s ear without missing a beat, despite being unable to see Hagakure’s ear.

Tooru gasped, and Uraraka did not like the excited tint to it. “I love it!” Turning towards Uraraka, Hagakure announced the dare proudly. “I dare you to kiss Bakugou on the neck!”

           Ochako’s face flushed red and her eyes widened in shock. “What?!”

After much protesting, pleading, and even threatening, Uraraka had ultimately agreed to the dare. It was a dare, after all. She was obligated to see it through.

           If she were honest with herself, however, if she had truly been against it, she wouldn’t have done it. At all. Her pride wasn’t worth doing something she didn’t want to do. So, she really had no one to blame but herself for her current situation, because a part of her--a part that had been growing stronger recently--wanted to do this. To kiss Bakugou Katsuki.

           The explosive teen had changed a lot since their first day of high school He was still short-tempered and an absolutely savage on the battlefield, but he had also grown. He no longer saw friendship as a weakness, and having him a part of the group when they went off campus to hang out had become the norm. He also showed that he cared, in his own gruff ways, though he still insisted he didn’t. No one believed him, much to his ire. It was rather adorable.

           Her blush deepened at the thought.

           She wasn’t sure when her crush for Bakugou began, but she knew her feelings were different than when they had been towards Midoriya Izuku. More solid. While those had stemmed from near hero worship, Uraraka had always felt that Deku had been out of her reach. His goals were so much more than her, that there hadn’t been a place for her.

           Bakugou’s goals were equally ambitious, but admiration had not been the source of her acknowledgement of him. It had been respect. He respected her enough as a fellow hero-in-training to never hold back. She wasn’t just a ‘girl, so he had to go easy on her’. She was a comrade, and villains would not go easy on her, so why should he? How would she survive if she didn’t know where she stood? If she didn’t know what to improve?

           That’s when the sparring sessions had begun. That’s when she had begun to see a different Bakugou from the one she knew. Though he was crass in how he pointed out her weaknesses, he would then instruct her on how to fix them, and show a surprising amount of patience as she followed his instructions. There would be awkward moments; his social ineptitude making an appearance every now and then, making Ochako laugh as Bakugou raged at her. There was never any heat behind his words, and she’d always found his speech hilarious, crass as it was, so it had never been an issue.

           There were times, however, when their eyes would meet across the room for a second. Moments when a restraining move would last longer than necessary, or an innocent touch would linger… Sometimes, nothing would happen, but sometimes, especially recently, she would catch Katsuki blushing after such an event, and she began to wonder if she wasn’t the only one feeling this way.

           So, yes, Ochako wanted to kiss Bakugou Katsuki.

           Which is why she was peering at him from behind the corner.

           ‘Enough.’ Uraraka chastised herself. She went to smack her cheeks to focus, but stopped just short, not wanting to make any sound. The last thing she needed was for Bakugou to realize she was practically stalking him. Taking a steadying breath, she let it out silently. ‘Let’s get this over with.’

           Stealthily, she made way towards the unaware blonde, making sure to keep directly behind him. The kid had ridiculous reflexes. In fact, she was certain he would have noticed her by now if his attention hadn’t been so taken with the game he was playing. She smiled mentally when she found that it was, indeed, a violent mobile game. ‘I knew it.’

           Now standing directly behind him, her humor fled her as she gazed nervously at the back of his neck. Hagakure hadn’t specified where on his neck, just that she needed to kiss said neck. Uraraka knew she would have never been able to do this if she were facing him face-to-face. A sneak attack was her only option. No hesitation. She just had to do it.

           There was a pause, for what felt like forever, where she just stared at the back of his neck. The skin was smooth-looking, the muscles beneath it lightly defined, but not overly so. The slight contrast between its lightly tanned tone and his spiky, ash-blonde locks was attractive in a way that she couldn’t really explain. She swallowed as her face flushed further as she was brought back to the present with a blink of her eyes.

           ‘No hesitation.’

           In one smooth motion, Uraraka braced her hands against the back of the futon-couch--mindful not to activate her Quirk--as she quickly leaned down towards her goal. Closing her eyes as she pressed her lips against the nape of his neck, she felt him tense up at the contact. For one infinite moment, the heat of his skin seared her lips; the texture just as smooth as it had looked. She almost, almost made to kiss his neck again, the foreign desire to do so addictive, but then she felt him shift and she snapped out of the slight daze that had befallen her, and jolted into an upright position just as he whirl around on her.

           “The f*ck?!” Hand pressed against the back of his neck as if he’d been bitten by a mosquito, Bakugou raged at the person who had dared to touch him in such a weird place. He knew someone had been watching for a while, but hadn’t thought much of it. His friends were weird like that and liked to do weird things. He’d learned reluctantly to live with it, and had ignored them in favor of focusing on the new game Kirishima had suggested to him. He had honestly forgotten about them until he felt their hot breath disturb the hairs on the back of his neck, just before he felt something warm and soft press against his skin there.

           ‘A kiss.’ His brain supplied, and fury filled him. ‘I swear to god, I will murder whoever the f--’

           His thoughts and anger halted all together as he stared up into the red face of Uraraka Ochako. In fact, his mind shut down for a moment, though his body had no problem reacting as a steady heat rose to his cheeks.

           Their eyes met and held, and he watched dumbly as Ochako’s face became redder and redder, until there was practically steam coming out her ears from the fierceness of her blush.

           Bakugou’s mind seemed to click back into place at the exact moment Uraraka whirled around, and ran away. Hands pressed against her burning cheeks, her thoughts were a jumbled mess as she escaped.

           ‘IdiditIdiditIdiditIdiditIdiditIdiditIdiditIdiditIdiditIdiditIdiditIdidit…!’

           Left sitting on the couch, Bakugou stared after her as his hand fell limply from his neck, his entire frame trembling in shock.

[seven-oomen]

Hi, Ben!  Glad you’re still feeling better, and congratulations on getting so much of your story done!  I’m very curious to see what all tags end up on this one, given some of the previews (also really hoping some of the bad stuff doesn’t kick in right away, my anxiety is through the roof already right now…)

‘Cause, yeah, it’s Election Day, and I’ve been fighting off panic most of the day, and avoiding as many news sources and social media as I can.  It’s been a day of frenetic bursts of cleaning in between re-reading the stories I’ve posted to remind myself that I did like them and hopefully encourage myself to work on my own WIP some more (I did add a few hundred words last night!)

Also, since I don’t have a way to post little snippets without a tumblr, if you’re curious, here’s a preview of said WIP.  It has no title yet.  Basically, it happened because I realized there was no fake dating fic for Peter/Noah, and decided that needed to be fixed.  When no one who knew what they were doing stepped up, I decided to attempt it myself.  Enjoy?:

(Peter has just invited himself along via Noah’s Skype call)

“Always a pleasure talking to you, Ruthie,” Noah said, reaching out quickly to end the call. The sturdy shoulders beneath Peter’s arms seemed to almost melt with the release of tension. He realized he should probably let go and brace himself for the fallout. But Noah’s hand was still around his wrist, and yanking away suddenly might be a bit rude even for him. Before he had a chance to come to a decision, the expected response came from a very unexpected direction.

“WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCKING FUCK?!” Stiles stood in the doorway looking not unlike a deer in the proverbial headlights. Derek was visible just past him, face set in the studiously blank expression that Peter knew meant he was laughing hysterically on the inside.

“Hey! Language!” Noah finally let go of him to point sternly in his son’s direction.

“Okay, first off, I’m 18 now and can say what I want. Secondly, no really, what the fucking fuck? Did you really just imply to Aunt Ruth that you’re going to be bringing Peter along as your boyfriend? Is that really what just happened?”

“It certainly sounded that way to me,” Derek chimed in, amusement lacing his tone and a smirk starting to curl the edges of his mouth despite his best efforts. “I’d say her expression of appalled dismay suggests she thought the same, though to be fair that may have just been a general reaction to Peter.”

Peter finished straightening up from where he’d been draped over Noah, spinning to lean one hand on the back of his chair and shooting his nephew a highly unimpressed look. Stiles flailed his hands to re-draw focus.

“A reasonable point, but one which still doesn’t answer my question. Because that was most definitely the impression you two were going for, don’t even try to pretend otherwise. Seriously, where the hell did that come from?”

“I’ve been rather wondering that myself. Care to enlighten us, Peter?” Noah twisted to glance up at him, eyebrows raised in determined inquiry. The problem was Peter still didn’t quite know what had motivated his actions. Eventually he just shrugged with as much indifference as he could muster.

“It seemed like a good idea at the time.” The other three men all rolled their eyes in an admittedly impressive display of synchronization. He glanced down at his unwitting partner in mischief. “You didn’t have to go along with it, you know. What’s your excuse?”

Noah held his gaze for a moment, the stormy blue-gray eyes giving nothing away. Finally he calmly shrugged and repeated back to him in a deliberately identical tone; “It seemed like a good idea at the time.”

Derek was looking more amused by the second, while Stiles was just looking a thousand percent done. “You do realize you’re now going to have to go through with this nonsense? She’s going to tell anyone and everyone she talks to. There will be no backing out. You’ll have to do it, and be convincing about it. How the hell do you plan to manage that? Dad, you don’t even like Peter!”

Peter shot a glare his direction because, while true, that was still rude, and opened his mouth to leap to his own defense. However, he never got the chance.

“I like Peter just fine, despite the violent tendencies and somewhat questionable taste in sports teams. The former has mostly tapered off, anyway, and the latter I can overlook for one weekend.”

That brought Peter up short on several fronts for a moment. He finally managed a very strangled, “Excuse me?!” that got lost beneath Stiles’ cry of “Oh, my God!” as the boy quite literally facepalmed. Really, and Peter got accused of being the dramatic one?

—–

So, uh, yeah.  There is so much self-indulgent, trope-tastic, fluffy nonsense in this fic so far.  In addition to the fake dating, you can also expect eventual pining, and if they ever get on the goddamn road, there will definitely be only one bed when they get there (there’s already been a fashion show, too).  One day I will also narrow down a song for a slow dance, too (every time I think I’ve picked I think of another one.)  I keep thinking I’m making progress, then I think of more things I want to work in.  (Oh god, what have I started?!?)

Anyway, that snippet was a little longer than I realized, so.  Glad things are continuing to improve!  Lots of good vibes for all your stories, and I’m (cautiously) looking forward to seeing what happens with your newest one.  I’m going to go try and eat something, particularly in case I break out the other bottle of wine. ’>.>  Take care!  *Hugs!*

I was just about to answer the other ask you send when I got this one XD

In any case, I broke out my wine because the first chapter is dark. Very dark. But that’s also pretty much where the darkness stops and things get a whole lot calmer from that point. It’s like, the worst thing happens and from that point it’s a story of healing. And a story of rekindled love and (found) family. 

To save you some anxiety I can spoil it a little (also because it will be in the tags and in the first author note.) But the first chapter will contain attempted murder and attempted child murder. It is dark, and it pretty creepy. I think it might be some of the darkest things I’ve written so far. It is fucked up but not super graphic. 

But yeah, I needed the wine after I finished the first 5 K.

And yeah man, I can’t even imagine the stress you guys must be under. I currently have one tab open for the election results so I can check them as soon as I wake up.  I’ve got my fingers crossed but also mentally preparing for the worst. I’ll be sending as many good vibes as I can, that’s for sure though.

And omg that preview is amazing XD

Maybe it’s the buzz from the wine or just the fantastic writing but I just laughed my balls off and scared the crap out of Mo.

Beautiful. I can picture Derek’s face, Stiles’s flailing and the “Oh my god!” 

God I love those boys. And I love this little story you created! It’s really well written <3

Thank you for sharing some. ^^

And omg I know that feeling of what have I done XD. OMG omg THEY WERE ROOMMATES

I just got that one, jesus this is why I don’t drink XD

Anyway, I do hope you’re taking good care of yourself tonight. Honestly you guys earned it and if you need to take a break from Tumblr or stories or whatever. That’s totally okay. As long as you’re okay and taking care <3

I’m still kicking over here and Mo’s napping away.

Hope you’re safe and sound tonight <3

Big hugs B!