#my last shrink retired and she's the one who said i (at the time i guess) fit the criteria for an aspd diagnosis.

[killmonk]

guy who's been 18 for 6 months but is so afraid of psychiatry he WILL be staying with the conduct disorder diagnosis and will NOT NEVER be pursuing an updated diagnosis. Not Never ���🙅

[queen-mihai]

I know I'm gonna be a nothing voice here. But I have moderated my fair share of online spaces, and I wanna share my experience

Of course there is always the potential of finding hateful people or people who want nothing more than to argue in bad faith. But most people just want to get along and have fun making new friends and talking to them.

I have had admins and moderators in my groups, but when I'm active, I hardly ever need to use them. That's not to say much of me or my leadership style, but the communities themselves

Once a community understands that hateful voices won't be tolerated, they start self policing. After a while of pruning the more bad faith voices, people soon enough become aware of the arguments these people make and start flagging them before I ever even need to

Of course people want to make jokes and fuck with each other. But there is a CLEAR difference between a good natured ribbing amongst friends and someone trying to cause harm with so-called "jokes".

It's pretty easy. You wanna know the secret? I bet you'll see it literally from now until forever: ribbing REQUIRES understanding. Ribbing is almost by definition messing with someone over something they said or did. Not who they are or what they look like. Which means you HAVE TO BE PAYING ATTENTION TO THEM.

You can't fuck with somebody all cutesy-like and have it be understood if you haven't been listening to them. I personally LOVE a good ribbing. But that type of thing NEEDS to come from a place of good-natured understanding and NOT just be an attempt to "get a rise out of someone"

I'll give you an example:

One job I had was based in an office space. Everyone had computers, we had the internal network xyz. It was fine.

The IT specialist and I had a lovely relationship. I'd call him and say my computer was acting up, and he'd tell me to restart it. When I did, I'd curse and tell him he was right (again) and he'd laugh and hang up on me.

A few weeks later I'd call again and be like "I've got you this time. This isn't something a simple restart will fix!"

And he'd be like, "Have you tried?"

"..... no."

.

.

.

.

"Goddammit"

"*chuckle* let me know if you have any other problems* *click*"

So that's the setup

The Christmas party comes around and this guy is gonna retire.

He comes and sits next to me for the party. We laugh together the whole time. Of course one of the first things he asks me is "Hey when's the last time you restarted your computer?"

"Gaaaah you bastard!"

And we laughed together.

THAT'S ribbing.

We spent YEARS talking to each other. Mostly about work stuff, yes, but also just life stuff in general. I fucking love that dude. His ability to fuck with me about my computer is DIRECTLY tied to our mutual understanding of and respect for each other. He didn't go to my boss and say "if she can't remember to restart her computer, maybe she shouldn't have this job" or talk about me being black or whatever. It was just about stuff that we DID together.

In my online groups, I work to maintain that kind of connection between people. When people understand that, you can have any number of people and different personalities and politics and beliefs and people still get along. My biggest group was over 400 adults and everyone got along fine. That group is still running right now with over 100 members and I still don't barely need to check in with them.

Getting rid of hateful voices doesn't mean your group will shrink to nothing or that you won't have diversity. It just means people will be able to rely on your group as a comfortable safe place to talk and be themselves. And the most they can look forward to is being reminded once again that, yes, this problem can also be solved by restarting the damn computer. "Just try it! You never know." 🤣😂🤣😂🤣

[valwentinefics]

Altruism Ch.1 (Zemo x Reader x Bucky)

A/N: Here it is ya’ll, my thank you for 100 followers series! I know 100 isn’t a lot in the grand scheme of things but I’m just a random girl who’s super insecure about her writing, so having 100 people who like it is really exciting for me! Thank you! 

This chapter is just setting things up, don’t worry there’ll be more romantic things in the next chapter onward.

Masterlist

Warnings: spoilers for tfatws ep 3

Y/n walked into the mechanics garage with soft careful steps, not sure if she had gotten the right address. She glanced down at her phone, double checking. Yep, this was the right place. The garage smelled of gas, the scent almost making her dizzy as she approached the bickering voices that bounced off the concrete walls. It took a few moments to recognize them, but once she did the tension slipped out of her body and she closed the pocket knife she had been wielding. She walked around a car and to the two men, who didn’t acknowledge her presence if they noticed it. 

“I don’t like how casual you’re being about this, this is unnatural.” Sam looked around, exasperated. “And where are we man, what does Y/n have to do with this?” He questioned, giving Y/n a small nod hello that she returned with a friendly wave.

Before Bucky had time to speak, the click of a door opening rang throughout the garage, turning everyone’s attention to the shrinking shadow of a man approaching, only to be revealed as Zemo once he pushed past the clear plastic divider. Sam looked shocked, moving forward swiftly to confront the man.

“Woah...woah, woah, woah! Hey! What are you doing here?” Asked Sam, held back by Bucky. 

“Did he not tell you the plan?” Asked Y/n. “Bucky you need to tell people your plans, it's rude to not.” Y/n scolded, feeling bad for Sam having to be shoved into this. She side eyed Zemo as he approached, side stepping closer to the arguing men to get away from him.

“I didn’t want to tell you because I knew you wouldn’t let this happen!” Bucky explained as if that was a good reason to hide something so big.

Y/n watched as Sam and Bucky bickered about Zemo, wishing she had the guts to say no to people. She was a pushover, and saying no to a friend just felt rude, especially a friend like Bucky who was for the most part alone. It was perhaps her fatal flaw, her inability to say no to someone in need. It made her a great nurse and an even better friend, but a not so happy person. Sometimes she wished she could just yell no to the next person who asked something of her, but the fear of saying to outweighed her need to have alone time to rest and feel better.

“If I may…” Zemo began to say something, taking off the prison guard hat. Y/n had to admit, objectively and not out of her own opinion, he looked good in the uniform.

“No!” Shouted both Sam and Bucky simultaneously, fed up with him already. Y/n could see why they needed her around now, they would lose their patience with him quickly.  

“...Apologies…” Zemo said, looking down. Y/n almost felt bad for him. Almost.

“When Steve refused to sign the Sokovia accords you two backed him. You broke the law and you stuck your neck out, for me. I’m asking you to do it again.” Bucky said to both Y/n and Sam.

“And I will Bucky, don’t worry we’re friends, I have your back!” Y/n smiled at him, wanting to turn around and leave. She really didn’t want to do this, but they were friends after all and that meant sticking her neck out for him.

“I really think I’m invaluable-” Zemo began, clearly not learning his lesson from the last time he spoke.

“Shut up!” Sam sighed, tired of Zemo already. “Okay if we’re going to do this, you don’t make a move without our permission.”

“Fair.” He replied

Sam looked at him, he also seemed like he didn't really want to do this “Okay Zemo… Where do we start?” 

Zemo smirked a bit before leading them through the plastic divider and to a room filled with many old and expensive cars. Y/n was too focused examining them to listen to what the others were saying, figuring she would just figure it out eventually. She walked around an old red car, admiring how shiny it was despite how long it must have been since it was driven. She was too focused on admiring it to notice Bucky's approach.

“Thanks, for saying yes. It means a lot.” Thanked the stoic man who put his hand on the side of the car, only to pull it away when Y/n gave him a pointed glare because he would smudge it. 

“Anything for you Bucky, you know that.” Y/n smiled at the super soldier. “But are you sure about this? About Zemo? He could turn on us at any minute.”

Bucky nodded. “I’m sure. We need him Y/n, he’s our best chance at taking down the Flag Smashers.”

Y/n sighed. To be honest she sympathised with the Flag Smashers, having just become accustomed to a new normal, only to be kicked out of their new homes and tossed onto the streets, but she didn’t voice her opinion to Bucky, she knew he’d disagree

“Whatever you say Bucky…” Y/n sighed, looking down until Bucky’s hand touched her shoulder. He was about to say something when Zemo’s voice interrupted and his hand jerked away.

“We’re going to need to scale a ladder of lowlives, first a mid level fence named Selbie that I still have a line on, from there we climb.” Zemo stated, holding a jacket and a light brown leather bag in his hands. He glanced back to the three people behind him, Y/n throwing Bucky a nervous smile before rushing to follow Zemo.

-

“So all this time you’ve been rich?” Sam asked as the four approached Zemo’s private jet. Y/n was shocked. From how he dressed last time she saw him, Y/n had assumed he was just a normal middle class man.

“I’m a baron Sam. My family was royalty until your friends destroyed my country.”

Y/n felt shame deep in her body as Zemo greeted his pilot and they boarded the plane. She didn’t know much about Zemo. She didn’t know his motives for doing what he did to her friends, but she did know that as a result of her friends actions his country was destroyed and she felt terrible. She sometimes at night still felt the pain of the wounds of the sokovian citizens burning into her skin as she took them from them. 

That was her power, to take the wounds from others and give them to herself with only slightly accelerated healing to compensate. Y/n became nothing but a glorified nurse to the Avengers, only receiving words of thanks for her efforts and nothing more, other than Bucky and Steve of course, they were above and beyond making sure she was okay, especially Bucky. She had long accepted that the other Avengers were too busy to truly make sure she was okay like those two had done, but it and the pain she could still feel from the Sokovian incident were both factors in why she retired after the Avengers own civil war.

She looked up from her lap, finding herself in the seat across from Zemo, who was watching her with his head slightly tilted. She must have been lost in her thoughts for a while as per usual, seeing Sam doze off and Bucky with headphones in looking out the window. Y/n crossed and uncrossed her legs, looking around the plane with nothing to do. She was too nervous to bite the bullet and start a conversation with Zemo. Luckily for her, he spoke up. 

“We’re going to Madripoor.” Zemo stated, his voice causing Y/n to look him in his eyes. “You seemed a little out of it while I was explaining it, I assumed you would like to know.” 

Y/n was hesitant to reply, not knowing if she should be having a conversation with him. “Thank you.”

Zemo took a sip of what Y/n assumed was champagne judging from the glass. “If you don’t mind my asking, what were you thinking of?”

Y/n didn’t see a reason not to tell him, letting out a small sigh. “I was thinking of Sokovia…” Zemo’s head tilt looked as if it was encouraging her to go on. His eyes had a strange way of making it seem as if she was the only person in the world when she spoke. “My power… I used it a lot back then… I tried to do the best I could to help the civilians.”

For a few moments  Zemo looked as if he was looking through Y/n and back at that day before replying, snapping out of whatever mindset he was in for those moments. “Your power. Is an interesting one, but I’ve always wondered… You do so much for other people. What do they do for you?”

-

Tag list: Let me know if you would like to be added

[lemonandpeachess]

Small Moments

Pairing: Wrecker x Female Reader

Rating: G

Word Count:2,220

Summary: You and the squad have a little bit of downtime before completing a job from Cid. This time allow you to think ahead for the future of the squad, and of Omega. 

AN: I hope you all enjoy! This is my first bit of writing in a long time so we’re keeping it pretty simple. xx

Gif credits to the owner <3 

The noise was no stranger to you, the deep and seemingly endless drumming above your head. An icy coolness slips into your skin underneath your clothes, your eyes slipping shut at the sensation. While for the most part you enjoy your time on the ship with your crew and it feels just as much of a home as you could ask for, it did have its drawbacks. The closest thing to a simple rainfall you got to experience while cruising through space were meteor showers, and landing in the middle of one of those was not the most relaxing experience. You feel a small, hand wrap itself into your own, giving it a small squeeze. Your eyes cast down and you smile at the sweet brown eyes peering up at you from beneath wet, blonde curls. Omega has her hood over her head, holding down the side with her opposite hand against the wind.

“I sort of missed the rain (y/n).” She says, looking up at the sky and smiling, the raindrops sprinkling down on the two of you. You lift your head back up, sticking out your tongue. Omega looks at you, her brow furrowed. “What are you doing?”

“Catching raindrops. You can do it with snowflakes too. We used to do it on my home planet when I was small.” The tiny clone follows your actions, laughing as she lets go of your hand and makes a show of running around you, catching the water droplets from above.

You were thankful that for both the sake of you and the squad, and for Omega herself, that she had taken the business of being a part of the team so seriously. The young one dove into everything that was ever handed to her, from Hunter’s hand to hand combat routines, to Tech and Echo’s near constant technological learning. She was a fighter, and a determined one at that.

Your heart was heavy at times however, thinking about how she was still a child. She should be able to enjoy the things children enjoy. The sweet, small things that with adulthood and the burdens of growing up, we all tended to forget and appreciate. You took it upon yourself to make your training for Omega to be how enjoy things she could not before, to make her feel like she wasn’t restricted, or stripped of her curiosity. You encouraged it.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you, my data shows that the atmosphere on this planet coupled with the local vegetation means excessive consumption of precipitation could lead to harmful side effects.” Tech says as he walks past, guiding his scanner around you as he too gets off the ship. You purse your lips and look down at your small companion once more, chuckling.

“Bit of rain won’t hurt you.” Hunter says as he comes up behind the two of you, handing Omega her small backpack you had found for her at a market during your last job for Cid. You wanted her to have something of her own and found some amenities to put in it as well. Some new fresh clothes, and a small toolkit among other things, including her beloved clone trooper doll. “We should get inside though. Cid said we can stay at her camp here before we continue to the other side of the planet for the exchange tomorrow. We can’t proceed until late morning at least. Best to get some rest while we can.”

“You don’t have to tell me twice Sarge.” Wrecker yells from the belly of the ship. You hear his footsteps as he barrels down the gangway and feel him join you both. He grabs your own pack from your shoulder and puts it over his own, its size shrinking against his broad form. “You and the kid take your time, beautiful. I can take our stuff inside.”

“Wreck I can take that, it’s just a few things.” You laugh, grabbing for your pack. He dodges your efforts and keeps walking forward, turning to wink at you as he follows his brothers. You huff out another laugh and lead Omega towards the cleared path in the forest. “Well, I guess I’ll just escort you then my lady. I’ll get you settled in in Hunter’s room before I join them so we can go over the mission details for tomorrow.”

“Can’t I be there? I want to know what’s going on tomorrow too!” Omega asks, her shoulders slumping down a moment under her cloak. You squeeze her hand and nod.

“Alright Omega, you can come with me. We’ll drop your pack off and then find our way. Just be weary. I’m not sure what kind of mission this will be or what Hunter’s plans for you are. This may be one you need to sit out, for all I know the both of us might be sticking behind. You’re a part of the squad so I see no issue of you being there. Just be ready to play the part Hunter and the others have planned.” You tell her. Thankfully, Hunter had begun to allow her a little more freedom with her involvement in missions. There were still runs Cid sent you on however that weren’t worth the risk.

“I promise I will!” She says, saluting you. You look ahead as a clearing broke out of the path and you see a glassed-in observatory style station come into view. It looked like a two-story home, perfectly rectangular in shape. The walls were made completely of glass, save for the metal framing around the edges and planforms, holding the building above the ground. You imagined the views of the forest were breathtaking from inside. You had to give it to her, Cid had taste. 

“(y/n)? Can I ask just one question before we go in?”

“Go on Omega, I’m listening.” You answer, still looking towards your quarters for the night.

“What are snowflakes?” ***** You sigh as you enter the code to your keypad Wrecker directly behind you as you all retired to your rooms after the mission briefing. Omega left in happy spirits with Hunter as he had a part for her to play in this mission, the situation being a simple drop-off of supplies with payment, nothing too messy. Since Omega had paid off all your debt with Cid, you were able to stick to more low-profile jobs while you figured out a new plan regarding Omega’s safety and the unsettling end of the war.

“The kid seemed happy that she has a job to do with us. I like when she’s able to come out in the field with us.” Wrecker says, starting to take off his uniform. You cross your arms over your chest, still a little chilled from the rain as you look out. You were right before, as the whole building, including your room, was surrounded by windows. Thick, one-way, bulletproof windows, as Tech made sure to point out, given who owned it. It really was a beautiful sight.

The view made it easy to look out into the forest, the leaves on the branches, bright from the rain and crisp air. The foliage swayed back and forth with the wind, creating the most soothing hushing sound, mother natures lullaby. Accompanied of course by what had to be some type of owls, their deep calls coming from their nests in the surrounding trees. Open space had a soothing effect to most. It’s infinite darkness with specks of light, but to you, it was far too quiet. No outside noises penetrated the thick hull of the Havoc Marauder, only the synthetic beeps and whirs of the engines going off in the night could soothe you in the deafening moments.

“I know that ain’t true, you smacked me in the face with your pillow the other night cause you said I was snorin’ too loudly.” Wrecker points out, lifting his chest piece over his head, his upper body now free of the extra weight. You hadn’t realized that you were thinking out loud, though you often did it around Wrecker. He was your partner, for a couple years now. Hunter, Crosshair, Tech, and Echo you trusted with your life. With Wrecker, you trusted him with your life and your heart. You take his chest piece from his hand and set it in the trunk he had carried in along with your bag. “

That is different!” You laugh, coming back to take the final pieces of his suit, leaving him just in his black thermal set. You lay the final piece into the trunk and sit on a chair that faces the windows. “This place reminds me of things I love. The birds, the trees, the smell of the rain. You can’t find that in space big guy. I’m glad we’re able to take Omega with us to these different planets and worlds. It’s important she knows about the world and everything in it. Good and bad. I just try my bests to let her see the good to remember during those bad times. She’s going to have to fight for a lot in her life, an unfair amount…”

“Hey, listen-“You feel Wrecker stand behind you, putting one hand on your shoulder and gesturing for your other one. You put your hand in his and bring the warm top side of his to your lips, kissing it gently. His hands dwarfed your own, as he did most parts of you. You were always safe when you were with him, and you knew if he wasn’t near, it wouldn’t take much to have him barreling towards you at any moment when you needed him. “We’re gonna look after Omega. We made it this far, I’ll stand in front of anyone that tries to hurt her… Or take her away.”

“I know you would Wreck, we all would. She just adores and admires you all.” You say, his fingers grazing your cheek as you speak. You were honest too. If your run in with the bounty hunters wasn’t enough, you knew in your heart that child was probably the most protected thing in the galaxy.

“She likes you a lot too ya know. She tells me all the time.”

“Does she?” You smile to yourself. The word ‘love’ was seldom used around the ship, usually only regarding Mantell mix by a select few. The feeling was always present of course, the brothers all loved each other, and as the time went on, it extended to both yourself and Omega as well. Wrecker had told you after he told you he loved you for the first time in your relationship, that it was the first time he had said it to someone in such a way.

“She does. She thinks your beautiful, and smart and kind. I like her, she’s a smart kid.” Wrecker lets go of your hand and comes around to the front of your chair. You barely have a moment to look up before he picks you up into his arms like you were nothing, carrying you to the plush bed that was made up in the middle of the room. He sets you down gently and crawls into bed with you. 

“Cause I think you’re beautiful, kind, and smart too.”

You laugh and prop yourself up a little more as Wrecker settles beside you, who is also sitting up to look at you. You extend your hand and cradle his face in your hand, your thumb brushing along his cheekbone. Before you can reply you feel a yawn manifest in your throat before it escapes, your hand covering your mouth as you try and keep your gaze on your favourite trooper.

“Am I that boring?” He chuckles. You swing your legs back over the edge of the bed, starting to unhook your boots. Wrecker gets up from the bed again and walks to your pack, grabbing your sleep pants from it.

“No Wreck of course not. I’m sorry, I just feel really tired suddenly.” You reply, pulling off your boots and setting them beside the bed, keeping them close just in case. You feel his hands slip under your shirt and you let him lift the fabric from your body, leaving you in just a worn sports bra. As you wiggle out of your tactical pants, he hands you the black sweatpants and you slip them on, relishing in the feel of the soft fabric. You never seem to realize how tired your body is until you properly stop for a moment.

“It’s okay baby, it’s been a while since we had a break. Even when we do, you’re always doing something for us, or for Omega.” He says, joining you in bed again. You lay back on his chest, relaxing into him as you look out the array of windows and out into the wilderness around you. You wished you had time to explore more, and to enjoy your time there, but you could already feel sleep tugging you down, not being helped by Wrecker’s fingers grazing up and down you arm.

“I know- but I still wish we had some extra time. We haven’t had a lot of time together either, just the two of us. I’m sorry I’m wasting it.” You sigh, fingers dancing over his chest.

“Don’t worry (y/n).”  Wrecker takes his arm around you and rolls you onto his chest, almost laying you almost on top of him, kissing that spot on your neck that makes your heart thrum. “There’s always the morning. You know how much I like breakfast.”

[alch3mic]

Could. Could I request SOFT TM SWAPAROO!BEAST/KING FLUFF??? aa??

The job you had was rather... peculiar one.

It certainly wasn’t the strangest job you’ve ever had in this crazy city, not by a long shot, but it was perhaps the most interesting you've had yet.

You were a personal maid.

That in itself was a pretty ordinary job title, which is why you didn't hesitate to apply for the job when you saw it online one day.

It was described simply as a live-in kind of gig with some rather long hours attached and a rather strange set of requirements, but the pay was way too good for you to pass up.

So you applied.

You were met the very next morning with a very strange phone call from a very callous individual who asked you some very bizarre questions.

The kind of questions you very much never asked for a job interview.

...Which made the whole thing seem very suspicious to you.

Still the money was very tempting so you decided to... very much continue with the job application anyways.

After what felt like more of an interrogation than a proper interview, the voice on the phone had told you to come down to the 'estate' for a face to face, and from there they would decide if you really got the job or not.

At this point you had expected a couple of things.

Like, maybe this was just some kind of prank and you'd show up to an empty lot, or... maybe it was a really elaborate ruse to rope you into some kinda weird pyramid scheme?

Wouldn't have been the first time that kinda stuff happened with all the different jobs you've applied to over the years.

Well, what you hadn't expected was to show up to the most ominous looking mansions you could've ever imagined; complete with deep dark colors, thorny rose bushes and several tacky gothic ornaments that made the whole thing look like it popped straight out of a storybook for a villain.

To top the whole affair off you met the owner of said villainous mansion; one very tall, very intimidating skeleton, who held the same callous tone as the one who spoke to you over the phone.

...A Fell...

And that's when your heart sank.

Seems like your bad feeling was right.

.......Until it wasn't.

The exchange you ended up having with him was actually rather pleasant, and he seemed to warm up to you rather quickly when you made an unexpected friend out of his cat. His sour expression ended up turning.. well.. less sour at the very least, and from there the two of you really seemed to hit it off.

Your job, as he described, would be easy.

Take care of his recluse brother.

......And that was it...?

Alright, you said.

And really, that was it.

You were given a rather cool looking (although also kinda tacky) uniform which completely matched the whole dark and gothic interior of the house, a tour of the place, and a small list of duties you were expected to perform daily along with anything else his brother asked of you.

Anything else, Papyrus took care of.

Cool.

Great.

Stellar, really.

What your new boss failed to mention was how much of a recluse his brother really was.

Like, the guy didn't even leave his room the first few days you were there.

You exchanged very few words with him through a large set of double doors on occasion, and you eventually managed to work out a bit of a schedule where he'd leave his room for a few hours and you'd tidy his space up.

You still ended up never seeing him.

He'd always miraculously disappear before you came in, even the few times you'd shown up just a few minutes early in hopes that'd you catch a glimpse of this guy.

But, no luck.

The whole affair just left you feeling rather curious about who exactly it was you were taking care of. You could tell from picking up his room that he was tall, much like his brother, but also kinda wide.

Built more like a square than a rectangle.

You could also tell he had a variety of interests from the books always messily littering his room. Anything from astronomy to zoology, all of the pages meticulous marked with sticky notes and papers with hastily scribbled notes on them. There was also an assortment of crafty things, like fabrics and chains always hastily thrown together on a desk that he apparently used to make things, such as outfits for himself.

It was cute, in a way.

He even eventually made something for you.

A gold bracelet, decorated with most delicate porcelain red roses who's petals were also trimmed in gold.

A thank you, he said, for taking care of him... and for filling the halls of this home with your singing.

You absolutely adored it, which is why it made you all the more determined to finally meet with him face to face.

Of course though, just like with everything else in your life, none of your plans ever worked out. Every opportunity to catch a peek at him was missed, even on the days where you would slide him things like meals through his door. He was always shadowed by the light in his room, so you could never see his face, and he always closed the door so quickly so your eyes could never adjust.

It was.. a little frustrating but, really it wasn't your place to push why he hid away.

You did happen to ask Papyrus one day when you were helping him tend to the rose bushes, but he all he told you was that his brother was shy around other people.

...Shy your fuckin' ass.

Sure, he was sweet. You could tell that from not only the gift he gave you, but also from the extended conversations you'd have with him on the other side of the door. He was a bit quiet in your first few exchanges but eventually warmed up a lot more to you the more you tried to strike up friendly conversations. He ended up becoming a little more cheeky, and seemed to have a certain skill for making you bust your butt laughing with his otherwise raunchy humor.

Really.. with that kind of smoother talker personality you really had to wonder what he went through to make him so cautious around others.

But.. again it just wasn't your place to ask.

You were here to make a paycheck, not invest yourself into the problems and lives of others... despite how much you enjoyed working for your employers.

Both of the brothers ended up treating you very well.

You were paid handsomely and never felt yourself being overworked. They never asked anything outrageous of you, gave you a rather lovely living quarters all to yourself on the estate grounds and even gave you adequate days off.

The whole thing almost really felt like some kind of fairy tale.

So here you were again, living in a small piece of your own world as you wandered the halls of the estate in the late hour, technically past your shift.

The rain pitter pattered against the window as you traveled with a laundry basket in hand, your last chore for the day. It had taken a while to dry thanks to the damp weather, and even though you were technically due to be off you wanted to have this finished before retiring for the evening.

Just needed to drop it off in front of Sans' room and away you'd g-

"mrow?"

You inhaled quickly at the sound, jumping a bit before turning back to look down the hall at a familiar white cat in the distance.

"Oh stars above, it's just you Doomy," you breathed out, placing a hand to your chest.

The cat meowed again as it trotted closer to you, so you carefully set down the laundry basket to scoop up the white cat in your arms.

"You scared the hell out of me! Didn't Papyrus ever teach you it's bad manners to sneak up on others you silly little cat?" you whispered softly as she purred in your arms.

Oh you could never stay mad at Doomfanger for too long.

She was just too cute, and always liked to keep you company on nights like this when Papyrus had to attend to business in town. Certainly made you feel a lot less lonely, even though you knew someone else was technically in this house too-

CREAK.

You froze again, hearing nothing but silence until the floors creak again underneath someone's footstep.

Then another.

And another.

Closer and closer.

......

Alright well you were armed with nothing but your two fists, some laundry and a cat, but Papyrus had left the whole estate in your care tonight and you would be damned before you disappointed him!

So, you turned confidently to face whoever was stalking these halls before being met with...

"...Sans?"

You're not exactly sure what compelled you to call out his name, considering whoever you were looking at had a blanket covering their shoulders and head, but apparently your guess was right as he froze on the spot.

"...Jeez, both you and Doomfanger are apparently determined to scare me out of my wits tonight," you finally sighed, letting the cat go as she gracefully landed and sauntered her way over to Sans before rubbing up on to his leg.

He still seemed frozen in place, his head tilted ever so slightly in your direction but the blanket he wore over his head still casted him into shadows thanks to the dim lighting of the halls. The only thing you could properly see were a pair of eyelights burrowing into you, one red and one white.

"Is.. everything ok?" you asked, picking up the laundry basket and carefully approaching closer.

Clearly it wasn't considering he was out of his room when you were here but...

"....left.."

"Huh?" you asked, still trying to at least keep some respectable distance between you both but also taking a step in to catch what he was saying.

"i...i-i thought you.. already.. so i......... snack..."

He was fumbling with his words, seeming to shrink in a bit on himself almost in fear or some kind of embarrassment.

"Oh! No, sorry!" you explained with a quick wave of your hand. "I just had this last load to finish but it took forever to dry so I stuck around a little longer to get it done!"

You did your best to smile warmly at him, which you hoped would ease a bit of the tension he was holding, but it didn't.

Instead he became... really...

Red.

Very, very red in fact.

So much so that it actually lit up his face, and for once you could actually see him as he stared back at you, seeming transfixed upon your features. There were harsh cracks and scratches splintered over his face, and just the faintest hint of gold where a tooth would have been.

"...Huh.."

Your words seemed to snap him out of whatever kind of trance he was in and he quickly covered his face with a clawed hand.

"n-no! this...! i.. didn't...! mean to... scare..."

He seemed to be scrambling for words again, but you were still dazzled by what you just saw, unable to keep the sparkle down in your own eyes.

"You've...."

He continued to cover his face with his other hand.

"......got some crumbs on your face."

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

He carefully peeked at you between his claws, that red eyelight of his slightly enlarged and looking.. incredibly confused.

"Here," you said, tapping your own cheek.

Sans seemed to pause again, carefully removing once of his hands to rather quickly wipe his face.

"Nope, other one!" you giggled, unable to resist the smile climbing over your face once again.

Another attempt and another miss.

You could feel his eyelight bore into you some more when you laughed a bit more loudly this time, shaking your head and setting down the laundry basket once more.

"Oh my gosh, just..! C'mere!" you finally said, taking a few more steps while pulling a handkerchief out of your pocket.

He stared again for a few more moments, hesitating only slightly before carefully bending down to your level and slowly moving his hands from his face.

You lightly placed a hand on one of his rather tense cheeks before gently wiping the other, making note of the kind of crumbs he still had clinging to his face thanks to the red glow that still illuminated his cheekbones.

Slowly you felt the tension he held melt away and soon enough it felt like he was resting his head in the palm of his hand while a gentle rumbling noise made itself present to your ears.

"....Did you eat the last of the cookies?" you asked, glancing back up him only to see him quickly look away from you.

".........maybe," he said softly, letting out a small gruff laugh.

"Ooooh, Papyrus is going to have an absolute fit when he gets back," you snickered.

"...yeah i know..s'fine," he mumbled softly. "..just gonna blame it on you."

"Hey!!"

"...or doomfanger.."

"Oh my stars, do not blame the cat you goober!"

"what? i'm pretty sure you'd both get in less trouble than i would!"

"That's not the point you jerk, haha!"

"..heh.."

Yeah.. this... really was quite the peculiar job, wasn't it?

Strangely though, you liked it.

A lot.

Especially now that you got to see just how cute the skeleton beyond the door really was.

check out my other writings | feel free to drop me a ko-fi!

[traegorn]

I don't know if people who weren't adults really know what that day was like.

Because it didn't, like, stop.

The people who were around had to keep going. Yes, they had bills to pay and capitalism is terrible... but also what else were you going to do?

The planes hit the towers while I was on the bus to work. I was a 21 years old college dropout (I went back to school a few years later) working at a Best Buy working in the "Wireless" department (cell phones, cordless phones, radios and PDAs). I walked in the building an hour before open, and the entire staff was crowded around the tech bench (this is before it was "Geek Squad").

You see, the only TV in the whole store that actually got an outside TV signal was there -- in a building full of big screen TVs the only one that you could get the news on was a little 12 inch CRT used for testing.

I watched the towers fall on live TV with coworkers whose names I can no longer remember.

And then I grabbed the open box items for my department that needed to be checked for that day, shrink wrapped and priced them, and started prepping my department.

The manager who was on duty to open the store (I remember her face but not her name -- it's been twenty years since I last worked there) at the morning meeting was as deer in the headlights as the rest of us, but she said we'd all do our best that day and we opened at 10am.

I was a little worried, because I knew my Aunt sometimes had meetings in the Pentagon (she was in the CIA at the time -- she's retired now), and I wouldn't be able to reach out to family members to make sure everyone was fine until after I was done with work sevenish hours later (I didn't have a cellphone at the time I don't think). I spent the day numb. Having surreal conversations with people who decided to go out and shop during a national emergency.

But they did shop. They did go about their lives.

Because, honestly, what else are you supposed to do? My lying on the ground in the fetal position wasn't going to help anyone. It definitely wasn't going to help me. I have anxiety, and one of the ways I cope with it is with distractions and doing something. I can't help make the awful things go away, but I can grab some of the Uniden cordless phones from upstock.

That was a thing I could do.

And that distraction, putting the energy from my fear into simple tasks like explaining the difference between FRS and GMRS radios, showing the coverage differences between the cell phone carriers, or demoing a Handspring Visor. It kept me from surrendering to panic attacks or my stress. It kept me alive.

This guy couldn't help with the awfulness.

He could deliver the package I was supposed to though.

That was a thing he could do.

It could keep him alive.

This picture of a UPS worker delivering a package on 9/11 right after the second tower was hit is so fascinating to me. I totally would have used two buildings being blown up and the city infrastructure pausing as an excuse to not do my job. Just go back to the depot and call it a day. But no he’s bravely delivering that Backstreet Boys poster or whatever while everyone else stares at the buildings behind him in shock. Went “Well, that sucks. Can’t do anything about it I guess.”

[internalsealpanic]

Camp Crystal What?

summary: Camp Crystal Lake is a fine and dandy place to spend your summer, said no one ever. You are inclined to agree with that and so are Damian and Jon. 

a/n: I am back from retirement with a REEEEEEAAAAALLLLY long crack fic. (This is long as shit by my standards. Leave me alone.) This  was co written and edited by my wife @littleredwing89. She was also the biggest enabler for this. I tried to give reader some executive dysfuction but I don’t think it worked out well. We’ll see. This is my first super sons fic please feel free to roast it. 

warnings: This really self indulgent and really long. You would think I would have more gore in a slasher film based fic. No. Apparently not. 

masterlist

Jon cackles, his chin lifting only slightly from its perch on your shoulder just enough for you to fully hear the petty sound. You tilt your switch, sticking out your tongue in a vain attempt to avoid Damian’s blue shell. You cry out, throwing your arms up in exasperation as the shell hits you just as you were about to cross the finish line. Your outstretched prosthetic arm nearly hitting Jon in the process, not that you felt too bad about that considering…

 “Yeah! Got ‘em, Dami!” Jon says, high fiving a smug-looking Damian beside you.  You glare at Jon, who was still leaning against you like you weren’t about to bite his head off. “Whose side are you on?”

 “Justice!” This draws a snort out of both Tim and Jason who were both sitting in the back. 

 “No, you’re not!”

 “Yes, I am!”

 “He is, (l/n). You needed to be cut down to size," Damian declares, subtly brandishing his screen showing Rozalina doing a little victory lap in her kart as her little star guy floated around her. You pout at him, puffing your cheeks like an unruly chipmunk as you cross your arms over your chest. This only serves to make Damian all the smugger and Jon all the more gleeful at your loss. 

 You turn the full force of your ire on Jon who was smiling innocently at you, big blue eyes sparkling reminding you of your husky, Yoohoo. You’re about to say something scathing but stop instead deciding to stew in your loss and sulk as you hand Jon your Switch. You’d think he would be more prepared since he was the one who insisted on coming with you to this camp. Now that you think about it, why were they here? All you remember is telling Jon that you couldn’t go visit him over the summer because your parents were sticking you in a summer camp while they go abroad for something and the next thing you know is that you’re in an SUV with Jon, Damian, Damian’s older brother’s, and their friend(?). Whatever she was to them Damiam never adequately explained like everything else. Though you suspect she was Dick’s wife judging from how little they cared whether the other invaded their space. The lack of a wedding ring made you unsure. 

 You let out a little huff, melting into your oversized Gotham U hoodie, letting Jon lean on you despite your sour mood and touch aversion. You lean against him in return and watch as Yoshi zips past Rosalina in mild petty satisfaction. 

You all file out of the car, drowsy and irritable. You muss Jon’s bed head into an even more tangled mess. Neither of you tells Damian about the streak of drool on his face. Tim shuffles the three of you towards the convenience store while Jason politely explains to the mechanic that he’s wrong, Dick orders lunch at the diner and makes a call back to Gotham presumably to make sure Wayne industries isn’t burning down. 

Over your shoulder, you can see Jason’s form working hard not to look threatening. It’s not working or maybe the mechanic was shaking because Faust isn’t even trying to hide the irritation wicking off of her. 

 “He wha-” Tim pinches the bridge of his nose muttering something about Mr.Wayne. He looks pained. Tim hands you a wad of one-dollar bills as his voice takes Timothy Wayne's public speaker pitch. All of the Wayne’s seem to have three voices. Their Wayne voice, their vigilante voice, and their normal voice. Mr. Wayne has the most distinct voice. Dick’s was honestly really hard to distinguish.  

 You count the wad of cash in your hand as Jon grabs a basket from the pile. You note, with amusement, that at least five of the bills had variations of ‘don’t buy cereal’ written on them in distinct handwriting. 

 “Kent, are you planning to put the entire store in the basket?”

 “Nah, just the good stuff.”

 You marvel at the amount of food Jon managed stockpile in your basket while you were distracted. 

 “Uh, Jon, we don’t need that much.” Plus, I don’t think we can eat all of that. 

 “They’re right,” Damian chides, making Jon pout. 

 After a healthy amount of debate, two almost food fights, a near fistfight, and your attempt at puppy dog eyes, you finally narrow the snacks down and even have enough money left for slushies. You shrug at her, adding more blue than necessary. There weren’t rules against this. Plus, it was tastier this way. 

 “Dami,  what flavor do you want?” Jon shouts from the slushie machine.  Beside him, you swirl a mix of red, green, pink, and blue slushies. The lady at the counter was wrinkling her nose at you the way Dami is wrinkling his nose at Jon.

 Jon’s big cup of neon blue smoothie dropped to the floor in a loud clatter. 

 “You’re all doomed! He’s coming. He’s coming! That place is cursed!” The scraggly man screams as he shakes Jon. Damian’s lip tries not to curl in amusement as you both watch the scene unfold. Out of context, this was horrifying. In context, it was hilarious especially considering how badly Jon is acting. The clerk at the counter looks appropriately horrified. You look at Jon, feeling a twinge of worry. He’s not in danger. You know that but you can’t help it.

 Your concoction flies into the man’s face in no time flat and Jon scrambles to your side as soon as the man drops him. You step in front of him bracing for further confrontation but the man simply walks off muttering about something you couldn’t hear over the beating of your heart. 

“Exactly, why am I in the back?” Jason whines, unfolding and refolding himself, not quite sure where to place what limb in the cramped back row of the SUV. You let out a giggle which earns you a rather harsh glare from an already irate Jason. Damian glares back at him for you, in an oddly protective gesture, and you can’t help but feel strangely smug about it. 

 They glower at each other for a few minutes. Jason, probably knowing this was a stalemate, turns his attention towards the front of the vehicle, sharp green eyes narrowing at the rearview mirror. “Shouldn’t Faust’s short ass be in the back with Timbo and the Three Tiny Terrors?” 

 You hear an amused huff from the front along with the loud crinkling and shuffling of the map. Faust glances over her shoulder, the bright mischief in her eyes contrasting with the rich brown of her skin. You wonder if everyone in Damian and Jon’s lives were all this pretty. An almost smile quirks on the edges of her lips as she says “You didn’t call shotgun~”

 Jason hisses something colorful behind you. Tim, beside him, is chuckling either from Jason’s misery or, based on the defeated cry coming from Jon, having just nailed Yoshi with lightning. Could be both. It was likely. 

 Jason, looking positively annoyed, unfolds himself and violently settles his feet on Tim’s lap. Tim yelps then says something close to a swear word. Jason grins lazily looking more like a cat as he leans back. This time Jon cries out in joy, the victory music blaring from your switch. Again, Tim hisses something edging towards a curse word. Jon wriggles out of his seat and fist bumps Jason who returns the gesture enthusiastically. In the reflection on the windshield, you can clearly see the amusement in Dick’s smile. Even to your right, Damian seems amused if not outright gleeful at seeing Tim’s misery.  You couldn’t quite tell. You weren’t a master of reading Waynes yet. You would turn to Jon but he wasn't fluent either. Faust told you that it would take a while which just meant that you would never master it. Reading people was hard enough as it was. There was always something difficult about interpreting social signals. It was so easy to get them wrong and when you add in the complication of being a vigilante you just found yourself frustrated. You slump into the seat feeling the frustration writhing under your skin. Jon noticing your frustration eases up and gives you a little more space. 

 "So, what's with the map?" Tim asks, throwing Jason's feet back at him and handing you his switch. Faust wrinkles her nose at the offending piece of paper. "Well, Dicktopus here insisted on the authentic road trip atmosphere complete with bad cell signal, a map, and oh right, getting lost." Dick gives her a look which Faust just shrugs it off. 

 "Like what? The Goofy movie?" Tim asks incredulously, his brows wrinkling in the rearview mirror as he gives Dick a withering look. 

 Faust snorts in confirmation. Jon’s face crumples in confusion. You make a small hiccupping noise mimicking the noise that passes for Goofy's laugh and you see as the bleary memory clicks into place. "You mean the old movie we watched last night?"

 "It's old but gold," Dick defends fervently, earning him an indulgent smile from Faust and a withering look from Damian. Damian shrinks into his seat unwilling to expend too much effort defending his mentor's taste in movies despite him enjoying the movie. You did too but you wanted to see how this would play out. Behind you, Jason shifts, a shark-like grin plastered across his face. " Just because that's the movie you modeled your life after, Big Bird, doesn't mean it's good."

 Dick makes this affronted noise that makes him sound a little like he's squawking. "It's a good movie and you know it!" Dick says earnestly, scowling at a still cocky Jason through the reflection in the windshield. You see Damian, Jason, Faust, and Tim's eyes meet in the rearview mirror, all shining conspiratorially. You and Jon give each other a look, each looking like you're bracing for disaster. 

 "Dunno, Dick, I think the second one was soooo much better," Tim pipes up finally. It sounds like the spark lighting a trail of gunpowder towards a powder keg. 

 "I have to agree with Drake," Damian says honestly sounding pained. 

 Faust rewards him with a conspiratorial smile which makes Damian ease a little. The gesture from what you understood roughly translated to 'it was for the greater good.' "So much for your taste in movies, Dickens," Faust teases, poking a finger at Dick’s shoulder. 

 "You're one to talk!" Dick says, rolling his eyes childishly. 

 Faust twists her body to look at all 5 of you, winking at you and Jon as if she was about to perform a magic trick, which wasn't off the table since she could actually pull weapons from her tattooed skin. "You guys loved Lake Placid, right?" 

 Playing along, you each gave varying sounds of agreement til Dick finally threw his hands up in exasperation. "HEATHENS!" Faust looks pleased as punch at this reaction. You giggle as Dick groans into the steering wheel as you slow to a stop in front of a cross-section. 

 "Traitors all of you," Dick says, resting his arm on the back of his seat and giving all of you a halfhearted scowl. He kind of looked like Yoohoo when you refused to give him treats. 

 You all bask in Dick’s misery. You even catch Jon giggling at Dick’s frown despite himself. The rest were completely unrepentant. They don't even bother to hide the self-satisfied smiles on their faces, least of all Damian who vehemently protested to being subjected to such drivel. This is, of course, ignoring the fact that he had watched the movie with the same rapt attention as you and Jon. You all enjoyed the movie just as much as Dick did but it was much funnier to gang up on him. 

 Dick continues to argue his point as all of you offer, frankly, bogus arguments that you say with as much conviction as Dick levels against you. The banter continues in a rather jaunty rhythm until a fallen tree forces the car into a rather abrupt stop. 

 "Shit!" Jason hisses at full volume as his knees hit the back of Damian’s seat which draws out a soft 'oof' from Damian which quickly reshapes into a snarl. Tim and Damian give Jason a look of mock sympathy. Jason raises his middle finger in a vaguely familiar gesture. 

 "Jason!" Dick says, cutting off your train of thought much to your frustration. You contemplate hissing some colorful words yourself. 

 Jason grunts, probably rubbing his shins. "They've heard, said, and done worse." You hear Jon protest beside you but it's quickly cut off by a 'not you' from somewhere. 

 Then it hits you. "Oh yeah! Dami did that hand thingy when he drop-kicked someone during lunch," you admit conversationally. 

 "Dami!" 

 Damian gives you an absolutely betrayed look. You shrug at him not entirely sure what was wrong. You shrink a little and Damian pulls back a little but still glares. 

 "Didn't you hear him say the F-word?" Jon adds. You blink at him, running through your memory like a film reel and turning up nothing. "Some of us don't have super hearing," you supply with no real anger behind it. 

 "Ope, sorry, (y/n)." You shrug at him congenially as he smiles sheepishly at you. No harm no foul. 

 "Kent!"

 "Oh- Uh, sorry, Dami." 

 Damian doesn't look appeased at all by this. 

 “Ok, so we’re just gonna skip over the fact that he drop-kicked someone?” Tim asks, raising a brow and you find yourself thinking, “Well, yeah. He’s Robin. That’s kinda his thing.”

 Jason snorts beside him, seemingly less irritable now that Dick’s attention was directed elsewhere. “He didn’t get caught soooo..”

 “Jason!”

 “Jason, we’re not supposed to be obvious about being terrible influences.” Faust jokes, now redirecting Dick’s ire to her. You can’t tell if that was intentional or not but either way she seems to be enjoying how Dick’s expression makes him look like a carp gasping for air.

 “Why did you tell them?” Damian hisses, albeit softer than he normally does. You frown at him confused. You thought it was spectacular and you really don’t know what was wrong. You really wish they’d explain it. Maybe you should speak up but would that be rude? You stare at Damian trying your hardest to convey your confusion but you’re having trouble shaping your face into the correct one. You try to keep in mind the face Jon makes when Damian tried to explain quantum physics to both of you. 

 Turning away from her argument with Dick, Faust looks at you pityingly before speaking and putting her hand up to Dick’s face lightly pushing him back. “Relax, Baby Vamp, I would’ve gotten it out of them sooner or later,” Faust says, looking at you with the same stern look Mr. Pennyworth gives you when you try to steal cookies. It kind of reminds you of the Penance Stare from Ghost Riders but with less flaming skulls and more implied disappointment. 

 “Tim was the one who ate the last few pieces of the brownies Mr. Pennyworth made for Jason.” The words flow out of you like water from a cataract. Faust waves her hand theatrically as if she had just demonstrated a magic trick. Again, you’re pretty sure this was one. You wince fully expecting Tim to have the same caustic reaction as Damian. But when you turn to look at him to apologize, Tim already had his hands up in front of him defensively. On the other side, not far enough away for Tim’s liking, Jason looks livid, steam coming out of his ears. 

 “Those were mine, asshole!”

 “You eat them every time you’re at the Manor!”

 “When I’m at the Manor! Which is what? Once every three months?”

 “Two,” Tim deadpans, holding up two fingers. 

 That was the wrong thing to say, you realize. From the way they’re staring at each other, you’re a little afraid they’d come to blows as Jason surges forward. 

 “Tim, Jay, I will turn this car around if you two don’t stop.”

 “Please, continue.” Dick shoots Damian a ‘you are not helping’ glare but Damian simply answers with a warning one. They all look ready for a brawl and all you want to do is curl up into your oversized hoodie. You play with the frayed edges of your hoodie hoping you’re radiating your discomfort.

 And like an angel of mercy, Faust clears her throat. “(Y/n), Jon, help me clear the road.” The statement leaves no room for argument and you and Jon breathe a collective sigh of relief. 

Jon lifts the tree with ease. It was an oddly healthy tree, freshly cut. Something about it made your stomach turn. “Jon could have done it alone. Why bring me?” You ask, distracting yourself from the strange feeling by fiddling with the joints of your metal hand which only made you more conscious of how pointless it was to bring you along. Faust glances towards the car. The boys are still bickering. She then glances down at you with a wry smile. “Waynes bickering is really funny from a distance.” Your eyes glance at the light scar on her running down her clavicle, disappearing into the line of her shirt.  You doubt it’s from any of them. You really doubt it. The Wayne kids were chaotic, especially the girls, but they’re never- Well, they can be hurtful but not that way. Not that you’ve seen anyway.   You shake your head and glance at the car and watch them argue. Their gestures are animated and loud enough that you could almost hear the bickering going on. This liveliness settles your stomach. 

 You spend a few minutes out there waiting for them to settle down. It was long enough for you and Jon to start debating the existence of Gummy Bear shaped aliens and for Faust to weigh in with her humble opinion. Dick honks at the three of you to tell you it was, relatively, safe to come back. Tim, Damian, and Jason were all sulking in their respective corners while Dick gives you and Jon an apologetic look. Jon simply shrugs as if to say it was normal for brothers to argue but you found it hard to picture Conner ever being that mean to Jon or vice versa for that matter. Faust rolls her eyes at the sulking birds, a fond smile quirking on her lips.  Dick gives her a look that was usually followed by the words ‘I miss not being the adult’ which she graciously answers with a smile that plainly says ‘me too.’

 In the corner of your eye, you see something- a shadow- move in the woods as you drive off, Dick’s story about space aliens falling away into the background. You turn to Jon who looks at you confused and a little concerned. It was clear he didn’t see it, whatever it was. You turn to Damian but see he’s still stewing. You blin and the shadow is gone. A sticky feeling of dread settles in your stomach. 

 There's pressure in the car. 

The camp is, well, loud. 

 Louder than you were expecting and full of rowdier children than promised. You wince slightly, ears ringing. You and Damian sigh already knowing that you were both going to be absolutely exhausted by the end of this. You turn to Jon, shoulder slumping, only to find him beaming as he watched the other kids run around. There were alot of days you envied Jon and this was one of them. Damian looks at Jon with utter disbelief. You shrug at him as he wrinkles his nose at both Jon and the hooligans running around. Your lip quirks into a scraggly smile fully understanding.

 “This is going to be repulsive,” Damian hisses.  

 “Lighten up, Dami.”

 “Nah, he’s gotta practice being dark and brooding, so when he gets to be the big bad bat he can do the whole brooding thing all-natural,” you joke, using your finger to mimic the ears of Batman’s cowl. 

 “Please, say that louder. I don’t think the supervillains heard you,” says Damian sarcastically, nose upturned.  

 Jon grins at you in a challenge. You raise a brow, crossing your arms. Your brain cell takes a vacation. 

 “HE’S GOTTA-” Damian clamps a hand on your mouth. You glare at him. His eye flicks to Jon who is sucking in a breath. Damian is throwing his other hand over Jon’s mouth when one of the counselors waves you over. All three of you blanch at the color of the shirt. 

 You all stand in an odd misshapen circle. Damian looks incredulously at the tacky camp T-shirt he’s been forced into while Jon does not contain his laughter. You joke about how a bowtie would definitely class it up which earns you a rude gesture that just makes you laugh harder. 

 “Alright kiddos, it’s time to introduce ourselves!”

 Damian froze under the weight of their collective gazes, the hint of a smile on his face fading. Sometimes being around you and Jon made him forget. Well, not really forget. It was just easier not to think about it when you two were around. Damian feels himself shifting, realigning himself to 5’ 2” of cold arrogance.

 It should have scared you just how easily the warm fondness on his face smoothed out giving way to this cold calculating face. It did on some level; on some level, the efficiency of Damian’s face muscles scared you. Sometimes you had to wonder if it was just him or if his brothers had the same knee-jerk reaction. 

 You roll your eyes as if nothing worrying had happened and bump your shoulder against his. A smile twitches on his lip and the ramrod shape of his spine curves a bit.  Jon snickers, not trying too hard to hide it, which earns him the full force of Damian’s ire but you and Jon know all too well that Damian’s just being prickly.  You step forward, shoulders broadening, nudging a glaring Damian behind you redirecting everyone’s stares towards you. It’s uncomfortable but you don’t mind. Damian huff behind you but doesn’t protest any more than that. You smile amicably or as amicably as you can. You need to remember the correct shape.  

Introductions go off without a hitch. 

 Jon, like always, has no trouble stirring the crowd. 

  You make an impression when your introduction careens into a tangent about angelfish.

 Behind you, Damian scoffs and  crosses his arms over his chest. Contrary to popular belief, Damian did have a tendency to be nervous, especially around new people. This is compounded by the fact that Damian wasn’t really versed in dealing with people his own age which just put him on edge. 

 Thankfully, all three of you get sorted into the same cabin. The cabin is chaotic in a familiar, childish sort of way with pillows flying everywhere and kids jumping up and down their bed. Jon immediately jumps into the fray. Damian follows soon after Jon hits him with a pillow square in the face. 

 “Woman up and face me, Kent!”

 You look up to the sky and smile in amusement.  This is going to be an interesting summer.

The room is solid. 

 Your eyes incandescent in the darkness. The air crackles in anticipation of the storm.  

 A silver streak of lightning tears down through the heavens and crashes down into the lake. 

 A strange dislocation in the universe has emerged.

 Your eyes shut. 

 Your ears pop. 

 You do not hear as something mangled rises from the water. 

You wanted to say this was a horrible idea. Though, you’re not sure how to phrase that without implying they’re idiots. You’ve been hanging out with Damian too much. He’s starting to rub off on you and you’re mildly concerned. 

 You’d told them that the whole fight was your fault. Ok, not entirely. You simply told the kid off when he was making fun of Jon and you were not gonna stand for that. The kid shoved you, Damian 'accidentally' broke his nose, and the next thing you know is that you’ve been shoved into a random group of campers.It’s been a week but you still weren’t familiar with a lot of the people in the camp. The man with kind eyes said this would be good for you.  You really would have preferred staying at the campgrounds, cleaning and doing whatever with the people in your cabin. 

 “Alright, kiddos, you guys can go swim while me and Jos go check something out in the woods.”

 “Don’t do anything we wouldn’t!”

 You sniff and bite your tongue, playing with the hem of your shirt. 

 "You sure they're gonna be ok?"

 "What you think they're gonna disappear like Cat?"

 Your ears perk up at this. 

 "Well, I mean-"

 "She probably just ran off with one of the town boys." 

 This was probably the best time to bring up child endangerment protocols or the fact that you’re not even dressed for swimming. By the time you string the correct combination of words,  they’re gone. You sigh and huddle yourself into a tree. It’s not like you’re dressed to swim anyway even if you wanted to. 

 You hug your knees as you flatten yourself against the tree, making sure your prosthetic limb is tucked beneath your normal one. You watch the others as they horse around looking like they’re really enjoying themselves. They probably didn’t realize you were there or did they even notice you join the group. Doesn’t matter really. Right now you would prefer to sit under the tree than risking your arm. Mr. Fox had explained that since it was still a prototype it was delicate. 

 “HEY!”

 You jump. Your skin feeling very confined. You turn to the voice. Jesse, you think. 

 “Sorry. Could you- can you say that again?”

 She rolls her eyes at you and you suddenly doubt the politeness of your speech but no you were pretty sure that was the correct way to say it. 

 “I said ‘can your arm go in the water?’.”

 Oh.

 “No?” You were half sure it couldn’t. You haven’t really tested it since it was easier to bathe without it. She gives you a skeptical look and yanks your arm towards her. You yelp. “Hey! What are you-” Your throat tightens when you find yourself at the dock. It’s shaky. The slightest shifting made it move. 

 You turn your heel mumbling an apology but your arm is yanked back. The grip is stronger now. You look back and see two people holding on to it. “Let go!” you say, trying to wrench yourself free. “It’s- it’s not a toy,” you add but they don’t budge.

 “You’re being a baby!”

 “C’mon (y/n)!”

 “Let’s see how well robots can swim!”

 You scream as they throw you into the water. 

 You thrash your limbs around, grasping for something, anything but all you can feel is the viscous emptiness deforming and reforming with every splash. 

 You cry out. 

 The water muffles your screams along with the distant sound of laughter and heckling. 

 Your mouth is filling with water.

 Your lungs. Your lungs are burning. 

 Your chest aches. 

 You can’t breathe. 

 Help!

 Help!

 Please!

 Someone!

 It hurts. 

 Your vision is pulsing. The edges are going dark. 

 Your limbs are going numb and falling to pieces. 

 The world is sinking. 

It’s so dark. 

 It’s too cold. 

 Why are you alone?

 Where are they?

 You don’t want to die like this. 

 .

.

.

.

.

.

You feel a large hand fish you out by the scruff of your shirt. It tosses you onto the shore; the force as you hit the ground knocks the air (water?) out of your lungs. You heave, gasping like a fish. A large silhouette hangs over you, cold dread licks up your spine but you note a lack of panic. Maybe it was the lack of oxygen. 

 Your vision comes back in pieces and by the time the world puzzles back together, you’re alone. You’re alone and shivering like a wet rat. You look around, brushing wet hair out of your eyes and you realize you’re not entirely sure of the way back. You curl in on yourself. It does nothing to warm you but you were desperate to feel whole and safe and ok. 

 You aren’t entirely sure how long it is before Jon and Damian find you or just how they managed it but you’re thankful when someone drapes a heavy towel over your head, muffling the scattered sounds around you. Shakily, you pull the towel over your face. It hides the tears well enough. Your loose hanging limbs tighten around you. You want to shrink, small enough to smooth over the trembling in your body. You know they’ve saved people from drowning before. They’ve saved people from far worse. Heck, they’ve been through far worse. You desperately don’t want them to think of you as weak, as less but here you were trembling. You’re unable to steady your own breathing. Frustration rises in the back of your throat. It is a welcome change from the nonstop medley of panic that’s been shoved on you. 

 A hand settles itself on your head, the movement stiff, light, and controlled. The pressure increases a touch when you don’t protest. Damian radiates awkwardness as he attempts to ruffle your still-damp hair. You smile up at him through damp hair. Damian simply grunts as he continues to avoid eye contact by staring out at the empty lake. 

 Jon plops down next to you kicking his feet out in front of him. He gives your space but he’s just close enough for you to lean against if you wanted to. On his shoulder was your ratty oversized hoodie. You tug at his sleeve to ask for it. He hands it to you. You slip it on, not caring that you were still soggy. The familiar, loose weight of fabric against your skin made you feel whole and safe and marginally ok. 

 Jon presses a hand onto your back mimicking the experimental way Damian had patted your damp hair. He listens to the steadying rhythm of your heart, his own easing back into a calmer rhythm. Damian raises a brow at him and he gives him a thumbs up. Damian’s shoulders loosen and Jon can’t help the snort that comes out of him. You look at him startled and Damian gives him the ol’ Damian glare which makes him laugh out loud. Your eyes flicker to Damian and then roll your eyes, crow's feet wrinkling in the corners of your eyes. You twist your mouth into a weird squiggly line in an attempt to smother a laugh in fear of incurring Damian’s wrath. Jon highly doubts you’d be able to. Damian was, in fact, a big old softie. Sure, he acts grumpy all the time but spending so much time with both Dick and Faust has made him pretty mushy by bat standards but Jon wouldn’t dare say that out loud, at least, not when Damian looked this close to throwing him into the water. 

 You spend a long time soaking up the quiet before heading back. Jon slings an arm around you but pulls it back when he hears your heart stutter. You pinch and tug at his sleeve and mumble an apology.  You see Damian shoot Jon his version of the Pennyworth look. 

 “Sorry, (y/n).”

 “‘S ok,” you rasp quietly. 

 You three walk along the shore towards the cap. You feel too tired to even blanch at the odd feeling of wet socks as you pad along the path. You walk in silence which is interrupted by a bird call here and there with either you or Jon occasionally asking Damian to translate. He does but for some reason some odd reason, they keep calling you idiot or imbeciles. You watch Damian’s eyes flick here and there. You know he feels it too. The odd feeling of being watched. The rustle of leaves echoes eerily in the stillness. 

 The counselors, mercifully, let you skip out on the rest of the afternoon’s activities. You curl up in your cabin, warm and very comfortable in the pool of fabric created by one of Mr. Kent’s hoodies which Jon ‘accidentally’ packed. You rolled your eyes at him but accepted it gratefully. You make a mental note to thank him with the mill house cookies you ‘accidentally’ bought at one of the rest stops. 

 You flip through the yellowing pages of the book in your hand. You aren’t quite sure how to describe how inappropriate it is to give a drowning victim a book on the complete works of H.P. Lovecraft. Then again, it was better than reading Moby Dick. Plus, you’re enjoying yourself trying to find a man who is about as stealthy as a Green Lantern. You’ll have to ask Damian or Jon. Damian’s more likely to have met a Green Lantern but he’s also more likely to give you a boring and entirely inaccurate answer. 

 You go back to the fish people. Do Atlanteans walk like that? Maybe.  It feels odd somehow moving around without your prosthetic limb. Lighter but infinitely more unstable.  

 “Do you think they’ll find Cat?”

 Your ears perk up. Your eyes flick to the window and you see two counselors leaning against another cabin. You shuffle awkwardly somehow moving the mass of cloth quietly. You squish against the wall making sure they can’t see you. 

 “Cat just ran off. You know how she is.”

 “That’s what Raz said.”

 “Yeah, where is he?”

 “Who knows he’s probably just fucking around in the woods. Doing Bear Grylls shit or something.”

 “Hope he comes back soon.”

 “Do you really wanna deal with that horny jackass?”

 “No but he’s the only decent cook. Do you really wanna taste what awful concoction Ratty has for us?”

 Your stomach curdles remembering Ratty’s terrible improvisation of Doro Wat. Ratty said it was their grandmother’s recipe but you doubted it. Unlike the one Jason made for you one time, it was bland. It wasn’t even close to spicy. The vegetables were overcooked while the chicken was somehow undercooked. In short, you had nearly died twice since you got here. 

 “Nope. I’d rather starve. Isn’t their cooking like a human rights violation?”

 Starvation would be a kinder death. 

 “Yeah. Anyway, I tried asking Jos. Apparently, Raz and a bunch of the other Lil shits have been fucking around in town.”

 “Is that where Jackie disappeared to?”

 “Probably.”

 Ok, so the counselors have been dropping like flies and you have yet to notice. You should probably tell Damian and Jon. Something about this seems wrong. 

“Are you ever gonna stop glaring at them?” you ask, plopping on to the log letting your empty sleeve hang loosely off to your side. 

 “Depends, have they apologized?”

 “Ye-”

 “Sincerely?”

 “Well-”

 “Then no.”

 “Ok, but does Jon have to pout at them?”

 “I’m not pouting!”

 “Wait… That’s your glare?”

 “Yeah?” Jons says furrowing his brow. 

 “Batcow’s given me better glares!”

 “Again, (l/n) is right.”

 “Thank you!”

 “Dami, who’s side are you on?”

 Damian’s lips curl into a cat-like smile, the kind you saw on Selina. “Justice.”

 Jon throws his hands up defeated. You give Damian a low five as he settles beside you. Jon takes the seat on your other side still pouting. 

 "Do you kids know the rules to surviving a horror movie?" 

 The chattering dies down and you all fall silent, turning your full attention to the counselor. Your counselor lets out an absolutely delighted squeal, clapping their hands. You don’t miss the absolute dread on your other counselor’s face. 

 “Ok so, rule 1: Be a virgin-”

 “Ratty!” Dawes, the counselor with dread on her face, squeaks elbowing Ratty, Ratchet. “Couldn’t you have worded it differently or you know, not at all?!” Ratty, the horror enthusiast counselor, rubs their arm and sticks their tongue out at Dawes who looks like she’s going to age ten years during this conversation. 

 If you thought Dawes was pale before, she nearly turns transparent with the next few words that leave your mouth. “What’s a virgin?” you blurt out. You desperately want to curl in on yourself. It wasn’t that you didn’t know. It was just your mouth runs faster than your mind.  The kids around you snicker and one of the boys behind you claps you on the shoulder, laughing loudly. You lean on Damian, hiding behind him slightly. Damian shifts so he’s shielding you more.

 Dawes sputters out her answer.  It’s hard to understand. You watch the others searching for clues for an appropriate reaction. 

 “It’s a person who’s never had intercourse,” Damian deadpans and you nod quietly. 

 Dawes’ face lights up like a Christmas tree while Ratty’s twists into pure joy. Damian rolls his eyes as the other kids laugh even louder. It takes a moment but your cheeks heat up realizing the gap in your reaction must have given them the wrong idea. You pinch the bridge of your nose and you sigh. You see Jon snort at you and you stick your tongue out at him. 

 “See, Dawes, they know.”

 “What about keeping them innocent?!” 

  “I’m not getting paid to do that,” Dawes drags her hand over her face as Ratty shrugs,” ’sides, this is life skills.” Dawes slaps Ratty on the shoulder again making them whine at the impact.  “Ok. Ok. Fine. Fine. Jeez, you hit like a son of a- Oh wait, have any of you heard about Camp Blood?”

 This gets you all to quiet down. 

 “Camp Blood? Isn’t that like a video game?”  

 “It’s like a local ghost story isn’t it?”

 “Wasn’t that the one with the fish-”

 “It’s not the fish people.”

 “Let me tell the story!”

 “Ratty, you never tell the story well. You keep making weird voices and you can’t even keep a straight face.”

 “SLANDER,” Ratty shouts, throwing up their hands. 

 “Pffft, you also gonna tell us you can cook a 5-star meal?”

 “Ok. Ok. Fine. I’ll just tell it to them straight.”

 “What? As straight as Dawes?”

 “Pffft, we’d go in circles.”

 “Hey!”

 “It’s true!”

 “You don’t have to say it.”

 “What’s the thing about Camp Blood?” Jon pipes, putting a hand over Damian’s mouth probably sensing the sharp remark he’s about to say. Damian licks his hand and Jon pulls away waving his hand like he’s been burned.  You snort then blanch when Jon rubs the spit on to your hoodie. 

 “Gather round children-”

 “Ratty, they’re in a circle get on with it.”

 “I AM TRYING TO SET THE MOOD.”

 “Jesus, ok. So, a looong time ago there was this kid named Jason Voorhes. When two counselors were fu- OW! Jeez, Dawes- Ow! Ok, fine. While two counselors were distracted, he drowned-”

 “Sounds familiar,” snipes Damian. An apologetic look crosses Dawes’ face, a confused one on Ratty’s, and sheepish one on Jos’. You squeeze his and Jon’s shoulders. 

 Ratty shakes their head. “Anyway, they never find the body so his mom comes back and hacks the new counselors into pieces as some soft of demented justice for her kid.”

 “That’s a bit of an overreaction,” Jos laughs awkwardly. The glares on them do not waver. You elbow Damian and kick Jon’s foot. Damian ignores you while Jon gives you a look of mock hurt.  You roll your eyes at him and attempt to elbow Damian a second time. Again, nothing.

 “The thing is one of the counselors actually manages to decapitate Mrs. Voorhees. She disappeared two months after though. Legend has it that Jason still roams the grounds of Camp Blood seeking revenge for his mother.”

 The air is humming, thick with the roll of thunder and  the premonition of a storm. 

 There is a dislocation in the universe. 

 Your ears pop. 

 You look at Jon who looks vaguely like his mother when she’s sniffed out a story. You look at Damian who is already sussing out every detail of the story. Your eyes meet and you all nod. 

“It has to be someone using the urban legend as some sort of cover. Or! Or maybe they’re using the urban legend to mythologize their killings,” you say, through a mouth full of contraband chocolate chip cookies. 

 Damian snatches the package from you taking a piece.“(l/n), that’s ridiculous-”

 “Yeah, we don’t even know if they’re dead yet,” Jon protests, snatching the bag from a scowling Damian. 

 “What are the odds they’re still alive?” 

 You all fall silent. “We assume they’re still alive until we see proof of the contrary,” Damian says firmly. You and Jon nod. The movement feels heavy.  

 “But what if the Jason ghost is a real thing?”

 “Possible.”

 “(l/n), don’t indulge him.”

 “Jon is literally part alien,” you protest

 “Jason has come back from the dead and Faust literally has moving tattoos,” Jon adds.

 “YOUR DAD IS LITERALLY BEST FRIENDS WITH A 5000-YEAR-OLD AMAZONIAN AND A DUDE WHO CAN LIFT BUILDINGS.”

 “Ok, fine but we should eliminate the more mundane explanations first,” Damian concedes accepting another cookie. 

 “I think we have. It’s too rapid and obvious to be a human trafficking operation.”

 “We should find the counselors first.”

 “Yeah, that’s a start.”

 “Where should we start?”

 “Abandoned cabins would be a good start,” you suggest trying not to perk up. 

 Damian glares at you and you wither. “(l/n), you’re not coming with us.”

 “You say this like (y/n)’s gonna listen,” Jon laughs. 

 “ET has a point,” you say, grinning and opening another packet. You offer Jon the first cookie as thanks. 

 “Can’t I at least be a cool alien?”

 “Nope.”

 “Will you two focus?”

 “Yeah. No.”

 Damian pinches his nose. You completely understand why people think Damian makes a convincing fifty year old. “(l/n)...”

 “Ok, fiiiine. I’ll stay out of it.”

 “Don’t even think about sneaking out.”

 You frown and nod. 

 You tiptoe through the brush, one metallic arm wrapped around you, the other hanging limply to your side flashlight clasped tight in your metallic hand.  Camp Blood isn’t too far. You silently survey a few cabins finding nothing particularly interesting aside from cobwebs and potentially dead animals. The air is musty and decayed. You sniff and rub your nose as you walk through the camp guided only by strips of moonlight. If you were to run into a murderer now, you would only have your flashlight to defend you. You didn’t like those odds. 

 You’re a deer in headlights. 

 Dry mouth. 

 Skin going cold. 

 A scream burbling in the back of your throat. 

 The lumbering figure is coming closer. 

 You know he can see you. 

 Your feet are fused to the ground. 

 The light of the machete winking at you from a distance. 

 The world turns into a blur when your back hits the rotting wood of the abandoned cabin. 

 “What did I say about sneaking out?” Damian hisses, arm pressed on your neck. You blink. A flood of relief crowds your chest. 

 You sling your arms around him and he stiffens. You explain away the surprised little yelp as something animal and not something from your friend. “I didn’t sneak out. I went to the bathroom then I wandered off,” you mumble. 

 “How exactly is that different?” 

 “Less tiptoeing.” 

 "Funny."

 "It is."

 "Have you seen Kent?"

 "Sadly no."

 "Shit- Don't tell Grayson."

 "The fact that you swore or the fact that you somehow lost Superman's kid" 

 He glares at you and you can't help but shrug. 

 "Both." 

 "Fair," you say, pausing for half a breath.”Did you find the hostages?”

 Damian’s face falls then hardens then you know better than to ask him.  

 “We should find Jon,” Damian says finally. You flick your eyes and shake your head pushing down the urge to make fun of his slip. You’ll tell Jon later. 

 You two walk together, shoes in hand. It was easier. Maybe after this, you’ll ask Tim to teach you how to sneak around. 

 The sound of crashing wood fills the still night air. You and Damian freeze. 

 “JON.” Damian is the first to launch himself towards a cabin. You shamble behind him, plodding through the muddy earth as fat droplets of rain splashing down.   You would have blanched at the squishing but all you could think about was Jon.  

“Jon!”

 “Dami! (y/n)!”

 “Are you ok?”

 “I’m in a hole. What do you think?”

 You look him over as best you can in the dark. Damian seems to be having a better time. “You’re not in pain, so yeah.”

 Jon huffs, shifting around in the pile of clothes. His nose wrinkles.“This jumper smells like something died in it," he says holding up a particularly old looking sweater. It's blotchy with various stains around the neck. 

 “Check for a pulse!” you shout, earning a sharp jab to the rib from Damian. You glare and rub your chest.

“Guys, I don’t wanna alarm you but I’m pretty sure there’s a decapitated head down here”

 “I’m sorry, can you repeat that?” Damian asks incredulously. Your skin drains of all color and warmth. 

 “Do you want the good news or bad news?”

 “That’s not-”

 “Where in that pile of bloody clothes did you get good news?”

 “Good news is he’s not here,” Jon says, eyes sweeping around.”Bad news, he’s actually real.”

 “Stop messing around and get out of there, Kent!”

 “Jon, come on! Fly or something!”

 “My powers are going-” Jon jumps. But only manage to just fall back down. “I can’t fly.”

 Damian groans. He pinches his nose and goes off to look for something to pull Jon up with.

 “Why do you think your powers aren’t working?”

 Jon shrugs. “Magic?” This place is cursed. 

 “We are dealing with a ghost,” you shrug back. You all freeze. The sound of distant footsteps making your heart race.

 “Dami!” you hiss, over your shoulder. 

 “I can’t find anything!”   

 “Wait,” you say, unfastening your arm and reaching down to Jon. Damian grabs hold of it with both hands and you two start pulling Jon up. 

 The footsteps are getting louder, closer. 

 "Hurry!" you hiss quietly. 

 Your hearts are racing. 

 You pull, Jon getting closer. 

 He’s almost in arm’s reach. 

 The man is getting closer. 

 You can hear his breathing. 

 You pull Jon up, feet kicking. You wrestle him into a hug with one arm, making a little happy squeal into his hair low enough that only they can hear. Damian nudges you with your arm. 

 “Well that was scary,” Jon whispers into your shoulder. Damian smacks him upside the head. You laugh but cut yourself off when you see Damian stiffen. “RUN!”

 You all scramble up and begin to dash away. You look back over your shoulder, machete winking at you, hockey mask visible in the dim light. 

 You stumble, feet getting tangled in roots. You yelp,  bracing for impact and possibly dying.  You feel arms scoop you up. You squeak. “No one gets left behind, soldier,” Jon says grinning. 

 “How are you still a goof when we’re about to die?” you laugh incredulously. 

 “He clearly gets it from his father.”

 “ Pfffft, probably or maybe it's an alien thing.”

 “Are you really gonna make fun of me, right now?” Jon protests, shouting over the rain. 

 “You two! This way!” Damian points to a small hole in the hillside.

 “I’m too tall for that!” Damian glares.

 You snort. “Just duck.” Jon scowls at you then sighed. 

 You all slide into a small crevice and hunched together. 

 “What’s the plan?”

 “Jon, are your powers working?”

 “Kind of?”

 “Ok, that’s one thing we have going for us,” Damian hands you a phone. "You call while we distract him." 

 "Why do you have to distract him?" 

 "Ask him yourself, (l/n)."

 Your eyes sweep up to the tall figure. Your mouth goes completely dry. 

 "Fuck." 

 Jason brings his machete down in a swift arc light. You grab Damian by the scruff of his shirt. The machete embeds itself into the wall, getting caught in the process. Your moment of relief doesn’t last long when Jason lunges for you.  You scream as he catches your arm. With a soft click it detaches and you scramble away and out the hole into the pouring rain. He’s hot on your heels. You hear a loud thud. You look over your shoulder. Jon’s resting against the wall, head slumped. You see him throw Damian to the ground. You call 9-11 as you hurl your shoe at him. The dial tone is ringing. When you look up again, Jason is heading towards you. You stumble barefoot trying to get away. Predictably, you fall, foot catching on another tangle of roots.  

  “Hello? Hello? Is anyone out there?”

 “Please help,” you whisper as Jason raises your arm to the sky. Your life flashes through like a film reel. Your breath is caught. Lightning flashes. 

 You watch the lightning cut through the heavens. The silver streak of light connecting might your arm and by extension Jason.  The arm explodes. Shrapnel flies everywhere. Jason bursts into flames. The smell of burning flesh cutting through the air. You watch in open-mouthed horror as another bolt of lightning hits. He falls body fried to a crisp. You wretch the smell still strong. 

 "Kid! Kid! Are you ok?" 

 "No…" you gasp, bile lining the back of your throat, "please,hurry. We're at Camp Blood." 

You’re cold and wet and forced to huddle into one blanket since the officer who responded only had one on hand.  Damian is talking on the phone. It’s hard to make out amidst the pouring rain, so you settle in letting Jon rest his head on your shoulder as he drifts to sleep. The officer said the rest of the force is coming to collect the bodies. The camp is most likely gonna be shut down for the summer. You weren’t keen on spending the entire summer with your cousins. 

 “I’ve informed father that you’re staying with us for the rest of the summer.”

 “Informed?” you laugh, relieved, ”good luck telling Jon that.”

 You both eye him. Jon snores into your ear and you can’t help but smile. “He’ll be fine.”

   Bonus

 The map in Jon’s hands crinkles loudly as he shuffles through it trying to find the correct route. You know the route. You memorized it before you even set off. You did it instead of studying for finals. It was certainly more entertaining than studying for a US history final when you already knew it was just gonna be about the American Revolution, World War II, and probably the Vietnam war. You hold back the snicker threatening to spill from your lips when, with each crinkle of the Dollar Store map, Damian’s brow twitched. Yes, this was the purpose of the map. It was most certainly doing its job well. 

 “You think they’ll still have the same dumb camp activities?”

 “You say this like you weren’t squealing to try all of them.”

 “Was not!”

 “Dunno,  Jon,  Dami has a pretty good memory.”

 Your car rolls to a stop in front of a cross-section. You drum your fingers against the steering wheel before you let curiosity override your self-preservation. 

 “How did you convince Dami to come along?”

 Jon tilts his head at you in question. “I didn’t,” he says slowly, “I thought you did.”

 Your passenger goes deadly silent. You both twist your bodies to look at him. Jon gives him a knowing smile while you give him a reassuring one that says ‘it’s ok you can tell us’. Damian avoids all eye contact like the plague, glaring at the window like there’s a particularly interesting speck of dust on it.  

 His eyes narrow. And you have the odd urge to follow his gaze. 

 The trees shift. 

 The pressure in the car builds. 

 Jon’s laughter stalls. 

 A shape flickers in the distance. 

 Your ears pop. 

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

a/n: THANKS FOR READING! Yes, reader has a prosthetic limb because I was reading 3 birds. Also, this can be treated as pre-slash. Epilogue is up for interpretation. Probably. Also fun fact, Faust is the basis for merc reader. I could not resist putting her in. 

Tag list:  @batarella, @anothertimdrakestan, @lucy-roo, @multifandomgirl-us, @idkmanicantenglish,@birdy-bat-writes,  @boosyboo9206, @americasmarauders , @l-inkage, @arestorationofbalance , @cloudie-skay, @wunderstell @hyp-oh-critical

[albertasunrise]

Realised Too Late - Part 1

Summary: You’ve been best friends with Frankie since high school and you’ve harboured a secret that whole time that has eaten you alive. You’re in love with him. You know he only sees you as Arce (Maple), the nickname he gave you on your first day. You're just his Canadian friend, never anything more. When his life takes a series of different turns, however, you're there to support him through it but how long can you do that before it just hurts too much?

Warnings: Drug abuse, alcohol, depression, overdose, language, Angst, Smut 18+

Pairings: Frankie Morales x Reader - Ben Miller x Reader

Notes: There are some tough subjects in this one so if you're easily triggered by warnings above, don't read. This will be in three parts.

§

He was a shell of the man you’d known as kids, the army having stripped him of his soul and leaving him limp and boneless. You hadn’t been surprised when he’d turned to drugs for relief, he was an addict. As kids, he was addicted to exercise, constantly dragging you on hikes or to swimming events that left him buzzing after. During his time in the army, he was addicted to danger, unable to just sit on the sidelines when his brothers were out there risking their lives. When he’d retired he’d struggled. He was evicted from his flat after his last job, the neighbours complaining about the noise, the screaming as he was plagued by nightmares of the things he’d seen and done, they didn’t care he was ex-military. Or that his girlfriend had left him. So you had taken him in, held him at night as he sobbed and did everything you could to help him get better.

At first, you’d not realised that the change in him was because of the coke. He’d been happy, positive, bubbly. He’d returned to the Frankie you once knew. You’d been over the moon at his progress, happy that you’d pushed him to attend counselling and he’d sold it to you so well, made you believe he was going but he wasn’t. No, he was driving to a bar where he had a beer, sniffed some coke in the bathroom and left, returning to you with a new story to sell his lie.

You’d found the bag of powder whilst doing the washing. You’d known instantly what it was and you’d broken down immediately, unable to believe that he’d do that stuff after what he knew. What it had done to your family. He’d found you sobbing on the floor, clutching your stomach and he’d dropped to your side in an instant, pulling you into his arms.

‘Arce, what’s wrong?’ He’d pleaded and your tears had stopped almost immediately, sorrow replaced with pure burning anger that you’d never felt before.

‘You lied to me.’ You’d growled, pushing away ‘You haven’t been going to counselling have you?’

‘I have.’

‘If you continue to lie to me I swear I will kick the shit out of you.’ You'd spat, getting to your feet with that bag clutched tightly in your hand ‘This is the real reason you’ve been -happier- isn’t it Francisco?’ You continued, holding out your hand and revealing the bag that sat on your palm ‘How could you?’ You’d sobbed ‘After what I’ve been through… How could you resort to this as a fix?’

Frankie had knelt there gobsmacked, unsure of what to do or say to you. He'd not even thought about you when he’d been offered the substance the first time, he’d just focused on the fact he’d been told it would help… and it had.

‘Arce I’m so sorry.’ He’d sobbed ‘I just needed the pain to stop. He’d told me it would stop and it did.’

‘But Frankie. This shit ruins lives.’ You said, your tone changing to one with more sympathy ‘Look what it did to my family.’

Your brother had gotten hooked on the stuff after his relationship had fallen apart. His wife had left him, taking the baby with her and he’d lost it. Turning to drink and drugs to dull the pain. He’d managed to hide it well, no one ever suspecting him. One fateful day however the truth had been revealed most tragically. It had been your birthday and Frankie had organised a surprise party for you at his. Your brother had been tasked to pick up and bring your parents over but he’d taken just a little too much before getting behind the wheel. They had never stood a chance. His car was t-boned by a truck when he’d jumped a red light, everyone dying on impact. When you’d arrived at Frankie’s you’d been over the moon to see his place decorated with balloons and streamers, your friends all stood there waiting for you but his face had ripped that happiness away. He’d walked up to you, everyone else remaining where they were and he placed a hand on each arm, bracing you for what was to come and as the words left his mouth you'd passed out, falling limply into his arms.

He’d supported you through it all. The funeral. Sorting through your parent's stuff. You’d considered selling their house but he’d convinced you not to.

‘Don’t you want your kids to grow up here?’ He’d said ‘You have a story about every inch of this house. Don’t sell those stories to someone else.’

So you’d kept it. Moved in and worked on modernising it without ripping out its soul, keeping the memory of your family alive within its walls.

‘You need to stop this Frankie.’ You’d stated, snatching the powder out of sight ‘I will help you but you have to promise me no more lies.’ You’d continued, noting the relief that had flooded his expression ‘You lie to me Frankie and that’s it. You’re out.’

‘Of course.’ He’d replied, nodding hastily as his tears tracked down his cheeks ‘No more lies… I promise.’

He’d kept his promise. He actually attended counselling, his shrink calling each time to confirm he’d visited. He wasn’t aware that they did it, you’d asked them to keep it between the two of you but you’d needed some sort of confirmation that he really was trying to help himself. The nightmares had returned but after a while, they became less frequent along with the panic attacks at loud sounds. He was doing so much better and you were so proud of him. He’d then started to attend AA meetings, finding them useful. You’d gone along to the first few with him on his request but as his confidence had grown he started attending alone and that’s how he’d met her.

Lucy.

She was nice enough. She’d been hooked on coke too after leaving the army so they’d connected in a way that a lot of the other members never could. Their romance had been fast-paced and it killed you. You were happy he had someone, of course, you were… You were just devastated that it wasn’t you.

‘So Lucy’s having a few friends over on Friday. She wondered if you wanted to join?’ He asked as he sipped at his coffee ‘She’s desperate to get to know you.’

‘You talk about me with her?’ You asked, raising your brows as little in surprise.

‘Of course, I do.’ He replied, giving your a bemused expression ‘You’re my best friend. Why wouldn’t I?’

You shrugged, sipping at your coffee as you looked at anything but him, desperate to hide your heartbreak from him. He didn’t notice, just continued to speak as he supped at his black coffee, oblivious to your pain.

‘So will you come?’ He asked with hopeful eyes.

‘Sure.’ You reply, praying something comes up that means you can’t go.

Nothing does.

‘So you’re the famous Arce?’ She asked, shaking your hand when Frankie brought you over.

‘That I am.’ You replied, smiling sheepishly at her.

‘Frankie’s told me all about you.’ She stated, giving you a warm smile ‘You’ve been quite a friend to him.’ She stated ‘Especially with his coke addiction. Most people who have been through what you have would have run a mile. He’s lucky to have you.’

You give her a small nod but inside you’re screaming. She thanks you for coming and apologises for having to go, food needs to be checked. As soon as she leaves you turn and walk to the door, tears streaming down your cheeks.

‘Hey whoah! Where are you going? What’s the matter?’ Asked Frankie as he grabbed your shoulders and stopped you in your tracks ‘Why are you crying?’

‘Fuck you, Frankie.’ Was your reply before you shrugged out of his grip and left, ignoring him as he called after you.

You ignored his calls and texts as you laid there curled up on your couch, praying that he'd choose to stay with her that night but you didn’t get such luck. He walked through the door a little after 1 in the morning, toeing off his shoes and hanging his coat and cap up before stepping quietly into the house. He heard your silent cries and found you curled up on the couch, an empty bottle of wine laying on the floor in front of you.

‘Lucy was really upset that you left.’ He stated, his tone angry ‘That was really rude.’

‘Get out.’ Was your reply, barely above a whisper.

‘What the fuck is your problem?’ he growled, his patience spent ‘She was nothing but nice to you and then you just fucking leave.’

‘She isn't the reason I left.’ You spat, venom dripping from every word as you sat up and glared at him ‘You’re the reason I left.’

‘Me?’ He questioned, pointing at his chest ‘The fuck did I do?’

‘You had no right to tell her.’ You growled ‘You had no right…’ You trailed off, feeling more tears threatening to spill.

‘Tell her what?’

‘You know what Frankie.’ You yelled, scrapping a hand over your tear-stained face ‘There are a handful of people that know the truth about how they died. I choose who I tell, not you.’

‘Arce-.’

‘I’m going to bed.’ You interrupted, getting up from the couch and heading upstairs, leaving a guilty Frankie in your wake.

He didn’t come home for a few days after that evening. You assumed he was trying to give you some space but you didn’t care, you were just too hurt. When he did come back you saw something different in him, something had changed and not for the better. He was withdrawn, quiet. Spending more time in his room or under the hood of his truck than anywhere else and you found yourself worrying about him despite the anger you still felt towards him.

‘Frank, what’s going on with you?’

‘Surprised you care.’ He snarled, pushing his food around his plate with his fork.

‘Fuck you, Francisco. Of course, I care.’ You spat, slapping the table with your hand and making him jump.

You weren’t expecting him to cry.

‘She’s pregnant.’ He said, taking you by surprise.

‘And you’re not happy? You’ve always wanted kids… what changed?’ You asked, your confusion evident.

‘I do want kids.’ He replied, lip trembling ‘She doesn’t.’ He continued ‘She’s booked herself in for a termination next week.’

‘What?’ Your heart shatters ‘Did she even consult you?’

He simply shook his head and you felt your anger bubbling beneath the surface again.

‘I was over the moon when she told me.’ He affirmed, pushing his place away and leaning back in his chair ‘I practically sobbed with joy but then she told me that she was terminating it. Said she’d never wanted kids and that it was the best thing. No kid deserves two junkie parents.’

‘But you’re clean… Aren’t you?’

‘Yes.’ He replied, slightly exasperated ‘And I would do everything in my power to remain clean for that kid.’ He paused, sniffing as he wiped away his tears ‘I begged her to reconsider but she refused. Said that if I couldn’t support her decision then she didn’t want to be with me.’

‘Frank-.’

‘I thought this was it.’ He stated ‘I thought I’d finally found someone I could be myself with, raise kids with.’ His works sting more than he’ll ever know ‘I didn’t think after… After them that I’d ever get a chance to be a dad. I guess I never will.’

You have to push your pain to one side and comfort him. He and his ex had been expecting, he’d been so excited but after Santi had dragged him on a job in South America that had resulted in the death of his commanding officer and them all leaving empty-handed, he’d returned to learn that she’d lost it and left him. You were sure that had contributed towards his downward spiral into drugs, little did you know, he’d had a problem before that. He’d hidden it so well for so long.

‘Frankie I know you’re destined to be a dad.’ You said softly, taking your hands in his ‘You’ll find the right woman one day.’

‘I haven't left her.’ He said suddenly ‘I love Lucy. I just need some time to grieve the baby.’

‘Frank-.’

‘I love her Arce.’ He stated ‘We can work past this.’

You leave at that.

~

You cried yourself to sleep when he’d moved in with her. You’d helped him pack, drove boxes over to her in your car but you’d hadn’t stayed when they invited you in, unable to bear being around him a moment longer. After that, you ignored his attempts to contact you. Didn’t answer the door when he came knocking. You just let yourself fall into a dark depression, one you didn't think you’d ever recover from and you didn’t expect Benny to be the one that pulled you out of it.

‘What’s going on sweetheart?’ He asked, holding you as you sob into his chest.

‘I’m just so alone.’ You sobbed ‘I’m the plain friend that everyone relies on but no one loves. God, I’ve not been asked on a date in years. My life is a mess and now Frank’s gone and I’m all on my own.’

‘You’re gorgeous babe.’ He said, placing a soft kiss on the crown of your head ‘Anyone would be lucky to have you on their arm.’

‘You don’t need to be nice to me Benny.’ You chuckle, pulling away from his now tear-stained chest to look at him ‘I know I’m not desirable. I never have been.’

Ben looked at you with a troubled expression, unable to believe that someone so beautiful could be so neglected and feel so unappreciated. He’d had a thing for you since Frankie had first introduced you to them all but he’d never acted on it. You were Frank’s best friend after all. You were off-limits.

‘You’re one of the most beautiful women I know.’ He stated, tucking some of your stray hair behind your ear ‘You deserve the world.’

You stared at each other for a moment, your eyes dropped to his lips and his gaze followed suit. The air shifted as he cupped your cheek with his large hand, thumb stroking the apple of your cheek as your eyes locked with each others' again. Then he leaned in and he kissed you, smiling when you gasped in surprise.

It was soft at first, chaste but as you shifted closer to him, legs straddling his lap, he deepened it and you moaned as your tongues dance. It was then a blur of touches, moans and the removal of clothes but the next moment you were truly aware of was him sheathing himself inside of you, kissing you sweetly as you gasped at the stretch.

‘You okay?’ He asked softly, blue eyes searching for anything that told him you didn’t want this but you simply nodded and pulled him into a hungry kiss.

‘Move please.’ You begged ‘Fuck me, Benny…. Please.’

That's all the permission he needed and he started to cant his hips, pushing himself as deep as he could go before withdrawing and slamming back. His pace was slow at first, unhurried, but as your moans grew filthier and filthier he sped up his thrusts, hitting that sweet spot with every movement.

‘Fuck I’m gonna cum.’ You whined, nails digging into the muscles on his back and it spurred him on ‘Fuck…’

‘Let go.’ He growled against the shell of your ear and you did.

You screamed as he made you cum hard, dragging him right along with you and after a few more thrusts to prolong your high’s he collapsed on the couch beside you, kissing you languidly as he stroked your cheek.

‘Let me take you out.’ He said, bumping your nose with his.

‘Okay.’ You replied, grinning at him as you kissed him again and wrapped your hand around his length, pumping him lazily ‘But first, we’re doing that again.’

~

‘You’re bringing your girlfriend to guys night?’ Questioned Will as he sipped from his beer.

‘I’m crazy about her boys.’ He replied, smiling like a loon as he thought about you.

You’d fucked twice more that night before you’d fallen asleep in each other’s arms, the sex that following morning being the best of all. That evening he took you to dinner and then again the day after that and you quickly fell into a relationship that had you feeling happier than you'd ever been. You’d both decided to keep it a secret at first, just take each day as it came but after being together for 4 months you decided that it was time to reveal to the boys but you were scared of how Frankie would react. The two of you hadn’t spoken much after he’d moved out.

‘Fine but if you’re bringing your squeeze then Fish should bring Lucy. Not fair for the poor girl to sit with three guys all night.’

‘Fish? Think Lu would come?’ Asked Benny, eyes wide and eager.

‘Don’t see why not.’ He replied with a shrug ‘She’s wanted to come out with us for ages so…’

‘Great then that's settled.’ Replied Ben, beaming as he sipped his beer.

He just hoped Lu’s presence would take away from the fact his girlfriend was you.

~

You sat in the booth, clinging to Ben’s hand for dear life. Your heart was pulsing in your throat, hands shaking as you watched the door for the others to arrive. Will had texted to say he’d be about an hour late but Frankie had confirmed he was running on time. You'd both decided to arrive a little early to get a round in, a little liquid courage you'd supposed. When Frankie walked in, Lucy behind him you felt your stomach twist in knots.

‘Sorry, we’re a little late.’ He said, not looking up as he shoved his keys in his pocket ‘Traffic was crazy…' He trailed off as he looked up, seeing you at Ben’s side ‘What are you doing here? Where's your girlfriend Ben?’

Ben simply put his arm around your shoulders, smiling at Frankie nervously and giving your hand under the table a squeeze.

‘You two?’ He question, motioning between you both with his pointer finger ‘You two are together?’

‘Yes.’ You replied simply, unable to hide the wobble in your voice.

‘Are you fucking serious?’

‘Fish-.’

‘My best friend Ben… Really?’

‘I’m crazy about her man.’ He stated ‘We kept it quiet because we were scared to tell you but we’ve been dating for coming up to five months so we felt it was time you knew.’

‘I managed to get away early. Boss was… wha-‘ Will’s mouth dropped open when he saw his brother’s arm around your shoulders ‘You two?’

‘Yes us two.’ Growled Ben ‘We’ve been dating for almost five months, things are amazing and we thought it was time to make it public.’ He finished, rolling his eyes.

Frankie was glued to the spot, hands shaking as he stared at Ben’s arm around you and h.e felt something he’d not experienced before with you. Jealousy... and he wanted nothing more than to rip Ben off of you and pull you into his arms.

‘Babe?’ Piped up Lucy as she tugged on his sleeve ‘You want a beer?’

‘Uh - Yeah…’ He replied, shaking his head before slipping down onto the bench beside him ‘Thanks, baby.’

She gave him a sweet peck on the cheek and made her way to the bar, leaving him to return to staring at you and Ben.

‘Well, I for one am over the moon for you both.’ Said Will, grinning ‘You look really good together.’

‘Going to make beautiful babies.’ Ben joked and Frankie felt his stomach drop, noting the glint in your eyes as you beamed at the younger Miller.

‘Bit soon isn’t it?’ Boomed Will, letting out a breath chuckle.

‘Nothing wrong with thinking about the future.’ You stated, sticking your tongue out at Will before turning your head towards Ben and kissing him sweetly.

Frankie wanted to leave. He didn't want to stay here and watch you kiss his friend but he knew he had no right to be jealous. He was with Lucy. He'd picked her.

~

‘Of all the people you could date, why her?’ Yelled Frank, feeling his anger overflowing ‘Why her Ben?’

‘Why does it matter?’ He shouted back.

‘She’s my best friend!’

‘Who you’ve barely seen since you moved out!’ Spat Ben ‘She was so fucking depressed man. You’d left and she felt so alone. Did you ever show her that you appreciated what she did for you when you lived with her? Tell her she was beautiful? Tell her what she meant to you? Because she thinks she is the plain friend, doomed to be alone.’ Ben paused, scrubbing his hand over his face as he glanced at the restroom door ‘I have been into her for years. I held off because I knew she was your best friend but I couldn’t hold back any longer. She’s amazing and I’m falling hopelessly in love with her Fish. She deserves the world and I intend to give that to her.’

Frankie stood there with his mouth agape. He’d realised at that moment how selfish he’d been. He’d never made you feel appreciated, loved. He’d ignored your pain and now he knew that fact his mind was replayed the moments it had slipped out. He’d been so blind to it but now it was too late. He was too late.

Frankie Morales was in love with you… and he’d lost you to Ben.

When they'd returned to the table, Frankie had remained fairly silent as he desperately tried to quieten the anguish in his heart. He wished he'd never realised what he felt, he wished he'd remained ignorant of it but he knew he didn't really love Lucy. He never had.

~

Your heart raced with a mixture of nerve and excitement as Ben fucked you against the wall of the locker room. You could have been caught at any moment but you'd found yourself begging him for it before he’d lifted you by the back of your thighs and wrapped your legs around his waist, pushing your underwear to the side and slipping his throbbing length into your heat, silencing your moans with his mouth.

‘You gotta be quiet for me baby.’ He whispered, lust blown eyes locked with yours ‘Fuck you’re so beautiful.’ He panted as he rocked his hips, hitting that spot perfectly with each thrust of his strong hips.

‘F-fuck.’ You moaned, biting your bottom lip to stifle the filth that wanted to slip from your lips.

You could feel yourself fast approaching your orgasm and you latched onto his shoulders as your forehead fell against his, eyes remaining fixed on him

‘I love you.’ You whispered, smiling at the grin that swept across his face.

‘Fuck… I love you too baby.’ He replied, increasing his pace as he desperately tried to make you cum before him.

…

Frankie stepped into the locker room but stopped in his tracks when he heard it. Laboured breathing, stifled moans and he peeked around one of the lockers to see Ben fucking you against the wall. Your forehead was resting against his, mouth hanging open, knuckles white as you gripped onto his shoulders.

Then he heard it.

‘I love you.’

‘Fuck… I love you too baby.’

He managed to drag himself away after that, ears just catching your moans as you climaxed and he felt his heart break. Seeing you with him like that being the final nail in the coffin for him.

…

You couldn’t hold back the pleasured sob that escaped your lips as he made you cum, his release following straight behind yours and you kissed his deeply as you clutched onto him tightly, willing your heart to slow.

‘Fuck that was hot,’ Chuckled Ben as he lowered you to your feet ‘Good thing the boys didn’t arrive early.’

‘Would you have stopped?’ You question as you gave him a devilish grin.

‘Not sure I’d be capable of stopping.’ He replied ‘You feel too good.’

‘Mmm good answer.’ You replied as you pulled up your panties and kissed him sweetly ‘Love you.’ You said against his lips ‘Feels good to tell you that.’

‘Feels good to hear it.’ He replied, kissing the tip of your nose.

‘Look who I found making a run for it.’ Stated Will as he emerged from behind the lockers, arm slung around Frankie’s shoulders.

‘Where were you going?’ Asked Ben as he sat on one of the benches in the centre of the room and started to wrap his hands ready for the fight.

‘I uh…’ His eyes locked with yours and you saw something in them that makes your stomach twist Did he see us?

‘I don’t feel well.’ He stated, lifting his cap to adjust his hair underneath.

‘Nothing a beer can't fix.’ Will stated, pulling Frankie towards him and started to head to the ring ‘Meet you guys in there.’

You nod, watching as he led Fish away and then you turned to Ben with a mortified expression.

‘What?’ He asked upon seeing it.

‘I think he saw us.’ You replied plainly, hands shaking as you studied Ben’s reaction.

‘Fuck.’

~

You were dragged away from Ben’s lips by a knock at the door, the younger Miller groaning as you got off of his lap and padded across the room to your front door, taken aback by who you found standing there.

‘Lucy?’

‘Is Frankie here?’ She asked, her tone a little panicked.

You took her in. She looked unwell, a familiar gloss coating her eyes and you knew she was high.

‘No.’ You replied plainly, unable to hide your distaste at the state she was in ‘Why?’

‘We broke up a few weeks ago.’ She started, taking both you and Ben by surprise as he came up behind you ‘We’ve been texting the past few days. He was sad about something, has been sad for a few months now. He was supposed to come by today to grab the last of his things but he never showed. I tried calling but he isn’t answering. I’m worried about him. Thought maybe he’d come here.’

‘Where has he been living since he moved out?’ Ben asked, snaking his arm around your waist and giving you a friendly squeeze.

‘He found a flat.’

‘What's the address?’ He asked, grabbing the sticky notes and pen from your side table and noting it down as Lucy said it ‘Right. We’ll let you know if we hear from him. Go home and wait. He may still turn up. We’ll go check his apartment.’

Lucy nodded, her whole body trembling from a mixture of worry and need for her next fix. You recognised it, seen Frankie go through it and you felt a flicker of sympathy for her. She did really care about him. Ben called her a cab and saw her off before you both jumped into his truck and headed to the address she had given you, leg bouncing nervously as a terrible feeling washed over you. Your stomach dropped when you arrived, his door wide open and you'd both sprinted inside to find him seizing on the floor as someone, you assumed a neighbour, was on the phone to the emergency services beside him.

‘Frankie.’ You screamed as you fell to his side, cradling his face as his body was rocked with convulsions but Ben was glued to the spot in total shock. You felt sick as you watched his face, eyes rolling back as his seizure seemed to intensify and then it seemed to stop as abruptly as it had started and you sobbed as you rested your forehead against his.

‘Hold on please.’ You begged ‘Help’s coming. Just hold on.’ His breathing becoming more and more laboured.

You were pulled away by Ben as Frankie was then swarmed by medics, the neighbour who’d been there when you'd arrived coming to stand at your side.

‘I heard a scream, like none other I’d heard before, and then a crash.’ She started ‘He’s a nice boy. Gave me a spare key after he managed to lock himself out one night shortly after moving in. I let myself in and he was just laying there…. Then he started to fit and I-.’

‘You did really well... Miss?’

‘Roberts.’ She replied.

‘Well, Miss Roberts. We can’t thank you enough.’ Said Benny as he gave her a friendly smile.

‘Please keep me updated.’ She begged ‘Here’s my number.’ She said as she handed him a card ‘I won’t rest easy until I know he’s okay.’

‘We will.’ He replied, noting you following the gurney out the door ‘I promise.’ He shouted over his shoulder as he followed, leaping into the ambulance and sitting at your side.

The next few hours were a blur. Will arrived at the hospital around half an hour after you and Ben had and now the three of your sat waiting patiently for news. Ben held you tightly, stroking your hair as you clutched to him for dear life. Lips moving in silent prayer.

‘What happened?’ Asked Will, looking at his brother.

‘Lucy turned up asking if we’d seen Fish.’ He started, placing a soft kiss on the crown of your head ‘They broke up like a month ago apparently. He’s been living in town. She gave us his address and when we turned up his neighbour was kneeling beside him as he was having a fucking seizure.’

‘Do you think?’

Ben just widened his eyes, not wanting you to know what he thought. He didn’t think it was right for you to hear it from him if his suspicions were right.

‘Who’s here for Mr Morales?’

‘We are.’ Replied Will as the three of you stood.

‘Is he?’

‘He’s alive.’ He started and you all breathed a sigh of relief ‘But he's lucky to be.’

You all looked up at him with concern and waited for him to elaborate.

‘He overdosed on Morphine.’ He stated and your hand flew up to your mouth ‘It looks to be deliberate. He took enough to cause death. He knew what he was doing.’

‘No Frankie wouldn’t do that.’ You sobbed ‘He wouldn’t try and kill himself.’

'Shhhh.' Hushed Ben as he pulled you into him, stroking your hair in an attempt to soothe you.

‘He went into respiratory distress shortly after arriving but we managed to bring him back. He’s resting now and I’m confident that he’s going to recover. However we recommend that he be sectioned, his files show that he suffers from PTSD and that he’s a recovering cocaine addict. We fear he’s a danger to himself.’

‘No.’ Growled Ben ‘We’ll take care of him.’

‘Ben…’ Will scorned.

‘We’re not having him sectioned.’ He spat ‘We’ll take care of him won’t we baby?’

You nodded without hesitation.

You were allowed to see him a little while later and he’d been awake when you'd arrived but the pain in his eyes had made your stomach twist in knots. The way he’d looked at you made you feel sick to the stomach and you’d almost left, unable to bear seeing him like this.

‘Why Frankie?’ You managed to ask after a short period of silence, taking a seat beside his bed and taking his hand in yours.

‘I couldn’t do it anymore.’ He replied, choking on a sob that fell from his lips.

‘Do what?’

‘I realised too late.’

‘Frankie, what are you talking about?’ You pushed, brows furrowed in confusion.

‘I realised too late and now you love him.’

Your stomach dropped and you withdrew your hand.

‘I’m in love with you Arce.’ He declared ‘It hurts knowing you’re with him. That you love him.'

‘What are you saying Francisco?’ You grumbled ‘Are you telling me you tried to kill yourself because I’m with Ben?’

He didn’t say a word but you could read it in the look he was giving you.

‘Arce-.’

‘No, fuck you, Frankie.’ You spat, clutching your stomach as your sobs overthrew you ‘I’ve been in love with you since high school. I've borne the pain of loving someone that didn’t love me back for over a decade. It fucking hurt but never did I tried to take my own life because I couldn’t have you.’ You paused and his mouth dropped ‘Not even when you told me that when you met Lucy you'd found someone you could "be yourself around"... Those words cut me to the bone but I pushed past it and supported you. Ben is wonderful to me. He loves me. Makes me feel like a goddess. So the fact you "realised" you were in love with me after Ben and I got together… Well, that’s just shit Frankie because I love Ben. I’m finally happy after so long. This...’ You point at him and the hospital room around him ‘What you did was fucking selfish. I don’t- I can’t-.’

‘Arca.’

‘I need to leave.’ You sobbed as you got to your feet and sprinted from the room, not even stopping when Ben called your name.

You couldn’t stay here a moment longer. Not after he'd told you, you were the reason he tried to take his own life. He'd gone too far now.

~

Frankie moved in with the Miller brother for a little while after leaving the hospital. You’d avoided him, but you hadn’t told Ben what he’d said in the hospital. He’d tried to call, send several texts but you hadn’t been able to bring yourself to speak to him. He'd destroyed whatever had been left of your friendship the moment he'd swallowed those pills.

‘Fish’s really worried about you baby.’ He said softly, brushing his nose against yours ‘Baby he’s a mess. He's desperate to speak to you.’

‘I can’t.’ You replied.

‘Why the fuck not?’ Growled Ben, head shooting back ‘You two have been friends forever. He almost died baby. He needs his friends.’

‘Ask him why he did it.’ You growled, eyes darkening ‘Ask him why and then you’ll understand why I can’t speak to him.’

So that’s exactly what Ben did and Fish had been honest in answering him, leaving Ben in an impossible position.

‘The fuck you mean you’re in love with her?’ He yelled, instantly regretting raising his voice when Fish flinched ‘Is this why you freaked when you found out?’

‘No… Yes…. Sort of.’ He grumbled as he scraped a hand over his face ‘I didn’t realise until I saw your arm around her that I was… and always had been in love with her.’

Ben collapsed onto the couch, his stomach dropping.

‘She said she’d loved me since high school. I’d been blind to it until she had told me and then it had become so painfully obvious.’ He paused, eyes locking with Bens ‘But I’ve lost her to you now. She loves you.’ He hiccups ‘She deserves to be with a guy like you.’

‘Fish…’

‘Ben please.’ He begged, raising his hand to silence him ‘I know what I did was selfish but I was in a hole so deep I saw no way out. Now I’ve lost her completely.’ He threw his head into his hands and sobbed ‘I’ve fucked everything up so badly.’

From that day Ben made it his mission to repair your broken friendship. He had eventually managed to sit the two of you down, making you the both of you talk and after the two of you finally got the truth out there you were able to start to repair the tattered remains of your relationship the two of you had once treasured so much. You’d offered to let him move in again, something that Ben had actually suggested one evening over dinner. Things had been a little awkward at first, especially on the nights when Ben stayed over but as the days faded into weeks. Weeks into months. You found that you were able to fall back into the routine you'd had before, with Ben being an added extra. You'd blinked and a year had passed, your relationship with the younger Miller getting stronger and stronger. He'd moved in with you soon after the anniversary, something that Frankie appeared to take well but little did you know it was eating him alive under the surface. The selfish part of him had hoped that by the two of you living together again, that he'd have a chance to woo you but you were too in love with Ben. He'd never stood a chance. So as the months went on, Ben became more permanent and as time went on you both talked of the future, of what you both so desperately wanted.

‘I’m going to miss you.’ Ben panted against your lips as he thrust himself deep into your heat, eliciting a gasp of pleasure from you as you arched your back to urge him deeper ‘Fuck I’m going to miss you so much.’

‘I’ll miss you too.’ You whined ‘Fuck… Ben.’ You pleaded as your hands grasped at his toned ass ‘Harder… please.’

He did as you asked, increasing his pace and you moaned loudly before throwing your head back in a silent scream. It didn’t take long for him to make you cum for the third time since you'd started, growling against the shell of your ear as you bit down on his shoulder to muffle your scream.

‘Fuck baby.’ He grunted, thrusting half a dozen more times before filling you with his cum. ‘Pillow.’ He said and you grabbed one for him, raising your hips so he could slide it under.

‘You think it’ll take?’ You asked, smiling at him warmly.

‘God I hope so.’ He said as he placed a kiss on your stomach ‘Can’t wait to see you round with my baby in your belly.’

‘You’re cute.’ You giggled, pulling him into a kiss ‘Do you have to go?’

‘You know I do baby.’ He said softly, kissing you softly ‘But I promise I will be back here as soon as I can. Fish’ll take good care of you whilst I’m gone.’

‘Three weeks is such a long time.’

‘I know but think about it this way… When I come back, we can do a test and hopefully.’ He pauses to kiss you sweetly ‘It will tell us we’re going to have a family.’

‘Well, when you put it that way.’ You grinned ‘Perhaps we should do it at least once more… Just to be sure.‘

‘God yes.’ He growled as he kissed you deeply again, feeling himself growing hard again.

‘I read that doggy is an excellent position for conceiving.’ You stated, looking at him seductively 'Allows for deeper penetration.'

‘God I love you.’ He growled as he flipped you onto your front, kissing up your spine as you got onto your hands and knees.

‘Put a baby in me, Benny.’ You begged, wiggling your ass a little as you grinned at him over your shoulder.

‘Would be my pleasure.’ He purred as he pushed himself into your heat again, groaning in unison with you.

The pace he set this time was mind-numbing, the sound of his hips slapping against you only making you more aroused. His hands gripped your hips tightly as he pounded into you and you felt the coil inside you start to tighten, threatening to snap at any moment.

‘Touch yourself.’ He ordered and you shivered at the pleasure his command brought you and slipped your hand down your body and began to rub the bundle of nerves between your thighs, crying out as he started to hit your sweet spot over and over.

‘Fuck baby I’m close.’ He whined, gripping you tighter as he sped up again.

‘So am I.’ you replied breathlessly.

‘Good.’ He growled, pounding into you mercilessly and then you cum together before collapsing on the bed with him still very much inside of you.

Pulling out of you he arranged the pillow underneath your belly so your hips were raised, hoping gravity would help the process along.

‘God I can’t wait to have a baby with you.’ He panted as he laid down beside you, stroking your cheek affectionately.

You beamed at him, taking his hand in yours as you came down from your high. You prayed his seed would take, that he would return to the best news in the world. You’d both decided to keep it a secret, for now, wanting to surprise them all but little did you know that Frankie now knew. He’d walked past your door just as you’d asked Ben to put a baby in you and his heart had shattered.

He’d never get you now.

~

Part 2

[notchesandbullets]

Bodyguard (Tattooed!Hak x Shy!Reader) Modern AU

Warning: Borderline 18+ content and steamy session at the end. Let's just say Hak's not okay with just being your bodyguard anymore after he sees you getting hit on by some guy.

You pranced up and down the grocery aisles, wrap skirt flowing behind you as you tossed various items into the shopping cart. The blouse you had worn earlier for work was much fancier than necessary for a simple trip to the store, but you didn't notice, mind taken up by a certain someone.

A huge, easy on the eyes, incredibly strong man with broad shoulders and intricate tattoos adorning his sculpted body who was dubbed the Dark Dragon by the surrounding towns.

Hak was gentle when he asked if it was okay that he leave your side to go find some pads for Ayame, one of his cousins. She needed more for her monthly cycle coming up and didn't trust Tae-woo and Han-dae to get it for her without practically buying the whole entire store in the process.

Her boyfriend, Saki, was still recovering from a gunshot wound he had gotten in a shooting last month and was bedridden for the time being. So Hak, being the only option left, offered to spare her the trouble.

He was more concerned than you think he should've been when he asked permission to leave your side for a second while he went to go get some. Having trained you himself, you were more than capable being left by yourself for a little while.

As much as you enjoyed the company, you did like your alone time.

And you haven't had much of it since he decided to attach himself to your side. Usually, you liked to grocery shop alone but this time your bodyguard had insisted on coming with.

Originally, he was appointed your bodyguard by Mundok, one of the heads of the Dragons when your father's small restaurant was trashed one night. You had gotten caught in the crossfire and was badly beaten up when the mysterious gangsters came to your rescue.

They fought for freedom and ensured the citizens' rights. They were really vigilantes, but it didn't sound as intimidating to their enemies as a mafia did.

Using it as a front, they were swift and decisive when it came to matters on their territory, nicknamed the Five Quadrants, run by the Dragons, five men who had extraordinary strength.

You knew you would've been killed that night if they didn't come when they did. You owed them your life.

In response, the retired general had entrusted your safety to his grandson, Hak.

Biting your lip as you browsed the crackers to find the one that he liked the most, you tapped a finger to your chin thoughtfully, not finding it among the many varieties. He didn't like you buying stuff for him but you found it handy to have some food on hand specifically for him since he was practically with you all day and night unless he had an errand to run for the old man.

You were head over heels for him. And it didn't help that he was so caring underneath that indifferent façade of his.

You had seen him help people without hesitation and even adopt a stray kitten on a whim. When people were in trouble, he was there. His heart was bigger than most you've seen and was all in when it came to his family and friends. He had some serious ink decorating his body that most people found intimidating but you knew what a softie he was inside.

He didn't fool you for a second.

An admirable quality, that's for sure... You mused, laughing to yourself as you finally found what you were looking for.

Hopping up and down in an attempt to reach the colorful package on the top shelf, your mouth twisted down in a frown when your fingers didn't even come close to reaching it.

"Here, let me help with that."

Your eyes shot open wide as a touch you didn't register as familiar gripped your waist, hoisting you up without a second thought. Fumbling for the package so that he would put you down quickly, you yelped when you missed and ended up knocking a whole bunch of them down.

The stranger holding you up didn't flinch as they rained down on him, setting you down carefully after the storm of crackers had ended.

Brushing back the hair that had fallen into your eyes, you looked up at the person who had so kindly helped you.

He was taller than you, with dyed red hair that somehow suited him. He hadn't let go of you yet and you cleared your throat uncomfortably, trying to put some space between you.

"Oh!! Sorry," He rubbed the back of his neck apologetically. "I'm Kyron."

You smiled at him, grateful for the assistance he had provided you. "Thank you for your help, Kyron."

He smirked at your timid voice and took your hand, kissing the back of it and making your cheeks flame up. "Of course, m'lady. It's my pleasure."

You took a step back as he advanced, swallowing when he backed you into the shelving.

"You are so beautiful. May I know your name?" He asked seductively.

Before you could speak a word, your hand was released and you were being pulled back into a broad chest. Squeaking in surprise when you lost your footing only to be steadied by strong arms looping around your waist, you glanced up to find your furious bodyguard glaring at Kyron.

"H-Hak?!"

Kryon's eyes widened in fear as he took in the dark tattoos swirling around his bulging muscles, his chest about to rip the sleeveless hoodie he was wearing. You didn't move as Hak stared him down with daggers in his eyes. The guy swallowed nervously before backing away, turning tail to run off.

The excuse on the tip of your tongue faded as you faced him, cheeks reddening at his proximity as he stuck his face close to yours.

"Are you hurt?" He asked, cobalt eyes scorching yours in search of a lie as you shook your head no. "Did he touch you?"

"Nothing like that." You said quietly but with certainty.

He released a heavy sigh, tinged with relief. Taking the crackers from you and putting the ones that fell back where they belonged, he took your hand to ensure you wouldn't be touched by someone else again.

The raid on the shop had you wary around strangers more than usual and even though a few months had passed since then, he didn't want to take any chances.

Tossing the pads for Ayame in the cart along with the snacks, he pushed the cart to the checkout lane, paying for all the items despite your protests.

"You didn't have to do that!!" You exclaimed as you both walked to your car.

Sure the job you had didn't pay a ton but you still could afford the necessities. You felt bad every time he pitched in to help you financially since it was pretty often but he always convinced you that he liked to take care of you.

He helped put everything away in the trunk, catching your hand as you moved to roll the cart in one of the outdoor pens.

"And just where do you think you're going?" Hak questioned lowly, raising an eyebrow.

"Um, to put away the cart." You said meekly, shrinking under his steely gaze. "It's just over there."

"It's dark." He stated matter-of-factly, grip gentle but firm around your wrist. "You're not going anywhere off on your own."

"Hak~" You whined childishly. "I'm not a kid, it's like ten feet away."

He ran a hand through his hair, slamming the trunk close. Last time he had left you alone for a few minutes and you got hit on by some guy with weak shoulders. There was no way he was letting you out of his sight for the rest of the night.

"It's still too far..." He muttered under his breath, making you giggle.

"Come on," You urged quietly, suppressing the blush that wanted to rise to your face as he peered at you. "Let's go home."

Ten minutes later, you arrived in your apartment. You had barely stepped foot in the doorway when you were being shoved against the wall. Hak kicked the door closed with his foot, dropping the groceries carelessly on the ground as he pinned to you the wall with your wrists above your head.

You gulped, not recognizing the predatory look in his eyes.

"Tell me this isn't okay." He murmured deeply, tipping your chin up to look at him as his other hand held your wrists captive. "Tell me to stop and I will."

All words dried up. You couldn't say anything. He released your wrists and took a step back.

"I'm not doing anything until you give me your consent." He declared firmly, backing away until he was leaning against the opposite wall. "Once you admit your feelings and decide to acknowledge how much you've been looking at me, Princess..."

His eyes darkened with lust.

"Then Daddy will take care of you."

A week had passed. And then another. And then another.

After you had put away the food and gave the products to Ayame for her cycle the next time she came to visit, you had put it in the back of your mind.

But you hadn't forgotten his words, the promise behind them. You were just too scared to act on your feelings. Hands shaking as you cut vegetables for tonight's dinner, you tried to quell your racing heart but to no avail. You were a goner and you knew it as well as he did.

So why couldn't you let it happen?

Easy. You knew he was under assignment. He wasn't really attracted to you, it was just all part of the job. Your mind played tricks on you, convincing you that he didn't really care and that he would leave once his job was done.

But your heart was stronger.

Throwing down the knife on the cutting board, you hastily wiped your hands on your apron, yanking it off to pitch in the general direction of the kitchen chairs as you sped to the guest bedroom where he was napping.

Not even bothering to knock, you threw open the door, cheeks flushed with exertion.

The sight stole the air out of your lungs.

Hak was laying down on the middle of the bed with an arm thrown over his eyes.

And he wasn't wearing a shirt.

He didn't acknowledge your presence and you approached him cautiously. It wouldn't be the first time he tricked you into thinking he was asleep when he really wasn't.

Sitting down carefully on the edge of the bed so that you didn't touch him, you gazed down at him softly.

Now so close to him, you wondered if you had made a mistake.

Eyes flitting around, you shot up to your feet and headed for the door. You hadn't even taken two steps when you were being tossed on the bed.

Gasping as your body bounced when it hit the mattress, your breath caught in your throat when your bodyguard loomed over you, very much awake.

"Hak..."

His muscles flexed as he braced himself over you, strong arms caging you underneath him without a second thought. You ran your fingers over his bare chest, flushing at how well defined it was.

"Have you made up your mind, Princess?" He murmured in your ear as he traced your jaw with his forefinger, shivering at your feather-light touch. "Or are we going to keep pretending that I don't notice how you undress me with those pretty eyes of yours every time I pass by you?"

He cursed as you bit your lip, suppressing the urge to take you right then in there. You were so cute, so pure, so innocent. He wanted to see your face contort in pleasure and hear the sounds you would make when as you hit your high.

He wanted it so badly.

"Tell me now." Hak demanded, never breaking eye contact with you.

You were still unsure, worried about what the future held but knew what you wanted in that moment.

Biting your lip, you mumbled, "You, Hak."

He didn't need anything else after that. Having your permission, he slammed his lips on yours. You squeaked in surprise at the passionate attack, timidly moving your lips with his. He parted from you to let you breathe, pupils blown wide with lust.

"Was that your first kiss, Princess?" He remarked, tongue darting out to wet his lips and practically groaned at your intoxicating taste.

Pouting, you flushed bright red and he chuckled, leaning in to kiss you again. You mewled in his mouth as he aggressively kissed you, arching your back as he moved to trail along your jawline and suckled on your neck.

Stammering out his name as he pressed his body into yours causing you to sink into the mattress, you flattened your hands against his defined chest when he found what he was looking for.

You keened as he found your sweet spot with uncanny ease, squirming beneath him at the heat that pooled between your legs.

Hak growled against the hollow of your throat, biting and sucking on that spot until he was satisfied with the purple mark that splotched against the pale skin.

"Hak... wait!!" You cried out as he traveled further down. "Just how far are you going to go?"

He grinned, sending another wave of arousal down to your center. Shifting up to meet your soft lips again, he murmured,

"As far as you want me to go. I've been yours since day one, Princess."

He stroked your face gently, pressing his forehead against yours lovingly.

"I don't mind waiting if it's for you."

Tags: @katsukis-sad-angel​

[stusbunker]

AGA: Word to the Wise

A Supernatural Fan-fiction Denny AU Series

Featuring: Dean Winchester/Benny Lafitte, past Dean/Jo

Other characters: Sam, Bobby, Cas, Mick, Ash, Jo

Word Count: 3000 (whoa)

A/N: Sam gets on Dean’s nerves and Dean ends up taking a late night detour. Big talks ahead.

Special thanks to my beta @cracksinthewalls​ who puts up with my whiny ass. Also grateful for @there-must-be-a-lock​‘s insight.

The bowling league was in lean attendance due to a surprise snowstorm, but that didn’t keep Singers’ Slingers from mopping the floor with their competition. Dean ended on a spare in the last game, putting him just over his average for the night. State bowling wasn’t until spring, but if they kept up their momentum Dean was sure they could place well. And a weekend away would be a welcome break from his usual exhaustion. 

Dean still owed Mick a rematch from last year’s trip. Mick drank him under the table and Dean didn’t want to lose two years running, he had a reputation to uphold afterall. Bartending had cut into his training time, among other things.

Ash was the first one to bow out for the night, knowing his side towing business would be busy with vehicles in ditches for however long the storm lasted. Cas bummed a ride with Mick, since his car had never done well in this weather and he was still dragging his feet on upgrading. Dean knew he had been hinting at shopping around, but Dean wasn’t going to push the topic and get dragged into helping or finagling with the salesman for the guy. Cas could figure it out on his own, and Dean was finally in a place where he felt comfortable letting him. Huh.

Sam had been quiet all night, but Dean hadn’t mentioned it, attributing the sour mood to post-break up blues. They bought Bobby his weekly drink, “team dues” as he called it and settled in along the bar. 

Dean kept the conversation going, trying to keep the mood light, but Bobby was too tired to ham it up and Sam was not amused by his brother’s antics. Once Bobby polished off his last beer and headed home to Ellen, Dean was rolling his eyes in exasperation.

“Fine, you know what, I’ll reel it in, don’t want to interrupt your sulking,” Dean muttered after another joke fell flat. Sam winced at Dean’s jab, which Dean instantly regretted. Though it did seem to shake Sam out of his funk, if minutely.

“So, tell me about Benny,” Sam brought up with elephantine grace.

Dean stared at Sam like he proclaimed he was quitting the law firm and joining the circus, coulrophobia and all. 

Sam huffed. “What?”

“Nice segue there, counselor,” Dean grumbled. “What about him? Hmm, you want a new bowling bag? Because that was already on my list for you for Christmas.”

“Dude, you don’t have to do that. I mean, that’d be great, but no, I was kind of wondering what your deal was? Like do you hang out a lot?” Sam started fishing.

“Yeah, totally, everynight,” Dean deadpanned. “I mean I only work two jobs when I’m not moving your sorry ass back into Mom and Dad’s.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Sam said, waiting to figure out where he was going with this line of questioning and just shot in the dark. 

“What I’m trying to say is, is this, like, a Cas thing?” Sam choked out, unable to put it any more delicately. 

Dean burned with shame as his hackles raised in defensiveness. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

Sam cocked his head and pursed his lips, unamused and unimpressed. “You know what I mean, man. Don’t make me spell it out.”

Dean wouldn’t budge, he dropped his beer with a thud. “Well, you’re gonna have to, because I have no fuckin’ idea what you’re talking about.”

“Dude!” Sam shook his head and rolled his eyes.

“The fuck is your problem? You got something to say, just say it, Sam.” Dean fumed, daring him with a murderous glare. Sam inhaled pregnantly, face still inching towards bitch mode. Sam eyed the bartender who was trying not to listen and the late game bowlers who suddenly decided they could catch up lane side instead.

What Dean didn’t realize was that he needed Sam to say it. He yearned for it, for his truth to be spoken, and known without him having to say it himself.

“Look, I know this isn’t something we talk about. But, I just want to make sure you’re okay. Alright? In the beginning with Cas, it was like you were obsessed, man. And since he just always seemed to need something from you. I just want to make sure you’re not getting used, I guess,” Sam unraveled the heart of his concern without saying too much, which Dean was not expecting, at all.

Dumbfounded, Dean retreated, annoyance trumping any chance at relief. 

“I think I can handle myself, thanks,” Dean spat. Petulantly, he took a sip from his beer, the cold glass solid in his hand, giving him something to clutch or even throw, if it came down to it.

“I didn’t say---,” Sam broke off. “Fine! You know what? You’re on your own. Just remember that I should have listened to you about Ruby and now I’m paying the price for my own stubbornness.”

Sam stood and reached for his money clip, tossing an extra five on the bar for the dramatics. He gave Dean one last chance to come clean, to own up to what they weren’t saying. Dean stared straight ahead, eyes unfocusing on the liquor labels behind the bar as if Sam had already left. So he did, just as he came: pissed and questioning his brother’s motives.

    Dean didn’t go home after that. Instead he absently followed a plow down the main road until he happened upon a familiar turn off. Which he took slow and steady until it ended in a T. The little brick ranch at the end of the lane held a lot of memories. And it was more inviting than ever with its Christmas card perfection in the falling snow. Dean put the Impala in park and let the radio play, wishing he had a joint just for the sake of something to do. 

He wasn’t there ten minutes before his phone rang, which he answered without processing the caller ID.

“You gonna come in or you just gonna sit out there feeling sorry for yourself?” Jo’s voice sliced across the line.

“Didn’t know if you were still up,” Dean bullshitted.

“Uh-huh. Whatever you say. Backdoor’s open,” her unimpressed reply. She hung up before Dean could make up an excuse to leave. He slouched out of the car and trudged down the long country driveway. As soon as he had stomped the snow off his boots, Jo welcomed him in with a firm hug and an appraising glint in her eye.

“Thanks, it’s a real mess out there,” Dean explained.

Jo just shook her head at him. “How’d ya bowl?”

“619 series, finished strong in the last few frames,” Dean answered. “Were you at your folks?”

“Nah, just know it’s Wednesday night, which means the boys were at the alley,” Jo smirked as she reached atop her fridge for the good stuff. 

She held up the whiskey in offering and Dean nodded, bending out of his coat. He slipped it over the back of a chair and settled in at the vintage kitchen table. She poured him a glass and watched as he inhaled the first round like he had been outside for hours and needed to fight off a much deeper chill.

“Well alright,” Jo resigned herself to playing shrink and poured Dean another drink. “So, what’s got you stuck in your head, hm?”

Dean weighed his head from side to side as he let the whiskey roll over his tongue. He never got far into a pouting session when Jo was around, but he also didn’t know which chamber of his heart he could stand to prop open for her inspection tonight.

“How’ve you been, Jo? You still schooling those truckers on taking care of their own rigs?” Dean sidestepped with ease.

“You know it,” Jo confirmed. “Not a day goes by that I don’t have to put another asshole in his place. Pays good, though.”

Jo had followed in Bobby’s footsteps and became a mechanic, but two Singers were already one too many for the shop and salvage yard. So she took her skills out to the interstate and made a name for herself as the only female diesel technician in four counties. Dean used to hate it when she would fix something faster than him, but it had been more than a decade since her skills had made him feel inferior. Dean knew Jo’d be his boss someday, but he wasn’t too worried about those far off futures; Bobby wouldn’t retire unless Ellen made him or killed him first.

“How’s Rufus holding up?” Jo teased, knowing her dad’s old friend was getting worse for the wear, much like John had.

“Stubborn, and as glib as ever. Good thing your dad rehired him, because he’s a bit too mouthy for most customers,” Dean admitted.

    Jo hummed with nostalgia. “I gotta swing by and bug you guys sometime, but it just keeps getting busier.”

    Dean sighed. “I hear that. What’s it been? Labor day? No. I haven’t even seen you since the Fourth. Christ!”

“Yeah, well, you’ll see me next week for Thanksgiving, don’t get too sentimental about it now,” Jo quipped. She took a short sip off the bottle as Dean swirled the last of his second helping.

“I’m seeing someone,” Dean staggered the words, like he wasn’t sure if their meanings and sounds fit together.

Jo sighed dramatically, “Finally, the truth is revealed! What’s up? She’s not pregnant, is she?”

“No.” Dean had to bite back his guffaw. “Definitely not.”

“Okay, then why the sad face? Not pulling a Ruby on ya, I hope?” Jo tested the waters.

“No, it’s--uh--- it’s been good. Really good. I just, kind of need to make up my mind if I’m in it for the long haul. Ya know?” Dean clarified, relaxing with each little confession. 

“Uh-oh it’s getting serious,” Jo mock whispered.

Dean rolled his shoulders. “No, well, it could be. I don’t know.”

Jo giggled. “I can’t believe you! You’re fucking twitterpated, aren’t you?!”

“Jo, if you start making Thumper jokes, I’m shutting up right now,” Dean warned with a pointed finger. “Care to top me off while you’re at it?”

“Okay, okay, gosh.” Jo rolled her eyes dramatically as she poured him another drink before pointedly putting it back on the fridge. “But you’re in deep. You’re all blushy about it.”

“That doesn’t mean I’m ready to go big. It just means they’re willing to put up with me until I say the word,” Dean tried to downplay his feelings and Benny’s confession.

“So do it! Bust out the grand gestures already,” Jo encouraged.

Dean scoffed, “I’m not built for commitment, you know that!”

“Except you kinda are! You’ve changed, Dean,” Jo insisted, head hung to pour her honesty from her eyes. “I don’t know when it happened, but you’re not that reckless boy that I knew. You’ve always been a good guy, but now?---- Maybe it’s been since Sam came home, I don’t know. But somewhere along the way you grew up.---- It’s okay to let yourself want something more, you know.”

Dean grumbled and rolled his neck, breaking the eye contact. She always could do this to him, just like her mother, see straight through his every defense. “I always thought it’d be you, you know?”

Jo smiled without teeth. “Firsts can do that to people. But, we’re not those kids anymore, Dean. So, if you’re asking for my permission or seeking my approval---?”

Dean dropped his head to his hands, thick fingers poorly hiding him from Jo. “It’s a guy, Jo. I’m--- I don’t know--- Bi? I guess?”

“Dean?” Jo waited until he stopped being sheepish and looked at her, even if it was only out of the corner of one eye. “You’ve been head over heels for Cas for years. If you dare tell me this is about him, so help me, I will throw you out right now.”

Dean couldn’t help but laugh ruefully at that and toss back what was left of his whiskey. “You saw that, huh?”

She didn’t answer, waiting for him to work through it on his own.

“It’s not Cas.” Dean smacked his lips and held up his glass for a refill. Jo stood and brought the bottle back to the table. Dean poured himself three fingers worth and pondered the sloshing liquid before he continued. “Your mom know?”

Jo licked her lips, cocked her head, and sighed.

Dean closed his eyes and asked, “Bobby? Fuck!--- my mom?!”

“No one has ever said it out loud, Dean. I don’t know who knows, honestly. But we’re family, that doesn’t change.” Jo grasped his wrist firmly, he held her hand to his and then she slapped her other one on top. Time stopped long enough for Dean to accept that his secret was finally out, but also that it was safe.

“I can’t believe I’m talking about this with you, of all people.” Dean thumbed her knuckles, staring into eyes he knew as well as his own.

“Really? Who else would you be talking to about it? Sam? Ash, maybe?” Jo giggled. “I’m honored, actually. It means you stopped hating me.”

Dean pulled his hands away and took another drink. “I never hated you.” 

“Okay, well, maybe it means you stopped hating yourself,” Jo corrected.

Dean’s brows crooked incredulously.

“Too much?” Jo asked apologetically.

Dean shook his head and sighed. “You are your mother’s daughter.”

“Now you’re the one being rude,” Jo muttered before taking a solid drink off the bottle this time.

Dean let himself relax, let the whiskey and conversation work into his muscles and set his worries aside. They talked like the old days and about the old days. Those in between years after high school and before anyone was ready to face responsibility. When half their friends went to college, they had just kept on working. After another hour, Jo leaned back in her chair and started scrutinizing him once again.

“You know how I know you’re happy with what’s his name?” Jo teased.

“Beh--- I didn’t tell you, fuck! Benny, his name is Benny. Goddamnit Joanna Beth,” Dean cursed through a chuckle; more details dragged out of him than he had planned on.

Jo cocked her head and considered the name.“Benny, right. You wanna know how I know?” Jo pushed.

“Fine, how?” Dean held up his hand, beckoning for her to hit him with her response.

“Because this is about the time of night you start giving me the lazy once over. But not tonight,” Jo proclaimed, chin out condescendingly. She had him, every few years they’d find themselves back in each other’s beds, for a night or a weekend and then they’d move on. He always thought of her as his home, his starting point. But maybe they weren’t the same thing at all.

“You still look good, Jo,” Dean replied, trying to save face.

“That’s not what I meant, Dean. Besides, I know!” Jo snarked, straightening her spine and tossing her hair over her shoulder. Dean couldn’t hold in his laughter anymore and it spilled out over a toothy grin, making Jo almost choke on her drink. God, Dean felt like anything was possible. That life was good. 

After the hysterics had calmed down, Dean exhaled. “Thanks, Jo. I needed this.”

“You sure did, nobody else was gonna hand you your ass so kindly,” Jo agreed, standing and taking the bottle and Dean’s glass with her to the counter that held the sink. He whined comically, but knew her timing was right. She leaned back and smirked.

Dean grew quiet and Jo waited to see if it was exhaustion, the alcohol or something else. She didn’t have long to prepare.

“How’m I gonna tell my dad?” Dean asked, the pain and panic pulling at his face until she saw the telltale tears well up.

“Fuck ‘im. I mean it, if your dad can’t get his head out of his ass to see how happy you are, he isn’t worth your time,” Jo said adamantly.

Dean let his thoughts roll to the side of his head and licked his lips, biting against the tremor. He quickly wiped away the tears that escaped and inhaled wet and ragged. Jo slipped to his side and ran her hand through his hair, letting his face fall against her chest as he breathed through the onslaught. Dean couldn’t help but think how motherly the affection felt.

She pulled back to look him over at arms’ length. 

“So what now? You want the couch? Or should I call you a ride? I’m sure Sam owes you one,” Jo asked, as no nonsense as ever.

“I’ll be fine,” Dean dismissed her concern, rubbing up his face to wipe off his nose.

“Well, you ain't driving.” Jo held up his keys. Dean blanched, feeling his pockets for them, fruitlessly. He stood to snatch them, but she had already skipped across the kitchen, too far to catch. “Nuh-uh, no way I’m letting you risk your baby. Or your thick skull in this weather.”

 Dean put his hands on his hips, and blinked through the dizziness. He realized he hadn’t stood in a few hours. “Sam.”

“What’s that?” Jo prodded mischievously, ear leaning in as if she couldn’t hear him.

“Very funny. Call Sam, will ya?” Dean rolled his eyes as she scrolled through her contacts, murmuring the names under her breath. His keys were raised in victory, as if he couldn’t reach them above her head. He could have snagged them in an instant, if he wanted to.

 While Jo woke Sam, Dean checked his own phone. Ignoring some texts from his mom and Cas, he selected the conversation with Benny. There were no new messages since that morning. Dean hesitated before relocking his screen.

“Sam’ll be here in twenty. You want something to eat? I’ve got chips.” Jo offered, opening the cupboard.

Tagging: @flamencodiva​ @dolphincliffs​ @dontshootmespence​ @fookinghelljensensthighs​ @fangirlxwritesx67 @dawnie1988 @mrswhozeewhatsis​ @cosicas-cuquis​ @foxyjwls007 @tumbler-tidbits @wingedcatninja​ @defenderrosetyler​ @ericaprice2008  @crashdevlin​  @mylovelydame21 @cajunquandary​ @itmighthavebeenintentional​​ @thoughtslikeaminefield​ @there-must-be-a-lock @tatted-trina6​ @cracksinthewalls​ @atc74​​

Series Masterlist

SPN Masterlist

Tell me what you thought?

Part 10: Spit it Out

[romiithebirdie]

Epilogue for the Lost - Chapter 3

"Never fear, for I am here!"

 That was the cheerful catchphrase of the children's television icon, All Might. When anything bad happened, All Might would arrive and save the day. He always won with a bright beam worn proudly across his face, radiating pure joy not only in the show but for children all over the nation who tuned in to watch him.

 But for Toshinori Yagi it was a part of his past that he'd rather move on from. Living in solitude as a wealthy retired actor with only a few friends and family members made it difficult for him to genuinely smile nowadays.

 Something he could still not grasp to this day;

 He had everything.

 Money, fame, properties and adoring fans all around the world.

 Yet, his heart felt so hollow. Like somebody had reached in and torn in from his chest, discarding it like the useless piece of flesh it was.

If you asked him, he'd be surprised if he even still had a heart under his paper-thin skin.

During the last few years of his starring role as the smiling superhero, he had been involved in a major car collision that damaged his internal organs beyond repair. After months of surgeries and other frequent visits to the hospital, he had retired due to his declining health.

 His adoptive father-figure Sorahiko Torino always made it a habit to visit frequently, though Toshinori himself preferred to stay in isolation. Far, far away from the prying eyes of his stern and no-nonsense father and his constant lectures about bad habits and whatnot.

 Though he knew it was deeply childish, Toshinori still felt a rebellious thrill from aggravating Sorahiko just as he had done in his youth.

 While Torino had always been known for his grumpy attitude, he took up to eleven after the incident involving his closest friend, Nana Shimura. Like Sorahiko, she had worked as a high-ranking member of the Police Force and had taken a squad to raid the hideout of a dangerous wanted criminal.

 The notorious A.F.O killer.

 He had been given that name due to the fact that all of his victims had the three initials carved into parts of their bodies.

 However, it hadn't gone as planned and the entire building went up in flames. The majority of the squad had escaped with minor injuries, but Nana inhaled far too much smoke during her attempts at fleeing to safety which caused her to fall unconscious. Several hours later, she had passed away in the ER department.

 It was a massive shock to everybody. Nobody could have seen it coming.

 The criminal's body was never found or recovered, the authorities eventually pegging it down to have burned into nothing during the inferno due to the fact nobody had come forward with grievous burns in any of the hospitals in Japan.

 A fitting way to end the life of such a cruel and evil man. Scorched into a smudge on the ground, leaving nothing but joy to the civilians who had feared for their lives during his spree.

 While many would call it a horrifying end, Toshinori called it justice.

 Losing Nana was truly a tragedy and both Toshinori and Sorahiko suffered badly with mourning the kind woman's death. While Sorahiko took to his study and spent many days and nights alone, Toshinori's behaviour grew more challenging and he had started fighting at school and in public.

 He wasn't a bad kid.

 He just hadn't known how to deal with his own grief. It made him feel hollow inside, like his heart was devoid of anything.

 Nana Shimura was like a secondary parental figure to Toshinori. She would watch movies with him, take him and Torino out for long drives in the city and countryside while always proudly wearing a smile on her face.

 The television hero All Might's constant beam was a complete homage to Shimura in every way.

 If only she had been around to see him in his hayday…

 Would she still be proud of him now?

 Knowing how far he'd fallen.

 Turning to drinking and not taking care of his health properly… Every time he'd cough up the coppery taste of blood from the back of his throat, he truly felt as if the Grim Reaper himself was slowly approaching, waiting for his final breath before tearing his soul and taking his spirit to the afterlife.

 No. What he'd thought about Nana...

 That wasn't true.

 Nana would have never judged him. Back then and even now.

 She was kind-hearted and had so much empathy, especially for somebody who worked in the field that she did. It was something Toshinori truly admired about the woman, other than her fierce passion for her work.

 Glancing at the IV cord that was attached to his arm, he let out a deep sigh before heaving himself from his own hospital bed and beginning to hobble out of his private room. A coffee from the café downstairs sounded pretty good right about now…

 Whisky would have been better but beggars couldn't be choosers.

                                                              .-.-.-.-.

Izuku rushed through the hospital entrance, clutching the leather straps of his backpack as his crimson shoes squeaked along the polished floor. He'd been given the brief details of what had happened at his apartment by the police officers after his mother had been taken away in an ambulance.

 The kind officers had then given the teen a ride to the hospital where they had accompanied Izuku with getting the name of the ward where his mother had been taken. After giving a quick bow of thanks, Izuku had shot across the car park and towards the building at lightning fast speed.

 From the looks of the ward names, it seemed his mother was on one of the higher floors so Izuku decided to take the elevator up; only to almost crash into a tall, blond haired man holding a steaming paper cup who was also waiting for the elevator doors to open.

 "I'm so sorry!" the boy yelped, ducking his head while the blond chuckled, fondly shaking his head at the teen. Izuku noted the IV drip and was stricken with more guilt, so much so that he ignored an unpleasant feeling wash over him while being in close range of the stranger.

 You nearly knocked a patient over, you complete idiot.

 Ding!

 As sweet as mercy, the elevator doors opened and the two entered with Izuku allowing the older man to go in first out of respect. It was the least he could do after almost barrelling into him.

 "Why thank you, young man," Toshinori smiled, taking a sip of his coffee while watching Izuku fidget around the elevator buttons. He chose to step in, "I'm going to the fifth floor, my boy."

 "Ah, that's great, I'm going up to the ninth."

Izuku pressed the buttons and stepped back, feeling the weight of the floor lift underneath his feet. For a few awkward seconds, nobody said a word until a familiar, unwanted chill blew into the boy's face.

 He knew it all too well.

 They wanted to communicate with him again.

 The tiny space of the elevator only did more to trigger an overwhelming feeling of utter claustrophobia, it felt like the silver reflective walls were closing in on him. Izuku suddenly wanted nothing more than to shrink into himself and cower away with his face covered.

 Please go away.

 Izuku's desperate emeralds met with Toshinori's dull blue, the two immediately connected as the teen bit back a choked gasp that he tried to fight. Foggy imagery immediately began taking over his senses as the familiar raven-haired lady held onto the blond's shoulders like she was embracing him.

 No, no, no.

 Izuku was seeing them once again, just like all the other times.

 Usually he'd see them in short-timed wisps like the smoke of a dead candle flame. A few whispers in his ears and cold spots but nothing as humanoid as what he was seeing now.

He immediately reached for his bag and fumbled around for the zipper, shakily trying to fight against the fabric trapping his zip in the same position. Upon ripping it open, not caring whether or not he'd broken the lining, he began frantically raking through the contents inside.

 Where was that damned medication?!

 Various whispers combined into one ghostly chorus entered his ears, making them ring like a loud case of tinnitus as he stepped back, trying to compose himself.

 "Tell him. Please. Tell him."

 "Please," Izuku pleaded as he squirmed, hand darting out and snatching the blond stranger's striped pyjama sleeve. They wouldn't leave until he did what they asked, "She says she's proud. N-never think otherwise."

 Toshinori's mind screeched to a complete halt as he whirled around completely on the teen holding onto him, "What?" he spluttered, not quite sure he'd heard what had just come out of the kid's mouth properly. Surely he'd misheard?

"She's proud," Izuku squeezed his eyes shut, as if speaking the words pained him. "Nana says she'll always be proud of you."

 Toshinori turned his head around so fast, Izuku's own neck ached at the sight.

 Finally, he spoke; "How do you know Nana?"

 "I don't," Izuku wavered, glancing at the ghostly hands clutching the thin fabric covering Toshinori's shoulders. "But she said you knows you."

 Knows? The older male frowned, unsure of what that even meant.

 "Let me rephrase," Toshinori's grip on his IV tightened, a small wave of nausea threatening his weak body as he tried to steady himself. "How could you know something like that?"

 The words that had come out of the kid's mouth were enough for him to pray for the doors to open;

 "Because she's standing behind you and telling me what to say."

 As if by magic, the elevator doors opened and allowed the blond to shuffle out of the small space at the fasted speed he could. In silence, Toshinori dragged his IV along with him while keeping his gaze fixed on the boy.

 As the doors began to close, he finally chose to speak again suddenly finding his voice, though it was barely coherent;

 "What's your name, kid?"

 "Izuku," the greenette answered immediately, "Izuku Midoriya."

 "Toshinori Yagi," the blond responded, just as the twin doors shut and cut off their sight of one another.

 Toshinori set his cup down and covered his mouth, muffled exhales echoing down the empty corridor as he attempted to compose himself.

 Did that really just happen?

                                                             .-.-.-.-.

"Mum!"

 Previous issues with his unwelcome undead buddies immediately dropped the moment he saw her. The teen dropped everything and launched himself forward, sliding to a halt beside his eerily still mother. The heart monitor beeped slowly, duetting with Inko's raspy gasps for air from her oxygen mask.

 "Izuku?" Inko croaked, her face ghostly pale as she shakily attempted to lift her head from the pillows supporting her. Izuku immediately grabbed her hand tightly, fearful of letting her go.

 "What happened?" he stressed, trying to force down the hard lump in his throat. He couldn't cry in front of her. She needed him to be strong.

 "A man," she whispered, gently giving his hand a squeeze, "red eyes. He knew about Mitsuki, said I deserved it."

 "Deserved it?" Izuku repeated, dumbfounded. Deserved what? His mother had nothing to do with the Bakugou tragedy…

 "He knocked me down a-and did this," she used her free hand to shakily imitate stabbing motions. Her eyes welled up and Izuku fought back his own tears at seeing his mother so broken. "Tried to start a fire in the lounge b-but couldn't, the neighbours heard the commotion and he ran away."

 Inko heaved out roughly, each breath sounding painful as she shifted slightly, wincing every now and again while the monitor beeped beside her.

 "I'm sorry, Izuku," she whispered, mother and son's eyes meeting before she began closing them slowly. "I'm so sorry."

 "Mum?" Izuku released her hand and gave her a few gentle nudges. She moaned softly, streaks of tears lined down her cheeks as her chest slowly rose and fell.

 She was alive. Injured but alive.

 The teen pushed himself away and slowly made his way out of the ward, feeling like his head was filled with cotton wool. The second the doors to the ward shut behind him, he allowed himself to break down, sobbing quietly against one of the off-white walls of the long and empty hospital corridor.

 Who could have done this?

 His mother was the most gentle soul he had ever known, rarely raising her voice or getting angry. Why had somebody attacked her?

 The mystery person was wrong; his mother didn't deserve what had happened to her.

 Izuku thought back to what the police had explained to him, about the attacker. According to the report made, he had mentioned Mitsuki Bakugou. Which was not only confusing but odd too.

 Then there was that weird guy with the unusual red eyes back in his neighbourhood, he was wearing a hoodie so his hair was completely concealed. His mother had mentioned red eyes hadn't she?

 Izuku only knew one person with that rare eye colour and then there was another thought playing on his mind;

 Who truly knew Mitsuki Bakugou besides the Midoriya Family?

 Aside from…

 "Kacchan?"

[whatstheproblembaby]

Fic: What’s in a Name?

The “Why does everyone call Shelagh ‘Mrs. Turner’ when all the other married nurses are ‘Nurse Whoever’ fic that no one asked for but I wanted to write anyways. ~1900 words, G, gen/friendship fic at the beginning but solidly Turnadette by the end.

Also on AO3!

Shelagh had thought she was above eavesdropping in corners in Nonnatus House after Trixie and Cynthia had roped her into their spying on Jenny and Alec all those years ago, but apparently, some things stayed with you. She was approaching the dining room from the hall, intending to enjoy a quick cup of tea and a catch-up with Trixie as she waited for Patrick to finish with an ulcer case, but the voices coming from the kitchen made her pause and shrink back into the wall. She was likely still visible if someone took the effort to look from the dining room - and anyone coming from the end of the hall would think she was ridiculous - but she thought the conversation that was going on might not benefit from her presence just yet.

“Trixie, you’ve been here the longest,” Lucille began.

“Yes, thank you for reminding me, Lucille,” Trixie replied with a faux-irritated huff.

“You know that’s not what I meant. You’re still a young woman, and you have valuable knowledge that the rest of us appreciate,” Lucille said. Shelagh could just barely see them entering the dining room out of the corner of her eye, noticing what she thought was a quick, loving hand squeeze between the two women as they and the others took their seats. “Especially about the history of Nonnatus.”

“That’s true,” Sister Hilda cut in. Sister Frances nodded emphatically beside her. “They give us some background at the Mother House, of course, but it’s no substitute for actually having your boots on the ground here.”

“I see…,” Trixie said. She took a sip of her Horlicks before continuing, “And what exactly about the history of Nonnatus do you want to know?”

“It’s not about the history of Nonnatus precisely, but it’s related. I think,” Lucille said, sipping her own drink. “It’s about Mrs. Turner.”

“She should be here in a moment,” Trixie said. Shelagh flattened herself even more against the wall when Trixie leaned out to scan the hallway for her, but to no avail - she saw Trixie’s eyes widen as they locked with her own. Shelagh shook her head, just once. Thankfully Trixie got the message, smoothly saying, “You could just ask her then.”

“I don’t know if what I’m about to ask is...painful, somehow.” Shelagh quirked an eyebrow at Lucille’s choice of adjective. “If you don’t know the answer, though, then I will ask once she arrives.”

“Fire away, sweetie,” Trixie said. She looked back up to where Shelagh was hiding, her face a perfectly unruffled mask. Shelagh could see in her eyes that she too had no idea where Lucille was taking this question, though.

“Why do we call Mrs. Turner ‘Mrs. Turner’ when we all called Barbara ‘Nurse Hereward’ after she got married? She’s also a nurse - are we being disrespectful?”

“I’ve wondered that, too!” Sister Frances chimed in. “She puts in as much work as the rest of us. Doesn’t she deserve the title?”

Shelagh pressed her lips together, stifling a laugh. She had been so worried about gossip and stigma when she first left the Order - she had never imagined that she would be so absorbed into her new life that people might not know anything about her past at all. Of course, she had never imagined that the staff at Nonnatus would shift quite so frequently, either. Once, it would have been Cynthia, Jenny, and Chummy sitting at that table with Trixie, and they would have had no need to ask.

“I suppose the simplest answer is that for quite a while, we never expected Shelagh to become Mrs. Turner,” Trixie said. “It was a joy for us to be able to say it, and she did retire briefly from nursing when she married. We just got used to it.”

“That’s very kind of you to say,” Shelagh said, finally stepping into the dining room and revealing herself. A chorus of startled noises punctuated her statement, along with Sister Frances splashing her Horlicks onto the table.

“Oh, lass,” Phyllis sighed, pushing herself up to grab a dishcloth from the kitchen. “Hasn’t the East End trained the jumpiness out of you yet?”

“I’m sorry!” Sister Frances said, taking the cloth and mopping up her spill. “But why didn’t anyone expect you to marry Dr. Turner, Mrs. - I mean, Nurse-”

“Right now, I think you should all just call me Shelagh,” she cut in, taking Sister Monica Joan’s usual seat at the foot of the table. Trixie got up at that, walking over to the kitchen to pour Shelagh a mug of Horlicks, too. “Or were you going to be circumspect about my first name as well, Trixie?”

“Had they asked, quite possibly!” Trixie said, passing Shelagh her mug and taking her seat again. “I didn’t realize your past was such ancient history. Or is it classified under the Official Secrets Act?”

“What are you two talking about?” Val interjected, looking from Shelagh to Trixie and back like it was a match at Wimbledon. “You’re making it sound like she has a secret identity or something.”

“Maybe she’s a Russian spy,” Phyllis teased. “Come to get classified intel on birthing babies for the Kremlin!”

“Close,” Shelagh said with a laugh. “But to answer your question, Sister Frances, I need to ask you and Sister Hilda one of my own first. Did anyone at the Mother House ever mention a sister who left the order back in 1958?”

“Not to me,” Sister Frances said. “But I only just took my life vows.”

Sister Hilda bit her lip for a moment before saying, “Now that you mention it, it rings a bell. I think Mother Jesu Emmanuel said something at dinner one day, but she didn’t say which sister it was. Did you know her, Shelagh?”

Trixie snorted into her mug.

“I was her,” Shelagh answered.

There was pin-drop silence around the table. Five sets of eyes bored into Shelagh, clearly begging to know more, while Trixie just quietly allowed everyone to process the moment.

“I was Sister Bernadette for about ten years,” Shelagh explained. “And Dr. Turner was married to his first wife, Marianne, for most of that time. But she passed away, unfortunately, after an illness, and after that...we grew closer.”

“So no one expected you to get married because you were a nun,” Val said. “That makes sense.”

“Well, that, and I was in a sanitarium for six months or so because I had tuberculosis. Your future generally gets a bit hazy when you’re diagnosed with a serious illness.” Shelagh took a sip of her drink as another round of stunned silence settled around the table.

“Is that all?” Phyllis asked after a moment. “You aren’t secretly a member of the Royal Family, or brewing bathtub gin out of one of the spare rooms-”

“No, I’m out of surprises for the day,” Shelagh said through a laugh. “But thank you for thinking I could be that interesting.”

“So when you two first met-” Lucille began, turning to Trixie.

“She was Sister Bernadette, terrifyingly efficient and completely off-limits for friendship. Or so I thought,” Trixie said, smiling. “And now Shelagh’s still terrifyingly efficient, but an excellent friend.”

“Gosh, Trixie, at least buy me dinner first,�� Shelagh teased. There was a moment of shared laughter before Lucille spoke up again.

“No one’s answered my original question, though. Do you want us to call you Nurse Turner professionally, Shelagh?”

Shelagh took a moment to gather her thoughts before answering. “I do appreciate the offer, Lucille, but no. Patrick and I actually discussed this a little when I returned to nursing, and we were concerned that ‘Dr. Turner’ and ‘Nurse Turner’ would lead to confusion among our patients if they were trying to discuss diagnoses or treatments amongst themselves. And admittedly...I do quite like being Mrs. Turner.”

“Well that’s encouraging to hear,” came another voice from behind her, making them all jump. Patrick rested his hand on Shelagh’s shoulder from behind her chair, squeezing once in greeting before asking, “Are you ready to go home, Shelagh?”

“Unless anyone has any further questions?” Shelagh asked, smiling at her colleagues around the table before standing up and taking her mug to the kitchen. There was a flurry of “good nights” from all parties as Shelagh looped her hand through Patrick’s elbow and they made their departure.

“‘Further questions’?” Patrick asked once they were in their car. “Were you having a class I didn’t know about?”

“Not exactly,” Shelagh said. “I overheard Lucille asking Trixie why everyone calls me ‘Mrs. Turner’ and not ‘Nurse Turner,’ and that led to some, erm, revelations.”

“But why - no one knew about Sister Bernadette?” Patrick said, connecting the dots. “Not even Sister Hilda? I would think she was in the Order around the same time you were.”

“She had heard about a sister leaving, but she didn’t know it was me,” Shelagh explained. “Apparently there’s been so much upheaval at Nonnatus House over the last few years that our story has gone quite unremarked.”

“You’re not upset that Sister Bernadette isn’t more prominent, are you?” Patrick said, reaching over to take one of Shelagh’s hands in his. Their gazes met briefly before he had to turn his focus back to the road. “She - you - did important work during your time there.”

“I’d like to think I’m doing important work now, too,” Shelagh said, smiling over at her husband. “And I don’t care about being recognized for it, whichever name I’m using. Frankly, I think I’d find it harder to do my work if Sister Bernadette’s name was still being talked about. I’d always be concerned that I’m not...living up to her standards, or that people preferred one version of me to the other. Not that there are versions of me in the first place!”

“You have always been the same loving, determined woman I used to share an illicit cigarette with years ago,” Patrick said, rubbing his thumb over her knuckles. “I’d like to think you’re allowed to be more open about it as my wife, but even if you had stayed in the Order, I know you would be going above and beyond for your patients and colleagues, because that’s just who you are, regardless of the name you use.”

“If I had any doubts about the path I chose in life, that would have erased them,” Shelagh said. “You have always seen me so clearly, Patrick, and it’s helped me to see myself.”

“It’s mutual, my love. I don’t know how I would have handled certain events over the past few years without you helping me find my strength and courage when it was needed.”

“Oh, Patrick,” Shelagh said, waiting for Patrick to put the car in park and turn off the engine before reaching over to take his hands in hers. “Just listen to us. Timothy would be aghast if he heard all this ‘mushy stuff,’ as he used to call it.”

“Timothy’s not here, though, is he? Which means I can do this without fear of unwanted commentary.” Patrick pulled Shelagh in for a lingering kiss. By the time it was finished, Shelagh had just about forgotten any name she had had in her life.

A yell of “Mum!” came from the front door, startling them back into reality.

“Another name for the list,” Shelagh joked wryly. “But maybe we could resume what we were doing a little closer to bedtime?”

“With pleasure,” Patrick said, and they got out of the car.

[harderbetterfasterstarker]

endless

oops my hand slipped and i wrote a very sad drabble that’s just tony missing peter, reflecting on it during the Blip, set pre-as if even now. read it on ao3 here, and if you haven’t, read as if even now (if only to get to their happy ending, i wrote an absurdly fluffy epilogue drabble for them damnit). preemptive tw that this fic reflects on a time where tony was suicidal, and thoughts and attempts are referenced. 

The kid had gotten under his skin, into every breath he took, inside his lungs and running through his veins and pumping through his heart, in ways he hadn’t realized until he’d clutched his body as it crumbled to dust. All he’d known was that he’d felt empty in ways he hadn’t since before he’d become Iron Man, back to Earth and spending his days and nights looking for ways to fill the aching chasm that was always threatening to swallow him whole.

Tony has always been, if anything, at least self-aware when it comes to his many and myriad faults. And the truth is that he is a greedy man, never satisfied with what he has, always reaching for the next thing and the next and the next, always wanting what he can’t have, even when (especially when) it’s not good for him. And he knows that this is the truth, even though Pep always just pats him on the shoulder and gives him one of her softer smiles and says that he deserves to be a little greedy, after all he’s done, after all he’s been through. He hasn’t quite figured out how to argue with that one, even though he knows in his gut that he should. At least he hasn’t figured out how to argue without revealing cards he’d rather keep hidden, even from (especially from) Pep.

Because he’d nearly died, had thought he was going to die, and was ready to die. Another of those things he hasn’t quite worked up the courage to tell Pep yet. Her favored narrative, for him and for the press, is that he held on, fought for life, fought to stay with them for her, for Morgan. Morgan—Christ. So how is he supposed to tell Pep that he’d been lying there, fighting for consciousness through the pain clawing its way across his entire right side, and in what he’d been certain were his dying moments he’d looked at the kid, really looked at him, remembered the way his hair had smelled of cheap shampoo and sweat and dirt when he’d hugged him tight, here, real, undeniably alive, and thought, Oh. Oh.

And that had been enough.

Tony scrubbed his hands across his face, harsh and hard, as if he could erase the memory of that moment, before he’d felt whatever oddball magic Strange had begun working. What he needed to erase were the memories of the five years before that—or, hell, maybe back further. As if Tony would ever—could ever—try to excise Peter from his mind. He wasn’t even sure that he could, now. The kid had gotten under his skin, into every breath he took, inside his lungs and running through his veins and pumping through his heart, in ways he hadn’t realized until he’d clutched his body as it crumbled to dust. All he’d known was that he’d felt empty in ways he hadn’t since before he’d become Iron Man, back to Earth and spending his days and nights looking for ways to fill the aching chasm that was always threatening to swallow him whole.

After Pep had gotten pregnant with Morgan, he’d once, in a drunken spat of extreme bitterness, accused her of convincing him to retire and have a kid as a replacement for Peter. She’d been so mad at him for that one that she’d just left the house and called Rhodey, told them to call her when Tony was sober again. He regretted what he said, but he noticed that she didn’t deny it.

At least, in her eyes, he’d stopped trying to kill himself by the time Morgan was born, so she could reasonably assume that maybe her plan had worked. Shamefully, not even the idea of leaving his baby girl alone in the world without a father was enough to keep him away from that particular ledge—in fact, what he hadn’t admitted to Pepper was that it made him want to run away more, because if Peter was superhuman and brilliant and good, the best of them, and Tony hadn’t been able to protect him, what could Tony hope to do for this little girl? No, it was Nat who got the credit for ending his run of attempts. Most of his attempts had been thwarted by past Tony, who had dreamed up what felt like a thousand and one protocols and alerts for just this scenario, but the last one it had been Nat to walk into his workshop at just the right (wrong) moment, in what if it had been anyone other than the Black Widow he’d have called a coincidence.

“You’ve gotta talk to someone, Tony,” she’d said once they were settled on the couch in the corner of the lab he slept on most nights.

“You don’t think I do? I’ve seen every shrink this side of the Mississippi and several on the other, I’ve gone to those stupid fucking support groups, and it’s—none of it works, Nat.” He’d been drunk—he was always at least slightly drunk, then—and it made him more open. “It’s all wrong.”

Whenever his therapists asked him to talk about what happened on Titan, he clammed up, spoke in the vaguest of terms. He told himself he was protecting Peter’s identity (even in apparent death) but he knew that wasn’t right. He’d considered that he was trying to avoid admitting just how culpable he really was, for dragging a teenager into this fight, for dragging the best mind of a new generation, the sweetest boy he’d ever known, brash and a bit impulsive but with a heart of fucking gold, and let him die on a godforsaken desert planet with a bunch of aliens, Strange, and a man who thought Footloose was a great movie—because he’d had plenty of experience avoiding admitting truths to himself, and this wasn’t his first therapy rodeo—but deep down he knew that wasn’t right either.

“Have you gone to the right ones?” Natasha had asked softly, looking at him carefully, and he had the unsettling feeling she, as always, saw more than he wanted her to see.

“I’ve been to the general ones, the ones for everyone who lost people in the Blip, to family loss, to the ones for first responders and others who felt helpless, I’ve even been to the groups for parents who lost kids.”

He had—at Pep’s insistence, he’d gone. And it was—better, than the others. The scope of his grief felt… more accepted, there. Less out of touch with the experiences of others. But it still wasn’t—enough. When they talked about the future they’d been robbed of with their children, it was a future they got to watch, moments in their lives that were gone—graduations, weddings, grandchildren. And Tony felt that, all of it, deeply—that he should’ve been there to see Pete graduate, valedictorian, go to college wherever he wanted (MIT, it would’ve been MIT), invent something that floored Tony with his brilliance���but that wasn’t quite it. More than all of that, he missed the time he should’ve spent with the kid and didn’t, missed the idea of years of weekends in the lab spilling out ahead of them, hearing him laugh and seeing him smile. He wished he’d just hugged the kid that time in the car, instead of making everything some joke.

“He was just… you know what he said to me, when I first met him and asked him why he was doing what he did? A broke fourteen year old kid, suddenly has superpowers and instead of being captain of the football team and stealing enough to set them up for life, he’s chasing down muggers in a onesie? He said, when you can do what I do, and you don’t do anything, and then bad things happen, they happen because of you. I mean, Christ, Nat. He was the best of us and I—I lost him, and I—and it feels like I can’t breathe.” He realized that his hand had gone, unbidden, to the shell of where the arc reactor had been, clutching at it desperately. Ripping his heart out would’ve maybe been less painful. Natasha had given him another penetrating look and then, whip sharp and faster than certainly his inebriated brain could keep up with, she’d grabbed him by the chin and turned him to look her in the eye.

“I actually like you, Tony, which is why I will say this. You loved Peter, you really truly did. And when you love someone, and they die, it fucking hurts and it never goes away. I like Pepper, I do, but the house in the country and hanging up the suit and the baby? Those won’t make it stop hurting. That pain lives inside you now, because so did Peter. So the only question is whether you can choose to live with it. Like I said, I like you, so I hope the answer is yes, and I think that’s the answer the kid would want for you. But if the answer is no, you call me. I’ll make it quick, and painless, and tidy, and Pep and the baby would never ever know what it really was.”

For once in life, he’d been speechless, left to stare at the spot on the couch she’d vacated as he considered her words, considered that Natasha had had a life, in Russia, before the Red Room had stolen it from her. Considered whether he’d want Pep to think he’d just… had a heart attack. Gotten old, put too much stress on himself. Considered the kid, wondered if there really was a place you went when you died, what he’d say to Peter.

He’d called Natasha once after that, at 3 in the morning a few months after Morgan was born, when he hadn’t been getting enough sleep and when the silence around the house had felt oppressive.

“Tony,” she’d said, quiet and gentle, the kind of tone she took when she was lulling the Hulk back to peace. “Is this the call we talked about?”

“No,” he’d gasped, scrabbling around the kitchen for the picture of Peter and him together, their fake internship picture. “No, I just… Thanks. Thank you.”

“You already had your heart-to-heart, Stark. Don’t think this is a regular thing,” she’d said, sounding more like herself. He’d snorted, clinging to the sense of normalcy.

“Yeah, yeah, I got it. Won’t put you on the list for talking about our feelings.”

“Atta boy. And Stark… you’re welcome.”

[likesomekindofcheese]

Promised: Part One (The Great mini-series)

Pairing: Grigor Dymov x fem!Reader

Word Count: 2,878

 From this Anon Request:  ahhh im so happy that you'll write for grigor, gwil seems to be under hyped these days. can i request grigor having to be in an arranged marriage because peter somehow fucked up another treaty and the only way of fixing it is through an alliance (we can just ignore grigor being married already)

A/N: Of course! I hope you are okay with it being a fem! Reader. If not, just let me know and I’ll write a neutral version!

Anyways, enjoy the first part of this mini series of Peter being...Peter and you are Grigor getting into an arranged marriage to fix it up!

“This wine tastes like shit, where’s the vodka?”

The bread roll you had been chewing on nearly fell out of your mouth in surprise. This was the man you had been expecting for weeks. The Lord and Sovereign of all of Russia. The son of Peter the Great, a legendary warrior king beloved by all who knew him. He even shared a name with this godly figure.

The second he announced his arrival sent everyone in your house into a giddy panic. The manor was cleaned inside out. Every butler and maid lined up outside for his entrance in their most pressed uniforms. Your family and you had put on your finest garbs as well. You had even bought a new dress for the occasion, a pink silk gown with white cloth down the sleeves, and a white middle part while long bows decorated your cream stomacher.

Every soul in the manor was there when his carriage arrived to greet and curtsy to him and his friend, tour the house, and serve him a meal featuring the best cuts, foods, and drinks available, some of which were gifts from the locals honoring his appearance.

And he just called your finest vintage wine shit.

Every pulse in your house was heard in that moment. Your mother gasped a little at the sound of such language used at the table. Especially from him.

“We…we have whiskey to be served after, it’s stronger” you suggest meekly.

“I suppose, just something stronger than this,” his companion next to him reasoned.

He was a man who was perhaps in his thirties at most, brown hair barely seen beneath his dusty wig and in a dark green jacket, only a few steps below Peter’s finery. He swirled the glass with his large hands and took polite sips of it. You looked for a reaction to the taste and barely saw one.

“You want the emperor to drink shit wine, then!? What kind of hosts are you?” Peter asked, leaning back in his chair.

He was far more relaxed than the sea of straight backs of everyone at your table. He even tossed the glass over his shoulder.

KKKK!

A servant behind rushed up with a broom to sweep up the bits.

Your mother and father looked at each other questioningly.  Your brother normally had a healthy appetite, but his fork paused in mid-air since the wine complaint.

With a little sigh, your father turned to a butler and asked him to retrieve a bottle of whiskey and to look for any spare vodka at once.

Looking at your brother, the sanguine chatterbox, you saw his face had paled and his jaw was still tight. Looks like it would have to be you then to alter the mood and keep the peace.

Turning to the Emperor’s companion on Peter’s right, you began to shyly greet him “Sir...uhm…I’m sorry, I forgot your last name…”

“Dymov,” he answered kindly.

His eyes softened. At least he seemed less of an unpredictable bull as his friend.

“Sir Dymov, what is the weather like in Russia? Is it as cold as everyone says?” you questioned.

“Oh, yes, very! Some winters have crowds of people wearing fur coats indoors and gathered around the fire,” he explained.

Peter cut in, chewing on the meat with an open mouth as if he were a cow in a field, “which is why we need to drink vodka to stay warm. Speaking of which, where is your butler and why the fuck hasn’t the vodka gotten here yet?!”

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Later that evening, there was some parlor entertainment as usual. Coffee, whiskey, and vodka were all served and seemed to be drank in generous amounts.

It began with you showing your musical gifts. You were to sing as your father accompanied you on the pianoforte. Your breath was feeling higher than what was needed for healthy singing. You could not help but gape at the two Russians who seemed to analyze you. They were hard not to ignore since they were both astoundingly tall, Peter only barely taller. Sir Dymov listened attentively, hands leaning against him as he and the emperor were offered the softest chairs.

But Peter was somehow enraptured. He looked right at you and was still, listening to it the whole time.

You noticed his eyes were not on your face. And your pink dress was as modest as your mothers.

Forcing yourself back into the music, you picked a spot in the parlor, near a bookshelf, and stared at it, trying to focus on the music and words. Lose yourself in its brief escape.

There was polite applause following. When you curtsied, you put a protective hand over your chest.

Your brother, more inclined to the world of theater, offered a reading of some texts by the finest playwrights of your land. Everyone listened to him as they settled for cards at a table, but you stood a while to focus on your knitting. Nerves had shot through you and you had to do something with your hands that would calm you more than cards with the boorish guest.

“May I sit here, Miss Y/L/N?” Sir Dymov asked to the spot next to yours.

“Yes, you may…” you answered, finishing a row of purl stitches.

As he sat down, he even offered to hold your yarn and straighten any strings.

“Thank you for the dinner, and the reading, and the music and everything, it was nice, far more peaceful than at home! And God knows, I could…we all could use some peace…,” he turned away briefly to keep a small eye on Peter.

“Sir Dymov, why would you need peace? Is it the war with Sweden?” you asked curiously.

His angled face looked oddly dark, despite the glow from the fire.

“No…Just a little bit of personal heartbreak, Lady Y/L/N. And your song was about love, so I was reminded of her.”

“Can you tell me what happened?” you asked

Flinching away, you cursed the impulse. It might be too personal.

“She rejected my marriage offer. She’s uhm, uh…how do I put this politely… she’s Peter’s mistress,” he explained

“Oh.”

“And she said she would not give up her position after our marriage, so she said I could either have to be married to her but share her with Peter or she would not consider my offer at all,” he sighed.

Setting your knitting away, you looked up at him with empathy.

“Sie Dymov, that sounds hard. But I can’t imagine how her saying yes would make anything easier…”

“I do miss her, and she’s in court so I see her still every day,” Dymov complained.

“You’ll find a way through heartbreak. I’ve had some of my own, but something better might happen!” you say, shrugging your shoulders.

Once you set things down and decide to join the card table, you see Peter look up from his cards and scowl.

“You know, this is dull. Where is the louder singing? The wild dancing? The animals? No wonder people die here so much, they become bored!” he spat throwing off his hand onto the table.

“Things here are…a little quiet compared to your mighty empire,” your mother answers with a plastic smile. “But we make do…”

“I’m practically dying of boredom. How the hell was my father friends with you lot?” Peter asked.

Your father’s head ticked to the side, his eyes getting bigger.

“We were friends since our youth, and he loved all of us,” he said, words tinged with a subtle venom.

Your mother cleaned up the cards, and your brother paused his dramatic reading.

“Your highness, we can all retire if you don’t want to play anymore. I think traveling all the way here from your palace must have been exhausting. Is there anything else you need to make your stay here more comfortable before tomorrow?” she asked.

Peter’s eyes glinted up at you. Your body cinched as if ready to fight or flee.

“How about you offer to bring your daughter Y/N to my bedchambers for tonight, that would make me a lot more comfortable!”

Dymov’s jaw dropped. Your father stood up a little to get out of his chair but he was beat. In a flash, your brother slammed his book shut and rushed over, staring the ruler of Russia in the face.

“How dare you treat my sister like one of your whores?! Never!” he yelled.

“It’s my right as your guest?” Peter rebutted with a bizarre calm.

“After we’ve been kind to you? Gave you our best food and wine, housed you in our nicest room?” your brother roared.

You wanted to shrink yet you were frozen. Your father walked to your side and put an arm around you.

“You can have anything you want, but you’re a married man, Peter. My daughter’s dignity is important to me, as is your own wives. I don’t want to insult her as well,” he reasoned.

“Honor? Honor? You all only spit about honor when you live shit lives with shit food and shit company!” Peter argued.

The warmth of your father’s presence left you as he walked forward. Scuttling, your mother stood by you to take your hand in his place.

“Your highness, I knew him like a brother. If Peter the Great was here…” your father warned.

“He isn’t here! And I’m the Emperor now! And he isn’t!” Peter bellowed.

So on. And so on.

You retired early, your mother by your side to escort you as you saw your father and brother arguing back and forth. The only ally Peter had, other than his title, was Dymov holding him back. To protect or stop him, you could not tell.

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The next two days there was such bad blood it was unbelievable. There were no fun outings as planned. You ate alone. You hardly saw anyone. Any room you walked into; you could hear yelling.

Your father made sure you weren’t alone with Peter, but it seemed his eyes had gotten distracted with the fighting. Hopefully, he was joking. Partly.

One night you snuck downstairs to have a glass of water and heard a few words despite yourself.

“That’s it! I leave tomorrow morning! And you can forget my support and all your fucking soldiers, too!”

“Your highness, our money is about to get tight. And our people need it even more than us!”

“Too fucking bad, then!”

Oh no…Russia is our enemy.

You cried yourself to sleep that night. The idea of now starving. And your brother was about to marry a woman he loved in a fortnight. How could he provide for her or any future children? How would all the people who depended on your generosity fare with reduced funds? Worst of all, Peter had his quick moods and ideas. What if he declared war out of spite from this one visit?

You never met Peter the Great. He sometimes seemed like a kindly fairy god father in some ways he had been mentioned. His love of your house and your country and his friendship with your father. Financial support given when needed. How so much was funded and gifted and provided thanks to his generosity.

How could any of you live after that? Even with the embarrassment alone of being insulted by an emperor?

As you woke up, you only had barely time for breakfast when your mother entered.

“Y/N…we would like to talk to you.”

“Mother, I have breakfast. And I was hoping today I’d practice my music and finish that scarf,” you dismissed.

But from the look on her face you had no choice.

“It’s important. And you must be there.”

She walked you over into the main table where days ago everyone dined awkwardly. The Emperor and his companion were there. Peter pouted yet Dymov’s face looked as if he had seen a ghost and his folded hand were shaking a little.

As you sat down in your chair, every eye looked at you, there was a moment of tense silence.

“Well, what is it?” you asked.

“We’ve reached an agreement with Peter…” your father began.

“Are we going to lose…lose everything?” you asked anxiously.

Your heart was tolling in your eardrums as the words left your lips. It had been the question that kept you worried for days.

“No, your family is going to be fine…” Dymov assured, a hand placed over his mouth.

“You can still have some of my father’s money and support from the Russian crown and our fucking alliance even!” Peter threw in, hands going up.

“But…”

“But what?” you said.

“You have to bring half of your army to fight for me, Sweden’s trying to invade us and we need men. And some of your relatives have to swear loyalty to me. But that promise needs to be secured.” Peter continued

“How? We are already sending you soldiers and subjects? What else would do it?” you asked. Although your gut was telling you the answer.

There was a little pause, but quite an evil smile from Peter.

“There has to be a marriage. Your brother’s betrothed. So you’ll have to marry into Russia to secure it!” he revealed.

Blinking, the wind was knocked out as if you had been punched in the stomach.

“Sir, you’re married to…to Sophie! That Austrian girl!” you cried.

“Sophie? She isn’t Sophie anymore; she’s already christened by my church with a new name: she’s Empress Catherine of Russia now. And since she will be your ruler and you will address her as such! Might as well christen and give you a new name too!” he scolded.

“Of course, I mean I will but…but…who do I have to marry? Do you have any…any brothers?” you fret.

Numbness gripped your hands and nausea gripped your stomach at the thought of marrying a copy of Peter.

“I’ve got no brothers, no male relatives of age or alive for you and I want this contract done soon so…”

His head turned to Dymov with a congratulatory pat on the back.

“It’s Grigor here you’ll have to fuck for life in about a month!”

Grigor’s ears turned pink and he looked up at you, lips tight.

And if I say no? you start to wonder, tasting the words.

But what choice did you have?

“Lady Y/L/N, I promise, this isn’t any easier for me either…” he finally said. “I know this arrangement isn’t coming the way you expected…and I’m just as shocked as you are.”

Would you put your family’s and your people’s future down the drain? Would you let them become bankrupt, ruin your father’s memory of his friend, and make enemies with one of the richest, largest, and most powerful countries because of your selfishness?

Besides, no suitors had been calling you, really. None likable or with good intentions at least. You were getting to the age of spinsterdom. You knew you had to be desperate if you wanted any sense of security for yourself or your family. Who knew if another offer like this could be made?

Taking a deep breath, you looked Peter in the eye.

“I will do it. For my family and for everyone who we look after.”

Peter produced a document agreeing to the engagement, marriage, and benefits it brought. You and Dymov signed it.

Afterwards there was a small service in the chapel to pray for the future and for this marriage. But you were half in another world, unaware this was happening. Dymov seemed to flush between being pale or being red.

Immediately later, they decided all was well and to make plans to leave. Before packing, Dymov approached your parents and you in the parlor.

“I have to alert you of something that will happen, when Lady Y/L/N arrives…there will be a test done by the priests to see if she’s, uh, pure…and it involves checking her…” he gestured to his pants.

You let out a shocked gasp. What kind of kingdom were you about to be thrown into?

“I just wanted you to know, so you wouldn’t be shocked,” Dymov added on.

Your mother took your hand again and rubbed your knuckles soothingly.

“We have family physicians here. Trusted friends. They will do the examination and sign a document right before she goes. There will always be a chaperone until the marriage, to make sure everything is by Russia’s standards,’ she insisted, squeezing your hand extra tight.

Before they left the whole family saw off the Russian party. As Dymov turned to you, his blue eyes darkened slightly. He bowed lowest for you and kissed your hand.

“I’ll write to you as much as I can. You can call me Grigor,” he said.

“I guess you can call me Y/F/N…Grigor,” you replied

“Goodbye, Y/F/N. We will see each other…before the wedding. Soon.”

As kind as the gesture was, your brain had not stopped reeling. It remained even as you stood there, watching the carriage trot away. A pair of blue eyes even looking at you sadly from the window.

He seemed to have the same concern

How could you travel to live in another country ruled by someone like Peter?

And how could you love, much less marry, a man you just met?

Taglist: @queenlover05​

The Great Taglist: @stardust-killer-queen​ @itsametaphorgwil​ @freaking-nix​ @im-an-adult-ish​ @grigorlee​ @themficsilike 

[flowesona]

The Fool - Yandere! Jungkook x reader

The Tarot Series

“Here, kitty cat.” Jungkook clicked his tongue, holding out his hand to the small creature curled up by the wall. The animal hissed, shrinking away.

The young boy huffed in frustration. If only the cat would come a bit closer he would be able to see the name-tag and find its phone number. But as soon as he had given up he got a new idea and rushed inside.

“Can I have some tuna?” He tugged at his mother’s skirt eagerly.

“Now, you shouldn’t eat between meals.” She frowned, ruffling his hair with one hand as she thumbed her book in the other.

“No, it’s for the cat! In the garden! He must be hungry!” Jungkook whined.

“Is it a stray? You shouldn’t play with it sweetie, it might be infested with fleas or-”

“No! I...I want to take care of h-him… he must be so scared…” Jungkook blubbered, eyes tearing up. His mother tutted in pity, wiping his eyes before walking over to one of the cupboards too high for Jungkook’s chubby hands to reach and finding the tin.

With a delightful treat for the cat Jungkook approaches it once more, holding the bowl out in front of him with his mother’s caution in mind. The cat was perfectly receptive of his offering and tucked in right away, giving Jungkook the slim opportunity to twist its collar around and peak at the name-tag. The series of numbers imprinted into the metal were just what he needed, yet there was no way a seven-year-old could remember such a pattern when he could barely count to 100.

Once the animal had finished its meal and was licking its lips, Jungkook lifted it up in his arms. There was a slight bit of hissing and some struggling but it was soon docile enough to be carried into their house.

“Jungkook, put that thing down!” His mother scolded, but he looked at her with such an intense stubbornness she didn’t try to snatch it away.

“There’s a phone number.” He showed her, still clutching the animal tightly to his chest. 

Jungkook’s mother sighed before complacently picking up the phone.

*.·:·.☽✧    ✦    ✧☾.·:·.*

“Eliza!” The young boy cringed at the shrill voice, as the cat he had rescued was scooped up into the arms of a girl of a similar age. 

“Eliza? That’s his name?” Jungkook butted in the the sentimental moment.

“Don’t be silly. Eliza’s a girl.” The girl smiled, nuzzling her nose into the beloved pet’s head. In the background, an adult woman was feverishly thanking Jungkook’s mother.

“(Y/N) has been completely distraught. I thought after one day it would return, but after three I just told her that Eliza had passed on and we would buy her another, but she refused.” She explained, watching her daughter’s delighted expression.

“We owe really owe you. Anything we could possibly give you, please just say the word. Now come on, (Y/N).” 

Jungkook sniffled as the happy family left. He felt empty, dragging his heels as he went to his bedroom. He wanted the happiness, the companionship that (Y/N) had with her cat. He was tired of being lonely. And with that in mind, he knew what he wanted.

*.·:·.☽✧    ✦    ✧☾.·:·.*

The toy mouse was made out of felt and had no kind of embellishments but it was enough to keep Eliza entertained as Jungkook dangled it above her.

“Kids? I have some snacks!” (Y/N)’s mother placed the tray of milk and cookies next to the rug. Jungkook nodded politely but didn’t touch them, just watching Eliza. But he quickly grew bored, throwing the toy across the room as Eliza scarpered after it.

“It’s your turn to play now.” He said abruptly before picking up a cookie. Seeing her grumble and search for the discarded toy before fussing over her cat, Jungkook realised that observing was far more entertaining. Seeing the happiness on (Y/N)’s face, the mewls of Eliza was what delighted him. As if they were a happy family, like in one of his books.

“(Y/N)...” Jungkook started, shuffling closer on the carpet. “Do you think we can be friends?”

“As long as you stay clean.” (Y/N) wiped at the crumbs on the corner of his mouth with an embroidered handkerchief, tutting. “You can’t be my friend if you get crumbs all over the floor.”

“But we can be friends? And take care of each other and get married and live together?!” The excitement was uncontainable. Suddenly, Jungkook knew what he wanted to do in his future, and he couldn’t wait to grow up and live the perfect life.

(Y/N) paused, overwhelmed by his forwardness and all the foreign concepts but she nodded.

“Sure. Can I have the last cookie?” Jungkook eagerly nodded, pushing the plate towards her. He would always give her what she deserved.

*.·:·.☽✧    ✦    ✧☾.·:·.*

“What do you think about him?” A fifteen-year-old (Y/N) sighed, flipping her screen around so her best friend could peer at the picture.

Jungkook wrinkled his nose.

“He’s ugly and probably riddled with diseases.” He said, lightly easing the phone out of her hands. “I’ll get him to back off for you.”

“No, don’t do that. I like him, he’s cute.” (Y/N) tried to steal her phone back, but he used his height advantage to hold it far above her head. Her teenage hormones and desire for a boyfriend spurred (Y/N) to jump up on her tiptoes trying desperately to salvage her change of a date, but she was no match for Jungkook, who was already typing a scathing reply with one hand, the other pushing (Y/N)’s head down.

Once he’d sent it, he dropped the phone in (Y/N)’s hands apathetically.

“I swear why do you always get in the way of me getting a boyfriend? You’re so annoying Jungkookie.” She pouted, scanning the message of rejection he’d sent.

“You don’t need a boyfriend. You have me.” Jungkook couldn’t help but be irritated at her attitude. After he’d put aside his desires to maintain their relationship, to hold up on his promise to stay clean and care for each other, the way that (Y/N) disregarded his feelings and commitment stung.

“That doesn’t count.” (Y/N) groaned, flopping onto the bed with one hand outstretched to stroke a disgruntled elderly Eliza. “I need a real boyfriend.”

“Why do you want a boyfriend when you have a husband?” Jungkook muttered rhetorically under his breath, a renewed sense of confidence building up in the fight to win his girl.

*.·:·.☽✧    ✦    ✧☾.·:·.*

The old cat was happy enough chowing down on some sardines Jungkook had picked up from the convenience store, giving a happy purr as he ran a hand down her back. Despite the fight that the stubborn cat had put up in the first place, once food had been offered she was happy to stay with Jungkook for a while.

Finally, his phone started ringing. Once, and he let it go to voicemail. Then again, and after a few rings he picked up.

“Please, you have to help Jungkook, she’s gone missing, I don’t know where she’s wandered off to but it’s not safe, she could be hit by a car or worse-”

“Calm down, (Y/N). What happened?” Knowing full well that his plan was going just right, Jungkook was practically beaming.

“Eliza is gone, she’s not in any of her hiding spots, she’s not in our neighbour’s garden. Please, have you seen her?” (Y/N) wept, her heart pouring out over the phone line.

“I haven’t.” Jungkook answered simply, running a hand down Eliza’s tail as she stalked away from him to explore the rest of his bedroom.

“Can you help me find her? No matter the state she’s in, I just need to see her again.” (Y/N) begged. Jungkook could imagine the tears leaking from her beautiful eyes, yet he was silent for a moment, drawing out what he wanted from his girl. “I’ll owe you one. I swear, I’ll do anything if you can find her.”

Jungkook had to suppress his grin, standing up and reaching for the doorknob with one hand blocking Eliza from creeping out and blowing his cover.

“I’ll be there in two minutes.”

*.·:·.☽✧    ✦    ✧☾.·:·.*

The search for (Y/N)’s cat had been, unsurprisingly, unsuccessful. After an hour of relentless calling and knocking on doors, they had retired to (Y/N)’s kitchen, with her mother providing the forlorn teenagers with a tray of home baked cookies.

(Y/N) didn’t even touch them, staring glumly ahead with her head resting on her arms. Meanwhile, her companion graciously reached out to accept the sugar boost.

“How’d you get that nasty scratch Jungkookie?” (Y/N) asked suddenly, as he followed her eyes to stare at the thin line running up his wrist. He cursed silently before an excuse popped into his head.

“I-I was moving some weeds to see if Eliza was hiding in my garden so I-I guess they scratched me.” The slight stutter panicked Jungkook, as he was now convinced it was only a matter of time before she found out his secret plan. “I need to go home, Mom is probably worried about me. I’ll try looking again later.” 

With barely a farewell exchanged he had left the house and was walking back to his own, fear bubbling in his stomach. What if his mother had gone into his room and found Eliza, what if the cat had scratched all his belongings into oblivion, what if Eliza had actually died and he was going to break (Y/N)’s spirit rather than elate her?

With all the pondering in his head his pace quickened until he was at his home, dashing inside without greeting his mother and clambering up the stairs to burst into his room and find Eliza curled up on his bed, perfectly content.  He breathed a deep sigh of relief before taking a seat next to the old animal on his bed.

“Are you ready to make (Y/N) the second happiest person in the world?” He asked rhetorically, scratching Eliza’s head affectionately. “I am.” 

*.·:·.☽✧    ✦    ✧☾.·:·.*

(Y/N) had been sat at her desk, staring at the wall instead of doing her homework, when her mother called her down, saying she had a visitor. She didn’t budge for a second.

“It’s someone you’ll want to see!” Her mother yelled, but (Y/N) still refused to leave her lethargic state. 

There was some hushed whispering and the thump of clothed feet jogging up the stairs, before someone knocked at her door.

“Go away.” She groaned.

“(Y/N) I’m coming in.” Jungkook’s voice called out, before the door swung open.

“I’m not in the-” As she turned to face him, the sight of a bundle of fur in his arms elated her beyond belief.

“Oh my, oh, Eliza!” She instantly took the cat out of Jungkook’s arms and started cradling her in her own, despite the senior animal’s grunts. “Thank you so much Jungkookie, where on earth was she?” 

“Hiding in a corner of my garden. I guess I missed her on my first look.” (Y/N) didn’t question his story for one second, instead choosing to cuddle her beloved companion to her chest.

“Eliza you must be starving! Here, you can get some food from Mommy.” She placed her cat on the ground for the first time since they’d been reunited, letting Eliza plod to the kitchen.

“Jungkookie I don’t know how I could ever repay you-”

“I do.” The fifteen-year-old had a cheeky grin on his face as he spoke all too quickly, his eyes sparkling. “I want a kiss.”

“A-a kiss? B-but it’ll be my first time!” Jungkook was jumping up and down with joy internally knowing that he would be her first.

“You said you would give me anything?” He pressed, and (Y/N) nodded courageously.

“O-okay.” She didn’t protest as he tilted her head so she could meet his lips, nor when he finally did the deed. He noted with delight that her lips were soft and tasted faintly of the comfort chocolate she kept stashed away in the bottom of her drawer. She was addictive, but he soon drew away. No doubt there would be more opportunities to kiss her than just this once; they had their whole life ahead of them, together.

“T-that was…” (Y/N) was at a loss for words.“Nice?” 

Jungkook was a blushing mess when reality hit, that he had finally kissed the girl he was in love with, and that she liked it.

“C-Call me anytime you want to do it again.” He managed to say with some confidence to mask his giddy excitement. 

All kinds of new plans were starting to unfold. He’d happily kidnap someone else close to her, even torture them, just to make her more grateful when they return. Eliza wouldn’t be around for much longer, but he had plenty of ideas on how to keep (Y/N) close to him, to reap her rewards until finally she could love him as his final reward.

[unholyhelbig]

part 2 of the mitchsen journal au? where aubrey feels confused as the beca in the journal is different than the beca she's meeting?

[A/N: Ah, this isn’t exactly what you asked for, and I’ve also lost my touch because I haven’t written Mitchsen in a very long time. Apologies!]

Read the first part here 

Beca Mitchell woke up to the scent of eggs and the sound of bacon pushing grease into a pan. There was an even stream of light moving through the house and she fought the urge to stretch her feet to the edge of the bed, her fingers against the headboard. It would cause more pain than pleasure at that point.

She could feel the cold heat of the bullet wedged against her ribs. Beca always imagined it carving into the bone and creating a secret language that only she and the gunman could understand. This code meant she couldn’t’ do regular stuff like stretch or lift anything over twenty pounds until she got it removed.

But Beca didn’t’ want to see the inside of an OR for a long, long time; Not those neon lights that bred discomfort or the sharp stinging scent of antiseptic. She could see the worry in her doctor’s eyes as they tried to keep the blood inside of her where it belonged.

As long as it didn’t shift, and it hadn’t, she could keep it inside. She could wear it like a battle scar, a reminder- a symbol.

Emily was making breakfast and Beca flinched when the toast popped. She kept her breath silent and hugged her shirt closer to her body. Her roommate hadn’t whipped up anything stronger than cereal for the past four months. There must have been an occasion, or a change in lifestyle- or something that had the girl humming over the stove.

“I have a present for you on the table,” She said, not turning around.

There was a little journal in the center of the mahogany circle, expertly placed between some mats that echoed the Fourth of July, because that was the closest holiday and she let Emily decorate for anything and everything, knowing it brought her simple joy.

“What’s this?” Beca asked, picking up the book, the leather was cool against her palm.

“that is a journal, you know, to write in and stuff.”

Her roommate had a worried smile on her lips as she divided the eggs and set the plates respectively in their claimed seats. They hadn’t eaten a meal together in about a month, but even that wasn’t more substantial than a pizza shared over a cheesy film.

“I figured… but why are you giving it to me?”

She was grateful for the food and the kindness, and the way Emily had been trying to get her out of her shell again after the accident. She had tried, she had always tried, to entertain the idea. The idea of a therapist and a court-appointed lawyer that went after the man who had done this. But she sat quietly in both scheduled meets and nodded along.

“I think it would be a good idea to get your feelings on paper,” She loaded her fork up with steaking potatoes and eggs, “Not saying that you absolutely have to. You can burn it, or you can draw or, I don’t know, I think it would help.”

“I appreciate it, really, I do-“

Emily reached across the table, fingers warm from cooking and eyes warmer still “I want you to be okay, Bec’s. Just give it a shot. For me?”

Beca grabbed a piece of bacon, the heat residual from the pan pressed against her fingertips. She used her other hand to turn the journal around and look at its expert crafting. She supposed it could help, and if not, at least it would humor Emily.

“Thank you,” Beca settled “For breakfast, for this.”

She had an appointment later that day. There was a little annoying reminder in her phone that buzzed at the start of her day and then again an hour before she had to be at the office. It was downtown and took half an hour to walk, only ten minutes to drive, but Beca chose to walk. She always walked to Doctor Mallie’s.

The clinic tried its hardest to be warm, with its hand-painted pictures of the mountains and its smiling receptionist who grabbed her insurance each time before going back to filing her nails with that unsettling scratch. Beca picked up a random magazine each time and waited while her stomach dropped. She never registered the words, or the pictures, for that matter. But she wanted to look like she did.

She would get weighed and be reminded of her height before a cuff was put around her arm and an unfamiliar pressure lasted for a few seconds. And then she was waiting again. The tips of her boots would touch the linoleum and the lights overhead were buzzing. There weren’t any magazines for her to pretend to read here. Nothing but a photo of the inside of the human heart.

“Beca, you look well,” The woman said as she entered the room.

She was older, with salt and pepper hair that reached her shoulders. She forbade the classic white lab coat and went for a nice pink blouse instead. She never went straight into it, she asked her about life and about Emily, and about the diner before asking Beca to take her shirt off so they could get a good look at the bullet.

Her gloved hands were warm and cooking all at once. “It looks good, really, it does. You’ve been healing nicely and your vitals are steady. Blood pressure is a little elevated but I’ll chalk that up to white coat syndrome.”

“Thank you for that,” She started to rebutton her shirt “it’s still okay to keep it in?”

She got a hard look from Doctor Mallie, the steeliest one she could muster. The woman had been in children’s medicine before retiring and picking up a few extra shifts at a local clinic. It still made Beca want to shrink, so she focused her numb fingers on buttoning her shirt.

“You know I advise you to take it out. Anything that’s not naturally supposed to be in the human body should be removed. And before you make a crude joke about that, I’m referring to a chunk of lead.”

Beca sighed, but not too deep because it still pinched and pulled. “Five out of five doctors recommend removal.”

“Then maybe you should listen to one of us five, huh?” Doctor Mallie smiled weakly “Look, Beca, I know that this is important to you, a reminder of what happened. But I think… I think it would be a good idea to take it out. Physically it won’t harm you, but mentally, well, that’s  a bit out of my expertise.”

She nodded and finished with the last button, considering the woman’s point. There was no blood, no russet paste moving against her skin. That feeling of stark coldness as it spread against the tile and she heard the popping of the gun- it had all been momentary.

Maybe she should listen. To Emily, to Doctor Mallie. To anyone but herself, because what did she know?

Beca checked out with the receptionist, who was being cautious with the fresh coat of paint on her nails. She tried not the breathe the chemical scent it, tried even harder to walk the next few blocks to the diner. Her stomach rolling with the thought of food and the memory of something more.

Alice greeted her with a steaming cup of coffee and a broad smile. She would spend hours there, sometimes full days, just watching as customers walked in and out and the pie spinner kept up its slow crawl. Today she pulled out the journal, today she started to write about the appointment and the way Emily had stuck post it’s all over the kitchen to get her to remember. Today she wrote until her hand throbbed and the ink left little black spots on the page.

She did that for days, that April. Sometimes stopping at the office to make sure metal hadn’t soaked into her blood (Mallie explained that to her a few times, and she let herself get stabbed every once in a while) But she didn’t understand at all.

The journal helped, and she spent more time with Emily. She got nearly to the end of the leather-bound book before she had lost it altogether, and a dull ache ate away at her. But Beca didn’t admit that she missed it, or that her thoughts had been compromised by the darkness of the world.

Instead, she ordered a slice of cherry pie from Alice, ran her fingers over the bullet in her ribs, and resounded to the fact that she would start over that she would buy another journal and keep moving forward.

That day, her eyes flicked up each time the door opened. It had started to rain, but the sun still shone oddly through the thin grey clouds. But the scent of the spring day seemed to follow the patron in. She worked her fingers through damp blonde curls and flashed a startling green stare directly at Beca.

Out of all the seats in the small little diner, she chose the one next to her, accepting a cup of coffee and sliding a familiar leather-bound journal across the counter. Beca could feel her heart in her throat. “You uh, you should be mad, but I thought you would want this back. It seems important.”

It was so very important. She took three even sips of coffee, not caring much for the way it bit at her throat. “You got it back to me,”

The woman let out a breath and the floral scent that pulled at her was warming and captivating and Beca smiled into her cup as she took another sip to hide her pleasure in the closeness. Alice watched the interaction with a knowing gaze but when to tend to the only other occupied booth in the place.

“I’m Beca, by the way.” She said.

“Aubrey,” the woman switched into business mode, grabbing her hand in a firm shake “You have quite the story to tell.”

“Nice to meet you, Aubrey” Beca lifted a brow and tapped the cover of the leather book “Want to see a cool scar?”