#or spiral cause there’ll be nothing else for me to do

[hamsterwalled]

Tw sui

I don’t think I’m going to watch the last episode of mob psycho cause I’m legitimately afraid I’ll kill myself if I do 💀/srs

[shewhoridesonrainbows]

Words Upon Your Skin - Ch. 4

Edit: A lot of people were confused about the ASL part so I added a mini explanation.

AO3

Chapter 1 * Chapter 2 * Chapter 3 * Chapter 4 *

As they approached the manor Damian swore Todd to secrecy again. He didn’t want the rest of his family’s opinions on the matter until he’d figured out how he even felt about having a person out in the world that was bonded to him. Todd was the only other person to have spent any extended time with the League so he was the only one that understood the mindset Damian was raised with. And he didn’t feel like reliving that aspect of his childhood at the moment.

The cave should’ve been cool but Damian was burning up. He’d thought the sweat building on the back of his neck was from the afternoon sun beating down on his dark clothing but, as the bike pulled to a stop inside the air conditioned area of the Batcave, Damian knew he was most likely experiencing a side effect of what he was drugged with. 

Damian jumped off the bike and quickly checked his arm to make sure his soulmate’s message had faded before practically ripping his hoodie off. Left in just a T-shirt, Damian tossed the jacket on the ground at his feet.

“What’s wrong, Baby Bird?” Todd was still sitting on his bike though his helmet was perched in front of him. Damian glared at the offending garment he’d just thrown to the ground before answering.

“I was drugged today, Todd. Apparently, whatever it was causes hot flashes.” He was halfway towards the computer when he heard the door between the cave and the manor open.  The sound of Todd’s boots followed him.

Three sets of footsteps were making their way down the stairs. As the got closer Damian whipped around to remind Todd of their agreement and when he faced his brother the man was staring wide eyed at Damian’s right arm. He glanced down just in time to see more French as the rest of his family got close enough to see it as well.

It was Grayson that spoke first.

“Why did you write French on your arm?”

“Uhh,” Damian’s mind was drawing a blank. The migraine is really affecting my cognitive skills.

It was Todd that came to the rescue, “He was practicing languages other than English and Arabic, duh.”

Goddammit Todd.

“Jason,” Drake piped up from behind Grayson, “the rest of us understand French. And why would Damian need to practice writing,” he twisted his head to get a better look at Damian’s arm. “Why would he need to write ‘Sorry for writing so much in one go. My friends say I ramble too much. I’ll wait for you-’” Damian cut off the translating by hiding his arm behind his back. He glared at everyone in front of him.

Everyone waited for someone else to break the silence.

“Alright,” Todd clapped his hands together, “I’m gonna bite the bullet and say it. Kid, you’re in a room with the best detectives in the world, everyone has already figured it out.” Grayson winced.

“He’s right but he shouldn’t have said it,” Bruce finally spoke. The man looked at his son carefully before continuing, “When were you going to tell us that you have a soulmate?”

“Were you going to tell us?” Grayson asked when Damian didn’t answer.

“I-” the youngest started, “I don’t know.”

In a rare act of brotherly love, Todd moved in front of Damian to stop anymore questions. 

“Look guys, Baby Bird has only been with us for about seven years. He was raised by the League ‘til he was ten,” Todd took a breath before continuing. “After I was brought back, I spent time with the League, barely anything compared to Damian, but it was just enough to find out what they thought of soulmates.” Everyone started to look guilty when the League was brought up. They all knew how messed up that organization was. And how it messed up a good kid.

“Soulmate’s were a weakness. Nobody could join the League if they had one,” Damian’s voice was weak from behind To- No, Jason, I can at least call him Jason in my mind after this.  “So I never wrote on myself as a child.”

“And you’ve almost always worn long sleeves so you never saw their messages,” Drake supplied and Damian nodded.

Before anyone could say anything else Alfred appeared beside the group.

“I believe Master Damian hasn’t read the newest message yet and, until he deems otherwise, it’s something between the two of them.”

And, since Alfred’s word was law, everyone scattered in opposite directions, leaving Damian by himself. After making sure no one was looking his way, he pulled his arm in front of himself and read.

‘Sorry for writing so much in one go. My friends say I ramble too much. I’ll wait for you to write back before sending another message. I hope you have a nice night…or day. I don’t know what time zone you’re in.’

The words took up all of his forearm and part of his hand. Damian could already tell that whoever they are, his soulmate would talk a lot. And normally that would annoy him but for some reason, reading the long winded messages sparked a warmth in his chest that had nothing to do with his hot flash. That warmth was urging him to write something back…but what?

After so long of radio silence his soulmate was probably even more surprised by this turn of events than he was. What do you say to someone that everyone else in the world would’ve grown up talking to? ‘Hey, sorry it took so long, my mother and grandfather hated the idea of soulmates and I just never thought about the possibility that you existed after I went to live with my father. How are you?’ No, that was ridiculous. Do I even want to bring them into my life at all? It’s not like being Robin is any safer than being the heir to the League of Assassins. 

Damian was about to go into another downward spiral when his father coughed behind him.

“Damian, I’m sorry you had to go through what you did as a child. And I’m sorry you faced an inquisition here when you’re still figuring this out yourself.” His father awkwardly patted his shoulder then smiled gently. “If you have any questions, I’m here for you.”

“Father, I-” It went against the instincts forced into him as a child, but the last couple years of being surrounded by an annoying but loving family had softened those instincts. So Damian continued, “I don’t know what to say to someone I should’ve known since I could hold a pen.”

“Just introduce yourself. Ask them about their interests. If they’re your soulmate they’re probably smart enough to guess that something in your childhood prevented you from making contact. And I don’t think the universe would pair you with someone that wouldn’t understand that.”

Damian snorted, “I don’t know Father, Lady Luck hasn’t been smiling down at me lately.”

“Well, whatever you do, just know we’re here for you. I can’t say your brothers won’t tease you after everything has settled but just remember that it’s not meant to actually hurt you. If they go too far, tell them and they’ll back off.”

“Thanks, Father,” Damian smiled weakly, “I’ll try to come up with something to say.”

A single nod from his father before he walked towards Drake at the computer.

“What have you found so far?” The eldest Wayne asked. 

Drake sat back in his chair and grabbed for his mug sitting on the console. He took a sip then started reading from his files.

“Based on the info that Damian was able to gather, these guys are bringing in more girls through this dock,” Drake circled Pier 5 on a map of Gotham’s bay area, “tonight. Whatever pre-drugged Damian found out told him to bring Titus so there’ll probably be security measures to keep out thermal imaging. And lastly, the time Damian wrote down was 11 pm,” he looked at Bruce, “if it were me I’d want to be there sooner.”

Bruce nodded, “So, we’ll shoot for the whole team to be there at ten, but I want someone down there now to stake out the area.” He stepped back to look at all of his sons gathered around. “I’m sending Nightwing for now, the rest of you be ready. We leave in three hours.”

Everyone agreed. Grayson bounded off towards the suits to gear up and head out while Jason went to his guns to get them ready. Bruce glared at the weapons before sighing.

“Jason-”

“Don’t worry, Bats,” Jason interrupted with his back still turned towards them, “I’m loading up rubber bullets. They’ll leave a hell of a bruise but they won’t kill.”

Bruce sighed again, shook his head, then walked back upstairs to the manor, muttering about ‘too many kids’ along the way.

With a quick glance to make sure nobody was looking (Grayson suiting up, Jason cleaning his guns, and Drake pouting at his now empty mug) Damian grabbed a pen and walked to a chair sitting in the darkest part of the cave. There was barely enough light to see with as he put the tip of the pen to his skin.

‘Hello, thank you for not asking why this is just starting now. My father suggested I ask what your interests are…’ Damian’s cheeks flamed up. Why did I say that my father told me to ask? I’m embarrassing myself in my first intentional message. He was about to wipe it off and hope that his soulmate had not seen the message yet when ink started welling up from beneath his skin.

‘I like fashion and video games. What about you?’

He was surprised again. They messaged back very quickly and, since the bond could tell that he’d already read the message, the ink faded just as quickly. 

He tried to wipe away his writing but it only smudged. Damian jerked his head up in search of a towel or wet cloth to aid him only to see Alfred already holding one towards him. Damian grabbed it with a ‘thank you’.

“Don’t worry, Master Damian, I won’t tell your brothers,” Alfred said as he turned and walked away. Damian sent a silent ‘thank you’ at the butler’s retreating back.

After carefully cleaning the spot, Damian had to think of a safe interest of his to talk about. He was drawing a blank until Titus bounded down the stairs into the Batcave. 

Damian smiled as he wrote.

‘I like animals.’

He didn’t have to wait long before his arm was full of a block of French.

‘Really? I’ve always wanted a pet of my own but my parents run a bakery so I was never able to get one. After I move I might get a dog or a cat. I used to want a hamster a couple years ago but I’ve realized it wouldn’t work out very well. I might lose them. Do you have any pets?’

He stared, wide eyed, at the paragraph. His ink on his arm hadn’t dried yet so wiping it away was significantly easier this time.

‘Yes, I have a Great Dane named Titus.’ From there the two soulmates went back and forth for a couple minutes, answering back as soon as the other’s message was read.

‘My friend looked it up and Great Danes are HUGE dogs. He even teased me that yours would be bigger than I am… my friend also told me to ask you something called ASL, do you know what that means?’

‘Titus is bigger than some grown men so I wouldn’t doubt that other Great Danes are bigger than a teenager.’ Damian’s face screwed up into a displeased expression at the end of his soulmate’s message unsure on how he felt about it. Before he could continue, another message from his soulmate came through.

‘Nevermind, he told me. He’s grounded from food from the bakery for the rest of the night for making me ask for your "age, sex, location". And, to answer my own question, I’m 16, a girl, and I live in Paris.’ 

‘I’m a year older, male, and I live in America’ Damian didn’t want to get too specific on his location. Getting a surprise soulmate was bad enough, I do NOT need her showing up in Gotham with so many villains running around. He just hoped his soulmate didn’t feel offended about his vagueness and, if his father was right about the universe, she would understand him.

‘Well,’ the word appeared on his arm followed closely with, ‘it was great talking to you. I have to go to bed now, my parents got on to me for staying up until almost 3 playing video games. Oh! I haven’t told them about you yet. The only reason my friend knows is because he’s the one that noticed the first message. Do you mind if I tell them?’ 

Damian’s heart stuttered. She waited to tell anyone until she checked if I wanted others to know.

 ‘I’m fine if you tell the people in your life about me. Most people are very excited to have a soulmate and I’m honestly surprised you didn’t immediately tell anyone, my family already knows so it would only be fair if yours did as well. I know my brothers are just waiting to be able to tease me.’

Great, now I’m rambling. My soulmate has already rubbed off on me. 

‘How should we address each other since the bond blocks our names?’ He asked. The wait between this question and her answer was the longest gap in conversation on her end since they’d first began. 

‘I think it should come naturally, don’t you think?’ 

‘Okay,’ he agreed. ‘I’ll let you get to sleep now, good night.’

He waited until she replied ‘good night’ back then stood. With the soulmate drama taken care of, it was time to suit up and be ready to leave. 

As his soulmate slept, Robin had a job to do.

NEXT

@vixen-uchiha @kel121288 @northernbluetongue @vivalakitty @bluerosette23 @angelofmusickaterinapetrova @zaladanee @crazylittlemunchkin @professionalfangirl1738 @violatiger8 @creator-josie @18-fandoms-unite-08 @dur55 @i-am-fandom-trash30 @i-like-fairytail-and-stuff @kanamexzeroyaoifangirl @schrodingers25

[pomegranate-belle]

V-day ask meme 5 with mattfoggy?

5. Character spends all day trying to give a valentine to their crush, only to be foiled in increasingly ridiculous ways

So this became... 3k words. I feel like this trope is very high-school oriented, but somehow the fic ended up being comicsverse so idk. It’s set... Somewhere in a post-whatever-run-we’re-on-now future where Kirsten is back and Matt’s not stupidly sleeping with mob boss wives. Also, massive apologies to any X-Men fans; I do not know shit or fuck about characterizing Magneto and Professor X, I just wanted Sir Ian and Patrick Stewart to cameo in this fic—

—

Despite all the commercialism and the overwhelming scent of flowers and processed candy, there’s just something about the aura of Valentine’s Day that Matt likes. People young and old get excited for it — whether for romantic purposes or just because chocolate will soon be on sale — and their feelings infuse the air in a way Matt can’t quite pin down to one or another of his senses. The Valentine Vibe, Kirsten had called it when he tried to explain the sensation to her.

He’s... Ecstatic, to have her back in his life, there’s really no other word for it. They’re not quite what they once were — in fact, Matt has no idea what they are except she’s there and they love each other but they’re not the kind of people who kiss each other anymore. Still, after climbing out of his latest spiral to find her waiting at the top? He can’t think of a better dynamic to have with an ex. She’s still Kirsten, after all. She’s still intelligent and funny and brave and doesn’t take his shit.

She’s also begun to take a particularly pointed interest in his relationship with Foggy that he thinks he should maybe be a little frightened about. Her intention is that Matt, so she says, ‘stop pining and seduce him already’ — which is easy enough for her to say, but just because he and Kirsten followed an absolutely fantastic trail of sexual tension to an even more fantastic relationship does not mean the same thing will work with Foggy.

You don’t seduce Foggy Nelson, and Matt would know. He’s been trying unsuccessfully for fifteen years and he is not subtle. Matt knows he looks good even if he can’t see it himself; the empirical evidence is pretty, uh, evident. But whenever Foggy sees him shirtless his only reaction is to toss a shirt at him and tell him to cover his shame with a warm fondness that’s simultaneously disappointing and heartwarming. Matt’s not even on the menu to Foggy, he’s concluded. But, well. Matt’s always been a champion of lost causes, and all that.

Besides, best friends give each other stuff on Valentine’s Day all the time. Foggy loves chocolate, and he’ll probably brush off what the ‘oh my god Matt you big softie this is totally the sappiest one in the store’ card Kirsten helped Matt pick out says as being a joke, so it’s not like there’ll be any negative repercussions. Matt’s resolved. He’s gonna do it.

Unfortunately, Foggy’s in a meeting with a client when Matt shows up to probably-unsuccessfully sweep him off his feet. The secretary says it’s set to go on another two hours. Matt doesn’t have that kind of time to bandy around now that he’s trying to be responsible with his work-life balance, so he makes a tactical retreat.

Fine. He’ll just take Foggy out to lunch and give him his valentine then. No problem.

—

They actually do make it to lunch, which gives Matt a false sense of security. He decides to save the valentine for the end — like dessert. It’ll be sweet, he’s certain, and he’ll be able to savor Foggy’s happiness the entire time he walks him back to his office.

Matt is just about to pull out his gift and offer it to Foggy when his phone starts announcing Jessica Jones’s name. He spends about three seconds too long debating whether to answer or not.

“If you ghost her she’ll beat the crap out of you,” Foggy points out, standing with a metallic rasp of chair legs against the floor. “I’ll head out and let you take that.”

Foggy sounds content, smells like deli ham and honey mustard and potato chips — a not-super-healthy sandwich lunch masquerading as something more so by way of a thin layer of lettuce — and gives off the same soothing body heat he always has, excepting his bout with cancer that Matt tries not to think about. To make a long story short, he feels like home to every one of Matt’s senses, and it’s a struggle not to ask him to stay. Still, the insistence of Matt’s phone prevails, because he knows what Jess is calling about. He’d asked her to help keep an eye on Mike and let him know if he was up to anything — if she has something to report, it’s bound to be important. So, Matt offers Foggy a nod and then pulls out his cell to answer her.

—

Of course, both he and Foggy are busy all afternoon, but Matt knows that Foggy usually knocks off early on Fridays, so he wraps up his own business — meeting with Jess to discuss strategy, any work that can’t be pushed to later — as efficiently as possible and follows suit. His plan is to meet Foggy right as he’s stepping onto the sidewalk — waylay him and present him with the valentine before anything else can interfere. Except that as he’s strolling along down the street, Matt happens to hear a mugging going on down an alley that he’s passing. Breaking that up takes more time than he’s willing to admit — god, he’s getting old — and even vaulting over a few rooftops doesn’t make up the delay. Foggy’s gone when Matt reaches his destination. He lets his head fall back against the brick wall behind him, breathing heavily, and then reaches for his phone.

“Matt?” Foggy’s voice is tinny and confused and perfect over the phone line. “What’s up?”

“Dinner?” Matt asks. “I was thinking Italian tonight, want to meet me at Maria’s at five-thirty?”

There’s a long, long pause.

“Yeah, sure thing, Matty. I figured you’d already have plans...?”

“Nah, nothing. See you then.”

—

Fourth time’s the charm, that’s what they say, right? Maria’s is quaint and quiet and always smells like good bread and cheese. He and Foggy aren’t the only ones there — a few couples seem to be scattered around the room, including a pair of teenage girls that are probably on a first date based on the way they fumble their words and their silverware. There’s also two elderly men, one in a wheelchair, who sound like they might be playing chess on a travel board while they wait for their food. They all add to the atmosphere instead of disturbing it, though, which is nice. Across the table, Foggy clears his throat, scraping the tines of his fork through his food.

“So. Lunch and dinner? I feel like you’re buttering me up for something,” he says. “We don’t have to move back to California, do we? Because I will, but I only just unpacked my last box a few weeks ago and it’s going to be a pain to pack it all up again.”

“No! No, nothing like that, Foggy,” insists Matt. “Seriously. I just want to spend time with you. Is that really so out of character?”

“On Valentine’s Day?” Foggy points out, and his silverware clinks against his plate. “I mean, kind of.”

The implication isn’t lost on Matt — don’t you usually have a date? — but he doesn’t address it. Foggy is his date, but couching it like that out loud is a little too presumptive, even for him.

“Well, not this year.”

Matt smiles his most charming smile, and it nets him a fond sigh, the kind that’s normally paired with Foggy ruffling his hair.

—

Again, Matt waits until the end of the meal. This time, they get to dessert, and the moment is perfect. They’re comfortably full, happy, and relaxed. It doesn’t matter if Foggy sees the gesture as romantic or not, because at least Matt can be satisfied that it was done as romantically as possible. His sense of aesthetics, such as it is, will be appeased.

Which is, of course, the moment the door of the restaurant bursts open.

“Magneto!” shouts a man, storming into the restaurant with heavy, clomping bootsteps and shattering the moment to pieces. “I’ll kill you!!”

Matt is going to kick this guy’s ass.

What is he even yelling about? Magneto? Magneto’s not—

And then one of the old men stands. Every spoon in the restaurant rattles towards him when he pushes back his chair, prompting a sigh from his dinner companion. And so it turns out that maybe the guy bursting through the door isn’t as off-base as Matt assumed. That old guy really is Magneto. It actually takes Matt a minute to realize that the man in the wheelchair across the table must be Charles Xavier. Xavier just isn’t someone Matt hangs around a lot, he tends to steer clear of both him and his academy when possible. It’s not mutants Matt has a problem with, though — it’s telepaths. The idea of someone poking around in his brain pan without so much as a by-your-leave gives him goosebumps. And not the fun kind.

As Matt considers all this, the scene continues — he notices distantly that the teenagers are being ushered towards the kitchen and away from the action. There’s a few whiffs of air as punches are thrown by the unknown assailant, and an unpleasant burning smell. Matt’s torn between shuffling Foggy away from danger and joining the fray himself, but when Foggy reaches out and grabs his hand for comfort he finds he can do neither.

“Let me very firmly impress upon you the enormity of your rudeness,” says Magneto, his voice crisp and cold.

Matt can’t even tell what he’s doing — something about Magneto’s powers is messing with his radar sense in the most disorienting way — but it sounds painful. Matt debates with himself the pros and cons of shaking off Foggy’s grip and intervening.

“Erik,” Xavier says warningly, though there’s still something quietly warm suffusing his tone.

“Oh, very well.”

The would-be assassin hits the floor with a thud that rattles the dishes on Matt and Foggy’s table. He’s breathing, a little bit labored, but still alive. And unconscious. Also possibly bleeding a little bit, but it’s hard to tell with the scent of all the metal in the air.

And that, he supposes, is why you don’t mess up Magneto’s dinner plans.

Magneto and Professor X make their leisurely escape, leaving Matt’s romantic moment with Foggy thoroughly in ruins. He lets it go, sighing into the last bite of his tiramisu and gives the plan up as a bad job. Maybe next year, he thinks wryly as he and Foggy get up together to examine the man left on the floor.

“He’s wrapped up in a chain of spoons,” Foggy narrates quietly, nudging the guy with his toe. “Wasn’t sure if you could tell that, you looked confused. He must have some sort of acid powers though because he managed to melt a few on their way in. I think maybe he just fainted when the chain tightened. Are you able to sense any really bad injuries?”

Matt tilts his head and concentrates.

“No,” he determines at last. “No, nothing.”

That settled, they split the check and book it before they can get caught up in a police investigation or a mutant hunt.

Their apartments are in opposite directions, so there’s not even an excuse to give Foggy the valentine on the way home. And anyway, Matt’s feeling so discouraged that he’s not sure he even wants to go through with it anymore. He turns for home, planning to crumple up the card and maybe eat the chocolates himself.

“Matt.”

There’s a tug as Foggy grabs his sleeve. He turns towards the warmth of Foggy’s body, the sounds of his heart and his breath, and tries to offer a smile.

“What?”

Foggy gives him a quiet huff in return.

“Come on, Matt, give me a little credit. You’ve kept coming up with excuses to meet me all day. There’s something you wanted to say, and you still haven’t said it,” he explains. “I can tell. So let’s head back to mine and you can finally get it off your chest.”

Matt feels, suddenly, seen. It’s an unsettling and vulnerable feeling, but he knows beyond all doubt that he’s safe with Foggy. That it’s silly of him to be surprised at somebody knowing him so well when that somebody is Foggy. There’s not much the two of them can hide from each other after being best friends for so long. Mood improved a little, Matt manages a more genuine smile, and they walk on together.

—

“So, what exactly is your problem, Matt?” Foggy asks once they’re safely inside.

And it’s not as if he says it in a rude way, he actually sounds very earnest and concerned, but that just impresses on Matt all the more how stupid this entire situation is. He’s twisted himself in knots all day over one dumb little gift for one dumb little holiday. Annoyed with himself, Matt divests himself of his glasses, cane, and suit jacket, opens up his briefcase, plops the valentine and accompanying small box of chocolates inside down on Foggy’s coffee table, then flops onto the couch on his back.

“That,” he says, gesturing towards it. “That’s my problem, ok?”

Foggy laughs.

“That’s what all this was about? A valentine? You had me worried you were getting ready to pull some crazy stunt or another.” He pauses, likely studying the items set on the coffee table. “Chocolate and a card, huh? For Kirsten, I’m guessing? I had a feeling the two of you would be getting back t—”

Matt is extremely tired of Foggy’s assumptions.

“No, it’s for you! I’ve been trying to give it to you all day!” he complains, throwing an arm over his face — he might be a grown man but after the day he’s had he’s allowed to be a little dramatic, ok?

“Me?”

Foggy sounds surprised and pleased, but not like he’s having any sort of revelation about Matt’s feelings for him. Which is fine. That’s what Matt had expected, after all.

“Yup.”

“Well, if it is for me, then I guess I don’t have to feel guilty about wanting to eat these,” Foggy says, and there’s some rustling of cardboard and plastic as he opens the box of sweets and chooses one.

Raspberry-filled, Matt’s nose tells him as soon as it’s bitten into. With a pleased hum at the taste, Foggy picks up the card and opens the envelope. There’s further quiet, inarticulate sounds after that — noises Matt remembers from studying near Foggy, the sound of him not-quite-reading-aloud.

There’s a pause.

Foggy’s heart does a funny kind of stutter in his chest, then speeds up considerably. He swallows the chocolate in his mouth with a gulp that sounds distinctly nervous.

“Um. Matty...”

And now Matt’s nervous too. He sits up, clenches his fingers in the fabric of his slacks to keep from reaching for his glasses.

“What? What is it?” he demands.

“Did you, uh... Did you know Kirsten wrote in this?”

Oh no.

“What did she write?”

“Well, there’s a pretty long spiel about what she’ll do to us if we hurt each other,” Foggy says, with a jovial tone that rings very hollow. “But she also says I need to get over myself and kiss you because you’re an emotionally stunted duckling and won’t make the first move.”

“... Ah.”

Matt’s still trying to calculate the relative distance to the ground if he flings himself out the window when Foggy’s hand lands on his shoulder.

“Is she right?” he asks Matt.

“About what?”

Though he tries for a devil-may-care grin, Matt thinks it probably comes out a little anemic.

“About you wanting to kiss me, Matthew,” Foggy says drily. “we both already know you’re emotionally stunted.”

Matt shrugs.

“I do. But you don’t, and that’s fine, I’m... I don’t need...”

“I don’t?” asks Foggy, sounding incredulous. “Matty, come on. There’s pretty much nobody on Earth who’d turn you down and you really think I would?”

“But...? You never said...”

Foggy sighs and steps back. Matt gets the feeling he’s probably shaking his head in despair at Matt’s apparent idiocy.

“And why would I, Matt? I mean. You know what I mean! I’m just not the kind of person you would... They have leagues for a reason, buddy.”

That self-depreciation, light but tinged with a very deep melancholy that Matt knows is drilled right through to Foggy’s core, drives him to his feet in agitation.

“Objection!” he snaps, and doesn’t care how ridiculous it sounds. “I’ve flirted with you before! How could you think...”

“You flirt with everything that moves, Matt, I knew you didn’t mean it. That’s just who you are,” Foggy explains patiently.

“Well...” He can’t exactly deny it. “Yeah, but I did want to kiss you. Do want to kiss you. All the time. Except after you eat something gross and unfit for human consumption.”

Foggy offers up a quiet laugh, then, and it smooths some of Matt’s ruffled feathers when he can’t detect any bitterness in the sound.

“Real smooth, Casanova,” Foggy says. “That was sarcasm by the way. I’m rolling my eyes at you.”

“But you still want to kiss me too,” Matt replies, because he’s beginning to think it’s true and he knows Foggy finds it both irritating and endearing, but more the latter, when he’s smug about things.

“You really are unbearable. What do I see in you, I ask myself,” laments Foggy, even as he steps forward and cups Matt’s cheek in his hand.

Matt can hardly stop grinning long enough to swoop in and kiss him first.

[mithranqueersmusings]

Before This Dance Is Through VII

Chapter: 7/16

Rating: T

Summary: Ringo's being going through a dry spell for the last year or so and when he regretfully tells his best friend John, he insists on taking them to an all-male strip club for some "fun". Ringo isn't sure whether it's the alcohol, his desperation or a mixture of the two but he thinks he might be falling in love with a stripper.

Tags: AU - Strippers, Modern Setting, Smut, Slow Burn

Pairings: George Harrison/Ringo Starr, John Lennon/Paul McCartney

AO3 link here / Fic masterlist here

Ringo tried to remain seated as another man walked up to the stage, he'd set to work taking Spike's shoes off then moved on to the stockings which resulted in a great deal of touching. Ringo tried, but he couldn't.

"I need a smoke." Ringo announced, finishing his drink in one quick swig then pulling at the fabric of John's shirt.

John allowed himself to be dragged back through the club, he sipped his drink as Ringo hurried outside. Ringo felt like he could breathe better as soon as they got past the door, the night air filling his lungs which was quickly replaced with smoke. He almost dropped the cigarette in his frantic state, his hand continued to shake as he tried to light it. This had been a bad idea, he should've known.

"You alright?" John asked in a quieter voice, lighting up his own cigarette.

Ringo simply nodded as he puffed desperately, he hoped smoking would help calm him down somewhat but it only seemed to be furthering his panic. John looked at him worriedly but didn't say anything further for the moment. It wasn't very often that Ringo got emotional, especially not around John, but he was finding it near impossible to keep whatever mixture of rage and panic was bubbling inside of him from surfacing. He wanted to go home, the awful sinking feeling in his stomach told him, but he knew that wasn't the answer. But if that wasn't the answer, what was? He was being an idiot, he had been an idiot this entire time, from the moment he returned to this place he'd begun digging himself into a hole. John could clearly notice the chaos going on inside Ringo's mind, his eyes distant and his brows tightly pressed together, so with his free hand he rubbed Ringo's shoulder lightly. Ringo's mind was desperate to spiral off into nothingness, becoming cloudy and heavy somehow, but the feeling of John against his skin grounded him.

"What's going on in there?" John let out a soft chuckle, he was never the best at dealing with emotional crises.

Ringo let out a heavy sigh and finally turned to look over to John, whose face was twisted with both uncomfortableness and pity "I really like him."

"Spike?" John asked, his voice was a far higher pitch than usual.

"Who else?" Ringo scoffed, he finished his cigarette and lit another one immediately.

"Shit." John sighed, letting go of Ringo and leaning up against the wall.

"Shit." Ringo repeated.

Letting the confession fall out of his mouth made him feel a little better, but it also made everything far more real and that was definitely a bad thing. He hadn't even admitted it to himself, not really.

"Why don't you tell him?" John suggested.

Ringo couldn't help laughing "Grand idea. Hello Spike, or whatever your real name is because I know absolutely nothing about you, you might remember me from the two or three words I've said to you. Do you wanna get a drink?" Ringo mocked, his tone was becoming venomous.

John sniggered "I've gotten away with worse."

"But I'm not you, John. I don't want some meaningless shag with some stranger. I want something real." Ringo leaned against the wall beside him.

"I know you're pissed, Ringo, but you don't have to take it out on me." John's tone was light, but Ringo could sense the hints of hurt behind his words.

"Well you're the one who brought me here in the first place, it's practically your fault." Ringo mumbled.

"Yeah to cheer you up, you daft git. If I had known you were gonna fall head over heels with a fucking stripper, I wouldn't have invited you." John clicked his tongue in his mouth.

"I'm not head over heels." Ringo retorted, neither of them were looking at each other.

"I know you. You don't go around liking just anybody. When you do it's serious." John flicked the ash from the end of his cigarette "Don't beat yourself up about it, there'll be someone else."

"I'd believe you if it hadn't already been a year since I've even fucked somebody." Ringo sighed.

"Just fuck somebody then, Jesus. It's not a big deal. The reason you're so obsessed with that pretty boy in there is probably cause you're so bloody frustrated." John began raising his voice a little.

"I'm not obsessed." Ringo scoffed, he folded his arm across his chest while he smoked with the other.

"Sure." John said bluntly.

They smoked in silence for a while, if anybody walked passed them they never would've guessed they were lifelong friends. When John finished his cigarette he flicked it over to the drain and let out a sigh.

"Are you gonna sulk all night? Cause if you are we may as well just go home now." John put his hands into his pockets, looking at Ringo sternly.

"I'm not fucking sulking!" Ringo cried out "Would it kill you to be a little sympathetic for just a second? Would it?"

John blinked at him shocked, it seemed like he was waiting for Ringo to apologise but when that didn't happen he just let out a disappointed huff "I'll leave you out here to have your little tantrum, alright? I'll be inside when you've calmed down."

Ringo didn't have time to respond, not that he wanted to, as John hurried past him and slunk back into the club. Had anyone else spoken to him like that, Ringo wouldn't have stood for it, but it was John and he was used to it by now. Spats like this between the two of them weren't completely unheard of, although most of the time Ringo would de-escelate the situation before it got too intense but he didn't have the energy right now to do that. John was never comfortable being confronted with raw emotion, in all the years he'd known him he'd gotten a little better but that wasn't saying much. It was one of the many reasons Ringo tried to stay so positive all the time, because he knew if he allowed himself to wallow in negativity there wouldn't really be an avenue of escape because John was far too overwhelmed by his own emotions to cater to anyone else's. He didn't hold it against him, he understood what John had been through, but in this moment he wished he would've been offered more comfort than a mere hand on the shoulder.

Luckily the alcohol was clouding his mind somewhat or else what had just happened would've really upset him. Now he just had to figure out what to do. The smartest option was to go home, drink a ridiculous amount of water and pass out on his bed. But it had gotten past the point of making smart decisions. Ringo tried to calm himself as he finished his second cigarette but the ordeal with John had just riled him up further. More alcohol was the worst idea but it was the choice he made, stubbing out the cigarette and heading back inside. He just had to stop thinking, that was the problem, and nothing stopped negative thoughts quite like alcohol did.

The club was still as rammed as before, which was a relief to Ringo because he didn't want to risk bumping into John just yet. Situations like this always resulted in Ringo apologising first, usually in person but sometimes over text, then John would be a little distant for the remainder of the day then would pretend like nothing had happened the following morning. Ringo was more than ready to apologise, just not yet. Instead he slumped into a seat at the further bar and ordered a drink to get him started.

On the main stage was a dancer in a school girl outfit, complete with pigtails and little bows on the socks. Ringo had always thought that it was a little creepy, but the audience seemed be enjoying it immensely, so he just turned his back and focused on the drink in hand. He expected that John had pulled Paul away for a private dance, so he at least had a little bit of time to himself.

Ringo was three drinks down when he started to hear raised voices from somewhere in the corner. Part of him expected to turn around to find John picking a fight with someone, it would've been far from the first time, but instead there had been a different familiar face. Spike. He seemed to have a habit of cropping up both at the perfect and worst time, but right now it seemed that he was struggling far more than Ringo was. He'd changed his outfit from earlier: he was wearing the same heels and stockings but the corset and tutu were replaced with a white crop top and the tight, black shorts Ringo had seen him in before. Evidently Ringo hadn't been the only one to take notice of his enticing appearance, a man was stood beside Spike with his arm thrown over his shoulder which pulled them together closely. He was muttering something to Spike who looked immensely uncomfortable, his eyes were darting around nervously. For a moment Ringo just turned away, he didn't want to be caught staring, and returned to his drink. Surely if something bad happened the security would step in immediately. Surely.

As much as he was trying not to listen, Ringo couldn't help it, he couldn't stop himself from being a little concerned. He couldn't really pick anything out, but he could tell from the tones of both of their voices that the man was clearly very interested in one thing in particular, while Spike was trying to politely decline. When he turned his head once again things seemed to escalate pretty quickly: the man pushed Spike up against the wall roughly and began shamelessly pawing over him, Spike tried to push back against him but he looked utterly exhausted - no doubt from working nonstop. Ringo looked around rapidly to see if anyone else had taken notice of it, but with the crowds of people it was near impossible to see very far at all, Ringo had no doubt that this man had noticed that too before he decided to make his move. Even the bartender was far too preoccupied to pay attention to anything happening around them. Ringo turned back again where the two of them were still struggling against one another.

When Ringo had heard the phrase 'seeing red' he'd never understood it, always thought it was more of a figure of speech than anything with any real meaning. That was until that moment. He didn't remember getting up from the bar, or walking over to the corner where Spike was being assaulted, but he definitely remembered the feeling of the man's face against his fist. Ringo wasn't a violent person, it was one of the last words anybody would've used to describe him, but with everything that had happened so far on that night mixed dangerously with copious amounts of alcohol, he was far from passive. The man hadn't been expecting the punch, he hadn't even seen Ringo approaching him because he was so honed in on Spike and trying to get him to still in his grasp. He'd stumbled backwards, his hand immediately going up to grip his jaw. That easily could've been the end of it, if the man had just stood down and hurried away shamefully, but he didn't.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" He yelled out, raising back up to his full height which was significantly taller than Ringo - he hadn't really considered that aspect when he'd been sitting down.

"Could ask you the same thing." Ringo felt the adrenaline rushing through his body, grinning excitedly.

"You're fucking dead, mate." The man began grinning too and it wasn't until that point that Ringo realised he might've been making a massive mistake.

The man swung for Ringo and missed, somehow he was the drunker one. Spike screamed out, he was still pressed up against the wall looking fairly panicked. Ringo didn't try to punch him again, at least not the first time, he didn't actually want to start a fight. But he didn't really have a choice when a fist flew towards his face again, he ducked out of the way fairly easily and threw another punch at the man's stomach. By this point people around had started noticing what was happening, yet there was still no sign of security. As most drunk crowds did when confronted with a fight, they began chanting and cheering loudly. Somehow the man got a grip of Ringo by the shoulders, he was a lot stronger than Ringo had anticipated, and he was essentially helpless as the man thrust his head down onto Ringo's own which sent a seering pain through his body - that certainly wasn't going to help with the hangover in the morning. The man went to headbutt Ringo again but before he could even try, he buckled at the knees and stumbled backwards. Ringo whipped his head around quickly to see Spike had taken off his heels and was wielding them like a weapon, it would've been a comical sight if his ears weren't currently ringing.

Security finally showed up by the time the man was regaining awareness, they gripped both him and Ringo and escorted them roughly to the entrance. Spike had been calling out something, Ringo figured to try and explain what had happened but they were far from interested. As he was shoved out onto the pavement, his feet skidding across the floor, Ringo only hoped that John hadn't seen the whole ordeal. Now was probably as good a time as any to text him an apology of sorts.

        just got kicked out so im heading home         sorry for being dramatic         please let me know when you get home safe

He stared at the words before sending them. A sigh left his mouth as he locked his screen and slid it back into his pocket, at least it hadn't gotten smashed in the chaos of it all. As he looked back upwards, expecting to see a very unhappy looking bouncer, he was surprised to see Spike standing there. His makeup had ran a little around his eyes from where they must've watered in distress. He was clutching his arms around himself in an attempt to shield from the cold. Instead of the usual smug grin he wore, he had a small, almost timid, smile across his lips.

"Spike." Ringo breathed out instinctively.

"Only after 9." He chuckled but it came out heavy and a little sad.

"Are you alright?" Ringo took a step forward but halted before getting any closer "I'm sorry for all that, I don't really know what happened. I-"

"Thank you." Spike interrupted him "I would've done him in myself if I could. But thanks for coming to my rescue."

"N-no problem." Ringo stammered a little "You won't get in trouble will you?"

Spike laughed, a genuine one this time "Should bloody hope not. Don't think you'll be getting back in tonight, though."

"That's fine by me. I should be heading home anyway." Ringo sighed, the adrenaline was fading rapidly and he was beginning to feel tired.

"Do you wanna get a drink?" Spike asked with a potential hint of nervousness "Feel like I owe you one."

"You don't owe me anything, honestly." Ringo smiled at him, it felt like the first time they'd properly looked at one another "Don't you have to get back to work?"

"Un-fucking-likely. I knew this whole thing was a bad idea, I knew people were gonna get too grabby. I tried to tell Paul but he wouldn't listen." Spike sighed.

"It was Paul's idea?" Ringo found it quite amusing.

"Yeah." Spike's attention snapped back, he'd been drifting before "You know Paul?"

"Not really. My mate John's one of his frequent customers, I believe." Ringo raised his eyebrows suggestively.

"Oh yeah, John." Spike exhaled a quick laugh "Is he here tonight?"

"Somewhere. We had a bit of a tiff so I think he's run off to Paul." Ringo tried not to sound bitter, but a tinge of resentment came out in his voice.

"About what? If you don't mind me asking." Spike had begun shivering.

Ringo didn't feel like he could answer, he never liked lying even if it was something small but he knew telling the truth in this moment would've been self-destructive. While he tried to think of something acceptable that they could've been arguing about outside a gay strip club on a Tuesday night, he just stated at Spike blankly. No thought came to him.

"Nothing." Ringo said plainly, finally breaking eye contact "I should probably be heading home, don't wanna keep you out in the cold any longer."

"Take me for a drink then." Spike retorted and it alerted Ringo for a moment "I just need to grab my things."

"Er- Are you sure? You really don't owe me anything." Ringo felt his pace quickening.

"You'll owe me if you keep trying so hard to be polite." Spike winked then began turning his back "Just wait here, alright?"

"Okay." Ringo stood there dumbfounded as Spike headed back into the club.

Spike hadn't put his heels back on from when he'd attacked his attacker, he was holding them by the strap in two fingers. Ringo wondered whether he was going to change or not before they headed out. Then he felt like slapping himself for worrying about something so unimportant. Who cares what he was going to wear? The reality of the situation was slowly sinking in, it had a thick barrier of alcohol to work through before it fully did. Spike had asked him out for a drink, that had really happened. The last thing Ringo thought he needed right now was more alcohol, but if it meant getting to spend some normal time alone together - as normal as it could be between a man who was infatuated with a mysterious stripper who he'd just defended from a pervert - he'd do just about anything.

Spike had been gone for a while and Ringo began to panic a little: had he only been joking? Shit. Perhaps this was too good to be true after all. Ringo was considering slinking back to his place, it was a ridiculously long walk but he figured he could use the time to sober up, but before he could make a decision Spike reappeared from the darkness. He was wearing a black fur coat over his clothes which he'd evidently changed, the heels and stockings were gone to be replaced with colourful flares and dark boots.

"Sorry I took so long, Paul wanted a run down." Spike smiled warmly, it almost didn't look like him.

"It's fine." Ringo returned the smile.

"Know anywhere half-decent to go?" Spike asked as he slowly began walking, Ringo quickly moved to walk beside him.

"I dunno about decent, but I know cheap." Ringo chuckled, he was managing to fight back the nerves for now.

"Perfect." Spike plunged his hands into his pockets and sank a little into the warmth of his coat.

As silence began to fall between the two of them, Ringo's phone buzzed.

        i just heard what happened are you okay???

        im fine         ill call you tomorrow and fill you in

        what are you doing now??         i can come home with you if they wont let you back in

        no no you stay         im heading out for drinks

        with who????         wait         NO WAY

Ringo chuckled quietly at his phone then slid it quickly back into his pocket before allowing Spike the opportunity to read the texts, as much as Ringo doubted he was overly interested he didn't want to risk anything.

"That your mate?" Spike asked, he'd taken out a cigarette and had placed it between his lips which were still painted.

"Yeah..." Ringo worried he'd come across as rude already.

"He seems like a good sort." Spike commented, his words muffled as he held the cigarette between his hips while he lit it.

"You don't know the half of it." Ringo smiled.

[ofstarsandvibranium]

My Heart in Your Hands

Fandom: Marvel (Cop AU - Sweet As Cinnamon Sugar Universe)

Pairing: Chubby!Bucky x Reader

Summary: Just because you and Bucky are now together doesn’t mean that he still doesn’t have insecurities. 

warning: self-deprecation, implications of psychological abuse, low self-esteem

A/N: For @holy-captain ‘s 500 Follower Writing Challenge. Congrats you amazing being, you! My prompt was dialogue 5:  “You could have anyone that you want.” “Okay, and I choose you.”

After you met Bucky’s precinct family, everything seemed to be fine. But now, he was meeting your friends and he totally understands the anxiety you felt that night of Fury’s celebration party. 

You and your friends were meeting up at a club and you wanted Bucky to come along so he could meet them. When Bucky heard the word “club” alarms started going off in his head. 

You don’t belong in a club.

You’re too old to be there.

Everyone will look at you and judge you. 

You don’t belong there or with her. 

“No,” Bucky spoke to himself quietly, “I’m enough.” he said with confidence yet with a hint of uncertainty. 

Ever since you and he started dating, he’s been trying to get better about his self-confidence. He was so used to being belittled by Dot that he found himself thinking that he’ll never be enough because of the way that he looks. But then when he sees you staring back at him with so much adoration in your eyes, he feels as though he truly is enough. 

He’s not 100% certain about it. It’s a work in progress and that’s okay. 

“So, old man, when was the last time you went to a club?” you playfully asked as Bucky drove you and he to meet up with your friends. 

He snorted, “Probably since college, sugar. Been a long time. It’s probably changed.”

It was your turn to snort, “I highly doubt that. The music, maybe, but the entire scene, probably not. If your clubs consisted of drunk people practically having sex on the dance floor while music’s pounding through their ears, then it hasn’t changed one bit.”

He chuckled, “Sounds about right.”

“You plan on grindin’ on me tonight, sugar?”

You smirked at him, “Why? You want me to?”

He shrugged, “I wouldn’t say no to it.” he shot you a wink before bringing his attention back on the road. 

________________________

When Bucky entered the club, he felt like he had time travelled back to when he was in college and he was with Dot. That was when things were good, when his life hadn’t spiralled out of control.

“Hey, I found them! Let’s go!” you smiled at him and Bucky didn’t feel that pain that he’d feel when thinking about the past and his relationship with Dot. If things hadn’t happened the way that they did, he wouldn’t be with you. 

“Okay, Bucky. You got this. You’re enough. You’re enough,” he said to himself as he followed you through the groups of people and towards the back of the club. You stopped at a rounded booth and began to hug everyone there. 

“I miss you guys! I’m so glad to we’re doing this!” you look over your shoulder and your smile widens, “Oh! Guys, this is my boyfriend, Bucky! Bucky, these are my friends: Grant, Daisy, Leo, Jemma, and Lincoln!”

The five people waved and greeted Bucky and he suddenly felt small. Of course, he expected your friends to be young like yourself, but he didn’t expect them to be just as attractive, especially Lincoln, Leo, and Grant. These guys looked like models and Bucky, well...

“Bucky, sit down, won’t ya?” Lincoln asked gesturing to you, who was already sitting down talking to Daisy. 

He gave him a shy smile, “Actually, I’m gonna grab a drink from the bar,” he tapped on your shoulder, “Sugar, you want your usual?”

“Actually, I saw someone with a cotton candy martini and I really wanna try that!” you said excitedly.

He snickered, “Always the sweet tooth, sugar,” he kissed your lips and mumbled, “Be right back,” and he walked away from the booth, allowing him to calm down a bit.

“Y/N! You didn’t tell us Bucky had such daddy vibes,” Daisy joked with you and bit your lip. 

“Well, he is actually a father. Divorced almost a year ago. His ex didn’t want anything to do with him or her own daughter.”

“That’s terrible!”

“I know, but Bucky, he’s the sweetest guy I’ve ever met, guys! He’s so loving and caring and I know he looks rough around the edges, but he’s been through a lot. And he’s an amazing dad! He loves his daughter so much and, hell, I love her too!”

“You sound really happy, Y/N,” Leo said with a fond smile. 

You nodded, “I am. I mean, I haven’t known Bucky for too long, haven’t been with him even less, but I feel like I’ve known him for years, you know? He just...I don’t even know how to describe it. He just complete me.”

__________________________

“They’re so much more good looking than you.”

“She can do so much better.”

“You’ve got nothing on those guys. They look like they stepped out of a GQ magazine!”

“Here, sugar.” Bucky held out your cotton candy martini towards you and sat beside you.

You kissed him on the cheek, “Thanks, Sarge!” and then proceeded to wipe any remnants of your lipstick on his cheek. 

“So, Bucky, how’d you meet Y/N?” Grant asked with a charming smile.

A big smile appeared on Bucky’s face, “Well, I stopped at this diner during a break from patrolling. I take a seat at a booth and look through the menu that’s already placed there. Then I hear a voice ask ‘You lookin’ for something sweet or savoury?’. I look up and I swear I was starin’ at an angel.”

You rolled your eyes, “Bucky-”

“I’m serious, sweetheart! She introduces herself to me and recommends the cinnamon buns. Says they’re the sweetest things you’d ever taste. I ordered that with some coffee and my order was out within minutes. Y/N was right about the bun, but it wasn’t what kept bringing me back.” he wraps an arm around you and you scoot closer into him, “A while later I ask her out on a date and many more and here we are.”

Grant nodded, “And here we are. A few questions though: you like ‘em young? You paying Y/N to date you? You her sugar daddy?” 

“Grant!” you sneered at him. 

Grant shrugged, “What? He’s clearly older than us! He was married and has a kid! I mean, look at him! You can’t seriously be attracted to this guy, Y/N!”

Everyone else in the group glared at Grant. He tended to be very blunt and outspoken, never one to hold his tongue. 

Bucky stared down at his lap as he mumbled, “’Scuse me,” and he peeled himself away from you, walking away from the booth. 

You slid out of the booth, taking your drink and throwing it at Grant, “Asshole!” and ran after Bucky, well, tried to run after Bucky. The club was busy so it was a bit hard for you to keep your eyes on him and get to him. 

You see him exit through a back door and you rush after him. Your calls of his name being washed out by the loud music. 

When you pushed yourself out the door, you were hit with the cool New York air. 

You turn to your left to see Bucky slumped against the wall, shoulders sagging. You slowly approach him, hand on his shoulder, “Bucky-”

“This was a mistake,” he murmured. 

“Hey, no. Grant’s an asshole who doesn’t know how to hold it’s tongue. But everyone else, they think you’re great. They-”

“I mean it was a mistake dating you,” he looks up at you with teary eyes, “Grant’s right. What do you see in me? You could have anyone that you want.” 

“Okay, and I choose you.”

Bucky scoffs, “Stop pullin’ my chain here, Y/N. What do you see in me? Really? I mean, I’m a divorced, single father who’s lost his charm and let himself go. I used to be so handsome! I used to look like all the guys in that club and now look at me!” he gestures to himself, “This doesn’t go with someone like you!”

You shook your head, grabbing a hold of Bucky’s face, “You listen to me loud and clear, James Buchanan Barnes. I fucking adore you. You’re the most sweetest, handsomest, sexiest man I’ve ever seen and been with. Yeah, you don’t look like the guys in that club, but that’s what I like about you. They all care too much about how they look. You’re so unapologetically yourself that I’m positive it intimidates the people around you. Even me sometimes.”

Bucky puts your hands on top of yours, “I’m scared, sugar. I’m scared that there’ll be a day when you finally see I’m not good enough for you and you leave me, just like Dot.”

Once again, you mentally curse the Hell outta Dot Williams for treating Bucky so poorly that he doesn’t think he’s worthy of love.

“I’m sure you’ve already noticed that I’m not Dot, Bucky. I’ve never met the woman but I absolutely hate her for all the pain and insecurities she’s caused you. You are such a wonderful man and she has no clue what she gave up.”

“God, I’ve fallen so fast and hard for you, Y/N L/N. You hold my heart in your hands, sweetheart. Please be gentle with it.”

“You take care of mine and I’ll take care of yours. How’s that sound, Sarge?”

“Deal,” Bucky breathes out before pulling you into a kiss, a kiss that causes fireworks to go off in your heart and stomach. And you continue to kiss until all the air’s left your body, making you pull back for more. 

“Goddamn, baby. I know I said the cinnamon bun was the sweetest thing I’ve ever tasted but they don’t got shit on your lips.” Bucky says with a proud smile.

His line makes you giggle, “Well thank you, Sarge,” you lean in and peck his lips again, “So...you wanna go back inside? If not, I can just text them and let them know we’re gone.”

“No, I’m-I’m good now. You’re right. Grant’s an ass and I’m lettin’ him get the satisfaction of me leaving with my tail tucked.”

“Well, I don’t think he’d be satisfied whether or not we stayed ‘cause I through my drink at him before I chased after you. So he’s probably gone now that I’ve ruined his hair and his ‘fit.”

Bucky burst into giggles, “You’re quite the naughty girl, aren’t ya?”

“Only for you, Sarge,” you gave him a wink and grabbed his hand, pulling him back towards the door and into the club. You still planned on grinding down on him in the middle of the dancefloor.

[daemongal]

A B C, easy as one two V! (Part 9)

Hey again! We’re almost done with these now and today we’ll cover U and V (only two but I wanted to get some content out for ya’ll). NSFW ahead!

You can find previous entries to this series from my [masterlist]!

______

U = Unfair 

V’s fingers retreated from your heat once more as you groaned in disappointment once more, your body aching to be touched but not getting enough stimulation to take you over the edge like you so desperately needed.

“Come ooooooon V!” You whined, throwing your head back against the pillows and rattling your arm restraints against the headboard. “How wasn’t that good enough? It was pretty much word for word.”  

In hindsight, you very much regretted your decision of asking V to be your private tutor. You thought given his extensive knowledge and interest in poetry that he’d help you study and memorise the poems needed for your test in a few days. When he said he would tutor you on a reward-based system before crashing his lips into yours, you could do nothing but accept his offer. Once your wrists were restrained however, that was a different story.

“’Pretty much word for word’ will not get you the grade you so rightly deserve my sweet. Until you have recited it precisely as written, there’ll be no reward for you; it is as we agreed.” You sighed, face contorting into a pout.

“Well, if you didn’t have your tongue half way down my throat when you asked maybe I would have tweaked the terms of our agreement slightly.” V chuckled in response, fingers grazing your core once more as your whole body shuddered.

“Now, once again from the top.” You cleared your throat, breath hitching as his fingers started to slowly press against your entrance.

“Ah, sunflower weary of time, who countest the steps of the sun; seeking after that sweet golden cli-ahh-me,”  

Your voice stuttered as a single finger pushed into you slowly, your body shivering in anticipation.  

“where the t-traveller’s journey is done; w-where the youth pined away with desire-ahh.”

His finger curled, pressing against your walls exactly where you needed it. Your back arched and your voice broke at his finger kneading intently against your insides.

“You’re doing exquisitely so far, love. Now, please continue.” You fought to keep your eyes open and your thoughts coherent as your legs spasmed reflexively against the sheets. You gulped and took a deep breath.

“a-and the pale virgin shrouded in s-snow, arise from th-their graves and ahh!”  

A second finger joined the first, the pace quickening as you gripped the headboard to ground yourself. Sweat began to trickle from your brow as your eyes fluttered shut, only to reopen in shock a moment later as teeth grazed your ear.

V had moved himself up over you in the moment when your concentration lapsed, his head how resting in the crook of your shoulder, breath against your neck.

“Almost there love; you’re so close.” His deep voice in your ear sent your world spiralling as his expert fingers toyed with your insides perfectly. You were close in more ways than one but you knew you needed to finish the recital; you couldn’t take any more denial.

“a-arise from their g-graves and aspire, where my S-sunflower wishes to go-oooooh!”  

His thumb pressed against your clit, circling it in time with the thrusts of his hand. Your back arched as a question remained on the tip of your tongue.

“Th-there, I did it r-right. C-can I...please?” Your voice was raspy as you gasped for breaths, his pace slowing momentarily, holding you on the brink torturously.

“Hmmm...” V hummed against your ear, before running his tongue up the outer shell. “it sounded divine, love. I couldn’t have recited it better myself.” His quickened his pace again, pushing you back towards your high, his curled fingers pumping in and out of you, his thumb brushing against you’re engorged clit before eventually, he threw you over the edge.

“Ahhhhh, V!” You moaned his name as you reached your peak, the pleasure washing over you as you pushed your head back against the pillow. Your thighs squeezed his hand as his fingers guided you gradually through the waves before your body collapsed, legs dropping to the side.  

V reached up and unclasped your wrists, holding them lightly and pressing his lips gently against the red marks left behind, before lowering them to the bed at your side.  

“Let me... let me tell you one thing.” You started breathlessly. “I-I won’t be forgetting that poem anytime soon.” You giggled, your body feeling giddy from the afterglow. “You’re an excellent tutor V.” He leaned on one elbow on his side, fingers tracing light patterns against your skin, eyes glancing over your body adoringly.  

“Oh the work was all yours my love. You have too much self-doubt.” You looked over to meet his gaze, a puzzled look on your face. He chuckled once more at your expression. “You already knew the poem, love. I merely helped you master it.”  

“W-wait... what?!” You stared at him as a lopsided smirk spread up his cheek.  

“You already knew the words love. You only believed that you didn’t. By the fifth time, you knew that you had recited it correctly, I only wished to instil that confidence in you.” Your mouth dropped open as the realisation hit you.

“You mean every time you told me it was wrong you were... lying?”

“Teasing is the word, love. If you wish for me to be honest...” Without warning V flipped you onto your stomach, pinning your hands once more above your head as he kneeled over your legs. He leaned his face down to yours, pressing his hips and hardened arousal against your rear, lips touching against your ear once more.

“... I was enjoying your impassioned recital so much, I wished for it to never end.”

V = Volume 

“Ahh, V. Mmmff.” V’s hand covered your mouth, muffling the sounds that you couldn’t hold back.  

Nero grumbled in his sleep from the futon at the other side of the room as V stopped moving his hips momentarily. The 3 of you had decided it would be best to rest at an abandoned hotel not far from where your most recent job was and wait until morning to rendezvous with Nico.  

You and V had been seeing each other secretly for a while now, but thought it would be best to keep it to yourselves for the time being until the current shitstorm has passed.

“Hush love. We don’t want to be getting caught now do we?” His words were whispered against your ear as he held your body still against his. You took a few deep breaths as you shook your head sheepishly.  

“It’s your fault.” You muttered quietly into his hand. He began to move his hips again suddenly, his pace slow to avoid causing too much movement, but the angle hitting into you perfectly. You could feel every inch of him as he slid in and out of you with smooth, deep thrusts.  

He was spooning you from behind, both of you on your sides as his hips hit against your ass with each thrust. His lips were against your ear, breathing heavily and whispering sweet nothings to you in between breaths.

“Oh you always take me so well, my sweet. It’s a shame you cannot let out your voice, it is not my desire to muffle your wonderful song.” You let out a gasp as he pushed his cock into you more harshly, the movement of his hips becoming stronger as your body moved slightly with each thrust.

His fingers slipped in between your lips as they opened causing a spark of arousal to shoot through you. V couldn’t hold back a groan a he held you tight, moving your body into his own to meet each thrust as you closed your lips around the digits in an attempt to hold the moans building in your throat as you approached your peak.  

He pulled out of you suddenly, removing his hand from your mouth and using it to pull on your hip.

“Turn over please love.” You were happy to oblige, flipping onto your other side. He lifted one of your legs, placing himself in between them as you wrapped your arms around his torso and your legs around his hips. Quickly, he seated himself back in you, shuffling to move closer before beginning his movements again.

From the new position, you were able to pull yourself to meet each of his thrusts, allowing for more movement as you quickly closed in on your peak again. With how much the sheets were shuffling over your bodies, if Nero woke up there’d be no mistaking what you were both getting up to, which just made it all the more thrilling to you.  

“V... I-I'm close.” Your breathing was ragged as you pressed your forehead against his.

“A-as am I love. P-please, your lips; or I fear I will w-wake him.” You grabbed the back of his head and pulled him into a heated kiss, mouths open and tongues pressed together. You moaned against his lips as his thrusts became quicker and more erratic, driving you closer and closer to the edge.

With a few more deep thrusts, V moaned into your mouth and tensed as he spilled his seed inside of you, the action being the last thing to push you over the edge as you clung to him, his arms around your shoulders tightening as you rode out your highs together, muffled moans being caught in each other's mouths.

You slowly pulled your lips away, grabbing a few heavy breaths, pressing your forehead to V’s as he did the same. Your bodies both stiffened as you heard shuffling from the futon, freezing in place as you waited for any sign he was awake.  

“Mmm not deadweight Dante, fuck you...” He muttered under his breath followed by light snores as you both sighed in relief before chuckling, running your hands through V’s hair, upset at the thought of having to de-tangle your bodies.  

He pulled out of you, leaving an empty sensation behind before pulling you closer and cradling you in his arms, lulling you to sleep with soft motions of his fingers against your skin and his quiet rhythmic breaths.

_______

Poem was “Ah, Sunflower” by William Blake :) Next part should be the last. 

Just FYI, I may be skipping the letter X because I am stumped for what to do with the prompt X-ray and I don;t know what else starts with X that I could write around.... =/

Thanks for reading!!

[some-fool-fp]

HexSaga 1B - Lore time!

Mary: Hey there! I’m Marie, from the Institute of DARE Identification, Organization and Testimony. Although, due to a certain other character who is more plot-relevant and has the same name by accident, please call me Mary instead.

In case you have not seen, a new story is unfolding, which is being called “HexSaga��. There’ll be multiple chapters, but they’ll be a bit slow for now and the true lore-heavy stuff is reserved for the end. There’s no specific posting schedule, but hopefully we’ll last longer than the Flat Earth story.

Maybe you noticed that the first chapter has “1A” instead of just “1”. And that’s for a good reason! Since there are so many characters, the main plot will only cover a fraction of them. And that’s no good. That’s why, along with plot progression, you’ll get an unrelated side story with every chapter posted. These’ll mostly focus on characters who do not participate heavily in the main events, although some backstories for certain plot-relevant people could be explored. And hey, if you want, you can even suggest characters you want some fool to focus on for B-side chapters. Just like leave your suggestion somewhere they can see it, if you want.

That aside, there are a TON of lore bits and details that you may have missed over the course of 231 numbered OC posts, not to mention those that are attached to non-numbered pieces. Luckily, I’ve compiled everything you need to know in this convenient side chapter. Hope you have fun!

DAREs (2018 Challenge)

“DARE” is the broad term used to define a being who can break the fourth wall. In other words, they’re aware of you, the reader, and everyone else who may be reading their stories or viewing their images. While FPs, a race of small and generally blue penguins, happen to be the most common form of DARE, this also applies to animals like the Raihanian Whale Shark or possibly the Red Herring. Although you probably mostly associate the term with gimmicky girls. For humans, the gene that causes DARE is nullified by the Y Chromosome, thus no males can break the fourth wall. It is completely unknown why only people from here have the gene, but to tell you the truth, it doesn’t really matter. In reality, it’s just an excuse to design gimmicky characters who can break the fourth wall. We DAREs tend to follow a mindset which is a mixture of nihilism, apathy and blind optimism. It’s kind of that we know that we’re fictional and our lives are sort of meaningless, but we don’t really care and just look forward to whatever wacky pun-oriented situation we’ll get into next.

Humans also have strange reactions to said gene, which results in the variety of gimmicks you see on girls with DARE. For example, some girls are made of paper, while others are made of rubber, while others are made of food and some even appear in completely different art styles. Most of them live in Raihan, since it is generally well-accommodating to gimmicks. However, a few have found success in other parts of the world. Take, for example, Gale, a magician who is secretly a girl in a gaseous state of matter. Or Sophie, a half-japanese pop-star sensation whose body is formed from bubble solution. Around the rest of the world, those two are like novelties and one-of-a-kind, but in here they’re just as normal as the next person. Unfortunately, not many people know of DARE and Raihan in general, since most of us gimmicky girls believe that advertising people like us as a reason to visit is degrading and insulting. I mean, we’re people, not freak show performers. Most of us aren’t really offended if you ask about our gimmicks though, since we do know that, in terms of how our bodies work, we’re some of the weirdest things alive. It’s just not cool to advertise that as a reason to come to our country. Doesn’t help that, for those of us whose bodies are unintentionally hazardous or don’t really exist in the conventional sense of the word, getting passports is pretty much out of the question.

Gimmicky people are being studied by the Institute of DARE Identification, Organization and Testimony, whose head is Prof. Stacie Brown. I, Dr. Mary J. Holly, also work at said institute, as lead researcher, aided by the fact that I have DARE myself. I am the successor of Dr. Emma Smith, who left after a falling out with Dr. Brown during an experiment gone wrong. So far, she’s the only known case of a person who got a DARE unnaturally, since everyone else has it at birth.

Cursed Objects (2019 Challenge)

On early September of 2018, an incident in a spiral-shaped mountain off the shores of Raihan, which left the head of excavation Petricia Clayson literally petrified, lead to the discovery of an ancient book written two thousand years ago, which was found covering a small sapling girl who was also alive at that time. This compendium of sorts listed details on a hundred objects that had been given souls, or were “cursed”. These cursed objects integrated themselves with their society fairly easily, according to the notes found in the journals of the authors of said compendium.

It appears that their purpose was to charm the people of this ancient land, known as the kingdom of Leffand, only to have their souls ripped from them, causing their loved ones to fall into depression, which the dark mage Hexakosioihexekontahexafeui somehow harvested for power. However, since a few of the souls were spent on defenses for his hideout and some landed in the deep forests, with no human contact, it appears that it wasn’t enough. We believe that they come from another reality, and the dark mage has somehow been able to transport the entire land to our world. His reason for doing so is unknown, since tests on Spring show that, at a fundamental level, Cursed Objects and DAREs are not the same thing, as our gimmicky-ness stems from biological factors, not supernatural means. Additionally, we’ve come to find out Cursed Objects cannot break the fourth wall. Said land is adjacent to our capital city, Megami. Nowadays you can see ruins of the formerly inhabited towns described in the books, and the forests have grown too thick for modern development in the entire former kingdom.

The sapling, named Spring, apparently cannot age, explaining how she survived for twenty centuries. She’s currently under our supervision and is struggling to keep up with contemporary knowledge and technology. Mysteriously, Spring and the books with the information about her ancient race of cursed objects were in perfectly legible modern english.

Due to his name and hymn’s lyrics, it has been speculated that Hexakosioihexekontahexafeui has some relation to the perfect being, Hefeuhefeuhefeui. However, the dark mage is imperfect, and honestly looks nothing alike, not to mention they’re from different universes.

It is also noteworthy that in Leffand, they praised a goddess named Matured Insect, who bears an uncanny resemblance to a being we call “Unmatured Insect” that lives among us. This is not public knowledge yet, but it is highly likely that these two could be the same individual.

Closing statement

Well, thank you all for catching up, and on behalf of all of us behind the fourth wall, we hope you'll enjoy our hijinks!

[hysterialevi]

Legend pt. 1

Author’s note: WELL, it’s been quite some time since I last wrote about Cobblebats (or a sane Bruce), but we’re finally back and I’m super excited to get started. Thank you so much for the support you gave me during Lotus; I really appreciate you guys staying around for all these stories, and I hope you’ll enjoy this one as much. Stay awesome.

From Oswald’s POV

21 YEARS AGO

COBBLEPOT PARK

The tall boy threw his fist across my face, landing a heavy blow on the bone as pain throbbed throughout my entire cheek. Regardless of how hard I tried to defend myself, or how hard I fought back, my opponent always seemed to be two steps ahead of me...and it was humiliating.

I instantly tumbled to the soaked ground due to the impact, causing the other kids around us to laugh as he taunted me with a sneer.

“What’s the matter, Cobblepot?” Joseph asked. “Can’t go crying to your mom now that she’s in Arkham? I’m not surprised, to be honest. Everyone knows your family’s full of fuckin’ lunatics,” he threw another punch at me, grinning deviously. “Looks like the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.”

I would’ve been lying if I said Joseph didn’t just strike a nerve, but I knew that was his intention. I knew that was what he wanted.

Joseph was always targeting me -- whether it was at school, at the park, or even on my own goddamned doorstep -- and he used me as a way to make himself feel better. It was straight up torture to put up with him.

But no matter what, I had to remember what Bruce told me. I couldn’t let it get to me. I couldn’t allow him to keep hurting me. I had to stand up to him.

Spitting blood onto the mud below, I slowly pushed myself up, my limbs quivering with strain as I tried to rise to my feet.

“Oh no, no...” Joseph said in a condescending manner. “I don’t think so.”

With a simple, strong kick, he aggressively jabbed the tip of his shoe into my stomach and sent me staggering into the dirt once again as I coughed heavily, struggling to catch my breath.

“Well, go on, then,” he teased as he watched me roll around. “Get up, Oz. If you’re so damn tough.”

Another kick. To ensure I’d stay down. I felt like I was going to be sick now. 

“Look at you!” The bully jeered obnoxiously. “You’re so weak it’s embarrassing. Nothing but a little bitch with a boozed-up dad. Isn’t that right, Oz?” 

He crouched down to my level and leaned in, smirking arrogantly as he gripped the back of my collar.

“You’re a bitch,” he growled. “You hear that? My bitch. And if you ever try to forget it, I’ll come back and remind you. Maybe I’ll bring some friends along, too. Depends on how you behave. So stay in your place, and be a good boy. All right?”

I glared at the bully, staring him straight in the eye with a glower as I wiped the blood from my mouth.

“...Fuck you, Joseph.”

He chuckled, clearly annoyed by my response. “Oh, yeah?”

Joseph flipped me over and took a handful of my shirt, pinning me down as he slammed his fist directly into my nose with a sickening crack.

I let out an agonized shout and fell limp on the ground, completely drained of all energy as hot blood streamed down my face.

“How’s that?” He goaded. “Teach you to be a smartass.”

Turning to his friends, Joseph gestured them to leave and began to saunter away from the scene, glancing back at me with a snicker.

“C’mon,” he beckoned. “Let’s get outta here. I think this shithead’s learned his lesson for now. But we’ll be back.”

Leaving me alone in the ruffled, flattened grass, Joseph casually strolled off as if nothing happened while I clutched my wounded nose, writhing in the mud out of discomfort.

Why was it always me? I thought to myself. Why couldn’t I just be left alone?

My entire family was falling apart as if we had suddenly been forgotten, and these days, the name “Cobblepot” was nothing but a joke in Gotham. No one took our family as seriously as they used to, and even less wanted to be associated with us. Instead, everyone in my school just acted like my we didn’t even exist anymore. 

Everyone...except for Bruce. He was the only one I could count on.

Bruce would protect me from Joseph and any other bullies, keep me company when my parents were absent, and stay in touch even though the rest of the school ridiculed me. He didn’t care what other people thought about our friendship, or about the rumors circling around. 

We had a close bond between us, and that was all that mattered to him. Bruce refused to let my dad’s reputation alone destroy everything we had.

...And that was why I loved him.

Maybe not in the same way most people used that word, but there was definitely a deeper connection holding us together than just a mere “friendship.”

We were family. And I hoped we would stay that way forever.

Interrupting my thoughts, a boy suddenly called out to me from a distance -- as if on queue -- and made me forget all my troubles for a moment as I turned to see who it was.

“...Oz?” He asked. “Is that you?”

Not too far away from my location, I saw none other than Bruce himself entering the park as he greeted me from the other side of the gate, softly tapping his umbrella on the metal to get my attention.

“Bruce!” I exclaimed out of relief, my voice slightly trembling. “There you are. I...I’m glad you’re here.”

My friend took a closer look at me, clearly shocked by the fresh wounds on my face.

“Jesus -- what on Earth happened to you, Oz?” He leaned in, taking on a more serious tone. “...Did Joseph come after you again?”

I nodded silently, trying to pretend as if it didn’t bother me that much.

Bruce let out a sympathetic sigh, lightly gripping onto one of the gate’s bars.

“I’m sorry, Oz. I wish I could’ve gotten here sooner. You don’t deserve to be treated this way, and I don’t know what else I can do to help. There’s only so much that’ll keep Joseph away.”

“It’s all right...” I reassured quietly, “the fact that you’re here is enough. And besides, this is my fight to finish. Not yours. I swear, Bruce, I’m gonna smash Joseph’s damn face in someday. And then he’ll regret everything he’s done to me.”

Bruce seemed slightly alarmed by that. 

“The worst thing you can do is become him, Oz,” he reminded. “Joseph goes around and preys on anyone who’s smaller than him. He drags them down to his level. You’re better than that. Never forget it...okay?” 

“...Okay, okay.” I reluctantly agreed, waving a dismissive hand. “You’re right.”

“’Course I am,” Bruce joked, changing the subject. “Anyway, you need to get up now.”

I quirked a brow. “What d’you mean?”

He tapped his umbrella on the gate again.

“You need to get up.” He said a second time, without explanation.

BLACKGATE PRISON

MODERN DAY, NIGHTTIME

“...Get up, Cobblepot!”

A loud, metallic cling echoed throughout the cell, causing me to jolt awake. I lay still for a moment, confused at what was going on.

“C’mon, prisoner!” The guard repeated, his voice growing increasingly agitated as he banged his baton against the bars. “I won’t say it again.”

I sluggishly rose from the bed and stretched my arms, rubbing my eyes as a fatigued yawn escaped me. 

I glared at the guard with a squinted gaze, blinded by their flashlight. 

“Fuck’s sake...” I mumbled out, “...what is it? The sun ain’t even up yet. ...Or were you just gettin’ lonely?”

The guard scoffed at that and roughly slid the door open, beckoning me. 

“And the other guards said you were charming.”

Tearing myself away from the comfort of the bed, I sauntered over to him with a loose posture as I gave him a lazy frown.

“I’m much more of a gentleman when it’s not four in the morning. What's goin’ on?”

Shoving me forward, the guard began to explain things along the way as other prisoners eyeballed us from their own cells, curious about what we were doing. Despite it being the middle of the night, not many of the inmates actually appeared to be asleep.

“You’ve got a visitor.” He said plainly.

“A visitor?” I questioned, surprised by the answer. “At this time? What do they want?”

The guard pushed me around a corner.

“You can ask them yourself when we get there. Now be quiet.”

“All right, all right...” I chuckled. “I’m just curious, is all. Not really many folks in Gotham who’d like to pay me a visit.”

The guard’s brow furrowed. “I’m starting to see why.”

“Cranky, aren’t we?” I remarked. “You sure another guard didn’t lose their baton up your arse?”

“I mean it, prisoner,” he warned. “Be quiet.”

I sighed out of annoyance. “Fine...have it your way. Just tryin’ to make conversation.”

The guard led me down a spiral staircase, taking me to the first floor as we headed for the visiting room.

“Oh, trust me,” he replied, “there’ll be plenty of time for that later.”

VISITING ROOM

Wandering into the empty space, the guard stayed behind as I approached my guest who was sitting alone at one of the tables with nothing but a pair of files in front of them. They looked like a relatively young man -- probably around the same age as me -- and wore a neat suit along with a device in their ear. 

I didn’t recognize his face, and I certainly hadn’t been expecting anyone, but clearly, this man wasn’t just some random nobody. The prison guards would’ve never let him in during this hour, otherwise. So who was he?

As curious as I was to see what this stranger wanted however, the secrecy of this arrangement also had me on high-alert. I had to be careful.

“Erm...” I cleared my throat, “...hello?”

The man turned to look at me. “Ah, there you are,” he casually gestured at the chair across from him. “Please, have a seat. There’s much we need to discuss.”

Despite my hesitance, I complied nonetheless and decided to play along with the man for now, admittedly hooked with interest.

“Mind tellin’ me your name, first?” I asked. 

The man refused. 

“Who I am is of no importance. All you need to know...is who I represent.”

“And that would be...?”

He rested his elbows on the table, looking me straight in the eye. “The Agency. Or, more specifically, the director of the Agency. Amanda Waller.”

I furrowed my brows. “The Agency? What do they want with me?”

The man slid one of the files in my direction, urging me to open it.

“A profile of Bruce Wayne,” he explained as I flipped through it. “I understand you know him well.”

“...Yeah,” I confirmed in a somewhat regretful tone. “We was close as kids. Inseparable. Thought we’d stay that way, too.”

“And now?”

I shut the file closed, not wanting to look at Bruce anymore. He and I already had enough bad memories together. I didn’t need to think about them any further.

“Now...” I continued, “we’re like strangers. Everything I thought I knew about Wayne turned out to be a lie. In the end, he was just as bad as his father.”

The man seemed unconvinced. “Oh, I’m sure you know him better than you think.”

Switching out the files, he gestured for me to read through the second one as  he observed my every move, obviously scheming something that he had yet to expose.

“It’s Batman.” I said, scanning over the first page.

“You’re familiar with him, too, aren’t you?”

I laughed at the understatement. “Familiar? I almost killed the bastard. Almost. Other than that, there ain’t much to say about the vigilante. He’s not exactly an open book. ...Why? What does Waller want with these people?”

Retrieving the file, the agent stacked them together in a neat pile and put them aside for the moment, getting right to the point. There was a certain look in his eyes that unsettled me. A look that said he knew something I didn’t. Half of me wanted to hear what it was, but the other half dreaded the forbidden information. After all, there was a reason people had secrets.

“Tonight,” he began, “I’ve presented you with the profiles of two very prominent citizens in Gotham. However...we have only discussed one person.”

I sat there in silence, trying to process what the agent just told me. 

“...Wait, what are you...” 

He appeared amused by my shock. 

“I understand it’s hard to comprehend. It wasn’t too long ago that I was in the same position as you.”

I combed a hand through my hair and shook my head, still in disbelief.

“No, no, no. That can’t be right. They’re nothing alike! Bruce Wayne is just some playboy billionaire who got rich off his father’s crimes, and Batman is...well, Batman. He fights criminals, fights for ‘justice.’ Something Wayne knows nothing about. And you’re tellin’ me...they’re the same person?”

He nodded firmly. “That’s exactly what I’m saying.”

I let out an overwhelmed sigh, suddenly feeling the need to go back to sleep.

“...And why tell me all this? Why give me this kind of info? This isn’t something you’d just reveal to anyone -- if what you’re sayin’ is true.”

The agent pushed the files towards me. “Because Director Waller has a job for you. See, the Agency has been watching your moves for quite some time now, Oswald. We know about everything you’ve done -- from your blackmailing Hamilton Hill...to the disfiguring of Harvey Dent. There’s not a thing on your record we aren’t aware of. Though, Waller believes we can add to that list.”

I decided to hear him out. “Oh yeah? How so?”

“I’m sure you’ve heard of John Doe by now. Or ‘the Joker,’ if you prefer. He’s proven to be a menace these past few weeks, and the Agency is doing everything they can to detain him. Unfortunately, there’s just one problem.”

“Let me guess,” I said sarcastically, “it's Wayne?”

“Yes,” the agent replied, “but not in the way you’re thinking. Wayne is protecting John Doe. Hiding him. For whatever reason, he absolutely refuses to hand the man over to us...and you know how hard Batman fights. He’s caused more than a handful of troubles for Waller. Not to mention Gotham.”

“And how do I fit in all this?”

The man lowered his voice slightly, giving me an emotionless expression.

“You...are going to kill Bruce Wayne.”

I blinked a few times, bewildered by the response.

“...I’m sorry, you want me to assassinate Batman?”

The agent chuckled. “Don’t sound so modest. Waller thinks you’re capable, and she’s not easily impressed. Besides, you said it yourself. You almost killed him once before. Our organization sees you as our last chance of getting Batman out of the way, and locking John Doe up for good. We need your help.”

I rubbed my chin out of thought. “I see. And what if I say no?”

He persisted. “You don’t have a choice.”

I shrugged. “Pfft, guess I should’ve seen that coming. ...All right. I’ll do it. Ain’t like I’ve got other things to fill up my schedule. Very well. Where d’you want me to start?”

“Try distracting Batman,” he recommended. “If you can get his attention away from Doe for long enough, it’ll give us a window to act. But you have to be discreet. Understand? We don’t want Batman to know we’ve sent an assassin after him just yet.”

I nodded. “Leave it to me.”

The agent rose from his chair and straightened his suit, preparing to leave as dawn crept over the horizon.

“Very good,” he said, sounding pleased for the first time. “The Agency looks forward to working with you, Oswald. Don’t disappoint us...but I’m sure a man of your talents doesn’t need to worry about that. I’ll see you again soon.”

Just before he left, the agent looked back at me to say one last thing.

“Oh, and I’d pack your things if I were you. This is the final night you’ll be spending in Blackgate, after all. So, savor the moment. While you still can.”

I laughed. “On the contrary, I’ve been wanting to leave ever since the day I arrived. The Agency can’t get me out of here fast enough.”

The man smiled subtly, disappearing into the night’s darkness as he waved a short goodbye.

“We already have.”

[difficultbutreal]

Second Chances - Chapter 18

A/N: Hey guys! It’s literally been forever but a few of you have been asking for me to continue this so … here’s the next chapter of second chances. Thank you all for keeping this story in your heart trough the last two years, it means a lot. As always, feel free to share your thoughts and ideas with me here and happy reading!

Last Chapter - All Chapter - you’ll need it

“Justin, stop being so childish!” Selena’s voice was loud an rough causing Justin to turn around to face her angily.

“Childish? Do you even have any idea what you are talking about? Did you listen to yourself when you suggested this?”

“Of course I did! I thought about this for a while now, and I don’t understand why you are so against it!” Her answer was quick and harsh.

It had been a week since she and Justin had shared a kiss and since she had promised him to support him while he was trying to get better. And that was what she was trying to do. She had spent most of the week either working or thinking about how to help him. It was clear he couldn’t do it on his own, and while she wanted to do everything in her power to be helful, she barely knew what she was doing most of the time.

“Because it is a terrible idea! I am not crazy, Selena. I am not some sort of freak -” He took a step forward, glaring at the petite girl in front of him. “I don’t want this. It is not gonna help me at all, okay.”

“How can you know that? You could at least try it out, it doesn’t mean that you are crazy! God, I really want to help you but it’s not like you exactely share a lot with me so I don’t see how that is gonna get us anywhere.”

“God dammit, I said no, Selena!” Turning around once again, he grabbed his jacket that was carelessly thrown over a chair before tearing her wooden door open.

“Where are you going?” Selena asked, her voice more calm now.

“Out.” He spat before he closed the door with a loud bang. A small part of him already regretted yelling at her but he was still angry at her suggestion. A psychologist? That was her idea of helping him? He almost wanted to laugh when she tried to justify why it was a good idea. But she was dead serious, and a part of him was hurt that she thought she was one of these crazy people who paid somebody else to listen to something that simply wasn’t their business. Not to mention that he barely had enough money to survive a month. No, he knew that he could make it on his own, he had dealt with this for so long, eventually it would get better sooner or later.

Justin walked aimlessly and eventually, he sat down on one of the bigger rocks near the forest. It was quiet and he enjoyed to not be bothered by others. Instead, it was his mind that bothered him and because he had ignored his thoughts for too long while he was with Selena, they kept coming back stronger than before. He soon felt overwhelmed by memories of his past. He could hear his mom sobbing in her room so loudly, it almost felt real. He saw his parents fighting, his dad leaving. He saw himself playing piano, his hands shaking so badly, he could barely play his chords. He saw a wet street and heared a loud bang followed by a sharp scream, over and over again. His hands instinctively covered his face, like he could stop the sounds from reaching his ears.

He had had experienced that before, his own mind overwhelming him and after the noises and pictures eventually slowed down, he was mostly angry. Angry at himself that he had let them bother him much more than in the last months. Angry that he seemed to lose control over his mind when he wasn’t with her.

.

.

It past past midnight when he went back to her appartment. He shivered, even tough he was wearing a jacket, but the air was fresh and clear. He was surprised to see that the light was still on in her living room, so he knocked lightly when he reached her front door. Half a minute later, Selena opened. She stood in the door, her eyes moving over his form as tough she expected him to be hurt after doing something stupid.

“I’m so-” he started but was cut off quickly.

“Don’t. I know you by now. I know you deal with things by running. I don’t like it but I can’t expect you to just completely turn yourself around. It’s fine.” Opening the door wider, she stepped aside to let him inside.

“You’re right.” He said, waiting for her to close the door and turn to look at him. “After all this time, I forgot how to deal with anything. I don’t know how to talk things trough. I don’t know how to stay. It makes me uncomfortable to be comforted. And I clearly don’t know how to … express emotions like any other normal person would.”

“I get it.” She sighed, sitting down on the black couch. “But that is exactely why I suggested therapy in the first place.”

Justin looked down with a sigh, keeping his eyes on the floor but eventually sitting down across from her. He expected this. He spend the whole way here thinking about her suggestion.

“Ok. Let’s talk this trough.”

“You know that I would do anything to help you, right?” Selena asked and he nooded. “And I really want to. I want to share things with you, I want to be able to comfort you and help ou trough things. Trough memories.

But I am not…. I can’t do that. Not the way it needs to be so that you can get better. You can share things with me and I can listen and hold you and comfort you, but it won’t be enough. It won’t be what you deserve. You need someone who knows what questions to ask. Who knows how far back you need to go.”

“I -” he started, but she raised her hand, signaling him to let her finish.

“I’m not an idiot, Justin. I know you won’t like it. I know you don’t trust people and I know you don’t like to share. But at some point, you have to get yourself help. Because we won’t make it on our own. You probably have scars and traumas you don’t even realize.”

Selena grabbed his hand, holding it tightly before locking her darkbrown eyes with his.

“Please. Take the help someone who knows what he’s doing can offer.”

He considered it. For the first time in his life he actually considered depending on somebody else for his own health and happiness. And of course, a part of him knew she was right. He couldn’t get out of this spiral himself.

“It won’t be easy,” she said, squeezing his hand. “There’ll probably be nights when you feel exhausted or sad or depressed. It will get hard before it gets better. But remember sometime after we met, you said you didn’t have anything to look forward to, nothing that would help you get trough?”

His thoughts went back to their early conversations. He nooded and when he looked up to her, he suddenly understood.

“I’ll have something. Something I didn’t have before.”

The brunette smiled, “yeah, you will. You’ll have me.”

[spiteweaver]

previous | next

Of all the many people Crucis expected to find waiting for him outside of the observatory, Xerxes was the last. He was wheelchair-bound most days, so he couldn’t make the trek up on his own. For that reason, Crucis typically came to him for treatment and, more recently, friendly conversation.

Yet, there he was, waiting patiently in a patch of warm summer sun.

He had grown in the three eons since his arrival in Feldspar territory. He was taller and more mature, with a radiant beauty that many within the clan were starting to take note of. It wouldn’t be long, Crucis wagered, before he became the subject of many young dragons’ affections. He had already caught that old hound dog, Yarrow, plying the lad with bouquets of marigolds.

But Xerxes’ eyes never lit up for his suitors like they did for Crucis--and Crucis was exceedingly proud of that fact, perhaps even embarrassingly so. Today, however, his eyes remained dull, shimmering only with a swathe of suppressed tears, and that uncomfortably familiar tightness returned to Crucis’ chest.

“What happened?” he asked.

“I’m sorry to bother you,” Xerxes said, “I know you don’t like this kind of thing, but Isaiah is busy with Penumbra and Mergo, and I didn’t know who else to turn to. I thought--I thought you wouldn’t judge me.”

“Well, I’m not the judgmental type,” Crucis agreed, then motioned for Xerxes to follow him. “Come inside then. I’m warning you, it’s still a mess.”

“That’s ok,” Xerxes said, “I understand. You haven’t had the time to, uh, well...” His gaze lingered for a bit too long on one of the gaping holes in the observatory’s ceiling. “You really do need to get that fixed, though. I wish I could help, but, honestly, I’m just glad I wasn’t the cause of it.”

“You left your marks,” Crucis assured. “The black’s never coming out of my floor.”

“I guess I just didn’t want you to forget me.”

“I can forget just about anyone,” Crucis replied, dropping his books unceremoniously onto his desk, “except you. There’d have to be something wrong with my head for me to forget you.”

Then he sat, leaned back in his chair, and leveled Xerxes with a stern look. “All right,” he said, “first thing’s first, how’d you get up here?”

“I didn’t push myself,” Xerxes said hurriedly. “June was in town, and, you know, he’s never busy, so I asked him to do it. He saw me crying and couldn’t say no. He’s really nice like that.”

“All right,” Crucis said, “and why were you crying?”

Xerxes lowered his head, staring hard at his hands. They were clasped tightly in his lap, so much so that his knuckles had gone white--and, even worse, they were trembling. Crucis suddenly remembered why he “didn’t like this kind of thing.” He had no idea where to look or what to say, or if he should even say anything at all.

“Rubedo and Alala are getting married,” Xerxes mumbled.

“That’s good,” Crucis said. Xerxes’ hands clenched tighter around themselves. “You’re concerned.”

“I’m not concerned,” Xerxes said. “I wish it was that simple...”

There was another long, unbearably awkward silence, in which Crucis fought every one of his instincts as a recluse and an outcast. If anyone but Xerxes had been sitting across from him, he would have bolted. As it was, he merely gripped the arms of his chair and tried to look nonchalant.

“Is it bad that I’m jealous?” Xerxes asked.

Crucis blinked. “Of who? Or what?”

“Of...” He hunched his shoulders. “Of Alala...”

Color had rushed into Xerxes’ pale cheeks, and, suddenly, Crucis understood. “Oh,” he said, “you’re in love with Rubedo.”

“I-I wouldn’t call it ‘love,’” Xerxes stammered, “or, well, yes, but it’s more like, um--more like I just--for some reason, I expected us to be together, and--and I was happy, that we would be. No one understands me like he does. No one understands him like I do. It just--it makes sense, doesn’t it? That we would...”

“I’ll admit,” Crucis said, “I’ve heard more than a few express the same sentiment since the two of you met.”

“Exactly!” Xerxes groaned and dropped his head into his hands. “That’s why I never told him,” he said. “If I had known he was going to fall in love with someone else, I would have--but I thought for sure that he would fall in love with me, because--because I cared about him so much, and we understood one another so intimately, and--and--”

Xerxes sobbed, and every hair on the back of Crucis’ neck stood on end. “Now he’s getting married,” Xerxes said, “and I’m miserable, and the fact that I’m miserable is only making me even more miserable! He’s my friend, I should be happy for him, but I’m not, and that’s--that’s--that’s so awful!”

“Uh...” Crucis cleared his throat. “Th-there, there,” he said, “I’m sure, er, I’m sure if you...”

“Gods...” Xerxes wiped his eyes on the heel of his hand. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m sorry, I know how awkward you must feel. I just--I had to tell someone, and you’re the closest thing I have to family anymore.”

“I know,” Crucis said. “I know, and--and I wish I knew what to say.”

“Just getting it all out helps,” Xerxes insisted. “It’s just that--I feel like I let my one chance at love slip through my fingers, Crucis.”

“There’ll be other drakes,” Crucis said. “There are always other drakes.”

“Not for me.”

Xerxes wrapped his arms around himself, and in that moment, he was a little boy again in Crucis’ eyes, small, and frail, without a single person he could trust in the whole wide world.

“Look at me,” he said. “I can’t even get up out of this wheelchair. Some days, I can’t move or talk. I might just--just explode one day, without warning. What drake could possibly come to love me? Who other than Rubedo could ever love a freak like me?”

“You are not a freak,” Crucis said, and he said it with such force that Xerxes looked up sharply in surprise, “and if anyone has told you otherwise, I want their names.”

“N...no one has...”

“Then why do you think you are?”

“Why shouldn’t I?” Xerxes asked. “After all that’s happened, after all that I’ve done, why should I think of myself as anything else?”

“Do you think Rubedo is a freak?”

“No! Of course not!”

“Then why are you?”

“Rubedo didn’t vaporize an entire kingdom!” Xerxes cried. “Rubedo doesn’t need someone to care for him every hour of every day! Rubedo can be touched without flinching, and Rubedo doesn’t lose control of himself at the utterance of a single cursed word! Rubedo is--Rubedo is--”

Crucis stood and crossed to his patient’s side. “Xerxes,” he said, placing his hands gently upon the young Spiral’s trembling shoulders, “it’s not just Alala you’re jealous of, is it?”

“No,” Xerxes croaked. “I love him so much, but--but I’m so angry--”

Crucis pulled Xerxes to him. It was the only thing he could think to do, and the first time he had embraced another dragon in eons, perhaps even cycles. Xerxes wept into his robes, and Crucis said nothing. There was nothing he could say that could bring Xerxes any sort of comfort.

@nostlenne

[amazinganxietyisnotonfire-blog]

trapped behind those pretty blue eyes

CHAPTER TWO

<< chapter one | chapter three >>

AO3 LINK

Summary: Dan recalls Phil’s spiral down into a psychotic fit. I tried to make this as brutally honest as possible but there’ll be more fluff in later chapters.

Quote: I feel like such an imposter. I've felt like that so many times since I started youtube but now it's worse than ever. Now not only am I pretending to be funny, smart and interesting enough to deserve the attention of six million subscribers but I'm also caught not being adult enough or responsible or I don't know, something enough to be able to take care of Phil during the one time he couldn't take care of himself.

Genre: heavy angst

Word count: 2069

Triggers: mental illness, schizophrenia (implied), near death, suicide attempt (kind of, not really), kissing, vomit, termites, hallucinations

Hello Internet,

I haven't posted any real danisnotonfire videos over the past two weeks but I think that's fair, considering. Phil comes home tomorrow. This is the first time I've really tried to form any cohesive thoughts but I do have a bunch of little clips that I filmed in minute or two spurts while everything was happening. I guess I'll string those together rather than have to reiterate everything I said. I know it's unprofessional but I've spent so much time trying to be mature and in control recently that I don't want to make a neat video, okay?

- - - wednesday Hello Internet

I tried to visit Phil today but he was in too much of a drugged up stupor for me to really talk to him. His left wrist was bandaged where they say he bit at his wrist hard enough to make it bleed, muttering something about letting them out. They sedated him and wrapped up his wrist. It hurt to see that even here he could get hurt. What was even more disturbing was remembering how afraid Phil is of blood. I can't imagine what horrors exist in his mind that made biting his damn wrist open seem like his only option.

They're starting him on clozapine. It's an atypical antipsychotic, which got explained to me really slowly. I could feel the doctor trying to think about how she could break it down for the 6'3 man-child dressed in black skinny jeans with tear rimmed eyes standing in front of her. I could tell she thought I was hysterical, which was slightly true, but I still wanted to try to understand everything. Since now I'm in charge of Phil's destiny or whatever I had to sign off that they could basically give him any medicine they thought he needed.

I feel like such an imposter. I've felt like that so many times since I started youtube but now it's worse than ever. Now not only am I pretending to be funny, smart and interesting enough to deserve the attention of six million subscribers but I'm also caught not being adult enough or responsible or I don't know, something enough to be able to take care of Phil during the one time he couldn't take care of himself. This is nothing like his overdramatic colds where I just have to make him tea. I don't have anything to compare this to. The doctor and my mirror can see right through me, I'm just hoping the sedatives blur Phil's mind enough to think that I'm worthy of being in charge of his care.

PJ came over and cleaned the kitchen for me then made me eat some soup. He just left. I think I'm going to try not to dream about the way that the white bandage on his wrist was ever so slightly tinted pink even through all the cloth.

- - - thursday Hello Internet,

When I went into the hospital Phil freaked out. I'd never seen the blue in his eyes look as stony as it did there, with his face contorted into the type of rage that I never dreamed of associating with Phil. I don't know why he was so angry at me, or what he saw me as. I don't understand any of this but he screamed at me to fucking go back to hell. I can count the amount of times I've heard Phil say fuck on two hands and one of them was during a tongue twister that kind of tricks you into saying it and at least six of the others were bedroom related.

It's kind of a joke, me trying to get Phil to swear. I guess I win. He's swearing. I just never imagined Phil could be like this. After a while of him shouting they made me leave. I don't know if I wanted to stay or not. I wanted to be there for Phil, yes of course, but seeing him so angry with me for something that I can't even begin to understand made me nauseous.

I've been on tumblr all evening, trying to distract myself. First I read over all the information packets on psychotic episodes that they gave me but then I just wanted to not think. It didn't really work but I didn't have another choice. Anyways I'm going to try to sleep.

- - - friday I'm drunk.

Oh yeah, Hello Internet,

I'm drunk.

We had some tequila and I needed it to be able to think about today.

I thought I was nauseous yesterday but that was nothing compared to today.

Phil hid behind his bed when I came into his dorm there. I tried to say hi and he just–

He yelped and shook and begged me not to touch him. I ran out of the room. I couldn't stay there. I know that this is so much worse for him than it is for me but that doesn't help me keep any food down. Watching someone that you love as much as I love Phil in this much pain, and to think that you're causing it is indescribable.

I want to say that I'm going back purely for Phil but I don't know, I just don't know. I was always the selfish one, wasn't I?

- - - saturday Hello Internet,

I went to visit Phil today, obviously. He seemed to recognize me at first and dragged me into his room. I was so excited that he was excited to see me, as selfish as that is, so I just let him prattle on about how the doctors here are trying to poison him. I couldn't even argue with him because I didn't want him to be mad at me. We talked for the entire hour I was allowed to be there. Well, more like he talked and I tried to resist jumping over the table and trying to hold him until the world fixes itself.

I just want to hold onto him, but I know that he's too skittish and scared and I tried to touch his forearm and he jumped so hugging is out of the question. He used to love hugs, you should have seen him once the cameras stopped rolling, he's the sweetest, most huggable person there is. Or he was? I don't know. I don't want to admit that my Phil is gone but I can't find him either.

- - - sunday Hello Internet,

I wasn't allowed to visit him today so Louise dragged me out to see a movie. It was nice, but I can't help but feel guilty for enjoying something when Phil is stuck in that awful place with those awful misfirings in his amazing brain. I know this isn't fair, and by I know I mean Louise scolded me for half an hour about being too hard on myself but I don't know.

Anyways.

- - - monday Hello Internet,

The clozapine worked! Sort of.

When I went to see Phil he was coherent. He told me he loved me. He then tried to stand up, to hug me no less, and passed out. Apparently, the medicine can make you extremely dizzy. Normally they would keep him on this anyways, at least until they could switch him to something else, but once he hit the ground he started convulsing and they realized that he was having a really dangerous reaction. Instead of fixing his brain it started causing seizures, so they had to take him off.

It hurts so much knowing that he had a moment of clarity and I'm the one signing the damn paper telling them that, no, I want them to hurl him back into that terrifying place he tried so hard to escape from. The doctors told me that it was the right thing to do, but still. I'm sending him back into that terrifying place.

- - - friday They switched to risperidone on tuesday and I've been allowed to stay for longer visits, so I haven't been making these little updates every day. I feel like I'm flying. He's not perfect, to be completely honest he looks empty, but empty is better than afraid. Right? He's telling the doctors that he feels safe and I know he's not back yet, but his wrist is only a scar now and he's not shaking with fear. He's okay, or he's becoming okay. I don't know, but he doesn't look so scared and he recognizes me. He's a little cold, but the doctors say if he stays stable we can add some antidepressants.

I'm still worried about him but I want him stable and if they say that this is stable then it's good enough for me. And he can come home tomorrow!

- - - monday Phil's asleep. There's something wrong with him. He hardly talks. He's functioning so well, so the doctors are telling me that nothing is wrong and I don't want to argue. He just looks like someone's lobotomized him. It's eery, but none of the doctors will listen to me saying that something's wrong because he's doing all the things that he needs to do, checking off all the little boxes on their charts, but something is very wrong.

- - - wednesday Phil's in the hospital again. He tried to slit his fucking wrists. He's physically fine now, I found him before he got too far so he's back in the psychiatric hospital. Apparently, the voices are still there. I'm so angry that no one listened to me and now he has six stitches in his arm. Now the doctor explained to me that the vacant looks were probably from the "mask face" side effects from risperidone and that picking up on that could have clued us in on Phil's reaction.

He kept talking but that was where I stopped listening.

Clued us in.

US

I knew and he wouldn't listen to me. I should have fought, Phil deserves someone to fight for him.

- - - thursday Now he's on a mix of seroquel for the disease that they're now comfortable calling schizophrenia, (I didn't even have time to be upset about that scary diagnosis when everything was already so scary), and prozac for depression and anxiety. I protested that before this Phil wasn't depressed but a nice nurse explained to me that antidepressants are often used as a stepping stone for schizophrenic patients and once they stabilize and start to recover some of them can be taken off of everything but the antipsychotics.

I don't understand how the old nurse, Leah, can be so sweet and optimistic. It seems like being around sick, terrified people and their upset, terrified families would suck the life out of you but she's been amazing since Phil first came in. I couldn't imagine ever wanting to stay in this place. I still pray, not even to god but just to the universe I guess, that this was all a bad dream and that Phil would just kiss me awake or trip in the kitchen so I could come catch him stealing my goddamn cereal.

But until then we have to learn how to survive because there's no other option. That was what Leah told me when I'd started sobbing while asking her why she came back and I guess it's true. Whenever something horrible happens you just learn to live with the unimaginable. That's what I'm trying to do here.

- - - monday Today is the first day I've visited Phil since thursday. Friday they said he was still adjusting to the withdrawals and that it would be better for me to leave but then on saturday I came in and he was in group! I never thought I would be this proud of Phil for sitting in a room playing an empathy game with ten other hospital patients but I'm so proud. Usually, he would panic part way through or just refuse to go.

Today when I visited him he seemed the most normal that I'd seen him for months. He was still anxious but he complained about the food and asked about his houseplants. I caught him watching something behind me intently but he didn't freak out about it.

Leah told me later, after the doctor gave me a bullshit answer, that he might still experience these hallucinations for a little while but him learning that they weren't real and not reacting to them was incredibly important. She explained to me that recovering was going to be more than just medication and gave me a few more links to read up on.

- - - tuesday Phil is coming home tomorrow! This time, even if he still has symptoms, he seems like himself. It's hard, for me at least guys, not to be cynical but this time feels different. I'm obviously nervous but I'm so excited to be able to interact with him without nurses doing their safety checks every ten minutes. I've definitely learned that hospitals are helpful but I can't imagine anyone goes back to feeling completely normal there.

I haven't felt at peace for months now and I still don't, at all really. I don't actually have a great way to end that sentence. I normally edit out those types of lines or reshoot but I haven't been editing these so I guess I'll just say, I'm not at peace but at least he's coming home.

Thank you so much for reading! This narrative is really close to my heart and based off of real experiences and I think it’s important to show mental illness without romanticizing it too much. That’s what I really tried to do here.

[obnoxiouslylongandboring]

He's My Collar

Featuring snapshots of the three most important road trips in Zemo and John's journey of working together.

I take her down to somewhere drab and naughty I clear my system, I don't need no other This is my persona, secret lover (She's my collar)

WARNING. Before you move down any further, there are some disclaimers. The content below contains:

- discussion of cheating, infidelity

- unhealthy/toxic relationships, abusive behavior

- derogatory language, slut-shaming used in an intentionally derogatory manner

- attempted suicide (in slight graphic detail)

I am not advocating for any of John or Zemo's toxic behavior. Please treat your loved ones with kindness and respect. Cheating is unacceptable and should never be condoned. I will always try to explore the psychology that drives people to do different things, but this is not meant to be an accurate representation of reality.

That being said, if you choose to continue, ENJOY <3

JONES GALLOWAY ROAD, AMERICA

“You don’t have to be such a fucking bitch,” John spat. He slammed the car door shut, making the entire car rattle. Crossing over to Zemo’s driver’s seat, he yanked the door open and motioned angrily. “Get out. I’m driving.”

It made Zemo’s skin crawl - usually, John’s displays of violence would leave his spine (and his cock) tingling pleasantly, but now, directed against him, it’s been whittled down to fear. Fear, fear, fear.

“No,” Zemo ground out, unable to hide the contempt in his voice. “What are you afraid of? You’ve hidden us from her, after all.”

John’s eyes widened - Zemo had struck a nerve, and the thought gave him pleasure.

“There’s nothing between us. It’s just sex.”

“Just another word for infidelity."

"Infidelity," John repeated, but Zemo knew that he did not fully understand the implications.

Before he could say anything else, he was gripped harshly around the wrist and dragged out of the driver's seat. John shoved him into the passenger seat on the opposite side with little care, and he bit back a whimper at the sharp jolt of pain that raced up his arm. Just another few ounces of pressure and Zemo's shoulder would probably be dislocated from his body.

John looked as if he wanted to end the conversation right there, his face like thunder, dark and unbridled in a way that a man was when his honor was at stake.

“I love her,” he said.

Zemo laughed, hollow and mocking. “Love is just a four-letter word.”

The long road to John’s house in Michigan was full of splendor, with great yellow rock dunes resembling that of a desert mesa, and a smattering of lichen and bushes coating the land, so green and dense they looked like moss from afar. Zemo watched the landscape drift by, gaze unfocused. What a shame, this beautiful oil painting spoiled by the foulness of their destination.

John spoke, after half an hour of driving. Zemo wasn’t entirely looking at the clock, but the dullness of the sun told him of the time that had elapsed. “It’s pathetic how you pretend to be so morally upstanding when you whore yourself out to a married man. Hypocritical bitch. You’re just as disgusting as I am. Don’t even pretend that you give a shit about fidelity, we both know that’s not why you’re doing this.”

The words stung. It was with the vulgar, careless way that John had said it - that made him feel dirty, used, like a ratted old washcloth wrung out too many times. Zemo carefully kept his face still, so that nothing would give him away. He swallows thickly- “Care to elaborate?”

“I think you’re doing this because it makes you feel better. Because it’s always about you, isn’t it? The moon and sun revolve around Helmut Zemo. I think you’re insecure because you know I’ll always choose her over you. And you think that the fact that I keep secrets from her means that I have more to lose? That gives you power over me? Give me a break. Newsflash - if I stop giving a shit about you, Zemo, there’ll be no one else who wants you. Or will ever want you.” John snarled, his face contorted in anger. Zemo had to turn away, heart trembling in his chest. He felt like he was hyperventilating - with the anger, the fear, the humiliation of having his trust betrayed, his willing intimacy taken and strangled in John’s fists. He brought this upon himself.

“You’ll save her life over mine?” He’s addicted to pain the same way he can’t stop chewing on an ulcer or pinching a bruise.

“Won’t you do the same for your wife?” John countered.

Zemo did not answer, instead buried himself in deep thought, recalling Heike’s beautiful ideas and soulfulness, her supernal form of love that could knock Goliath to its feet. Soon, he had no more bitter recrimination left in him. John sat beside him in morose silence, anger dampened by Zemo’s tepidness.

After a while, the urge to speak became too great, “If she and I were held at gunpoint, who would you save?” The question was childish. Zemo asked with the tenuous expectation of someone who couldn’t quite accept what they had heard and doubled back to demand a different answer.

“I’ll save you both.”

“You can only save one.”

“Then I’ll save her since you’re experienced enough to get yourself out of the situation.”

“We’re both unconscious.”

“I can’t answer this question in a way that makes you happy, Zemo.”

The hardness in John’s eyes made Zemo pause and bite down everything that he had wanted to say. There would be no more discussion here.

“I know,” he confessed, feeling oddly magnanimous. “That’s why I asked.”

John Walker couldn’t be fully trusted to protect him - this fact Zemo understood from the very beginning. John Walker had been a tool to be used, playing the part of shield and sword to perfection.

Trust is quixotic in nature. John still had dangerous attachments to others in his life, attachments that could put Zemo’s life in peril. The convenient removal of Lemar sent the already untethered man afloat, spiralling further into his orbit, and if he managed to put a bigger schism between John and his wife...

Zemo itched to crawl over John, rip those clothes off him and wrap his legs around his hips, burying his nails into skin and muscle. He laid his palm on the warm glass of the car window, imagining it to be all around him, just staying there forever in the soft afterglow. Just like that one night in a Pakistan motel, where they made love over the rough sheets, uncaring of the chill or the consequences of their actions - single-mindedly sating their bloodthirst and hunger and nothing else. John had fallen asleep holding him close, one hand circling the column of his throat, another splayed across his soft belly, as if at any second Zemo could fall off the face of the earth.

He fell asleep to a nightmare that showed him: once those hands were lifted, his intestines would spill out from his stomach, the blood would bubble like a geyser from his slashed throat.

And when morning came, he wished that he could fall into a dreamless sleep forever. As if in a daze, he had reached for the gun in the bedside drawer, only to be pulled back into a cocoon of warmth.

“Stay,” John had said, voice muffled from burying his face into Zemo’s hair. His exhales were warm, lulling Zemo back to sleep like the gentle rumbling of a steam engine.

John Walker was strong enough to save him from himself, and that made him valuable - Zemo wished he had the foresight to see this from the very beginning.

There’ll be no one else who wants you. Or will ever want you.

That’s why you’re mine. Mine, mine, mine. I will always have a pound of your flesh.

Before he knew it, the sky was falling grey. They were passing under a big storm cloud. The wind whipped up the powdery dirt around them, whooshing and wailing like phantoms in a blossoming sandstorm, only to be struck down by the fat raindrops that pelted down from the sky. John slowed the car down and heaved a sigh, drumming his fingers on the dashboard as they plowed through the muddied road.

From the squelching beneath them, Zemo could not tell how many microscopic life forms or frogs or snails that they had rolled over, leaving a trail of destruction.

“Fuck!” John cursed loudly when the car spluttered to an abrupt stop, causing Zemo to jump in his seat. He sat still and silent as John ran out into the downpour, and simply watched the water droplets on the window gather in mass, congregating, then roll down the glass. If he were to glance outside at the hazy cliff edges, his vision would go fuzzy with the mad frenzy at which rain was pelting down - so many that they stayed suspended in his vision as one thunderous shower of water, changing in direction as the wind blew. With the rest of the world tuned out to a soft hum, he was left alone with his thoughts.

Zemo hadn’t realized that he drifted off until a loud groaning of metal made him jolt, followed by John’s groan. “Jesus fucking Christ. Now, of all places.”

He rolled down the windows slightly - “What’s going on?”

John soon emerged into view, his hair and clothes soaked and plastered to his skin. “Get out. Car broke down, so we’re walking.”

Zemo wrinkled his nose, but complied nonetheless, knowing that John was in a foul mood, one that meant he should be best left alone. He left his coat in the car, not wanting the extra weight or the soggy feeling of it. The rain trickled into his hair, drawing a wet, cold line down his scalp. His cheek stung, giving the phantom feeling of being slapped, even though he knew it was just from the raindrops. Trying his best to ignore the discomfort of his clothes steadily getting wetter, he went to the trunk and helped John retrieve the essentials - the vibranium shield and Zemo’s important documents stored in a waterproof bag.

“How long will this take?” He risked a question.

“An hour.”

They began walking, and with the water dripping down into his shoes, his pants turning wet and stiff, Zemo’s initial indifference was starting to sour. He resisted the urge to kick away a stray pebble, not wishing to devolve into the same brand of childishness that John retired to once all options were exhausted.

Zemo was starting to shiver. “We should have stayed in the car,” he thought aloud.

“Go back if you want,” John said with cold indifference.

“Walker,” Zemo moved even before meaning to, fisting John’s shirt in his hands. “I’d advise you to watch your tone.”

John cocked his head. “You’re the one who started it.”

“If I recall, earlier, you said that I was whoring myself out,” Zemo said each word delicately, dragging it out with excruciating slowness and waiting for each one to sink in.

“You never had a problem with it in bed,” John laughed. The sound tore through Zemo like a bullet. If it were anything else he could have stayed indifferent. But this was his naked body being pinned down like a butterfly specimen in a dissection class, exposed for everyone to see. He let John touch him, degrade him, under the unspoken condition that what went on behind closed doors stayed there. He had never expected this. If John said these things now, what would he let slip in front of Contessa? Hammer? Starr? In a fit of fury, he might announce everything that they did together. Or perhaps he already had, in a conspiratorial voice- guess what I found out about Zemo? Perhaps Zemo had been the butt of the joke the entire time, unaware as the rest of the Thunderbolts stole glances at him and pictured him on his knees.

John took a step forward, uncaring that they would collide, and Zemo’s feet shuffled back involuntarily to keep the distance between them. In terror, he tried to pull his hand away, but John had a vice grip on his wrist. He reached out for Zemo’s throat with his other hand, snarling- “You can’t do anything to me.”

It all happened in a blur after that.

His palm stung. John was stumbling away, broken out of his violent stupor, one hand on his reddening cheek. The relief poured into Zemo, filling his lungs with oxygen.

“Oh god,” John sobbed. He curled in on himself, a wretched, broken thing. The rainwater was still running down his face, so it was only when he covered his face with his hands that Zemo realized he was crying. “Oh my god, I… ”

“Stay away from me,” Zemo said. His own voice was hazy and far away. Almost mechanically, he pulled a knife from his boot and pressed it to his wrist. Droplets of blood beaded up on the surface of his skin, a thin bracelet of ruby crystals. “Don’t move closer.” What the hell am I doing?

“Stop!” John wailed, his voice nearly unrecognizable in its desperation. “Please, please, I won’t move so stop!”

Zemo was so tempted then, to tear the knife down his arm anyway, just to demonstrate to John the price of broken promises, of fractured trust. He gritted his teeth in preparation for it, but… oh, fate, godforsaken fate, had the blade slip from trembling fingers. And life had a way of creating its comedy, because staring at the dirty knife on the ground, Zemo felt too tired to pick it up again.

Saved by a fucking tremor.

“John,” he called weakly, and let himself fall. The impact never came.

---

When he came to, he was somewhere warm and dry, dressed in a clean cotton bathrobe. The fireplace crackled away merrily in the corner of the room.

“This is a small inn. I took a detour from our route,” John said. He approached Zemo cautiously, waiting for silent permission before offering a glass of water.

“I’m sorry,” John said again, his voice small. “I really am. I shouldn’t have said those things. They weren’t true. I’ve never, ever thought of you that way. And I lost control of my strength and my temper...”

“Did you tell anyone?”

John looked up, startled.

“Did you tell anyone else that you and I - that I was a-” The word, meant to mock, lodged painfully in his throat. Zemo looked away, unwilling to let John see his weakness.

“No. Never. I have never told anyone else about us. I know that after today, you probably won’t believe me again. But please just… take my word for it that I have never told a single soul. And I may have complained about you to others, but never like that. I never used that against you, never will.”

John let out a pained sigh. “God, I sound like such an asshole right now. We can stop this arrangement, I mean it. I understand if you don’t want to do it anymore.”

“Look at you, being so serious, trying so hard.” Zemo murmured, trying to relieve his gnawing discomfort. “Are you forgetting? It’s just sex.”

John didn’t respond. He reached for Zemo's wrist, stroking the bandaged skin tenderly, and when he looked up, Zemo was shocked to see that his blue eyes were wet with unshed tears.

John’s touch burned, searing his bare skin. Zemo squirmed and trembled from his ministrations, his body vibrating like a plucked violin string. “Don’t. Don’t try to be... better for me. Save that effort for the woman you love.” I don’t deserve it.

He leaned forward to lick the tears off John’s lips as they started to spill over, letting the salt hit the back of his throat like a whisky shot. “Hurt me. I can take it.”

No guilt.

No strings attached.

That’s the reason you keep coming back to me, and not anything else.

Don’t spoil what we have, John. If you tire of me and run away, who will be there to save me from myself?

You will always be fond of me. I represent to you all the sins you’ve never had the courage to commit.

“Don’t apologize to me. I hold no grudges against you for what you did. We merely exploited each other. Selflessness is not in our nature unless it’s to those who we truly love. For them, we can do anything.”

“Yeah.”

“Olivia, do you truly love her?”

“I do.”

Zemo could read John like a book by this point, and he knew that it was the truth. His chest felt light from the hope of seeing young love flourish, and he smiled a genuine smile that made John flush red in embarrassment. Yet it felt like a needle had been plunged into his heart. It was a reminder of things that he could never possess.

“Heike was just like that. We two can only hurt each other, but people like them will always make you a better version of yourself.”

“You know, I feel that Olivia fell in love with a version of me. A version that’s no longer there, or buried so deep that I can’t dig it out. I'm just an imposter. And now…”

“Now you don’t feel worthy?”

John’s eyes widened. “Yes,” he said breathlessly. “Yeah, how did you know?”

Because I once felt the same way. And I wasted my time trying to figure out the answer, while death stole her away from me.

“Give her that best version of you.” Zemo pressed a kiss to the shell of his ear. “Your home is not a battlefield, leave the violence here with me. And when I’m gone, take it to your grave.”

---

“Zemo, I’ve been thinking...” John lit a cigarette. “...Is it really just sex?”

Zemo turned the question over and over in his mind. “It’s codependency,” he said carefully.

“That’s a big term that I don't understand.”

“A man can’t part from his preferred choice of drug, for the withdrawal will destroy him. That’s what we are.”

“Addiction, you mean.” John took a long drag from his cigarette, exhaling the smoke slowly. Zemo watched the way his throat bobbed, mouth feeling dry all of a sudden.

“Something like that.”

“You know, an asthmatic guy can’t part from his inhaler either.”

“In this metaphor, are we the asthma or the inhaler?”

“Hey, I tried my hand at being philosophical. It’s more of your thing. It's because you’re a smartass who likes showing off, and you’re also a bitch,” John retorted without any real heat.

“I think the word you’re looking for is an affliction.”

“Like I said, smartass.” John put the cigarette out, leaned forward, and gave his forehead a playful little flick.

---

John left in the middle of the night. Zemo heard his footsteps down the stairs and saw from his window a car pulling out of the driveway. Tomorrow John will greet his wife on the porch, and inform her that unfortunately, his colleague couldn’t make it.

When the roar of the engine had finally faded away, Zemo allowed himself to cry - deep, rattling sobs muffled into whimpers.

He cannot bring himself to hate a woman whom John loves.

He cannot bear to separate them.

From midnight into the morning, he laid there paralyzed, cold and alone, clawing at the cut in his wrist until it bled, wishing there were strong arms around him.

My ending thoughts: Is it really just sex? (Hint: It's not)

This is the official end of the three-part road trip series. Thank you all for staying till the end. I will be uploading all 3 parts to AO3 for easier access as well :)

Inspiration and images were taken from:

Zion National Park, United States (Utah)

Black Canyon of the Gunnison, United States (Colorado)

Trollstigen, Norway

Transfăgărășan road, Romania

Karakoram Highway, China-Pakistan

Images were taken from Google, not owned by me.

[inexcon]

RSI Comm-Link: Something Every Tuesday: Argo Hero

[ Music ]

Announcer: Good evening, everybody. Get ready for your week to peak because it’s time for Something Every Tuesday with your host, Esen Landari!

[ Applause ]

Thank you! Thank you. Hey, everyone, so glad you could join us. We’ve got such an incredible show for you tonight, you’re not gonna want to miss a moment of it. And while we’re talking about missing out, you hear about this poor guy in Lyre? Did you hear about this?

[ Scattered Laughter ]

Well, last week a Caterpillar crew landed in Lyre for a little R&R and one of the crew members went to the bathroom on the ship and got locked inside. No big deal, right? Well, turns out this guy wasn’t wearing his mobi, so, yeah, all he could do was bang on the door. I guess they make the doors pretty solid because no one heard him. Poor guy spent the entire weekend locked in that cramped bathroom. How crazy is that? I mean, at least he had somewhere to sit, right?

[ Laughter ]

His crewmates only realized what had happened when they got back to the ship and needed what everyone does after vacationing in Lyre; to use the bathroom and take a cold shower.

[ Laughter ]

In the crew’s defense, they thought the guy had ditched them to party on his own. How hard does this guy party if no one was concerned that he vanished the second they landed? There’s really only one word to describe someone known to hit it that hard — ‘Cassian.’

[ Laughter ]

Speaking of Ellroy Cass, everyone’s favorite celebrity shipwreck is in rehab again. Talk about contender for least surprising headline of the year. He’s reportedly battling an addiction to Flow. Sources claim that prior to rehab Cass hadn’t slept in days and was obsessed with landscaping his backyard so it “felt like the beach.” Which is a nice idea, right? Except that his mansion is in the forest. That’s some pure, uncut Cass, right there.

Some of you might recall that Maurice Vano, the man who tried to kill Imperator Costigan, was also addicted to Flow. Supposedly, when Cass’s friends found out he was using the new drug, they began to worry he might be driven to do something similar. Though in Cass’s case, the only thing he was looking to assassinate was his own career.

[ Laughter ]

It’s great that he’s trying to get help, though. Seriously. Addiction is tough no matter who you are. Of course it’s a little less tough when your rehab center looks like this. Here are some pictures we found of the Tresman Gardens Rehabilitation Center.

[ Hoots and Hollers ]

Nice, right? Those sexy, muscled people wearing the skimpy swimsuits? Those are the certified hydromassage healers. Quick show of hands, how many of you are thinking about getting addicted to something now?

[ Laughter ]

Like I said earlier, you do not want to go anywhere. We’ve got a very, very special show tonight because our first guest is the very definition of a hero. His courageous actions saved the lives of 21 fellow Navy crew members on Virgil I. Here to tell us his absolutely incredible story is Lt. Davante Lee.

[ Applause ]

Get comfortable and stay awhile. You deserve it.

Lt. Davante Lee: Thanks. Yeah, wow, it’s kinda overwhelming to be here right now.

The studio lights are bright, aren’t they?

Lt. Davante Lee: ‘Blinding’ is more like it. Feels like I’m in a staring contest with a Bengal.

[ Laughter ]

First off, I just want to say on behalf of everyone here and watching on spectrum, thank you for your service.

[ Applause ]

Your story is absolutely incredible. There’s really no other way to describe it. So let’s set the stage: your fleet came under attack in the Virgil System, right? Near Virgil I.

Lt. Davante Lee: As part of the rearguard, yeah.

And where were you when the ambush happened?

Lt. Davante Lee: Ah, ferrying supplies to the Montgomery. One second this big, beautiful Polaris is sitting before me and the next the ship’s in flames and spiralling down toward Virgil I.

That sector had been quiet for ages, too. Then outta nowhere, they hit us, hard, and the worse thing possible happens. Honestly, when the Vanduul fighters showed up and the Mont went down, I had to take a moment to ask myself if I was in a simpod or not. Nothing felt real.

But you weren’t in a simpod, were you?

Lt. Davante Lee: No, definitely not. I was in an Argo MPUV.

[ Gasps ]

The ideal ship for going toe-to-toe with the Vanduul, right?

Lt. Davante Lee: Well, it doesn’t have a single weapon, but it does have something else going for it — a ton of cargo room. I knew I’d never survive a tussle, but I could shuttle folks to safety. So, the second I saw the Mont break atmo above Virgil I, I decided to follow it.

I had a hell of a time finding them, especially since the ship’s comms were down.

From what I heard Virgil I’s atmo didn’t make that search any easier. Not with that swirling poisonous ash killing all visibility.

Lt. Davante Lee: That’s for sure, but it also probably saved my life.

This interview is brought to you by ‘poisonous ash,’ seriously, it could save your life.

[ Laughter ]

So, you locate the Montgomery somewhere in this crazy ash storm, and then what?

Lt. Davante Lee: Lieutenant Yu was on the sticks at the time. Considering the state of the corvette, she did an incredible job controlling the crash, so it landed in a perfect spot. The ’duul found the crash pretty soon after I showed up. They started strafing the Mont to keep us occupied while landing dropships all around us.

It was … I’m not sure how to describe it. I mean, it was absolute chaos. No one could really see anything, except for their shots zipping through the ash like blurs of light … and you knew the ’duul were getting closer every second. You just didn’t know from where.

Somehow, the Mont’s crew all rallied together and established a perimeter. One of the turrets had survived the crash, so they were doing the best they could with that. Gave me enough cover to touch down. Thinking back now, I actually don’t remember a lot of it. With all the adrenaline and everything, my brain just sorta went on autopilot. Everything I did was more instinct than anything else.

And what did that instinct having you doing?

Lt. Davante Lee: I, ummm, unloaded the Argo as fast as possible and started loading up the Mont’s crew, injured ones first. I took off that first time without even checking the scans. I just lifted her off the ground, picked a direction and got the hell outta there.

And how many times did you do that?

Lt. Davante Lee: It took three more trips to get everyone.

[ Loud, Sustained Applause ]

Lt. Davante Lee: Thank you, but really it was the ash storm and the incredible people on the ground holding back the Vanduul that let me get so many of the crew out of there.

That’s just incredible. Where’d you even take the people you rescued? Another part of the planet?

Lt. Davante Lee: Nah, you don’t really want to hang out in that poisonous atmo if you can help it. Found a safe spot for them on the nearest moon. Dropped them there and then went back for the rest. It’s a miracle they held ’em off that long.

I can’t even imagine what that must have been like. I have to keep reminding myself that it’s a true story. It sounds like something straight out of a movie. Which, if they do end up making a movie out of this, I know the perfect actor to play you as soon as he is back out of rehab.

[ Laughter ]

So, what’s next for you, Lieutenant?

Lt. Davante Lee: Well, I’ve got a few more of these to do.

I believe we were lucky enough to grab you first, right?

Lt. Davante Lee: Yup, first one. It is that obvious?

Seriously, you’ve done a great job, hasn’t he, folks?

[ Loud Applause ]

Lt. Davante Lee: Thanks. I really, truly appreciate the support, but it’s the men and women currently serving on the Vanduul front that are the true heroes. It’s important that the people of the Empire remember to support the cause any way they can.

You sure you haven’t done one of these before?

Lt. Davante Lee: Positive.

Well, I’ve got a feeling there’ll be plenty more in your future. We need to take a quick break. Can you stick around for a bit longer?

Lt. Davante Lee: I think so, yeah.

Well, clear your schedule, ’cause I’ve got like a bazillion more questions for you. Plus, we’d love for you to play a round of our game ‘Spin Cycle.’ You up for it?

Lt. Davante Lee: Sure, let’s do it.

That and more when Something Every Tuesday returns after the break.

http://bit.ly/2w4OA29