#thank god for more domestic assassin stuff

[sleepdepravity]

Wow….just like precure….

[noisyquokka]

Could I request a blurb with kevin from the boyz where we get stuck at home during a snowstorm but then eventually have to go back to work/school, the regular grind ig? Fluffy and cute stuff plz ^-^

The Place To Be

PAIRING - Kevin x GN!Reader

SYNOPSIS - Spending three days in the house can easily bring on cabin fever. Well, except when Kevin's around... It's even harder to get back on schedule when he's actively doing his best to keep you near.

WORDCOUNT - 1.9k

WARNINGS - Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, sarcastic comments/insults incoming (It's just that kinda relationship), just two (2) dorks doing cute shit together and being cute together, Kevin being a menace

A/N - So it's not a blurb (I'm basically incapable of writing anything under 1k words) but I hope you enjoy it all the same!💛 Edit: I'd like to formally apologize for thinking I posted this like 3 weeks ago when it, in fact, sat in the drafts 🤡 send me to the pit of flames, y'all!

"Good God, how many shades of the same yellow does one paint kit need!?" Kevin shakes his head, squeezing the tiny tube of Cadmium onto the palette. He's sitting beside you, working on a paint-by-number piece that he'd bought months ago. What better time to crack it open than today? You turn your head to the canvas, taking in his progress.

"Those are not the same shade, Kev." You point to the few yellows you assume he's referring to, along with the one he'd just added to his palette. "That's a light yellow compared to this one. This is more of a lemon." You reach for two others; Golden and Saffron. "And these are two different shades, babe."

"Golden, Lemon, Banana Cream, Pineapple, Pear. I don't see a difference!"

"And you call yourself an artist... pfft." It's a mumble that's loud enough for him to hear, one that earns you the bump of his knee into yours under the table. You chuckle in response, bringing your palm to rest under your chin.

His eyes rove over the canvas, and you can see the cogs turning in your boyfriend's head as he figures out how to twist this paint-by-number into his own little masterpiece. The box was labeled Cottage in the Mountains but you knew Kevin. He'd add his own little touch to the canvas in the end.

"I know I'm hot, but quit staring, babe!"

"Oh, so hot that the snow is still falling." you pipe up, sarcasm thick in your tone. Kevin places a hand on his chest dramatically, rubbing at his pec as if you've wounded him. He leans into you, pressing a kiss to your hairline before he diverts his attention back to the tubes of paint.

"Felt that one deep in my chest, at least five years off my life." He presses another kiss to your nose, finding the smirk on your lips when he pulls away. "You trying to kill me off early?"

"Ugh, you got me. I'm actually an assassin." You reach for one of the painting knives on the table, running your fingers over the blade like a villain in a movie. "Unfortunate that I have to break it to you when we're stuck in this house together, snowed in... no one to come looking for you..."

"Well, when you say it like that." he trails, taking the knife from you. He's so unbothered, too used to this back and forth that you two have conjured as your love language. The corners of your lips curl up in a grin, and you bring your hand up to cradle his jaw, pressing your lips against his cheek in a quick kiss.

"You are the only thing saving me from this hell. So thank you for staying with me." you say. Kevin chuckles, dipping his brush into the dollop of Cadmium.

"We live together, you know." 

"Well yeah, but you could've chosen to paint in the office or something."

"But I didn't." The paintbrush moves over the canvas with sparse flicks of a wrist, the man's attention taken up by the careful strokes of his workspace. Your smile hadn't faded by much, but watching him work brightened it like morning glories.

"No, you didn't." you murmur. You get up from your seat, carding your fingers through his hair before leaving a kiss on top of his head. 

It's a simple thing, really; with below-zero wind chills and a snow band that wouldn't let up, you two were stuck inside. The whole town had shuttered with the storm, putting the safety of the citizens above all else, which in turn, canceled any non-essential traveling. With the snow falling at a pretty good clip, plows couldn't clear the streets fast enough. Living in a cold climate long enough had humbled you, and you easily knew when it wasn't worth going out. It also taught you how to make a mean chicken and veggie soup. Speaking of...

The paintbrush halts its movement over the canvas, brown eyes sliding back to where you disappear into the kitchen. His stomach rumbles, those familiar scents of seared chicken and simmered vegetables distracting him from his work. Kevin finishes the bit of paint off before cleaning off his used brushes, standing from the dining table and padding after you.

"Need any help?" He smiles, watching the moment your head turns to find his form standing in the doorway. You wave him over, stirring the soup in the Dutch oven. Long arms find their respective place around your torso, pulling you slightly away from the stovetop flame.

"You're like a dog," you mutter, setting the ladle down on the counter. You turn to face him, his fingers sweeping your midriff with the action, leading him backward until his hip meets the island. "always sneaking into the kitchen, nosing around for scraps."

"Does that mean I get whatever my heart desires?" He leans against the marble, dipping his head down till his forehead bumps yours.

"Depends." you reply with a sly grin, hands sliding over the fabric of his hoodie. "What exactly are you looking for?"

Your question is met with a cheeky smile and a raised brow, strong hands slipping around your waist.

"Nothing too demanding, just you and me cuddling on the couch after we eat?" The corner of his mouth quirks up, and he cocks his head to the side. "And a taste of that soup?"

You twist away from his grasp, bringing your attention back to the stove. The soup simmers on medium heat, steam rising above the broth as you stir the menagerie in the pot. You hum to yourself, feign thinking it over. Kevin's arms catch you as you instinctively lean back into his chest, fingers trailing over your side. After a moment, the ladle is placed on the counter again, and you reach to the left to wretch the drawer open for a spoon. It's all the answer Kevin needs.

“Nothing too demanding?” you finally ask, a teasing lilt in your voice. The remark is too easy to pass up cracking jokes, and it earns you a breathy laugh as your boyfriend rests his chin on your shoulder.

"Maybe later, if you're feeling up to it." He matches your humorous teasing easily, following it with a kiss on your shoulder. You bite back a smile, taking the spoon to the pot with a careful hand, a sample taste that you blow on before turning to your boyfriend. You keep your free hand under the spoon as he takes a sip from the utensil, licking his lips just like a dog.

"Perfect!" he replies, eyes soft as he glances down at you. Fingers glide up the wrist that's holding the spoon, stealing it easily to go back for seconds.

"Biased!" you counter, reaching for the spice rack.

"For you? Always," Kevin admits, taking another sample from the pot. "But your comfort food always tastes the best."

"I'm not sure if that's an insult or a compliment to my cooking skills."

"Both." The word falls off his tongue quickly, and you scoff.

"Don't go eating it all, there's still ten minutes left on the timer!" You swat his hand away from the pot, stealing the spoon back with a half-hearted glare.

"Is that your way of telling me patience is a virtue?" he questions, taking you back into his grip. He catches the sidelong glance you spare - the shoulder that you shove back into him in retaliation - and he grins. 

"That's exactly what I'm saying." You take from the few spices you've used in the soup already, adding a little more into the pot. Kevin intently watches you work, a looming heat over your shoulder that warms you more than the flame in front of you. He doesn't let go of you when you finally back away from the stove, opting to pull you with him until he's once again leaning against the counter and you're pressed against his chest. With seven minutes left on the timer, you let your attention drift to the man clinging to your waist.

Large hands sweep up your back and pull you closer, brown eyes locked with yours for a brief moment. Patience practiced, his gaze briefly drops to your lips and then he’s leaning in, a gentle brush of his against yours that has you instinctually wrapping your arms around his neck. The warmth of his breath makes the hairs on your neck stand like electricity coursing through your veins. You nuzzle your nose playfully against his, earning yourself a lazy grin.

The space between you dwindles to nothing once he captures your lips in a kiss. It's soft and sweet, a simple little thing that has a smile pulling at your lips, and suddenly the kitchen is the coziest place to be. Kevin's ears twitch at the sound of your laughter, heard in between liplocks and small pecks.

The best sound he's ever heard.

It's when you lean into him and curl your fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck that he pulls away, pressing his forehead into yours. Just in time for the timer to go off.

It's like this for the three days that you're stuck at home; a simple routine that you quickly grow accustomed to as the hours drag on. While you don't mind sticking it out with your boyfriend, you're not against the idea of racing out into the yard to bury yourself under the several feet of snow that has fallen. Kevin makes it bearable when he's got you wrapped up on the couch or in bed, nothing more than the sound of your collective breathing and tangled legs under blankets.

It only becomes a problem when the snow has ceased and snow removal has wrapped up.

"Kevin, baby, I have to get up!"

You're still in bed, imprisoned in your boyfriend's embrace while you watch the minutes quickly deplete for you to get ready for your shift. Kevin whines into your neck, his arms tightening when you try to pry them off.

"Don't you have sick days left?"

"Yeah, but-"

"Take a sick day." he pleads, eyes closed as he snuggles into you.

"You know I can't do that."

Cue the grumbling like a perturbed feline being chased from the bathroom sink. You can't help but laugh at the response, trying once again to escape the man's clutches. He only tightens his grip again.

"Kev, come on, now," you whisper, turning your head towards your boyfriend. "We've been stuck in the house for three days."

"Take a sick day," he repeats, mumbling the words against your neck. His lips are warm against the skin, nipping at the delicate flesh lazily before he lifts his head to meet your gaze.

"Please?"

It's hard to protest when he's looking at you like that; like you're his only reason for staying in bed another day. The heat of his body sinks into yours and you feel the protests on the tip of your tongue succumbing to the thumb massaging circles into your hip. To be completely honest with yourself, you'd be willing to skip work daily if you could stay wrapped up in Kevin's arms like this for the rest of your days.

You sigh softly, knowing your attempts to convince him to let you go are failing. The puppy eyes have won you over, and he'll melt any defenses you can muster up with them.

Your hand juts out for your phone, grabbing it from the nightstand. It's a quick unlock and a couple of taps, a quick call to your supervisor that you can't make it in due to the driveway being snowed in. A little white lie. When you hang up, you shoot your boyfriend a look.

"Happy?" you ask.

Kevin sighs contentedly, pulling you close as he makes himself comfortable again.

"Very."

Psst!! If you made it this far, thank you for taking the time to read my work 💕 I appreciate you!

[petalologist]

omg the amount of food i've been given with all of this... you guys have me frothing at the mouth with the bird au especially i've always been a sucker for emphasizing ayaka's bird connections in particular so this just scratches my brain in a really good way. also different vision types hello?!?! thank you so so much for sharing all of this with me. i'll probably end up reading through all of the fic stuff itself in my spare time in the near future!!! :"") to keep this from getting too much longer on the dash im gonna pop this all under a read more!

it's so funny because the more you describe your hcs for them and scenarios and aus you've crafted they all line up very well with thoughts i've had about them! a commonality i have with a lot of my ayaka ships are like, a desire to fulfill her wishes like those outlined in her character story 5--someone who would have the ability to see her as herself, someone who isn't all too formal with her. and especially, someone who can tell her a story or two, so someone like childe fits well in that regard. with his abundance of travel and social experience he'd probably pique her interest as someone with all sorts of interesting things to share with her, but i could also generally see herself being innately drawn to those who offer a bit of unpredictability to her life.

i love love love an ayaka interaction where she knows more than she seems cuz that's literally like. exactly how things were in the aq LMAO. part of it is obviously due to her high government status but it's also a big part of her to observe her people and monitor for anything potentially suspicious (or helpful!) showing up on narukami and i think a harbinger showing up would fit the bill there. we could also go into how wild it is that the kamisato family has a whole like, association of loyal spy/assassins under their care that could be considered suspicious in itself but i think that'd be another line of intel as well. MY POINT BEING most of my own interpretations of their meetings are rarely a total strangers, sidetracked situation, though i totally subscribe to any antics with childe being floored by ayaka's princess status or combat ability. YUM

i have..... so many thoughts about ayaka and the interaction of inazuman and other cultures through her. i could go on forever in theat regard for scarayaka especially but for chiyaka i see it being a very intimate and domestic angle of mutually showing each other the traditions and objects of their homelands. they're both characters who are very tied to their nations even barring their statuses, both characters known to get along well with all kinds of people, and i think that'd all play in well for their families to end up blending in different ways. i adore your thoughts on childe and ayato's potential dynamics from both this and your other posts. they'd definitely bond in really weird ways but also clash in about just about every other regard. them shaking hands on their protectiveness and care for ayaka.

THE ANGST i feel like they're both great for a little sentimental long distance pining!!

i'm going to try to keep things brief because i've already rambled so much and there is just so so much good i can say about this au but ohhh my god your brains are HUGE. pulling my hair shaking my head around at every single thing related to childe's original wings, skirk plucking them for his own safety, ayaka preening him and caring for him regardless, teaching him how to fly just GAHH

also to ur friend i literally adore every though on like, childe in love as childe as just a normal young man from a little home in snezhnaya with a crush because in the same way AYAKA is getting the chance to feel like a normal young woman with a crush. no more sneaking off to read cheesy yae publishing house romance novels in the privacy of her own room, she's getting to live as a regular person with girlish fantasies of dates and sneaking kisses and rebellion and i am just... so so weak for that kind of finding authenticity through each other kinda shit.

also if you're seriously interested in my scarayaka ramblings you are more than free to ask for them because i have way more than even this FJDSAKLFJFDLSA lyneyaka is probably my more vague ayaka rarepair conceptually so i don't have too much for them, but i can definitely return your generous chyk offerings with my scryk.

YOU SHIP CHIYAKA tell me your thoughts sand i'll tell you mine there's like 3 other people on this site i've met who ship chiyaka

HELLO!! first off, sorry for such a late response; i've been out of town for a few weeks. i really appreciate you reaching out though, as i love discussing ship stuff!!

honestly it started just because i have a problem with constantly shipping ayaka with various fatui LMFAO (stares at my scarayaka and lyneyaka art nervously) but i do think they could have a very fun dynamic! tartaglia is a very Respects Strong Women kind of guy and ayaka would be no exception, albeit her combat experience pales in comparison to those whose main line of work is in fighting. i feel like the obvious idea would be them meeting for diplomatic purposes, but i also think it would be fun if they just kinda met each other out in the wild, whether they know about each other's respective roles and titles at first or not. i think they'd equally spoil each other. ayaka is big on gift giving and would definitely express her affection through those sort of hints at first. i also have had thoughts about their respective thoughts on family? ayaka and ayato being the remaining members of their clan obviously makes them very close and worrisome about one another, and childe's sort of sheltering of his siblings might remind her of how ayato had been with her for a while. crying and sobbing thinking of ayaka pulling out her long since stored away childhood temari to teach teucer how to play, introducing his little siblings to various inazuman games and events like festivals. also, i enjoy the contrast between ayaka's more cautious and closed-off approach to live vs childe's seemingly impulsive nature. he'd be a bad influence on her in a fun way lmao

there's also obviously the angst potential. c'mon. harbinger and a government official/practically princess from two countries with rocky relations? childe is totally ayaka's 'sneak away at night, steal kisses in chinju forest away from their respective duties' bf. they'd be the types to fall for each other but barely see each other, as ayaka remains pretty stationary in her work for the yashiro commission and childe is always traveller for one mission or another.

these are all TOTALLY VAGUE and as you can tell i haven't actually ever hashed this stuff out, but i'd love love love to hear your own thoughts on them!! it's always so nice to see anyone who shares any of my rarepairs :"")

EDIT: AFTER LOOKING AT UR BLOG I REALIZE IVE READ YOUR FICS BEFORE??? HELLO WHAT AN HONOR

[polysyndetonaddictsupportgroup]

Love your writing!! Do you have any Daredevil fic recs? Xx

Thank you! And yes I do!

First off, if you like Daredevil fics, you need to read basically anything by @deniigi, but specifically these series: Dumpster Fire Verse, Lighter Fluid Verse, the Inimitable Verse, and Into the Multiverse. it's a LOT of reading and all of it is utterly fantastic. the humor is great, the writing is immaculate, the plots are full of love and feeling, and they're some of the most unique and creative fics i've seen in fandom. the matts in each of those series are each distinct characters with their own personality, and all of the characterization is great. seriously, it's just fantastic. this author is also just amazing at portraying messy characters? the characters are flawed and so fucking funny and the author side steps a lot of the moral absolutism that fandom tends to root a lot of stories in. this author also tends to incorporate in a lot of comic stuff that's fun and kind of rarer to see. i'll be recommending a few specific works below, but seriously, everything's good.

MY FAVORITE DAREDEVIL FICS:

Matt-centric:

The Bride of Mole Man by Werelibrarian. Short, funny MattFoggy one-shot. Matt almost gets stuck marrying a comic book villain out of pity. it's cute and hilarious.

None So Blind by prettybirdy979. It deals with disability and ableism well, and it's just a fun read. Features the Avengers.

Matt Murdock vs. the Media by JeannetteRankin. short, fluffy humor piece, funny and cute.

Action Figures Sold Separately by lembas7. It hasn't been updated in a hot minute, so be forewarned, but very original and well-executed idea. Steve Rogers fucks off and escapes SHIELD before fury can corner him in times square, finds Matt Murdock instead.

kisses so bitter by deniigi. oneshot, part of the Inimitable Series, but can be read as stand-alone. old married guys domestic MattFoggy. In the comics, Foggy gets cancer, and it's touching on that plot line a bit. i LOVE MattFoggy but i'm a little bit picky about its execution (mostly because i think that foggy nelson tends to be misunderstood as a character by fandom, and that usually seeps into the MattFoggy content). This is honestly such a great portrayal of their relationship, and i love it so much.

Tape by deniigi. Part of the Lighter Fluid Series. The Murdock clan throughout the years, as relayed by Fogwell.

Ensemble featuring Matt:

the Staying Close to the Ground series by iustuscadens, specifically Weekends Are for Breaking Promises and Getting Way in Over Your Head and Observational Skills. More Spider-Man centric, but such a great matt peter mentorship. very solid plot, characterization is great, and it handles conflict between characters VERY WELL without like, assassinating any one character. i also just absolutely love Ned and MJ in this. they are very much characters in their own right and they're treated with a lot of respect by the narrative.

You will still be here tomorrow, but your dreams may not by @tupacaze. God-tier fic. Matt doesn't show up until the second act, but he's got some fantastic characterization and it's incredibly well written. all of the characters are complex, in character, and it also deals with conflict between them so well. absolutely in love with this one.

in technicolor by deniigi. it's so funny. Ensemble vigilante cast, as shown through the eyes of Brett Mahoney. Hilarious and still has some very serious discussions. it was the first thing i ever read by this author and one of my favorites.

The Teenage Vigilante's Guide to Saving New York (And Making Friends Along the Way) by candlesneedflame. Ensemble cast, spider-man centric but Matt is very much a main character. ensemble vigilante cast. recognizes how sluttiness is an integral part of matt's character.

chicory coffee by deniigi. Part of the Into the Multiverse Series, and one of my favorites. I don't know if you've got much knowledge of the Spider-Gwen universe, but Matt Murdock (Matt Murderdock) is Kingpin in it, and this universe has pretty much my favorite Murderdock I've ever seen.

Sidebars by deniigi. Part of Inimitable Series. Features MattFoggy wedding, extremely funny and great characters.

can't always fly by deniigi. part of the Dumpster Fire series. admittedly more peter-centric, but i think that it really nails matt's character in ways that a lot of people miss. i'm fond of it.

who do you pray for by deniigi. it's so fucking funny. i've read it so many times. clint barton, on the prowl to get with daredevil. love it.

where from here by deniigi. my FAVORITE use of mike murdock i've ever read. Team Red ensemble fic. sort of fic you read and re read.

[koriyue]

Kitty… what have you done…

I can’t stop thinking about Childe as a secret agent for Snezhnaya. With Zhongli being the informant who seems to know too much, with Qiqi being a very forgetful child who somehow gets adopted because she’s a mind reader. And idk if you’re into reader inserts, but reader as an assassin who is just trying to make the world a better place—same as Tartaglia—and is feeling a little lonely about being single for so long, not to mention the rising suspicion about single women in Liyue.

Imagine Qiqi knows exactly who her parents are and what they do, but whenever she feels it’s important to reveal something about their secret occupations, her memory fails her and she just says something nonsensical yet utterly adorable. Imagine one day Childe is so tired from work that he accidentally brings his polearm home, and Reader asks if it’s “a new tool for concussive therapy” which makes him laugh, in awe and infatuated just a little. Reader who can’t cook, but tries so hard after noticing how tired Tartaglia is looking after the missions get rough. Childe panicking and talking to Zhongli about how his wife is stiff and curt with him, wondering what he did wrong when really it’s that Reader got hurt and is trying to prevent him from discovering it.

I love you for this idea but also I can’t stand it because I’m supposed to be studying for finals right now!!!! But I shall keep brainstorming and perhaps this will be one of the fics I work on over the summer. (It would be so fun to make it a multi chapter fic)

ZEBRA YOU ARE MY DREAM <3 god THIS. this this this! i love all of this and god,, thank you for feeding my brainrot,,,,

i clown him a lot, but the way he always puts family first,,, man,

more brainrot under the cut b/c it got lengthy!

okay first of all: one. childe would absolutely propose with the ring from a grenade. and two. i would obviously say yes on the spot.

something about childe being able to take off his mask in front of his makeshift family after keeping it on his entire life. poor guy's so unaccustomed to love and trusting others that he's just... malfunctioning when he begins to feel something other than indifference to reader and qiqi??? a constant stream of "a good spy must always hide his emotions" but he feels his cheeks warming and a smile threatening to show on his lips when he comes home.

omg the way his shoulders sag and the pinch in his eyebrows relax when he comes into the house and sees you and qiqi playing together. he's so used to being alone that when he says, "i'm home" he just. stops. pauses. because whoa. someone's here to welcome him home and he's happy about it.

the first couple of times, it's a punch in the gut. hot, scorching fear and something like disgust that lingers in his gut—b/c she shouldn't be relaxed. he shouldn't be happy. and his facade is up and he's focused on his mission. (it isn't until much later that the blistering heat mellows into a welcome warmth that traveled from his gut to his heart. and he can't bring it in himself to care :>)

childe... who is so used to accomplishing his mission and moving onto the next. and having to work out his stupid, bleeding emotions b/c frick he's in love. the constant seesaw between "this is my mission and nothing more" vs. "but i don't really want this mission to end" gGR GRGRGRR i want to see this man go through an emotional crisis >:))

I LOVE THE IDEA OF DOMESTIC CHILDE WHO LEARNS WHAT A FAMILY IS AND WHAT LOVE IS and then putting them first in a badly excused "it's for the mission" kinda way. "i must mask my emotions as a spy" but his eyes are smiling and his co-workers notice :( him going from "they are my contractual spouse" to "oh SHOOT why are they upset??? did i??? forget an anniversary??? 😨" and proceeds to shower them in gifts and take them out on a date 🥰

+ ALL THE CUTE DOMESTIC STUFF HE GETS TO DO WITH HIS FAMILY SOBBING

going to the aqaurium 🐠

THE CRUISE (hehe)

fruit picking?? 🍎

carnival / amusement park

bonus: qiqi innocently asking the both of them "are you guys going to kiss now?" and both of them screaming "NO!" (but their faces are red :>)

ANOTHER BONUS B/C JIGRJGIRGJ RIPS OUT MY HAIR: childe & qiqi cuddling together after a tiring day mimimimi

MY HEAD IS IN MY HANDS... ZEBRA.. IF YOU ACTUALLY WRITE THE FIC I WILL COMBUST, please write the fic i'm begging

[gogglor]

Cap-Ironman RecWeek: Tropey Tuesday

Over the past year my pandemic brain decided it would produce happy chemicals exclusively by reading and writing Stony fanfiction. On the advice of counsel, I decided to take my happy chemicals where I could get’em. And the result is that I’ve had the tremendous pleasure of reading some absolutely incredible works of art by some immensely talented people. And since it’s @cap-ironman RecWeek, I figured this is as good of an excuse as any to make some posts recommending my favs (and try to keep self-recs to a minimum, but I’m only human).

I skipped Multiverse Monday since I’m still not well-versed enough in the multiverse to talk about it with any kind of recommendational authority, but today is Tropey Tuesday, and so I would like to share some fics from my all-time-favorite, major-reason-I-bother-with-the-MCU, gets-me-every-time trope:

Found Family

And so, without further ado, here are some Found Family Stony fics that I simply adore.

Avengers Family Ficlets

Author: elwenyere

Word Count: 8,548

Summary: “You built a neural network that analyzes squash,” Bruce said flatly, “and you attached it to a laser.” A collection of short stories set in the extended Domestic Avengers Universe.

Why You Should Read It:

Thing number one that you should understand about me is that I would be perfectly happy with a story about body-less entities making funny quips at each other in  a featureless void, and anything else is just a bonus. Elwenyere’s stories consistently get the banter down so unbelievably, ridiculously well that when you find out they also have heart, creativity, well-developed characters, and so much damn feeling in them, it feels like an embarrassment of riches.

Go read all of their stuff, please, but this one’s a great place to start. It’s got everything you could possibly want in a fic: over-competitive pumpkin carving, emotional hospital confessions, Christmas decorations that come to life and attack people, crab dip, Steve Rogers accidentally ruining Thanksgiving through the sheer power of his own snark, and most importantly, a bunch of human disasters that somehow make a beautiful family together.

Executive Party

Author: copperbadge

Word Count: 3,228

Summary: Tony's terrible December is suddenly looking up.

Why You Should Read It:

Copperbadge is another author where you should read everything they’ve put out there. They’ve got this phenomenally creative mind that manages to consistently draw out deeply human stories that can kinda catch you off-guard in the places they find touching moments. You might’ve heard of their very popular Foodieverse, which is an incredibly creative AU with the Avengers in the food service industry, but this is the one I come to whenever I’m looking to indulge in my favorite trope.

Tony’s looking forward to spending the night before SI breaks for Christmas doing paperwork. Steve gets the Avengers to have an impromptu video game Christmas Party in his office instead. Cb’s also got a gift for banter (I have a type when it comes to writers, ok?), and the little details like Steve’s carnage record on GTA, Natasha’s Russian appreciation for country music, and Steve’s SHIELD break-up mixtape make it just a goddamn delight to read.

patchwork people

Author: itsAllAvengers

Word Count: 28,247

Summary: It was a pretty well-known fact that Tony Stark had control issues.It was far less well-known why, though.

CW: Past abuse and non-con (not by main pairing)

Why You Should Read It:

If you’re the kind of person who regularly thinks to themself “You know what Tony Stark needs? More trauma,” then this is the fic  for you.

Tony’s got some serious trust issues and PTSD thanks to some shitty, shitty exes. This is the story about how Tony learns to trust again, Avenger by Avenger, in his new Found Family. Come for the Whump, stay for the found family insomnia infomercial parties and Steve Rogers getting arrested for enacting some sweet, sweet karmic justice.

And now we get into a sub-genre of Found Family that is also a huge weakness of mine: Tony thinks he’s only tolerated instead of wanted, and his found family convinces him otherwise.

Some Things Shouldn’t Be a Chore

Author: scifigrl47

Word Count: 22,187

Summary: Steve takes things like personal responsibility and respect seriously. Tony's got people he pays to take care of that kind of thing, and anyway, he's pretty sure that he's going to die of some exotic disease in his workshop, because Dummy's still a little spotty about what is 'clean' enough to put on an open wound.  The rest of the Avengers are in this for personal gain, except for Clint, he just enjoys being a dick. And some things shouldn't be a chore.

Why You Should Read It:

Honestly it feels a bit like cheating to recommend the first work in scifigrl47′s tremendously popular Toasterverse, since I’m pretty sure a lot of people who don’t even like or regularly read fanfiction have liked this one, even indirectly. Sci is so ludicrously good at building an engaging, creative, character-driven universe that this series is responsible for most of the fanon you know and love about MCU fanfics. Tony’s bot Butterfingers? Sci made him up for this story. Thor’s love of Pop Tarts? Clint the vent goblin? All sci. They’re just that damn good at world-building.

In this fic, the Avengers try out a chore chart. Hilarity and feels ensue. I don’t want to say anymore and risk spoiling it because if you’ve managed to get far enough in Stony fanfiction to read this post and haven’t yet read the Toasterverse, I want to keep the experience pristine for you to enjoy. Please read this. You’ll laugh, you’ll cry, you’ll reserve a hypothetical genie wish to make this series the actually canon MCU (God knows I have).

Hold the Things You Wanna Say

Author: SailorChibi

Word Count: 6,316

Summary: Tony is still a consultant, and between SI, the team and SHIELD he's overworked and exhausted. That's okay. He and Steve have been having sex for weeks but that's all it is, just sex, and Tony wants more but he'll never get it and that's okay. Really. What's not okay is the fact that Howard Stark has somehow appeared in the future and is the same as always. This is definitely going to fuck up his schedule.

CW: Abuse, Howard Stark’s A+ Parenting

Why You Should Read It:

SailorChibi’s one of those authors I’ve been meaning to get around to reading all their stuff for, but it’s tricky when you have a short attention span and an author that is just so damn prolific. They’re a multi-fandom maven consistently putting out some really great stuff, and they’re absolutely worth checking out.

This story’s a real yank on the heartstrings, and as someone who can really identify with Tony’s fear of failing the people he cares about, the point in the story where he reaches his low is just unbelievably poignant. But the warmth and the wholesomeness of the end made my heart grow three sizes the day I read it. And the love that all these idiots have for each other is just so damn palpable in this story, it damn near made me cry.

Irreplaceable

Author: Orphan Account :(

Word Count: 4,952

Summary: There are obvious downsides to being the only member of the Avengers who is not a super soldier, a god, or a super assassin, and does not Hulk out when aggravated. The most obvious one is that when villains want bait, they've got a go-to guy. Tony already knew Mondays sucked. He did not need his opinion reinforced this way.

Why You Should Read It:

It’s such a bummer I can’t plunder this author’s other works because I love this one so much!

Tony gets kidnapped and says a lot of self-deprecating things that, unbeknownst to him, are projected on a live feed to the Avengers. They rescue him and have some opinions about how easily he could be replaced. This story’s got Tony hiding from feelings like an idiot, Steve manually carrying Tony somewhere the Avengers can say nice things about him, and a lot of feels.

That’s it for today! Tune in tomorrow for some AU recs!

[argumentl]

The Freedom of Expression - Ep 50 Propheciser with psychic powers, Baba Vanga's predictions.

K: Hi, this is Dir en grey's Kaoru, with this week's episode of The Freedom of Expression.  Joe san, Tasai san, welcome....Uh, its nothing special, but..

J: Nothing special?

K:...We havn't really spoken about this mask...(*gestures to his mask*)

J: Oh, of course.

K: We made it as part of our merchandise.

J: Oh, by the way..hang on a sec (*Turns around to show his jacket*)

T: Ohh, the Dir en grey one from before, right?

K: Tasai wore that once before too.

T: Yeah, on the live broadcast.

K: So today..

J: ...I'm wearing it.

K: Thank you.

J: This is really warm...

K: Really?

J: Um, the normal types of these, what are they called? Coach jackets? This material is a bit different from them.

K: Really?

J: It has a nice crispiness to it.

T: Yeah, I wear it quite a lot. This mask, what does it say on it?

K: I don't know, what is written on it? haha.

J: Is it on sale now?

K: I think so, yeh.

J: Everyone, please have a look!

T: Can I also just show my T shirt?....Its a Tokyo Sports one.

K: Ahh! Seriously?? That looks great!

J: That is cool!

T: Its from the store Hardcore Chocolate in Higashinakano.

K, J: Ohh!

K: Like that other one I sometimes wear? With Fujikawa Kyuji?

T: Yes, yes, yes. We've done a collaboration with them.

K: How good is that?!

J: Ehhh?

T: Its been on sale since Jan 11th. I brought you one each.

K, J: Eh?!

K: Thank you!

T: Thats what I wanted to say today.

J: Thats it? Isn't that great?

K: Ok, well..

J: Shall we start?

K: Yes.

J: This is the news that I chose. So, 2021 has already begun, but what type of year will it turn into? 'Blind propheciser with psychic powers...Baba Vanga'...

K: Its a bit difficult to say, isn't it? Bava Vanga.

J: Yes, Baba Vanga, she has made some predictions. She predicted the simultaneous terror attacks on America, and that the UK would leave the EU. The blind propheciser from Bulgaria, Baba Vanga. She actually died in 1996 aged 85, but she had already made predictions about what would happen in 2021, and she has been correct with 85% of her predictions so far. First, a cure for cancer will be found! Humanity will probably be able to eradicate cancer at the start of the 21st century. Next, President Donald Trump will be struck down with a serious ailment. The 45th president will catch a disease of unknown origin, go deaf, and suffer brain injury. Next, Europe. The European economy will collapse, a domestic asassination attempt will be made on President Vladimir Putin, Islamic extremists  will attack Europe with chemical weapons. Next, worldwide. The world will undergo climate change and suffer great damage. Peoples' awareness will change, an era of distress will dawn, people will be divided. We will witness shocking events which will change the fate of humanity. Thats not all, it goes on....Oil production will stop, trains will fly using solar energy. If oil production stops, the world can rest. In 2021, a strong dragon will seize the earth. Further, three giants will unite, some people will get red money. She also saw the numbers 100 and 5 with lots of zeros. As for the meaning of the dragon, if it were a nation, it is easy to see it as China, the three giants would be Russia, India, and China, and as for the 100 and 5, this could refer to 100yuans and 5000 rubles, as both use red notes. And finally, the last prediction is alien life in space will be discovered, the origin of life on eath will be revealed, and people will be able to make contact will their supernatural siblings from another world. Those are Baba Vanga's predictions. What do you think?

T: She died in '96, and she was already able to predict what would happen in 2021?

J: 25 years later, yes, she predicted what would happen in this year 2021. Well, I mean, she didn't say the name Donald Trump, she just said the 45th president would suffer. But the scary ones are peoples' awareness changing, and shocking events that will change the face of humanity. Thats been going on constantly since last year.

K: By the way, what were her predictions for the year 2020?

J: I wonder what they were.

K: I mean, I like this kind of thing, but don't psychics always put out tonnes of predictions.

J: They do.

K: So something is likely to fit.

J: Yeah, in the widest sense, something like this might happen.

T: Yeah.

K: Something out of these is bound to happen, so we can sit here and say, 'Oh yes, this is right', but if you really tried you could make any of them fit. Psychics do this a lot.

J: Well, yeah, I mean, she was quite specific with the 45th president getting an unknown ailment.

T: And with the assassination attempt on Putin, that was very specific.

J: Yeh, that was. Well..???*1 I'm interested in these bits. But look, it also says alien life will be discovered. This is good for Tokyo Sports.

T: Yeah, for Tokyo Sports, this is great.

J: Humanity connecting with separate worlds..

T: Supernatural siblings.

J: What does Tokyo Sports think of all this? Will it come true?

T: We might be in trouble if it does.

K: Right?! The dragon..

T: Hahaha

K: That would be bad.

J: Certainly though, when you look at something like this, you do end up trying to make it fit.

K: Yeah, when there is a lot.

Kami: Uh...

J: Ah, Kami! Surely you are an expert on this kind of thing, Kami?

Kami: Uh, the name Baba Vanga is incredible, right?

J, T: Yeah.

Kami: As a god of the Sai baba generation, Im attracted to this name.

J: Ahh, Sai baba. Do you know a lot about him?

Kami: No, nothing. Only his name.

J: Haha.

K: Only his name?

Kamu: No, the names of psychics have impact.

J: Ah, of course.

T: Its true, psychics have these kind of plosive sounds in their names.

J: What does 'Baba' actually mean? Like in Sai Baba, or Baba Vanga?

T: Ah, maybe something like 'god'.

Kami: No, its more like babababa~mba~m!

T, J: Haha

J: Kami, what do you think of these predictions?

Kami: Oh, it happens a lot, some peole getting red money. But, it doesn't matter what colour, red, yellow...I want it.

K: You want it, right?

Kami: 100 and 5 with lots of zeros, I want as many zeros as possible added

T: Hmm, yeah.

Kami: I want them to give it out like bababa~m! Babababa!

K: He just wanted to say that, haha

J: Kami, are you drinking?

K, T: Haha

Kami: No, I'm not drinking.

J: You're not?

Kami: No. Joe, you're just paranoid.

J: Haha.

K: But actually, there was some news about the cure for cancer wasn't there?

T: Was there?

K: Yeah, recently.

T: Ehh? Well, maybe these predictions are on point. 85% of her predictions turn out correct...

J: Hm, yeah, if the nice ones are correct, that would be nice. Curing cancer and stuff. I don't want that one about climate change and great suffering to be correct.

K: Well, these things are definitely happening at least somewhere in the world.

T: Right, yeh. Oh, (*reading card*) in the year 4509, conversing with gods will become possible. She predicted that too apparently.

Kami: That has already come true, right? We're talking now.

J: Well, of course, we are doing that.

T: 2000 years early.

K: Yeh..2...2016 years early?

Kami: Sorry its with such a lousy god though.

J: Thats right.

K: Yeah, we are conversing, right?

J: We are so early!

T: Hahaha

Kami: This is one of the 85% correct predictions.

K: Its not, its wrong, we are conversing with gods 2016 years before she predicted it.

J: Yeah, Baba Vanga said it would be in the year 4059. Unless this god talking to us is a fake god?

K: Oh, theres that theory too?

Kami: Can you say that? A fake god?

J: Eh?

Kami? Can you say a god is fake?

J: I mean, if its a half-baked god..

Kami: Im obviously a god..

J: I can't see you though..

Kami: Well, yeah, you can't, haha.

T: Haha, its obvious?

K: We have no idea?

J: We can't see you.

T: But we do have the knowledge that Kami has quite a babyface.

Kami: Ahh, pachinko, yeh.

J: I think Kami should make some predictions about what will happen in 2021, to prove to us that he's a real god.

T: Yes, thats it.

K: Yeah.

J: Right? Kami's predictions!

T: One or two..or three.

Kami: I can't, I havn't thought about it!

J: Haha, no no, if you can descend...

T: Its Kami's predictions.

Kami: Most likely...I'll change jobs.

T: You will...?

K: ...Change jobs?

T: Eh?!

Kami: Yes.

K: Your night shift?

J: His part-time job will change?

T: haha

Kami: Yes, thats it.

J: You can't call that a prediction, haha. Whether or not you will change jobs has nothing to do with humanity!

Kami: Its a prediction.

K: Its not!

Kami: The big gods can say things like an earthquake will come and stuff, but Im a small god.

J: Ah, I see.

K: Even then, he could still do it, its only a statement.

J: If anything it sounds just like a regular action plan.

Kami: Hehehe

J, T, K: Hahahaha

K: You're laughing, Kami? This god is getting more interesting.

Kami: Yes.

T: Kami, can you tell us what will happen to Joe this year?

J: Ah, yes, tell me my fortune. He could tell us all our fortunes.

Kami: Oh Joe? Joe will get drunk and mess up.

J:Hm?

Kami: You'll get drunk and mess up.

J: Well, yeah, haha

T: Thats a fact.

J: Thats just an extension of whats happened up to now.

T: How about something like, 'Joe will get married suddenly' or something?

J: Ah, yes yes yes.

Kami: Ahh, no, you won't.

K: I agree with that *2

J: No?

K: He's not lying, haha.

J: Its because there's no sign of it coming from me currently.

T: But thats the thing! It would be really sudden if you got married in June or something.

J: He said no.

T: Like, the one for you might appear!

J: Yeah, how about that?

Kami: I can see woman trouble for you.

T: Woman trouble?

J: Ahh, it won't work. What about Tasai?

T: Yeah, how about me, Kami?

Kami: ...I can see woman trouble.

J, T: Haha

K: He's just going with the flow.

T: Im getting dragged in by Joe.

J: He has no idea what to say again. Ok, how about Kaoru?

Kami: I can see woman trouble

J: Haha.

T: Is this ???*3

J: Yeah

K: ???*4

Y: Yeah

K: Ok, I think we'll finish this week on that note.  Please subscribe. Thank you very much.

* 2 Not sure im right.

* 1, 3, 4 Couldn't make out.

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[dontjudgemeimawriter]

1, 9, 12, and 16

1: Describe the plot of your current WIPs in a single sentence each.

Haha what counts as "current"?

Syndicate: Former assassin pretending to be a current assassin tries so hard to keep his cover to keep his freind safe but freind keeps risking his life because morals are important?

Immortal Souls: An Immortal reunites with their queerplatonic partner after being reincarnated and there's also another reincarnated guy and they're all witches dealing with death and domesticity.

Second Chance: Guy lives every day twice and fucks with time.

Crossed Lines: after a time change resulting in people thinking he died guy can't start over and instead moves so far off the path of starting over that he fucks up more than he realized he could.

Faye & Myra (untitled): two lesbians who are really in denial find beloning in each other and in a group of very queer friends

Lialyn: Prince of a country that runs on magic can't do magic and has no idea why and hides it.

9: Which OC is an absolute pain to write?

Writing Terran right now I've realized is sometimes really hard because he's kinda serious and dark and it's really hard to write light moments and banter from his perspective. I realized it wasn't just me struggling with it (although I haven't written much banter lately so maybe I'm out of practice) or that he wasn’t capable of it, just while I'm in his head I go "okay some fun!" And he's like "but I'm really stressed out and I'm going to keep thinking about the stressed out things."

Writing Maera/Hazel is hard because I don't know her very well or just haven't found her voice/personality yet so writing her feels kinda stagnent.

12: Share a dumb line from an old WIP.

Mmmmmmmmmmmmokay

Okay this is from a very shitty story I don't know when I wrote but it was with a very pessimistic fairy who was trying to sabatogue human stuff, not that that's important to the line:

“Mail! Mail! Mail for you! You are Talph, right? Good! Sign here! Just kidding, we don't do that, that’s for HUMANS! Enjoy your letter, sir, hope it’s not hatemail!” The elf had sped in and handed an envelope to Talph, and then stood there, hopping from foot to foot, watching Talph open the green envelope.

16: What’s the most ridiculous thing you’ve ever done in the name of outlining/worldbuilding (timelines, research, maps, spreadsheets, etc.)?

Oh my god. You've opened a memory. Okay. So. This isn't for anything current. This was for a fantasy story that I quit because there was too much political stuff and I don't like writing it but there was a Fae society. And I decided that they had different month names, and their months were just the moon cycle, new moon means new month. I named their months after pagan names for the moons. (Judging by the year I thought was important I believe I wrote this in 2017)

(Them calling December-ish “Mae” leads to some fun confusion)

Now that on its own isn’t that ridiculus. A little just because I never wrote it, but hey, you never know.

No the ridiculus part was... so our months don’t line up. And our years don’t line up to moon cycles. Oh and the other important thing is-- if my story just used this calendar this wouldn’t be an issue. But no. The humans used our calendar. Meaning there had to be a conversion. But it doesn’t convert exactly. So.

I have a spreadsheet of the years and when their months correspond. The dates on the first few years are from the very handy timeanddate.com telling me the dates of the new (or full? don’t remember) moons and therefore when their months started.

My spreadsheet, funnily enough, goes to 2021 before I decided that was enough. Not that I did every moon start date here... but today would be the 5th of Serpelunue!

thanks for the ask!

[winterironspiderling]

Man I just imagined if when Bucky was trying to figure out who he is after the winter soldier, he was found by team spiderman (Ned MJ Peter) who are all bamf and they just adopt this lost assassin guy into their teenage superhero nerd shenanigans and when the avengers find him he's just chilling out with spiderman who can block his metal and fluff replaces angst....

🥺🥺🥺 it’s what Bucky deserves.

//

I picture Bucky being really apprehensive at first. Not just because he doesn’t trust anyone, but because he doesn’t trust himself, and how could he live with himself if he ever hurt Peter, MJ, or Ned who all seemed so soft and small, and easily breakable.

It takes months of the group showing Bucky that they’re not scared of him, and assuring him he doesn’t have to hurt anyone ever again before he starts to believe it. He accidentally breaks stuff sometimes, or gets panicky out of nowhere, but nobody punishes him.

Since Peter is the strongest, he stays with Bucky when times are hardest. He holds Bucky’s hand, and tells the man he can hold on as tightly as he wants because he can take it. Ned gives Bucky old comic books to read, and MJ will do his hair sometimes when Bucky can handle being touched, but usually only Peter’s allowed—at first it’s because Peter isn’t in danger of being hurt, and then it becomes a preference.

Eventually, Peter starts holding Bucky’s hand even when he’s not anxious or angry, and then they become more.

Bucky decides to start going on missions once he starts feeling more like one of the good guys. It’s good for his mental health, but it puts him on the radar since the Avengers are actively running software on all security feeds in the city to try and find him.

They trace Bucky back to Team Spider-Man’s HQ, expecting to find The Winter Soldier holing up with other Hydra operatives...the kids either hostages or dead.

Instead, they end up raiding Ned’s parents’ basement. Bucky is sitting on the couch with Peter in his lap, MJ is studying for a test, and Ned is on the floor sorting the pieces of his new LEGO set.

Iron Man retracts his helmet, “Peter, you domesticated the Winter Soldier?”

Peter nods and kisses Bucky on the cheek when he feels the man tense beneath him. “It’s okay, Bucky.”

Ned and MJ adjust their positions, so they’re blocking Bucky from the Avengers.

Natasha looks around and shrugs. She’d switched sides, so she couldn’t judge. Thor is bored since his brother has done far worse than Bucky ever did, and that had been forgiven. Steve grins and stows his shield, happy for his friend. Clint yawns. Bruce knows all about wrestling with his darker side, so he feels happy for Bucky.

“Okay, then,” Tony says. “False alarm. Steve? Anything to add?”

“Hey, Buck. It’s good to see you finally settled down,” Steve teases.

“Jerk,” Bucky replies fondly.

“Well, thanks for stopping by,” Peter says. “We’re good here.”

“Yeah, you can go now. I have an exam to study for,” MJ adds.

Tony frowns, “You know, as far as superhero headquarters go, this place is...not. You four can come by the tower sometime. I’d love to get a look at that arm...and you definitely need some new tech my God. Never mind the Soldier, that laptop is the true horror.”

“Seriously?” Ned gasps. “Oh my God. Sir. Iron Man. Thank you.”

“Gratitude? I can’t remember the last time anyone showed me any,” Tony says.

“Okay, let’s go,” Steve says. “I’ll catch up with you later, Buck.”

Bucky smiles at Steve, and Peter’s heart bursts for his boyfriend. He deserves to be happy and forgiven, and he deserves to have his friend back. He expects Bucky to get up and hug Steve or something, but the man doesn’t move, content to stay where he is—touching Peter.

After the Avengers leave, Bucky thanks MJ and Ned for looking out for him. He thanks Peter with a kiss.

“I told you, you’re with us now,” Peter says. “You have me, and I’ll never let anyone hurt you. Not even you.”

MJ smiles before fake gagging, and Ned nods in agreement. “Yeah, dude. You’re stuck with us.”

//

[tsaomengde]

Some Musings:

As I play again through Ghost of Tsushima, one of the most engaging open-world games of the past ten years (up there with Witcher 3 and Horizon: Zero Dawn), with one of the best stories in quite a while, I find myself drawn back to the whole now-mostly-settled controversy about "can games be art?"  We have, by and large, agreed "yes."  So I find myself reminiscing about the first game that inspired a real emotional response in me beyond "whee I have a lightsaber" or "hurr hurr things fall over."

The year was 2001.  Dad had just passed.  I don't remember how I came into possession of it - I think it was included as a freebie with a video card Mom bought - but I got this game that had come out last year, called "Deus Ex."  You play a nanotech-augmented man named JC Denton, working in the post-apocalyptic cyberpunk future for UNATCO, a paramilitary police force arm of the United Nations.  The world is being ravaged by a disease called the Grey Death, and there's only one cure, and it's only being given to the rich due to limited supply.  Your job is to get back a shipment of the cure from the NSF, a domestic terrorist organization that's stolen a bunch of the stuff.

That's the first, like, four to ten hours of the game, depending on how long you spend sneaking around and reading everyone's mail.  It culminates in you tracking down the NSF leader, a man named Juan Lebedev, only to find your brother Paul waiting for you in Lebedev's hangar!  Paul is with the NSF!  But why?  He insists you go talk to Lebedev.

Now, up until this point, you've had a pretty straightforward path.  Granted, you've been able to tackle the challenges in front of you in a number of ways - stealthily, with brute force, by talking and bribing your way through stuff - but you've mostly been going from point A to point B.  But now, you get onto Lebedev's plane.  You confront him.  He surrenders.  You tell him you're taking him in.  And then your partner, Anna Navarre, an older-generation cyborg, tells you to assassinate the guy.  Kill an unarmed prisoner.

And then the game just sat there.

I didn't know what to do.  For the first time in a video game, I'd been presented with an actual moral dilemma.  Jedi Knight had this thing where if you indiscriminately murdered civilians, you would get Dark Side points, and not doing that would give you Light Side points, but that's not a moral dilemma, that's "which set of Force powers and game ending do you want."

He's the guy you've been chasing, he's somehow turned your brother, but he's surrendered and unarmed.  Your partner is telling you to kill him.  But he says he knows why Paul betrayed your agency.

You can walk away, and Anna will kill him once you leave.  You can kill him yourself, and Anna will praise you.  Or you can kill Anna, and learn a *lot* more about the real shit going down behind the scenes in the game.

I'm prepared to argue that, 20 years later, all of the games that are obsessed with player choice and agency still owe Deus Ex, and specifically this scene, *everything.*  Here's two different versions of the conversation with Lebedev, one where JC only kills Anna most of the way through (warning, she explodes into some low-polygon meaty chunks), and another, where the player knows she's going to spawn in after the first part of the conversation, so they set a mine on the wall outside (starts at 3:20) and kill her that way.  She never gets a word in.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Mdc41byknCc

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZO8DET8-vBk

I still remember this part of the game, 19 years after playing it for the first time, in perfect detail.  I tried to kill Anna, she whooped my ass, so I loaded a quick-save after she told me to kill Lebedev, planted a mine on the wall outside, shot her once to get her to chase me, and she ran into the mine and died.

Much, much later in the game, you're brought to the HQ of the Illuminati, who are a real thing in this world.  You can walk in, talk to the leader, Morgan Everett, and walk back out to advance the plot.  But if you steal a key out of his laboratory, and find the hidden door behind the mirror in his bedroom, that in no way are you expected or required to find, you stumble across a chamber where he's keeping the previous leader in cryo-suspension to preserve his health.  You also find a prototype AI, named Morpheus, and have one of the most compelling conversations in the history of video games.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1b-bijO3uEw

Included are such gems as:

"The unplanned organism is a question asked by Nature and answered by death.  You are another kind of question with another kind of answer."

"The need to be observed and understood was once satisfied by God.  Now we can implement the same functionality with data-mining algorithms."

And one of my all-time favorites, "God was a dream of good government."

To repeat this point: this thing is hidden behind a locked hidden door concealed past a mirror.  It's not *hard* to find, and by this point you're used to exploring every nook and cranny looking for stuff, but the developers were *totally okay* with the possibility of you just la-dee-dah-ing your way through this building and never experiencing this.  That makes the whole experience that much more amazing.  Just like with Lebedev, I still remember finding Morpheus and talking to him almost perfectly, 19 years later.

Thanks for joining me in my musings.  I don't have much of a point, here.  I just like sharing random thoughts after midnight.

[diyunho]

The Joker x Reader - “John Wick” Part 1

Y/N left The Organization 3 years ago for the one reason strong enough to make her settle down: love. But after tragedy crushed her to pieces, she decided to leave The Joker and seek refuge with an old friend and mentor - John Wick. Needless to say The King of Gotham can’t accept his wife running away without a word, especially since he didn’t have a chance to tell her things she might want to hear.

Part 2     Part 3

Your high heels click on the marble floor, numerous conversations stopping in the hotel’s lobby since you haven’t been seen around in the past 3 years. The concierge can’t hide a smile and you take your sunglasses off, finally making it to the front desk after driving for hours.

“Welcome to the Continental, Miss Y/N. Such a pleasure to see you.”

“Thank you Charon,” you remove 7 gold coins out of your purse and slide them on the counter towards him. “It’s good to see you too.”

“For how long will we have the pleasure of your company?” the man inquires, taking a peek at the computer’s screen to make sure he can shuffle things if needed.

“One night.”

“That will only be 4 coins,” Charon informs and you point out at the tiny pile:

“The rest is for you.”

“Thank you, Miss Y/N,” he smiles again, typing on the keyboard. “Your old room is available; it will be a couple of minutes for us to add a few finishing touches.”

“Sure. Is the manager here?” you ask because you texted him this morning to announce your arrival.

“He’s waiting at the bar,” Charon gestures towards the elevator and you take a deep breath, excited and a bit nervous about the upcoming encounter. “Also, if I may… Allow me to express my deepest condolences.”

You bite on your lip and can’t utter a sound besides nodding your head instead of a reply: although it’s a genuine declaration, it caught you off-guard.

You slowly walk towards the elevator and once inside you press the B button when a hand halts the doors from closing; you know whom those tattooed knuckles belong to. Ares squeezes inside looking like she wants to kill everyone. What else is new?

“I thought that was you,” the woman uses the sign language and you silently gaze at her.

“Which floor?” you sign back.

“10th,” her thumb indicates the number.

The elevator’s doors shut and she analyzes Y/N, deciding to continue the conversation:

“Remember I told you next time we bump into each other I’m going to kill you?” the mute assassin’s threat brings a faint smirk on your lips.

“Shut up,” you elbow her and the smartass response doesn’t fail:

“I’m always as quiet as a mouse.”

You chuckle and Ares grins at her own cleverness, having a nice suggestion for the evening.

“I have the night off; wanna meet later for dinner?”

You are tired as hell but a distraction doesn’t hurt.

“Will 7pm work?” you accept the invitation.

“Awesome!” she signs, delighted you two can catch up. “They have new items on the menu you would enjoy,” Ares winks then her enthusiasm gradually dies out. “I’m sorry about…,” the discussion takes a serious tone and you sniffle, trying hard not to cry.

“Thank you,” you touch your chin and the ding sound reveals its first destination. “I have to bail; I’ll see you soon,” you step out of the elevator and she remains inside.

“It’s a date!” she signs, concerned you’ll burst out in tears as soon as she’s gone.

Yet after the elevator’s door close, Y/N manages to pull herself together; God knows it’s not easy to pretend she’s fine following the tragedy of losing someone she loved with all her heart.

The individual waiting for her at one of the tables at the bar can definitely notice the struggle behind the tired eyes; Winston sipps from his martini and gets up, opening his arms in anticipation.

“There you are,” he gives you a hug, then invites you to sit down.

“Hello Winston,” you place your purse on the floor and Continental’s owner is attempting to small talk:

“Please make an old man happy and confirm your return.”

“You’re anything but old,” you emphasize while he snorts, amused. “I’m not sure; I have to figure out some personal stuff…”

“Of course,” Winston agrees right away given the situation. “Mmmm… I’m terribly sorry for your loss,“ he addresses the heartbroken Y/N.

“Thank you…” you mumble, avoiding eye contact since the painful subject hurts more than any physical wound you ever sustained.

“I wanted to come attend the funeral yet I was out of the country,” the man underlines.

“No worries. I appreciate the flowers you sent… …”

Moments of complete stillness before Winston changes the topic; he knows better than to prolong your agony. A manager with his flair can at least guess the extenuating circumstances that led to your presence on the premises.

“Any plans for the near future?”

“I’m going to stay with Jonathan until I decide.”

Winston wishes to suggest a couple of options but he’s interrupted by your warning:

“Someone might come searching for me.”

He taps his fingernails against the martini glass, the weak echo dissipating in the background noise.

“Is that someone…somebody’s husband?” his furrowed eyebrows prompt an answer not difficult to estimate:

“More like… ex-husband…”

The manager inhales, debating on your confession.

“Nothing we can’t handle,” he reassures without any hesitation; heaven knows a domestic dispute is the last kind of mess Continental needs but it will probably pass undetected. “Would you care for a drink?”

Suddenly, Winston’s cell goes off and he retrieves it out of his suit’s pocket, apologizing for the delay.

“I’m sorry, I really have to get this,” he slides the screen, attentively listening to the person speaking. “Are you kidding me?!” the man raises his voice with contempt. “Damn…,” he rubs his forehead, annoyed. "Well, he brought it upon himself! Transfer me,” the manager passes the sentence without hesitation after his call reaches the correct department. ”Accounts payable: 11111. Effective immediately: Magnus Stonnenberg, excommunicado. Open contract: 2 million dollars. Distribution: international,” and he hangs up. “Work never ends,” Winston adds even if it’s not necessary; you are perfectly aware how the company works and what it means to run it.

“What happened?” you curiously investigate.

“Trouble on the 15th floor: Magnus murdered Anuscka Volovdya on the hotel grounds, thus I have to implement punitive measures. This is neutral environment and the rules are clear: no killing. Cocktail?” he lifts his glass up and you politely decline.

“No, thank you.  If it’s all the same, I will retreat to my quarters. It was a very long drive and I can’t wait to freshen up. I will come see you in the morning before I leave; would that be ok?”

“Of course,” Winston stands up in the same time with you, a faint smile lingering on his face as he watches you distancing yourself from the bar. He didn’t see you in a long time and he can tell that although you look pretty much the same, something has certainly changed.

Everyone’s cells start chiming and ringing, including yours: the text messages keep on popping up with the manager’s most recent order regarding Stonnenberg.

You wander along the small corridor leading the stairs when at the corner Magnus almost crashes into you; he seems distressed and no big surprise due to his present predicament.

“Are you back?” he hisses while quickening the pace in the opposite direction because he wants to get the hell out of there.

“No,” the short acknowledgement triggers his cockiness mixed with relief.

“Great! One less to worry about!”

You frown at the unnecessary statement: pursuing a bounty is not financial gain you are momentarily interested in; you have more important problems on your plate and chasing a persona non grata isn’t on your list.

************

Next evening, 7:13pm

“There you are!” John exclaims as soon as he sees you. “Come on in,” he grabs the two suitcases out of your hands, leading the way around the house. “Did you get stuck in traffic?”

“Yes,” you close the door and follow him into one of the bedrooms downstairs already prepared for your visit. “Traffic was terrible, took me one hour to pass Lincoln Avenue.”

“Well…” he places the luggage by the bed, “I’m glad you made it.”

“Me too… Thank you so much for letting me stay here, Jonathan.”

Despite having his hair in a ponytail, the shorter strands slide out and John blows them off his cheeks, irritated.

“Yeah, absolutely. Plenty of space.”

“What’s that smell?” you sniff the air, intrigued.

“I cooked chicken Alfredo.”

“Oh no,” you crinkle your nose and he laughs at your despair. “Are your skills as bad as I remember?”

“Worse,” he admits. “Helen is not here to guide… me…”, John swallows the last word and you feel compelled to soothe his grief.

“I’m sorry she’s gone… You had a terrific partner…”, you sadly smile and continue . “We pay such a heavy price for leaving the organization… I must say you got a better deal than I did.”

He’s quiet for a few seconds and you could swear there’s no trace of Baba Yaga inside him; I suppose this is John Wick’s greatness: his ability to switch from an apparent normal guy to the deadliest assassin in a blink of an eye.

“Umm… do you want me to help you unpack?” he breaks the silence and you lift the first suitcase on the bed, opening the metal clasps.

“I don’t have a lot; just some basic necessities,” you explain and gulp when you take out the device you use on a regular basis. “I… I still pump the milk and… and throw it away since I don’t have my baby to feed anymore…”

Jonathan exhales, sensitive to the mother’s sorrow: he knows a thing or two about losing a loved one and Y/N uncontrollably sobbing triggers emotions he kept bottled up for weeks. He pulls you in his arms and you hug him back, hopelessly crying on his shoulder after displaying such restraint in the past days.  

“Why didn’t he drive the car? Why?” you keep on repeating the question and John understands what you’re referring to:

Two months ago The Joker was supposed to bring his three weeks old son from the beach house to The Penthouse and didn’t; he had a meeting and instead he sent one of his henchmen to drive Kase back to you and they never made it. There was a horrible accident on Glissan Street: the car was smashed to pieces by a huge truck, both driver and the baby dying on impact. You couldn’t stop blaming your husband for his indifference regarding the safety of his own child. I supposed the meeting and making money was infinitely more critical than driving his son home.

Maybe if J navigated the vehicle, he would have taken another route and you would still have your tiny treasure right now. 

You’re calming down a bit and John wipes your tears, upset to see you broken beyond anything he could ever fix.

“Do you want to lie down?”

“No,” you whimper and fight to regain your composure. “I’m a little bit hungry…”

“Well,” your friend puckers his lips, “depending on how bad it is we might have to order something. Shall I…call anybody for you?” he hints and surely didn’t predict the reply:

“My anybody is probably too busy with his mistress or planning a heist, can’t be bothered with any type of insignificant matters.”

Your friend seems shocked and you enlighten the mystery for him:

“I followed J so I know… That’s why I decided enough is enough. I packed minimum necessary in a hurry and left… … …I should have killed him… …” your voice dies out and your attitude proves Jonathan that you most than likely tried to. “Can we eat now please?”

“Should I actually order Italian?” he plays along for your sake.

“I’ll try the chicken Alfredo first.”

“Shit! You’re brave,” his brutal honesty makes you giggle and whimper in the same time. “C’mon then, food’s on the stove.  Hopefully we’ll survive,” he smirks and you nod in agreement, grateful to have a soul to talk to since your husband’s lack of empathy made it so much harder to cope with your son’s demise.

***************

Same evening, 7:30pm – Continental Hotel

“Mister Joker,” Winston greets The King of Gotham. “Welcome to New York!”

The gush of wind sweeping the terrace on top of the building messes J’s locks and for once he couldn’t care less.

“Hello Winston,” your spouse growls, barely able to concentrate after he slept a couple of hours the previous night.

“Grape juice on ice?” the manager’s hospitality emerges out of necessity because The Clown isn’t exactly the easiest character to accommodate.

“Is my wife here?” J quizzes, ignoring Winston’s cordiality.

“Walk with me,” the hotel owner persuades your husband; they move alongside the concrete path bordered by decorative shrubs as information is shared. “Y/N was here.”

“She’s gone?”

“Yes.”

“Where did she go?” The Joker sneers.

Winston fails to spill the beans and J is aware he can’t push for a disclosure, not with a high ranking member of the organization. So he attempts a different strategy.

“Imagine my surprise when I returned home after a meeting just to find out my wife abandoned the nest,” he shows management a post-it with your handwritten note:

Do what you want with the rest.

“She just took a few things, thus I have to personally discuss with her a very crucial dilemma: what am I supposed to do with the baby’s items? I have a room full of them. So I’m asking: WHERE.IS.MY.WIFE?”

“Mister Joker, you forget that in my line of business I am good at reading people and I can tell when they lie,” Winston elegantly throws it out there for the heck of it.

The King of Gotham halts and cracks his neck, displeased with the comment.

“Then tell me, am I lying?!”

The manager sighs, carefully analyzing J’s features: although he looks pretty much the same, something has certainly changed.

“Maybe she’s staying with a friend,” he insinuates and your husband articulates a sentence rarely spoken aloud:

“Thank you,” J stomps away, already having a few ideas about your whereabouts.

Winston huffs, intrigued to have discerned a crazy detail while reading The Clown’s reactions: besides the fact he wasn’t lying, something else stood out. 

“He loves her…” management mumbles to himself. “I bet he doesn’t even know it.”

*************

10:34 pm

John softly knocks at the cracked bedroom’s door, unsure if you’re awake or not.

“Y/N, do you need anything before I go to sleep?”

There’s no answer and he creeps inside only to see you passed out with your hand hanging over the side of the bed. Jonathan tucks you in, feeling awkward about your unresponsiveness.

“Hey, are you ok?” he gently shakes you and freezes when he realizes there’s an empty pill bottle on the nightstand.

“Oh God!” he panics and reads the label. “Trazodone 300 mg: Take 1 tablet by mouth nightly for depression/insomnia.” That’s the highest dose for the medication and he taps on your cheeks, concerned you took a bunch of them at once. “Y/N, Y/N! Can you hear me?!”

You moan and open your eyes, unhappy to be woken up in such a hasty fashion.

“Jesus, lemme sleep... would you?!...” you grumble and turn on the other side, groggy from the drug.

“How many sleeping pills did you take?” John doesn’t give up and you yawn:

“One…my last one…” you adjust your body on the comfortable mattress, not comprehending why your host is agitated. “I’m exhausted…” you close your eyes and he lingers next to your bed, relieved the situation was a misinterpretation from his part.

**************

11:32am, New York

“Oh my…”The Bowery King deciphers a missive a dove flew in 10 minutes ago; he got a whiff of some valuable data yesterday and the new documentation is by far the best conspiracy and revenge scheme he stumbled upon this year. “Would you look at that,” the man grins, caressing the bird’s feathers. “What do you think?” he addresses the winged companion. “Should we be nice and tell Y/N and Mister Joker their son is not dead?”

 Also read: MASTERLIST

You can follow me on Ao3 and Wattpad under the same blog name: DiYunho.

[caiminnent]

shadow play [shaundes, rated T]

Prompt: surrender (1/25) [metaphorically speaking]

Summary: A discussion about tattoos and permanence that gets sidetracked in the best possible way.

Fandom: Assassin’s Creed

Tags: Friends with Benefits to Lovers, Relationship Discussions, Mutual Pining, Tattoos

Note: Also written and posted as an entry for @denydesmondsdeathday​, which I seem to have forgotten to tag. #justCaithings

2.4K || Also on AO3.

He likes to touch Desmond’s tattoos in the dark.

It’s not an accomplishment, per se—he is far from the first person to learn the topography of Desmond’s marked skin, won’t be the last—but there’s still an odd pride to it, being able to trace the black lines spanning across his shoulder blades, swirling up his arm without having to see them. Sometimes he imagines he can feel the texture of the art, the shadows and the sharp edges—that he could map out Desmond’s entire upper body with just his fingertips.

Desmond releases a long sigh, hugging his pillow closer, the movement drawing his shoulders tighter in. Whatever has been on his mind, keeping him up, he won’t say—and Shaun can’t ask, no matter how tempted he is. Especially because of how tempted he is. He’s already risking things by letting himself linger, not quite ready to draw the night to a close; he can’t afford another indulgence.

Running a finger down a long line from the back of Desmond’s shoulder, carefully avoiding where it tickles, “How did you end up with tattoos?” he asks instead. He might not be able to give Desmond some peace of mind, but he can offer distraction. That one he’s good for.

Desmond makes an amused grunt. “Thought you’d never ask,” he says with half a mouth, muffled against the pillow. Another drawn-out sigh and he’s slowly pushing himself up on his hands, stretching out his back like a cat. Putting on a show, almost.

He hardly minds.

Desmond settles back on an elbow, mirroring Shaun, barely more than an outline against all the white. He doesn’t speak again, though; the air growing heavy with something Shaun can’t identify but dislikes all the same as Desmond stares at the patch of sheet between them, his expression blurred back into the dimness of the room with the distance.

“You don’t have to tell me,” he offers, heart at his feet. Leave it to him to find the one topic that would make Desmond uncomfortable. Congratulations, really. Very well done.

Desmond shakes his head. “No, no, it’s not that.” He shifts again, this time to reach over the gap and lay a hand down, right next to Shaun’s on the sheet. “Keep touching? Please?”

As if he could deny Desmond anything.

He drags a finger up his wrist, forearm, sliding over that twist of ink over the muscle he can always find so easily. The lines aren’t as sharp here, the angles not as precise. Were they drawn in a hurry? Did Desmond move too much, filled with restless energy or twitching at each bite of the needle?

“I got this one first,” Desmond starts, as Shaun traces one of the longer lines, twirling at the end. “On my nineteenth birthday. I was supposed to work that night, but the boss—bless her heart—she put some money in my pocket and sent me on my way, told me to go have fun with my friends.” He huffs out a little chuckle, entirely joyless. “Only, I didn’t have friends. Didn’t have anyone I could celebrate with, didn’t have anywhere to go except my shithole of an apartment—which I really didn’t wanna go back to. So, I took to wandering.”

It’s easy enough to imagine: Desmond in his teens, walking up a storm on the streets of New York with his hands deep in his pockets, lips curled into that scowl that really only comes out when he thinks no one’s there to see.

His stomach churns.

“Then you saw a tattoo shop,” he guesses, following the same path up.

“Then I saw a tattoo shop,” Desmond confirms. Pauses, before adding, “I know it’s not... tasteful, or anything, but—it was mine, y’know? Something I’d picked for myself that no one could ever take away from me. It was... I dunno.” Shrugs a shoulder. “It was big, at the time.”

He understands the feeling.

In theory, at least. The wish for something bold and tangible and his, a middle finger to anyone who sneered and snickered at him for being who he is and wanting what he wants—that he understands. Getting it etched onto his skin for everyone to judge, however? That takes a kind of impulsiveness he only wishes for in secret.

What would that be like, even? Doing things without twisting yourself into knots? Deciding that you want something and just—getting it?

Desmond brushes the back of a finger underneath his wrist, oddly reassuring. “Is that the good kind of silence?”

If only he knew. “It’s not the bad kind,” is all he can allow. “It sounds... terrifying, is all.”

“Terrifying?” Desmond repeats on a low laugh.

“I mean...” He waves a hand vaguely, racking his brain to find the right words. “It’s a tattoo,” he settles on at last—rather lamely, he might add. His way with words never stepped outside of a classroom door, much less inside a bedroom. “It’s permanent—or as close to it as it gets, I suppose. It’ll be there long after us—after you, even—and you decided to get one on a whim. I don’t think I could ever be so…”

“Reckless?”

He rolls his eyes. “I was going to say spontaneous. Though, yes; that, too.”

That finger is still running back and forth, a teasing touch right under his pulse, starting to build something warm low in his belly. He wants to kiss Desmond. No secondary intent, not to get anywhere; kissing only to enjoy the feeling, Desmond’s warmth against his—and maybe fall asleep in the same bed after, just once. Just to see what it would be like to wake up there, curled up around Desmond or Desmond curled up around him, nowhere to rush to or run away—

Well, if that’s not his cue to get the hell out of here before he makes a fool of himself.

Rolling onto his back, he reaches for the alarm clock on the nightstand and slides it over with his fingertips to squint at the numbers, just this side of careless—even he has his moments. Well past one in the morning; earlier than the weight settled onto his bones suggested, late enough to be his excuse.

“Looks like we’ll have to leave the story of the back piece to another day after all,” he says, putting it back down in favour of the light switch above—blinks, the sudden brightness stabbing at his brain.

“You’re leaving?” Desmond asks—oddly put off, by the sound of it. What else did he even expect?

Throwing the covers off himself, “I should if I want to get some sleep,” he points out, stepping out before he can change his mind. Before the temptation to stay under the covers becomes too great.

Glasses, phone, his bag over by the door, his coat on the rack—where the hell are his clothes?

“In the closet,” Desmond says before he can ask. “I put them away while you were in the shower.”

Huh. Since when does Desmond care about tidying up?

“Thanks,” he says anyway, heading over to the closet—where his shirt and trousers are carefully placed on hangers, the bottom two buttons of the shirt done up like he prefers, his sweater sitting neatly folded on the rack above.

Something not unlike foreboding twists in his gut.

See, he has never seen the point of not looking a gift horse in the mouth. Call it paranoia; he cannot receive something nice and not poke and prod at every opening until he’s sure it’s meant in kindness. He doesn’t like surprises, doesn’t like getting caught off-guard—he does not like not being able to read Desmond’s expression as Desmond watches him through the full-length mirror, sitting up against the headboard with the covers pooled in his lap.

He needs to get out—fast.

Turning away from the mirror, he puts his focus entirely on dressing out of Desmond’s clothes into his own, buttoning up his shirt like he’s being timed on it. The very air is tense with anticipation—for what, he can’t tell, nor does he want to find out. For once, he doesn’t.

“So, after us, huh?” Desmond says—apropos of nothing, for all that he sounds as if continuing an interrupted conversation.

It takes Shaun longer than he would like to admit, to figure out what the hell Desmond’s talking about. “What of it?”

“That really what you think?” Desmond asks, serious like he never is. The feeling in his gut intensifies. “That this—” Gestures at the room as a whole, the open space between them. “—is temporary?”

Bitter laughter bubbles up in his chest. He pushes it down before it can escape, the pressure making it difficult to breathe. Is this what you think, Desmond asks—like what he thinks matters. Like what he thinks changes any damn thing here. It must be a joke, right. It must be a joke, because Desmond can’t be bloody serious.

If it is a joke, though, it’s a very cruel one.

Suddenly self-conscious with words like us hanging over their heads, he turns away from Desmond and the mirror both, back to the closet. “More lovers than you could keep track of,” he lists as he shoves his legs into his trousers, no trace of the resentment gathering and thickening in his chest making it to his tone, thankfully. “Not knowing how to do the ‘domestic stuff’. I’ve never learned how to stay still. I can read between the lines, Desmond.”

“I’m not denying what I said,” Desmond says—dares to sound upset, as if Shaun is being the difficult one here.

Cinching his belt, he reaches for his sweater. “Then we’ve got nothing to talk about.”

Behind him, the bed groans as Desmond steps out of it. He can’t help tensing at the slow approach, Desmond’s footsteps too loud in the still of the night.

Desmond touches Shaun’s arm, hardly more than a caress.  “I think we do, Shaun.”

He panics.

There’s no other word for the fist that grips his heart and throat both, his hand tightening instinctively around the fabric of his sweater. God, of course. Of course he’s already fucked up, given himself away—how could he have not? He’s transparent, obvious, subtle as a brick to the face and Desmond—

Desmond’s too gentle to let him down any other way.

“Shaun?” Desmond urges softly, his hand a light pressure on Shaun’s arm—not a weight but an anchor, grounding. “Look at me, please?”

He doesn’t want to. Doesn’t want to face Desmond, doesn’t know what his face will do if he does. If this is the end, he’d much rather leave with at least some of his pride intact.

Nonetheless, he turns.

Desmond’s watching him with open wariness, as if Shaun is a bloody caged animal, something to tread carefully with—the door a mere three steps behind Desmond. He could leave. Desmond wouldn’t follow if he did, just walked past him out of the room, the house. Avoided Bad Weather and anywhere else they could potentially come across, left this all behind.

He couldn’t, though; he knows he couldn’t even as he’s thinking it. He’s too greedy not to latch onto this—too needy to let it go.

“Look, it’s fine,” he sighs before Desmond can get a word in, running a hand through his wild hair. “You didn’t sign your life away by kissing me first; that’s not how this works. We don’t have to be more than—whatever the hell we are now.”

“But you want to be?”

Christ, Desmond can be worse than a bloodhound on a trail sometimes. “What does it even matter? I’ve already said I’m not going to tie you down. It’s fine.” Nothing has to change. Just leave it.

The slow smile that spreads over Desmond’s face is a rare kind, small but no less bright for it. He brushes tentative fingers over Shaun’s lips—Shaun’s breath stutters against them, his heart seizing. “What if I don’t want it to be fine?”

Oh.

Perhaps he’s been a bigger idiot than even he thought.

Desmond slowly slides his hands down onto Shaun’s chest, thumbing the top button. “I know what I said before,” he murmurs, meeting his gaze briefly, as if for permission, before he undoes it. The next one. The next. “You have every reason not to put faith in me. But—things have changed. For me. In here.” He rests a hand on Shaun’s chest, sizzling on the naked skin and there’s no way, no way, that he can’t feel the stupid beat of Shaun’s heart under his palm, hard and rabbit-fast— “Is it bold of me to hope they did for you, too?”

He can’t breathe.

He should be happy. Hell, he should be ecstatic, dizzy with joy instead of the wet, cold fear latched onto his insides, rooting his feet to the spot. It’s not usual for him, is the thing. To get what he wants. This—it can’t be—nothing is ever so easy. These things always come with a catch, some sort of a trap—consequences he can’t always foresee. He’s not like Desmond; he can’t just leap into things.

Desmond’s smile is dimmed with the hesitation creeping back into his eyes, his hand pausing over the last button above his waistband—and Shaun did that, right, with his paranoia. His useless anxiety.

Must he talk himself out of every good thing?

Swallowing against the burn up his throat, he lays a hand over Desmond’s; not an apology, not quite, but the closest thing to one he can give. “Do you even know what you’re offering?” he asks, matching Desmond’s tone. Do you even know what you’re getting yourself into?

“Not really,” Desmond admits on a quick, breathy laugh. “Think we can find out together?”

He’s not ready for the jolt that passes through his heart, nor the weight in his chest that he’s not quite ready to name—too light to be what it was, too deep to be anything else. Insufferable and exhilarating at the same time. Too familiar.

Sucking in his bottom lip, Desmond meets his eyes again—it’s the same everything cluttering up his insides reflected back in them; the hesitation, the uncertainty. The fear. “You don’t have to say it. I don’t need pretty words or promises. Just—” The last button, undone—leaving him bared. “Stay.”

“Okay,” he whispers—and isn't that an admission. “Okay.”

[heartoferebor]

For the ask meme: A, J, R!

Thank you and sorry for the delay in answering! A - Your current OTP(s)/OT3(s)/OTX(s) Aside from the obsessions that will never stop (Dworin! SamSteveBucky!) there are two ones that I ship actively & am currently writing stuff for and they PERFECTLY encompass my two favourite ship dynamics: Shay Cormac/Haytham Kenway (aka Shaytham, Assassin’s Creed): listen. LISTEN. This has everything I love about about a ship and will make me go ballistic: A stoic, emotionally stuck up high-ranked person with trust issues and mouthy ‘underling’ who is nominally under his command but doesn’t take any shit & will absolutely call his ass out when he thinks it’s necessary? ✓ Murder husbands who would happily go on a bloody rampage together? ✓ (And who probably have really violent but still 100% consensual sex?) ✓ Two horrendously tragic backstories and an ending that’s certainly not happy? ✓ At least one of them is very definitely an asshole most of the time? ✓ Mutual trust and respect that is hard earned over the course of many years and the foundation for a relationship that has the potentially to blossom into a much softer sort of love? ✓ Supporting each other but also not taking each other’s shit cause they AREN’T each other’s emotional punching bags and have no qualms about setting proper limits? ✓ Can definitely stay apart for months or even years because they are aren’t interdependent and still treasure every single moment together? ✓ So much violence and yet tiny tiny moments of soft amidst the carnage? ✓ (Both of them so hot that I’d very much like to jump in there as number 3?) ✓

THEY ARE PERFECT AND PROBLEMATIC AND I FUCKING LOVE THEM

I’m also still very partial to Altair/Malik/Maria and need to write more for them

Bobo del Rey/Doc Holliday (aka Hollirey, Wynonna Earp) Okay so this one is only like. 4 days old and I’m only halfway through season 2 (and will have to wait a bit to watch season 3 since it isn’t on Netflix and the DVDs won’t be here until May 4th and I wanna support this awesome series with money instead of dl-ing it illegally) so keep that in mind. Situation still very much developing lol. This is also 100% @bewareofchris​ ‘s fault. At least one of them is very definitely an asshole most of the time? ✓ Murder husbands who could happily go on a bloody rampage together? ✓ (And who probably have really violent but still 100% consensual sex?) ✓ (Both of them so hot that I’d very much like to jump in there as number 3?) ✓ Hatesex. Oh god, so much hot, violent, yelling, nasty hate sex. ✓ Until they discover a sliver of emotion somewhere and are like OH FUCK. ✓ Both very, VERY dramatic ✓ At least one of them a mouthy little shit who doesn’t take any crap that drives the other up a tree ✓ At least one of them is secretly super domestic ✓ (Bobo is very much the kind of person who’d fuck Doc senseless and then get up when Doc still sleeps to sit down and darn all the holes in Doc’s coat) ✓ Terrible fashion choices that somehow still look hot on both of them (seriously, what the fuck, how does Tim Rozon pull off that moustache & mullet and NOT look like a complete douche?????) ✓ Okay I need to shut up and watch the rest of the show and then write like 500 fics for them. J - Name a fandom you didn’t care/think about until you saw it all over tumblr With the exception of the just mentioned Wynonna Earp, I don’t think I’ve ever actively gotten into something just because I saw it on Tumblr. But there are things I didn’t really know about until I saw the ppl I follow blog about them everywhere? Still haven’t watched.played it though: Dragon Age, The Untamed, Call the Midwife R - A pairing you ship that you don’t think anyone else ships I’ve ALWAYS been partial to small ships (I actually find them more comfortable than the large ones? It’s nice to know everyone who ships sth personally lol. There was a time when I was on a real-life first name basis with p much every active Dworin shipper and had actually met the vast majority of them in person haha) but a ship that NO ONE ships? Gotta go back to some obscure old manga stuff for that that almost no one ships because few people even know the fandom. Anotsu Kagehisa/Otono-Tachibana Makie from Blade of the Immortal, for example. That one has 7 fics on AO3. I still go ballistic for those two. Takasugi Shinsuke/Bansai from Gintama is another one, although I know a person irl who ships it! We cosplayed together. Still, very little content when I last checked 5 years ago. Namor/Bucky Barnes (Comic Bucky, post-Winter Soldier) is rare af as well and I love it and still have a fic idea for them. FlintVane from Black Sails is another smaller but super fun one that I’ve actually written fic for myself. Amazing hatesex. Shay/Monro from Assassin’s Creed is also very tiny but has some super dedicated people so it’s hella fun to write (shoutout to @pluma-azurea <3 ). There’s also a whole bunch of f/f ships that definitely don’t get enough attention - Evie Frye/Lucy Steele from Assassin’s Creed is hella fun. So is stuff like Maria Hill/Sharon Carter, especially if you throw Natasha in there. And so on :) Fandom Meme Asks are still open!

[invisibleanonymousmonsters]

Sing Me To Sleep

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Summary: Bucky meets a lovely stranger on a commercial flight. 

Word Count: 2,062 - One Shot

Bucky fidgeted in his seat as he waited for them to close the cabin doors. No one back at the compound understood why he took commercial flights anywhere. They had jets of their own. They could practically take off and go anywhere at anytime.

But when Bucky wasn’t on a mission, he refused to use that privilege.

Sometimes, he just needed to get away from the soldier’s life.

When missions got a little too bad, he escaped.

But it was a need that was more than just a walk around the surrounding forrest or a long ride on his motorcycle.

Bucky had a map on the wall of his bedroom. It was one of very few things that hung in his mostly bare room. He’d throw a dart at it and wherever it landed, he’d book the next flight out of New York to go there.

He had money. Tony made sure of that, handed him a thick credit card that felt weird in Bucky’s grasp. So, he could easily afford a first class seat. But he went from the Great Depression, to a World War, to a life of brainwashing, to now. He wasn’t comfortable with money or luxury. Therefore, he’d stick to a middle row seat in economy.

He thought the window seat would be empty to the right of him for the flight. But just as they were about to close the cabin doors, he saw a young woman walking down the aisle.

She was wearing business clothes and she looked a little frazzled. Yet somehow he still caught an air of confidence and independence in her strut. Furthermore, she was beautiful. But she also looked exhausted and stressed.

Bucky realized he was unnecessarily staring at her when she stopped at his row.

She gave him and his seat-mate an apologetic look as they moved out of the row to let her get to her window seat.

Any other man would’ve been beaming to be seated next to her. Bucky would’ve been one of them, back in the day. But now he was different. Now she made him nervous and unsure of himself.

She let out a long and heavy sigh, further proving her exhaustion. She must have rushed to the airport right after work. It was 7:30PM on a Friday night and her clothes were much too professional for it to be casual attire.

“Long day?” Oh, God. Was that him? Did he just say that? Aloud?

She glanced at him with an embarrassed smile, now realizing her distress was apparent to the stranger sitting next to her. “Yeah, something like that.”

But he just gave her a lazy and shy grin, immediately regretting trying to talk to her in any way. Who did he think he was, that charming guy from the 30s? No, that man had died long ago.

Then the flight attendant made the announcement that all cellphones had to be turned off or put on airplane mode. Then she apologized that wifi would not be available during the flight.

Bucky swore he could feel the tension leave his seat-mate���s entire body. Like the idea of no one being able to contact her for the next 2 hours was the greatest relief she could ever experience. 

He wondered when he became such an empath. Yes, he’d always been ridiculously observant. That was all part of the job. But he felt like he could feel every emotion radiating from her body. Maybe because it had been so very long since he’d been so close to someone he found attractive.

He blinked and shook his head slightly, trying to clear his head.

It took all of his power to stop from keep looking at her out of the corner of his eye. He tried to focus on the TV screen half a foot away from his face.

She had put on an old movie. Something from the 50s or 60s Bucky had guessed. He was still catching up, but learned to recognize identifiers for the time periods of things.

Barely halfway into the flight, he could tell she was starting to fall asleep. Her head was leaned back against her seat, but she didn’t recline it. Sam had once told Bucky that only assholes recline their seats in coach.

Bucky was trying so hard to focus on the stupid movie on his own screen when he suddenly felt a weight on his right shoulder.

She was sound asleep, cheek resting on Bucky’s right shoulder.

He was grateful it wasn’t his left, that her soft skin wasn’t met with cold and hard metal.

If it had been anyone else – absolutely anyone – Bucky would’ve politely and shyly woken them up.

But when he looked down at her, she was so beautiful. It was almost like she was a different young woman. Instead of being powerful and exhausted and beaten down by the day, she looked peaceful and angelic. So Bucky let her stay there. It actually felt nice for someone to be the opposite of scared of him. It took a lot for the body to naturally be at enough ease to fall asleep on the shoulder of the world’s deadliest assassin.

She shivered for a second. It made Bucky want to shimmy his leather jacket off and place it over her. But to do so would a) be creepy and b) be impossible to do without waking her up.

Bucky was glad he could give this stranger this innocent form of comfort, especially after seeing how stressed she had been upon her arrival.

But their flight ended too soon for him.

It felt like only minutes had passed before the pilot was telling the flight crew to prepare for landing.

Bucky didn’t know where to go from there. Should he wake her now? Should he hope that the landing was jarring enough to do it for him?

But they had arrived at their gate, the seatbelt sign went off, and she was still fast asleep.

So Bucky decided to wait for everyone to deplane. That way he wouldn’t have an audience when he woke her. Everyone was preoccupied with grabbing their luggage and getting off as soon as possible that no one noticed the him holding back.

As the last people started grabbing their stuff from the overhead bins, Bucky shook her awake.

“Hey, we’ve landed,” he whispered softly. He didn’t want to frighten her.

Her forehead crunched and she squinted as her eyes opened.

It took her a few seconds to remember where she was. It took her a few more to realize that she had been sleeping on a complete stranger’s shoulder.

She instantly sat up and moved her head away from him.

“Oh my god! I’m so sorry. How long was I sleeping on you like that?” She asked with complete and utter horror.

“It’s okay. Really.” Bucky tried to assure her.

“I’m so sorry. I never – I’ve never done that before. I haven’t slept well all week…” Then her words died out, stopping herself from oversharing.

“It’s really okay. It looked like you could use a good nap,” he replied even firmer this time. He added a shy smile for good measure.

He started moving out of his seat and grabbed his duffle bag from overhead.

“Do you have a bag I can grab?” He asked her politely.

She was still embarrassed and shook her head before also shimmying out of their row.

They were the last two to deplane. Bucky gave a polite ‘thank you’ to the pilots and crew as they exited.

“You in town for work?” He asked her. Now that she felt bad about sleeping on him for half the flight, he felt a little braver about talking to her.

They were inside their gate now.

She sighed and ran a hand through her hair, like all of the stress from when she entered that flight had suddenly come back.

“No. No, I’m here for my sister-in-law’s baby shower,” she didn’t bother hiding the monotony she felt toward the upcoming event.

But she turned the attention to him before he could ask her about it further. “How about you…?”

Bucky realized she was waiting for him to give his name.

“Shit. I’m sorry. My ma would smack me upside my the head for my lack of manners.” Where had his old Brooklyn accent com from?

“I’m Bucky,” he introduced as he held out his right hand.

Her eyes immediately narrowed and she tilted her head slightly, but still shook his hand.

“I thought you looked familiar…” she muttered evenly.

Bucky tensed. It was one thing to be the infamous Winter Soldier, but add his quirky name and people almost almost put two and two together.

He waited for her to look uncomfortable. It was usually the default reaction when people realized who he really was, but were too polite to be outwardly scared of him.

“Y/N,” she finally said.

Bucky gave her his classic, charming smile. “Nice to meet you, Y/N.”

She just nodded slowly. “Sorry – again – for falling asleep on your shoulder.”

He looked at the ground. “Would it be creepy to say that it was kind of nice?”

To his surprise, she laughed. “No…because I would have to agree.”

Bucky’s eyes snapped up.

She smiled mischievously and started backing away. “It was nice meeting you Bucky Barnes.”

He had a side smirk on his lips. “It was nice meetin’ ya too, doll.” He muttered so quiet that she would never catch it.

She’d walked a few feet when she turned around again. “Oh, and thank you.”

He brow furrowed. “For what?”

She smiled at his confusion. “For always saving the world!” She called back.

Bucky blinked. No one had ever addressed him as a hero. Only children, really. And he suspected it was because it usually happened when he was with Sam and Steve, the actual heroes. ——————

A couple weeks later, Bucky was back in the Avenger’s compound. He was sitting at the kitchen counter, drinking a cup of coffee, and reading the newspaper.

Steve was sitting a couple seats down from him with his own cup of coffee. But he was drawing in his sketchbook instead of reading.

It was peaceful. Bucky didn’t need to always be talking to someone or for someone to always be talking to him. Steve seemed to be one of the few people that understood that sometimes Bucky just needed the presence of a loved one.

But their little bubble of domesticity was intruded when Nat came slithering quietly in.

Bucky decided to ignore her. Meanwhile, Steve looked up from his drawing to give her a polite smile.

But Bucky was further interrupted when he heard the sound of paper being slid across the counter toward him.

He glanced down to see that it was a profile printed out. There was a photo of a woman, a woman he recognized immediately, a woman he hadn’t stopped thinking of since they fell asleep on his shoulder.

“Y/F/N Y/L/N” was printed in a large font at the top. It was followed by her age, hometown, occupation, even current address, and other various information.

His eyes widened and shot up to meet Nat’s awaiting gaze. She was smirking knowingly.

Then Bucky turned to his best friend and gave him an accusatory glare. “You told Nat about her?” He growled.

Steve tried to look innocent. “I knew she could help! You seemed so smitten when you got home after that trip.”

“Her cell’s on their too,” Nat added with a wink before disappearing.

Bucky stared at the number.

Suddenly Steve was behind him, looking at the file as his hand gripped Bucky’s shoulder.

“What have we learned about waiting too long?” He asked Bucky. “Call her, punk.” With that, Steve left the kitchen too.

Bucky knew both his friends had a point. He was mostly upset that his cowardice was so blatantly pointed out to him.

With a shaky hand, he pulled his cellphone out of his back pocket. He pressed the numbers slowly, careful not to mess up the order.

He put the phone to his ear and listened to the rings.

“Hello?”

“Is–Is this Y/N?” He asked nervously.

“You know, for an Avenger, I thought you’d track down my number a lot faster.”

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

I’m creatively stunted when it comes to starting a new series. So hopefully these one-shots are enough for now. 

[etherealwaifgoddess]

To Give Him The World, Chpt6

Main Characters: Thor x Ellie (original female character)

Summary: Cooking, napping, video game playing, online shopping, and Thor genuinely trying his best. He’s making baby steps, ya’ll!  If you haven’t read the first four chapters you can catch up HERE!

Warnings/ Content: fluff, feels, and a splash of hopefulness

Word Count: 2.7k

Author’s Note: Hello lovelies! What better way to end the weekend than with a new chapter? It was crazy warm this weekend where I’m at in southeastern PA and I loved every second it. Hope you all had a nice weekend too! XOXO - Ash

To Give Him The World, Chapter Six

Thor was quiet on the way back to his cottage. He was tired and a little overwhelmed. Ellie had been such a big part of his life when he was growing up and he had harbored a serious crush on her as they approached their adolescent years. It was surreal to him that she was back in his life and the feelings he had for her were back like no time had passed. 

Back at the cottage Thor insisted on giving Ellie a drawer in his dresser and a shelf in the shower. She reminded him several times that she was just staying the weekend and didn’t need space but he was undeterred. Thor was putting Ellie’s suitcase away in the closet when his stomach rumbled loudly. His cheeks flushed with embarrassment, but Ellie just smiled and wrapped her arms around his waist. “Snack time?” she asked him.

Thor forced himself to look at her face, checking for any sign of reproach or judgement and found none. He knew they had just had breakfast three hours ago and a big sugary latte since then but he was used to grazing on snacks all day and he was ready for something again. “It appears so. I’m sorry I-”

Ellie waved her hand dismissively, cutting him off. “No. Don’t you dare apologize for that. You’re allowed to be hungry Thor. And you need to tell me that kind of stuff before your body feels the need to tell me itself.” 

“I don’t want to be a burden.”

“You’re not, promise. Now come on. Let’s find you a snack”  Ellie led Thor by the hand to his kitchen, pulling out options from his cupboards to show him the, slightly, healthier options she’d stocked his pantry with. After some deliberation he picked a bag of pita chips and she pulled a tub of hummus out of the fridge to go along with it. 

“Maybe we could take this out to your rock? Have a little picnic?” Ellie suggested hopefully.

Thor wanted to say yes, he’d give Ellie anything she asked if he could. But he was exhausted from being out of the house for so long. He just wanted to retreat back to his bed and stay there the rest of the day. “Could we go back out a little later?” he asked hesitantly. 

Ellie looked over and noticed the faint lines of stress around his eyes. “Of course! Let’s just take this into the living room then. Do you want to play a little Fortnight while you eat?” 

Thor nodded quietly and retreated to his favorite spot on the couch. 

“That was the longest you’ve been out of the house in a while, wasn’t it?” Ellie asked him after a few silent minutes.

Thor looked over, shame burning in his chest again. “Yes, it was.” he shook his head, knowing he didn’t owe her an explanation but wanting to give her one anyway. “I tried when I first got back. I promised myself that it wouldn’t be like before but somewhere along the way it just got so hard again. So I stopped.” 

Ellie scooted closer to wrap her arms around the saddened god. “It’s alright. Life gets hard sometimes. But you’re strong, Thor. You just need to be reminded of that sometimes.” 

“Will you remind me?”

“Of course, whenever you need. I think part of the problem is you being able to hide away from the world. We need to get you reconnected with it.” 

“How?” Thor knew what Ellie was saying made sense but if he wasn’t up to going out all the time and his friends had busy lives, how would he make it work?”

“We can get you a cell phone. Maybe a computer too. I bet Bruce or Steve would love to hear from you. You could video chat with them, or text.” 

Thor took a minute to consider it, “That might be nice. Can we do that tomorrow?” 

“Of course. Whenever you’re ready.” 

Thor started up his Xbox and munched happily through the pita chips while Ellie picked up the book she’d brought from home to read. It was nice, the quiet domesticity of spending time together but doing different things. Ellie was surprised when she went to get a pita chip from the bag and found it empty. The carton of hummus was likewise empty. Well, at least it was healthier than the chips and cookies he’d been living off of. Baby steps, she supposed. 

Thor looked over hesitantly a little while later. Ellie had just finished a chapter when she noticed his furtive glances and slid her bookmark in to pause her reading. Thor cleared his throat finally gaining the courage to ask, “Could it be time for lunch?”

Ellie was still sated from the snack but was thrilled he had asked this time. “Absolutely. What would you like?” 

“Whatever would be easiest. I could help, maybe?” 

“Perfect. You find a save point and come join me when you’re ready.” 

“How do you know about save points? I thought you didn’t like video games?”

“I play sometimes, just not Fortnite.” 

Thor saved his game and followed Ellie out to the kitchen, “What games do you play then?” he asked.

“I’ve been playing Assassin’s Creed mostly. It’s fun and I like that it makes you really think sometimes. It’s not just all action. I get more invested in the story line that way.” 

“We could play that together, maybe?” 

“Tomorrow, sure. Now, let’s teach you how to make tacos.” 

Thor patiently watched while Ellie went through the motions to cook up the meat and he helped dice up the vegetables she bought to top them with. It was good to feel useful again and Thor did his best to commit the process to memory. By the time food was on the table he didn’t even feel the need for a beer with his meal. The stress from going out earlier had faded and he was left feeling a little closer to his old self than he had in ages. 

Ellie was pleased with Thor’s genuine interest in learning to cook. It was one small step to learning how to care for himself and she hoped he would keep the momentum up. Getting him set up with a way to contact his friends would be the next step and an important one. Thor yawned halfway through his sixth taco and Ellie chuckled at his blush. “Tired?” she asked with a smirk.

Thor nodded, “I usually nap in the afternoon.” He felt childish admitting it but trusted Ellie not to judge him for it. He knew the exhaustion was more mental than physical but he’d napped frequently for a while and wasn’t just going to stop the habit because he’d had one good morning. In time, he thought to himself, he just needed a little time to get back on his feet again. 

“You go ahead and lay down. I’ll get the dishwasher loaded and join you in a bit.” 

Thor finished his taco and took his plate to the sink. “Thank you” he said with weighted words. It was for more than just cleaning up the lunch dishes and Ellie got the message. She popped up off her chair to wrap her arms around him in a long hug before patting his butt and sending him off to nap.

Ellie made quick work of the dishes and snatched up her book from the living room before joining Thor in bed. He was still awake and reached out for her when she slid under the covers. Ellie was happy to oblige and scooted across the large bed into his waiting arms. Thor tugged her against his chest letting her smaller soft body press up against his larger one. The scent of his shampoo and soap lingered on her skin and he blushed thinking of their shower together earlier. Thor liked knowing she smelled of him just as he’d enjoyed seeing her in his shirt. It stirred something in him, something long buried and primal. He made a mental note to try and coax her into using one of his shirts for a nightgown again that night. Maybe he could even gift her one of his heavy sweaters to take home since she seemed fond of oversized ones. The thought caused a pang in his chest. Ellie would be going home on Sunday night. She had work on Monday like most people do and he would be alone, again. 

Thor hugged her just a little bit tighter and Ellie noticed, setting down her book. “What’s wrong, sweetheart?”

Thor kept his tone steady, wanting to keep the sadness he felt out of it for her sake. He didn’t want her to think he was trying to make her feel guilty. “I was thinking about you having to work on Monday and how you wouldn’t be able to stay over again tomorrow.” 

Ellie rolled over so they were chest to chest, “We still have the rest of today and most of tomorrow. I don’t have to head home until after dinner tomorrow night.” 

“I know, but you work and I… I don’t. I’m not sure what to do with myself all week. I don’t want to just drink and play games with Korg. I want to try. To make you proud.” 

“Thor,” Ellie cooed, peppering his face with light kisses, “You do. Just the fact that you know you want to try makes me proud. You’re going to be fine.” 

Thor’s cheeks flush under her praise and kisses, “But what will I do?” 

“We can think about and make a plan together. Don’t stress over it. Besides, if we get you a cell phone I’ll only be a text away even if I’m not here.”

“I think I’m going to need one of those.”

“We can look online later on my phone and find you one, if you want. It’ll save you a trip out tomorrow.”

“After a nap?” 

Ellie chuckled, “Yes, after your nap. Now stop fretting and get some rest sweetheart.” 

Thor hummed a sound of assent and buried his face in the crook of Ellie’s neck. She wasn’t able to read with him wrapped around her like that but she didn’t have the heart to move him. After so many years alone he needed physical affection. He was practically touch starved and Ellie was determined to be there for him as much as she could. Ellie carded her fingers through his long blonde hair and drew soothing circles along the wide expanse of his back. She was perfectly content basking in the warmth of his body and letting him rest peacefully for a bit. It wasn’t long until his breathing evened out and he slept, and even though she could have wriggled away, Ellie stayed put until an hour later when he was yawning and looking at her with blearly sleep filled eyes. 

“Hey sleepy head.” Ellie murmured quietly. 

Thor preened a little as she started running her hands through his hair again. “Hello.” he replied, his sleepy voice full of gravel.

“Did you get enough rest?”

Thor nodded, “It was perfect. I like having you close while I sleep.”

“Do you want to get up and do something? It’s still early in the afternoon.” 

“Could we look online for a cell phone now?”

“Sure, let me grab my phone.” Ellie wiggled out of his arms for a moment to reach her phone where it had been tossed on the other side of the bed. She brought up the website of the electronics store one town over and showed Thor all the different options for smartphones. It took some time, and a lot of explaining on Ellie’s part, but they eventually picked out a smartphone Thor liked and thought he could figure out how to use. Ellie promised to help him get set up when it arrived but it was a relatively straightforward device.

Thor asked what else he would need and ended up with a virtually indestructible case for it as well as an extra charger and wireless earbuds. Thor liked the idea of being able to listen to music right in his ears while he moved around the house. Then, since they were shopping, he wanted to look at laptops too. Ellie just let him have his fun, helping him navigate the technical jargon and what things were most important to him. He was delighted to find out there were better versions of his Xbox controller out there and more advanced headphones too. Ellie only put the breaks on him when he started looking at new TV’s. The one he had in the living room was only a few years old and there was no reason he needed a bigger one. Thor huffed but agreed he didn’t have to buy everything all at one shot. 

Ellie helped Thor get set up with a phone plan and account before they finalized his purchases and the delivery was set up for the next day. Ellie had tried to talk him out of next day delivery, the cost was ridiculous, but he insisted he wanted to be all set up before she had to go home. In the end Ellie was helpless to deny him and let him add the $70 charge to his already sky high bill. Thor was pleased with himself after everything was said and done. He wanted to get back out into the world after hiding away for so long and being able to connect to his friends would be a relatively easy start for him. 

“Do you want to see my rock now?” Thor asked seemingly out of the blue.

Ellie blinked, momentarily confused. 

“Outside, my quiet place.” he prompted.

“Oh! Of course. Yes, I’d love to.” 

Thor lumbered out of bed with a groan, tugging his shirt down and straightening his pants. As much as she was enjoying the warm bed, Ellie was touched that Thor wanted to share his favorite spot with her and she climbed out of bed after him. Together they made their way outside and across the wide lawn to the far side where the ground jutted out over the sea. It was chilly and the wind was harsher closer to the water but they’d both thrown on coats on their way out the door. The rock was more like a flat boulder, wide and tall enough that Ellie had to hop a little to sit on the flat top of it. The sound of the waves crashing against the rocks down below echoed up the wall of the cliff making a cacophony of sound along with the whistling of the wind.

It was no wonder Thor loved his rock so much. It was easy to lose yourself in the rolling waves and wind, letting the raw power of nature fill your mind and drown everything else out. 

“When I first moved here I thought I might plant a garden.” Thor said after a few quiet minutes.

Ellie turned to look at him when he spoke. Intrigued that the former warrior was interested in something as domestic as gardening. “Oh really? What kind?” she asked him. 

Thor nodded, “I was thinking of a few vegetables and maybe some berries. Now though I might want a row or two of flowers too. Daisies, or roses, or sunflowers. Maybe all three. I don’t know yet. But I want to do something with my hands, something good for a change.” Something other than fighting and killing, he left his darker thought unsaid.

Ellie nodded, “I think those are great plans. We could set something up when the weather gets warmer in the Spring. Maybe even put a little fence to keep the wild animals out.” 

“I’d like that.” Thor tried not to dwell on the worry that rose up in his chest, wondering if he would still be willing to put in the effort for a garden when the time came. He’d had the best plans and intentions before but they all fell apart under the weight of his depression. He hoped it would be different this time, with Ellie encouraging him it would be harder to let himself give up. He was struck again by how much more it meant to try when he had someone supporting his efforts. It wasn’t going to be easy, but it was certainly going to be worth it. 

Tag list lovelies: @thorfanficwriter @lancsnerd @avengers-fixation

[idiosyncrasy-thoughts]

Trust - Yvette Short Story

(a continuation of Empathy)

"The largest cell in the human body is the female egg while the smallest is the male sperm. Now, I..."

I sigh boredly, my ears automatically tuning out the professor's blabbering. I have decided to return back to medical school after the whole assassin versus demon thing. It was an interesting experience to go through and a definite wake-up call for me. Seeing Wrath and her troupe protecting people from demons reminded me of the reason why I had joined medical school; which is to save lives.

Oh please MC, the last push to go back is because of Yvette's interest in biology too.

Speaking of her, it has been more than two weeks since that fight between Wrath and her happened. Things eventually go back to the way they used to be; with no more demons to chase after me, no more powerful assassins to protect my weak ass; no more chaos. I should be happy that I don't have to live in fear anymore.

But somehow, that feeling just never comes.

Instead, I'm stuck with a longingness in my chest, for a certain green-haired girl that has probably forgotten about me. Her gorgeous features ingrained in my memory, there is never a time when her face doesn't pop up in my head.

I doubt Yvette's gonna bother you anymore after getting what she wants. You can go back to your normal life now. Wrath's previous words sink in my head, and I release another breath of defeat.

"You okay?" Serena, my classmate, asks. "You've sighed like fifty times today."

I sigh again. "I'm just...tired. The class is so dry."

"I know, but what do you expect from studying in a medical school?" Serena offers an apologetic smile. "Just hang on for a few more hours."

"Ugh, I can't wait to graduate."

"Feeling's mutual."

When the bell rings to signal the end of school, I mutter a quiet 'yes' before packing my stuff into my bag. Saying a quick 'bye' to Serena, I head back to my dorm.

Being in medical school means there's a need to understand rich content from a heap of thick textbooks, so I'm required to lock myself up in my room and revise daily. Tedious, but it will be worth it in the end.

As I inch closer to my dormitory, a dark trail of green catches my attention. Out of curiosity, I follow the path.

It leads me through a narrow and dimmed alley, taking me further and further away from the sunlit pavement. I take a right turn, stopping in my tracks when I reach a dead end. The strange trail discontinues too, with no other traces in sight.

I decide to examine the green goo, racking my brain for answers as to what has caused this. A faint memory resurfaces, causing the blood in my veins to run cold.

Could it be...?

My stomach churns sickly at the first thought that comes to my mind.

Demon's blood.

"But how?" I mumble to myself, so deep in consideration that I don't realise that I'm not alone anymore.

Heavy footsteps can be heard behind me, and I turn to be met with two strangers. They block the only pathway, leaving no available space to escape.

"Uh, can I help the both of you?" I ask, apparently talking to the walls since they refuse to reply.

A smile spread across their faces; too wide for me to feel comfortable in their presence.

They start to approach me.

"Stop right there!"

They do as I say, still wearing that abnormally large smile. Their eyelids begin to stretch out, revealing huge eyeballs that threaten to pop out. Thin, green veins emerge into sight, spreading far and wide on every inch of skin. Saliva dripping down their mouths, they let out a loud, aggressive growl.

Ah shit, here we go again.

I yell for help when one of them dashes towards me, shoving me hard. Tumbling backwards, my head hits the wall.

Pain penetrates my head like a bullet; darkness engulfs my vision.

~~~

I wake up to the feeling of a soft mattress underneath me. Lifting my hand to my forehead, I feel the material of gauze bandage.

Wha-what happened? Where am I?

"I told you to bring her here, not break her fucking head!" a female voice booms, the familiarity of it igniting every muscle in me.

It's her.

My body snaps up, the quick motion causing a spike of pain to pierce through my head. I gasp, my hand instinctively flying to the back of my head.

The mattress sinks as two warm, gloved hands hold my shoulders to guide me back to the bed. "You need to rest MC."

Obliging, my head rests on the soft pillow again. The tension between my brows leaves and I slowly open my eyes. Air leaves my lungs as my vision clears.

It's none other than the girl that has been running through my mind for the past two weeks.

Yvette.

Seeing her in real life sure relieves the yearning feeling in my heart, and the pain in my head slowly dissipates. I don't hold back a wide grin.

"I...thought I'd never see you again," I speak, a little out of breath.

She smiles endearingly, shrugging. "I thought so too. But here we are."

I stay silent, taking the moment to admire the view before me. The girl's healing from her encounter with Wrath, which is a good sign. A cut on her lip and a square bandage on the right side of her head are still visible, but other than that, Yvette is beautiful as ever.

A cough breaks me out of my trance, and the green-haired girl's not looking at me anymore. A hint of pink colours her tanned cheeks.

Oh my god, she's so cute. Wait, stop it MC, you're making things awkward!

"Sorry, um, It's great that you're healing well."

"Yeah. Now it's your turn." Yvette offers a sympathetic smile. "Sorry about your head. I couldn't contact you or find you at the bike shop. So I sent them to search for you."

"Well, my phone broke after the whole incident, and I've decided to go back to medical school," I explain, sputtering the next sentence unintentionally. "I thought you wouldn't need me after you got the charm."

Yvette blinks at me. "You'd think so lowly of me?"

"No! As in...I thought you would forget about me eventually."

"I would never. Especially when you've helped me immensely."

It's my turn to blink blankly. "I didn't do much though. I was like a damsel in distress."

Yvette strokes my hair out of the way, offering a lingering look that makes my heart do somersaults. "You defended me when no one else would."

"I had to! You looked close to death when you were on the gr-"

"You helped drag the time while I was catching my breath!" the girl defends her ego, in which I roll my eyes amusedly.

"Sure Yvette, whatever you say."

She lets out a laugh, one that sounds so melodic and lovely that it makes the temperature in the room warmer. It is surely a tune that I would love to hear everyday.

"Do you want anything? Water or some snacks?"

"A glass of water sounds nice."

Yvette turns her attention to the regretful-looking demon who pushed me previously. "You heard her. Get me a glass of water. Now."

The demon straightens his posture and nods his head, quickly leaving the room.

"Do demons actually have feelings?"

"Of course. Remember? I'm a demon too," Yvette reminds, a sad smile settling on her face.

Way to go MC. You just made your crush sad.

"Right, I should just keep my mouth shut. Or you could just throw me out now."

A teasing smile returns on Yvette. "I could never get rid of a cutie like you," she teases, pinching my cheek lightly.

I fluster.

"Wa-err," the demon utters, his quiet entrance startling me.

Indifferent, Yvette takes the glass and shoos him. She then aids me in sitting up as I drink my water. The domestic gesture warms my heart.

She's not that horrible person Wrath have described to me. In fact, Yvette's caring nature reminds me of a kind doctor who takes care of her patients dutifully.

"Thanks doc," I playfully comment. "I could get used to this."

"Taking advantage are we?"

I smile innocently. "Just a little."

The woman reciprocates the smile and puts away the glass once I'm done. I shift myself so that I can lean on the bedframe, and Yvette does the same as well, our shoulders brushing against each other.

"How's school so far?"

I update Yvette on the modules I'm currently taking and the upcoming tests I have, not failing to mention that much memory power is needed to survive medical school.

"If you like, I can tutor you," the girl offers.

"Really? That'll help a lot."

I hand my new phone to Yvette for her to enter her number. This reminds me of the first time I successfully asked a girl for her number; the experience both nerve-racking and exhilarating.

We then move on to more serious topics; of the reason why she needed my charm.

"That...I can't tell you. I've agreed to keep this deal with the demons strictly confidential," Yvette explains with a frown. "But I can assure you that your charm will help me greatly."

Hopefully my charm isn't some key to demon domination, or the troupe will come for my head. But Yvette said that it will benefit her, so maybe...it will get rid of the demon essence in her?

Yvette's deepening frown brings me back to reality. Her eyes are studying me, wary of any change of emotions. "Look MC, I'd love to give you an explanation, but-"

"I understand," I cut off the girl, offering a reassuring smile and daring to hold her gloved hand. "I trust you."

Silence fills the air. The girl gazes at me, her eyes a mixture of wonder and vulnerability.

At times like these, where the girl is just silent, I wish I could know what she's thinking about. What she thinks of me. Her impression of me.

"You do?" she asks, tone full of uncertainty.

I ponder.

Do I? Yvette's an intelligent person, and I trust that everything she does, is for a logical reason.

The only concern I have is the intensity of it; of how easily I let myself to trust someone I don't know well; someone with intentions that I have no clue about. It might be to my demise, or benefit; whichever rules out the other.

Returning the gaze, I see myself in Yvette's emerald eyes. The sight of white bandage around my head reminds me that the girl has been nothing but kind to me.

...I'll take my chances.

"I do."

Yvette releases a breath, as if she has been holding it for a while. She interlocks our fingers together, sparking a connection between us. A smile tugs on her lips and her eyes are bright with gratitude and hope.

"I'll make sure that it won't die down."

We spend the rest of the day bantering happily.