#this is exactly why i care so much about working in the archives

[astriiformes]

Happy Pride specifially to the incredibly sweet older gay man who started chatting with me at the history pavilion, saying it was so good to see a young person interested in studying our history and then started telling me stories for a good half hour about the queer scene in the Twin Cities in the 70s and a dear friend of his who died from AIDs who he sewed a memorial quilt square for 😭

[commodorez]

Zoomer here, and I do indeed have questions about computers- how do filesystems work, and why should we care (I know we should, but I'm not exactly sure why)?

So why should we care?

You need to know where your own files are.

I've got a file on a flash drive that's been handed to me, or an archival data CD/DVD/Bluray, or maybe it's a big heavy USB external hard drive and I need to make a copy of it on my local machine.

Do I know how to navigate to that portable media device within a file browser?

Where will I put that data on my permanent media (e.i. my laptop's hard drive)?

How will I be able to reliably find it again?

We'll cover more of the Why and How, but this will take some time, and a few addendum posts because I'm actively hitting the character limit and I've rewritten this like 3 times.

Let's start with file structure

Files live on drives: big heavy spinning rust hard drives, solid state m.2 drives, USB flash drives, network drives, etc. Think of a drive like a filing cabinet in an office.

You open the drawer, it's full of folders. Maybe some folders have other folders inside of them. The folders have a little tab with a name on it showing what's supposed to be in them. You look inside the folders, there are files. Pieces of paper. Documents you wrote. Photographs. Copies of pages from a book. Maybe even the instruction booklet that came with your dishwasher.

We have all of that here, but virtualized! Here's a helpful tree structure that Windows provides to navigate through all of that. In the case of Windows, it's called Explorer. On OSX MacOS, the equivalent is called Finder.

I don't have to know where exactly everything is, but I have a good idea where thing *should* based on how I organize them. Even things that don't always expose the file structure to you have one (like my cellphone on the right). I regularly manually copy my files off of my cellphone by going to the Camera folder so I can sift through them on a much bigger screen and find the best ones to share. There are other reasons I prefer to do it that way, but we won't go into that here. Some people prefer to drag and drop, but that doesn't always work the same between operating systems. I prefer cut and paste.

Standby for Part 2!

[paceprompting]

Need a Ride?

written for ‘snowfall’ wc: 1000 # | steddie | rated: g | cw: non archive warnings apply | tags: alternate first meeting, pre-season four, feat. steve harrington's beemer

@steddieholidaydrabbles

He was sending his van right to the dump this time. He meant it.

Stupid engine he’d had to drop all his profits on for the third time crapping out right in the middle of the road. Leaving him to hoof it back to the gas station and hope that Wayne was home from his shift to get the call.

And of course, the snow season had to start today.

Head ducked against the wind, with only his battle vest and leather jacket against the bracing cold and snowflakes that stung his cheeks and nose where it wasn’t covered by his hair. He was just glad that there were streetlights so he wasn’t veering off into nowhere in the dark.

He could barely feel his fingers in his pockets by the time he made it to the station. He was still shivering, so he wasn’t quite at the point of hypothermia, but even dialing the numbers on the pay phone was a bit of a feat in itself.

Eddie put his back to the wind as the phone rang. And rang. Eventually, it rang out.

Wayne must have picked up a double shift. Not unusual, especially this time of year. Honestly, Eddie should have guessed that in the first place and called the plant instead of the trailer.

And he didn’t have enough change for another call. Guess he shouldn’t have stopped to buy that pack of cigarettes. That he’d already opened and smoked one from before his shitty van broke down.

“Fuck,” Eddie hissed, smacking the receiver into the hook.

He could trudge back to the van and settle in for the night. But without heat, he’d be just as well off trying to walk home in the wind and snow. And he wasn’t going to be getting sympathy with how he was dressed for spare change, much less did he have anything to deal to someone who would give him the time of day.

If he didn’t figure this out quick, he was going to get arrested for loitering.

Although…

“Munson?”

He perked up despite himself, recognizing the voice. Even if it wasn’t exactly someone he was elated to have run into at a pretty low point in his day.

Standing there under cover from the wind, the snow fell gently onto Steve Harrington. Of course it did. Settled on his hair and his jacket like powdered sugar on an overly-sweet dessert.

He wasn’t getting gas, pulled over and stood with the driver’s door open. One hand braced on the door and the other on the hood of his car, Steve stared curiously at Eddie. He was actually dressed for the weather, a puffy white and pale blue-striped monstrosity with fur around the hood.

Steve glanced at the rest of the gas station, noticing that his was the only car around.

“What are you doing here?”

Eddie stayed beside the payphone, in the wind and snow, but the farthest he could be from Steve. He’d dealt to him a few times, just weed, really, and only knew Steve by reputation. Last he’d heard, Steve had just dumped his two lackeys, Tommy and Carol and had slung ice cream at the Starcourt Mall until it burst into flames.

Why Harrington could care about him, Eddie had no idea.

“Van broke down,” he answered shortly, shoving his hands in his pockets even though the leather was nearly as cold as the wind. He gave a strained smile. “Stuck here.”

“Phone busted?”

“Out of money.” Eddie cocked his head, feeling bold. “Got fifty cents?”

It’d be enough for another call to the trailer and one to Wayne’s work for safety.

Steve raised both brows, and Eddie blanched. He and Steve were practically strangers, and he’d immediately hit Steve up for money. Even if he was known as the rich kid with parties every week because his parents were never home—Eddie was so far off his radar, he might as well have been gum under his shoe.

“I could give you a ride,” Steve said instead. “Forest Hills, right?”

A ride in the Steve Harrington’s Beemer. Sleek and maroon and drool-worthy.

The girls at school that would have literally slit his throat to be in Eddie’s place.

Eddie’s eyes nearly bugged out of his head, but he managed to find words and point back at the payphone with his thumb.

“I really just need to call my uncle. He’ll come get me.”

Steve leveled a gaze at him. “And you’ll spend an hour in the snow waiting. I’m not going to leave you out here to freeze.”

Eddie sucked his teeth, staring Steve down. He hated to give Steve the point of being right, but he was starting to lose feeling in his hands and his cheeks were stinging from the wind across his face.

He sighed, wetting his bottom lip. Or tried to, since the wet from his tongue only made his face freeze more.

“Fine,” he said, ducking his head as he trudged toward the Beemer. He didn’t dare stop to double-check with Steve, wincing as he pulled his hand from his pocket to open the door and slide inside.

The inside was immediately ten times warmer, blasting from the fans and Eddie nearly moaned. Until Steve’s door slammed closed and suddenly Eddie was inside Steve Harrington’s car. With Steve Harrington.

“You good, Munson?”

He was staring, he realized only after Steve spoke. If Steve wasn’t apprehensive about letting the school freak into his car, he was sure to be when Eddie acted as though he’d been raised far from civilization.

He forced a hard swallow. “Just surprised this isn’t all some trick. My type doesn’t exactly mesh with your type.”

Steve gave this chuckle, like an inside joke only he had any idea of.

“Right,” he said softly, and Eddie definitely felt as though he was way out of the loop on a new kind of Steve Harrington.

A kind he had a single car ride to figure out.

Part Two

[cattlemons]

hi, if you're okay with writing for him, wanderer x reader hcs? (it can be short and brief!!) /nf

The Archivist and The Stubborn Scholar

TW: Not proofread and the punctuations on this might be kinda yikes (tried my best tho), this particular big boy is 1,7k words big (very short and super brief (❁´◡`❁))

Hope you like this, my first ever nonnie! (I wanna frame you like a first dollar)

I feel like the Wanderer is kind of a tough nut to crack because his trauma wall is 100 inches thick.

At the beginning, he’s really just huffing and puffing and being a total jerk to you (and everyone else). To be honest, you’re just trying your best to tough it out and not cuss him out every chance you get.

Technically, he isn’t a permanent student of the Vahumana; he only comes in to borrow research papers he needs for his own paper and then he’s off again. So, there's no reason for you to see him all that much.

But aside from being a student, you’re also the Akedemiya’s archivist, so you do meet him fairly often. Not that you enjoyed his prickly presence at first. It was quite the nuisance, if anything.

Every time he comes in to borrow something, it feels like he’s purposefully trying to get a rise out of you.

He’s also frustratingly accurate in pressing your buttons; like he knows exactly what makes you tick and explode.

You want to chop his head off.

Luckily for him, you’re closer to Celestia than he is because your patience for him is on par with that of a saint.

“I need a paper on Tatarasuna, but I want it as recent as possible. The closer to ‘yesterday’ it is published, the better.”

Looking away from your own paper, you looked at him like he grew five heads, each wearing a big ‘ol hat. To your defense, you’re only four beats off.

“Look, I know you’re an honored guest of the Archon and only recently started joining in on this research writing business, but you’ve got to learn how we do things here,” you huffed as you searched for a written guideline you have not needed for a while now.

Pulling the paper out of your bag, you pointed and explained the graphic drawn on it.

“First, you go and find out which collection of research papers you need and ask me politely if we have it here in the archives. Then, I tell you if we have it or not before asking if you want it copied and if you need more assistance—”

“Okay, fine. I want Tatarasuna papers and assistance.”

“Please let me finish.”

“Why’d you stop talking if you weren’t finished?”

“You interrupted me?!”

That’s basically how an average conversation with him goes.

But as time goes on, the hate turns into dislike and then into pretend hate and finally into secret like.

At the start of his research, the visits are few and far between, but as the research starts getting heavier, his visits get more frequent too.

He also likes to work on the tables right outside the archival building for “quicker access to papers.”

This is not for the public, but he also kind of maybe perhaps secretly likes looking at the archivist.

He just likes looking at you when you’re confused about why the journal you’re reading is spewing lies. He also likes looking at you when you huff at your paper because the wording is all messed up.

Yeah, his sadistic tendencies were not wiped away when he pulled his stunt on the Irminsul. You can’t win them all, I guess.

Anyway, it’s all totally because he likes seeing you suffer. You’re on top of his “pain in the ass” list, after all!

Not because you look adorable when you scrunch your eyebrows in confusion.

Definitely not because he knows you didn’t get enough sleep last night (he heard your friend chastise you about it) and you made a bunch of mistake on your paper.

He DEFINITELY DOES NOT find your tired eyes and sleepy yawns cute (like a very angry cat he DOES NOT want to take care of).

But really, he actually believes in this reasoning. He simply thinks it's schadenfreude.

Man’s smart when scheming but dumb bum when anything else.

He does not catch on to his feelings all that quick. In fact, it took him embarrassingly long.

He had to do a lot of soul searching and experience a ton of jealousy to finally realize that maybe he likes you more than he hates you.

Or rather, he likes you more than he originally allowed himself to like you.

Oh no! It’s the consequences of having a heart because a heart isn’t an object but the accumulation of interactions that build the psyche and emotion! Darn, life lesson! (Wanderer, probably)

The Wanderer decided that he’s going to work on his paper in the archive building today. He’s not in the mood to sit in some shitty cafe and listen to incessant chatter.

Wow, he wished he had chosen the cafe instead.

“Hey! Who told you, you can just take a paper out of the archive and waltz your merry way home? Give that back. Right now!”

“I thought we were friends,” Kaveh mumbled in faux hurt as he stretched his hands out to return the paper to you.

“Archivist first. Friend second,” you huffed out, snatching the scroll of paper out of his hands.

The blond proceeded to clutch his chest and make a scene.

Sometimes you wish you weren’t such good friends with the man. At least then, he’d act civil.

Meanwhile, the Wanderer was watching all this from the front row seat; absolutely soaked with friendly-banter-that-he-misunderstood-as-lovey-dovey-affection. Your interaction with Kaveh spilled over into the splash zone of his seat in the archival building and he hated it.

In his mind, he came up with the conclusion that the heat in his heart is coming from a place of annoyance.

Why are you so loud at 7 in the fucking morning?

Why is the blond one also so loud at 7 in the fucking morning?

Why are you even entertaining guests this early in the morning? Didn’t you refuse him any service when he came this early a few weeks ago?

Why is this guy any special?

Somewhere much deeper in his mind, he thought differently.

I thought you were only grumpy with me.

You said ‘friend’ to him, right?

Why does that ease me slightly?

But you treat me like that too… Am I a ‘friend’ as well?

Why does that hurt even more?

After that moment, his visits get less frequent. When he does visit, though, he keeps things brief and… polite?

You even tried to start up a banter; mentioning something you know (on a normal day) would get his veins popping and kick-start a back-and-forth and then some.

To no avail, he stayed silent and just looked mildly inconvenienced.

This confused you to Celestia and back and then to Celestia again and then back again.

He’s honestly not too sure why he distanced himself from you in the first place.

But hindsight is 20/20 because after a much-needed self-evaluation session (by ‘self’ I mean himself and Nahida) he knows it’s because he doesn’t want a fourth addition to his list of major betrayals.

Not that he’ll actually agree with that statement out loud. But inside, he gets it.

Of course, this understanding is between his own person. You, unfortunately, were completely out of the loop.

You thought you had somehow pissed him off beyond forgiveness or crossed some kind of line.

At one point, you thought that the banter was, in a very weird way, flirting.

But maybe you got it wrong. What if he never saw you as a friend at all, let alone someone he might like.

You decided that if a relationship(?) friendship(?) has to die, then it’s going out with a bang.

*(bang = mutual understanding on what went wrong and peacefully going back to being strangers).

So, you visited him one day. Out of work hours too (mmmm how bold).

The knock on his door broke the puppet out of his cluttered thoughts; thoughts of a certain archivist he misses. Grunting as he stood, he closed the book he pretended to read in favor of opening the door.

“Who is it?”

He opened the door just as the ‘intruder’ reached to knock on the door again. He doesn’t know why you thought that knocking needed that much force but he’s certain it’s way too much.

Anger poked at him as he yelled, “That’s going to bruise, idiot.”

It won’t.

“I’m sorry, okay?”

“You should be! That hurts.”

It did not.

“Not about that! I’m sorry for whatever happened between you and me to make you hate me…”

The fuck?

“You don’t have to forgive me or anything. I get that you have some sort of past to make you that way and I probably overstepped somewhere but… I thought we were friends. I thought if you were to revert back to us being enemies again, at least you’d tell me why…”

The Fuck?

“Is it because you know I like you? If that’s the case, you’re not fully wrong but I can just throw that away because I know you’re probably not looking for something like that and that’s probably the bit where I overstepped and you know I’m not even fully invested in it so really I can just stop!”

The FUCK?

So much for mutual understanding. With how things are going, it’s more of an individual understanding.

You got way too nervous and now things are spilling left and right and he’s not even saying anything?! He’s just staring at you like you grew five heads, each wearing a big ol' hat. You took a breath to continue your long-winded mess of a rant when he clutched your shoulders.

“Stop for a second, will you, motor-mouth.”

You clammed up right away, tears leaking out of your eyes.

“Listen, I’m not going to ever say this again but I like you too. It’s shit and I hate feeling it because… because I’ve never felt before, okay? So, stop talking all that crap about throwing important things away, it's pissing me off.”

You fully started sobbing now. He panicked and pulled you in for a very awkward, very stiff, but very loving hug. Snot got on his robe and cape as you cried your emotions out on him.

He found he didn’t quite mind. He could use less snot, sure, but he was glad you cared this much over him. He's never had anyone worry over him, let alone to the point of crying.

Soon, tears prickled his eyes but it's alright because relief found his heart.

By the way, he did say it again. He said it 1,000 times before your eventual marriage and 5,000 more times but with ‘love’ as a substitute for ‘like’.

What a liar.

a.n. My first ever request and I’m so incredibly chill about it (lies I jumped and screamed slightly). Anyway, I’m not sure what you’d like to see so I made this about how you came to be the wanderer's partner. Send in another one if you want something more specific (I’ll literally smile and break my cheek muscles if you do).

[twistedteatime]

Dessert

Pairing: Bucky x Fem!Scorpio!Reader

A/N: Been a bit, but this took a turn and I'm working on something different and much longer.

Summary: Bucky got called away on a mission. You haven't answered your phone for three days. He gets back to the compound only to find Tony telling him, Steve, Sam, and Natasha that something bad happened and he doesn't know where you are. When they find you it isn't what anyone expects. Except for Natasha.

Warnings: LANGUAGE. Canon typical violence. Mentions of firearms. Mentions of mafia. Allusions to torture. Minimal Y/N use. Use of doll. Fluff. Some flirting. Pop culture references (See if you can find them all and leave them in the comments. Some are obvious, some less so.) Can't think of much else. Correct me if I'm wrong.

Word Count: Almost 5.2k

Master List: Scorpio AU

Previous Story: Coffee

===================

Tired. Bucky was genuinely just…tired. He really needed to sleep. More than a 10-minute power nap, but he needed to see you.

Dessert had been postponed, unfortunately, as the moment he left from archives he was called to go out on a mission. With Steve, Sam, and Natasha. To go and check in on an abandoned HYDRA base that wasn’t exactly abandoned yet also not exceptionally occupied.

It felt like a distraction. Especially as he remembered the base in question. It should have been loaded with people. It had barely a dozen and none of them were particularly high-ranking.

Bucky didn’t like it.

What he liked even less than that was you not answering his texts or calls.

What was worse than that…was the brief flicker across Natasha’s face when he said you weren’t answering and then the increasing agitation she tried to hide as they flew back to the Compound. She hid it but he saw it. He saw it and she refused to say anything.

Steve and Sam were noticeably off about it as well. Yet instead of not saying anything they tried to reassure him. That…was the worst.

“She’s probably just…busy.” Steve said and gestured with his hands, one more at Sam to help him come up with something else to say.

“Probably digging out another old recipe to torture us with. She didn’t answer me back for four hours when she was working on that cake.”

“It’s been 3 days.” Bucky said and he shut his mouth.

“I’m sure she’s fine, Buck.” Steve said as reassuringly as he could.

It didn’t work.

“She’s not gonna go running off and get into trouble.” He added and Bucky nodded.

“No. She’s not you.” He agreed but they all frowned and looked on in shock when they landed and saw a beaten, slightly charred, and bloodied Tony there to greet them, “What happened?”

“Well, funny thing really. It was like that whole mission you went on was a distraction to get the most HYDRA informed people as far away as possible.”

“Where is she?” Bucky asked, his mind racing with everything that could have happened, how injured you could be, if you were alive, who did it, what he would do if they hurt you, and so much more that it took Steve’s hand on his shoulder to stop the thoughts from spiraling darker.

“Well…” Tony started, knowing who he was talking about as they all knew about his attachment to you, “Uh…we…don’t…really know. Her tracker keeps pinging to a location in Jersey…”

“So why haven’t you gone there to find her?” Sam asked, pointedly glancing at Bucky as his face went blank and he twitched.

“We have. She’s not there. The tracker isn’t there either. Can’t find it.” Tony answered and Steve spoke.

“Why does she have a tracker, Tony?” he asked, rather pointedly as he held Tony’s gaze.

It was accusatory. Bucky knew why. They all did. Tony had habits. Ones that did not sit well with Steve Rogers and they’d clashed over it more than once.

This wasn’t the time for it right now.

“I don’t care why she has one, why isn’t it where she is?” Bucky asked.

“Thank you. See? Barnes knows his priorities.” Tony said to him, fully accepting the escape tunnel Bucky gave him from answering, “We were hoping Nat could tell us. She knows our little psycho archivist the best. Two peas in a pod. You might have the hots for her, Barnes, but Romanoff knows her far better.”

They all looked at Natasha. Bucky was too worried to deny what Tony said or to even get flustered at it. He needed answers.

Now.

“Well it depends on where in Jersey it took you and what happened here.” She answered and Tony nodded.

He went on to describe the incident. Just as they arrived at the HYDRA base communications shut down and the alarms regarding some of the more sensitive contents of the archives started blaring. The base was indeed meant as a distraction and the target HYDRA had set its sights on happened to be situated in the Archives.

Since losing SHEILD they lost not only a substantial part of their access to intel but several items that they were very interested in retrieving. The HYDRA base was not the only distraction they set up to achieve their mission in retrieving what they wanted. Several were initiated over the course of several hours that kept Tony, Clint, Bruce, and every other Avenger quite occupied and the compound quite not occupied.

“So you left the compound undefended?” Steve asked bluntly.

“No. I sent the kid here to keep an eye on things and there’s several people we’re still trying to get the webbing off of to question. I warned him ahead of time to make sure they couldn’t bite down on anything, he did, but he was the one to head down and find that they were after the archives. Most of the archivists were in the safe room. Three were not. You already know who one of them was. One of the others was Reggie Smith. We found him later tied to a tree stump further up the river and gagged with a note pinned to him.” Tony explained, “Apparently he’s a mole. Not for HYDRA exactly but for a company working with HYDRA out of Idaho since the 70s. He swears he didn’t know it was going to cause an incident with HYDRA and begged me not to tell any of you, particularly the Manchurian Candidate here…and he was sobbing something about pigs.”

“Who’s the other archivist missing?” Nat asked with a calm and amused smile.

“Shelly ‘Contraband Bra’ Duty. She dropped her tracker in Yonkers so I’m not sure where she is either. We’re running scans on every camera in the tristate area to track down both, but…it’d be faster if Nat could just tell us.”

“Where in Jersey?”

“A really creepy old family theme park. Stuff of nightmares.” Tony answered and she nodded, “Know it?”

“Yep.” She said and started walking back towards the jet, “You run the security footage?”

“They cut the main feed but the backups caught everything.” Tony said as he followed her along with Steve, Sam and Bucky.

“What it’d show?” Sam asked as he glanced at Tony warily, “She alright?”

“I need to give her a raise and question our resident spy a bit more next time I hire one of her friends.” He said and handed over a tablet while Steve just chuckled knowingly.

Bucky looked at the screen as Sam hit play and watched. He was worried. It didn’t get better watching the video.

You were sitting at your desk working when the sirens went off. You didn’t panic, you just sighed. Bucky knew that sigh immediately. You were annoyed. Not scared, not worried, just annoyed and it only grew as Reggie snuck out from the doorway.

You didn’t say anything to him, you just reached into your desk and pulled out a pistol, loaded it with a dart, and calmly shot him with it, dropping him face first onto the hard floor. The look on your face was one of pure annoyance, especially as you pulled out a different gun and loaded a clip into it before hitting print on the computer. The sirens blared in the background as you took the papers, folded them, and tucked them into your pocket.

“What…the…she is way too comfortable with this.” Sam said and Natasha laughed.

“Knowing her it’ll get better.” She said and Sam looked at Bucky as Bucky looked at him while watching the video continue.

You hoisted Reggie up, slinging his arm around your shoulder as Shelly and a group of HYDRA soldiers showed up just as the archive doors all bolted shut and locked down. Bucky watched, worried, and then stared in complete shock as you spoke to them. In Russian.

“Hail HYDRA. This idiot tripped the back up alarms and got darted before I dragged him out. He knows nothing of the plans, but he’ll serve as a suitable distraction to lead them away.”

“You’re lying. You’re not a known operative.” Shelly replied warily and you rolled your eyes.

“This is why you continue to fail in rising in the ranks. You don’t pay attention to details. Two. Needle. Sugar. Wire. Five. Sunny. Homer. Poseidon.” You replied and the other soldiers lowered their weapons and saluted as Shelly’s jaw dropped.

“You’re Echidna.”

“Obviously I’m Echidna.”

“Then why did you stop me from getting the recipe!”

“Because it was obvious and done sloppy. You’re lucky I didn’t eliminate you as a result for your lack of discipline. It was shameful to see how little you pay attention to details. Every detail matters! That fool Pierce didn’t think details mattered! His hubris cost us nearly everything! What fool doesn’t think the detail of our prized asset being the former best friend of that goody goody Captain America was a detail worth paying attention to? See where that got us?! Sloppy and I’ve had to spend far too much time taking matters into my own hands. Now move. Stark will be sending in the annoying pubescent spider child soon. You three. See that he does not follow while we arrange for a delay.”

“Yes, Grand Mistress!” the soldiers replied, saluting you again, and Natasha snickered.

“What is she saying?” Sam asked and Bucky answered, “No…no way she’s HYDRA.”

“Please tell me there’s more.” Natasha said with a smile at Tony and he nodded swiping the screen to the next video.

Shelly was in complete awe. Rattling on and on about how honored she was to be in your presence. You just nodded, dragging Reggie along until having to go through a door. You handed him over to Shelly. She nearly dropped him and you just shook your head disgusted before taking him back once the door was open.

She apologized and when Peter came into the screen she followed your lead, “There’s a bunch of them in the archives trying to get through the doors!”

“Is he alright?” Peter asked and you nodded.

“He’s fine. We’re taking him out of harm’s way. The med bay’s locked tight. I never finished my tasks down in Archives and something was rattling around in the vents.” You said to him, shifting Reggie’s weight onto your shoulder towards Shelly.

“Mira still in HQ? I thought I heard the emergency meeting call.” Peter said and you nodded.

“Yeah. Alarms went off. We’re headed out that way for a safe ejection from the danger.” You replied and he nodded before swinging off and Natasha snickered again.

“I knew getting them to play that game was a good idea.” She said while laughing and Tony sighed.

“You corrupted my kid.” He said and she rolled her eyes, “That’s the last video we have, though.”

Sam just shook his head. Beyond frustrated and confused.

“So why is she in New Jersey? Now I know she can take care of herself. To a point. She’s friends with you and you say she can, Steve doesn’t worry too much about her, Thor is afraid of her, Loki likes her, and the list goes on down the line until you get to the cyborg here who is practically in love with her…even if he looks as confused as I am. How is she so calm? Please tell me she’s not really HYDRA.” Sam asked before Bucky could and Natasha answered.

“No, she’s not HYDRA, but that’s what her line of research is. Top to bottom.”

“After what happened with Fury, Pierce…everything…I wanted to know more without anyone really knowing I was looking into it.” Tony explained and gestured at Natasha, “I needed someone that knew how to handle themselves and how to protect things at the time. Nat recommended our little psycho librarian so I hired her to do that and put her on the job researching things once I learned she’s fluent in Russian, German, and Crazy.”

“So that’s why you have a tracker on her?” Steve asked and Tony shook his head.

“No, and she knows about it. She agreed to keep it after she found it. She probably told Shelly about it to gain trust.”

“Likely.” Natasha agreed, “She’s not stupid and she’s highly manipulative. She takes her job seriously no matter what it is even if you think she doesn’t.”

“But why New Jersey?” Sam asked again and she smiled.

“You’ll see.”

“I don’t want to see, I want to know.” Bucky said and she just smiled more, “Nat, c’mon. My head’s starting to hurt.”

“You’re ruining my fun, Barnes, but fine. The fun park belonged to one of her former bosses. Irish mafia. She was hired on as security for his daughter and saved her life from a runaway donut truck. He’s retired now. Has a flower shop in Queens, but he gifted her the fun park as a reward for saving his daughter’s life because it’s a safe house. Knowing her…she’s got Shelly locked in a closet while she’s watching a movie. She has a bigger screen in there than Tony does.”

“What?” Tony asked, staring as they all did, even Steve.

“I did not know about the safe house.”

“But you knew she worked for the Irish mob?!” Sam asked and Steve nodded, “And you’re okay with that?!”

“She’s not now.” He said and Sam just looked at Bucky then shook his head.

“Forget I asked.”

“What’s this have to do with me?” Bucky scowled and several minutes later was looking at the dilapidated, run down, and rusted remains of a family fun park with the others.

“Where’s the clown with the bloody knife?” Sam asked as he looked around, “I know there’s one here somewhere. This place screams ‘murder clown’.”

Bucky couldn’t even argue with him. He wanted to. Oh, he wanted to, but he just couldn’t.

Because it did.

Even though he recognized the style of everything as being very reminiscent of his and Steve’s childhoods, it screamed “there’s a psychopath with a kitchen knife hiding around the next corner”. Chipped paint on rusted metal. A soft, gentle, eerie creaking of a loose hinge in the wind. Dried up leaves blowing in the wind. Empty, falling down concession stands. Graffiti sprayed ride walls. Dark doorways where the door was hanging from the hinges rocking in the breeze.

He didn’t want to agree with Sam. Not one bit. Bucky just couldn’t help it.

“So how do we get in?” Tony asked as they followed Natasha through the horrorscape she had brought them to.

She wasn’t even phased. It didn’t surprise Bucky. It didn’t surprise anyone. Not with her. They’d have been surprised if they’d have been surprised.

“It’s accessed under the merry go round.” she answered and Sam raised his eyebrows at the structure up ahead.

“You mean the thing with the melted unicorns painted with blood red horns and fangs on it that looks like it’s a gateway to the nether realm?” he asked and she nodded.

“That’s the one.” She said and stepped up onto the platform and to the center column where she accessed a secret panel and punched in a long alphanumerical code.

They watched the center column open up wider, revealing a set of stairs down. She just smiled as they stared and gestured at them to head on in. They did so, in Sam’s case a bit reluctantly.

Three quarters of the way down they heard a high-pitched scream. Sam jumped. They all did but Bucky recognized it. Not as yours, but as the kind he’d heard back before the war in dimly lit movie theatres where Boris Karloff was on the screen.

Tinny, brassy, classic horror music played down the corridor as they stepped into it. It was long, clean, and grey-painted concrete, but it was nothing like what was above them. Mostly.

A door next to them began mumbling and thumping. A body slamming against it. Hard.

“What the fuck?” Sam asked as they looked at it and Natasha looked at the keypad on it before typing in a code.

A disheveled, muddy, tear-stained, gagged, and broken-heeled Shelly burst out of it onto the floor. She was bruised. Mostly by her own doing and gagged with what looked to have been Reggie’s tie. A tooth was missing from her mouth.

“G-gghaahh! Ga-aaggh!” She gurgled past the spit-soaked fabric up at them as they looked down at her.

“Hello, Shelly.” Tony greeted and she looked at him, “Where is Y/N?”

“Aaaaaahhhhh!” she responded, shaking her head rapidly, “Nnaa naaa naa nnaaa naaa!”

“Damn…what did she do to you?” Sam asked her and she shook her head more, her hair coming undone from its bun and flapping against the floor, leaving more muddy streaks.

“Uh uh! Uh uh! Ooery! Ooery!” she sobbed and Natasha just shook her head and looked down the hallway as the ending credit music stopped and they heard a popcorn machine, “AAHhhh! Cmmin’! Geggie!”

“Whatever your girlfriend did to her…it was fucked up.” Sam said to Bucky and he just blinked, not exactly sure how to process it.

He was torn between being impressed, curious, and worried. Whatever you had done had obviously worked. Shelly was HYDRA, maybe not the best, but she was still HYDRA and whatever you had done had broken her in ways HYDRA likely couldn’t.

Or at least in ways they never thought to try.

That itself was a bit…worrying.

Yet Bucky couldn’t help but feel a bit of pride at how you handled the situation and yourself. He wanted to pick it apart, find a reason to yell at you for putting yourself in danger. Yet…in a way…you hadn’t.

You manipulated your way out of a dangerous situation, took down two agents, and removed yourself to somewhere you knew was safe. It wasn’t like you stuck around to fight off an incursion. You had gotten up and removed yourself to safety. Like he had told you to do.

He knew perfectly well that hiding under your desk would not have helped in that situation. Protocol during situations like that were also for civilian members of staff to get to a safe room or get out as fast as they could. You had technically done both.

He stepped over Shelly to make his way down the hallway. The others could deal with her. He needed to find you. To see you were alright.

He followed the sound of the popcorn machine to a room with an old sign over it that read: Theater Room. Bucky opened it. Then he blinked.

It was exactly what it said it was. It wasn’t set up exactly as a modern one but an older one. In the corner stood a popcorn machine…and you. You also happened to have a gun pointed at him.

The emotionless, blank, and fully ready to pull the trigger look in your eyes instantly eased out when you spotted it was him. So did all the tension from your body. Even as he made his way over to you with a glower set on his face shaking his head you just relaxed and set the gun down on the counter next to you.

“Hey, Bucky.” You greeted him as he marched his way over, steel blue eyes boring into yours, and you knew you were in trouble because you couldn’t figure out what was running through his mind.

He was just focused on you as if mentally chanting that he was going to get you. All you knew was that he wasn’t going to hurt you. Bucky would never do that and you knew it.

So when he reached you and pulled you into his arms, you didn’t tense up, you just relaxed into him more. Especially as he just held you against him, enveloping you with his frame. His arms around you, his chin on your head, tucking you against him as he let out a relieved sigh.

You felt his body relax as you wrapped your arms back around him, silently reassuring him that you were alright. That you were there. That you trusted him.

He was silent, just holding you, his left arm wrapped around your waist securely while the other one gently caressed your head. You knew he had been worried. You knew he would have been from the moment you left, but you did what he had told you to do the day he had brought you coffee.

“If HYDRA ever comes…just…promise me you’ll get out and as far away as you can.” He said, looking at you, serious, and you nodded, and you meant it.

“I promise, Bucky.”

“I’m okay, Bucky. I promise. I’m okay. She broke my phone at one point and I lost hers somewhere in the woods. The phones here don’t work anymore either or I’d have called.” You said and he nodded as he looked down at you, searching your face for any signs of injury or you playing anything down; it just made you smile up at him, “I’m right here, Buck. Safe and sound. Though if you ask Shelly I very much am not of sound mind.”

He let out a soft huff as his lips curled upwards, his right hand gently caressing your jaw and face. It felt good, warm, sweet, and soothing. So soothing and you let yourself relax into it and into him more.

Bucky knew it wasn’t often you did this. You didn’t just relax into anyone or let them see past the indifferent façade you put up. You didn’t have to say it. He knew you were as happy and relieved to see him as he was to see you.

You were, too. Three days hoping he was alright. Three days hoping everything was going to be alright. Three days getting as much information out of Shelly as you could.

She figured out you weren’t the Grand Mistress before you got to the park. She put up a bit of a fight. Yet it was clear she had never been trained to fight in heels on uneven and soggy ground.

Neither were you but you at least had the sense to kick them off before slamming her head into a tree by her hair. It was raining at the time. You were both covered in mud by the time you knocked her out.

You were so filthy you looked like you were just born from the mud pit in Isengard the Uruk Hai were birthed from. The sight of you, and the sight of you dragging an unconscious blonde bimbo by the foot through the mud was enough to scare the absolute shit out of a group of teenagers. If you weren’t just completely done with the entire ordeal you probably would have laughed.

You didn’t, though. You were too exhausted to do anything other than drag her to the carousel and into the safehouse where you tied her up and shoved her in the first closet with a keypad on it.

Then you took a bath. Then you started a movie marathon. Mostly to keep your mind off of things. Like Bucky. You knew the tracker would lead them to you eventually. You just needed to wait and stay calm…and not think about Bucky.

“I was…I was so worried.” He said softly and you nodded even as you reached up to gently hold his head in your hands.

“I know. I was, too, but I’m alright. Are you alright?” you asked and Bucky nodded.

“Yeah. I’m alright. Now. I mean…I have a lot of questions about all of this, but I’m alright.” He replied and you smiled up at him, just happy he was there and alright and with you, letting him see that you were when he looked down at you.

At least until you heard the door open again and Steve walked in with Natasha. Then the walls went back up. You liked Steve; Natasha was effectively your best female friend, but you only ever let Bucky see straight in. That was his and as he smiled it was clear that he knew it was his and his alone.

“Which one is this?” Natasha asked as she gestured at the screen and Bucky looked at it as the opening credits started.

“The Return of Doctor X.” You answered, “Mister Mickey loaded this place with pretty much every classic movie from the 30s and 40s before he turned it over to me.”

“Your old boss?” Steve asked and you shook your head.

“Nah. His dad. He forbids me from calling him Mister O’Malley, so I call him Mister Mickey. I’m not arguing with a 100-year-old former mobster that still knows how to wire things.” You answered and he and Bucky looked at you, “What?”

“You worked for O’Malley?” Bucky asked and you nodded.

“I worked for his son. Mickey Junior. He’s retired now from that. He took over the florist shop Mister Mickey ran…even if Mister Mickey is still in there every single day yelling at him about how he’s not doing it right.” You answered and they looked at you, “What?”

“They’re both over 100. You argue with them.” Natasha pointed out curiously, and you shrugged.

“Well, yeah. They don’t count. Steve was a human Bomb Pop for like 60 years and Bucky was the human equivalent of a Freeze Pak. Put it in the freezer, take it out, have it make something cold, put it back in the freezer before it thaws too much. They don’t count as over 100.”

Steve just started laughing as he shook his head. From amusement or exasperation, you didn’t know. You were leaning towards amusement.

“A human Bomb Pop? Really?” he asked and Bucky looked at him.

“Well at least you’re edible.”

“I bite those things in half. You want me to bite you in half or would you rather be the thing I want up against my aching body parts?” You asked him and he nodded.

“You got a point.” He replied and they looked as Sam and Tony walked in, Tony whistling at the set up.

“I pay you too much.” He said and you looked at him.

“After what I went through and prevented for you I want a raise.” You retorted and he nodded.

“Deal…but I want to reoutfit this place so it’s…a bit more up to speed. What is this? A bomb shelter from the 50s?” he asked and you nodded.

“Yes. Cold war ended and they outfitted it into a safehouse and then they outfitted it into…a place to send their kids so they wouldn’t go into clubs to get in trouble or abducted. Only thing fully updated in here is the kitchen. Plumbing sucks. It could definitely use an upgrade, but this place is mine. I change that and you’ll have a centenarian ex-assassin that isn’t named Bucky Barnes sending you flowers with surprises. I’ve already had to talk him down from talking to Bucky.”

“He remembers me?” Bucky asked and you nodded with a little smile.

“Mhmm…I’ve heard aaaallll about you…and his sister…and her friends…and their friends…and their sisters…” you replied and he looked at you wide eyed opening his mouth to explain before shutting it and then opening it a few times, trying to think of what to say.

You let him sweat about it a bit.

“He also remembers Steve and still laughs anytime he sees a picture of him because he can’t stop thinking of him as ‘that scrawny punk that didn’t know when to just shut up’.” You said and patted his chest as Tony helped himself to the popcorn, “I assured him that you are a perfect gentleman and that you regularly help chase ungentlemanly men away from me so I don’t get in trouble for punching them. That soothed him enough to not want to ‘talk’ to you. I’m not sure if I’m disappointed about not getting to watch him threaten you or not.”

“Why’d you stop working for them?” Tony asked and you answered as he sat himself down in one of the chairs.

“Katherine got married and moved across the country shortly after the donut truck incident. I didn’t want to move to the land of Bigfoot so I chose to retire about the same time Junior did. I was a bridesmaid at her wedding where I ended up throwing her ex-best friend out of the reception and into the water hazard of the golf club it was at.

“I also broke her cheating ass ex-boyfriend’s fingers and kicked him in after her when he tried to ‘handle’ me. Then Mickey the third came out and sent me back in to calm Mister Mickey and Junior down. I’m sure you can imagine what they wanted to do to the two people that broke their princess’s heart to little shattered pieces before her new husband picked them up and glued them back together. I had to calm him down, too.

“When I tell you I understand how hard it was for Bucky to manage pre-buff Steve…he’s why. Billy is a scrawny twig man that will fight anything that upsets Katherine. Even if it can pummel him into the ground. The next day they gave me this place and a great severance package for my exemplary service.”

“You two…” Sam said and gestured to you and Bucky several times, “Belong together. You’re both crazy.”

“Yeah…but at least we aren’t boring.” You countered and grabbed some popcorn, “Now shut up, I wanna watch this.”

“Alright.” He said and as soon as everyone was sat down, you had a thought.

“What did you do with Shelly?”

“Nat put her back in the closet.” Tony answered and you nodded.

“What did you do to her?” Sam asked you and you looked at him slowly, silently, blinking blankly, “Or do I not want to know?”

“Did you see the haunted fun house on the way in?” You asked and he shook his head slowly, “Well…that’s what I did to her. I put her in there…and locked her in it for twelve hours. Not my fault she’s gullible. Besides. She ruined my favorite shirt. I’ll never get the mud out of it.”

“Shh. Movie.” Bucky said, pointing at the screen with a popcorn box in his hand.

“Fine.” Sam sighed and sat back with everyone to watch the screen.

Bucky’s left arm was around the back of your seat for a few minutes. Eventually it slid down to pull you against his side. You couldn’t help smiling as he did or at how the cool metal of his fingers felt gliding over your arm gently. It was just an absent reminder that he was there and that you were there with him. Silent comfort for you both.

About halfway through the movie he leaned over and pressed a soft kiss to your cheek, just next to your ear before whispering into it, “You still owe me dessert, doll, but maybe I should take you out to dinner first so I don’t get sent flowers.”

==========

A/N: Like I said at the start I'm working on something else. It's much larger and a lot different. It'll be in 3rd POV with a named OC. Something of a what if rewrite of Winter Soldier. As of posting this it's about 26k words in length, I still don't know where I'm stopping it, and I have plans of going back in and adding more while editing once the skeleton is done. I may post up the master list/summary/general gist of thing for it I may not.

Reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated. I love the likes, I'd love to hear from you, too.

[avengerswriter]

Hoodie thief

Summary: Y/n is sick (although she won't admit it) and steals Bucky’s hoodie. He wants it back. No can do. Let's argue about breakfast food instead?

Prompts used:

7. Borrowed Hoodie

15.” Who decided __is ‘sick person food?”

25. Summer flu

Word count: 1028

Warnings: none

●◇●◇●◇●◇●◇

Sweltering hot temperatures all week long. That’s what the weather app said. That’s what everyone was warning against. Drink plenty of fluids. Sunscreen. Stay inside. All the usual warnings for a normal temperature spike. So why exactly was Y/n shivering like crazy wrapped in one of her thickest blankets?

She wasn’t completely sure, just that the sun was shining through her bedroom window in greeting, and she was in no mood to stand up. Or get out of her blanket burrito. But all that said, her stomach had a dull ache that she was blaming on hunger, meaning she had to eat something.

Her body gave one more shiver as she placed her feet on the floor and hauled herself up. She wasn’t sick. Really, she wasn’t. She had too much stuff to do, like enjoying the nice weather outside. Because it was nice, and her body was just late on getting the memo. She glared at the blanket that dropped on the ground. Her lazy ass decided it was too much effort to pick it up again, so she left it. Stupid blanket.

Walking down the hallway, her summer pyjamas did nothing to help her mismatched body temperature, leaving goosebumps prickling her skin. Scowling, she stomped only slightly into the living room, gaze tracking for any movement.

No one.

Good.

Her gaze landed on an oversized hoodie that was thrown over one of the couches, and she inched closer for a better inspection. Definitely not hers... but big, black, and warm. It met all her requirements. Who cared who it belonged to?

She slipped it on, hands disappearing in the too-long sleeves. The oversized hoodie hung far enough to completely cover her shorts. She allowed a smile to cross her face. Perfect.

Except for a certain super soldier who didn’t share her feelings. Bucky glowered at her, arms crossed, “Cute. 10, 9, 8.” His voice was calm, but his eyes were narrowing in warning. Y/n knew Bucky hated when people touched his things, but by the time she realized it was his, she was already too comfortable to care.

“You’re really going to count down?”

“Take it off.” Was his only response, his irritation obvious. Y/n let out a huff, folding her arms right back at him, “No.”

“Y/n” He warned, taking a step forward. She narrowed her eyes at him, “I’m not scared.”

“My hoodie. You have your own, don’t you?”

“They’re not as comfortable! And they’re all the way in my room!” Y/n complained, pouting at him. He muttered something to himself, rubbing a finger across his brow, eyes closed, “Stop that” He snapped.

“What?”

“Pouting. Makes you too damn cute.” She smiled slightly, but before saying anything, he continued, “Why do you need a hoodie anyway? Isn’t it like 30° or something?”

"I’m cold. No, leave me alone. I want to make breakfast.”

“You’re cold?” His frown deepened, concern flickering in his eyes, only to be replaced by frustration, “And I’ll leave you alone as soon as you return my hoodie.”

“Make me.”

He lifted a surprised eyebrow at her, but there was a playful glint in his eyes now.

“You sure you want that, doll?”

“I could take you,” Y/n said, still defiant.

He walked towards her, slowly at first, and the pace made a brief flash of fear settle in her stomach. Oh, shit. She was still shivering, albeit less, and her muscles were sore. He was a super soldier with decades of training—and a metal arm to back it up.

“Wait, I didn’t mean right now,” she blurted, trying to keep the nervousness out of her tone. She forced herself not to step backwards. It would be ridiculous if she couldn’t meet her own stubbornness.

“I think now is perfect. You still have something that belongs to me.” Before she could react, he scooped her up, throwing her over his shoulder with ease. Y/n shrieked in surprise, hands scrambling to find balance as the world tilted beneath her.

“Bucky! Put me down!” He ignored her protests, walking towards the kitchen counter. Only then did he lightly place her on the marble surface, hands hovering a few inches from her waist until she caught her balance. The sudden shift upwards again made her head spin, black spots dancing in the corners of her eyes.

“Nop,” she muttered, closing her eyes, leaning her head against Bucky’s chest.

“Doll?” Concern was evident in his tone. He placed a kiss on the top of her head, hands wrapping around her waist and pulling her closer. “Yeah?” She hummed back.

“Why are you cold?”

“Flu?” she said back, almost too quiet for him to catch. He nodded along, “You planning on ignoring it?”

“I’m not sick.”

“Fine. Let me make you breakfast.”

“Just cereal.”

“Oats.” He argued, shaking his head at her choice, “You need better nutrition than that sugary stuff.”

“Yuck.” She leaned back from him, her nose scrunched up in distaste, “Who decided oats were good for sick people?”

“It’s nutrition values.”

“Could be fake,” she reasoned.

“Could be. Toast then?” He bopped her nose playfully, smiling as she swatted away his hand.

“Why do you hate me so much? I need sugar to survive,” she said dramatically.

“I mean, you did steal my hoodie.” He answered back, raising an accusing eyebrow.

“If I give it back, will you love me again?”

“Mmm no.”

“What? Why?” She gaped at him, a brief look of confusion on her face. He smiled, “It’s full of your germs now. Don’t want it anymore.”

“Hypocrite. You just hugged me.”

**

They settled on toast with jam in the end. On the couch, they watched some silly comedy, Y/n still wearing his hoodie, an extra blanket lying nearby. The water and medicine were only a precaution for when she stopped ignoring the facts.

Bucky chose to stay indoors today, and Y/n simply joined him to keep him company. No other reason. The other Avengers didn’t need extra information, even when pool day turned into movie watching instead. Nat had joined them later, settling comfortably next to Y/n and only stealing her food when she thought Y/n wasn’t looking.

[tesslinua]

Storm of Magic Region Quarterfinal - Dainix VS Erin

Propaganda

Dainix:His hair!!! He’s so pretty he probably has anime sparkles. His eye is so soft, and the eyepatch is cool. Puppy energy. I want to hug him and for him to take care of me. Being partially shirtless and transmasc is such a move. Self confidence is hot

HE IS SO PRETTY OH MY GOD. his ponytail. and his dumb little sidebangs. and his stripes.... very based of him to go around shirtless all of the time i enjoy it vvery much for normal reasons i like seeing his chest and his abs and his back. that one frame where he hugs erin in petrichor? i stare at his back muscles and get a fever every time. also he is so nice and sweet personality-wise i think he'd be one of the most dateable. he has some issues yeah but hed be willing to put in the work yknow?

i try to describe why hes pretty but i get so dizzy thinking of how pretty he is and pass out

Erin: Hotter when evil

He's a sad pathetic little wet rag hubrising and faking his way through life and he SUCKS and I HATE him and I hope he DIES /posi think i can safely say i am THE erin enjoyer. so buckle up. okay. for starters. i love me a good twink. that's the baseline. plus he has pretty black hair. plus he has indigo eyes (the best color). plus he wears a waistcoat and a cape. his TATTOOS. his fucking tattoos. how long did those take. theyre so intricate and they cover the entirety of both forearms. he couldve just gotten the runes necessary and hid them with a bandana like tarren but this freak doesnt do anything halfway. why would he? he's the elemental magus. he has to flaunt his status. that panel where he has his shirt open showing the void rune and he's got this concentrated/frustrated/stressed look on his face while he's reading his journal? makes me lose all higher brain functionings. also his eyes reflect the color of whatever magic he's casting. Pretty. he is. such a smug showy hubristic bastard and his ego infuriates and infatuates me. normally i hate people like this BUT he's also pathetic. he gets so cranky when falst steals his bag and when theia doesn't let him in the archives. and that fucking "by now, i… i hope you'd trusted me to know what i was doing" in ripples where hes looking down and he's so small in the panel. COME ON MAN whats your fucking problem. he's so sure of himself all of the time but it's so easy to make him crack and every time it happens i am filled with unbridled desire. i need to make him crack i need to make him realize the throne he thinks he's on is made of glass i need to watch him doubt his status and power. he is so much hotter when he's stressed. like when alinua says kendal didnt wake up post-zuurith? the pure anguish and fear in his face? Goddamn. not to mention the boat arc. that was the best example of him being soooo sure of his power, his control, and then having all of that shattered. "i HAVE to do everything alone! nobody can match me! nobody can help me in a way that matters! it always comes back to me to carry the weight, and if i fall, nobody can catch me! gods and legends want to help me? can any of you part the clouds, still the seas?! can you save me from the dragon?" drove me fucking insane every time i think about that i need to eat glass (yes i looked up that page to get the quote exactly right yes i spent approximately 10 minutes kicking my feet and giggling) seeing him get beat up is so nice i think it should happen more <3 i lov e seeing him battered and bruised and afraid and bloody and also i had never experienced sexual attraction to anyone, real or fictional, until i discovered erin fucking ruunaser, so like. thats an accomplishment i think.

[softpascalito]

I To Dig a Grave I Chapter 6 I

Summary: Twenty-one years after the outbreak, you come to Wyoming looking for something and end up in Jackson after a stranger saves your life.

But he doesn't stay a stranger.

Turns out Joel Miller is looking for something too. It feels like a fresh start. But when bad luck seems to follow you, Joel is the only one to turn to, forcing both of you to confront your feelings about your pasts- and each other.

Pairing: Joel Miller x F!Reader Rating: Explicit / MDNI Word count: 25k+ Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Friends to Lovers, Slow Burn, Age Difference, Smut, Explicit Content, Grief/Mourning, Mental Health Issues, Canon-Typical Violence, Chose not to use Archive Warnings, Tags to be added

AO3 LINK // Series Masterlist // Playlist

notes: hello! it's been a second but i promise tdag is still my favorite child so this is continuing slowly but surely (i'm currently just distracted by pedro pascal as slutty gladiator).

this fic will deal with heavy topics. please note that it doesn't use archive warnings and tags will be added as we go in order to avoid spoilers. each chapter will have detailed warnings in the end notes on ao3.

Chapter 6 – The Ceremony Part 1

‘I didn't exactly miss it or want to live there again- I just wondered where it had gone.’

— Alice Munro, Dear Life

What the fuck does he think he’s doing?

If there is one person in Jackson who is least equipped to handle a grieving person who’s just lost someone to suicide, it’s him. Joel is sure of that. He should just tell you that he can’t do this, hand you over to Tommy or Maria or anyone else who doesn’t mess up whatever or whoever they touch.

It would be better for you, to have someone who actually knows how to work through grief. Not someone who sneaks out of bed before dawn to get a glass of whiskey and sit in their dark living room to ponder over things years and years past. The way he currently is.

But Joel is also sure that he can’t let you go. He can’t recall how or why but he does understand that you have found a way to get under his skin, one no one else has quite figured out, carved a path that only you may tread, that causes something to tug at his heart every time he sees you curled up in his bed or smells the soap that sits on his bathroom shelf. Somewhere along the road, he has started to care.

Not that anything good ever happens to the people he cares about.

A small groan leaves his throat as he leans back into the cushions, his free hand reaching over to produce a small notebook from below the couch table. He stares down at it for a few moments, weighing it in his hand. Then, he downs his whiskey in one go, sets the glass down onto the table and begins flipping through the small pages, seemingly endless notes, many of them jotted down rather hurriedly, a few written with much more care.

A thud upstairs makes his head jerk up. He freezes, listening intently. And then, he hears the unmistakable sound of someone running over the wooden floor upstairs. He’s up in an instant, cursing under his breath as he moves through the dimly lit room, using his foot to nudge a box aside that’s still sitting in the hallway, blocking his path towards the sound of bare feet thundering down the stairs.

***

For a split moment, you think it’s morning. The warmth beside you is gone. Maybe Joel has gotten another early start, doing whatever he does in the mornings while he lets you sleep.

And then, while you’re still floating in the comfortable state between dreaming and reality, you think you hear a door close somewhere downstairs.

Your body moves before your brain has a chance to catch up. Your legs, still tangled in the sheets, get caught in them and send you flying off the bed and onto the hard floor with a thud. It doesn’t slow you down. You force your trembling legs to push your body back onto your feet and rush through the bedroom door, taking the stairs three steps at a time. You have half a mind that you should shout, alert someone to what is happening, but your throat feels like it’s closed up.

Someone needs to stop him. To keep him from going out into the woods, to some hidden cabin. He always has the revolver on him. At that thought, you jump down the last few steps.

For the second time, your run towards the front door is interrupted and you collide with something solid just as you reach the corner that turns toward the front door. Again, it sends you stumbling and you prepare yourself for another hard fall. But it never comes. Instead, two strong arms catch you and Joel’s face above you finally comes into focus.

“You—” Again, your throat fails you. You simply press yourself into Joel’s chest, seemingly the only place that will swallow your sobs these days.

“Hey, it’s okay. Calm down, I’m right here,” Joel coos above you, his chest vibrating as he hums and brings one hand up to the back of your head, stroking your still slightly damp hair.

It takes him a solid five minutes to get you over onto the couch and calm you enough for him to let go for a moment. “I’ll be right here, hold on. Give me one second.”

He steps back into the hallway, shuffling something around. And as your panic recedes, the tide sinking, you glance around. A single glass sits on the coffee table in front of you, holding a few leftover drops of what you’re quite sure is whiskey. Beside it is a small notebook, the pages already slightly rippled.

You suddenly realize you’re not the only one in the old house who seems to have trouble sleeping.

Eventually, Joel returns with a woolen blanket that he drapes over your form, nodding to himself. “There we are.”

He doesn’t sit down, instead stepping over to the window and casting a glance outside. As if there is anything worth seeing on a street that never changes, one that hasn’t had cars passing on it in over twenty years.

“I’m sorry, I just—I panicked,” you whisper, keeping your head just low enough that you can still see Joel’s outline against the dim light of the street lamp outside. His shoulders seem to hang a tad lower than usual, still broad but not as intimidating as they once seemed, especially with him dressed in his usual pajamas consisting of soft plaid pants and a worn shirt.

“Don’t apologize. You’re bound to have some triggers after everything. It’s good if we figure them out as early as possible.” He pauses for a moment, turning around to study your face. “Was it being by yourself?”

You gently shake your head. “No. Not really. It was more—I thought I heard a door close. Like you were leaving.”

You can see the exact moment he understands what you are implying and his face falls slightly. “Oh, darlin’, you know I wouldn’t—I wouldn’t leave you. You know that, right?” 

The only response you can manage is a shaky nod.

Joel sighs as he sits down next to you, rubbing his thumb over the small bald spot in his beard. To both your surprise, it’s you who starts the conversation back up.

“What about you?”

A frown appears between Joel's brows at the question and he turns towards you, studying your face as if the answers to whatever questions he has are written there. “What about me?”

“You were up too, weren’t you?” you ask quietly, turning your body towards him and leaning into the couch, the plush cushions and the blanket comfortable against your skin.

“Yeah but I was just—I wanted to get some things done for tomorrow—”

“Joel,” you stop him, raising your brow a tiny bit. It’s not meant to be hurtful, you’re sure of that. But if he believes you will swallow such a blatantly obvious lie, he may not be as good at this as you thought he was. “It’s not fair if you’re not honest with me.”

You can see his facade crumble as his expression falters and he nods quietly. “Yeah, I reckon you’re right about that.” Still, he seems to consider his words very carefully. “I don’t sleep well, sometimes. So I figured I may as well do some work. Didn’t wanna wake you with my tossing ‘n turning.”

Your heart aches at how casually he mentions this. It makes sense that he’d have nightmares. And you’re sure you barely know half of what they’re about. Joel cares so much when it comes to you that it genuinely baffles you how easily he brushes it off when he is the one suffering.

And then, a very quiet voice reminds you that this may be, like so many things, your fault. That you are so messed up that even big bad Joel Miller begins to struggle if he keeps you around for too long.

“Was it about—” You pause for a moment, trying to find the right words. It suddenly appears to you how difficult that is and you silently vow to thank Joel for having found them all throughout the last few days. “Was it about what we were talking about earlier?”

You have to be a horrible person. Because you know that deep inside, you want him to say yes. To assure you that this is about the things from his past that still haunt him and not about Lane—or about you. You don’t want to be the cause for his sleepless nights.

He doesn’t respond, but you have a feeling he doesn’t need to. It’s written all over him. The way he holds his body, the eyes that won’t meet yours. You don’t know what to do. You want to help. Maybe the same way he wants to help you. Cooking dinner, making coffee, getting an extra blanket. Because this is something he can’t fix. Only mend.

7 months earlier

“There is absolutely no way I’m going in there,” you proclaimed, dipping your toe into the water below you. “That is freezing!”

“It’s better once you’re in there. We can’t have hiked all this way for nothing,” a voice mused next to you. “Besides, it was your idea to come up here.”

“Well, I haven’t been before and I sure as hell wouldn’t have if I'd known it would involve freezing to death,” you groaned, lifting your foot back to the safety of solid ground below you and taking a few steps along the water of Flat Creek Lake.

It was crystal clear, allowing you to see the small rocks littering the bottom of the lake and the little fish zooming back and forth between them. It was still enough that you could see the reflection of the sky, blue with a few clouds scattered in between. The first warm day of the year.

You took in the scenery for a few more moments, letting your gaze wander further over the water and the trees on the other side of the lake and the mountains behind them, before turning back towards Lane—only to find that she’d thrown her clothes over a nearby trunk and was sporting a striped bathing suit. A small whistle escaped your throat.

“Haven’t seen that one before,” you commented off-handedly, causing a faint blush to appear on her cheeks. “That’s ‘cause it’s not mine.”

You raised a brow as you watched her wade into the water, sending small rippling waves out into the lake. “Wait, you’re not saying—”

A tiny smirk had appeared on Lane’s face. “Cat was nice enough to lend it to me when I told her we were gonna hike up here.”

“I see how it is.” You grinned, pushing your shirt over your head and throwing it next to Lane's pile of clothes. Unlike her, you opted for some of your more covered up underwear. Swimsuits weren’t exactly a clothing priority and you hadn’t found yourself in need of any until now. “I’m not enough for you anymore,” you said dramatically, throwing a hand towards your temple. “How will I ever get over you leaving me?”

“Oh shut up. Besides, if you are allowed to have your boyfriend over for dinner every other month, I am definitely good to borrow a bathing suit.”

“How many times do I have to tell you?” You groaned exasperatedly. “Joel is not my boyfriend. He’s just–” You raised a hand and waved it through the air, trying to find the right word. It wouldn’t come.

“I don’t know. We’re just friends.” You weakly kicked at a small rock below you before stepping into the water for the second time that day, getting your feet used to the temperature of the mountain lake.

“Even Tommy says Joel doesn’t have friends,” Lane pointed out with a lopsided grin.

You shrugged. You yourself weren’t sure what to call your relationship with Joel, and even though you’d tried not to think on it too hard, the question had forced itself to the forefront of your mind more than once. And with every passing month, it seemed to become more persistent and difficult to push away.

“Are you gonna get over here or think about that old man all day?”

Lane paid for her comment (and, you silently vowed, for daring to call Joel old) by receiving a big splash of cold water aimed directly at her. She squealed, jumping the few steps over to you and pulling you further into the lake. It didn’t seem quite as cold as you splashed around in it together, only coming back out when you saw that Lane’s lips began to match the shade of her hair and pointed out that her freezing to death would really ruin the early summer day.

You headed over to one of the log cabins at the foot of the small lake, a place so far from civilization that it had barely been touched since the outbreak. It had taken you close to six hours to make the hike up the dirt road into the mountains. But, upon seeing the view in front of you, you both had agreed that getting up early had been worth it.

“Who told you about this again?” Lane asked, her mouth slightly open as she stared around the cabin that seemed almost completely intact. Bits and pieces were missing but the furniture was still properly arranged, mugs and plates were lined up neatly on a shelf over the sink and even a few items of clothing were still dangling from some hooks near the door.

“Joel did,” you admitted quietly. She just wiggled her eyebrows at you before heading further into the cabin, peeking into the small bathroom and the adjacent bedroom.

“Hey, there’s some towels here,” she called over her shoulder and came back a few moments later holding some cream-colored towels that had probably once been white. Even in the more remote areas around Jackson, finding housing that was this intact was rather rare.

“Maybe we should take a look around,” you offered, your mind already wandering to which treasures could be hidden in the cabin. Anything from practical items like medicine to more recreational ones—possibly a nice bottle of whiskey, stored away just for you to find. As if she could read your thoughts, Lane pursed her lips a little, one hand smoothing over the towels in her hands.

You stared at her. “What?”

“I don’t think we should take anything;” she said softly. “At least not back to Jackson.”

You felt a small frown appear on your forehead as you mulled her words over in your mind. “What do you mean? It’s not like anyone’ll come back for this.” You gently tapped the wood of the cupboard next to you. “Judging by the amount of dust these have not been touched in at least a decade.”

She shrugged, stepping back towards the front door. “I just mean, if it’s been very peaceful here for so long… We shouldn’t be the ones to make it less so.”

You stared after Lane as she stepped outside, watching her descend down the few wooden steps that led up to the cabin and the way the sun hit her blue hair, the ends still dripping slightly.

It took you a moment to gather your thoughts and follow her back to the lake, carefully closing the cabin door behind you. You both had secured a towel each from the cabin and were drying off when Lane caught you off-guard for the second time that day.

“Do you remember any of it? Before, I mean?”

You sighed softly. The question that had become as recurring as ‘and what do you do for a living?�� had once been. In hindsight, you were surprised you hadn’t discussed it earlier–at least not in detail.

“I do. Not much, not anything–I don’t remember how the world was. Just how it seemed to me as a kid,” you answered truthfully.

You could see Lane nod out of the corner of your eye as she leaned back and wrung out her hair.

“I miss it sometimes.” A few seconds of quiet passed. “It’s silly, really. You can’t miss something you don’t remember.”

“I think you can,” you said softly, turning your head towards her. She had paused in her movements and was gazing out onto the lake, though her eyes seemed much more distant than usual.

Your own stayed trained on her as she spoke, her tone a tad lower. “Do you ever think about leaving?”

If it had been anyone else with you, you probably would’ve lied, claimed that of course your heart never wavered, that you knew you were exactly where you needed to be. But this was Lane. Lane was safe.

“Sometimes,” you answered, your voice equally quiet even though you were sure there was no one around to listen except the small fish and possibly a fawn hiding in the undergrowth. “But then, I suppose it wouldn’t make much of a difference. We’d suffer through the day anywhere. But here, we at least have something to come home to when the suffering is done.”

It wasn’t exactly as positive as you may have wanted to sound. You’d always felt a tad protective over Lane, with her being a few years younger and less experienced. You knew she looked up to you and you wanted to set a good example, more than anything.

But that included being honest.

“When I came—When I headed to Wyoming, I was looking for something better than a QZ or Fedra,” you said softly. “I think I could’ve ended up in a lot of places much worse than Jackson.”

“But Jackson isn’t what you were looking for.”

You shook your head. “No. I suppose it’s not. But it’s what I found.”

You gave a bittersweet smile and she returned it, even though hers still seemed slightly broader than yours. It was an odd moment that passed between you, almost an unspoken agreement not to dwell on the topic too long. To not speak of the loss.

“What about you?” you asked, shifting the conversation away from yourself. “Do you remember anything from before?”

Lane gave a small snort at that. “Yeah, now that you ask, I remember pooping my pants.” She shook her head weakly, leaning back and staring out at the water again. “I was a baby.” A sigh escaped her lips as her body faltered slightly, her shoulders dropping a tiny bit. “Sometimes I wonder what my life would’ve been like if I’d been born ten years earlier. If it had been—I don’t know. Better.”

“Well, for the record, I’m glad you ended up in Jackson at the same time I did,” you said softly, nudging her shoulder.

She nodded and smiled, returning the small gesture. It doesn’t dawn on you until much later that she talks about her life in past tense.

“Okay, a tiny bit to the left,” Lane waved her hand as if she could position you like a puppet. “My left or yours?”

“Yours—Yeah, like that.”

A few seconds passed where you showed the lens your best smile and saw Lane fumbling with the buttons before the noise of the camera shutter announced that she’d found a frame she was content with. The giggle that followed, however, took you by surprise. “What?” You asked, looking past the lens and trying to catch a glimpse of her face. “What's so funny?!”

“Oh, I just thought about whether or not to slip this into the slideshow at the town hall next week. Maybe that would finally get Joel to ask you out.”

“You, Eleanor, are a pervert,” you commented drily, letting yourself fall back onto your comfortable towel and reaching for your book, trying to ignore the small wave of heat that had suddenly spread through your body at the thought of Joel seeing you like this.

“You know, I do think you two would fit together pretty well,” Lane hummed with her eyes closed half an hour later when both of you had stretched out on your towels and were bathing in the sun, waiting for the warmth to dry you. Content to ignore the world around you for just another hour.

You put your book down for a moment, squinting as you glanced over at her. “Well, I’m sorry to disappoint you but nothing is happening between Joel and me. Not ever.”

***

His knock on the bathroom door is tentative, two gentle raps that travel through the wood towards you.

“Are you almost done?”

You stare at your reflection. A woman in black stares back. You know she is about to attend a funeral, the dark outfit and the sadness hiding behind concealer that doesn’t quite match her skin tone giving away what awaits her just as much as what’s behind.

You long to wish her something, to give her hope. But you don’t have any left to give.

You wish you could stay in the comforting bathroom forever, retire the black clothes, bundle them up and hide them at the very back of the cupboard below the sink, next to long expired cleaning supplies and a broken hairdryer. Close the door on all of them and run a hot bath to curl up in, one that never runs cold and that you never have to leave.

“Are you alright in there?”

Joel’s tone has turned slightly worried, no doubt owing to the fact that you are too busy keeping yourself from having a panic attack to respond properly.

“I’m done,” you call out, your voice trembling a little but at least it’s loud enough for him to hear. You can practically see him nod outside the door, even before you’ve moved over to it and turned the knob. Facing Joel Miller is the easy part. Facing the rest of the world is the hard one.

His gaze flies over you very briefly, taking in the clothes he retrieved from your house for the occasion, but you barely notice. What you do notice is that Joel has shaved while you were getting ready, his beard a little more neat than usual, even if still streaked with the small hints of gray that make your eyes linger. What makes your breath hitch in your throat however are his clothes.

He’s dressed accordingly, in a black suit that’s been patched up in a few places and is half a size too small on his broad frame. You’re alarmingly aware you have never seen him in a suit before—you’re certain you'd remember if you did if this is what he looks like.

It doesn’t quite fit the Joel who’s been following you around the house like an anxious guard dog, the man who wears plaid shirts and jeans so much that you remember being surprised when you first found out he does not, in fact, sleep in them. He always looks comfortable, in his worn shirts and slightly stained clothes, like he’s been wearing them for years, like he’ll never change. Like he’ll never leave. A constant that nothing could take from you, like the peaks of the mountains you can see from Jackson on a clear day.

But now he looks—there is no other way to put it—sexy. The suit, tight in all the right places, momentarily manages to take your mind off the why and you very briefly allow yourself to just stare at him.

“Hey, you’re not gonna pass out on me, are you?” Joel muses, bringing a hand to your shoulder to steady you. He looks worried, the crease on his forehead that never seems to leave it these days a little deeper than usual. Of course he’d think that your behavior can be attributed to your distress. Which it can, technically, just a completely different kind of distress.

“Sorry, no, I'm fine,” you reassure him, pushing your way further into the bedroom and taking a deep breath. He doesn’t move quite in time, causing your side to brush over his and you can actually feel the smooth fabric of his blazer against the skin of your hand where they meet. You catch a whiff of his aftershave—or whatever the hell makes him smell so good—just as you step past him into the bedroom and towards the door, completely missing that the slight scowl on Joel's face has changed ever so slightly.

“Come on, Texas. I don’t wanna be late,” you mumble, trying to lighten the mood—or at least distract from the fact that your brain is ready to head down a wildly inappropriate path. It must be the shock causing it to go haywire, or at least that is what you silently vow to believe.

Still, you’re careful to not turn around far enough to actually see him, keeping him safely out of sight.

Because you really must be the worst person in the world to stand here, about to attend you best friends funeral, and leer over some fucking man.

Just that it's Lane's funeral and a small voice in the back of your head that sounds oddly like her pipes up to say that he does look good and that, if nothing else, this may be the one good thing to come out of today. Joel Miller in a fucking suit.

notes: thank you for reading! i have a few more chapters done but opening this fic is somehow both my therapy and mentally very taxing so bear with me please <3

[thelibraryoflightandflowers]

The Farmer

SPOILERS FOR ONYX STORM Xaden trusts Violet when she says she knows somewhere they can rest for the night, which ends up being a farm with a very handsome farmer.

Read on ao3

Link to Masterlist (for other works)

Xaden didn’t know why he was following Violet’s directions. They’d needed a place to rest before making their journey back to the continent, and she’d suggested this small village on one of the outermost islands, where she apparently had a friend. How she’d met this ‘friend’, Xaden didn’t know. Or care. 

Both the dragons and their riders were worn out, not to mention the fliers. Besides, he trusted his friend’s judgment.

They landed in a large field, a far distance from the village. There was a farmhouse nearby, with a garden on one side. It was quaint, and quiet. Exactly the kind of place he liked. 

And then the yelling started. 

“Get your fucking dragons outta my field you heathens!” A male voice shouted from the direction of the house. Fuck. 

“Thought your friend was…friendly?” Ridoc quips, and Xaden glares in his general direction. 

“He is! Usually.” Violet responds, moving towards the figure running towards them. 

“Violet, what is wrong with you?” The man was…handsome, actually. A farmer, evident by the sun-tanned skin and dirt-covered clothes (and the muscles that had Garrick staring). 

“It was the field or the house. We picked the field.” Xaden deadpans, trying to get a read on the man. 

“You picked on top of my carrots, actually. Hey! Don’t you eat that!” Ridoc gawks as the man shoos Andarna away from the wandering hen she was about to eat. Tairn chuffs, and both Xaden and Violet get nervous, but the man simply looks at the dragon. 

“Yeah, dude. Not food. If you want, though, you could totally take a few sheep. I've got too many as it is. Fly south a bit, and if you wouldn’t mind not gorging yourselves I’d be much obliged.” The man points in the direction he’d mentioned, and the dragons and gryphons take that as their cue to depart. 

The imprints in the soil and what Xaden now sees are mangled carrot tops makes him wince. 

“You’re replanting those next time you visit.” The man grumbles as he turns around and motions for them to follow him to his house. 

“I’m sorry, and I promise I will.” Violet placates. 

“Yeah, yeah.” He mutters, laughing as Violet elbows him. Xaden likes that laugh.

“You think he’s cute, don’t you?” Garrick prokes him in the arm.

“Shut up.” Xaden scoffs. Garrick just smirks.

The man serves them a simple but delicious dinner that reminds him of Aretia. He shows them to their rooms, and everyone but Xaden heads straight to bed, tired from the long journey. 

“Can’t sleep?” The man asks. Xaden nods once. 

“I’ve got some last chores to do; that oughta tire you out.” He offers, and cracks a smile. Xaden liked that smile; it was bright and warm, with no hidden meanings or undertones. Just kindness. 

“Sounds great.” Xaden agrees, and the man’s smile grows even warmer. 

Fuck, farm chores were hard. He thought riders had the best stamina, but damn if he wasn’t panting while his companion wasn’t breaking a sweat. They’d spent twenty minutes chasing the hens into their coop, but they were finally in for the night. 

“Tiring, right? I thought I’d make sure your dragons hadn’t decimated my flock too badly, but you can head back now if you’d like.” Xaden jumps at the chance to spend more time with this man. He was funny, warm and quietly bubbly, like the brook near Riorson House. He was everything Xaden wasn’t, all easy smiles and quick laughs. It was infectious. 

“All right, let’s get going. We’ll walk, since it’s a bit too dark for the horses.” 

“So, how did you and Violet meet?” Xaden was shocked to find himself asking questions. But he wanted to know more about this man - he seemed so different from Violet; he couldn’t think of a scenario where they would have been in the same place. 

“I’m from Navarre, originally. I used to hang out at the archives a lot, so that’s how Violet and I met. But I couldn’t stand my parents anymore, to be honest, so I left. I’m happy here, but based on what Violet’s told me, it might be time for me to go home.”  Xaden loved the ease with which this man answered questions. 

“Parents can be…difficult.” Xaden agrees. 

“My parents spent so much time mourning the loss of their daughter that they ended up losing their son as well. No parent is perfect, but the ones that see you as someone you’re not are some of the worst.” He responds. 

“My mother abandoned my family, and I just recently ran into her - and her new husband and sons. On a diplomatic mission. And she poisoned my friend.” Xaden feels like he’s being far too vulnerable, sharing things he’s never shared before. But this man makes it so easy with his comforting presence and non judgmental character. 

“Yikes. At least mine didn’t do that.” Xaden can’t help but chuckle. 

The dragons and gryphons had curled up in the nearby forest - after very politely only helping themselves to a few sheep, away from the rest of the flock. Xaden was glad that they hadn’t destroyed the entire flock - with Andarna’s appetite, you never knew. 

They made their way back to the cottage, and the man walked Xaden up to his door. 

“Tired?” He asked. 

“Very.” Xaden chuckled. 

“Thank you for the company, and the help. Chasing the hens usually takes me twice as long - you were quite good at it for your first time.” Xaden couldn’t help the small smile as he said goodnight and fell into a remarkably soft bed. 

He should trust Violet more often, he decided.

[misty-doodles]

Chirisu fic recs part 2

Since the fandom has had a bit of a resurgence, I decided to come back with more Chirisu fics I really enjoyed.

Chishiya and Arisu share a one bedroom apartment. That's it. That's the fic.

When Arisu’s soulmate passed away six months prior, he told everyone it was fine - and he had no need for any sort of therapy or support group.

But after constant badgering from his brother Hajime, he decides to give a specialty soulmate group therapy a try.

He comes at the right (or wrong) time however, when it’s decided the group are going away for a month-long cruise trip to “come to terms” with their soulmate-affiliated problems.

It would be better if his cabin-mate wasn’t such an asshole.

After the Borderlands, Chishiya claimed to have changed and had, somehow, become one of Arisu's best friends, despite his past betrayal.

Recently though, Arisu has noticed some strange changes in Chishiya's behaviour, specifically around him. Was he wrong to trust Chishiya again? Or is something else going on?

Chishiya wears a perfectly formed mask, but that mask is breaking and Arisu is the only witness. AKA The Borderlands do not care about anyone's mental health. After a game goes sideways, Chishiya's anxiety skyrockets into a gradually building anxiety attack with Hatter pulling the strings.

Self promo because I am proud!

Chishiya wasn’t entirely sure as to why he’d offered his assistance to the tiresome dad other than a desire to end the screaming and allow him a few hours of rest before his 10-hour shift the following morning.

He wasn’t exactly fond of babies or toddlers, and his patients rarely dipped below age 5. Still, little Akemi had seemed to calm so easily in his arms, not 5 minutes of being held and rocked before she quieted, curious black eyes so much like her father's studying him. Sure, on an objective level she was a rather cute baby, but it didn’t explain the way he softened at her every coo.

Or

Chishiya finds himself entangled with Arisu and his adorable daughter, not exactly prepared for the commitment

[dorkagedoodles]

And there we have it folks - the end of Empyrean Book I! I sound like a parrot but just ... thank you so much for reading! Also, for everyone's convenience, the afterword is also in text under the "keep reading" bellow. <<< PREVIOUS ✧˖☆˖✧˖☆˖✧Page Archive✧˖☆˖✧˖☆˖✧

(To be continued ... ) AFTERWORD

I’ve been putting off writing this for way too long, thinking I have plenty of time until suddenly: BAM! December was upon me and the final update of Empyrean Book I was uploaded while I had the worst migraine in years and couldn’t even scramble together a last minute afterword. But here we go. I’ll try not to care about sounding professional or eloquent, just so I can get it done.

First I want to say a big thank you to everyone who've read Empyrean, all the way through or just a little bit, I’m grateful nonetheless. And extra big thank you to everyone who’s left comments or nice tags in the reblogs etc. I’m awful at responding, but I’ve seen them all and really, really appreciate it.

I worked on the book on and off for three years and I’m pretty happy with the end result. Of course, this is just the beginning of the story. I have an outline for the whole thing, aiming for a total of four books of similar length which will, as you can guess, take a loooooong time. Which brings me to my second point.

Empyrean will go on hiatus for the time being. For how long? I wish I knew. While Book 2 is all scripted and currently in the sketching stage, I have no idea when I’ll have enough finished pages for an update. Once I do, however, I’ll probably update as I finish the pages, rather than wait for the whole book to be complete.

I don’t think I need to explain much of why this is. It’s simply being an adult. It’s having rent, bills and a cat with special dietary needs. And what Empyrean brings in joy it certainly doesn’t bring in money, so ever since July I’ve drawn almost nothing but freelance work.

Despite that, I still feel positive about the future of Empyrean. It’s already been published in parts in a small Swedish magazine and I’ve met people and opened doors that would have been impossible, had I not created Empyrean. Long time followers might remember how I’ve long wanted to be able to support myself by making art. And right now? That's exactly what I’m doing.

Finishing Empyrean will take many years and, in the end, it might never even get picked up by a publisher. But I’m at peace with both of those things. I draw Empyrean entirely for myself and would continue to do so even if not a single other person was reading it. Though … as long as there’s at least one such person I will keep uploading it too!

Lastly, I’ve been looking into self-publishing and hope to give that a try. No solid plans yet, just counting costs, looking at kickstarters and such. I’m currently neck-deep in a big project, but once that’s over I can start thinking about it again. When the time comes, I will of course post about it.

I think that is all. It got a bit longer and ramblier than I planned but oh well.

Again, thank you so much for reading Empyrean! And until next time! -Hans

[kodared]

✰ Stanford & Borrower/Anomaly Reader ✰

fears not enough they have to tear him apart.

Chapter 4/?

Wordcount: 2,992 / 10,288

➤ Summary Based on the borrowers of many universes! I hope you enjoy it, and if you don't know about borrowers, let me be your guide into a world I've loved since I was young. ✰Written because I saw the severe lack of borrower content in Gravity Falls fanfic, i hope you enjoy <3 ✰ - ★Updates irregularly! I write when I want ★ ★ - Also on AO3! - ★

When the two humans left the room you quickly tried to think of a way out of this. Ford had been ignorant enough to leave the top off of the jar, whether so you could breathe or he just genuinely forgot you didn't care. 

You doubted he would care that much to leave the top off so you could get some air. He probably just forgot to put it on in the first place.

You knew the walls of the jar were much too slippery to gain any actual footing on them. When you did stand to test out your theory you realized much too quickly exactly why you weren't standing to begin with. 

Your injured ankle was quick to bring you back to reality as it squealed its discomfort. The pain splintering up your leg with fervent anger. 

When Ford had dropped you into the jar you had landed on your injured ankle. It seemed to now be coming back to bite you in the ass as you fell back to the bottom of the jar. 

You could use your hook, but you doubted it would even catch on the rim if you couldn't stand to toss it. You weren't at all keen on staying around them for longer than necessary, but maybe being around Fiddleford wouldn't be that bad. You could probably trick him to let you out. 

He hadn’t done anything to hurt you yet, but you haven't seen him behind closed doors. Your anxiety eating and worming its way back into your chest at the thought of being stuck with the two humans. 

Before you could harden your resolve and push yourself to get out of the jar despite the pain, the two scientists were back. 

The taller one, Ford, was the first to enter the room. An unnervingly friendly smile on his face. You could tell it wasn't genuine, at least not in the way you were used to. 

It was meant to put you at ease, but all it did was make you tense up and push against the glass wall a bit harder. 

The second human to enter was the exasperated assistant, Fiddleford. Despite your anxieties, he seemed the most normal of the two. 

Ford continued towards your jar, making your feelings of discomfort and fear kick up. Your hand subconsciously gripped the needle on your hip, if he was going to grab you he was going to pay the price. 

He took notice of this as he sat on a chair next to the table you currently sat prisoner on. 

“Is the needle a comforting item to you? I noticed you trying to grab it as well when I had you in my hand.”  

It felt… weird being referred to not as an ‘it’ anymore by the scientist. Sparing a cautious glance to Fiddleford you could see the man clicking the coffee machine on once again. The horrid machine whirred to life in the semi-quiet kitchen. 

“... That's none of- None of your business.” 

Of course, your voice had to crack in the middle of talking to the human. Your face would most definitely have a blush if it wasn't for the fact you were so dehydrated and angry. The embarrassment of a simple voice crack paled in comparison to the bitterness you held for this man. 

He seemed to find it humorous though as his smile widened just a smidge. He adjusted his glasses as well as he looked down at you. 

“I was told we got off on the wrong foot, my name is Stanford Pines. Anomaly researcher studying Gravity Falls.”

…Anomaly researcher? That wasn’t too far off from your guess of him being a scientist at least. It did little to put you at ease. 

“…I know.” 

You glared at the man and warily glanced at his hands. Watching as he folded them on top of each other as they rested on the table. He wasn’t making any moves to grab the jar, which was good. 

You still weren’t comfortable with him and he seemed to know it. 

Your glaring was interrupted by the sounds of Fiddleford pouring two cups of coffee before setting one down beside Ford's hand. Your gaze is now on the steam that billowed out of the cup. 

It wasn’t lost to you that compared to Ford's hand, Fiddleford only had five fingers on both. Looks like Ford was just special. 

Fiddleford pulled up a chair to the left of you but before he sat down he spoke.

”Would ya like somethin’ to drink? M’sure I can find somethin’ you could use as a cup,” 

He looked around the kitchen as if already searching for something he could use before you could even respond. 

“…Some water would be nice, thanks.” 

You spoke curtly but not without a tinge of gratefulness. Fiddleford truthfully was trying to accommodate your needs, which couldn’t be said about his friend. Whose eyes seemed to light up a bit. 

“How have you been getting water before? I’m assuming you need it regularly unless your body has accommodated to-“  

You were honestly about to tell the guy to shove it but he was cut off by Fiddleford before you could get the chance. The other man gave him a harsh glare.

If looks could kill Ford would be in the ground by now.

It felt nice to have someone in your corner for once and you turned your gaze to follow what Fiddleford was doing. Opting to ignore the other researcher in the room.

He was rummaging in what you could only assume to be a junk drawer before finding what he was searching for. His back turned to both you and Ford. 

“I think this’ll work just fine…” 

You debated trying to see what he had but you didn't want to stand. He now moved to the sink to wash whatever he had grabbed. 

”Yknow it’ll be hard for them to drink in that jar, Ford can ya let 'em’ out for me?”

Out? Fiddleford wanted to let you out. Oh, this couldn’t be any better. You could feel your body practically buzzing at the idea of getting out and leaving. 

It seemed it wasn’t lost on Ford you were excited to get out. The man gave Fiddleford a conflicted look. 

“I would rather them stay in there for now. Couldn’t you just hand it to them?”

Fiddleford finally turned around and you could see the man holding a small thimble. You had one in your house in the walls, but this one looked newer—no doubt one Ford bought to replace the one you took.

”If you don't let em’ out I will, I ain’t keepin’ our quest in a jar all night.” 

A guest was an interesting way to describe your situation. You wouldn’t exactly say you were a guest more like a prisoner. 

…You didn't say that to Fiddleford though. 

You watched as Ford sighed and screwed his eyes shut for a moment, before reaching out to the jar. Your body tensed as his hand grabbed the glass. The warmth already emitting from his skin before he had even fully grabbed it. 

He seemed to think for a moment about how to get you out. You were scared he was going to just reach in before Fiddleford piped up as he sat back down at the table. 

“M’sure you can just tip it to the side, that sound alright to you?” 

It still unnerved you to be regarded in a way that made you seem human.

It felt nice not to fool yourself, but you were much more used to Ford’s behavior until this point.

You realized you were quiet for too long when Fiddleford tilted his head a bit, making you finally respond. 

“Yeah-.. Sorry, that's fine.” 

Your voice was still terribly scratchy. Regardless you prepared for the jar to be turned on its side. 

After a few moments of hesitation from Ford, you felt your world shift. It took everything in your power to not go tumbling into the glass. Somehow you managed to stay halfway upright until it was fully turned. 

You crawled out hesitantly, keeping your eyes on both of them. Gods, you forgot just how big humans were. 

You could feel the vertigo hitting your brain and stomach as you looked up at Fiddleford. The man gives you a gentle smile before moving his hand towards you. 

Staggering backward you saw him hesitate. Focusing on his hand you saw him holding a small thimble of water. 

He didn't try to reach any closer to you. He just set the small thimble down and folded his hands back around his cup of coffee. 

You slowly walked to the thimble before taking it between your own two hands and sitting down. 

It took a considerable effort to lift it to your lips. You weren’t weak by any means, climbing and running every day tends to build some muscles. 

You were however running off of pure adrenaline and spite for the past few hours. So your body was about to collapse at any moment. 

The cold water hit your tongue and before you registered it you were gulping down the little that was in the thimble. 

The refreshing chill worked its way down your throat and soothed your throat like a mother to a child. 

Bliss. 

You were pulled back to reality as you finished what was in the thimble. Fiddleford was adding sugar to his coffee, his eyes not on you. 

…You felt a pair of eyes on you regardless. 

You didn't even have to look to know who it was, but you did anyway. 

Ford's eyes were focused on you, surprisingly not in awe or fascination. 

He honestly looked a bit remorseful, you didn't know why. 

You felt your arms shaking again and set the thimble down, the comforting weight of the metal leaving your fingertips. With nothing else to fidget with you picked your nails. 

Fiddleford was the one to break the silence with a cough, you turned away from Ford to look at him. 

“I can grab ya’ some more water, here,” 

He reached for the thimble and you steeled yourself to stay sitting. He hadn’t manhandled you at all yet, it was the least you could do to not be so skittish. 

…He didn't close the distance though, anxiety still buzzed under your skin as he stopped halfway. 

“Push it a bit closer i can grab ya some water,” 

Doing as you were told you pushed it a bit closer to his hand before pulling back. 

He was true to his word and grabbed the thimble before going back over to the sink. 

Weirdly enough it made you sheepish to be cared about this much by a human. Neither of them where reaching for you or anything, which was nice. Just not what you expected. 

Fiddleford came back to the table and set the thimble halfway to you again. 

The thimble was still cold as you took it, this time sipping on it instead of gulping it down like a dying man. 

Fiddleford took a sip of his coffee, and you decided to break the silence. 

“...I don't know how you can drink that stuff. Smells awful,” 

He practically choked on the drink as he laughed at your comment. You didn't know what was so funny about what you said but whatever. 

“Have you ever had coffee?” 

Of course, Mr.Researcher had to put his question in. You didn't forget he was there by any means but you were much more comfortable around Fiddleford. 

You chose to humor him anyway, not wanting to upset him. 

“Don't have to and wouldn't dream of it, smells all I need to know it's bitter and horrible.” 

Fiddleford wiped some coffee from his mouth as he reigned in his giggles. 

“It keeps us awake on long nights, m’surprised your not tired after all ya’ve been through today.” 

Honestly, now that he mentioned it you were exhausted now that the adrenaline had been sapped from your body. 

“...Do you want to try some?” 

You tilted your head at Ford as he pushed his cup closer to you. 

…You debated it honestly. Coffee, even though it smelt horrible and the machine that made it was loud and janky, was rare. 

Most borrowers would never have the chance to try food or beverages like this, it almost felt wrong to turn down the opportunity. 

You gave a small nod and drank the rest of the water in your thimble. Deciding you would use it to take a small bit. 

You were moving out of the cottage when you could so you might as well indulge in what you can. Maybe you could tell your family about it. 

Ford's eyes lit up a bit as he pushed it closer, seeming almost excited to gauge your reaction. 

You waited until he had his hands away from the cup before pushing off of the table and standing. 

Dipping your thimble into the dark liquid the smell was still pungent and strong as ever. It was pleasantly warm as you pulled the thimble out. 

Walking back to your spot on the table you took a small sip. 

…It was earthy and warm. In direct contrast to the water you drank earlier, it warmed your bones pleasantly. 

It wasnt bad to be honest, you didn't gulp it down like you did the water but you took a larger sip before setting it down. 

“Well?” 

Ford asked, curiosity and intrigue evident in his voice. 

“... It's alright.” 

You weren't going to give him the satisfaction of saying you enjoyed it. He didn't need to know that. 

Fiddleford smiled watching you and Ford interacting semi-normally. 

“I can dump it if ya’ want, get you some water,”

“No!- it's fine- Wouldnt want to be a bother,” 

You pulled the thimble closer to your chest, telling yourself you were only finishing it out of politeness. 

Ford knew you liked the coffee though and pushed his cup closer. Deciding if you wanted more you could have it, it was the least he could do honestly to build up a rapport after what he did. 

“Anyways. You know who we are now, can I know precisely how long you’ve lived in my house?” 

The questions you had been dreading finally started pouring from Ford. You started to wonder if he would ask any at all, to be honest.

You took another sip of the coffee to calm your nerves. 

“... I've been here the whole time, just- yknow, hidden. Like I'm supposed to be.” 

“Why-”

Fiddleford had a concerned look on his face as he cut Ford off. 

“How have ya’ survived this long on your own? Dont ya’ got any family?” 

You shrugged as Fiddleford now shot you a question of his own. 

“I mean I do, just not here. They’re in the woods, I got kicke-... moved, a few months ago.” 

Fiddleford had an expression of sympathy on his face, which you didn't like. 

You might’ve been small but you weren't some kicked puppy. You’ve survived all this time on your own you didn't need help. 

“Why did you have to stay hidden?” 

Ford finished his question while Fiddleford was too busy feeling sorry for you. You guessed it didn't help how disheveled you looked at this particular moment. That's what happens though when you're manhandled by a researcher for the better half of the night. 

“Borrowers run off of rules, it's how we’ve survived so long around humans. The biggest being if your seen, you move. Which, now that I've been seen, you don't have to worry about me anymore.” 

You finished the last of the coffee in your thimble before standing again, looking for your fishhook and thread. 

“Now hold on-” 

“This isn't the first time you’ve been seen though, why didn't you leave then?” 

You scowled and shot the man another glare, your nose wrinkling in anger. 

“Because someone took notes about me. If you publish them im screwed, and so is my entire species. I already tried to take it though, which got me caught.” 

Ford noticed you looking around and pulled something from his inner coat pocket. You immediately knew what it was by the way it glinted in the moonlight. 

Your hook. 

“Continuing off of that thought you had no right to take that!- I worked hard to make it!” 

You grew bolder as you walked over to him. Now standing by his coffee cup a few inches short of his hand that rested on the table. 

He held up his hand in a placating motion as you took out your needle. 

“Stanford!-” 

Fiddleford spoke irritated and shocked at him having something of yours. 

“I'll make you a deal, calm down first.” 

You stopped advancing for his hand, even though the idea of stabbing it sounded amazing right now. 

“I'll get rid of the page in my journal, if you stay and let me keep learning about you. I can give you all the food you need, you don't even need to hide in the walls.” 

You felt the anger leaving your body a bit at that. Leaving in its wake confusion. 

“... What's the catch?” 

“No catch.” 

He held your fishhook out to you. Holding it a few inches short of your body. 

“... I'm not a housepet. I don't need to be fed. As long as the page is gone'll stick around I guess.” 

Fiddleford spoke up again, shocked at the discussion he was hearing. 

“Fords gettin’ rid of the page regardless. You don't haveta make any deal. We would love havin’ ya around but nothins holding you here.” 

You kept eye contact with Ford as you looked at your fishhook. You heard what Fiddleford was saying, but the idea of cementing the page being gone fulfilled you more than an empty promise. 

You reached for the fishhook, feeling the cold metal under your fingertips. 

“Deal.” 

--

woof im going to bed oh my goodness..,,

TAGLIST: @i-am-tiredd / @kmsthisyr

[fanta2y]

The Little Things

a little drabble inspired by @rrairey and her post on sukuna peeling an orange so THANK HER FOR THIS CUTE LITTLE THING

@archive-network (ooo you wanna click it so bad)

cw: none

word count: 697 (very short)

The door of your shared apartment swung open as you walked in, practically dead on your feet from the long and tiring hours of work today. You wanted nothing more than to curl into bed, cuddle with your personal furnace of a boyfriend and sleep for the next week. 

But you knew Ryomen was probably having an equally, if not worse day than you. And being disgustingly in love with him, you would push aside the tired ache that felt bone deep, for him to come home with a hot meal. 

You were stopped in your tracks when you realized that his shoes were already propped by the front door, his nice suit jacket hung up on the rack. 

“Ryo?!” You called out, your voice echoing along the walls. You walked through the apartment, making your way into the kitchen. When your eyes landed on a plate, wrapped in plastic wrap with your name written on it. 

The food looked delicious, the steam getting trapped inside the wrap. It brought a smile to your face as you grabbed the plate and made your way to the bedroom. Where you assumed he would be. 

“Ryo?” You called to him again, opening the door of your shared bedroom. The plate still in hand, you found him laying blissfully on the bed. His shirt no where to be found, his pajama pants hanging lowly on his hips as he flipped through a book. 

He hummed, his eyes flicking up from his book to meet yours. 

“Welcome home.” He said, his voice gravely and soft. The tone only you got to hear from him, the smile never left your lips as you made your way over to where he was laying. Placing the still warm plate on the bedside table, you leaned forward to kiss him. 

“Did you make me dinner?” A teasing lilt to your voice as you whispered the question against his lips. 

“No.” His signature smirk adorning his face, as you giggled. 

“No?” You shook your head at his antics, kissing him once more in a silent thank you. 

This is the way Ryomen functioned. He could never admit that he had done something for you. Either flat out denying it or coming up with some excuse as to why it was easier for him to do it, or why he had to do it instead of you. 

No matter what he said, the warmth that it left in your heart never dimmed. Knowing that the way he showed his love and care for you was not through sweet words or gifts, but through silent acts. Making dinner for you when you come home, folding your laundry for you after hearing you complain about it, making you coffee in the morning before you wake up. 

Its the little things that make you fall so much more in love with him. The silly excuses you both knew were false could never falter the love you shared with him. 

“It was the coffee fairy.” He would say, barely being able to hide the smirk with his book. 

“I don’t even know where your clothes go.” He would argue, both of you knowing that he was the one who helped you organize your closet when he first moved in. Being a stickler for organization and him knowing exactly where everything goes. 

You teased him often by calling him a control freak and he just scoffed and rolled his eyes at you while you giggled away at his antics. 

“Well thank you, whoever it was.” You said, moving away from his side of the bed. Grabbing your plate before getting yourself comfortable. 

Enjoying the homemade dinner thoroughly, and knowing to bring two forks because if you knew Ryomen, you knew he would try and sneakily steal your food whenever you ate infront of him. He said he was simply collecting his taxes from you, like some king of a medivial kingdom. 

It never failed to make you smile. These calm, soft moments with him. Knowing him more intimately than anyone else, filled your heart with sweet joy and satisfaction. Which made your dinner taste all the more delicious. 

authors note: EEEKKK this one is really cute, i love the way it turned out !! i love me some soft sukuna :))) hehehehe i hope you guys enjoyeddd !! and thank you for readinggg <3

[dronebiscuitbat]

Oil is Thicker Then Blood (Part 69)

It seemed like the moment Tera got her fangs she became obsessed with using them.

It had been multiple weeks of wrangling her to let things go, to not utterly destroy every blanket, pillow, toy, or random chunks of metal she found. She was like a puppy, using her fangs as an extra hand to feel out the world with her mouth.

Both Uzi's and N's hands were covered in tiny bite marks, Tera would never truly try to bite either of them, but that didn't mean she didn't nibble and knaw at their hands whenever she got the chance, like love bites, only slightly more painful.

It didn't help that Uzi's mood was already on an extremely short emotional fuse. She was constantly tired, her back ached and she was utterly sick of getting sick. More was coming out of her then she was putting in, and yet she was still gaining weight.

Month two of her pregnancy was looking to be a worse rehash of month one, where she was decidedly less worried and emotionally vulnerable and much more pissed beyond measure.

V was also sticking around more.

It was weird.

They lived side by side, so they'd always seen quite a bit of her, even if it was only passing conversation as they went to and from wherever they were going. But now V was inviting herself over. Offering to help with Tera, or asking if she needed oil, or something to eat, or just… being considerate.

Uzi wasn't sure what exactly was going on with her. But V also refused to take no for an answer. So… she was just hanging around, mostly dozing off on the couch or lazily playing with Tera, who's favorite game was now ‘tug of war’.

“Are you gonna tell me why you suddenly want to be here? Or are you just going to keep me guessing?” Uzi finally asked after the third day that week V had miraculously gotten into the apartment without her knowledge.

“Nope.” V hummed back, the ‘p’ popping as she went back to playing with the newly energized solver kit, tugging on a rope toy made for dogs.

Despite V's normal antagonistic behavior, her presence was actually incredibly… welcome.

Taking care of Tera, doing the household chores. And trying to decipher what the hell was up with Doll, before had been no problem. Was starting to get a little difficult, in part because of Tera's new penchant for destruction, but her core felt heavy and sluggish, stuttering as it used quite a bit of power to combine her and N's code together. Her core was even lighter now, becoming a light shade of lavender instead of a deep violet.

And having someone around to help, even if Uzi couldn't decipher the reason why, was not something she was going to complain about.

At this very moment though, she was washing bottles in preparation to refill them, while also replacing the rubber caps, as now they were full of bite marks and rips.

“Sooo where do you get the oil?” V asked, for the first time genuine curiosity in her voice. And Uzi didn't even turn around to answer as she scrubbed the inside of another bottle.

“Uh… the nursery?”

“No. Not the oil you drink, the oil she drinks. N was saying something about her oil needing to be filtered or, whatever.”

“Me?”

“… Do you like… prick yourself?”

“What? No. I have a side pannel that opens… did you not know?” Now Uzi turned to look at her, finding her holding Tera up in the air with one hand, away from the rope toy.

“No. Why should I know? I didn't pay too much attention to who I was killing.” V always had the tone like she didn't care or wasn't interested, but it really wasn't fooling Uzi anymore, if V truly wasn't interested, she wouldn't have asked.

“Yup. Every worker drone has a side panel, has a oil port, a charge port, everything we need to take care of kids. N doesn't have one, we checked. So you probably don't either.” She explained, thankful that it's the last time she'd have to explain this.

“Huh.”

Then there was silence again, Uzi trying to get a particularly stubborn stain off a bottle and going to town at it, growling slightly as if that would help scare it away.

When her head suddenly felt like lead.

She leaned over the sink as the feeling of extreme dizziness washed over her, her core skipping beats as her vison went blurry and her hearing faded into muffled sounds.

She dropped the bottle and it clattered against the floor, bouncing away on the tile. And gripped the side of the sink, feeling herself becoming unsteady as her legs wobbled and her stomach turned exactly once.

Then she began to fall to the side, unable to keep her balance, vison blinking out, bracing to hit the hard floor with what little withering control she had over her body.

Only she never did, something had caught her halfway down, cradling her gently and purring softly, she almost thought it was N, with how gentle they were, but he wouldn't be home for a couple more hours.

When her head stopped spinning and her core went back to its normal tempo, the first thing she felt was the plush texture of the couch, not the cold tile of the floor. And the feeling of a warm hand on her forehead.

And when her eyelights opened, she realized it was V. Holding her head to check her temperature.

What. The Fuck.

“V?”

“Oh good, you're fine.” She immediately removed her hand, but still hovering over her as V looked down at her, looking as blasé as ever.

“Why are you being so nice?”

“Why are you complaining?” V quipped back, putting a hand in her hip as Uzi sat up, and shook the lead from her head.

Uzi sighed, grumbling as she truly, honestly, did not have the energy to argue with V over her weirdness, but she guessed she shouldn't complain, as he had just been saved from hitting the floor.

“Oh whatever, thanks for catching me… I guess.” Uzi went to get back up, but V pushed her back into the couch with a decent amount of force, dropping Tera into Uzi's lap before walking over to the sink herself.

“Mmmhm.” Was all V said, before beginning to finish cleaning out the bottles herself.

With another long-suffering, confused sigh, Uzi took V's previous position of playing tug of war with Tera, letting V do whatever the hell she wanted.

Next->

[ace-does-stuff]

a formal introduction

Summary: Branch finds a moment to introduce Poppy to the members of Kismet properly

Warnings: None!

Authors Note: I know I'm insane about the Kismet Poly thing but trust me guys, it's good even without the side of broppy I included to ease the wider fanbase into the idea of it. @ohposhers briefly went insane over this with me so I'm tagging 'em just for that, so did @bulliestrolls

"Branch! You never told me you were part of Kismet!" Poppy squealed, she was bouncing a little bit, holding tight to Branch's hand.

He gives an amused hum, "You want introductions don't you?"

Poppy nods eagerly, "Of course I do!"

"Promise not to freak out?"

"I promise."

Branch leads her over to where the members of Kismet sit, Ablaze, Trickee, Hype, and Boom. They're huddled in one general spot, lounging on bean bags and chairs and sipping drinks. They all perk up a bit and straighten their posture when they see Branch walking over with Poppy.

"You're finally gonna show off your girlfriend?" Hype asked eagerly.

"Actually, I'm showing off you four," Branch said.

He got a chorus of intrigued and teasing 'ooh's and 'ah's from the ensemble.

"Poppy, these are my on and off boyfriends-"

"Your what?!"

"We've been off for a couple years now, Queen Poppy," Trickee said, "No need to worry about us stealing your man."

"You dated the members of Kismet?!" Poppy exclaimed.

Branch recoiled a bit at the volume she displayed, "It's still a hush hush thing, none of my brothers know."

Poppy nodded and zipped her lips, dragging thumb and pointer across them to imitate the zipping. She stilled grinned, "Got it."

"Wait, you didn't tell anyone about us?" Hype asked.

"Anyone at all?" Ablaze chimed in with.

Branch shook his head, "Then they'd realize I was part of Kismet, Hype." He took a seat on one of the chairs, "Which would've made it really hard to isolate myself."

"You should've stayed with us," Boom said, "You were so close to getting back your true colors."

"Why did you leave them?" Poppy asked.

Branch heaved a sigh, "Because I was getting tired of performing shows. I started graying mid performance sometimes, it was stressful."

Boom leaned against Branch and bumped their shoulders together gently, "Yeah, and then we'd all give you hugs and kisses and a fruit drink and your colors would come back."

Hype did the same to Branch's other shoulder, "Boom's right, we always took care of you when your colors started to fade."

Trickee rests an arm on the back of the chair, "That we most certainly did, we never let you go fully gray for even a second."

Ablaze knocks his head against Branch's gently, "The guys have good points Branch, we took real good care of ya."

Branch's face burns bright as his bandmate relish him with attention.

"Aw, how cute," Poppy teased.

All of them scattered away from Branch like cockroaches.

"Sorry, Queen Poppy," Boom said, a nervous laugh on his voice as he spoke, "Old habits die hard."

Poppy laughs and waves off his concerns, "I don't mind much, I'm sure that there's plenty of Branch to go around."

"Are you sacrificing me to my on and off boyfriends right now, Poppy?" Branch asked.

Poppy nodded with this smug smirk on her face, "That's exactly what I'm doing right now."

"Are you for real, Queen Poppy?"

"Really, you're not joking?"

"You're serious about this?"

"We can have him again?"

Questions assaulted Poppy from every single direction and Branch gave her this look. It spoke volumes, it said he was happy with just her, it said he wasn't ready for his brothers to know he was a bit queer, it said he needed more time before trying with Kismet again. And Poppy heard every single thing that look said but she pushed it to the side, pushing Branch past his comfort zone has worked in the past.

"Of course you can, only on one condition," Poppy answered with a smirk on her face.

They all waited patiently and obediently for her condition to be stated.

"I still get to be his girlfriend."

"We'd never dream of taking him from ya."

"Of course, Queen Poppy!"

"He's absolutely still yours in part."

"Really we don't need him twenty four seven."

Poppy's just smirking as Branch shoots her a small glare. He sits up and brushes off the touches and attention from the likes of his bandmates. He drags her out of the room to a place where Kismet can't hear the discussion that Poppy knows is coming.

He brings a finger and presses it to Poppy's chest, "You."

"Me?" Poppy asked.

"Yes you, I haven't talked to these guys in years, Poppy," Branch fumed.

Poppy gently nudged his paw away from her, "It'll be good for your health."

"To be doted on and coddled like I'm helpless?"

"Exactly! You stress too much, I can't take enough care of you alone! It's a blessing, Branch."

"Four of my sort of ex's showing up and you deciding I should get back together with them is a blessing?"

"Yes! Of course it is! I promise you, most of the time it'll still be me and you," She gently grabs his paw and holds it carefully. She gives a soft smile, "I promise."

Branch squeezes her paw, "Alright, Poppy, I'll try them again."

"Now let's go talk about a housing arrangement if we're all gonna live together!"

"One step at a time, Poppifer."

[lesbicosmos]

day 6 of @painlandweek !!

day 6 prompt: free day!!

summary:

after edwin's confession, charles has a lot to think about. he finds himself watching edwin even closer than usual, and realisations happen. or a series of moments post-s1 that gave charles rowland a bit of a crisis

notes:

title from not a lot, just forever by adrianne lenker

this fic was also a collaboration with the amazing @every-moment-a-different-sound !! they made these gorgeous gifs based on my fic <33

also on ao3!!

through your eyes i see a smile you bring to me

He’d been thinking. A lot. Charles Rowland didn’t do that. He was more of a ‘do first, think later’ kind of guy. He said what was on his mind, about most things at least. He made most decisions in a spur of the moment. He wouldn’t think twice before jumping in front of danger for someone he cared about – usually Edwin. And Edwin Payne was exactly the catalyst for Charles’s current intense thinking.

There were four facts he definitely knew:

Edwin was the person he loved most in the entire world.

Edwin was in love with him.

Charles’s instincts were, and had been for years, to make Edwin happy no matter what.

Charles didn’t want to do anything that might eventually hurt him if he was wrong.

Perhaps the third fact ought to have started some conversation about his own self-worth issues, but Charles decided to file that away for later. All he knew now was that he had to think this through. He had to be sure before he made a decision that could end up being stupid in the long run.

All this thinking had led Charles to focus on Edwin somehow even more than he had before. If he was in the room while Charles was supposed to be doing something, he would be distracted. If Charles was alone while he was supposed to be doing something, he would be distracted. It seemed that if Charles wanted to think through this as much as he should, he’d have to sacrifice his productivity in the agency. And as long as no one noticed or mentioned it, he was more than willing to do so.

In his staring, Charles had come to realise some tiny things about Edwin that he may have perhaps noticed before, but never really noticed. Like the way he would tap his notebook with the pencil while thinking about what to write; the way he would run his hands through his perfectly slicked hair whenever he was confused, or stressed, or embarrassed; the way his eyes would light up whenever Niko suggested they watch another episode of Scooby Doo. The one thing that wouldn’t leave Charles’s mind, however, is something he had noticed Edwin did around him.

He'd noticed it after the Night Nurse’s most recent visit. She was still bitter that she was being forced to oversee the agency in the first place, so had been her usual snarky self.

“I don’t know why I even agreed to help you two insolent boys. Oh wait, I didn’t agree to this! Please deal with this yourselves, I have a lot of paperwork to do!” she had said before she left the office.

She hadn’t physically used the door, but the annoyed way in which she disappeared from sight gave the implication of slamming it in their faces.

Immediately after she’d left, Charles had turned to look at Edwin, pursing his lips and looking down his nose at him in an attempt to recreate her bitchy expression.

“You two insolent boys,” he said imitating her high-pitched voice. “I have a lot of paperwork!”

And Edwin laughed. A real, genuine, from-the-chest laugh. And he smiled. It was exactly that smile that flicked some switch inside Charles’s brain.

Whenever he smiled around most people, it would be visible more in his eyes than anywhere else, his mouth only curling up slightly, his lips pressed tightly shut. Sometimes however, oh how his face brightened. Occasionally he would smile with his eyes and his mouth, showing his teeth in a glowing grin. It was beautiful.

It hit Charles that the only times he’d ever seen Edwin smile like that was when he was around him and him alone. It was as though that beaming grin was reserved just for him, and Charles savoured it every single time. He made it his death’s mission to make Edwin smile as often as physically possible. Every time he managed it, he felt like he had won.

Was it normal to think that way about your best mate’s smile? Was it normal to be elated to discover he seemingly has a smile especially for you? These were the thoughts that were currently doing laps around Charles’s brain.

The next time Charles found himself in crisis mode over Edwin was a few weeks later. They’d had a walk-in potential client, a young woman whose family had kept meeting unfortunate accidents in their house, who, after dying of a fall on their staircase, had discovered the house was actually haunted by a creature she suspected to be a poltergeist. They had heard her case, and were just onto the topic of payment when she pulled out an amulet, offering it with the explanation that it glowed in the presence of anything that had been in the presence of a demon. Notably, it was not glowing in the presence of either of the boys.

“Danielle,” Edwin began, in the tone Charles recognised as the way he always spoke when he was about to make a point and prove himself right. “You brought your case to us and we listened and agreed to take it, so clearly you trust us and our reputation. Hence, you should also have assumed that we, as supernatural detectives, have come into contact with demonic forces before. And if you hadn’t noticed, there is no glow in that amulet. It is clearly a fake. You really should have thought about that before bringing it to us as payment.”

Charles just stared at him, in awe. Edwin had done this many times, caught tricky clients in their lies as easy as anything. He’d done it with Emma when she’d brought Crystal’s case to them, claiming not to have any form of payment at all. Charles had always admired him when he did that, but now he really thought about it, the way he mesmerised him might have been for a reason deeper than simply ‘my best friend is so cool’.

“What?” the client gasped.

“The amulet is just a piece of jewellery. You knew that, didn’t you?”

“No?” she said, tearing up.

“Oh,” Edwin immediately softened. “Well, let me apologise for the last thirty seconds. It has happened a surprising amount of times over the last thirty-three years that we’ve had clients con us with claims they have a magical item to give as payment.”

“I didn’t know, I swear. It was the only thing I could think of to give because it was a family heirloom and my grandma had always told me it was magic. I’m just trying to help my family, please, my twins, they’re only four, they get into enough accidents as it is, I couldn’t bear for them to go through what I did because of that thing-”

“Danielle,” Edwin’s voice was so different from how it had been previously, no longer sharp and quick-witted but now soft and comforting. “I promise we will do everything we can to rid your home of whatever spirit it is that is lurking there.”

“But I don’t have anything else to give you-”

“We do occasionally take cases without payment, if the situation is dire. This counts. Do not worry about it.”

“Really? Thank you so much!”

“We are happy to help.”

Charles would have said something too, reassured her that they’d do the best job they could, but he couldn’t tear his eyes from Edwin. Somehow, the switch to his comforting, encouraging voice had even more of an effect on him.

When Edwin turned to Charles after Danielle left and asked if everything was okay since he’d been oddly quiet throughout the interview, he just smiled, claiming he was aces. Technically, it wasn’t a complete lie, just perhaps not the entire truth. He didn’t really know how to say ‘yeah, I’m fine, I just can’t seem to stop staring at you lately no matter what you’re doing,’ without it sounding at least a little strange.

The staring thing didn’t go away.

It had been a very warm day – not that the boys could actually tell, obviously. They’d only assumed since Niko had sauntered into the office in a flowy pink and orange summer dress with her bright pink heart sunglasses perched on her head, closely followed by Crystal in a purple mesh top and brown shorts. Their assumption had then been confirmed by the hour of complaining that followed.

While Edwin insisted on staying at the office to finish researching about demonic fungi, Charles tagged along with the girls when they eventually got too tired of the heat and decided to go and get ice-cream. He knew he couldn’t eat any himself, but he liked going into town with them, it made him feel a tiny bit like a normal living teenager for a little while. He’d gone into town to the cinema or to the arcade with his friends often when he was alive – even if those memories now left a sour taste in his mouth despite the fact taste was one of the senses he’d lost years ago.

The girls had nearly finished their ice-creams by the time they returned, Crystal giggling quietly when she noticed Niko had gotten some on the tip of her nose. Charles was just thinking about how much he loved seeing Crystal so happy as they re-entered the office.

Charles immediately noticed the change in Edwin’s outfit. When they’d left, he’d been wearing his matching pinstripe blue-grey blazer and trousers, his bow-tie perfectly tied and straight. Now, he’d lost the blazer, and his bow-tie was nowhere to be seen, the top few buttons of his shirt undone just enough to reveal his collarbones. The shirt, Charles also noted, had short sleeves. He’d never known Edwin to wear a short-sleeved shirt. He’d roll the sleeves up occasionally when they were working in the office, but it was always the same white long-sleeve.

Edwin had been more experimental with his clothing choices since his change of outfit in Port Townsend had gained him compliments from both Niko and Charles, but it had still always been some variation of his usual get-up – only slight changes to the colour scheme, or the fabric, or exchanging his blazer for a jumper. Charles had never seen him dressed this casually.

“Cool shirt, mate,” he said, unable to keep the smile off his face. Perhaps it was a strange thing to say about a plain white shirt, but he didn’t know how else to mention it nonchalantly. He was already using enough of his brainpower to focus on stopping himself staring at Edwin’s arms.

"Thank you, Charles,” Edwin said, looking down momentarily in that awkward yet endearing way he did whenever anyone complimented him.

“Oh, good,” Crystal said, halfway through retying her hair in a bun. “I know you guys don’t feel the heat but just seeing you in that jacket was making me sweat buckets.”

“Yes, well, I figured I might as well dress for the occasion, as it were.”

“It looks great!” Niko said excitedly.

Edwin smiled at her. It was different to the smile he gave most people, his eyes brightening even more than usual, like they always did around Niko. It still wasn’t the beaming grin he reserved just for Charles, though.

“How’s the research going?” Charles asked, trying to change the subject.

“Well. I believe I have all the information we need to identify which type of infernal fungus it is that is plaguing our client."

“Brills!”

With that, Edwin stood up from the desk, walking around it to put the book back in its very specific spot on the shelf. It was only then that Charles noticed it wasn’t only his shirt Edwin had changed – he was now wearing shorts, too. They were still the same blue-grey pinstripe, still the same formal style as his usual trousers, only now they ended just above his knee. He walked around the room as confidently as always, and Charles desperately tried to tear his eyes away from Edwin’s legs. But it seemed something had short-circuited in his brain, because he couldn’t think about anything else.

“Hey,” Crystal nudged him. “You good there?”

Charles snapped his head around to look at her.

“Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?”

Crystal just raised her eyebrows at him, then turned back to Niko.

He’d been thinking his love for Edwin might not be entirely platonic for a while, but the realisation well and truly hit him after they’d just wrapped up a particularly hard-hitting case.

A 14-year-old boy had come to the office. He’d recently died but had no idea how, his only memory being coming home from a friend’s house, walking into the living room to find his mother sitting on the sofa watching TV, then feeling a sharp pain on the back of his head. When he woke up, he was in an ambulance, and was now detached from his physical form.

After some investigation of the boy’s house, they’d found a metal rod in the back of the shed in the garden. And they’d caught someone going there once every couple of days to check it was still hidden. It had been the boy’s father.

Edwin had felt horrible having to drag Charles away from hugging the sobbing boy as Death arrived for him.

Charles had been quiet ever since. Edwin hadn’t asked if he was okay – he already knew the answer. He’d dropped onto the sofa as soon as they got back to the office, his head in his hands. Edwin had given him a moment, before he slowly sat beside him, giving him as much space as possible.

“Charles?” he asked quietly, tapping his shoulder so gently it was barely even a touch.

Rather than push him away like he had back near the lighthouse in Port Townsend, Charles leaned into the touch. Edwin tentatively shuffled closer to him until Charles barely had to move to lean further into his space. Edwin just pulled him close.

“Whatever you need, I’m here,” he whispered. “I’m always here.”

Charles let out a sob into Edwin’s chest, and he only held him closer.

And in amongst all the anger, all the pain, all the tears, the love he felt was overwhelming. He was breaking down, sobbing, finally letting out emotions he felt like he’d been locking away for years, and instead of turning away from him, instead of judging him or telling him to ‘man-up’ like his friends or his father would have, Edwin Payne just held him. And Charles couldn’t contain the intense love he felt for him. He’d do anything for this to never end, for Edwin to always be there for him and for him to always be there for Edwin in return. He wanted to stay in Edwin’s arms forever. And luckily for him, they had just that. They had forever, eternity.

They held each other until the sun rose, and talked about it in the morning.

Charles was reeling after his realisation. He was confident now. He just had to find a way to tell him.

The four of them were walking down the street together, finally just hanging out as a group outside of a case. He’d zoned out watching Edwin once again, his mouth slightly agape, this time imagining different scenarios where he confessed that he was wrong on that staircase while Edwin was several paces ahead, having been dragged towards a Scooby-Doo themed shop window display by Niko.

Crystal nudged him in the side from her spot beside him.

“You sure you’re okay? You’ve been weirdly…spacey recently,” she said, a concerned look on her face.

Charles turned to her, voicing the only coherent thought he had.

“I think I’m in love with Edwin.”