#track limits on a nearly blind spot

[howdyricciardo]

Hey fia

[imtrashraccoon]

Dragon Au Headcanons?

if you have anything at the moment.

I wrote out bullet points days ago but kept forgetting to actually expand on them... Oh well, here's some little things I thought of, as well as, a few things you sent me. :3 (I should mention that this is all in regards to their dragon forms and not the gaster blaster/humanoid ones.)

The Dark Fortress: Dragon AU Headcanons

They're essentially immortal in the sense that they only grow stronger with age and they aren't affected by most physical ailments. It is technically possible to kill them but their scales make them nigh invulnerable to most weapons so anyone who tries will need the aid of magic. Fortunately for them, mages tend to be rather squishy.

All of them like being pet or groomed, but only by their mortal friend and they all react differently to the idea with some being more open to it than others.

Donovan will only let you touch him when no one else is around and even then, you better not make a big deal out of it. He's a big powerful dragon and you're a puny little mortal; he's letting you live so you better be grateful. Just don't stop halfway through or you'll have a grumpy dragon on your hands.

Dirk loves getting attention, nearly as much as he loves causing mayhem, and you'd be lucky to get him to sit still for ten minutes. He doesn't care if others are around, if anything he'll gloat that you're giving him attention instead, just don't be too affectionate or he might become more unpredictable than usual.

Maul seems like he could care less if you touch him or not and he'll often let you do whatever, so long as you don't approach him from the right side (his blind spot) first. Truthfully, he really likes your attention but as he's a dragon of few words, so you'll have to figure it out through body language.

Reven is in-between. He mostly keeps to himself so you'll have to go out of your way to give him attention. He definitely ignored you at first, hoping you'll get bored and leave, but when you don't, he realizes that he actually really likes the attention.

All dragons have the compulsion to create and protect hordes and these boys are no exception.

Naturally, Donovan has the largest horde although his is mostly books and gold. He's very particular about where everything goes and will get upset if anyone moves or destroys anything.

Dirk mostly collects sharp things, particularly if they're shiny. Although, this isn't limited to weapons as evident by all the cutlery littering his den.

Before being cursed, Maul already had a bit of a problem with the thought of food scarcity and he actively preserved any food he could. Now, his instincts have been magnified and he regularly goes out of his way to hunt and steal any food he can find.

Reven wasn't much of a hoarder before, unless you count him keeping track of all the murders he perpetuated. Now, he likes to collect soft things like scarves, blankets, flags, etc. It would actually be kind of sweet if these weren't collected from the victims of raids he regularly goes on.

You'd think that being a super powerful dragon is all that, right?

Well that's what Donovan thinks anyways, although sometimes he does find himself missing his tendrils or wishing he could read a book without accidentally tearing the pages.

Dirk loves his new form, however he can't exactly pull any partners with how large he is now.

Maul has possibly the hardest time adapting out of all of the boys since he's even more clumsy than before.

Surprisingly or unsurprisingly, Reven could care less, especially since he can kill things easier in this form.

They actually really like when you tag along for adventures, although don't get any ideas of becoming a dragon rider anytime soon.

Donovan will smack you over the head with his wing if you ever bring up the idea of saddling him.

Dirk may not mind too much as he's hard to keep up with even on the ground, but don't let the others know.

Maul welcomes the idea since you can watch out for threats and he knows exactly where you are at any given time.

Reven doesn't like the idea either but he'll give in after he realizes that it isn't very safe to ride him without a saddle.

Each of them have their own way of fighting although some of their techniques have been simplified now that they're massive creatures.

Donovan prefers to use his tails to send foes flying in close combat but otherwise uses his breath weapon or magic.

Dirk almost exclusively uses a special blade he fitted to the tip of his tail, although his bite packs a mean poison too.

Maul prefers the simple approach of throwing his weight around and he makes good use of his claws, teeth, horns, and even wings.

Reven actually switches up his fighting style, opting to use his breath weapon and magic rather than getting up close to enemies.

As dragons, they enjoy being worshipped or admired to some degree.

Donovan already desired to rule over the whole world and this desire was only heightened. He demands respect from everyone - be they human, monster, or beast alike.

Dirk revels in the idea of being revered. Unfortunately, he wouldn't be a good ruler at all as he has no experience and his ego would be his own downfall.

Maul can't deny that it's appealing when people admire and respect him. Although, the poor guy doesn't want to actually rule over anyone and his trauma would likely hinder his ability to do so.

Reven definitely gets a power trip whenever people fall on their face and beg him for mercy. He also has no interest in ruling as he'd sooner slaughter anyone stupid enough to stick around when he's raiding a village.

They each have scars; some that carried over from their old forms and some new ones.

Donovan has poc marks on his wings as the corruption didn't mesh well with his dragon form at first and his right eye is still covered by said corruption.

Dirk mostly has new scars from weapon strikes, thanks to him preferring to get up and close in a fight, but his warped soul is still the same.

Maul actually had his scars carry over, as evidenced by his right horn being broken and being blind in the same eye.

Reven hasn't sustained any obvious new scars but you wouldn't really be able to tell if he even has any in the first place since he tries to conceal them with his hood and wings.

[typicalopposite]

Up late the night before once again! getting this up before anyone can tag me :)

And for my snippet I give you the one thing I just don’t think this fandom can get enough of 😂😂 whether we write it a million different ways or the same exact way a million different times!

(From the angsty break up/helicopter crash fic under the cut cause its a little long!)

Buck is running blind. He knows that. The forest is massive and his chances of getting lost are far higher than his chances of actually finding Tommy.  But he has to try.  He runs until he loses track of which way he’s going; until the land is no longer flat that he is running on, and he is leaping over fallen trees and boulders and brush; until his legs—specifically his bad leg—are burning and aching and ready to give out… but then he just pushes himself to run faster.  And as if by some miracle… he finds it. Off a little ways in the distance—just as Buck is about ready to give up, or at least slow down—he spots the helicopter. Part of the propeller is broken off, the front window is busted out, the tail is snapped in half… and it’s caught on the branches of a tree, about thirty feet above the ground. “Oh god…” Buck gasps. The helicopter is tilting and the door has fallen open. “Tommy.”  He is hunched over, seemingly unconscious… possibly worse—Buck can’t let his mind go there, not yet. He has to stay focused because Tommy is nearly hanging out of the open door. All he is being held in by is the single strap across his chest. He tries to pick up speed, but his legs are so tired. He screams at them—at himself—to go, move, run faster. He has to get to Tommy. He has to save him. He has no idea how.  “I— I’m coming!” He screams. It’s doubtful that it’s heard; between the noises all around him, and the fact that Tommy is not alert, Buck is sure he didn’t hear— Tommy moves. He groans. “Tommy,” Buck says, barely above a whisper. He thinks there’s no way he is heard that time but then Tommy’s head lifts, his eyes instantly meet with Buck’s. Tommy’s face is covered in blood and so swollen one eye is completely closed; and yet he smiles. He looks directly at Buck and a wave of relief seems to wash over him. Like just seeing Buck has made what is an incredibly dire situation into a simple walk in the park.  He shifts, and the helicopter creaks. The limit that  tension being put on the belt can take is being tested. “T- Tommy! Tommy, don't move!” Buck screams; reality rushing back to him as he tries again to somehow get more momentum into his feet so he gets there faster.  “E- Evan…” Tommy calls out to him, and Buck suddenly loves his name. He swears he will call and thank his parents for giving him that name and even allow them to use it again. If he can just reach the tree and get Tommy out safe.  Buck mentally pleads with his legs to move faster. He has no idea what he’s going to do; he will climb the tree if he has to, get to the helicopter and carry Tommy down on his back… if that’s what it takes. He doesn’t care. He will do anything. He’s so close.  There’s another creak.  A snap.  The belt goes slack. It no longer matters how fast Buck runs… there is nothing he can do. Tommy falls from the helicopter—his hands frantically reaching around, trying to grab something—and he collides with the ground just as Buck reaches the tree.

yeahhhhh! she's gonna be a ride <3

throwing out these no pressure tags for @onthewaytosomewhere, @scripted-downfall, @taste-thewaste, @luainthewild, @meraki-yao, @adreamareads, @do-androids-dream-ao3acc, @30somethingautisticteacher and anyone else who wants to join in! <3

[iamnot-crazy]

Slight of Hands Chapter 3

Trafalgar Law x named reader

Summary: A woman snuck her way onto the polar tang by tricking Shachi and Penguin but Law is quick to realize her antics.

Law tries to forget about the woman but her image keeps plaguing his thought.

Chapter 1 Chapter 2

---

Law stared at the heart sitting on his desk with anger. He now has more questions for this mysterious woman who disappeared from his ship a week ago. She escaped the same way she boarded the ship by manipulating his closest crew members the two he considered his brothers which just fueled his anger.

As much as Law tried he could not get this woman out of his mind. She was clever and beautiful enough to manipulate her way through information that should be nearly impossible to achieve. She also seemingly had a team who was able to rescue her at the right time. But what racked Law's brain the most was why she was so interested in him.

There was one thing she was right about and that was that he didn't have it in him to actually crush the heart sitting in front of him. He had every reason to crush it and get rid of the woman who knew too much about him and may know even more.

He groans pushing himself away from his desk in frustration, his thoughts weren't getting him anywhere. He grabbed a cloak and his Kikoku before pushing his way onto the deck of the Polar Tang. On the deck, Shachi and Penguin were stuck on their cleaning duty as a punishment both stood in attention upon seeing their captain only to receive an eye-roll as Law jumped off the ship.

Law walked down the street of the small town they were visiting to collect supplies. He took a breath clearing my head with the fresh air as he looked down the street he noticed a woman staring at him from across the way. Odd looks were familiar to Law being a famous pirate but this was different she wasn't looking at him with fear or speculation but with confidence and determination. Law watched closely as the woman turned down an alley almost beckoning him to follow.

Law followed the woman carefully keeping all his senses aware in case of a potential attack. When he went down the alley the only thing he found was an envelope and the woman he spotted was gone. He bent down to grab the envelope that just had his name written on the back not just his name but his full name 'Traphaler D Water Law'. Law glared the only person who recently said his full name was Raven the woman who knows too much. He ripped the envelope open and a small piece of paper fell to the ground now free from its containment began moving slightly toward the sea. Law picked it up before it could go far. He turned it in his hand to find scratchy handwriting that said, "Just in case."

Law scoffed shoving the paper into his pocket and returning to his sub.

***

Weeks have now passed and the plaguing thoughts of Raven have begun to limit in Law's mind. Her heart and viver card now collecting dust sitting in the top drawer of his desk along with her heart. He thought about using the card to track her down and recapture her as his prisoner but he had a feeling she gave him the card for a reason.

As Law works at his desk the soft rhythm of the heartbeat keeps him focused. Up until this day, the beat has been steady rarely changing pace to the point Law has become blind to the sound. But the loud thump that shook his desk pulled him out of his work. He yanked the drawer open to see the heart's usual steady beat now beating like a drum. Underneath the heart sat the viver card that now had a slight burn on the edge of its page.

"Shit" he mumbled pulling the heart and card out of the drawer. The card pulled towards the island he was on and the heart. His thoughts began to swim with an internal debate. He shouldn't care if the woman who knows too much is close to death someone is doing the job he should have done. But for some reason, she trusted him with both her heart and viver card and this was probably why.

Law groaned as he grabbed his cloak and headed out of his office. Once on the deck, he began to question himself. The viver card just points in the direction the person is the woman can be islands over and him running around on this island could be a waste of time. If she was on this exact island what kind of twisted game was Faith playing on him.

"Shit." He mumbled again before jumping off his sub and onto the island. As he followed the direction of the card in his palm it became tighter to the direction signifying that she was close.

As he drew closer to the woman a laugh began to echo off the buildings, "Uhahahaha" Law froze at the familiar laugh. It was a very distinct and unique laugh from his past. One that belongs to Diamante.

Diamante is one of the top three officers of the Donquixote Pirates, the current occupant of the Diamond seat of the Donquixote Family, and the leader of the crew's Diamante Army subdivision. But in Law's past, he was the one who taught him how to sword fight.

"Did you honestly believe that Doffy wouldn't see through your plan?" Diamante jeered. "Your crew of Dressrosa traitors are finished!"

Law swiftly strode to the edge of the building and peered around to see Raven crawling on her hands and knees, desperately trying to escape from the towering figure of Diamante. Without hesitation, Diamante stomped on her back pinned her to the ground, and raised his sword high, poised to strike down on her back.

But as his sword flew down it was only met with the ground. Her figure seemingly disappeared. Law now running away from the scene with Raven safely in his arms. Raven looked up at him with a smile, "I knew you would come" before she passed out.

As soon as Law and Raven reached the submarine, Law used his powers to transport her to the operating room before urgently requesting a submerge. The Heart Pirates sprang into action, frantically preparing the submarine for an emergency escape. Shachi and Penguin, who had been following Law, were hot on his heels, eager to bombard him with questions about urgent submerge, but Law was too focused to pay attention to them. He ordered the sub to make as much distance from the island as quickly as possible, anxiously watching the horizon for any signs of pursuit. The sound of the submarine's engines filled the air.

After reaching a safe distance, Law headed toward the operating room. Shachi and Penguin were shocked when they saw what was inside. Raven was lying unconscious on the table, covered in blood and bruises. Diamante had the ability to take her out quickly and painlessly, but for some reason, he chose to play with her before doing so.

"What happened?"

"Why is she here?"

Law ignored their questions as he got to work patching the woman up. Luckily for her, there weren't any major injuries just a few stitches here and there that Law needed to tend to. When she wakes she will need some ice for her bruises but she will recover fine.

Law turned to his crew mates who were waiting for answers. He sighed wiping his hands, "Apparently she is from Dressrosa. Doflamingo wanted her dead and sent Diamante after her."

"Why did you save her?" Shachi asked pleading for answers.

Law's jaw snapped shut unable to answer that question that he had been asking himself. Why did he do it and why was she so certain that he would. By the way his body tenses, Shachi received his answer and pulled Penguin out of the room leaving Law to himself.

Law turned around and stared at the peaceful woman lying on the operating table no longer bleeding out but peacefully sleeping.

**

The next morning Law entered the operating room to redress the woman's bandage before turning to his duties for the day. As he tended to her wounds she began to stir with a groan reaching her arm up to cover her eyes from the overhead light.

"You're awake." His voice rumbles as he continues his work.

Raven's eyes dart around the room landing on the captain's silhouette above her, "well this is some deja vu." She groaned turning away from him.

"Glad to see your humor is intact." He tighten the bandage on her arm causing her to wince. He finishes wrapping up the bandage before moving to the sink wiping the blood off his hands.

Raven sat up investigating her wounds and whereabouts, "Thank you." She spoke softly. Law scoffed as he continued to clean up.

"Since you are now awake you can start answering my questions." He leaned on the counter while he dried his hands.

"I guess that's fair. Where would you like to start?" She threw her legs over the edge of the table.

"Why was Diamante trying to kill you?"

"Because I am trying to dethrone Doflamingo and free Dressrosa." She spoke causally.

"From what I've heard the people of Dressrosa love Doflamingo's rule why would you dethrone him?"

"The people of Dressrosa don't know the full story of how he took the throne."

"Which is?"

"He manipulated his way through of course, crafted a stage where he would be the hero and take out anyone who doubts him."

Law gave a knowing smirk.

"You know the scene you have seen it play out before. The people of Dressrosa are suffering and they don't even know it. When they learn about what he has done what he did they will want to overthrow him too!" Raven jumped up in passion but quickly regretted it as her knees buckled. Law instinctively flew over and caught her pulling her back to her feet.

She grabbed onto Law's chest, "Please you need to help me. Help me destroy him. You know him better than anyone you know how he thinks you can free Dressrosa from him."

Law helped her back to the table pulling away from her and shaking his head, "I am not much of a liberating type. What would freeing a country do to benefit me."

"Because Law you're a good person."

"And who told you that lie. If you can't tell I am a pirate! Hell, they call me the surgeon of death! That doesn't really sound like a good person now does it."

"Cora-san did."

The silence filled the room as Law starred daggers into the woman. His heart beat loudly as his thoughts began to swim begging for an answer. His teeth grinding as his body ran cold. "What?"

"He told me that you have a good heart." She pleaded with her eyes.

Law's nose began to twitch, "Cora-san is dead." He mumbled as if he didn't want to hear the words himself.

Raven grabbed Law's arm forcing him to look her in her eyes. As he stared into her eyes a story began to unfold and tears formed. "He is alive."

-------

A/N: teheh my short story has now turned into my own AU. Anyway thank you for reading if you want to read more of my work check out my masterlist and if you want to read the next chapter let me know.

[alexalblondo]

Alexander Albon did not spend nearly a whole year locked inside the prison that is the RB simulator for Haas to say he is crossing track limits and should be penalized, when in reality he is WILLINGLY exceeding the track to make the FIA aware of blinde spots on track and potential improvements.

In this essay I will -

[ashacadence]

Baldur’s Gate 3

This is just my impression so far and why I’ve been not so active. Yes I like the game and having fun with it. Or at least to a degree. I can see the replay ability with it but I’ll get to that in a second.

The game in on itself is addicting. I get the itch and I just fall into that hypnotic grind of wanting to explore, look through stuff and bring the maps to life the more pockets and paths I find. It’s nice and there’s neat fights or really cool places to see. All very beautiful scenery. The environment stuff and the interactions of discovering hidden treasures or characters noticing something as filler info. Super cool. I’ll find myself just trying to look for hidden paths to navigate or spot something that catches my eye to go and look.

The fucking camera is annoying. Also the movement/pathing tracking or whatever can sometimes be it’s own worst enemy. I dunno if it’s better to play on the controller or not but I doubt it with how complex and easier it is to simply stick with mouse and keyboard. I just wish the camera pan and zoom was better instead of fighting it.

The characters in on themselves are entertaining and each are unique in their own special ways. Now, I’ve only been limited to the main three with mine but I’ll get to that in a sec. Lae’zel I’m still ehhhhhh on. I get why she’s prickly but oh boy she tests my patience some times. Also she hit on me at some point that had me sputtering and cackling.

I didn’t choose option 3. I chose 2. The screenshot had my mouse at that third one.

But y’all should have heard me laughing. Even if she was turned down she took it well but still with that confidence of “pssh you’re missing out.”

Girl…I’m trying to bang the vampire man okay. Maybe Halsin. Dunno yet. Haven’t gotten that far.

Shadowheart and I are good friends. She’s a little cinnamon roll but oh so blinded by her religion. Shadow babe hun you are so much more if you let yourself be more.

Astarion, I love his sass. We will either be best buds or friends with benefits or more. Don’t care. Happy to chat with him and have him around. His sass is great.

I would love to talk about more but here’s the thing. This is all the active people I have besides wyll who just doesn’t have enough for me to engage all that much with and I blame the writing for the game. He’s a very nice guy who’s in a bad situation but just doesn’t have that oomf for me personally just yet. Halsin I’m just now starting on his quest so I can get him in my party.

I missed my chance to get gale and karlach. This is where the start of my frustrations go where the game is unforgivable in making it obvious or segues on hey you should find this person like gale for one. Didn’t realize he was a random thing that’s seemingly dangerous and my instinct was oh let’s avoid this. Like come on. Karlach apparently was timed and I couldn’t get her after wyll gets his first punishment. Very unfair I thought. I been hearing karlach is an amazing character but nope. Won’t get that chance unless I restart back to wherever and/or replay the game entirely. BS

I’m trying to be vague as possible from spoiling and not giving too much big story info away so forgive me on the wyll part but that made me irritated. Because I wanted the whole deck of characters and be in on the know.

Also I think it’s BS of the game to only be four members when traveling. Should be 5-6 at least. Dunno if it’s just game coding and all that where that can be potentially be harder to process the different character AI and whatnot but man.

Extra members would be super helpful especially in big fights that are literally meant to beat the shit out of you. Some fights I had to redo two-four times. Some I had to weasel around and not just go in. Don’t care as this may be a subjective debate on how you play the game or how the game is but honestly it’s a bit counter intuitive. One of the big boss fights I won’t say I spent nearly three hours on. I was thinking omg am I even going to be able to continue because the game is that big of a jerk to players. I’m playing on balanced. Medium essentially or normal. Not that it matters but I also heard story teller or previous difficulty is not that much different either. There have been moments of progress I would make only to get knocked back an hour’s worth some times that makes me head desk. I try to save as often as I can.

But ya some of the fighting I just dread knowing it’s somehow going to be ass in some way because there’s hardly much of a means to prepare for everything unless you do. Then of course you retry with a different set up and the game may still be a absolute dick. It’s a matter of luck in a fight.

Like common sense at least to me hits with up close combat. Lot of the times my characters will miss on some swings that’s completely dumb in my book. You have this giant monster three feet in front of you and you miss a arc swing?? How?? I get that’s just how the spirit of dnd is but this is where computer vs tabletop comes into play on this scenario. It’s just how it’s coded and gotta live with it. Save a lot. Retry.

But ya some of the scenarios in or out of combat and just even the dice rolls will sometimes be absolute garbage on occasion. That’s just how it is on that too.

It’s a love hate with this game and there’s just some cases and things above like I wish the game was a bit more straightforward on like gathering more members and where and how to find them and time frames. Hell even one part in act one to do a certain something was on a time frame that I didn’t know about. So I’m just always anxious that everything is pretty much timed.

I do enjoy the game but I just have criticisms on it. I’m not hating on the game don’t raise pitchforks at me. It’s very entertaining and taking up my time because I’m fixated on it.

[mattzerella-sticks]

birds of a feather

Gotham Knights, Cullen Row & Carrie Kelley, 1.5k, GA

"With Batman gone, the Gotham Knights have taken his place in defending the city..." For now. But once their names are cleared, will that still be the case?

Cullen hopes it is. Though never expecting his life to turn in such directions, he finds himself liking the idea of being a vigilante. He even has ideas on what that might be like - keeping track of it all in his sketchbook that he doesn't show anyone. Because telling a piece of paper is one thing. Telling another person was something else. It made it all more real, and Cullen wasn't sure if he wanted that.

He has to decide quickly once someone catches him dreaming on the page again.

           Clean lines. Distinct, but subtle, patterns. Dark colors that blended in with the city’s natural shadows. Cullen carefully applied these aspects to the figure stamped into his sketchbook, hunched over its pages with a half-filled mug of quickly cooled coffee forgotten to his right and the last beams of daylight filtering in through the dusty and oversized window behind him. His fingers twitched through muscle memory. He had already drawn this figure tens of times since he, his sister, and the others first started nesting inside the unused academy clock tower. He had drawn the figure standing. Crouching. Bisected by the inner seam because the drawing took up two pages or a tiny speck that huddled within a corner. His profile was captured from all angles. He glowered forward, confidently, every time Cullen captured his full face. The figure jumped. He dived. He soared across the Gotham skyline. Cullen was only limited by his imagination. He tore through many pages, slashing different scenes onto paper of the figure in action. Tonight’s session was simple. The figure swung wide in a graceful arc towards the page’s edge, steely determination visible even behind the mask that partially concealed his face. It was as if he expected to break the page’s borders under his fist, yearning to exist beyond the page. Cullen did not believe he was ready for that, yet.

           “That looks awesome.”

           Cullen’s hand smothered the figure as his gaze jerked up and onto Carrie.

           The smaller girl stood over him, smiling, still dressed in her school blazer and slacks despite the school day having ended hours ago. “Sorry,” she said, stepping back. “I didn’t mean to intrude.”

           “No,” he said, “it’s okay.” Cullen slowly dragged his hand off the page, but not fully. His fingers skimmed the figure’s chest. “I thought everyone’d be out longer.”

           “Yeah. Steph texted me that her, Turner, and Harper will be out a little bit later.”

           “Is Duella not with them?”

           “I think she’s… doing her own thing.”

           “That – yeah, that sounds like her.” Cullen relaxed further, revealing more of his drawing. He twirled and tapped his pencil’s eraser on an unmarred section of the sketchbook. “What are you doing here so late?”

           Carrie shrugged. “I was… I had been helping Br… helping bring one of my classmates up to speed on stuff that he missed while he was out.” She fumbled over her words, twisting her fingers and faintly blushing. Cullen noted it. He didn’t mention it. “Figured I’d stop by and see if you needed anything.”

           “Me, specifically?”

           “Well, all of you. But since you’re the only one here…”

           He let himself smile. It was thin and tired. “I think we’re good for now. We hadn’t blown through the last of the supplies you and Steph smuggled in for us.”

           “Good, that’s good.”

           Carrie lingered. She didn’t stay in that one spot, taking cautious, measured steps across the floor, but she stayed near where Cullen sat. Her gaze bounced around the room, briefly connecting with his sketchbook and then flying elsewhere every few seconds. It was the only place her eyes landed more than once.

           Cullen sighed. “It’s… it’s a stupid drawing.”

           “It’s not stupid.” She said that too fast and knew it, too. Carrie huffed, squaring her shoulders and pinning him in his seat with her smile. Its sincerity nearly blinded him. “I think it’s really cool.” She inched closer to him. “What’s it of, if you don’t mind me asking?”

           Now he tensed. His stare dropped from her to the figure beneath him.

           Cullen worried at his bottom lip as he considered telling Carrie about his drawing. He’d been keeping this particular secret for quite some time and enjoyed doing so. It was a needed escape during the uncertain days and weeks that were spent trying to clear their names before the clock ran out on them. It gave him hope in those moments when it seemed like they were going nowhere, and the battle was too big for just them to fight. Cullen was afraid that, if he voiced it, the figure would lose his power. That Cullen dreamed too big, like always, and it’d be ripped from him and the cold, crushing waves of reality would seep back in to drown him.

           However, pushing against all that fear, was the fact that – out of all the members in their ragtag family – Carrie would understand his drawing, and what it meant, the best.

           He listened to that voice more than all the others.

           Cullen handed her the sketchbook. “It’s… me.”

           Carrie accepted it and studied what he had drawn. Then, with a small nod and a raised brow, she silently asked if she could flip through the rest of his marked pages. He signaled his assent.

           She carefully inspected his work. Her quiet review was tortuously long, the air in the tower thickening because of it. Cullen’s hands curled into fists. He nearly snapped his pencil in two.

           Finally, Carrie closed the sketchbook and handed it back to him. “These are all really good,” she told him. Then, she asked, “Do you want to be a vigilante?”

           “Aren’t I kinda one already…” he laughed, “the news certainly thinks so.”

           Carrie chuckled alongside him, pulling a seat close and sitting on it. “You’re on your way,” she said. “But I always thought you and your sister… that once you cleared your names you’d be out of here. Wasn’t that why you took the job in the first place?”

           Cullen stopped laughing. “It was.” He shifted in his seat, using the hand not holding his pencil to tug on his sleeve. “But… I don’t want that to be the plan anymore.”

           “Really?”

           “No, it’s…” He sighed. Cullen tipped his head back and hit the wall. He looked away from Carrie and found it easier to talk. He continued. “I wanted to start over in a new city because I thought there was nothing here for me other than my sister. And, well – being framed kind of sucked, and having Batman… Bruce… having Turner’s dad die and the city plunging into chaos since then also sucked… but because of all that I think I see now that there is something for me here? That maybe I didn’t before because I was… I was too focused on running away to notice. And letting some – some jerk scare me out of my home. When really it’s him and all the other jerks out there that think they own the place who should be scared out of our home, our city.” There was a lump in his throat he tried swallowing past. “Gotham needs people to step up now that Batman’s gone. To help. I like what we do and – and that it helps people. And even after we do clear our names and stop the Court, I think I’m gonna keep at it.”

           There wasn’t any teasing. No snide laughter or condescending hums. Carrie didn’t seem like the type, but Cullen was prepared for any outcome.

           Except, apparently, for Carrie laying her hand on his knee and telling him, “I think that’s wonderful.”

           He was startled by that. Cullen’s gaze found hers and he asked, “It is?”

           “Yeah.” She squeezed his knee as she spoke, “You’re right. Gotham needs people looking out for her, for the safety of everyone who lives here. Bruce… was one man. He did his best, but he couldn’t be everywhere. He couldn’t solve every problem. With him gone, it’s people like us who have to do our best and fill the vigilante-sized hole that was left behind.”

           Cullen was helpless to stop the smile that appeared on his face at her words. He reached forward and laid his hand atop hers, gently tapping the back of it in gratitude. “Do you think we’ll be enough? Batman was one man. We’re a bunch of kids.”

           “We’ll never know if we don’t try. But…”

           “But?”

           “I think we can be even better.”

           It was almost cliché, but Cullen felt lighter because of Carrie’s encouragement. Despite all that troubled him over the past few minutes, he found it easy to laugh with her and believe what she had said. Almost like what scared him wasn’t as powerful as he first thought.

           Carrie nudged her knee into his, drawing him from his contemplation. “Did you come up with a name?” Her face scrunched, brows drawn in and glasses rising off her nose. “I hope you didn’t think you’d be another Robin.”

           “No, no. There can be only one Robin.”

           “Is it bat-themed, then?”

           “No, it’s still a bird.”

           “But not a robin?”

           Cullen sighed, flipping open his sketchbook again to a page near the end with different names scribbled throughout it. “I’ve been thinking, going over different species and seeing which one made the most sense. There’s this big book of birds in your library, and I got a few I’ve been sitting with.”

           Carrie tapped at one of the names. Starling. “I like this one.”

           He did, too. “Still, I don’t know how it could strike fear into the hearts of criminals.”

           “Like Robin does?”

           “If you say it with a deep enough growl… Robin. See! Robin… spooky.”

           She punched his shoulder, laughing, “Shut up!”

           They spent the next hour debating codenames and Cullen’s dreams hadn’t felt more real.

[sammysam999]

Honestly the results - as sad as they are - are very much in accordance with the trends seen around all social media: Marginalized people are more likely to get targeted by harassment and thus more likely to get silenced and pushed from platforms (Unfortunately the dream of the internet and social media as equalizer of discussion sovereignty died rather fast...).

Tumblr is in this case not different even if it advertises itself as "queerest site on the web"... which we can argue about, but also: White queer communities more often than not struggle with dismantling racism in their own ranks... otherwise they might be less white actually. Part of the struggle is often white fragility, but in queer (and leftist) spaces I feel often also plays the self-image of those groups specifically as progressive a role in those struggles. Because the self-image doesn't fit with the reality of those groups as progressives or as discriminated class themselves. It causes a dissonance that the communities struggle to address. Add to this the current trend especially of online spaces of catastrophizing every misstep a person does as the worst thing ever, which is especially bad in certain spaces of tumblr and you create an environment even less likely to examine potential shortcomings.

All of that makes it so, that we can see some queer and leftist communities develop nearly a resistance to investigate discriminatory behaviors and blind spots in their own ranks. All of which causes a hostile environment for POC. Which might sting more because, well, we expect racism from the right, we expect racism from not small parts of society in general, but shouldn't other marginalized people know better? Shouldn't leftist groups know better? Shouldn't groups that have declared anti racism and inclusion part of their causes do better? And, yes, the answer is they should. But we don't. Not enough at least.

Additionally tumblr doesn't offer much reason to resist this hostile environment either: Especially those using social media for activism/journalism might endure hostility if they can still reach more people with their work that way, however tumblr is by now comparable small and not worth to deal with racist harassment. There are other alternatives that offer a bigger audience. And those who just seek community instead of using their social media for educating others? Probably moved to discord.

And then of course there is the issue of moderation on tumblr. Basically badly constructed and enforced moderation has a provable impact especially on marginalized people. Especially automated moderation and moderation using AI causes disproportionately marginalized people to get punished and banned. Tumblr is running on losses and the point at which that was noticeable for the longest time is the way moderation works or better doesn't work. While during the last months the cases causing most attention are the repeated false flaggings and bans against trans women (because there is probably a bunch of transphobes and radfems mass reporting them), we can assume that POC on tumblr got and get hit probably similarly often. But because the communities they had on tumblr did shrink over the last few years massively, I fear that any outcry is lacking the reach to cause many waves. Which obviously causes even less reasons to stay on this site...

So...yeah, it's not that surprising that the results point to tumblr being that white. Even with the limited reach and other reasons to take the poll with a grain of salt, it tracks with general sad development on social media. As depressing as it is.

Wanna see some actual numbers on this bc of another post. I’m curious.

Also yes I know categorization of race is complicated especially outside US contexts etc. etc. I just wanna know how comparatively cracker-dominant this site is, this ain’t a census survey.

If you white-mixed its up to you what to choose I ain’t measuring your genealogy or some shit.

Reblog this, maybe even multiple times, to increase response pool and visibility.

[carstylein]

The Role of Technology: Integrating Smart Features in Car Modifications

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Also, Read:

Understanding the Process of Car Paint Protection: Step-by-Step Guide

Exploring High-End Car Audio Accessories and Upgrades in Delhi NCR

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Originally Published at https://carstylein.blogspot.com/ 

[ahatintimepieces]

It Comes Down in Buckets

Before Luka and Hattie ended up in Subcon, they faced many challenges on the road as they adjusted to Luka’s curse. This is a lil gift for Mak, @doodledrawsthings, and their “””Coffeeshop au””” where Luka pushes himself a bit too hard while trying to make the day special for Hattie. Please enjoy!

Word Count: 7,678

The rolling waves tumbled against the velvet sand and the morning sunlight skipped across the foaming crests, painting them gold. Hattie’s grip tightened around the old bucket she had found as she inhaled the salty, fishy air. Standing at the patches of grass that separated the edge of the forest from the beach, she gazed out at the shore. Her sketchbook waited in her backpack, begging her to pull it out and to memorialize the look of the sea and snapshot the ebb and flow of surging waves, but she had work to do.

She had to find the prettiest seashells before anyone else so she could sell them for some extra cash. Every little bit helped.

Weaving down to the beach, the warming sand caught between her toes and kicked up with each flop and flip of her flipflops. She swung the dented bucket with rust stains as she hurried to the lapping tide. She stepped into the water and immediately squealed before jumping back from the cold. The foam receded, as if teasing her, and an impish grin spread across her features.

As the water crawled back up the shore, Hattie fixed her old baseball cap and then leapt into the ankle-deep wave. Her initial screech dissolved into laughter. Splashing around, her flipflops tossed clouds of murky dust up and the sloshing, icy water splattered against her leg. She placed her hands on her hips and struck a pose as she gazed out at the sliver of light where the sky paralleled the ocean. With the cascading crackles of the snapping sea rumbling around her, it was hard not to let her mind wander into daydreams.

She could picture it perfectly. A calm day at the beach. No time limits for her dad, no worrying about money, and he could finally rest. He could finally be happy again. And she could play in the surf and chase crabs, pretend to be a pirate finding buried treasure, or draw and paint next to her dad as he napped. She could picture it so perfectly.

But she glanced down at the bucket as it bumped against her hip. Its creaking handle brought her back to reality.

Hattie let out a huff before shuffling out of the grasp of the waves, where it would be easier to spot shells. But before she did, a playful crest rolled back to reveal the tip of a fancy looking shell. Gasping, Hattie knelt and carefully tugged the shell free and revealed what she always thought of as a mini conch, though her dad would probably tell her that it was whelk of some kind since it had a rounder top and thinner end.

After checking the inside cavity for any snail or sea critter by poking a cautious finger around to confirm it was empty, she held the whelk to her ear.

She grinned when she heard the ocean. But she was also standing in it so the shell could still potentially be a dud. Nevertheless, she placed it into the bucket, and it slid around as she went searching for more.

As Hattie combed the beach, a couple people showed up to lounge on the sand or wade in the surf. It didn’t get crowded, since it was a workday, but when she wandered towards the opposite side of the long beach, where the sand was cut off by rounded boulders that jutted out into the sea, she ran into a tourist screaming at a seagull.

“What’s wrong?” Hattie called as she hoisted her bucket overflowing with shells to the side to make it easier to sprint forward.

“That darn seagull took my stuff!” The tourist gestured angrily towards a seagull perched on one of the rocks surrounded by water. It bobbed its head around as it stood proudly over a grey camera. Sunlight glinted against the lens.

“I’ll get it,” Hattie offered without hesitation. She placed the bucket down and scrambled up the boulders.

“Wait, kid, you don’t have to!” He waved his hands across his chest, trying to get her to stop, but it was too late. She didn’t listen as she assessed the slippery boulders and slowly navigated her way across.

She came to the edge of the final boulder and eyed the gap between it and the one in the waves. The seagull cocked its head towards her and let out a squawk. Pausing, Hattie glanced around, trying to figure out how to distract the seagull.

Before she could, the seagull snapped its beak towards something behind her and she glanced over her shoulder to find the tourist was waving a sandwich around. The seagull swooped over her, and she belatedly ducked as it soared over to the tourist. He yelped and turned on his heels before sprinting from the squawking bird.

Hattie tugged her cap down in determination before turning back towards the rock. She took a cautious step back before lunging from the boulder and vaulting onto the next. Grunting after she smacked against the rock, she scrambled up and grabbed the camera. She slung her backpack over her shoulder and nestled the camera between her sketchbook and Professor Popcorn. For good measure, she tucked her dad’s hoodie around it to keep it extra safe.

Once her backpack was zipped, she looped her arms through the straps and got ready to jump back.

The tourist had returned to his spot, hunched over and panting with his cap askew and white and grey feathers stuck to his vibrant orange shirt. She inhaled a steadying breath and leapt back towards shore.

She misjudged the distance.

Nearly sliding over the side of the rock, she scraped her knee against stone as she clambered and clawed. Panic squeezed her chest until she could finally find her grip.

“Careful, now!” the tourist called as she hoisted herself up with her heart pounding. She glanced towards the worried man and gave him a thumbs up before crawling forward.

Her stinging knee threatened to buckle when she first stood, but she gritted her teeth and pushed onward. She navigated back to the beach and dropped down onto the sand.

“Geez, kid, that was dangerous!” the tourist sighed as Hattie pulled out his camera.

“But I got it!” She beamed, holding it out proudly. Her smile faltered when she noticed the identical camera that hung around his neck. His chin tilted down as he followed her gaze.

“I was trying to tell you, I have a spare,” he said apologetically. “But, hey! Since you got it, why don’t you keep it? It’s great for preserving memories!”

Hattie pulled the camera back, appraising the contraption.

Preserving memories? No matter how much she sketched all the places she and her father had been, it might be nice to be able to just take a picture to quickly capture everything. She could take a picture of the sea, in fact. But she stared into the curved lens with growing dismay.

Flashes of headlights and blinding snaps. Posters with blurry images of her shadowy dad offering money for anyone who could capture the pictured creature, dead or alive. And, even when he shapeshifted, he was still so jumpy around cameras.

Maybe she could sell it at a pawn shop for a little extra cash? In the meantime, it might not hurt to keep it on hand…

“Oh, hold on,” the tourist exclaimed, startling her out of her thoughts. She tucked the camera back into her backpack and blinked up at him with wide blue eyes. “You got quite the scrape there, let me help.” He motioned her over to his set up on the beach, complete with a towel and umbrella.

After the tourist helped her clean up and shared back-up sandwiches he had prepared, she let him choose one of the shells to take as thanks and set off to sell the rest.

She set up a little area at the top of the beach, halfway between the rest of the city and the parking lot for beach goers. After doodling a cute sign declaring her wares were ready, she caught the eyes of passersby and wove imaginative tales about the shells for anyone who came near. Since this wasn’t the first time that she had sold items that she salvaged while her dad worked, she had developed a good enough sense to get a read on personalities and how to appeal to them. Parents with children were easily swayed by silly stories about the shells. She even managed to convince a businessman walking by to purchase one since her wares were far cheaper than the nearby souvenir shops that sold the same shells. And, after all, hers were higher quality and, really, didn’t he want to support an aspiring entrepreneur? (It probably helped her chances that she practiced that word a few times prior to make sure she was pronouncing it right).

She bolted when she spotted some cops patrolling the area, though.

By the end of the day, she successfully sold more than half of her shells. She tucked the coins and cash safely into an inside pocket in her backpack, where her secret stash would help her buy food for whenever her dad inevitably got stuck in noddle form and couldn’t work. She had tried giving her earnings to him directly before, but he had only gotten upset, insisting she didn’t need to worry about money and it was his job to take care of her, not the other way around. But they both knew that he often pushed himself past his limits, and he couldn’t do everything himself.

She was just beginning to collect firewood close to their camp when footsteps tracked through the grass. Hattie froze, turning towards the sound and holding her breath. Golden light flickered between the trees and an approaching shadow broke into the small clearing.

“Hey, kiddo!” Her dad, still in his human form, which surprised her, jumped forward with a wide grin and his hands behind his back. Wrinkles lined the corners of his eyes, but he was alert with enthusiasm as he straightened. A plastic bag crinkled noisily as it swayed behind him. “Guess what I got for our most important celebration tonight?”

“Celebration?” Hattie tilted her head, though his energy was infectious, and she cracked a smile.

“Don’t tell me you forgot what day it is,” he teased, bringing his hand forward and adjusting the delivery cap he wore for his morning job of delivering papers.

“Payday?” she guessed, crossing over to their firepit and dropping the dry twigs and branches she found.

“N-no, kiddo,” he faltered, quirking a brow as he revealed a plastic bag with local dollar store logo. “It’s your birthday!”

“Oh.” She blinked up at him.

“Did you really forget?” His features fell and the worn creases on his face highlighted the underlining fatigue. “We talked about it, right? When we were-when we were moving.”

“Y-yeah,” Hattie said. She did sort of remember now that he mentioned it, but she hadn’t thought too much about it since they had other things to worry about. “I just forgot what day of the week it is.”

He didn’t seem to believe her but he accepted the excuse.

“Well, I got hot dogs and marshmallows,” he added quickly, pulling out a bag of large marshmallows for emphasis. If he sensed how she tensed, he ignored it and gestured towards the direction of the beach. “I thought we could start a fire at one of the communal firepits and have a cookout!”

“What about our camp?” Hattie gestured to the little circle of rocks they had set up a few days ago when they first decided to settle in this city.

“It’ll still be here,” he promised. After tucking the marshmallows back into the bag, he walked over to her pile of wood and searched for the longest and cleanest sticks.

“But the beach is out in the open,” she pressed, nervously fiddling with the edge of her shirt. “Don’t you need to change back?”

“Of course not!” he insisted with a little more force than he probably intended. In a lighter tone, he waved his hand dismissively with a smile plastered across his face. “I can hold it together long enough for your birthday. Come on! Let’s have fun!”

He placed a few sticks he deemed worthy for hot dog and marshmallow roasting into the plastic bag and then motioned for her to follow.

“But—” she hesitated.

“You know, I used to do this when I was a kid,” he jumped enthusiastically into the memory, not giving her a chance to argue. She frowned but grabbed her backpack and the bucket that still had the leftover seashells.

Hey, if they were going to be on the beach, she might as well keep an eye out for more.

“Any time we went camping, we would grab a bunch of hot dogs and marshmallows. Of course,” he added a bit quietly as they walked through the woods, “usually we had buns and graham crackers and chocolate. But I did snag some ketchup packets from the restaurant!” He beamed proudly.

Hattie forced a smile, though guilt gnawed at the reminder that he had worked two jobs that day, trying to get enough money together so that they could find a motel to stay at sooner than later. She considered giving him the money she had saved, but she didn’t want to cause him more grief especially since she could tell he was masking his exhaustion. Maybe she could hide the money where he would find it with his things? She could pass it off as him misplacing the bills!

Though, both of them had become increasingly vigilant when dealing with money in the past couple years. He would have noticed if that much went missing in the first place.

“Here we are,” he gestured to the firepit closest to the forest the second they walked onto the sand. “Sit tight while I get the fire going.” There was wrapped firewood next to the pit, all ready for them and their cookout. His water bottle was also leaning against one of the logs, indicating that he had stopped by before running to get her. While he finished setting up, Hattie gazed out at the sea.

The water mirrored the stretch of twilight. Orange-pink rays of dwindling sunlight lingered on the horizon and the occasional star twinkled in the darkening sky. Crackles and pops that came from the growing fire behind her mingled with the surging waves before her. And when her dad joined her side and held out his hand, she smiled as she took it, keeping her gaze locked on the horizon.

“It’s like that one picture in the book at the library in the last town,” she whispered, craning her neck back to meet his warm golden gaze. “The one with the watercolor illustrations!”

“It is!” he agreed, giving her hand a tight squeeze.

“I want to paint something like this one day,” she admitted, turning back to the sea.

“I bet you can, and sooner than you think.” His smile permeated his voice. He gently tugged her hand and nodded towards the firepit. Despite the lines under his eyes, he did seem happy, and that was good enough for Hattie.

“Okay!” She joined him on a log, and eagerly waited for him to pass her a stick he doused with water to keep it from burning.

Her dad filled her in on his day as they roasted the hot dogs. He got her laughing with a few jokes his coworkers shared, and she nodded knowingly when he told her about some of the customers he had worked with. When he asked about her day as he broke open the bag of marshmallows, she explained that she was looking for seashells and presented the bucket with her findings.

“Quick, if you have twenty seashells and I take five, how many do you have left?” he quizzed.

“F-fifteen!” Hattie blinked, hesitating only a moment as she registered the question.

“Good girl,” he praised, passing over a marshmallow.

“If you bought one bag of marshmallows for tonight, how many marshmallows will you have tomorrow morning?” She blinked up at him, trying and failing to conceal her growing smirk.

“Hmm.” He speared his own marshmallow as he gave her a wry grin. “That’s a tough one, why don’t you give me a hint?”

“Zero!” She pulled her burning marshmallow out of the fire and quickly blew on it.

The flames dissipated into a plume of smoke, leaving a burnt crust behind on the marshmallow. Without waiting, she popped it into her mouth and the gooey burst of molten sugar melted on her tongue.

“Becath I’ll eat ‘em all!” she declared through her sticky mouthful.

“Just don’t choke!” He chuckled before putting his arm around her and giving her a side squeeze. She immediately snuggled into his side, comforted by his warmth.

As they worked through the marshmallows and the night cloaked the beach, Hattie pulled out the hoodie and tugged it over herself. The hoodie was far too big since it was her dad’s but despite the floppy sleeves and how it was more like a dress on her, it was cozy and kept the night chill away. She became even cozier when her dad plucked her up and enveloped her in a hug.

“Happy birthday, princess,” he whispered as he nuzzled his cheek against hers.

“Hap—erm,” her cheeks flushed since she had almost wished him a happy birthday back. “Thank you.”

He chuckled and gave her a tight squeeze.

“Okay, I have one more surprise,” he said, arching back and stretching his arm maybe a bit farther than a human arm should, and rummaged around the plastic bag.

She leaned over, trying to peek and his other hand moved over her eyes.

“Don’t look!” He shifted around a bit before Hattie felt something lower into her lap. “Alright, now you can.” He pulled his hand away and she immediately glanced down.

Watercolors. A plastic palette of watercolors rested in her lap with a tiny brush snuggly tucked into a divot on the side. A single golden ribbon was taped on for the birthday wrapping. Her chest tightened as she imagined all the things she could paint, all the things she wanted to bring to life with water-soaked pigments.

But how much did he spend on her?

“Well?” he prompted with an edge of nervousness. “Is it okay?”

“I love it.” In one swift movement, she hugged the palette before swiveling around and burying her face into his chest. A lump threatened to lodge in her throat, but she swallowed it as she hugged her dad.

“Oh, Hattie.” He leaned over her and held her tightly. “I’m glad. I know it’s not much.”

“It’s perfect,” she promised, grasping his shirt.

He did so much for her, sacrificed so much just to take care of her, and now this? She wished she could do more to help.

After a few moments of lingering in his embrace, she pulled back while rubbing at her eyes.

“Everything oh-ahem.” Her dad suddenly pulled his hand away from his task of brushing her hair back. She wrinkled her nose as she blinked up at him.

He held his hand behind his back and his nervous, forced smile revealed his growing fangs.

“Dad,” she shuffled out of his lap, “you need to change back.”

She glanced around the beach quickly, relieved that there was no one nearby to see him.

“No!” He winced when an edge of a reverb tainted his voice. He cleared his throat and waved his other hand dismissively. It had completely turned ebony-violet. “I’m fine! I can hold it for a little long—” he stalled as he glimpsed his other hand and snapped it behind his back too, “—longer.”

Hattie frowned with her brows drooping. His irises radiated golden light as his pupils faded.

“Please. I know I can—” he faltered, pulling his hands back and holding them out before himself. His fingers trembled as they dripped, trying to reconnect. He bit his lip and grimaced when his lengthening fangs jabbed him. The familiar, purple-singed shadows spread from the expanding tips of his chestnut hair.

“It’s okay,” she insisted, turning around and rolling up the sleeves of the hoodie to start cleaning up so that they could head back to camp. She knew he was probably more exhausted than he let on.

“But it’s your birthday,” he whispered in such a broken voice that she felt a world of guilt press against her shoulders.

“And I can still spend it with you as a noodle!” She kept her tone light, giving him a smile strained from her concern.

The gold had encased his eyes and his teeth became backlit by a surging light in his throat. He considered her with tight dismay before scowling.

“No!” He pushed to his feet. “No, I can do this!”

“But, Dad,” Hattie called anxiously, unable to do anything but watch as he paced by the bonfire.

He held his hands out in front of himself, clenching them as he stared daggers into his purple palms. During his pacing, his legs began to quiver, and he paused, hunching as his hair began to drip. His fingers merged into mittens, taking on a gloopy appearance and Hattie thought that that was it, that he would just start getting bigger. She opened her mouth to try and get him to focus on saving his clothes, but the words died in her throat.

“Stop changing,” he wheezed in a wavering voice. He doubled over, clutching his stomach as he strained to keep a human shape. He squeezed his eyes shut and gritted his teeth, snuffing out his golden light. The flickering fire cast twisting shadows against his trembling form. His arms lost all pretense of having bones and flopped down like limp noodles. His legs buckled and he thrust out his hand to catch himself.

“Something’s wrong!” Hattie hurried to his side, reaching out as his mitten hand clenching the sand lost its shape entirely and expanded into a puddle.

“N-no,” his reverberating voice gurgled behind globs of dripping purple that stretched across his mouth when he parted his lips. “I can do this!” But just as he said that, he grunted and lurched forward. Viscous liquid oozed from his shoes as his legs melted.

But they didn’t form a tail.

They just pooled out uselessly behind him.

“Dad!” Hattie placed a hand on his arm, but it collapsed under her touch. He let out a strangled cry as his whole arm gave away and he slammed against the beach.

He continued to melt despite his groaning and straining. The trembling shadows spilled from his clothes and into the sand. Panic seized Hattie’s chest as she feared she was going to lose him to the beach. Glancing around frantically, her gaze fell onto the bucket, and she lunged for it.

“Hold on!” Hattie called as she dumped the shells out and slid over to her father, who had gone eerily silent as the pooling liquid oozed and spread.

She dropped the bucket into the sand and quickly tried to shove waves of the viscous liquid inside, catching particles of sand with it. Once half of him filled the rusted bucket and kept spilling out, she righted it before scooping up purple globs. She tossed handful after handful of the soupy remains of her father into the bucket. The trembling sludge sputtered and splashed. Tears stung the corners of her eyes when she saw some liquid darkening and fading into intangible shadows that disappeared into the sand, gone for good.

“Stay with me,” she whispered in a cracking voice as she scooped up every last bit that she could.

After wringing purple from his shirt, pants, and the edges of her sleeves which had tumbled into the puddle a few times, Hattie searched for any of her father’s features in the goop squelching against the edges of the bucket.  

“Dad?” She lightly prodded the thick surface of the liquid and it shivered. A muffled groan bubbled up, though no golden light from his eyes or mouth followed. Hattie sighed, sitting back in the sand as she convinced herself that the fact that he had groaned meant he was still there. But now just as soup. In a bucket.

They’ve been through worse, right? This, too, should pass?

“Okay, you just sleep while I clean up,” she muttered as she pushed to her feet.

She collected their things and put out the fire, all the while glancing at the bucket as the goop settled. Once she had the plastic bag slung over her shoulder and her birthday gift tucked into her backpack, she slowly picked up the bucket.

“Oof,” she huffed as she heaved the bucket up, wincing when droplets splashed over the side. “Why is magic goop so heavy? That’s stupid,” she grumbled as she slowly made her way across the dark beach and back to their camping area. As she paused multiple times to give her arms a break and catch her breath, she swallowed the rising lump in her throat and pushed onward.

*

Luka groaned and on top of the usual reverb that came with his noodle body it sounded oddly like the gurgle of a garbage disposal choking on water. He blinked tired eyes and the golden glow rebounded against the daffodil-yellow inside of Hattie’s baseball cap.

Oh. Had he shrunk down and dozed while Hattie was shopping? That didn’t seem right. Actually, what had he been doing before this?

A surge of panic bubbled up as he recalled trying to hold onto his humanity at the beach. He remembered the tighter he held the form, the more it slipped through his clenched fingers. He heard a slosh of thick liquid when he tried to lift his hand.

He couldn’t lift his hand.

He couldn’t lift his hand.

He couldn’t even turn his head! His eyes darted around frantically, catching the rim of some sort of curving, metal wall in the corners of his vision but he could only really look straight up at Hattie’s cap.

“K-ki—” he sputtered as some sort of gunk trickled into his mouth. Expelling wet coughs only caused more of the viscous goop to slip in. His anxious attempts to move coupled with his hyperventilating only increased the panicked sloshing that sounded like puddles disrupted by pricks of rain.

“Dad?” Hattie’s sleepy voice responded.

“H-help I’m—” he gagged on a particularly large glob.

“Hold on!”

He tried to spit out the gunk and a heavy droplet plunked against him. He shivered from the sensation but for the life of him he couldn’t figure out what was going on. Relief swelled when the cap was removed and Hattie looked down at him, with sunlight filtering through the trees. Squinting at the sudden light, he tried to squirm around.

While not happy, she at least looked safe and sound. She wore his delivery cap, and he could see the dangling strings of his hoodie. If the sunlight was any indication, he must have slept through the night. He grimaced, hoping she hadn’t been too uncomfortable or cold without his coil to protect her from the elements.

“What’s going on?” he forced out, feeling like he was talking through a wad of bubblegum.

Hattie sat back, making it harder for him to see her at his angle. He twisted to try to get closer.

“You’re in a bucket,” she answered tiredly. When she glanced up and realized she was wearing his delivery cap, she jolted and swiftly took it off.

“A bucket?” he echoed in distress. His eyes shifted around as he glimpsed the walls and the occasional splash of purple-black goop if he moved too quickly. He blinked.

“Oh my god, I melted.”

“Yeah,” Hattie sighed as she rubbed her eyes with the baggy, purple sleeve. “Are you okay?”

“Um.”

No.

“I’ve been better.” He winced, realizing all the gunk that was getting caught in his mouth was himself. Fantastic.

“Do you need anything?” she prompted with hesitation as she glanced around. “Like water or something?”

“I need to get out of this bucket!” He pushed his eye against the rim, and he felt himself ripple. “Here, dump me out! I can try to—” he coughed, “—pull myself back together.”

“I lost so much of you on the beach though,” Hattie objected. “And y-you just disappeared, like the goopy stuff turned all shadowy.”

He caught the crack in her voice, and frowned, both from hearing how part of him just up and evaporated—okay, a lot of him if what was left of his monstrous noodle form could fit inside a tiny bucket—and from how much he had frightened her.

“I can’t stay like this, though,” he argued. “I have work! And you can’t stay in the woods on your own!” He shifted around, trying to figure out how to stretch his neck or anything but his neck and everything was gone! First, he lost his body and now he lost his monster body? This wasn’t fair! He couldn’t live like this!

In his frustration, he tried to will himself to have arms or hands or even his tail would work. The goop bubbled and frothed, and he grunted from the strain, but he could do it! He could pull himself together!

“Stop!” Hattie commanded. He yelped as he felt small hands jut into the goop and scoop up his features.

He felt himself spread out and winced as strands dripped back down into the bucket with heavy plops. It was like the world and his body were spinning around him, disconnected and far from his grasp as his head remained stagnant but stuck. After blinking and spotting Hattie’s thumb acting as a barrier as trickles of him slipped through the cracks of her fingers, he grounded himself in her frustrated blue gaze.

“If you keep hurting yourself, you’ll just make it worse!” Her nose scrunched up into a hard scowl, but he heard the lump in her throat underneath her irate bite. “Just stop!”

“Sorry,” he gurgled quietly. Her brows furrowed even more, and he added as gently as he could, “I’ll rest, kiddo. I’ll take it easy.”

“Promise?” She stared him down.

“Promise,” he breathed out, slumping.

She lowered him back into the bucket and a soft bloop sound was followed by flickers of drops as she pulled her hands out. He hummed to relieve some distress as he tried to force himself to relax.

“Maybe you just need sleep,” Hattie offered. She grumbled a bit, but he could tell she was trying to soften her tone.

“That’s usually all it is,” he agreed.

He did feel a similar exhaustion to all the times he pushed his time limit and got stuck in noodle form. Only this was much worse. Even when he was a human, he wasn’t sure he could ever remember a time he was so tired that he couldn’t move his muscles.

Leaning his eyes against the rim of the bucket for some semblance of security, he desperately hoped he wouldn’t be stuck like this. But even if he did eventually turn back to monster-normal, he had a sneaking suspicion he really screwed over his already sparse shapeshifting time.  

“Do you want me to put the hat back over?” Hattie lifted her cap into his view. “To help you sleep?”

“No,” he said a little quickly. She lowered the hat and he added, sheepishly, “I know I can’t see much from here, but it’s better than nothing.”

“Okay. Go to sleep. Let me know if you need anything.” She scooted over to their campfire, and he heard the click of the lighter.

He sighed but tried to let the distant crackle of flame and the low tap of Hattie sketching on paper lull him into a semi-relaxed state. His eyes closed into tiny slits and as he dozed, a gentle and continuous rumble bubbled up from within.

“Dad?” Hattie whispered after a stretch of time, scooting back into view and looking down with her hair slipping from behind her ear.

“Hmm?” His eyes cracked open, slowly registering the rumbling sound. In his peripheral vision, the surface of the ebony-violet goop rippled steadily.

Hattie cracked a grin.

“You’re purring!” she said in slight disbelief before exploding into giggles.

“I’m—?” he began before he recognized the familiar and involuntary purr. A dusting of faint gold emanated from beneath the surface of the goop as he blushed.

“The whole bucket is shaking!” Hattie covered her mouth as her laugh trickled out in mirthful chimes.

Despite himself, Luka smiled, glad to hear her laugh.

“I guess it looks pretty silly,” he admitted, imagining the bucket wiggling around. Though now that he was becoming more alert, the rumbling slowed to a stop. In their absence, he realized how comforting the vibrations had been.

Hmm. Maybe the purring was a way to pull himself back together? It wasn’t something he could force or speed up, though. Typical.

“Do you want any food?” Hattie perked after she calmed down from laughing. “I was roasting some hot dogs.”

“I’ll try a bite,” his eyes and mouth shifted up and down in an affirmative nod that sent tiny waves splashing against the side of the bucket.

He couldn’t really tell if he was hungry, and he wasn’t sure how he was going to eat but he would do anything that would help him replenish some energy.

When Hattie returned with a torn piece of a hot dog, Luka opened his mouth and let out a gurgling, “ah.”

With a giggle, she gently lowered the hot dog as close as she could before dropping it. He felt the hot dog plop down and coughed. Hattie winced in apology as he closed his mouth and pensively chewed.

“I’m fine,” he said after a thick swallow. He couldn’t feel the lump of the hot dog anymore but in the past few years of dealing with his magic, goopy body, he learned to not ask questions he couldn’t answer and near the top of that list was wondering what the heck replaced his melted digestive track.

Hattie fed him a few more pieces and he swallowed the dismay of not being able to feed himself. Even though he had grown accustomed to relying on Hattie for help when his chameleon paws couldn’t work with delicate silverware, the familiar sorrow from the early days returned now that he didn’t even have hands.

After what he was certain was a late lunch, he napped on and off as Hattie remained nearby. When he would check in with her, she would present her latest sketches proudly, and even had one completed work in watercolor. It was a scene of the ocean, and while her sketchbook paper wasn’t meant to hold so much moisture, causing it to crinkle and warp when it dried, she excitedly explained that she was going to do other paintings exactly like it, but all showcasing the ocean at different times of the day. He told her that he was eager to see them, overjoyed that she was having fun with her gift like he had hoped she would.

If only he had been able to save up enough for a motel in time for her birthday, or at the very least, if only he hadn’t melted on her. But that was really his fault for pushing himself so hard.

He had just so badly wanted to make it special. She hadn’t even remembered her own birthday! What else was he supposed to do? Let himself turn into a monster? She deserved to have her actual dad on her birthday.

“Hey, Dad?” Her voice drew him out of his sinking despair.

“What’s up, kiddo?” he shifted his eyes in the bucket, trying to find a position that best allowed him to see her.

“What should I tell your boss?” She held out his phone, which was lit up with messages with letters in all caps.

Luka groaned.

“Can you read the messages for me?” He mentally prepared for the nerve-wracking ordeal of trying to explain himself without admitting to his boss that the reason he couldn’t make it to work was because he turned into a bucket of silly putty.

With Luka directing her, Hattie responded to the understandably angry but maybe harsher than necessary texts from his boss at the restaurant. Once that was done, he let out a heavy sigh, accidentally blowing a bubble in the goop, which shortly popped and splattered. He flinched when a drop landed in his eye.

“Do I have anything from the newspaper office?” Luka asked, dreading the thought of not only the manager getting upset when he found out no one had delivered newspapers in the morning, but of all the people who would no doubt call to complain about empty doorsteps.

“No,” Hattie replied slowly.

“Really?” Luka wasn’t sure if he should count that as good or bad. Either way, he was probably out of a job. “I’ll need to start looking for something else.”

“Why?” Hattie scooted closer, hugging her knees to her chest as she looked down at him.

“They’ve probably already decided to fire me,” he lamented with his mouth sinking and gurgling in the gunk.

“Nah.” She glanced away, tapping around on his phone.

He blinked up at her.

“Nah?” he repeated. When Hattie kept her gaze down and her lips pressed into a thin line, his eyes narrowed. “Hattie? What did you do?”

“I maybe did your deliveries for you?” she offered guiltily.

He stared at her.

“You what?” he sputtered, causing his sludge to ripple as panic seized him. “By yourself? Hattie! You just turned eight! My route is a couple miles long, and you would have had to bike before dawn! There are child labor laws! What do you mean you did my deliveries?”

“I had help!” Hattie hurried to explain. “I ran into a nice tourist I met yesterday, and he gave me a map and delivered half of the newspapers for me.”

“You worked with a stranger?” Luka demanded, shifting around in the bucket. “Harriet Princeton, you are not supposed to talk to strangers!”

“So, I’m only supposed to talk to you?” She threw her hands up in the air.

“No! I mean—that’s not the point!” he faltered, sloshing around as the bite in her words stung. Bits of goop splattered over the rim and Hattie jolted.

“Stop freaking out!” She helplessly tried to grasp at the stray droplets. “I can’t lose you again!”

He paused, tensing. Well, tensing as much as he could as a viscous liquid.

“Wh-what do you mean lose me again?” he pressed tightly.

“I thought you were gone when you melted,” she said with a cracking voice. She hugged her legs and rest her chin on her knees. “I thought I didn’t get all of you in time and you were gone, and I just wanted to help because you’re so tired all time but—” she trailed off in a squeak as tears filled her eyes.

“Hattie—” he shifted towards her, but the goop sputtered as he instinctively tried to reach out to his daughter. Liquid stung his eyes and he blinked rapidly. “Hattie, look at me please.”

She turned and revealed tears streaming down her cheeks.

Gold blurred his vision, but he pressed on.

“I’m sorry,” he began in a congested voice, thick with gunk and reverb. “I know you were just trying to help, and I appreciate it! But I don’t want you worrying about my jobs or money. You shouldn’t have to.”

His voice cracked and all too late, he realized that the reason he sounded so congested was partly because of the golden tears filling the bucket. They glittered in the goop, separated like oil drops in water. His breath hitched and the goop swelled.

“But I can—” he tried to continue as the tears slipped out and the goop splashed up when he instinctively tried to wipe them away with a hand that wasn’t there.

“You’re spilling!” Hattie interrupted, jolting upward and hurrying over, placing her arms around the rim but the added tears were causing his anxious sloshing to spill over. “Stop crying!”

“What?” He jolted, shifting his eyes around and catching glimpses of purple and gold staining her sleeves. Her dismayed features above him only encouraged his tears and he made a muffled sniffling noise as panic surged and his tears swelled.

“Dad!” she yelped. But her own distraught features cleaved through his squishy, melted chest.

“I-I can’t! Give me a moment!” Twisting away, he tried to lock his eyes on something to ground himself, but in his panic, he kept attempting to turn and wipe his tears. The spilling goop sloshed uncontrollably.

“Try to laugh!” Hattie begged. “Tell me a stupid joke!”

“Ah, uh.” He pressed his lips into a tight line as he struggled to think of something. “Um. You know what? This situation really pails in comparison to—uh—that one time we teleported into that bear den!”

“What?” Hattie furrowed her brows. But it looked like her tears halted in confusion.

“P-pails, like a pun? It’s a joke. It’s supposed to be funny. Please laugh,” he said weakly. He blinked and let out a tight exhale as he felt himself calm and the rest of the goop start to settle.

“That’s a stupid joke.” Hattie sniffled as she leaned back and slowly lifted her arms, revealing sleeves soaked with purple sludge.

“I got buckets of them.” He added a sardonic, “ha,” as the gold ebbed. While a few dancing droplets of tears wiggled in his goop, now that he was calmer, trembling splashes no longer spilled over the rim.

Hattie wrung out the sleeves. He flinched at the droplets that pelted his face and sent ripples along the surface.

“That’s even worse,” she sighed, though a small smile found its way onto her features. She tugged up one of her sleeves and gingerly reached over and wiped at the edge of his eye.

He grunted, squeezing it shut but when she pulled away, he watched her flick a golden droplet towards the grass. He sighed, blowing a few bubbles.

“Please don’t do my job tomorrow,” he said quietly. “We’ll be okay.”

She nodded slowly before thinking better of it.

“Only if you promise not to push yourself, okay?”

“Okay,” he said tiredly before he yawned. Sludge dribbled into his mouth, and he sputtered.

“Sleep.” She poked the goop. He shifted his eyes next to her finger, which was the closest he could come to giving her an encouraging nuzzle.

“What about you?” he asked, staring up at the canopy of leaves. There was still sunlight trickling down, but it seemed fainter.

“I can eat soon,” she shrugged.

“Wake me if you need anything,” he muttered, feeling his eyelids grow heavy.

Did he even have eyelids at this point? Maybe it was more that his eyes were sinking. Might be more apt.

Hattie promised to, but he had a feeling they both knew she would deal with any problem on her own before waking him. Frowning, he supposed the best thing he could do for her would be to recover as swiftly as possible.

He settled into the bucket, and soon enough, the sludge began to ripple as he automatically purred. He caught Hattie’s stifled snort at the vibrating bucket before he fell asleep.

Night blanketed the forest by the time he woke up again. Still purring, he blinked as he felt something shift. The rippling rumbles of goop seemed to be tightening and when he moved to lift his head, he peeked over the rim of the bucket. Relief swelled inside as he spotted Hattie’s back. She was drawing by the fire, safe and sound.

Edging backward, he tilted his head down, blinking at the vibrating goop as it slowly re-solidified into shape. After a moment, he lifted his noodle arms and wiggled his chameleon paws. Funny, he was actually relieved to see them for once. Once his tail formed, he heaved out a sigh. There wasn’t a drop of him left behind in the bucket, but now he took up less volume.

“Kiddo,” he called softly, floating up to the rim of the bucket and placing his hands on the edge, curling his tail beneath himself.

“Dad!” Hattie gasped when she saw his familiar form. Scrambling around, she darted over, and he flew up into her embrace.

“You’re tiny,” she muttered into the plush fluff around his neck. His tail waved back and forth as he returned her firm hug.

“I’m sure I’ll get back to normal size,” he guessed. Probably. After a long enough rest without using his shapeshifting.

Moments passed until he caught a low grumble coming from Hattie’s stomach. He craned his neck with a smirk.

“In the meantime, are there anymore marshmallows to share?”

“I ate them all. Remember our math quiz? Zero left.” Hattie said without missing a beat as she turned back around and brought him to the fireside. “Just kidding, I saved you some.”

“That’s my girl!” His tail waved harder as he chuckled.

He extended an arm towards the bag, noting that he couldn’t really stretch it like usual, and made a grasping motion. Hattie plopped the bag into her lap, still using an arm to hug him, and they both took turns popping the confections into their mouths.

Yes, after a week’s worth of rest, he would grow to his usual massive size and when he could shapeshift again, he would have to deal with the consequences of missing so much work. But until then, he and Hattie would take it day by day and one marshmallow at a time.

[omiscurls]

Heyhey! I couldn’t find your rules, so idk if this is allowed or not, and if it isn’t feel free to ignore this, but may I request Childe with a reader who has depression? Thank you

tough

a/n: hi!! sorry for that, the rules are added by now, i chose not to describe depression itself, because it looks different on everyone, and you may not relate to what applies to me, but i'm hoping you'll find this enjoyable instead!!

plot: character helping the reader out of a breakdown, or a bad headspace

contains: tartaglia, kaeya

warnings: bad copying mechanisms, low mental place, nothing too serious mentioned

tartaglia

now, he's a man of action less than words, even though he's good with those, too

and to add to that, he's also a very perceptive person - if some negative vibe lingers on you for too long, he'll notice right away

however, relying on his experience, he opts to give you space to figure it out on your own, first, he wouldn't like to be making a huge deal of something that was just a worse couple of days

it's when you don't show up at your usual dinner spot, that he gets a little tingle in his brain, telling him to not dismiss it this time.

and so, he makes his way over to your place.

"ya there?" you hear on the other side of the door, followed by urgent knocking, sort of breaking you out of a trance, but you can't find it in you to go and answer it. he'll go away, you think, even better. your apartment is messy, you're messy, too, and it's not the right time to be receiving visitors. so you stay quiet.

"you do know i know you're in there, right?" he speaks up again "the blinds would be down if you weren't"

come in, you want to shout, and although no voice leaves your throat, soon the door opens anyway.

"hey, what's up, you weren't on the- oh." he stops in his tracks in the middle of the corridor, and you're already mentally prepared to a snarky remark about your sorroundings, but the only thing he says is a lighthearted "why're you sitting on the floor?"

the first thing he thinks about is to level with you, so he plops himself down right beside you, and you bet it looks funny - you in yesterday's clothes, in a big, probably smelly, mess, and then a harbinger in full military outfit right beside you.

"i-" you try to say, but your throat seems too dry and worn out, so you opt for a whisper "look at his place"

he indeed does, hinting the small note of desperation in your voice.

"what about it?"

"it's a mess!" you sigh, covering your face with your hands, out of both embarrassment, and fatigue. you take a big breath before continuing "so i wanted to clean it up, i even brought all the... all the things, but it's so much stuff to do, and i'm tired, and- and i don't know!" you choose to stop as not to snap right then and there. "i can't even do my shitty chores right like an adult" you mumble, massaging your temples.

"and is sitting on the floor helping?" he simply asks, and for a second, you're almost mad at him for not being more... cooey and fuss over you a bit more. he sounds cold.

"what are you-"

"really, is it helping?" he repeats "because from how i see it, every little thing would seem bigger if you looked at it from this angle. come on" he nudges you before standing up, and offering a hand to lift you up. you, however, shake your head.

"i really can't deal with it today, childe, i'm sorry"

"just stand up" he pleas, and the second you take his hand, he helps you up in less than a second. when you're on his level again, he sneaks both his arms on the sides of your waist, and sort of sways around a little, before speaking again. "what if, what if we do it little by little? look, we'll start over there" he puts his hand on top of yours, and lifts your arm to point to the full sink along with his. "and that'd be it for today! and then tomorrow... actually, let's not make plans. we'll just pick something tomorrow, and do it then. does the sink sound like a lot to do?" he asks.

"do you want me to be honest, or do you want me to say no" you mutter, earning the heartiest and brightest laughter you've heard in days from him.

"always honest. but come on, i'll help." he rolls you out of his embrace, causing you to feel a sudden wave of cold, it was comfortable back there, you think.

however, as he works through the dishes with you, the pile does seem to lessen, and doesn't rule over your kitchen anymore. every time he hands you a plate to dry, he smiles as wide as he can, and it doesn't seem to bother him at all when you don't smile back.

"remember" he starts again, after a while of comfortable silence. he looks ridiculous, doing the kitchen duties in an outfit designed mostly to look presentable and slay enemies in it, but the look on his face is dead set. "the first lesson you've gotta learn before going off to battle something, is that the best defense is always, always to fight back. and if you don't think you can manage that, well, that's why nobody ever battles alone. it's common sense to have someone watching your back. and as for you, not only are you a great warrior yourself, but you've also got the best second-in-command willing to help you out. don't forget that."

kaeya

as for him, he's also perceptive and empathic, but the difference between him and tartaglia is that he does believe people have the right to figure some things out on their own, he's a firm believer in the magic of secrets

that's probably because he himself doesn't like to share too much about his deeply personal feelings

so he'd obviously see some wave of difficult emotions coming your way, but would he immediately start worrying? probably not

the guy doesn't have healthy copying mechanisms himself, don't think he expects those of others

every other night the two of you meet up at the tavern, kaeya always ordering wine, you asking the bartender for whatever was in store today, but it's never anything alcoholic.

and just like nearly always, you're seated at angel's share, him noticing you're not particularly in the mood for talking, and choosing to entertain you with as many stories of the day that went by as he can remember.

the waiter interrupts him, asking if your minds are already made up regarding the drink. now, kaeya always has you picking first, but since he sees you're still analyzing the card (as if you expected to find anything new), he goes first with a drink he knows charles makes really strong.

to his surprise, when it comes to you, you just mumble "i'll have the same he had"

before the waiter has a chance of writing that down, kaeya tells him that actually, you're gonna need a minute or two more, and to erase the order you've both put in.

as he walks away, the calvary captain's eyes pierce through yours.

"that's a pretty nasty drink you wanted there" he starts, feeling he can't let you handle your mess this time, preparing to dig a little deeper into what's on your mind.

you shrug your shoulders.

"hey" he speaks up a little firmer, hand moving to cover yours, and even though they twitch as to retreat from his grip, you let it be. "tell me what's up."

"nothing's <up>" you accentuate. "can't i even have a drink now?"

"obviously you can" he nods "as long as i know you're trying it just for the taste, and not for the strong kick it's gonna offer, cause that's a dangerous path that only leads to nasty places." concern shines through his gaze, and an encouraging smile is wandering somewhere in his expression, however his lips are still pressed into a tight line, the same he forms when he's either fighting or arguing.

you stay silent for a good long while, before sighing.

"maybe i want the kick. good, or bad, maybe i want to feel... something."

the sentence sounds all too familiar, as he shakes his head and takes your hand, leading you towards the exit.

"what're you-"

"you're obviously not in the right state to be in a bar, of all places" he states almost coldly "so i'm getting you somewhere safer."

the two of you leave the bar, and walk out into the cold of mondstadt's street, covered in the darkness of the night. you walk past him, not leveling up to him, just tagging along to whatever he's going.

it comes as a surprise, that you're neither headed for your apartment, nor his, nor the knights' headquarters. he's guiding you in an unknown direction, until you reach a dead end.

he clims up a small building, offering you a hand and shaking off your confused expressions and questions. "you'll see" he says. the two of you walk from roof to roof, and countless times you tell him it's ridiculous, but then, he jumps onto the city's wall, helping you out with two hands this time, sitting you down right next to him on the stone surface of the wall. it's a little wet from the night's humidity, and cold, and probably dirty too, but the moon shines right at you, and from this perspective, you see thousands of lights in houses, taverns and shops, from the bottom up to the cathedral.

going up from that, a calm and peaceful lake paints the landscape blue on the left, and even from up here, you see a sea of lampgrasses shining through the leaves of wolvendom forest. if you squint, lights are still on in dawn winery, and the path to liyue and all the other lands swirls around near diluc's house. there's so much you can see, even if the night limits your vision.

"i like to come here when i need to gain some perspective over what is happening in my life right now" kaeya speaks really softly and quietly, bordering on a whisper. "it's a beautiful view, even someone as insensitive to art as i am can see that, but other than that... it's huge. and even though it is, it's also alive. every single one of those beings whose lights are dying out as they slowly go to sleep one by one, they're alive. they're not a scenery, they're their own, individual worlds. and they all coexist with each other in such a clever manner, don't you think? they have their differences, they might even hate each other, or wish the worst upon the other's name, but from up here? they fit together like puzzles of one, big picture."

"that's a nice way to put it, for sure" you whisper, looking down onto your knees. his finger pushes your chin slightly to make you face him, and he smiles at you gently, thumb brushing against the skin of your cheek.

"you know, we each have our own worlds, built from scratch from such fragile materials. we have our worlds rise, shine, and crumble before our sights. we look over the ruins of them and think, this is the end of the world. there's nothing more, it's all dust now. but from up here, you see how many other worlds there are - everyone has their own. not everything that is happening in your world is true. you see it from first person's perspective, and therefore the view might be disturbed by many different aspects. you might not see the picture, you just see the broken puzzle fragment that can't fit with the rest, and you're ready to throw away the entire picture, without finishing it. but being here, it reminds me... the world doesn't end on the ruins you see. you can always ask someone to help you build them up again, and of course, you can expect it to fall into pieces once more, but this time, you'll keep in mind, there're-" he stopped, pointing to the city's lights. "so many people to help you raise it up to the clouds."

"your metaphor is really complex" you chuckle, but his face stays still.

"it's not the end of the world if your puzzle piece is broken. and the ruins are not unfixable if you feel too tired to build them up all by yourself. if anything, that's a start." his hand travels up to keep the hair from getting on your face, since the wind blows pretty hard on this height. "what do you say we start your puzzle once more, toghether?"

-

your friendly reminder that you can request things [here]

[athenasbloodyspear]

Don’t Make Me Beg Now Baby

Chapter 5 - Highway Tune

Chapter warnings: alcohol, swearing, asshole men (again)

As always, this is for @st-brigids-brew aka the love of my life who makes a sneaky guest star in this chapter under a pseudonym

Thank you to everyone who is reading this and sending me love. You all have been such a bright spot in my life and I’m very grateful.

Read on Ao3 | Masterlist

The roaring of the truck engine in the distance got louder and louder. The party-goers had started to hoot and holler as the sound got closer and closer to the group. The tree line in the distance was too dense to see the truck properly at first, but the boys watched as headlights flickered through the trees, accelerating faster and faster. The smooth sounds of the truck shifting, and then accelerating again reverberated across the open field. 

Suddenly the nose of a lifted orange Chevy pickup popped out from behind the trees before taking a hard left, drifting slightly as it took the corner into the field. The crowd gathered for the bonfire turned out toward the worn dirt pathway that curved around the field as Maven careened closer. 

All four Greta men looked on in shock as Maven quickly downshifted and flung the truck to the right, drifting into a perfect donut and revving the engine as the truck whipped around three times, kicking up dirt. Callie was cackling where she stood between Levi and Josh, nearly keeling over with laughter. Levi didn’t look shocked at all, just slightly exasperated as he put his forehead in his palm and shook his head. 

Maven finally let off the gas and the truck skidded to a stop with the driver's side facing the party goers and the bonfire. She rolled down the window and stuck her head out. Maven had the biggest smile on her face as she locked eyes with Callie. Callie had barely calmed down from her first laughing fit when the two of them burst into giggles upon making eye contact. 

“Someone toss me a beer!” Maven shouted. The whole party was wild with laughter and cheers as someone lobbed a Miller Lite into Maven’s outstretched hand. 

Levi and the boys walked up to the truck window as Maven popped the tab on her Miller. “What’s up boys?” Maven called, a megawatt smile nearly blinding them all. “How’s the party?” 

“It seems you brought it with you.” Sam called back. 

“His truck, Maven?” Levi asked, exasperated. 

Maven simply shrugged, taking another long sip of her beer before saying “It’s just a little joyride. He can have it back when I’m done.” 

“Uh oh! Incoming!” Someone shouted. Maven quickly looked in her rearview mirror and spotted another lifted truck careening into the field, significantly less in control than her entrance. 

Maven’s face broke into a devious smile. She leaned a little bit out of the truck and extended her hand toward Jake. “Hold my beer.” Jake laughed as he reached out to take the can from Maven. There was a brief moment when their fingers touched as the can passed between them. Maven winked at him as she pulled her hand away. Jake’s heart rate picked up in his chest as he watched her push the truck into first gear and rev the engine a bit. 

“Let’s have some FUN!” Maven shouted as she punched the gas, flinging the truck onto the rough dirt track path that crisscrossed the field. Maven floored it, whipping around the corners of the track and flinging dirt everywhere. The adrenaline thumping through her body caused her hands to start to tingle. She couldn’t keep the smile off her face. Her breaths were coming fast and the wind tearing through the open windows whipped her hair around her head. 

She felt so good and so alive. Fuck Mason, but she could almost thank him for this opportunity. This was the best thing she’d done in a long time. 

She glanced at her rearview and noticed that Mason had taken his truck onto the dirt track to chase her. She let her right foot fall heavier on the gas as she quickly punched in the clutch to downshift back to third gear, the deep bellow of the Chevy engine increasing as the rev limiter started redlining. She tore away from him, eating up the track as she took corners faster. She whipped past her starting point again and she heard whoops and cheers. From the quick glimpse she got, the boys were sitting in the tailgate of someone else's pickup watching the show. 

Well, she thought, better give them a really good one. 

When she checked Mason’s status behind her again, she realized he had pulled off the track right by where the group gathered. Sore loser. He had jumped out of his truck and was standing next to the dirt track with his hands on his hips and murder in his eyes. 

It just made Maven cackle.  

She whipped off the worn track and toward the middle of the field before whipping the truck into donuts again. Revving the engine over and over as she spun and spun. She felt high. She felt dizzy. She felt so alive. 

She finally let off the gas and let the truck's momentum carry her to a skidding stop, basically parallel parking it next to Mason’s other truck. She ripped the keys out of the ignition and hopped down from the cab. She sauntered toward where Levi and the boys sat, swinging her hips and throwing her shoulders back. She was putting on a show after all. Mason came storming across the field toward her and she couldn’t help but chuckle. 

She held up her hand toward the boys and said “Toss me a fresh beer.” Danny lobbed another Miller toward her, which she caught in her right hand. She used the keys from the truck to stab a hole in the bottom. She then tossed the keys over her shoulder, calling “Thanks for the ride” in Mason’s direction. 

She heard Mason curse, the keys hitting the dirt behind her somewhere, as she lifted the beer to her face. She spun around and made eye contact with Mason as she popped the tab. She sucked down the entire beer as Mason just kept trudging toward her. She wiggled her eyebrows at him, releasing a loud “ahhh” after she finished swallowing. Her adrenaline must have helped her shotgun it because she’d never been able to finish a whole one before, let alone that fast. She tossed the can in the direction of the large trash bin near the fire, just narrowly missing the lip. 

“You crazy fucking bitch.” Mason spat at her. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” 

“Drinking a beer. What are you doing?” Maven quipped. 

Mason’s face had gone all blotchy red. “Don’t fucking be cute with me. You stole my fucking truck!” 

Maven rolled her eyes at Mason exaggeratedly before responding calmly. “Correction, I borrowed your truck. Aren’t those the keys in your hand?”  

The whole party had gone mostly quiet to watch the exchange. Everyone was sipping beers and choking back laughter at Mason’s expense. There only seemed to be one or two local guys who were on his side, along with a little brunette standing near his truck who looked very uncomfortable. 

Poor girl. Maven thought. Not her fault she got dragged into this. 

Maven spun around to reach for the half finished beer she’d handed Jake earlier when she felt a hand wrap around her bicep like steel. Mason whipped her body around, causing her head and neck to lash back and forth a bit with his force. “Don’t fucking turn away from me.” He spit in her face. 

All four boys and Levi immediately jumped off the bed of the truck and stalked forward toward him. “Take your hands off her.” Jake demanded, his voice low and calm. Mason removed his hand and shifted on his feet a little. The boys were still walking forward but Maven held out her left arm and Jake halted when her forearm came in contact with his sternum. 

Maven sighed heavily and turned her focus on Mason, crossing her arms over her chest. She’d been rattled for a moment. But, having Jake just over her left shoulder, Danny over her right, with Sam and Josh flanking them and Levi standing right behind her… her god complex kicked back in. 

“You should see your face right now.” She murmured low to Mason, a ruthless laugh bubbling up from her chest. “I really have nothing to say to you so you should probably just get in your truck and leave.” 

“What the fuck Maven?” He breathed. “Why did you even take my truck?” 

Maven dropped her head back and laughed. “Because I felt like it, Mason. Because I walked in on you taking a little joyride in bed with someone else and decided I wanted to go on a joyride too.” 

A few folks around the circle gasped, having finally connected the dots. Mason sputtered. “Why were you mad about that?” 

Maven barked out a laugh. “Why? You really want to ask me that? You, the person who practically begged me to be exclusive when I was fine with just going our separate ways? You’re seriously going to ask me why I maybe got a little upset when I found out you weren’t following your own rules?”  

“Why did that matter to you?” Mason shouted. “You were clearly fucking Jake behind my back so I just figured I could have some fun too.” 

Out of the corner of Maven’s eye, she saw Jake clench his jaw tight, grinding his molars together. The boys all shifted uncomfortably at the false accusation, waiting to see who might throw the first punch. Maven was struck dumb. This was all because of what he assumed happened in the loft. 

“I don’t know why I even bothered with you.” Mason continued to dig his own grave. “Band boys are clearly your type, given your history.” 

There were gasps around the circle. All at once, Danny and Jake flinched forward, fists rising.  

But Maven beat them to it. 

The loud crack of a slap echoed across the field as everyone went silent. The fire crackling was the only sound left for a few moments. 

“Maven I--” Mason started, suddenly sheepish. 

“Never fucking speak to me again.” Maven hissed. 

“Maven, that was fucked up. I’m sorry.” Mason tried reaching for her arm again. This time Jake’s hand clamped around his forearm tightly, stopping his forward momentum before shoving him backward. Mason stumbled back a few steps before speaking again. “That was out of line, I know--” 

“The thing is Mason,” Maven started, tone casual, “I genuinely kind of don’t give a shit what you think of me. I wasn’t that into you in the first place. I only said yes to dating you because I couldn’t think of a good reason to say no. It’s not like you’re some incredible prince charming who swept me off my feet. You were an average lay, at best.” Maven glanced over his shoulder at the little brunette who stared wide eyed back at her. “I’m sorry I interrupted you earlier, but it’s not like he would have gotten you to finish anyway. My recommendation? Catch another ride home. He’s not worth your time.” Maven’s eyes sliced back to Mason, who’s whole neck and face were flushed bright red. “And you. I suggest you get out of here before I really hurt your feelings. I’ll apologize for one thing, and one thing only. I never should have said yes to you in the first place.” 

Mason just stared at her for a few more moments. Emotions flitted across his face one after the other. Anger, embarrassment, disappointment, sadness. She just smiled a sweet smile at him. One of his buddies finally walked across the circle and said “Let’s go man” softly before dragging him toward his truck. Maven watched them go. A few members of the party stalked off to jump in the other truck to bring it back to Mason’s house. A smirk lifted the corner of her mouth when she saw the brunette asking Callie for a ride home. From across the fire Callie looked at Maven and mouthed. “You okay?” Maven nodded, giving her the okay to take the other girl home. 

Cautiously, Jake stepped in front of Maven, reaching both arms out to grab her elbows gently. “You okay?” He asked softly. His eyes tracked back and forth between hers, looking for signs of distress. Maven nodded, a soft grin spread on her face. Before she could chicken out, she stepped forward and wrapped her arms around his torso, burying her face in his chest. 

Jake was momentarily frozen, arms stuck straight out behind her. He was sure he was imagining Maven wrapping herself around him. When she took a deep breath, her nose wiggled into his sternum, he finally circled his arms around her shoulders, pulling her in tight. Jake rested his chin on her head, taking a deep breath of Maven’s scent. 

They stood there for what seemed like hours, but was probably only a few minutes. The party resumed around them with animated discussions and boisterous laughter. 

Maven took another deep breath before pulling back from Jake. His hands lingered a bit on her shoulders before dropping back down. He put one in his pocket and the other swept up to run through his hair. “Sorry.” Maven sighed. “I just really needed that.” 

“No problem. Hug me anytime.” Jake said back, flushing and looking at his toes when he noticed the slightly desperate tone of his own voice. 

“I’m sorry that he implied--” 

“I told you not to apologize for him.” Jake interrupted. 

“I know, I just don’t want you to be uncomfortable--” 

“I’m not. It’s okay, Mave.” Jake smiled softly at her. She flushed at the nickname and looked at her toes. They stood in silence for a few moments, both grappling for something to say. Just then Sammy approached them. 

“Well hot damn girl, you sure can drive.” He finally handed Maven her half finished beer from earlier. Maven flushed even brighter as she took a sip, shrugging her shoulders dismissively. 

“That was pretty insane.” Jake found his voice again. “Where’d you learn to drive like that?”

“My Dad.” Maven smiled softly to herself. “He started having me fly around in golf carts and ATVs before I could even really reach the pedals. Definitely wasn’t my first time flying around in a suped up truck. I learned to drive stick on a truck just like that.” Maven sucked down the rest of her beer quickly before turning toward the coolers. “I’m gonna go grab another, anyone want anything?” 

Danny started to say yes, but Sammy slapped his hand into his sternum to shut him up. “Nope we’re good.” 

Maven eyed them both suspiciously, muttering “Ooookkaaayy” before sauntering toward the coolers. After she’d turned her back, Sammy spun on Jake and gave him a significant look. Jake paused with his beer halfway to his mouth. “What?” 

Sam gestured wildly in the direction of Maven’s retreating form. She was headed toward a section of coolers set away from the fires, a quiet spot where no one else was standing at the moment. Jake slid his eyes back to Sam’s and raised an eyebrow. 

“Oh, you oblivious man. Go get me a claw.” Sam said, slapping Jake on the back. 

“Why can’t you get it?” Jake asked incredulously. 

“My legs are broken.” Sam said simply, before turning and walking in the other direction. “Come on Dan. Let’s see if those dudes will let us ride their dirt bikes.” 

Jake groaned to himself before walking over toward where Maven was digging through a cooler. 

“Can you grab me a white claw while you’re in there, for Sam?” Jake called. 

“Flavor?” Maven tossed over her shoulder. 

“Whatever you think is the grossest one.” 

Maven chuckled. “What’d he do this time?” 

“He’s my little brother, does there have to be a reason?” 

“Touche.” 

She reached in and pulled out a black cherry White Claw before tossing it at Jake. “Just my personal opinion.” 

“Understandable.” He chuckled. 

Jake watched her as she dug around a bit in the cooler, trying to decide on her next drink. He tried to think of something to say. Literally anything that would start the conversation between them again, but after a while of watching he was too nervous and self conscious to think of something to say. He spun on his heel and sauntered toward where Sam and Dan were climbing onto dirt bikes. Sam frowned as he saw Jake approach. “What the hell are you doing?” he hissed. 

“What?” Jake responded, handing him his white claw. “You said you wanted another, so I got you one.” 

Sammy rolled his eyes dramatically. When his eyes landed on Jake again, they jumped over his shoulder where he saw Maven approaching the group, and then back to Jake. Sammy broke into a devious grin before hopping off the dirt bike, muttering “Let’s have some fun.” Jake furrowed his brow in confusion at Sam’s sudden shift in attitude. He should have known he was up to no good at that point, but it wasn’t until he heard “Maven! Take a shot with me!” that it really hit him. 

Jake heard Maven’s warm giggle bubble up from behind him. When he turned around, Sammy had his arm thrown over her shoulder as they walked toward where the liquor was sitting next to the coolers. Jake glanced at Danny who just shrugged. It was a gesture Jake saw a lot. It meant approximately “He’s Sammy, who knows what he’s up to.”

Jake watched from across the fire as Maven took a huge pull from a bottle of tequila before handing it to Sam, who did the same. Maven spluttered and cackled at something Sam said, leaning forward and grabbing onto Sam’s arm for support. 

There was a small pit of jealousy in Jake’s stomach as he followed Danny toward the two of them. 

                                                           ~0~ 

An hour and a half later, Maven was hammered. She didn’t really know when she’d crossed the threshold from tipsy to stumbling, but she was having way too much fun to care. She was wedged between Josh and Sam on a log around the fire, giggling as they bickered about a song. She couldn’t quite remember if they were fighting about one of theirs or someone else's, but their repartee was so funny she didn’t care. 

“That statement is based entirely on opinion Sam, why don’t you offer me some facts!” 

“Facts are subjective! I’m just trying to be realistic.” 

Maven could barely keep up, but she felt the muscles of her cheeks twinge with how long she’d been smiling. The day could have definitely been a disaster, especially after walking in on Mason, but it had actually turned out for the better. She was drunk in a field with her friends instead of home with a guy she was only kind of interested in. 

Her hazy eyes drifted over the collected party, her perma-smile was stuck on her face. When she caught a glimpse of Jake, standing off to the side in a conversation with Levi and another man she didn’t know, her smile softened and a slight blush tinged her cheeks. 

Maven was so glad he had been here tonight. There was something about him that instantly calmed her down. He’d held her so tightly earlier, like he could tell she just needed something to hang on to for a second, to ground her again. She had been flying, high on adrenaline from the moment she had cracked the door to Mason’s bedroom. 

She knew she shouldn’t open the door. She wasn’t an idiot, she could tell what she was going to find based on the women’s shoes at the front door and the jackets thrown haphazardly on the furniture. She couldn’t hear them exactly, but it’s like she could feel the tension of the moment she was about to break, so she’d opened the door to the bedroom and saw them tangled up together. 

She hadn’t felt much of anything, which was the real reason why she’d freaked out in the first place. She’d panicked, more at herself than Mason. Sure, it was a little humiliating to see the person who she was supposed to be dating tangled with someone else, but that wasn’t what struck her. 

When she opened that door, the first thing she thought of was Jake. 

She thought of the way he’d looked at her when she had explained her indifference about Mason in the loft. She was embarrassed that she’d wasted her time on someone like Mason, and Jake knew it. The look he’d given her was almost disappointment, but also full of concern and a touch of something else she couldn’t place. Frustration maybe, if she had to put a word on it. 

Mason had been saying something to her. Probably like “what the fuck?” or some bullshit line about how it “wasn’t what it looks like.” She didn’t hear any of it, she had simply turned and hurried back through his house and toward the front door. Grabbing the keys to his truck had been an afterthought. She’d walked to his house in hopes for a ride to the party, and now she needed a ride. She’d numbly climbed into the truck, her hands tingling, when finally the adrenaline kicked in. She assumed it was a delayed shock response, but once the blood rushed in her ears and the roar of the engine drowned out her thoughts, she hadn’t looked back as she’d gunned it toward the party. 

It wasn’t until Jake’s arms had wrapped around her that she finally crash landed back on earth. And now, in her warm and fuzzy state, she wanted him to ground her again. 

She was up and wandering toward him before she was consciously aware of what she was doing. 

Jake’s back was turned to her, so she was able to sneak up on him and slip her arms under his to wrap around his torso. He tensed momentarily when he felt her arms go around him, but relaxed when he registered who was touching him. 

“Hey there.” He murmured, chuckling a little as he felt Maven bury her nose into the place between his shoulder blades. “You okay?” 

“Mmmhmmm.” Maven mumbled, taking a deep breath of his scent. Jake smelled like worn leather, campfire and Old Spice. She wanted to drown in it. 

Jake brought his hands up to settle over where Maven’s were clasped at his sternum, dragging his thumb over the back of her hand. 

“Did Sammy get you plastered?” Jake murmured. Levi and the other man looked on in amusement as Jake spun a bit in Maven’s embrace to get a better look at her face. As he turned, Maven’s balance teetered and she started to careen a bit to the side, tripping over the doc martens on her feet. “Whoa whoa whoa.” Jake said, snagging his arms tighter around her and securing her to his side. 

Maven giggled and then hiccuped, burying her face against Jake again, this time the crook of his neck. Jake heard her mumble something he couldn’t quite make out, he thought he heard the word “safe.” “What, Mave?” He leaned down a bit so his ear was closer to her mouth. 

“You’ll keep me safe.” Maven mumbled. “So sleepy Jakey.” 

Jake felt a little twinge in his chest. He didn’t know which part of those mumbled words made it happen, but he didn’t have time to unpack it. He rubbed Maven’s back, turning his head toward where Levi stood. “I think it’s time to get someone home.” 

Levi, who had offered to DD them all, nodded his head. “You get her to the truck, I’ll get the other boys.” 

Jake nodded before adjusting his hold on Maven so she was propped up against his shoulder. “Alright mamas, let’s get you home.” Jake grunted as he shifted most of her weight onto him as he steered her toward the car. 

“I had so much fun tonight!” Maven slurred excitedly as they walked. “Sammy is so funny.” 

“Yes he is.” Jake agreed. He loved his brother, but he wanted to throttle him for letting Maven get this drunk and not monitoring her. When Jake finally got Maven by the truck, he leaned her against the rear wheel well for a moment so he could pop open the back door. He was debating how to get her into the truck when Levi’s voice spoke from behind him. “You two sit up front. She gets really car sick and it’s worse when she’s drunk. The front windshield helps. You get in and I’ll hand her to you.” 

Jake climbed into the passenger's seat, and then reached out to help maneuver Maven’s limbs onto his lap. She was sniffing softly and kept saying “sorry. I’m so sorry.” 

“Shhh.” Jake whispered, brushing some of her hair back from her face. “You have nothing to be sorry for.” Maven closed her eyes and rested her head on Jake’s chest, sighing deeply before going still. 

Jake caught Sam’s eye as the other three piled into the back. Sam was definitely hammered, but able to use his own two feet at least. “Why did you leave her alone, Sam?” 

“I didn’t.” Sam piped up, one finger in the air to make his point. “I saw her get up and was going to follow until I saw she was headed toward you. I figured you were a safe bet.” Jake just rolled his eyes. 

The car ride back to Maven’s apartment was short and quiet. The radio was playing classic rock that everyone was softly jamming to. Maven seemed mostly dead to the world, but halfway through she stirred and sat up, looking back toward the men in the backseat. 

“Can we go to the arcade tomorrow?” Maven slurred. 

“What?” Came the chorus from the back. 

“The arcade!” Maven emphasized. “Can we pretty please go tomorrow and play some games? I love it there and they have such good beer and you guys would love it too I swear.” Maven took a deep breath before turning her blurry gaze on Levi and pouting out her bottom lip. “Can we please?” 

“Yes, Maven.” Levi laughed. “We will go to the pinball arcade tomorrow.” 

“Yay!” Maven exclaimed, clapping her hands and bouncing a bit on Jake’s lap. Jake swallowed and clenched his teeth a bit, adjusting his hands on Maven’s hips to keep her still. “I love that place.” 

After that, Maven let her head plop back down on Jake’s shoulder and she didn’t move until they arrived at her apartment complex. 

“Someone should bring her up.” Levi said, reaching for his seatbelt. 

“I got her.” Jake said, popping open the door to the truck and lifting Maven out onto her feet before sliding out after her. 

Walking Maven to the front door of her building was filled with giggles and Maven breathlessly begging Jake to slow down. “My feet aren’t working!” Jake couldn’t help but laugh along with her. 

“Here.” He finally said. “Just get on my back.” 

Maven pouted, giving him a forlorn look before slurring “I’ll crush you.” Jake rolled his eyes. “You will not crush me, just hop on.” 

Maven gingerly (or as gingerly as she could in her inebriated state) hopped onto Jake’s back, her arms circling around his neck. He took the keys from her hand and opened the front door, and carried her all the way to the elevator before setting her down. They stood quietly as they waited for it to reach the ground floor. Maven’s arms wrapped around his torso, her head buried in his neck. He ran his fingers through her hair absentmindedly, staring at the distorted reflection of them in the silver elevator doors. 

Once he finally got her upstairs and through the door of her apartment, she flopped down on her couch. Jake gave Stacy a few pets before she curled up next to Maven on the couch and closed her eyes. He wandered into the kitchen to grab her a glass of water. 

He’d never been to her apartment before, but it looked exactly like what he assumed it would after seeing how she decorated the loft. There was barely a clean spare inch anywhere. There were posters, paintings, tapestries, antique mirrors and musical instruments hung on every wall. The eclectic furniture pieces were rich in pattern and color, and every inch was covered in candles, incense, ashtrays, plants, books, coffee mugs, wine glasses and beer bottles. 

The kitchen was clearly well loved. He noticed lots of high end kitchen appliances and cast iron skillets. There were bins of fresh made cookies and a box of homemade bread on the counter. The dishwasher hummed softly in the silence. He quickly poured her a large glass of water before walking back into the living room. He sat on a small ottoman in front of her and shook her shoulders a bit to get her to open her eyes. “You should drink this.” He handed her the glass, which she took and drank down greedily. Once she finished he took it from her and placed it on the end table next to the couch. “Let's get you to bed, yeah?” 

Maven nodded, standing on wobbly legs and stumbling toward the bedroom. Jake cautiously followed her. He wanted to make sure she was safe and taken care of, but a bedroom was personal space. Not to mention he didn’t want to cross any lines while she got ready for bed. His need to make sure she didn’t fall and crack her head open outweighed anxiety, so he followed her into her room. 

Her room was the same as the rest of the apartment. Bursting with color and clutter, however, the art and photographs on the wall here were more personal. He saw a few black and white prints of Maven in the store that he assumed Levi took. One where she was sitting behind the counter, laughing with a cup of coffee in her hand, and another wider shot of her climbing a ladder with a guitar in her hand. There were a few with who he assumed were her parents, along with a couple framed shots of her and Levi. He smiled when he spotted a few polaroid's they’d taken on their boating day. There was one of Jake, Josh and Danny all holding up Sammy between them. One of Danny and Josh, both of their wild hair flying in the wind at the back of the boat. And one of him, holding Stacy like a baby in his arms. Josh had snapped the photo, and you could see Jake’s eyes weren’t on the camera but somewhere to the left and behind it. His sunshine grin pointed in Maven’s direction, instead of his twins. 

Jake watched as Maven stumbled to her vanity, pulling out a makeup wipe and then flopping on her bed, wiping off her makeup. He sat in her desk chair, swiveling it to watch as she scrubbed at her face and then tossed the wipe on the floor next to the bed. 

“Do you need anything else?” Jake asked quietly. Maven sat up in bed and stared at him for a moment. Then she stood and climbed back onto Jake’s lap, straddling him and burying her face in his neck. “Whoa, you okay?”

“Mmmmhmmm.” Maven mumbled. “Just anxious.” 

Jake smoothed his hand over her back. “Why anxious?” 

“Embarrassed I guess. About today.” She mumbled again. 

Jake scoffed. “You have nothing to be embarrassed for.” 

“I just don’t know why those things keep happening to me.” She slurred. “I’m sorry I got so drunk.” 

“Stop it.” Jake said, tangling his hand in her hair at the nape of her neck and holding her head against him. “It happens. No big deal.” 

“I don’t like getting this drunk. I don’t like not being in control.” She muttered, voice wavering a bit. Jake’s heart slammed in his chest, cold rage and sorrow slicing through his stomach. He was definitely going to help Danny kill Ryan of Undercover Heart if they ever got the chance.   

“You’re okay.” Jake whispered. “No one’s gonna hurt you, I swear.” 

“I know.” Maven sighed. “You make me feel safe.” 

Jake squeezed Maven slightly against his chest. “I’m glad.” 

Jake felt Maven shift, and tensed when he felt the soft press of her lips against the juncture of his neck and shoulder. Her hands swept down his chest and slipped under his shirt where he’d left it unbuttoned. He quickly leaned back, snagged Maven’s wrists and stopped her momentum. “Alright, time for bed missy.” 

Maven pouted at him in the most adorable way and he almost laughed. He was holding his whole body still, trying to control his heart rate and keep both of them calm. “Are you mad at me?” She said softly. 

“No mama. The boys are waiting downstairs. I should get going.” Jake stood them both up, gently letting Maven fall back onto her bed. He turned away, averting his eyes as Maven popped open the button on her jeans and started to pull them off. “I’m going to grab you some more water.” 

When he returned, Maven was curled under her fluffy comforter in a giant T-shirt with her eyes closed. He pulled the string on her lamp, plunging the room into darkness, before turning to leave. 

“You could stay.” Maven mumbled, voice heavy with sleep and liquor. 

Jake paused before turning to look at her. She’d already snuggled back down into her blankets, her breathing even. She was probably asleep before she had even really finished her sentence, but he whispered a response anyway. 

“Not tonight.” 

                                                    ~0~

When Jake got back outside however, Levi’s truck was nowhere to be seen. Jake cursed a bit under his breath before sliding his hands in his pockets and turning to walk home. He was pleasantly surprised when he found a spliff someone had given him earlier in his pocket. He whipped it out with his lighter and lit the end, shoved his hands in his pockets and started his trek. 

                                                  ~0~

About 45 minutes later he pushed open the door to the boys cabin and stepped into the kitchen. The very end of the spliff still hanging out of his mouth. He’d smoked it slowly on the walk home, savoring it for as long as he could. 

He was shocked to find the boys still up, sitting in the living room drinking water and passing a joint around. Sammy had quickly sat up and looked over his shoulder when Jake had walked in. “What the fuck are you doing home?” 

“Thanks for waiting.” Jake muttered, toeing off his boots and walking toward where they sat. He dropped the end of his spliff in the ashtray and flopped onto the couch next to Danny, who passed him the joint. 

“Sam made Levi leave, I said we should stay but Sammy was quite persistent.” Josh spoke up. “So do not blame anyone but him.” 

Jake fixed his eyes on his little brother, raising an eyebrow at him. “Why would you leave?” 

“Why didn’t you stay?” 

“I don’t know Sam, maybe because someone got Maven so piss drunk she could barely stand on her own.” 

Sam flinched. “Well, did anything happen at least?” 

“Like what, Sam?” Jake snapped. “Did you honestly expect me to do something tonight? To try something when she was that inebriated? I’m not gonna be like fucking Ryan…” Jake trailed off, passing the joint to Josh to continue to rotation. 

Sam flinched again. “Okay, I didn’t mean that. I just thought you would have time alone. I don’t know…you could have hinted at something.” 

“It’s never going to work, Sam.” Jake sighed. “Just let it go.” 

Sam opened his mouth to say something again, but a sharp look from Danny shut him up. He huffed, standing up from his spot on the couch throwing one last remark over his shoulder as he walked toward his bedroom.

“Well, your loss then.” 

                                                      ~0~ 

Maven woke up at what she assumed to be around six in the morning based on the angle of the light coming through the slats in her curtains. Her brain felt like it was pounding so hard it might split her skull, and when she shifted a bit in bed her stomach lurched. She rolled over, squinting her eyes open. When she saw what was on her nightstand she nearly cried. 

There was a large glass of water, a bottle of Gatorade, two Tylenol, a lighter and a joint. Next to them was a small scrap of notebook paper with scrawling script on it. She reached out slowly and picked up the note, pulling it closer so her blurry vision could focus on the words. 

Please consume upon waking. The recommended order is joint, water, Tylenol then Gatorade. Then either more sleep or greasy food. Text me if you want me to bring you anything when you wake up. 

-Jake

P.S. If you can stand on your own two feet tomorrow, we should definitely go to the pinball arcade. Just let us know. 

There were tears dripping out of Maven’s eyes, and she honestly couldn’t say whether it was from her hangover, her embarrassment of her behavior yesterday or the note. It was probably a giant mash of all three. 

She sat up gingerly, snagged the joint and lit it. Between hits she started alternating choking down Gatorade and water. She also popped the two Tylenol, having to take a long drag afterward to keep the nausea at bay. 

Right before she fell back asleep, she snagged her phone, snapped a selfie and shot it off before passing out. 

                                                       ~0~

Jake stirred when he heard his phone buzz on the table next to him. He normally turned it off at night, but he’d left it on last night. He worried Maven might need him in the middle of the night, so he’d kept it on loud. 

He rolled over, noticing the alarm on his bedside table said 6:23am. He squinted at his phone, the brightness burning his eyes until he turned it down. A sleepy grin stretched over his face when he opened the pic Maven sent him. 

It was an adorable selfie, although she probably thought she looked ugly. Her hair was rumpled, her eyes swollen and half shut and the joint he’d quickly rolled her last night hung off her lips. The photo was accompanied by a text. 

Tell your brother I hate him.

Jake shot a text back before laying back down to try to get a couple hours more of sleep. 

I’ll be over with breakfast sandwiches and a bloody mary whenever you wake up again.

[moonbeambucky]

Hey Neighbor (Part 25)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader Word Count: 6423 Warnings: mention of injuries, fluff

Summary: You had a plan and then life came along with one of its own. With your future almost derailed you worked hard to get yourself back on track and finally everything seemed to be going right… that is, until your new neighbor moved in.

A/N: Feedback is always appreciated!

HEY NEIGHBOR PART 24 | HEY NEIGHBOR MASTERLIST

Time stands still like the eerie calm of the earth before a storm and in less than the blink of an eye things move all at once. The clouds break open with the downpour of your tears, a tornado sends you in a dizzying frenzy to change your clothes, hellish winds are unleashed that blow you across town so quickly you nearly forgot to take your phone with you as you scrambled out of the Uber that raced you to the hospital.

Sam’s call was brief. Bucky was brought into the emergency room by ambulance, fading in and out of consciousness from a car accident. Sam nearly went into shock himself seeing his friend littered in cuts and scrapes. You didn’t have time to ask much else, barely even changing out of your pajamas. You swapped thin bottoms for leggings, quickly grabbed your bra and threw a hoodie over it all, not thinking about how your hair looked or bothering to pick out the crust that just began to take root in the corner of your eyes. You grabbed a bag tossing in your keys and wallet and clutched your phone in hand to run downstairs.

The fluorescent lights are blinding as you enter the hospital, searching for Sam through the chaos of chatter and noise. The beep beep beep of machinery all around you, coughing, crying, moaning wails from people that want help or attention or just a place to sleep off their drunkenness. The ER was a maze you knew every route of but your mind pushed the knowledge out needing more space to panic.

Where is Bucky? Where is Sam?

You remembered the nurses’ station, sprinting towards it and happy to see a familiar face that does not recognize you right away. You didn’t expect Stacie to; you looked quite different when you were not put together in professional clothes and on the verge of bursting into tears and throwing up at the same time.

Together you quickly found Sam, unable to hold back the dam when you saw him and asked about Bucky.

“He went up into surgery.”

“Surgery!?” you cried out. “Is he going to be okay? Sam what happened?”

He let out a long and heavy sigh. The harsh lights above were unkind, showing the depths of the circles under his eyes.

“His leg is broken and he has some internal bleeding but we stabilized him and…”

You knew how hard Sam works, how everyone in this hospital works, getting an up close experience from your time there so you hated to be this person, frantic and begging for answers that he didn’t have.

“Doctor Palmer is an excellent surgeon. I’m gonna call her assistant now to let them know I’m sending you up.”

You nodded, biting your lip and roughly wiping away fresh tears. Sam pulled you into his chest and you felt your knees buckle. Bucky had to make it through surgery, he had to! A heavy sob wracked through you as you thought of the worst. Sam squeezed tighter, wishing he could stay with you upstairs through the surgery. Hell, he’d scrub in himself if they’d let him just so he could say he’s done everything to help his friend through this.

“I’ll be up when I can,” he promised, walking you towards the elevator.

You forced a worried smile. “Thanks Sam. Do you know… did anyone call his parents?”

Sam clenched his jaw as he thought about it. “It was pretty crazy in there, I’m not sure. I could fi–” He was interrupted by someone calling his name and you knew you had taken too much of his time already.

Your stomach dropped as the elevator went up, bringing you to an unfamiliar floor with unfamiliar faces that made you feel like an unwelcome stranger in someone’s home. You let the staff know you were here for James but a by-the-books nurse wasn’t keen on giving you information. Without thinking straight you had stupidly answered no when they asked if you were family, and when you asked if Bucky’s family was called she wouldn’t tell you.

You exhaled a deep, calming sigh, not wanting to yell at the person that was just doing their job, but as you sink into the uncomfortable chair you can’t help but silently cry to yourself. This woman doesn’t know how badly you need to know if Bucky’s okay. She doesn’t know that you spent the last few months ignoring him and wishing you could take it all back. She doesn’t know how much you miss him, how you love him. Even though he broke your heart you couldn’t help yourself from gluing the pieces back together and you needed to tell him, maybe you couldn’t tell him the truth but Bucky needed to at least know that you didn’t hate him.

The clock ticks away slowly and no one has come to speak with you. You stare at Winifred’s profile. She hasn’t updated her status since late in the afternoon. Does she know? Did anyone call them?

You decide they need to know, they need to be here just in case. A wave of nausea rolls over you at the thought and suddenly you become dizzy in your seat. You’re hot, sweating in the hoodie and yet you push on. Shaky fingers google his parent’s names and hometown in the hopes they are listed. You find a number, hesitant to call at this late of an hour. Rebecca was a few hours behind, and you debated messaging them in hopes of a fast reply. Should you do that? Should you be doing this at all?

Fuck.

If you had some answers you could at least feel a little better about all of this. You messaged Rebecca on Instagram telling them what happened and leaving your number. Your cheeks burn like lava as you rest your palm against them, dialing the number that google provided which may or may not be correct.

The phone rings and rings, and with each unanswered ring your stomach twists a little tighter. Relief comes but only slightly by way of Winnie’s bubbly voice prompting you to leave a message. Your voice shakes as you do, letting out a strangled cry as you leave them the limited details you knew about Bucky. Are they sleeping?

It doesn’t take long before your screen lights up with a number you don’t recognize and you were relieved to hear Winnie’s voice. Someone did call her and George, and they were on their way to the hospital.

“Rebecca sent me your number. I’m so happy you’re there. We’ll see you soon sweetheart,” she said, with sobs in her voice.

After hanging up you saw a message from Rebecca repeating what you already knew. They asked if it was okay to call you and you were thankful for the distraction. Together you tried to comfort each other, worrying about Bucky making it through surgery, about their parents driving with little sleep and so much on their minds.

“They’re here,” you said spotting George first from down the hallway, “I’ll call you back.”

It had been at least a half hour since their call and getting up from the chair was slow, your body ached from sitting for too long but you didn’t care. George and Winnie wrapped you in their arms, tears flowing as you embraced. The tears poured a little harder as you gripped them tightly, realizing how nice it was to see them again but wishing desperately it was under different circumstances.

George withdrew first, going up to the desk to let them know he was there. Winnie cupped your face softly, her hands were cold but it felt good against the heat of your skin. The corners of her mouth turned up into a smile that released more tears down her reddened cheeks, her eyes already swollen and full of spidery veins.

Together you waited. Talking, pacing, crying, waiting, waiting, waiting until a short woman in green scrubs called out for the Barnes family. The three of you jump up and you feel immediately sick, holding on to Winnie’s arm as you try to read the expression of the woman before she said anything.

“Mr. and Mrs. Barnes my name is Doctor Palmer, I was the surgeon who worked on your son James.”

Winnie held your hand a little tighter, squeezing as every second went by until Dr. Palmer said he was stable and in recovery.

“He came in with blunt force trauma from a crash. He fractured two ribs and there was some internal bleeding from his spleen which we were able to repair with arterial embolization. However, James had a severe compound fracture of the tibia. We debrided the area and secured the bone with plates and screws. James is in the post op recovery room and he’s awake but not fully lucid.”

A collective sigh of relief filled the waiting room, with mixed tears of happiness flowing freely again. The doctor said a nurse would come by to bring you in to see him shortly and you couldn’t wait. You didn’t know what you would say to Bucky or if he would even be alert enough to hear you but you knew it was time to let him know that the past is in the past and you want to move forward.

A beat fills the room, steady like a metronome to keep the rhythm but the sound is unfamiliar. Too soft for the drums, not high enough for strings. Quick, simple. Piano? No. The sound isn’t broad enough. Keyboard? Yes. Electric, synthy. But it still sounds wrong.

Bucky tries to open his eyes but his lids are too heavy, bolted down by invisible chains. He sees the light of the sun through them. He tries to lift his arm to shut the blinds but even they are too sluggish to move, heavy like they were coated in cement.

He feels the scratch of a rough blanket against his skin, vague thoughts cross his tired mind wondering the whereabouts of his comforter. His toes are cold, feeling like tiny icicles are hanging off them. His right foot drags against the mattress. Was it always this uncomfortable? It’s his left foot that isn’t covered, a sock that probably came off in the night.

In a state of half sleep Bucky tries to wiggle the icicles off and suddenly his whole body feels like it’s been set ablaze. The beat quickens. A terrible pain fires through every nerve. There’s a sharp sensation in his hand when he tries to move it making him wince. His left side has a dull stabbing ache that increases as he takes a deep breath. Bucky feels sore all over like he was just hit by a–

And then he remembers.

His breaths are shallow, the tempo moving rapidly like the hook of an EDM song about to drop the beat as Bucky replayed the scene like a movie. He left the premier’s after party in an Uber never expecting the violent jolt of an SUV t-boning the car into a traffic pole. Everything after was a blur. There were flashing lights, noise, a steady bright light, an angel with the face of Y/N.

Bucky’s eyes fly open in state panic as he looks around wildly at his surroundings. His leg is in a cast, elevated by a sling. Needles in his arm, tubes around his nose, wires everywhere. He felt like a mess, he could only imagine he looked even worse but then all of his worries fade away when he sees Y/N, the angel at his side.

You’re asleep on the chair, elbow propped up on the wooden arm with your head leaning against your palm. It’s not comfortable at all but you didn’t complain, it wasn’t important. It was nearly five in the morning when Bucky was moved to a room. The walls were a dreadful sage green that looked more like dirty money in the dim light of dawn. The room was small but the lack of a second bed for the time being made things seem a little larger.

George went off in search of a third chair for the room as you and Winnie pulled yours up close to Bucky, watching the gentle rise and fall of his chest. Sam came up to visit after his shift ended, introducing himself to Bucky’s parents. The tackling hug Winnie gave him was unexpected by his sleep deprived body but he accepted it all the same, giving her a reassuring hug that everything would be okay. Before he left you whispered a thank you in Sam’s ear, for treating Bucky and giving you a call. You promised to keep him updated as told him to get some rest, he certainly deserved it.

Bucky slept peacefully as you watched over him, your head falling forward and jolting you awake every time you had begun to fall asleep. Winnie had already fallen asleep but you were fighting against your body’s needs. You stared longingly at Bucky, wanting to be awake in case he woke up. George put a gentle hand on your shoulder, nodding with silent permission that it was okay to shut your eyes. A large black cup of coffee aided him in keeping watch and so you blinked slowly, your lids growing heavier with every languid motion until they remained shut for the next few hours. It wasn’t until the sound of rapid beeps that you were alerted into consciousness again.

Your head whipped up quickly with concern at the sound that slowly began to steady, finding Bucky awake with an ever so slight tug of a smile on his lips that grew once you locked eyes. It had been far too long since you looked at Bucky, truly looked at him without anger and heartache clouding your vision.

The scrapes and bruises that littered his face did not hinder any part of his handsomeness. His lips were dull and slightly chapped and yet it didn’t stop you from wanting to press yours against them. You lifted your eyes towards his, feeling blessed to be able to stare at the most beautiful shade of blue once more. They glistened with unshed tears as Bucky gazed back at you.

Your own tears came instantly, falling down the curves of your smile as you leaned over him. Your name fell softly from his lips and hesitantly you lifted your hand, wanting to reach out and caress his face. You pulled it back, dropping your head for a moment, squeezing tears out of your tightly shut eyes. Bucky was a blur when you opened them again but he was there, he was alive and you were more than thankful.

“Hey neighbor,” you sniffled. “It’s good to see you.”

No longer caring if you should or shouldn’t touch his face, you wanted to. Your thumb gently grazed the delicate skin of his cheek, early stubble scratching lightly as you brushed against it.

Bucky leaned into your touch, feeling him smile against your palm. “It’s good to see you too.” His voice was strained, still dry from surgery.

You took Bucky’s hand in your own, careful of the IV sticking out. He asked what happened, knowing he was in an accident but unsure of the details afterwards. It was obvious his leg was broken but you told him the specifics– the emergency surgery to fix his break and stop his internal bleeding, how Sam had treated him when he came into the ER. He smiled at that.

“You broke a few ribs too.”

Bucky’s eyebrows raised in acknowledgment. “So that’s why it hurts to breathe.”

Your lips pulled tightly across your face, wishing you could take the pain away from him. The tension released when you felt Bucky squeezing your hand as if he heard your thoughts, offering you comfort when he was the one that really needed it.

“Oh, your parents are here,” you remembered, though you looked around, unsure of where they went. “I’m sorry, I didn’t think to contact Claire.” The shock of Bucky’s accident made you forget to text all your friends until the early morning.

His face twists with confusion. “Claire?” Did you really not know? “Claire and I have been broken up for months.”

Your lips move without sound as you try to process what he said. You didn’t know what to say, wondering if Bucky hid his breakup as you had yours. Now you didn’t feel as guilty holding on to the feelings in your heart. You’re about to blurt out the words, to tell Bucky what you couldn’t say back to Peter but the sound of Winnie calling his name stopped you and you turned to see her running up to his bed.

“James, you’re awake. We were so worried,” she cried in his ear, contorting herself around machines while being mindful of Bucky’s injuries.

George walked in with a cup of coffee for you and you thanked him, getting up so he could get closer to Bucky. The warm brew felt good going down even though it wasn’t the best, forgetting to warn them about the cafeteria’s lack of quality. Good thing you weren’t relying on this to keep you awake, not since Bucky shocked every cell of your body into full alertness with his news. Though you were happy to learn he broke up with Claire it still didn’t mean what you wanted it to and you were thankful you hadn’t scared him off with an “I love you.”

Pulling out your phone you saw a text from Wanda, featuring a block of caps locked screaming with question marks and sad emojis. You typed back an update about Bucky, looking over at him with his parents and back down again to the message that was still in the process of sending. It took a few minutes before the message decided not to go through at all.

You excused yourself, letting everyone know you were going to update all your friends about how Bucky was doing. George commented on the terrible service in the room so at least it wasn’t just your phone. You probably could have stood on a chair trying to force better service somehow in different parts of the room but you also wanted to give Bucky and his parents an opportunity for privacy.

“I’ll be right back,” you said with a smile, passing a woman coming in with flowers for the person who had been brought into the other side of the room early in the morning. Your gaze lingered back at Bucky one final time before leaving.

George shared a look with Winnie and staring at her son she said, “Y/N was here all night you know...”

With your phone in hand you follow it like it’s a map with five full bars leading you to treasure. It only took walking around the whole floor to find a good spot on the opposite side of the building near a window for your text to go through. In between sips of coffee you recorded a message for everyone on the group chat, it was so much easier than typing it out and you were still very tired.

You decided to finish your coffee there, giving Bucky and his parents more time as you stared out the window at what looked like a bright and beautiful morning. A slew of notifications came on your phone as half the people responded. Clint was probably still sleeping but Natasha replied asking if Bucky needs anything. Though Peggy was in England she asked if there was anything she could do. Steve wondered if he wanted visitors and asked you to pass along his get well wishes. You typed back that you would find out, promising to keep in touch as the day went on.

When your cup was empty you tossed it into a nearby garbage can and headed back, not expecting to hear your name being called.

“Y/N? What are you doing here?”

You turned to see Elena, concern etched on her face as she held onto your shoulder. Embarrassment washed over you as you remembered how you looked, feeling even worse when you realized that earlier in the week Elena was technically your boss.

“Are you alright?” she asked.

“Yeah, yeah… I’m okay. A friend of mine came in last night, car accident. I’ve…” you took a moment to yawn, covering your mouth, “Excuse me, I’ve been here all night.” You slapped your face lightly to wake up, now wishing the coffee had been stronger. “He’s going to be okay though,” you finished.

“He? Is this Bucky?” she wondered, and you were surprised she recalled his name since the wedding was months ago. You sighed, nodding slowly as your lips pulled into a soft smile. “I hope everything works out.”

Elena hugged you before she turned around to see a patient, reminding you she was here if you needed her. It was really nice to know she was there for you, Elena had become more than a mentor in the time you’ve worked for her.

Heading back in the room you couldn’t help the smile that graced your face when you saw Bucky. The few minutes apart you spent were more than you ever wanted to do again. George moved down a seat so you could sit closer to Bucky, letting him know everyone was asking about him, wondering if he wanted visitors.

Bucky sought your hand again, smiling as your soft touch helped to ease the discomfort he was feeling. It would be nice to see friends but he was more than happy you were here with him. It wasn’t long before a nurse came in to check vitals and Bucky was relieved since he definitely could use more pain medication.

Winnie asked you to join her to get food since no one had really eaten and even though you didn’t want to leave Bucky you weren’t going to say no to his mother. Besides, you needed to steer Winnie away from the cafeteria and the nurse seemed thankful to have less people in the room.

Bucky felt settled after a dose of painkillers, easing the radiating aches from all over his body. George poured a cup of water, handed it to him and set aside the pink plastic pitcher.

“How’re you feeling James?” he asked, forcing a smile when all he wanted to do was cry looking at the state of his son, from the deep purple bruises on his temple to the scrapes that marred his skin.

Bucky gulped down the water, quenching the arid condition of his mouth. “M’okay, a little better I guess.”

“Your head feels okay?”

Bucky nodded. “Yeah, no one said I hit it or– ”

“Are you sure about that?”

George leaned in closer, as Bucky squinted in confusion. His smile dropped and his eyes grew stern as he organized his thoughts into a more appropriate lecture despite the disappointing anger that bubbled beneath his skin.

“I really wonder James, because see Y/N, a great girl who clearly loves and cares about you and you let her go.” Bucky tried to interrupt, to fill in all the details he hadn’t told him in the past but George wouldn’t let him. “No son, there has to be something wrong with you if you can’t see it.”

“Dad, it’s… it’s complicated,” Bucky let out with a sorrowful sigh.

“James, real love is complicated. It’s wild and passionate as much as it is frustrating, but when you find someone that loves you as much as you love them it makes overcoming obstacles worthwhile. Love isn’t easy but it is easy loving someone that makes you feel alive, that makes life worth living and when you find that someone you don’t let them go. Don’t let her go, James.”

Bucky sits with the weight of his father’s words heavy on his chest. It had already been hard to breathe and now things felt worse. He doesn’t know the full story, how a stupid mistake ruined the best thing that’s ever happened to him.

He wants to make it right, to tell you everything not that it would change anything. Bucky assumed that since you spent all night waiting by his side that you at least don’t hate him anymore like you used to, so maybe your friendship can be salvaged. Still, it’s going to hurt him to see you in Peter’s arms but Bucky would rather have you back in his life because not having you there at all is far worse.

You come walking in with his mom, smiling and laughing and it’s such a beautiful sight. The smile on his face can’t help but grow. Bucky watches as his father wraps an arm around his mom, pressing a kiss to her temple. She smiles looking up at him, pulling out sandwiches from a deli you had come from.

“Ohh and someone wants to say hello,” Winnie said, pulling out her phone, trying her best to connect to Rebecca on FaceTime despite the shitty signal. The connection is spotty and Bucky ends up having a regular phone conversation with them. They were definitely happy to hear he was doing better.

After the call Bucky asked about his phone and his mom found the bag of his personal belongings in the closet. She grimaced at the lack of clothes, realizing whatever he came in with was most likely cut off him in the ER, thoughts of the whole ordeal bringing tears to her eyes. Underneath his shoes were his wallet and phone which she handed him, surprised to see the screen had not cracked.

Bucky attempted to turn it on but it was dead. Normally you carry a charger with you but in the rush to leave your apartment that was the last thing on your mind. Your own battery had just passed half its life but you didn’t really care. There was nothing else you needed to focus on today besides Bucky.

His parents stay into the afternoon, getting a chance to speak with the doctor and meeting Natasha, Clint and Steve who arranged their visit together. They left shortly after since the room had gotten crowded between everyone and visitors for the person in the other bed. You and Winnie hugged, squeezing tight for a lingering moment, fighting the urge to cry again out of exhaustion and relief for the night you went through together. George gave an equally strong hug, one that Bucky watched from his bed, overhearing his parents making sure you had both their numbers.

You looked just as tired as they did and Bucky knows you should probably go home. He wonders if you’ll leave when your friends do but when the time comes and Natasha is shrugging on her jacket you make no move to do the same, only getting up to hug them goodbye.

Alone again, Bucky finds comfort in the silence between you, as the speaker for the TV lays beside him filling the background with noise. He watches as you set up the cards he received on the windowsill, making sure Clint’s it’s going tibia okay card is angled so Bucky can see it and smile.

When dinner arrives he frowns at cold peas and carrots, eats the bland chicken and enjoys the soup more than he thought. Bucky urged you to eat something more than the bags of chips and nuts you had been snacking on since the sandwich you split between breakfast and lunch. You insisted you were fine but he forced you to eat his salad, assuring you he was not in the mood to have it.

“Are you feeling okay?”

Bucky groaned through an exhale, his eyes squeezed shut as hissed an unconvincing “yes” through his teeth.

“I need more pain meds and…” he shifted as much as he could trying to ease his discomfort.

“And what? Bucky, whatever it is I can get the nurse in.”

“I… it’s embarrassing,” he admitted.

You smiled softly, leaning close to remind him, “Whatever it is can’t be more embarrassing than the time I nearly shit myself in front of you. Remember? All my trips running to the bathroom hoping I could make it on time?”

Crinkles formed around his eyes as Bucky smiled, chuckling before he realized how much it hurt to do so, at the memory of your food poisoning and the weekend he spent helping you recover. And now here you were by his side, doing the same.

“It’s uh, my…” He looked away, blushing beet red as he squeaked out, “...my catheter. It’s not great.”

An array of expressions crossed your face. “Yeah… I can imagine.” When you finally locked eyes with Bucky again you couldn’t help but smile awkwardly, offering to go get him a nurse.

It took a few minutes to return as you looked for the nurse, coming back with a surprise, Wanda and Sam. Wanda held back tears as she carefully hugged him and Sam couldn’t help but go into doctor mode and ask how Bucky was doing.

“I’m good. Alive thanks to you.”

Sam grinned. “I can’t take all the credit, but you are lucky. Very lucky.”

The nurse lumbered in, tired from a long shift but his demeanor changed upon seeing Sam, the two of them knowing each other well. Riley had praised Sam’s skills having formerly worked beside him in the ER for a while.

“Riley, this is my boy so please, whatever he needs make sure he’s taken care of, alright?” Sam turned to Bucky, “You good? Do you need a sponge bath?”

Bucky sighed, “No Sam, I don’t need a sponge bath.” He blushed with embarrassment, rolling his eyes at his friend’s teasing. “I would really like to pee on my own though.”

“Riley, call the stream team!” Sam shouted a little too loud.

Bucky instantly regretted his admission, pinching the tender bridge of his nose as he shook his head. “It’s nice they let you out for some fresh air Sam, that padded room must get pretty boring.”

Sam wore a toothy smile, happy to see his friend was still in good enough spirits to rib him back. He and Wanda stayed long enough for the shift change and though Sam didn’t personally know the next nurse he introduced himself and wanted to make sure Bucky was taken care of.

Once again you made no move to leave when Sam and Wanda did, getting up only to stretch. Your bones creaked like old wood, stretching out stiff muscles until you felt the slightest bit of relief. The chairs provided were not the most uncomfortable but after almost a day they definitely took a toll.

Bucky notices the way your eyes grow tired, how every action has slowed. You’ve been in the hospital nearly as long as he has and he doesn’t envy you, even with his injuries.

“Hey,” he whispered softly, stirring you alert. “It’s late, you should go home.” Your head shook before you spoke, opening your mouth to protest but he cut you off. “I’m good, I promise. You’ve been here all day and night, go get some sleep in a real bed.”

It would look stupid if you argued at this point, as you tried to fight back a yawn. Bucky asked you for a favor before you left, to grab his keys and bring some clothes and his phone charger tomorrow. “Only if you don’t mind.” Of course you would.

“Oh and one more thing,” he said, his eyes pleading up at you. “Call me when you get home. I need to know you got back safely.”

You nodded, smiling softly, before entering the number from his bedside phone into yours. Leaning down you pressed your lips against Bucky’s forehead, letting them linger against the warmth of his skin. Upon pulling away you shared a moment, smiling back at each other before Bucky took your hand.

“Thank you Y/N,” he said softly, rubbing his thumb across your knuckles. There was so much Bucky meant within those words and by the way you looked at him he believed you knew.

With his body on fire Bucky still rested easier than he had in the last few months, knowing at the very least he had you in his life again.

The subway rocks gently as you travel down the familiar route to the hospital, this time not worrying about making it on time to clock in but with excitement fluttering in your belly to be able to see Bucky again.

Last night you called him just before you went into his apartment, grabbing the few things he asked for and not lingering. You were a second away from crashing, having enough energy to plug your phone in before your face hit the pillow.

In the morning you showered, drinking a strong cup of coffee as you got ready. You didn’t bother with much but it felt good to look presentable. You grabbed Bucky’s things, texting people before you lost service underground. Rebecca thanked you for the updates and said they were looking to fly in towards the end of the week. George and Winnie would definitely be happy to see them again. They contacted you this morning as well, saying they would be seeing you at the hospital in a bit.

Bucky tried to keep himself occupied, shutting his eyes and eventually finding sleep for a few hours before the nurse needed to check his vitals. He stared out his window, watching the dark blanket of the sky slowly lift over the buildings, falling asleep once more before the next round of nurses coming in. He’s not sure how he’s supposed to heal if he can’t sleep but the doctor lets him know he should be released tomorrow or the following day.

It lifts his mood but the height of his spirits soar high above the atmosphere when Bucky saw you walking into his room. You look much more rested than he does and he’s happy about it. He savors your arms around him, feasting upon the scent of your floral shampoo, your smile bringing sunshine upon a gloomy world.

You put the clothes he asked for in his closet, taking his phone and plugging it into the nearest outlet, settling down again in the familiar chair beside his bed. You were just as excited to hear about Bucky getting released soon, the thought of him being just beyond your shared wall again was comforting.

After charging for a little bit Bucky asked for his phone, just to check a few quick messages. You got up to unplug it, the screen lighting up and making your mouth fall open. Bucky’s lock screen was you! Well, it was the two of you, from that time Winnie was testing out her new phone. It was a beautiful memory, a candid capture of a moment in time when you gazed into each other’s eyes, the corners of your mouths settled into a smile; two people holding back the feelings that were written so evidently across their faces.

You pretended not to have seen it, handing him the phone with the screen down. Bucky nearly forgot about the picture himself, his eyes flitting quickly your way as he tried not to breathe too hard and have the monitors give away his panicked state.

Your head was turned up towards the TV, watching The Golden Girls through the muffled sound of the speaker resting against the side of the bed. You couldn’t look at Bucky in the moment, not when you felt as giddy as a schoolgirl. No, you needed this time to collect your thoughts, to find the perfect words to express exactly how you felt and right when they were at the tip of your tongue you held them back.

Winnie and George walked in looking a lot better than they had yesterday. They greeted you both and settled in for the next few hours. They too were excited about his impending release, offering Bucky to recover at their home.

“No, ma I’ll be fine. The building has an elevator, I’m good.”

Worry crossed her face. “What about food shopping? What about bathing?”

Bucky’s eyes grew wide. “Well you’re not gonna bathe me if that’s what you think.”

You swallowed a chuckle, shifting your expression to a serious one offering your help. “For the food shopping,” you nervously added. Learning from the past, you shut your mouth to avoid the risk of digging yourself a deeper, awkward hole.

His parents left to get lunch for everyone since Bucky was sick of cold vegetables, and the two of you were alone again. He cleared his throat, licking his lips before asking, “You really don’t mind helping me?”

Your smile answered him before your words. “Of course not. Plus we still have a lot of pizza to try.”

You bit your lip watching the smile spread across his face, relief washing over him as things seemed to snap back into place as if nothing had changed. But Bucky forgot about Peter. You had been spending so much time with him this weekend he almost convinced himself things were different.

“Peter isn’t mad you’ve been gone all weekend?” Bucky asked, doing a poor job in hiding the uneasiness in his face as he anticipated your answer. He’s a glutton for punishment, reminding himself that things will never truly be the same again and little does he know how right he is.

“I broke up with him weeks ago.”

Your answer takes a moment to register, the realization hitting Bucky more than the impact of the accident. “Why?”

Haloed by the glow of the sun behind you, the words sang like the message of an angel, because there had to be some sort of divine intervention that brought all of Bucky’s dreams true when you answered, “Because he wasn’t you.”

A tear slipped down your face and Bucky lifted his hand, cupping your cheek and brushing it away. You cupped his hand against you, exhaling staccato breaths and smiling down at the man that brought music into a world that felt silent without him.

You leaned down, the tip of your nose grazing against his, your smile matching his as you closed the distance, pressing your lips together once more. The sound of love flooded your soul as you and Bucky found harmony at last.

EPILOGUE

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[sebbybooks]

Never Mine

Sebastian Stan x Fanfiction

Part One

"With my dog as my witness, to whoever was riding my ass if they didn't back off my bumper I was going to stop in the middle of the road and rip their windshield wipers completely off!"

That type of anger coiled around me like a snake, because there was nothing that bugged me more than someone driving bumper to bumper. The long and exasperated breath I just released helped ease the tension out of my body temporarily. Just in time for reason to settle in. Though in reality it wasn't like I was actually going to jump out of my car and confront this road demon. Who clearly needed to take a course on etiquettes of the road. What I did know was that whoever was behind the wheel of the car had headlights that were so blinding I am sure extraterrestrials in space could spot them.

Trying to find the calm in the situation I focused on the road ahead of me. What little road I could see for that matter. Which wasn't exactly much. I had checked the forecast earlier in the day with the report of it showing that there was to be only clear and blue skies. By the amount of downpour before me you would think there was a tear in the sky if that was how rain fell. I just needed to hang tight for a few more miles until I reached my exit to stop for the night.

I had been driving for nine consecutive hours and it wasn't until the third hour I realized I was not cut out for long distance driving. The plane ticket I turned down from my father was starting to look like a missed opportunity. I opted out for Cooper's sake. I just rescued the little guy a few short weeks ago and I didn't have the heart to leave him alone so soon.

Despite having only six more hours of this painful drive I needed out of my car. A hot shower and a bed was calling my name like a siren's call was to a dazed sailor at sea. I was fervidly drawn to it. Granted, I wasn't exactly going the speed limit in my own defense. Simply because I chose to be a cautious driver not a careless one unlike the dip shit behind me. Cooper and I were going to get to Sonoma, California in one piece if I had anything to do with it! I had no intention to speed in the rain even if it annoyed the person behind me. After all I was driving down a one lane road there was literally nothing else I could do but drive forward.

Taking a glance up at my trusty Garmin my gps projected that at this rate I wouldn't make it to my hotel for another hour and a half. Ahead of me the sky was starting to look like a terrifying shade of gray and to top it off the dismal weather was becoming more and more hard to drive in. I could barely see the paint on the pavement. My defrosters seemed to have given up on me as I began to notice that my rearview mirror fogged up as though it was twilight hour.

I needed to pull over to try to wait out the heavy rainfall. The only problem was that I did not know where I was nor could I see where the road even had an end. The cheap gas station coffee was starting to wear off and the pep talks could no longer motivate me. The words of encouragement quickly transitioned into self deprecating quips of "I can not fucking do this!"

I was too far from home to turn back now and hearing a lecture from my dad despite being well beyond the ages of even receiving one, certainly would not stop him from scolding at my absence. I am more than certain that fiancée number three would not mind if I missed their prenuptial celebration. Especially if arriving on time meant I would be showing up dismembered. It was official I was going to die in this storm.

All of sudden like I called upon a bad omen my tiny Kia Forte jerked forward. I thought I accidentally stomped on the gas pedal too hard without realizing it. When it happened again I knew exactly what it was. Clearly the driver had mistaken this for a game of bumper cars. I laid the palm of my hand on the center of my steering wheel and relentlessly pressed my horn. Not sure what that was going to necessarily ward off , but I had to try something in the efforts that they would leave me alone.

Cooper's head shot up from his bed in the backseat. He looked just as displeased and annoyed as I felt. Why wouldn't they slow down? Is the question I could not figure out. I don't know if it was all the Stephen King that I read, but my paranoia was increasing as I started to settle on the possibility that they were now following me.

Maybe I was tired?

Maybe my imagination truly was getting the best of me?

Or maybe whoever that person was also suddenly decided to take the same random exit as I was taking.

I didn't think. I veered my car off to the right and got on the first breakaway from this seemingly endless road. I had no idea where I was headed at this point and neither did my Garmin. It made multiple attempts to reroute itself, but even that could not locate where I was. I took an unexpected detour by driving off into the middle of nowhere with a now stalker in my midsts.

Adrenaline now filling up my bloodstream. I gave my steering wheel the death grip and drove as fast as the tire tracks of my car would guide me. On a midsize billboard to my left I saw a logo for a gas station and a non franchised bed & breakfast saying it was right up the road. I was taking a chance by trusting that the establishment was clean and safe. I just needed to go where a crowd of people would be. The battery on my phone was likely dead and yes this was now becoming the opening sequence for a King novel. I'd laugh if my heart wasn't fluttering as fast a hummingbird's wing.

I managed to make out lights ahead as I neared the petrol station first. However, it just about looked abandoned. The dim white lights flickered around the desolate parking lot. I saw only two freight trucks parked side by side and I immediately thought

. . .hell no.

I kept driving forward in the hopes that the bed and breakfast sign wasn't last updated in the early nineties. I nearly combusted from relief when I finally saw it. Several cars and mini vans lined up with people inside of them probably doing the same thing that I was. I didn't plan on staying the night I just planned on staying long enough to hide out from the rain and from the trouble that still followed my trails.

Luckily there were free parking spaces close to the entrance. It was still hard to make out what the place truly looked like. From my view in the car the rain made it look like it was a melting oil painting. In a swift motion I put my car in park, turned my ignition off, reached in the back to grab Cooper and grabbed ahold of my purse in the other arm. I bolted out of my car for the door.

It felt as though I was running through a hurricane. I was completely drenched. I could barely keep my eyes from closing as I ran up the slippery steps in my worn Toms praying that I wouldn't eat concrete. There was an awning over the door that offered relief from the storm's cruel embrace . Looking down at the fuzzy brown welcome mat I noticed a quote was scribbled out on it.

"some beautiful paths

can't be discovered without getting lost."

As I reached for the doorknob I couldn't help but notice the intricate design. I'm aware of how wrong the timing was to fawn over something so utterly mundane. I just could not conceal the fact that I was a sucker for antiques roadshow and architectural designing. Growing up with a dad that built and reconstructed vintage furniture one might pick up on the interest. It was a white privacy doorknob with hand painted roses, with a Victorian long plated silver keyhole. The sound of distant car door slamming snapped me out of my daze. I turned my head in the direction of the sound low and behold it was that same car. Crazy thing is I didn't see anyone by it.

Instinct guided me forward considering my brain was scrambling with worry. I ushered myself inside and it was as though I fell into a pink wonderland. From the pink carpet to the multicolored pink pinstripe wallpaper. Hot pink roses seemed to have been the main theme for the lobby. There were various black and silver picture frames with photos of pink roses hanging on every wall. On every surface my eyes could catch, red and pink plastic roses sat in circular olive green vases. It was certainly....something. I thought I was doing the most logical thing by coming inside, but it quickly dawned on me that I saw no one around.

"Hello?" I cautiously called out.

I paced myself as I walked up to the front desk, simultaneously looking around for any potential red flags. My right arm was going numb, my little guy was tiny but felt like I was lugging around a sack of potatoes. I wandered away from the desk to poke my head around the place. There was a entry way that led to a dinning area with a handful of seats adorned with of course pink table settings. I was standing next to a spiral staircase to what I assumed led to the rooms. There was only one door that held a sign for a bathroom. Perhaps there was a power outlet I could use long enough to charge my phone to call my dad.

The same door I walked in swung open and droplets of rain was blown in by the wind. A shiver rolled down my spine, sending a myriad of sparks that shot through my body. Turning around a strange sensation filled the pits of my stomach. It felt like butterflies and moths had taken up space there. Excitement and fear. I just stood completely mute like I had never seen a man before. Well to my defense I hadn't seen ones that look like him in my town. Without even seeing my reflection I had an inkling as to the state of my appearance. I was utterly perplexed by how he pulled off the kissed by an ocean look. To embarrass myself further of course my dog chose that moment to shake water off of his fur on to me.

"Really Coop?" I tried to hide my disgust, but he got it around the corner of my mouth! The good looking stranger offered a half smile that probably pitied my overall state.

"Is the black Kia parked out yours?" Even his voiced oozed sex appeal. He angled his frame so he could face me. There was about an arm length of distance between us. His eyes practically bore into my face I suppose waiting for me to say something. Must have been the buzzcut, the facial scuff, or the fact that some creep was still parked outside waiting to do who knows what. But my thoughts were not where they should have been.

I blinked and straightened up my posture. "Yeah why?" I finally answered.

It was a causal question, yet it felt completely random like there was something else to it.Neither of us spoke for a few seconds.The silence was so thick it would take a hacksaw to cut through.

"Well I'll be damned! I didn't think I would get to see you until after you got back from your trip in California." A woman most likely in her late sixties came rushing down the stairs for him. She draped her arms around his body clearly taking him by surprise. Her cotton candy colored pink bouffant made up for most of her height. Sebastian returned her embrace. Although it looked extremely awkward considering he stared at me the whole time and I stood there watching.

"Moe's old truck didn't give you too much trouble did it?" She asked.

"No it still got some life left in it." Sebastian's jaw went slack and he looked from her to me once more. Only this time he was looking at me with a cold glare. Realization suddenly crashed into me like a wild horse.

[indianamoonshine]

siberu | reader x din djarin

summary: reader is not human, but a force-senstive humanoid, who is searching for a legendary sickle in the caverns of an arctic planet named siberus. she stumbles across a lonely, very lost, and very cold din djarin in the snow. they discuss the strange little creature in din’s bag.

mentions: cursing. mention of the youngling situation during order 66. gender is a construct. reader is absolutely fawning over how cute grogu is.

note: just two people repressing obvious feelings. this was a request so i hope @tolkienblackgirl​ approves! i’m sorry it was literally months before i got to it. it’s not a super happy ending and a little angsty which is very unlike me. i really wish i could’ve done more with this, but i have three other fics on my hands at the moment so i had to make it a one-shot.

rating: m just in case.

it was way too fucking cold here.

you didn’t care for siberus just by the briefing alone, but when your ship lands upon the frozen terrain, you teeth immediately clench. snow falls around you in flurries, the wind spiraling them into a weak tornado at your booted feet as soon as your ramp tumbles noisily upon the ground. the air was heavy with frost and it showed each time you drew breath, the vapor chilling immediately in the polar atmosphere.

you tug your shawl tighter around you - a piece of fabric that you realized very quickly wouldn’t do much against the bite of the tundra. you thought you were ready for the weather - thought you were prepared for the manner of dress required for siberus, but the reputation of the ice world had proceeded even the nastiest of rumors. no one dared tread upon siberus ground - not in years, anyway.

but that wasn’t just because of its climate.

siberus was one of the planets utterly destroyed by “the great purge”. a distressing lack of life forms shown on your radar as you scan the horizon, save for the exceptionally evolved animals that could withstand the tundra. as soon as you landed, they’d immediately scattered across the snow and fled to their holes in the ground. you didn’t blame them; for as long as they’d been isolated, the idea of an intruder must’ve been beyond terrifying.

the council told you it was here. somewhere, in these thousands of kilometers of snow and ice, is the last jedi sickle.

a powerful weapon...but you argued that it was hardly warranted a visit to hoth’s much crueler and unforgiving sibling. hells, the empire hadn’t even dared visit. maybe they might have had they known the sickle was secured in carbonite. maybe they’d gone out of their way if that piece of information managed to trickle through their grapevine, but even then, was it worth their time? you weren’t even convinced it was.

it was described as “the poor man’s dark saber”. while the sickle was nearly impossible to destroy, it wouldn’t peel through anything like the dark saber could. no. the dark saber was somewhat of a mythical thing. the sickle, however, felt more convincing.

and for whatever reason, they had entrusted you to retrieve it.

they were the council of augusten, your home planet, blackened by night at all times. a symbiotic relationship with a bio-luminescent plant was, essentially, your sun - your star. this resulted in a tolerable, but irritating, daytime blindness of its natives peoples and creatures. and while siberus wasn’t exactly bright this time of day (especially with such a raging storm concealing your view), it was enough to make the vessels thrum tensely behind your eyes.

you’re one of the last! they said triumphantly, as though to sweeten you up. a survivor of the order! it is your duty!

bullshit.

it wasn’t such a strange idea that the council wanted the sickle. it wasn’t, by any means, quite like the mandalore legend of the dark saber. but it wasn’t just the power wielding the weapon itself brought - it was the kyber crystal within it.

it could power thousands of machines and harness energy for millions of resources. honestly, you hadn’t even considered the worthiness of kyber crystals for anything other than constructing lightsabers, but it made sense. enough sense that you felt obligated to fetch it from this frozen wasteland.

you talked a big talk about being able to find it. hells! you almost convinced yourself it’d be a piece of cake by the way you spoke with such confidence and bullshit conviction at the briefing. but looking out upon the snow-laden horizon - mountains and all - you suddenly weren’t so sure of yourself.

pride, as always, comes before the fall. as usual.

you even considered going back. there wasn’t a handbook for finding ancient, priceless, jedi artifacts. there wasn’t a tracking beacon for it either and your abilities could only do so much. you prayed to the force that, if anything, your connection as a jedi might be enough to conjure it from hiding. and, of course, that proved fruitless within the first half-hour.

you’re about to collapse. it wasn’t the night that shrouded you that almost did it; the darkness was your home - your element. you vision (very literally) fared much better in the blackness. the cold, on the other hand, was licking at your bones and causing you to tremble beneath your own weight.

it’s when you’re on the verge of making camp that you spot a figure upon the horizon.

not just any figure.

a person.

there’s a surge of motivation to keep moving. (strange, how that works...) whoever it is isn’t very far away - not even four kilometers. and if they’re searching for transportation it clearly isn’t in reach. they move at a slow pace, forcing themselves to walk against the bite of siberus’s gale.

when you’re in reach of this mysterious being, you yell out in haste. “hey! you!”

the figure stops their fight with the current of snow. they’re knee-deep in the tundra - you’re waist deep, really. and when you squint through the particles of snow, blinking rapidly to melt it away, you notice the shine of...

beskar.

“a mandalorian?!” you shout.

you shuffle closer as they remain still as stone. if they truly were a mandalorian, they’d certainly be on their guard - certainly moving for a blaster at their hip. you’re able to see their helmet’s face pierced upon yours as you step closer. how they managed to hear you, you couldn’t be sure, but it was a welcome surprise all the same.

you wrap your shawl closer around you, protecting your cheeks against the sting of cold. you observe the mandalorian (or what you expected to be the mandalorian) in their steely armor as they consider you for what felt like minutes. (too long in this damn climate.) siberus’s two moons allow the beskar to glint when the shoulder pauldrons move just right, a beam of light reflecting into your sensitive eyes. you hiss as a result.

“what is it you want?” the mandalorian demands, body now angling towards you. they’ve obviously come to the conclusion you’re of no immediate danger.

you narrow your eyes as the wind picks up, flakes of snow blurring this person until they’re just a speck against a backdrop. you don’t even consider your next words - you’ve always been too trusting. but something in this mandalorian’s spirit told you that they were harmless. in fact, they could prove valuable to this mission.

anything to get you off this frozen rock as quickly as possible.

“come to my ship! it’s warm!” you toss your head in the direction of where you came.

the mandalorian is taken aback. they recoil, physically, on the balls of their feet. who in their right kriffin’ mind would invite a mandalorian to stay in the privacy of their own ship? especially on such a deserted planet?

still, the mandalorian shouts over the wind. “why should i trust you?!”

there’s really nothing to do but shrug. “because we’re both about to freeze to death!” you point to their beskar that is, while impenetrable, starting to collect icicles. no, nothing could break beskar, but the mandalorian inside it could freeze.

this is enough to convince the mandalorian.

⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ:⠀ *⋆.*:･ﾟ .: ⋆*･ﾟ: .⋆

you’ve made two cups of java by the time the mandalorian finally un-clenches his fists.

it’s a him. he told you by the way he moved - how his shoulders barely fit through the limited width of your ship’s entrance or how his voice rung beneath his helmet. still, gender didn’t really fit in your culture. gender wasn’t worthy enough to be considered important so you were hesitant of calling them either or.

it was when you kept dancing around the pronouns that he finally uttered, “i’m a male.”

you raise a brow, pouring the steaming java into a ceramic mug that had chips and stains on the sides of it. (the handle on yours broke after an upsetting landing from last mission. handles were hard to come by in this galaxy. a luxury, even.)

“oh?” you ask.

the mandalorian grunts, barely slipping his helmet past his lips to drink. you knew all about their creed so it came as no surprise when he immediately pulled it back down his chin.

“i know you’re augustenian. i’m aware of how your people feel about identity.” he pauses, lifting his head to watch your reaction. “male is fine. he is fine.”

it was kind - not blunt - the way this came from his lips. you allow a gentle smile to tug at the corner of your lips. “you knew from the markings, right?” you ask, motioning to the upside down crescent upon your forehead; it glowed a faint green in the darkness.

he nods a little. it’s hard to speak to someone when you’re unable to look into their eyes. you depended on the expressions of beings and it felt impersonal to speak to him now because of it. still, you weren’t one to question creed or faith.

“it’s hard to miss,” he replies, bringing his cup to the side of his body, and shifting between his cloak.

you raise a brow. “what are you doing?”

the mandalorian stills, aware that it may look strange if not explained. “i, uh...” he takes a deep breath and pulls a woven strap from his shoulder; a large, lumpy thing, that moves when he situates it. it even makes a coo’ing noise.

“did you manage to catch some wildlife?” you ask, amazed. you tilt your head, reaching a hand out to pull back the flap of the bag.

but the mandalorian grabs your hand in a brisk movement, clenching hard around your wrist. “don’t. he’s...” he sighs. “he’s a little jumpy.”

you furrow your brows. he knew the mannerism of this creature personally? it must’ve been a traveling companion you’d failed to notice. you pull away and nod, waiting for him to reveal whatever this thing was.

when a pair of long, green, and fuzzy ears pop out from beneath the bag’s opening, you shriek in delight. the little creature stares back at you, large black eyes rounded in the moonlight, and a curious smile beaming upon his kind face when he understands you are of no danger.

“what a precious little thing!” you coo. you reach out for him, fingers twiddling in anticipation. “may i?”

the mandalorian fixates his stare more heavily upon you. with a protective gruff he says, “if you try anything with him...”

you shake your head, bouncing a little restlessly in your seat. “i wouldn’t ever hurt a child.”

for some reason he seems to believe you but still hands you the baby with caution. when the creature’s little hands wrap themselves around you, a jolt of bliss surges through your body. you’ve always adored children and this really was a youngling.

but...he was more than that.

your smile fades slowly from your mien as you stare into his eyes, watching something unfold that the mandalorian before you can’t see. he’s sensitive like you. force sensitive. you can feel the way that the energy beats around him - like a dance - but weakening with every moment.

and then there’s an image.

an image you wished you’d never see.

younglings sprawled upon the jedi temple floor, their bodies mangled and bloodied from vicious crime. you find yourself turning away from his penetrating stare, brows furrowed in pain, when a collective scream of terror ricochets from a place very far in the past.

you weren’t there to see it in person. just in stories. as a survivor, the guilt haunted you at night. this was certainly...overwhelming.

“where did you find this child?” you find yourself asking, words barely audible through chapped lips. you didn’t even realize you were saying it until after it was done.

the mandalorian is quick to reply. “there was a bounty on his life. the empire - well, whoever they are now - wanted him.”

you find yourself gripping the child to your chest in possessiveness. “no. you can’t,” you gasp. “they’ll kill him.”

the mandalorian raises a hand to you in a show of sympathy. “i know. i didn’t give him to them.” he pauses, watching as you cradle the child in your arms and petting his long ears with tears in your eyes. “are you...”

you raise your head to watch him, anxious as to your next move. but you sputter out the truth like it was poison - like you couldn’t hold it in anymore. “a jedi,” you confirm. “yes. or...i was.”

the mandalorian is taken aback but the news registers him into silence. he observes the way you press the little one to your cheek and give him a small kiss near his eye. he smiles - albiet, sadly - beneath his helmet when the kid nuzzles against you in a show of affection, little claws wrapping themselves around your forefinger as though his life depended on it.

”i...” he hesitates, and then sighs. “i was quested to bring him back to his own kind. your kind.”

you’re aware of what he wants...what he’s trying to say.

“no.” you answer. “i can’t train him. i won’t.”

the mandalorian goes silent. through clenched teeth he asks, “why not?”

you look into the child’s face. he hasn’t spoken to you - not in the way jedi are able - but he’s given you an insight to his relationship with this man. and his fear was palpable - thick.

he was closing himself off. he was unstable.

you rub the child’s ears once more, finger and thumb warming the skin. “he’s cut himself off from the force. i don’t have the influence on him that is necessary to change his heart.” you sigh, placing the child in the mando’s arms. “i’m sorry.”

the mandalorian looks down at the child in his embrace as he snuggles against his chilled beskar without protest. “what can i do?”

you sigh, rubbing circles into your temple. what could he do? you had barely passed the trials by the time order 66 was executed. and most jedi were killed during the great purge. you were one of the very last - one of those the empire had not successfully tracked down.

but you were no master.

“there is a jedi...” you whisper. you wring your hands together in apprehension. “i’ve never met her. she’s called ahsoka tano. there are rumors she lives.”

the mandalorian is quick to respond. “how do i find her?”

“i don’t know,” you tell him truthfully. “her survival isn’t confirmed.”

the mandalorian grumbles under his breath. “dank farrik.” he sets the child back into his sling and tucks him to his side again.

you watch as the two of them stare at one another, both desperate for answers you weren’t able to give them. they seem to have endured a long journey - long enough that they’ve formed a bond you’ve never seen between a mandalorian and another living creature.

you sigh. “i’m sorry i can’t do more,” you tell him. “but at least stay and rest. you look as though you need it.”

he watches you between the slits of his visor and it’s unsettling that you don’t know the color of his eyes. that feels important to know about a person. he wasn’t a machine - he was a man - and he should be regarded as such.

it takes a moment for him to process the invitation. surely he didn’t get very many of those. while that wasn’t surprising it was still very upsetting; more upsetting than you’d expected, anyway.

you offer him your bed but he denies and tells you he’ll sleep on the floor. if you’d like to share with the child i’d be more than grateful, he tells you. you knew it was an honor to be trusted with this child’s life, so you accept.

in the morning, the storm has passed, and the child still lay in your arms after a night of peaceful sleep. you feel the mandalorian - whose name you never got - strategically remove the child from your limbs.

and just when he’s about to leave - he hesitates. you can hear his footfalls stop short of the exit as you pretend to still sleep for whatever reason. maybe you were afraid to look upon him again - that you’d find yourself slipping into a feeling you weren’t allowed to humor.

so you remain still.

you remain still even as the mandalorian wipes a strand of hair from your eyes, takes a deep breath, and allows the child to snuggle his nose against yours. he coos just slightly - a little goodbye - and it causes your stomach to drop to your knees.

you consider waking; to tell them you’d help find ahsoka, to say fuck it to whatever jedi order didn’t exist anymore and entertain whatever butterflies had tickled your insides when the mandalorian’s caress embraced your skin.

but when you open your eyes, they’ve gone.

⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ:⠀ *⋆.*:･ﾟ .: ⋆*･ﾟ: .⋆ 

NOTE: i’m so sorry this wasn’t what i originally envisioned but i still like it! also, i’d like to go ahead and say - in case i didn’t make it clear enough - that mando asked for the child to sleep with reader because it would’ve been super uncomfortable for him to sleep on the floor.

[forasecondtherewedwon]

Mate in Three

Pairing: Beth Harmon/Benny Watts Rating: M Word Count: 2653

Summary:

It's not a matter of if Beth can seduce Benny, it's a matter of when.

The first thing Beth decides is that it doesn’t matter whether Benny knows she’s doing it on purpose. Not for a moment does she believe herself to be wilier than him, therefore her attempts to seduce him cannot go unnoticed. She’s already revealed her intentions—at the bar in Ohio—and he’s made his own position clear. Both halves of it. He wouldn’t have needed to put an unambiguous ban on sex if it weren’t at least partly for his own benefit, as a reminder to keep their relationship professional, trainer and trainee. She still smiles to herself over how he reacted when she swept the hair from his eyes. All he’s done is silently place a handicap on her play: she’ll have to accomplish it all without touching him.

The drive to New York is for revision, repetition, exercises, and, amusingly, bonding. Benny’s still Benny behind the wheel, but this is something more straightforward than playing Benny Watts for fans and the press. He’s at ease. He even unstraps the knife from his belt ahead of them setting off.

“For comfort,” he claims, explaining that he doesn’t want the sheath digging into his leg the entire trip.

“Does this mean you don’t believe you need to protect yourself from me?” Beth jokingly inquires.

He holds her teasing stare a second too long and clears his throat as he redirects his attention to the road ahead of them.

It takes her a couple of days to find her feet after arriving at Benny’s apartment. She’s never been to New York and the noises outside are as jarring as the grim interior. Her host trailing the end of that open robe around feels like the equivalent of the smug smirks some of Beth’s earliest opponents wore when they mistakenly supposed they’d made a brilliant move against her. She wiped those smiles off easily enough; proving that Benny’s no match for her shouldn’t be any tougher.

Once she adapts to the lack of natural light inside the space and having to blow up her bed every evening, Beth is ready to commence. Benny’s already training her, started the first morning, but now she shifts to playing a simultaneous. This is the game beneath the game. Sure that she can win, what she’s most curious to discover is how many moves it’ll take. Though the apartment is unelaborate and their lives within the unadorned rooms routine, she finds opportunities. Poverty, followed by the monk-like existence at Methuen—every space communal, precious few meaningful possessions scattered between nearly two dozen girls—has made her wickedly resourceful.

Taking responsibility for feeding them is straightforward. It makes sense for her to buy the groceries as a way of repaying him for letting her stay, plus her numerous pointed looks upon opening a cupboard or the refrigerator to expose the slim pickings have Benny half-convinced before Beth even asks to take over food shopping duties. The only things he’s really attached to (besides coffee) are his morning eggs. She notices. She plots before falling asleep, unfurling scenarios in her mind as she stares at the ceiling and folds her hands over the placket of her satiny pink pajamas. Then, she starts eating his eggs.

“Why do you buy all this other stuff if that’s what you want to eat?” Benny questions, standing next to her at the stove, using a greasy fork to gesture towards the egg she’s frying.

Beth shrugs, surveying as he goes back to scraping at the bacon where it’s sticking to his pan. Even now, his upper body is bare under the robe and she’s suppressing the urge to warn him about the pain of hot splatter. She transfers her weight onto the foot farthest from him and watches the bacon sizzle.

“Maybe I just like eggs,” she says.

And, truly, she doesn’t mind them. However, Beth, who has preferred her eggs scrambled since childhood (a common breakfast at the orphanage and the most tolerable meal they offered), unfailingly prepares every egg at Benny’s over easy.

They take their positions across the table and the board from each other, plates on their laps, coffee always just shy of being knocked to the ground by their propped elbows. She lets him ramble. He seems to enjoy beginning every session with a little chess history—and, of course, the Benny Watts perspective on it. Finally, he moves his first piece with a decisive tap, but Beth concentrates on her egg. She splits it with the side of her fork and quickly moves the bite to her mouth.

Confused by her failure to respond to his opening move, Benny looks up. Beth feels immense satisfaction in witnessing the impatient gaze he shoots at her eyes melt as it drops to the yellow yolk dribbling from the corner of her lips. She wipes at it with feigned embarrassment, as though she hadn’t been pressing the egg against the roof of her mouth with her tongue until she felt the gush.

He blinks and shifts in his seat.

“You going to play or what?”

“Yes.”

Benny wins the first match by too much because she was distracted, but Beth’s loss is bearable to her. She gained ground in the other game. Although he recovered promptly, what she now thinks of as the Egg Variation did get his attention.

When devising the second move of her endgame, she thinks of Harry. His love for her was as plain as the nose on his face, but she suspects that this next tactic will work just as well on someone far less blatant about their feelings. Watching a woman dance must be where concealed lust and transparent devotion meet. Just as she stripped Benny of his queen at the Ohio tournament, she aims to strip him of the persistent disinterest in her that hangs from him like one of his necklaces.

He has a small radio. She’s only ever seen him listen to it in the morning, either sitting on the steps across the room from where she sleeps (presumably trying not to wake her with the noise) or at the table while she’s frying up her provocative prop/breakfast. One night, Beth waits for Benny to turn in, then grabs the radio. She has it on low at first, swaying her head side to side. But when she starts inflating her mattress, the thump of the pump depressing drowns out the music. Well, there’s only one thing for her to do about that.

Eyes on the closed bedroom door, Beth twists the dial to increase the volume. She swiftly sets the radio on the floor and places her foot on the pump, heart fleetly beating. Benny doesn’t come out, so she finishes her task, anticipation mounting. She adjusts the volume again.

Because they left right from Ohio, she traveled with a limited wardrobe. Taking pleasure in both strategizing and dressing herself well, Beth made sure to have the correct clothes clean on the correct day—including today. Especially today. That’s why, when the music sufficiently interferes with his attempt to get to sleep, Benny storms out only to halt in his tracks at the sight of Beth dancing, the navy skirt she wore the day before she trounced him twirling around her thighs.

“Sorry,” she says when she catches him staring. She’s grinning. “We sit all day and I… needed to move.”

“Right now?” he asks, crossing his arms over his bare chest. He taps a finger against his arm and she notices he’s removed his bracelet and ring. It’s oddly intimate to view him without jewellery.

“Well, you don’t give me any other time.”

“That’s because I’m training you to be a chess champion, not a ballerina.”

Benny tilts to rest his shoulder against the wall. He’s still watching her and she’s still dancing, wiggling her shoulders and hips in place, though no longer hopping around. Just meeting his gaze has her out of breath. Do something, she dares him with her eyes.

“Relax, Benny,” she impishly commands. “I promise this won’t make me worse at chess.”

“Will it make you better?”

Beth shuns his challenging tone, swinging around to put her back to him and dancing more vigorously. She almost thinks she hears the smack of his bare feet crossing the floor to join her, but when she turns, Benny’s about to step back into his bedroom. He stops himself though, hand braced flat on the wall. She quits dancing as, slowly, he looks sideways at her. His eyes race over her faster than she can be sure of what he’s taking in. Her skirt and her plan, or just her noisy presence, keeping him awake? As he turns his head and disappears for the night, she spots the way he smiles to himself. She wants to drag him back out here. Instead, with a sigh, she shuts off the radio.

She can feel it—she can always feel a victory. Her self-assurance in this talent has never been rattled. When Benny beat her in Vegas, it didn’t surprise her. No, she watched it coming from half a dozen moves off, which was enough to lend his win the same terrifying inevitability as the oncoming truck that met Beth’s mother’s car on a bridge and killed her on impact. Beth was as incapable of escaping defeat at the US Open as she was of grabbing the wheel from the backseat and steering her mother to safety. The sense of an approaching victory is free of what-ifs and regrets. It simply is.

Following the employment of the Egg Variation and the midnight dance, she’s certain the seduction requires a single move more. And she’s US Champion Beth Harmon. She has just the thing.

The abominable dearth of privacy where the shower is concerned makes it an obvious choice. Too obvious? In her mind, no more obvious than engaging Benny in a trading of queens in Ohio after being defeated by him in that same manner in Las Vegas. His ego made him believe he was invincible, blind to the fact that Beth would never make the same mistake twice. Equally keen to avoid a blunder here, she gives the backdrop of the strike that will be her last a good test run. And tries not to enjoy it too much. (Outwardly.)

Usually, she collects her clothes for the day—or pajamas, when she showers at night—and places them next to the shower. Close enough to reach, far enough to avoid the rogue spray that makes it past the curtain. Hidden by that same curtain, Beth towels off, then sticks an arm out to snatch up her clothing and dress in everything but shoes before stepping out. During her test run, Beth forgets to bring her clothes. She dries herself like normal, then, when she hears the door to Benny’s bedroom snap open, presents herself with his threadbare towel twisted around her, the end tucked in beneath her arm. She blinks at him as though startled and laughs with modest embarrassment.

“Forgot my—”

“Oh,” he says and steps back, practically trips back, slamming the door.

Beth waltzes across the room, head held high to breathe the air of imminent conquest. She almost begins to hum. What must he be thinking as he keeps himself caged in his room? Is he frozen or pacing? Running his fingers through his hair or his palm over his mouth? Has he flung himself to the far back of his bedroom, as far from her as he can get, or does he wait just inside the door, battling every second against the compulsion to wrench it wide?

“Just you wait,” she singsongs under her breath, smiling as she wrings water from her hair and pops on a headband.

After the trial comes the play for all the marbles (as her mother would’ve said). Beth doesn’t wait, doesn’t grace Benny with any time to cool down and get a handle on his refusal to acknowledge her as a potential sexual partner. The very next time she showers, she forgets the towel.

“Benny?” she shouts.

She’s knows he’s preoccupied; he was reading a book—on chess, what else—when he retreated to his bedroom for her privacy. His belated answering shout confirms that she’s only won a piece of his attention. Beth bites her lips together to discourage herself from smiling.

“…Yeah?”

“Could you come out here? I need your help.”

Controlling her expression, Beth pokes her head around the edge of the shower curtain.

“Well,” she hears him say loudly as his door opens, “that’s the first time you’ve said—”

His eyes scan the room for her and, locating her, he sighs. She gives him a delicate wave, just a fluttering of her fingers.

“Hi, Benny.”

“Yeah,” he responds heavily. “Hi.”

“I forgot my towel.”

“I bet you did.”

“And? Are you going to get it for me? I’m getting cold.”

She sees him slide his lower jaw to the side in frustration and contemplation, but, raising his eyebrows in a quick flick, he nods. The towel isn’t hard to find; she left it perfectly visible on purpose so he wouldn’t have to waste time searching. He walks towards her, shifting his gaze from her face to the floor and back. She understands the look—it’s that of a person trying to find a way out. They’ve alternated wearing it when sitting across from each other at a chessboard. He stops in front of the shower and extends the towel towards her, wearing a different expression: a man accepting that he’s been outmaneuvered.

“Thanks.”

Her arm shoots out as she takes it from him and snaps the curtain shut again. The reaction is clearly not what he was expecting because she hears him chuckle to himself.

“You’re cruel, Beth.”

She frowns, drying herself with unprecedented speed. She can see his silhouette through the curtain.

“How so?”

“You finally get me right where you want me and then you decide to toy with me.”

The sound of his feet scuffing across the floor reaches her as he walks away. Draped in the towel, she jerks the curtain open and chases him in stuttering steps. He turns and she freezes. Instinct makes her cross her arms behind her back, a habit from childhood that Mrs. Deardorff once told her to break as it made her appear secretive. Which she was.

“I’m sorry,” she says. “I had to stretch it a moment longer. I don’t know what made me do it.”

“I do,” Benny tells her, squaring himself to face her fully. He grins. “Revenge.”

“Revenge? But I already—”

“Sure, you took the title from me, but you never got me back for discovering the flaw in your game against Beltik.”

Beth opens her mouth to argue only to close it again in a smile.

“Maybe you’re right.”

“I am, you know. Some of the time.”

He doesn’t disguise how his gaze rides a water droplet running down the side of her neck, over her collarbone, and into the towel after following the swell of her breast. She lets him look, then extends her hand, businesslike.

“Do you resign?”

Benny smiles and grips her hand.

“You play ruthlessly.”

“I play to win,” she corrects.

His fingers tighten around her hand and he tugs her in. Their first kiss has the force of a merciless endgame assault—true to form for them both. The noise that escapes her as the pressure of his mouth on hers tips her head back farther calls out to him. He clutches her against him and she feels the imprint of his hand distinctly through the towel. Unable to push him, she pulls instead, guiding him around until she advances on his bedroom backwards, fingers hooked in the neck of his black t-shirt.

In lieu of a king, Beth topples Benny—straight into his bed.