#when you start questioning where the year went

[rafeysvenicebitch]

Bunny⍣ ೋ

summary: Churchbunny!Reader starts writing to Criminal!Rafe through a prison pen pal program meant for the church’s older volunteers… but she chose him instead.

Criminal!Rafe x ChruchBunny!Reader

cw: fluff!!

You were never even supposed to be at that table. But you crossed that line.

It was set up at the chapel foyer after Sunday service, a small quiet program for the “overlooked and mischanced”. He named it letter of Mercy. A pen pal program for the incarcerated. Meant for the kind hearted women, motherly. Women with age softened hands and caring actions. No, not you.

But you’d been observing the table. Most people walked through the door, past the full table. You were about to walk to your car, then you stopped. You stopped behind the folding table like something called you. You ran your fingers along the stack of files before picking up one

Rafe Cameron.

Then a short summary: multiple counts of second-degree murder. Public indecency. Battery. Incarcerated for 20 years.

Somehow, to you that was the one. You snuck the folder with you.

The first letter was cautious, written in black ink on delicate stationary with pink flowers. You didn’t sign your full name but told him everything. How you woke up early to make cinnamon coffee and a breakfast sandwich for your dad, lay flowers on your mothers grave, drive the youth choir to competitions, and the clothes you thrifted and made to your taste. You told him how you felt unheard, missing, like you never connect to anything. And he wrote back.

He stayed himself, not changing. Told you what he did, how he did them. Names. Blood. You read them like it was the holy grail.

You’d never even kissed anyone, never even touched a man talk less of kiss. No never, not like that. You weren’t supposed to, you were meant to wait, wait for the right man. But he triggered something chemical in you. You wanted to learn more.

So you sent him a lock of your beautiful hair. Doused in Carolina Herrera perfume. Then a few weeks later, an old locket with your face in it.

You eventually went to see him, going through a centuries worth of documents. Your dress was modest. Pastel pink. Lace along the collar and white pumps. You had to get the permission to bring Rafe treats, just a few homemade cookies, and a small paperback Bible.

He smiled and inhaled around every single bite he took.

“Didn’t think you were real. Thought it was an investigation tactic from these assholes,” he muttered. “Thought God made you up to tease me.”

You blushed so hard you felt your ears burn. You covered you mouth with your hands bashfully, giggling.

Right after that very moment he started calling you Bunny. His Bunny.

“My Bunny,” he’d scrawl at the top of every letter with his surprisingly good handwriting, “tell me what you’re wearing today, and what kinda birds are outside your window..”

“What lipstick did your wear today?”

“Where do you go when you’re lonely?.”

You answered every question he asked with a million paragraphs, your heart swelling with adoration with each. You never stopped writing.

Each visit blurred your memory of what he’d done, all you could see was a broken man holding your soft hand with his calluses veined one, staring into your eyes with a daydreamy face. You told yourself that it was mission work. That you were softening a sinner.

You never asked him to stop calling you bunny.

Never. Not once.

Tagging Moots: @memoirofasparklemuff1n @rafesbabygirlx @ilovefiction4lmen @strawberries-and-lots-of-kisses @rafeyscumangel @rafeyscumangel-recs

[pazzi5351]

Can’t be friends.

Paige x Azzi

Word count: 1.2k

An: an anon asked for this and I started it yesterday then I had dance then the knicks were playing (they lost💔) and I’m just now finishing it k bye hope ya like! Also I added like no fluff and lowk leaving it on a cliffhanger cs idk what else to add🤧

————————————————————————————

Paige and Azzi had always been, different. Their parents noticed it when they first became friends. Their teammates noticed it when Azzi stepped on UConn’s campus for the first time, and Paige’s mood drastically changed.

The only people who didn’t seem to notice were Paige and Azzi themselves.

They went along with being “just best friends” though, the lines between that and something more had been crossed years before.

They went along with being “just best friends” until the glances between them lasted a beat too long. The hands on backs rested lower. And, the tension between them was so thick, people were starting to see it.

Especially their teammates.

“Ok Paige. What the hell is going on between you and Azzi.” Ice asked Paige, while watching the lobby screen of their fortnight game.

“Yeah,” Kk chimed in. “You guys are like, super, weirdly, close.”

“Bruuh. What are y’all even saying right now?” Paige asked, with an incredulous look on her face.

“We’re asking, friend to friend, if you and Azzi have something going on.” Ice said, matter of factly. “It’s totally chill if y’all do, I mean, we don’t care, we just wanna know.”

Paige slowly put her controller down, and turned to look at her friends. “There’s no way you’re seriously asking me that. Right? Me and Azzi are just friends. Why’s that so hard to believe? Sure, we’re close but, y’all are close too. It’s the same thing.”

Ice and Kk shared a look.

“No. It’s not the same honey. Not at all. I mean sure Ice and I are close but, you and Azzi, y’all are close.” Kk said, putting emphasis on the last word.

“Define ‘close’. Because since Azzi and I are just soo ‘close’, I’m sure you have examples of our ‘closeness’.” Paige said, rather defensively, for a reason she couldn’t name.

“Sure,” Ice nodded. “You open her water bottles, drive her car, when she very clearly has a license; you bring her snacks, text her asking if she ate or if she’s hungry, you bring her food without asking, you always, and I mean always, let her steal your clothes, but when I ask you say no, or you ‘don’t know where it is because last time you saw it Azzi had it.’ What else Kk? That’s all I got.”

“Oh I’ll go on,” Kk responded. “Paige, you literally have carried her out of the bar when she was ‘too tired’ to walk, I’ve watched you make snack bags for her, and for away games, you carry her bags and yours to the bus so she, and I quote from you, ‘doesn’t strain anything holding her bags because they’re heavy.’ There’s a lot more, but you look shocked right now, so I’ll let you sit with that.”

When Ice and Kk finished, Kk was right. Paige was shocked. She never realized how much she did for Azzi. All of it was just second nature to her, like taking care of Azzi was her birthright.

All she could say to her friends was “Oh.”

Ice raised an eyebrow. “That’s it? Just ‘oh’?”

Paige blinked, like she hadn’t even heard the question. “I didn’t—I mean, I just… I don’t know. That’s just how we are.”

Kk crossed her arms, gaze steady. “No, Paige. That’s how you are with her. There’s a difference.”

And maybe Paige should’ve argued, should’ve denied it again. But instead, she sat there, controller long forgotten in her lap, a cold dread settling in her stomach.

Because they were right.

She didn’t sleep that night. Her mind kept playing scenes back like a highlight reel: Azzi asleep on her shoulder during the flight to South Carolina. Azzi curled into her side on the hotel bed, scrolling on her phone while Paige absentmindedly braided her hair. Azzi in her hoodie. Azzi in her car. Azzi everywhere.

And the way her chest clenched whenever Azzi smiled at someone else like she used to only smile at her.

Paige rolled over, staring at the unread text.

Azzi💗: “u up?”

She didn’t reply.

For days after that, Paige pulled back. Not enough for Azzi to call her out, but enough that the gap started to form—small, but noticeable. She stopped waiting outside practice for Azzi. She made excuses to ride with someone else. She laughed at her jokes but didn’t meet her eyes.

And it was killing her.

Because nothing had changed—but everything had.

The final crack came on a Tuesday after team workouts. Everyone else had left. Paige was gathering her stuff when Azzi stepped in front of her, arms crossed, face unreadable.

“You mad at me?” she asked, quiet.

Paige blinked. “What? No. Why would I be mad?”

“You’ve been avoiding me, Paige,” Azzi said, voice firmer now. “You don’t even look at me.”

“I’ve just been tired.”

Azzi scoffed. “Don’t lie to me. You suck at it.”

Paige’s hands tightened around her hoodie. “I’m not avoiding you.”

Azzi’s gaze narrowed. “Then why do I feel like I did something wrong?”

Paige swallowed hard. “You didn’t.”

“Then what is it?” Azzi asked, voice low. “Because if you’re gonna push me away, your best friend, at least tell me why.”

Paige shook her head. “You don’t get it.”

“Make me get it,” Azzi said, scanning Paige’s face for any type of answer. “Because I can’t fix something you won’t tell me.”

Paige scoffed and shook her head. “That’s the thing, Az. You can’t fix it.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s me,” Paige said, finally meeting her eyes. “It’s what I feel when I look at you. It’s what I do, for you, without thinking; like carrying your bags, buying your snacks, giving you every part of me like it’s nothing. And it’s not nothing. Not to me.”

Azzi’s lips parted, but she didn’t speak.

Paige’s voice cracked. “I don’t know when it stopped being just friends, but I know I didn’t even notice until it was too late. And now I feel it all the time. All the time, Azzi. And I didn’t want to say it because if I do, everything changes.”

Azzi took a slow step forward. “It doesn’t have to change, P.”

“I’m scared.”

“So am I.”

There was silence.

And then Paige, barely above a whisper, said, “I think I’m in love with you.”

Azzi didn’t move. She just stood there, slightly taken aback, breathing slowly, staring at Paige like she’d waited years to hear those words.

Then, finally, “Good. Because I’m in love with you too.”

They didn’t kiss that night, no. It was two girls, with a long history together, sitting on a bench, still sweaty from practice, hands shaking slightly as they reached for each other. It was quiet. Heavy. Real.

They didn’t tell anyone right away. Not because they were hiding, but because Paige wasn’t ready to say it out loud again.

When the team asked where they’d been—when they snuck away during a night out or vanished from the locker room after practice—Paige would shrug, let Azzi answer. She couldn’t bear the teasing, the jokes. Not yet.

It wasn’t until Ice caught them in the hallway—Azzi standing too close, Paige’s thumb brushing over her knuckles—that someone finally said it.

“You’re together, huh?”

Azzi nodded slowly. Paige froze. Azzi noticed.

Ice smiled, small and sure. “Took you long enough.”

And Paige’s chest loosened, just a little.

[nerdyduckdragon]

DP x DC prompt (except I know a little to no lore either and have all my knowledge from other prompts)

Let's just say Danny left Amity Park (reason of your choosing) and went to Gotham (again reason for your choosing). At first he wanted to live a happy mostly carefree life (as carefree you can get in Gotham), but as rogue attack after rogue attack kept coming towards his way or even in his general direction he realized that holy crap Gotham needs a lot more cleaning up than just with the bats are doing.

So after a long while of not putting on a suit he finally puts back on the suit and goes from zero to hero? But of course he doesn't want to be stuck with the Big b so he mostly keeps his little underground help to himself, using his invisibility (?) and intangibility (?) to stay out of Publics eye but still help out.

That was until the Big b himself was badly injured (I don't know how joker maybe??) it was bad to the point where Danny needed to come and help him. And once b man had his eyes on him then he knew his life just got a whole lot harder. As he was treating Batman, Batmans paranoia started acting up.

Who was this meta? How long have they been in the city and why do they look so young? Those were the only questions circling Batman's head and once he was done being treated he opened his mouth to ask the boys and questions but Danny dipped out.

Batman quickly used the batwalkie talkies and asked Oracle to research a meta or hero that looked at Danny's description. They (?) did so and told Batman and the rest of the bat family who Danny was or at least who phantom was.

After all that came out the kids quickly made it bet on how long it would take to adopt danny or for one of them to start dating him. Sure you look like a young hero but he's been doing this for years and hadn't aged much so he was up for grabs whether it was adoption or dating.

Of course Danny went on extra hidden mode and was like no no no anytime they came close. It got to the point where they we're starting to question what the hell did they do to make him so avoidant of them. I mean they were vigilantes yeah but he was a vigilante too

Yeah that's all I got tune in next time when I do this again except with one more crossover :D

[ohbabydollie]

imagine schlatt asking you to move back to new york with him because he wants to take things more serious and maybe start a family

When you and Schlatt began seeing each other, Schlatt didn't expect much to come from it. Maybe a few dates before your relationship became another failed few dates. He expected to be thinking of you a few years from now, maybe a few what of scenarios with you involved, but that was all he expected.

Women like you never stuck around often anyways, girls that were sweet and loving and caring, they left running the second they saw his online career. His streak of misogynistic and incel jokes made them leave, he expected the same from you.

That was until he saw you stick around even after you found out.

You didn't necessarily judge him for it, just told him to not treat you that way and he listened.

Time went on, the fancy dates became hanging out with him weekly, even if it was doing something boring like running errands. You both finding excuses to hangout on your days off, even though you lived a good 25 minutes from him.

Slowly the relationship went from fancy dates, you dressing up and nervous to be seen less than perfect by him, to hanging around his house, dressed in an old stained shirt and socks around his house, feeding his cats treats and whatnot.

You were the only thing keeping Schlatt in Texas, he didn't think he could handle being away from you for a long time, at least not without being tempted to fly you out or go to you. You had become such a part of him that he had become used to finding your hair elastics everywhere, your toothbrush next to his in the bathroom, his clothes missing only to find you comfortably watching some show in a very familiar hoodie.

You lingered in all corners of his house and his mind, you existed all around him.

Schlatt knows he would miss you if he left to New York with Jambo and the other guy. Not to say they were bad company, but they didn't do the same annoying things you did, always telling him to guess what, he'd fall for it like always and it would end with you grinning ear to ear, the words chicken butt leaving your mouth as you started to giggle.

Or coming up behind him and bending his knees. You always had something annoying to do, it would make him sad to be looking over his shoulder, locking his knees, waiting for you and you'd never come.

It was a hard choice to make, he wanted to be with you and go back home to New York, but he didn't know if you wanted to go to New York with him. You liked it here in Texas and he only liked Texas because Texas had you.

Schlatt knew he had to make a choice, being in Texas had made him depressed, not to say he didn't like being with you, he just wanted to be with you in the snow, in the rain, in the hot summer.

He wanted different seasons with you, he wanted to go ice skating with you during Christmas, picnics in central park in the springtime, traveling to the beach in the summer.

Here he only had hot and so cold his heating broke, it wasn't like in New York, experiencing every season, all sorts of weather.

At some point Schlatt decided to just bite the bullet, go back to New York and ask you to come with him.

Schlatt normally wasn't one to feel nervous asking a question, but he felt nauseous just thinking about asking you to go with him. You could say never, dump him right then and there, possibly tell him you'd think about it before dumping him or stay with him and stay in Texas, finding another man that fulfills you in ways Schlat couldn't, doesn't want to go to New York and you cheat on him with the guy and you break up with him afterwards, you both get married, start a family and Schlatt is left alone.

He prepared himself for the worst scenarios known to man, ones where you left him to rot, maybe even taking jambo and [redacted].

So he took you on a dinner date, his heart in his stomach, getting nervous to ask you, the scenarios entering his mind again.

"Are you okay Schlatt?" you asked, looking at his almost sick expression, "Does your stomach hurt?"

"Just fine" he says, holding his stomach, trying to stop the dinner he just had from spewing all over you as you begin to look through your purse.

"Maybe the ramen upset your stomach" you say softly, "I think I might have some tums in here" you say before grabbing a little plastic container from your bag, offering one to him.

He rejects it, "I don't need that" he mumbles, "Um, I do need to ask you something though" he says softly.

"what's up?" you ask, sitting up as you put away the tums.

"So, I-I think we're getting pretty serious" he starts as you feel your heart starting to pound.

This is just what you feared, coming off too strong on Schlatt and just like every other guy, he leaves, not ready for the commitment. Of course you didn't expect him to stay with you for so long, you knew he was way too good to be true, sweet, loving, likes animals.

You should've prepared yourself for this heart break, shouldn't have worn your heart on your sleeve, maybe it was your habits, maybe they were getting annoying, maybe that's why he decided to leave you.

Your heart is racing a mile a minute, but you manage to nod.

"we practically live together at this point, I mean you spend most of the week at mine instead of yours" he says, managing to chuckle as you start to mentally prepare for him to politely tell you to grab your things and get out of his house.

"yeah, I mean you can say that" you say softly.

"yeah" he says looking at you, taking a deep breath in and exhaling, "Shit, sorry, its..." he sighs, "what I'm trying to say is that I'm going back to New York" he says softly, his heart ready to burst from his chest, "And that because we're getting pretty serious, I want to know if you wanted to, really wanted to, would you come to New York with me, not to visit but to live with me"

He looks up from his hands to you, you're in tears, holding back a sniffle before you nod, hugging him, "yeah, I'll go to New York with you" you sob before he wipes your tears.

"Why are you crying?" he chuckles softly, making you sob as he holds you closer.

"I thought you were gonna break up with me" you say, laughing softly, "y'know, you sat me down to have dinner and then to talk"

He smiles at you, "really? I thought you were gonna leave me for asking you to move in with me" he chuckles, causing you to laugh.

"why would I do that?" you grin, "I wouldn't dump you for that"

"good" he chuckles before pulling out a little black velvet box.

Your eyes widen as he opens it to reveal a delicate little ring inside, gently grabbing your hand.

"I promise to be there for you when you need me, anytime, anywhere, that I am committed to you and our future together" he says, slipping the ring on your finger.

You start to sob before pressing kisses to his face, "jus wait til my lease is up" you say softly, smiling at him as he nods.

[elliespassagerprincess]

Hi love would you mind making a part for professor!ellie where reader is pregnant again OR when their daughter grows up ?

Amazing work btw

Headcannons: professor!ellie williams x reader

masterlist

professor ellie / first time / nsfw headcannons / more headcannons

starting a life together / getting married / having a baby / grading

for more on their first baby click here: aurora bloom / baby number 2 (currently reading) / more headcannons

☆ Aurora’s favorite thing to do is sit on Ellie’s lap during her late-night grading sessions, asking questions like, “Are your students as smart as me?”

☆ She wears glasses just like Ellie now—reader thinks they’re twins.

☆ Aurora mimics Ellie’s mannerisms, like adjusting her glasses when she’s nervous or tilting her head when thinking.

☆ She already knows how to read short paragraphs and corrects people’s grammar—even Ellie’s, which makes her beam with pride.

☆ Aurora's drawings always include three people—Mama, Mommy, and her—but now a fourth baby blob is starting to appear in the corner labeled “Arny.”

☆ When you went into labor, Aurora tried to pack her own bag “to help,” which included crayons, a banana, and Ellie’s old lecture clicker.

☆ Ellie sometimes brings Aurora to campus events. She introduces her proudly with “This is my daughter. She’s smarter than my entire first-year class.”

☆ Aurora makes Ellie bracelets from string and demands she wear them even during lectures. She always does.

☆ Aurora asks science questions constantly. Ellie answers all of them with a whiteboard and diagrams.

☆ You once walked in on Aurora “lecturing” her stuffed animals, using Ellie’s tone exactly.

☆ Ellie writes down Aurora’s quotes in a leather-bound “Aurora Archive” journal.

☆ She refers to Ellie as “the smartest person alive” and you as “the prettiest.”

☆ Aurora’s handwriting practice turned into a full essay on why “Mommy Ellie is too bossy, but I still love her.”

☆ Ellie was obsessively thorough about the IVF process, reading every published study on embryo grading, success rates, and maternal health. She made color-coded charts for each clinic they considered.

☆ The decision to have a second child came after Aurora turned five, when she looked up at them one night and asked, “Why don’t I have a baby brother or sister?”

☆ Ellie wanted a boy this time, not because she loved Aurora any less, but because she was fascinated by how different he might be — still theirs, but uniquely his own.

☆ You carried Arnold, just like with Aurora, and Ellie was even more attentive this time—bringing snacks, checking nutrient levels, monitoring stress like a hawk.

☆ You used the same donor, ensuring Arnold and Aurora were biologically related, and Ellie cried when they found out the embryo had successfully implanted.

☆ Ellie held her breath during every scan, gripping your hand tightly until they saw that tiny heartbeat flicker on the screen.

☆ At home, Ellie converted her study into a nursery months before it was needed, painting it a rich forest green and hanging hand-painted space-themed art on the walls.

☆ She read academic articles aloud to your belly, mumbling about epigenetics and language development, hoping Arnold would be a little genius like his sister.

☆ Aurora would whisper secrets to her unborn brother, telling him what not to do so “Mama doesn’t freak out.”

☆ You and Ellie filmed short video diaries for Arnold, each one ending with Aurora saying, “Hurry up and come out, dummy.”

☆ Your pregnancy with Arnold was harder than Aurora’s — more nausea, more exhaustion — and Ellie handled everything from meals to laundry to carrying you to bed if you fell asleep on the couch.

☆ Ellie barely slept the night you went into labor, pacing in circles around their bedroom and triple-checking the hospital bag every 10 minutes.

☆ When Arnold was born, Ellie was the first to cry, trembling as she cut the umbilical cord and kissed your sweaty forehead, whispering, “You did it. He’s here.”

☆ Arnold was a quiet baby—unlike his fiery older sister—and when the nurse handed him to Ellie, he blinked up at her with wide, moss-green eyes.

☆ Aurora was the first to hold Arnold after them, sitting carefully on the hospital bed, her small arms wrapped awkwardly around her baby brother, declaring, “He smells weird. But he’s cute.”

☆ Ellie took an extended sabbatical from the university, something she never did for herself, but did without hesitation for Arnold and you.

☆ She kept a detailed baby log, recording every feeding, nap, and developmental milestone like it was groundbreaking research. (“He smiled at 4 weeks. Do you know how rare that is?”)

☆ You would often find Ellie in the middle of the night, swaying gently in the rocking chair with Arnold on her chest, whispering about constellations and music theory.

☆ Aurora helped with diaper changes, read bedtime stories to Arnold (whether he was awake or not), and told everyone at school, “I have a brother. He’s gonna be smarter than all of you.”

☆ Ellie constantly takes pictures of the three of you—you nursing, Aurora playing peekaboo, Arnold asleep on Ellie’s chest. She prints them, dates them, and keeps them in a growing archive labeled The Love We Made.

☆ Arnold has Ellie wrapped around his tiny fingers already—she holds him like he’s made of glass.

☆ She was an emotional wreck the day he was born, whispering “You’re here. You’re real,” over and over.

☆ Ellie sobbed in the hospital bathroom, clutching a photo of Aurora and trying to calm her nerves before holding Arnold for the first time.

☆ She made laminated feeding/diapering schedules and color-coded copies for both reader and herself.

☆ Ellie insisted on staying awake every night at first. You had to force her to rest by dragging her to bed.

☆ Her obsession with checking his breathing every 20 minutes has led to installing four different monitors.

☆ Ellie reads academic articles to him during nap time—“gotta start the kid early.”

☆ His nursery is space-themed. Ellie picked every star and constellation herself and even made a mobile from scratch.

☆ She prints out graphs of his growth and annotates them.

☆ You caught Ellie softly kissing Arnold’s forehead while murmuring, “I’ll protect you forever. I promise.”

☆ She calls him “my little theory” because she wants to “test how much love a person can feel before they combust.”

☆ Ellie holds Arnold for hours while writing lectures one-handed, content even if it takes twice as long.

☆ She talks about him constantly at work—“Sorry my email’s late. My son drooled on my laptop.”

☆ Ellie insisted on giving him a middle name that references a philosopher—Arnold Pascal Williams.

☆ She puts little leather-bound books in his crib for aesthetic photos.

☆ Ellie made a password-protected photo archive titled “Arnold Growth Logs.”

☆ She has framed side-by-side ultrasound pictures of Aurora and Arnold on her office wall.

☆ You found Ellie singing lullabies in Hebrew and Latin just for “academic diversity.”

☆ She’s more patient with Arnold than she’s ever been with anyone.

☆ Ellie’s phone is overloaded with baby pics—she has a folder just labeled “Arnsmol.”

☆ She wrote a 10-page email to the pediatrician just asking about sleep regression.

☆ Ellie gets extremely possessive when someone other than you or Aurora holds Arnold.

☆ Her glasses fog up when she gets overwhelmed watching both kids together.

☆ Arnold’s first smile made Ellie go silent for ten minutes, then cry like a waterfall.

☆ She lowkey competes with you over who Arnold calms down with faster.

☆ She stares at you when she’s breastfeeding, completely mesmerized.

☆ Ellie reads textbooks on postpartum care so she can understand everything reader is experiencing.

☆ She canceled her own faculty conference trip because Arnold had a cold.

☆ Ellie redesigned her lecture schedule so she never misses bedtime for either child.

☆ Ellie’s gone full mama bear—she snapped at a stranger who called Arnold “it.”

☆ She started a private blog documenting her “Motherhood and Academia” journey, but only you have the link.

☆ Ellie sometimes forgets to eat if the baby’s crying—but never forgets to feed him.

☆ You teases Ellie about her “unofficial PhD in parenting.” Ellie secretly loves it.

☆ Arnold’s first laugh made Ellie record five videos trying to recreate the sound.

☆ She leaves love notes inside your breast pump bag.

☆ She wants to homeschool both kids—your not fully convinced yet.

☆ Ellie smells Arnold’s head constantly. Says it’s “baby serotonin.”

☆ Ellie cried when Aurora said “Arnold is my best friend forever.”

☆ She’s started humming lullabies even while writing lectures now.

☆ She talks to Arnold about how they’ll build rockets or dissect frogs together someday.

☆ Ellie calls Aurora and Arnold her “entire thesis on love.”

☆ She still panics during diaper changes—even though she’s read three parenting books.

☆ Ellie smells like baby lotion, chalkboard dust, and coffee now.

☆ Her voice softens immediately when either kid cries.

☆ Ellie doodles tiny versions of Aurora and Arnold in her margins during meetings.

☆ Ellie sometimes stares at you and just whispers, “How did I get this lucky?”

☆ She tells Arnold he looks like you, then whispers, “thank god.”

☆ Ellie calls their family of four “the most important study she’ll ever conduct.”

[dean-winchester-is-a-warrior]

Always, Probably

Summary: Dean gets some news that leaves him in shock.

Pairing: Dean x Reader (no y/n - Dean's POV)

Warnings: None. Angst. Fluff.

Word Count: 1,508

A/N: This fic is for @impala-dreamer's amazing, Through His Eyes - Dean Winchester Writing Challenge. This was something I had simmering in my brain since I saw the prompt I chose, which is the title - Always, Probably. I hope you enjoy!!

Well, I could not have handled that worse, not if I planned for months. Dean thought as he plunked himself back down on the library chair, resting his elbows on his knees and dropping his head into his hands. I always say the wrong thing.

He knew he had to fix this, knew he’d screwed up, but those were only two of the thoughts swirling like a storm through his mind. Some of the thoughts were screaming at him, some were just whispered taunts. But all of them were telling him one simple truth.

He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t be a father.

That thought sliced through all the others until it was the only thing being chanted in his brain.

I'll break them, wreck them…

...or watch them be destroyed.

He felt sick to his stomach as he thought of all the monsters, gods, and demons that would salivate over the idea of ripping apart a baby Winchester just for the satisfaction of watching Dean bleed out over the loss.

And what on earth could he teach a kid? How to behead a vamp? How to shoot straight? He had no real smarts or skills. He was a soldier, a grunt. He had no life lessons or wisdom to pass on, just a lot of broken shards of a fucked up childhood and the endless, dragging chains forged from forty plus years of trauma.

He had no home for a family, no picket fence or lush green lawn - no bright yellow sun in the corner of the paper. 

The bunker’s home.

The thought seemed to creep in under all the others, and he fought it back. Ridiculous. The bunker wasn’t a home to raise a kid in. It was a bunker for fuck’s sake. Where was the kid supposed to play or run around? And were they just supposed to bring friends home to their underground lair?

It was all insane. This couldn’t be happening.

And yet, it is.

The same voice was back, her voice, cutting through the noise in his brain, her voice offering suggestions, possibilities for how they could make it work.

Look buddy, this is happening. A baby will be here in about nine months. So, what are you gonna do about it? Sit here whining and complaining, or be a man about it and come fix what you broke in me?

Dean grimaced as an image of her face floated to him. When she’d started out telling him, there was hope in her eyes, tremulous hope maybe, but it was definitely there. But the longer he'd just stared at her silently, the more it faded.

Then he watched it shatter completely when he finally spoke. “You’re not keeping it, though.”

It was ostensibly a question, since he knew the choice was hers, but he spoke with surety, asking not out of curiosity, but clarification. Okay, pregnant yes, but baby, no.

Her bright, warm eyes grew cold and she turned her head away from him, trying to hide her pain. “Yes. I am.”

Panic had risen immediately and turned his tongue sharp and stupid. “Well, you can’t keep it here.” He’d said, meaning that it wasn’t safe for babies there, not safe for a baby anywhere in their life. But of course, that isn’t what she heard. 

Her back straightened and her eyes narrowed as she looked back at him. “I never said I planned on keeping it anywhere near here. Look, I told you because you had the right to know. But if you have no interest in this baby or in-” Her words faltered slightly. “Or in me, then that’s fine, Dean. I’ll be out tomorrow morning and you won’t have to worry about either of us again.”

She was handing him a lifeline, giving him a chance to pull back his words and callousness, but he couldn’t take it; he just let himself drown as she turned and walked away.

What the fuck am I going to do now?

An hour or more went by before he heard movement nearby and finally raised his head out of his hands. She stood silently, with a bag in her hand. 

She looked surprised, shifting from foot to foot nervously. “I thought you’d,” she cleared her throat, “I thought you would've gone to bed by now. Or, left the bunker.”

Dean stared at the old, battered, leather suitcase she carried. “No, but it looks like you are.” He said, hating the accusation in his voice, as though he had the right.

She seemed to agree with his sentiment because her eyes burned as she glared at him. “Yes. I am leaving now. I was going to wait until morning, but I realized there was no point.”

Dean stood suddenly, his legs protesting slightly after sitting in the same position for so long. He had no idea what he was planning; after hours of screaming, taunting, arguing voices in his mind, now everything was silent. His thoughts had scattered and he was working purely on instinct as he strode towards her.

He grabbed her shoulders and hauled her up against him, slamming his mouth down on hers. She gave a squeak of surprise and then let him kiss her. When he pulled away, her eyes remained closed. A tear leaked from beneath her lashes as she spoke.

“A goodbye kiss?”

Dean thumbed the tear away. “No. An apology kiss.” He put his hand to her cheek and she finally opened her eyes. A smidgen of her former hope could be found in the depths of her gaze as she looked up at him.

“An apology?”

Dean dropped his hands and moved away from her. “Yeah. I’m sorry for being such a complete and utter asshole.”

The faint ghost of a smile appeared on her face. “That’s a good start.”

Dean let out a frustrated huff and turned away from her to lean on the library table. “I am sorry, but I’m…I still don’t know how the hell we can…I mean…”

His shoulders sagged and his head drooped as he braced his arms on the table. His voice was defeated and quiet. “I’m gonna break them. I’m gonna break you. I destroy the people in my life.”

The air was still for a moment before he felt her come up beside him and then he heard the bag hit the floor. She wrapped her arms around his waist and laid her cheek against his bent shoulder. 

“Dean, you know that isn’t true. Deep down, you must know.” She pressed her lips to his bicep and from the corner of his eye he could see her staring at his profile. “You don’t create the monsters in your life.”

He felt his chest tighten. “But they’re still there.”

He felt her nod. “Yeah, and they are scary, there’s no doubt. But we can fight them together. We’re both damn good hunters, and we happen to have a whole army of allies and friends, family, who will protect this little one with their life, you know they will.”

Her words loosely stitched together the gaping, terrifying chasm of fear in his stomach and he stood up straight, turning to look at her. 

“I didn’t mean what I said. I mean, I didn’t mean it the way it came out. But you should probably be aware that I’m gonna…I mean, if we’re gonna have a kid and gonna give it a go, I figure you should probably know I’m always gonna say the wrong thing.” He squinted and then nodded. “Probably.” 

He took her hand and brought it to his mouth. “But please don’t go.”

Tears overflowed her bottom lashes, and Dean pressed his lips softly to hers, allowing the saltiness to flavor their kiss.

They stood, foreheads pressed together, for a long time before Dean finally spoke again, in a whisper he wasn’t sure he wanted her to hear. “I’m so scared, baby.”

She wrapped her arms tightly around his neck and he folded her up in his. “Me too.” She spoke quietly, but he could hear the fear in her voice and it made him feel better, to know he wasn’t alone in it.

“But, I love you.” She said it quickly, maybe trying to lessen the weight of the words she’d never said before. “And I believe in you. And I believe in me. Will you believe in us too?”

He nodded, trying hard to will that belief into existence. “Yeah, I will.”

Her voice was hesitant. “And do you…do you love me too?”

He sighed and spoke nonchalantly, even though his heart was pounding hard against his ribs. He knew she could feel it. “Always, probably. I mean, I think I always have, and I probably always will.”

Her voice was teary as she laughed. “See, you don’t always say the wrong thing.”

As he pulled back so he could kiss her again, the monsters were still there in his head - a million voices screaming at him that he was lying, that she was lying, there was no way they could do this, no way he could do this. 

But he closed his eyes, held her tighter, and strangled the monsters into silence. He was good at killing monsters.

@lyarr24 @lacilou @deans-spinster-witch @globetrotter28 @suckitands33

@alwaystiredandconfused @jzackles @jackles010378 @impala67rollingthroughtown @krazykelly

@candy-coated-misery0731 @envyaurora95 @spnwoman @deans-baby-momma @luvr4miya

@arcannaa @viviwatchestv @winharry @ladysparkles78 @kr804573

@whimsyfinny @roonthelittlespoon920 @slamminmine @zepskies @safiyas-world

@aylacavebear @kazsrm67 @slut-for-evans-stan @sexyvixen7 @nancymcl

@hobby27 @waywardcheshire @livya99 @k-slla @leigh70

@eevvvaa @kickingitwithkirk @foxyjwls007 @roseblue373 @mishkatelwarriorgoddess

@avanatural @mrsjenniferwinchester @all-alone-he-turns-to-stone @deangirl96 @stoneyggirl2

@fanfic-n-tabulous @traiitorjoe @lastcallatrockysbar @b3autyfuld1sast3r

[anyarose011]

Shame Was on the Other Side

->Bucky Barnes X Single Mom!reader

Summary: You were only meant to teach a children's ballet class in Manhattan for one day. Out of all the days, it had to be the one where a dark entity loomed over the city, and you had no idea where your boyfriend was.

Part 1 of 2 (Masterlist)

Warning: References to past trauma, but nothing too explicit (yet), ANGST, and Spoilers for Thunderbolts*

Saw Thunderbolts* a few days ago, and I can confidently say I should've seen it yesterday (shit hit the fan for me lmao). Anywho, I got an idea from it, and wanted to give more of a realistic depiction of what would happen if a lot of people relived their worst traumas (more of that will come later, but just wanted to start with some foreplay as one might say).

Word Count: 3.9k

“I know you girls can hold it longer.” You encouraged from the front of the room, leaning against the large mirror on the wall.

Nine little girls from ages ten to twelve, including your now ten-year-old Clementine, balanced on one foot as they held their arms in first position. It was almost funny watching nine little ballet shoes on the ground trying to stand as tall as they could under the weight of children wearing an array of colored leotards and skirts.

The facial expressions didn’t help either; most of them either scowling or sucking their lips in and staring at a single spot on the pale blue wall to focus. Clem, of course, was glaring out the three windows as if they were her worst enemies.

“Okay,” you said after the piano music on your phone stopped. “and relax.”

A chorus of groans bounced off the plastered walls, the girls either hanging off the barres or hunching over themselves.

“Now none of that!” You laugh. “Prima ballerinas don’t whine.”

“You’re the only one in here!” Little Hannah sassed.

You shook your head. “I almost was. Alright, it’s 4:30 now. Whoever has pointe, get your shoes on and we’ll wait for the older girls to get in. Thank you, ladies.”

You curtsy and they copied. Four of them left excitedly, either onto their next dance lesson or out to their parents. The rest of the girls went to the cubbies in the corner, drinking water and putting on their shoes. As a larger group of teenage girls walked in, you took a seat by your daughter, who was taking off her ballet shoes and putting on her Jazz ones.

“How was school?” You asked, taking your pointe shoes out of your bag.

She shrugged. “Okay.”

“Just okay?”

“A girl said I laugh too loud.” She whispered.

You swore kids were becoming meaner these days. Even in your classes in Brooklyn you saw the dramatic change since the Blip. You’d taught before then, and they all seemed kinder; more willing to talk. Yet, after a collective, traumatic moment, they were never the same.

“Would you ever want to be her?” You questioned, trying to eliminate your cynicism.

She sighed. “No.”

You kissed her head. “I know words hurt, but her opinion shouldn’t matter if you would never want to crawl into her skin and walk around in it.”

She scrunched her nose. “Huh?”

“I’ll tell you more at home. Now go to Jazz.”

Clementine smiled, stood up, taking her bag and leaving; that was, before turning over her heel. “Did Bucky call?”

Your lips formed a tight smile, shaking your head. “Not yet, but I’ll come find you when he does.”

Her own grin fell. “He usually does by now.”

“You know him,” you forced a laugh. “always busy.”

She hummed but then left the room. Letting out a long sigh, you pursed your lips. Bucky moved to DC almost two months ago, and you didn’t leave…on the best of terms. You managed to apologize(ish) to each other right before he left, but you weren’t kidding yourself, that was mainly for Clem’s sake.

And you hated how smart she was; she knew something was going on. If anything, the only reason she probably didn’t think you both were breaking up was because Bucky left Alpine with both of you when he left.

Still, you both wanted to make this work. You had been dating him for a year now, and every day you had to remind yourself why you loved him.

You did say that word; both of you did. So, it was real.

And you were willing to try; you’d spoken to him a week ago, and yes, you and Clem were going to come out to DC and-.

Your phone vibrated beside you.

Looking down, you saw Bucky’s name and an embarrassing photo Clem took of him while he was sleeping, show up on your screen.

You grinned, picking it up and turning to the girls in the room. “Start stretching.”

“Is your boyfriend calling?” Hannah teased, and all the girls, yes even the eighteen-year-old seniors, started ‘ooo’ing.

“Another word, and we’re doing nothing but bourrées across the floor for half an hour.”

When you left, you shut the door on a bunch of giggling girls. The company you worked for grew substantially within the year, letting them buy a location in Manhattan. You usually taught at the one in Brooklyn, but the ballet teacher called in sick, and you had to fill in.

It was a hassle, and the studio was much smaller than the one in Brooklyn; as in, there were only three rooms, and thus, three teachers to accommodate for the forty students. Yet, there was something sweet about being in crowded rooms filled with a combined passion but also a playful attitude towards dance.

True, you were essentially the dinosaur and eldest there; the other two teachers either starting college or just getting out of it. Still, it wasn’t as hard to lead on the short day that you were there.

Squeezing past little girls and boys on their way to class, you sat on one of the benches in the waiting room, answering the call.

“How are you, Aragorn?”

You told him to grow out his hair last summer, and he did. Thus, resulting in him looking like a Dollar Tree Viggo Mortenson from Lord of the Rings. Although, the beauty on his face stayed the same.

“Where are you?” His voice sounded seemingly neutral, but you knew him so well; he was rattled.

“Working?” You answered, although it sounded more like a question. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah.” He sighed.

You rose your brows. “Are you still with that random Russian guy you were driving with yesterday?”

“Where are you?”

Now it was getting weird. “I’m working, I told you-.”

“-What’s the address?”

“What’s going on?”

He said your name, agitated. “What’s the address?”

Now it was getting scary. You hissed, trying to keep your voice down. “No, you tell me what the hell is going on right now.”

A pause followed, but it didn’t last for long. His breath shuttered. “You and Clem need to leave wherever you are.”

You felt your soul drop into your stomach and form pit. “What?”

“Honey,” he begged. “tell me where you are and I’ll come get you.”

“Bucky-.”

“-It’s Valentina.” He said, and you felt the air leave your lungs. “We…she’s worse than we thought, and I-I don’t know if she will but I’m not taking any chances. I need you and Clem safe and-.”

He stopped talking. At first, you thought it was because he couldn’t even speak aloud what he assumes would happen to you, but then the silence grew longer.

“Bucky?” You asked again, your voice once firm now meek.

Nothing.

“James.” You tried to speak sternly.

“Stay where you are.” Broke through the tension. “I love you.”

He hung up.

You didn’t pull the phone away from your ear right away. A part of you hoped he’d call back, even if there was nothing but his own breathing on the other end.

A tightness began to constrict your chest; one so horrible you wanted to scream, but one also so horrible you couldn’t. Standing on shaky legs, you looked around. Of course, no one else reacted the way you were at that moment. They hadn’t heard the cryptid call.

You looked into the blue room, where all the older girls were stretching and warming up, laughing at something someone said. Then, you watched as one of them took their leg off the barre and moved to stand closer to the window. She turned over her shoulder, bidding the other girls to come over, and they followed.

Pushing the door open, you entered the room. Some of the girls looked over at you but ultimately turned back to the window when you said nothing. Pushing yourself forward, your jaw dropped at what they saw.

Several blocks down, where the old Avenger’s Tower stood, a black figure suspended in the air.

“What’s that?” One of the high schoolers asked, fear trembling in her voice.

“Is it…a new Avenger?” A younger girl replied.

You couldn’t say anything. That tightness made its way into your stomach, and it began to ache. Your mind was telling you to go, and so you listened. Leaving on shaking legs, you pushed your way into the green room next door, where the Jazz group of smaller children also stared out the window.

You found Clementine among the crowd and took her hand.

“What’s happening?” She tried not to trip over her own feet as you pulled her out of the room.

“I don’t know.” And you didn’t; all you knew was that neither of you were safe.

You rushed through the waiting room, and just as you were at the door leading to the stairwell, a sharp cry rang out.

“Get away from the windows!” One of the teachers yelled, and a few screams were heard before silence soon followed.

It hadn’t even registered with you. Shadows encased every wall around you, and all you could do was fall to the floor, shielding your little girl with your entire body before the darkness forced you into its embrace.

It didn’t feel like it had been two hours since…since….

Since….

The water from the kitchen sink scorched your skin as you stared at the blank wall in front of you. It was around six when you’d finally got back to your Brooklyn apartment. Clementine, exhausted from the whole day, took Alpine and went to her room as soon as you got home. You assumed she was sleeping.

You hadn’t changed out of your leotard or skirt and tights. You practically collapsed on the couch and stared at the blank tv in front of you for twenty minutes before then deciding to do the dishes you left in the sink that morning.

You’d only got one done and then stared at the wall in front of you, letting the hot water run down your hands.

Everything seemed too much as soon as you…as soon as you’d awoken from…

The sound of everyone’s voices as you walked down the streets were too loud, the lights when you entered your apartment were too bright...Your body was sore from…from…

A knock on the door snapped you back to reality and you jumped. Shutting off the sink, you froze as you stood in the kitchen. Another knock soon followed, as well as the sound of your name.

“Honey, it’s me.”

You sped to the door and didn’t bother looking through the peephole. Unlatching and unlocking it, you threw the door open. There, looking like absolute shit, covered in sweat with a few scrapes along with face, your Bucky.

He tossed his arms around you before you could, pressing his face into your neck. You wrapped your arms around his shoulders, nails sinking into his shirt to make sure he was real. You wanted to cry, God knows you wanted to cry until your eyes hurt and all you could feel was him.

Bucky pulled away just enough to look at you, but his breath still lingered on your skin.

“Are you okay? Are you alright?”

“I…” you couldn’t find the words. “Are you?”

“I asked you.”

You nodded. “Uh huh.”

“Why didn’t you pick up?” He kissed your head. “I called you so many times.”

“My…my phone died.”

He shook his head, saying your name before a cacophony of voices was heard at the end of the hall. You clung to him.

“It’s okay,” he soothed. “I know them.”

“You made new friends?” You attempted humor.

Apparently, it worked because he cracked a grin. “Coworkers mostly but maybe. Did you hear the news?”

“No?”

“New Avengers.” He pursed his lips. “Valentina assigned us. It’s a long story.”

“Oh, Valentina as in the one you thought was going to come kill me and Clem?” You couldn’t help it.

“I didn’t want to take any chances, I’m sorry.” He looked around your apartment. “Where is she anyway?”

“Sleeping with Alpine in her room.” You sighed. “It’s been a long day.”

He kissed your cheek. “I get it. I’ll tell them to go and-.”

“-No.” You didn’t know why you were saying it, but you did. “You invited them. I’ll make something for dinner.”

Bucky gave you a look. “Are you sure?”

You nodded. “You guys must be exhausted. As long as they don’t mind SpaghettiOs, Kraft Mac and Cheese, and Pizza Rolls.”

“They’ll be happy with anything.” He kissed your lips, finally. “Thank you, so much, you’re an angel.”

You hummed, still smiling. “You wouldn’t have called me that a few months ago.”

Call it a trauma response, call it you being a bitch, you were flying off the mouth that day.

He swallowed, hands falling to yours and squeezing them. “I’ll only keep them here for dinner, and then they’re gone. We’ll talk after, okay?”

You nodded. “Just tell them to keep it down when they’re coming in.”

 He gave you another kiss on the cheek before leaving. He kissed you in the few minutes you saw each other again than the last week before he left for DC.

The sudden thought brought tears to your eyes, and you berated yourself for that almost making you cry that day. Still, once you took a deep breath, threw on a spare sweatshirt, and began to get out packaged dinner floor, the sound of hushed voices soon entered your apartment.

There were six people in your living room, all covered in an array of soot, dust, blood, sweat, and tears. You only recognized two; Bucky and John Walker. Even then, the latter you knew of.

The tallest of them, wearing a red suit with a white star on his chest, approached you with a smile on his face. He took your hand, shaking it and stage whispering.

“Thank you so much for your hospitality, Ms. Bucky Barnes’ girlfriend! We appreciate it and will be respectful guests. I too am a father and understand-.”

The woman with blonde hair shoved him. “Alright, that’s enough. Thank you very much.” She said your name.

You chuckled. “Of course, it’s the least I could do.”

Assessing everyone else, you saw another woman with brown hair and what looked like to be a spacesuit immediately take her place on the couch. The only other one who you hadn’t recognized was a man whose hair began to curl at his neck and wore an oversized blue sweatshirt. He seemed different from the others; quiet in a sense of not knowing what to say instead of for intimidation.

“Okay, names.” You smiled. “I don’t know any of you.”

And so, thus began the circle of names and getting to know who your boyfriend’s new coworkers/friends were. Alexei (the Red Guardian) Ava (Ghost), Yelena (an ex-Widow), John Walker (ex-Captain America), and Bob (just Bob, apparently…).

“Well, it’s very nice to meet you. I’ll make something.” You threw on another smile and immediately turned back to the attached kitchen, not really knowing what else to do or say.

Luckily, as you heard everyone else plop themselves down to sit (whether it was on the couch, at the small dining room table, or even on the floor), you also heard Yelena ask.

“Bucky said you were a ballerina?”

“Was.” You looked over your shoulder as you got a pot out from a cabinet. “I teach kids now.”

“Oh my god,” Bob stood up from the floor, reaching for a can of SpaghettiOs. “I haven’t had these in years!”

You grinned. “I’ll make that one first then.”

John spoke up. “Where do you teach?”

“A friend’s dance studio in Brooklyn, mostly.”

“Barnes said you were in Manhattan when…”

A silence hung in the air; one you didn’t waste time to fill.

“Yeah, I heard about that.” You opened a drawer and took out the can opener. “I was on the subway back to here when it happened.”

Even without looking, you could feel Bucky’s steely gaze on you. Of course, even if it weren’t for you already on edge attitude, the timeline didn’t make sense; how could you have gone to the subway station in the same time you hung up and then the darkness came for you? You felt as if the rest of them could practically smell your lie. Yet, they said nothing about it.

“What about the rest of you?” You deflected, then nodded at Bucky. “If this one’s sticking around, then maybe it’s best I know you.”

They surprisingly laughed. Conversation from then on was easy; someone would talk, and the others would interrupt. At least the extroverts would; those being John, Yelena, and Alexei. Sometimes Ava would jump in, but only ever to tease John with Yelena. The ones who barely said anything unless spoken to were Bob and Bucky.

Bucky you were used to; if anything, you missed his quietness. He’d let you talk on and on about anything, and you never once thought he tuned you out. Even then, in your crowded living room, as someone told a long, drawn-out story (usually Alexei), he’d make eye contact with you across the room as you cooked. All he’d do was give you that same smile you fell in love with.

Bob was different. He looked around your apartment both with a level of genuine interest, but also as if he were waiting for something bad to happen. Unless someone (usually Yelena) talked to him, the only time he spoke up was to remind everyone that there was someone sleeping in another room.

He was sweet.

It was the first time when he made a joke you were carrying two bowls of newly made soup, that as you were laughing, you bumped your side into the corner of the counter.

Now on a normal day, you would’ve stumbled over your feet and cursed like you were being paid by the word; but this was one of the worst days of your life, and you were having conflicting emotions about your boyfriend.

So, naturally, the bowls fell from your hands, and you collapsed onto the floor.

It was Yelena and Bucky who immediately rushed to you.

“Oh god, are you okay?” Yelena asked, brushing your hair out of your face.

The only thing that escaped your lips were a few sobs, the pain beginning to fester from the old bruises you gained earlier that day. Bucky kneeled in front of you, rubbing your shoulders.

“Can you stand?”

You shook your head but tried anyway, putting all of your weight onto him. Bucky helped you stand, and you leaned on the counter, holding your side with one hand, and the other wiping the oncoming tears.

“I’m sorry.” you sniffled.

Immediately, everyone reassured you that there was nothing wrong. Still, even with the tightness in your throat threatening to spill over, you said.

“I…I was in the city when it happened. I-I don’t know what I saw, I don’t know what Clem saw, she-she hasn’t even talked to me about it-.”

“-How’d you hurt your side?” Bucky gently asked.

You dropped your gaze; the anger from everything that day and in past simmering within you.

“It was just a bad day.”

“How?” He said your name.

Your nostrils flared, and you whispered. “You wanna do this right now? In front of everyone?”

“Okay.” It was John who stood up from the couch. “I think we should be going.”

You shook your head. “No-.”

“-It’s alright.” Alexei intervened. “It’s been a long day, there’s many many family matters to settle, we’ll leave you two alone, eh? I’d love to have a proper dinner whenever. It doesn’t have to be your place, mine is-.”

“-Thank you,” Yelena said your name, smiling and leading Alexei away. The rest of them followed, uttering similar goodbyes. All accept one.

“I’m sorry.”

You furrowed your brow at Bob’s words. It should have been nothing; to anyone else, it was nothing. But not to you. Not at that moment.

“What?” You brushed Bucky away and limped after them into the hallway. “Why are you sorry?”

They all stopped in the hall, Bob at the back. The rest turned to you upon your words, but he didn’t. It was only after a beat of silence that he did.

“I…” he paused. “I’m sorry you got hurt just now-.”

“-No.” You interrupted, approaching him. “No not even that, what do you have to be sorry for? You’re the only one who remembered I had a kid in another room and have been telling everyone to quiet down, what do you have to be sorry for?”

“Honey.” Bucky took your hand, speaking into your hair.

You didn’t even look at him when you dropped his hand; only kept your eyes on Bob. “Well?”

He swallowed thickly, almost as if he was about to cry just from your gaze alone. He opened his mouth. “I was the one-.”

“-Bob.” Yelena shook her head, along with everyone else.

“No, no,” he said before looking back at you. “I was the one to cause all of this. I-I sent everyone in Manhattan down a void of-of darkness, despair. I don’t remember doing it, but I did…I’m sorry. I’m so sorry you and your daughter had to see it.”

You stopped listening after ‘I was the one to cause all of this’. Well, you still did, but just barely; it felt like you were underwater. All you could do in that hallway was stare.

Then, just as the darkness had sunk into your mind, the realization did into your soul. Your heart fell along with your eyes, and your mouth moved but no sound (not even a cry) came out.

When terror settled into your heart, rage quickly followed, and it marked your face. Still, you did not move towards him despite how your shoulders rose and fell with your breathing.

“Mama?”

The familiar, sweet call of your daughter broke through to you.

Snapping your gaze back into your apartment, you saw your daughter stand before you, holding Alpine. Her own eyes were red, and you never saw her so tired.

“Why are you crying?” Her voice quivered.

You brought your hand to your face and felt the tears upon your cheeks. You hadn’t even noticed. If the shame of the entire day hadn’t pulled you under, it was that moment as you cried in front of strangers and your own daughter.

It didn’t feel like you were in your own body as you walked back into your apartment, pushing your daughter behind you and shutting the door just enough for you to keep your head out in the hall.

“It’s not what I saw that made today so horrible,” you stated. “it’s everything that happened after.”

With that, the door shut and was locked. Incessant knocking and the muffled sound of you and your daughter’s name by Bucky (you thought you heard other voices, but the pounding in your head did not help) followed. It wasn’t the first time that day where you no longer had the ability to care.

You dragged yourself into your daughter’s room and collapsed onto her bed. Clementine soon followed, placing Alpine on the pillow next to you. As the cat rubbed his face against yours, Clem cuddled into your side. She kissed your cheek.

“I love you, Mama.”

The damn fully broke and you enveloped her in your arms once more, weeping.

[fozmeadows]

Hello! I am re-reading the tithenai chronicles and couldn't help but note a particular due is paid to horses in both books, I was wondering if this comes from you having particular experience with them?

Hello! This is a very funny question to me personally, because I once saw a reader argue that, because I've written multiple books in which horses die, I must hate horses in real life, and am therefore Problematic for using fiction to channel my obvious anti-horse sentiments. I really wish I was making this up, but if nothing else, it does serve as a perfect example of how absurd it is to equate depiction with endorsement, because I actually love horses! I learned to ride as a kid, and had weekly lessons for years; I had to stop when I was fifteen, because I didn't have time for it any more, but for ages, I was very much a Horse Kid.

In fact, I'm in a storytelling mood, so here is a Foz The Horse Kid story:

The year I turned fifteen, at the start of tenth grade, I changed to a new school with better academic opportunities. Midway through the year, we all went away to camp, and for the second day's activities, we were meant to spend half of it bike riding on dirt trails, and half on horseback. Now, I did learn to cycle in childhood, but after a particular memorable crash around age eleven, where I hurt myself quite badly (I still have the scar), I'd basically given up on bikes; I was frightened of them, and even now, I can't balance on one unless my feet are able to touch the ground on both sides. So on this day at camp, we were split into two groups: one would do bikes first, then horses; and one who'd do horses first, and then bikes. I was assigned to the former, and it's not an overstatement to say I was terrified.

I made a single, trembling effort to get on the BMX I'd been given, but the seat was too high for my feet to touch the ground, and I promptly fell over. Somehow, I did not burst into tears, which would've compounded the embarrassment of being fifteen and unable to ride a bike, and was instead granted permission to ride along in the supply car behind the cyclists until it was time to switch activities. And so I would've done, if not for the fact that, right before we were due to set off, one of the boys from the other group showed up with a different problem. He was still on his horse, which was being led along by one of the instructors, partly because she'd had to bring the horse anyway, but mostly because he'd had a pronounced allergic reaction to something and his eyes were so swollen that he couldn't have safely walked on foot.

It was, very nearly, a perfect narrative turn of fate. I couldn't cycle; he couldn't ride. Solution: we would switch places and double up on the activities we were capable of performing, so he'd cycle twice and I'd ride twice. It felt like something out of one the Horse Girl Novels I'd read as a tween, but I sure as hell wasn't complaining.

"Can you ride?" the instructor asked me.

I told her I'd ridden for five years, and she was very pleased to hear it, as it meant we could safely canter to catch up with the other group, who'd already gone on ahead, without risk of my falling off. So I mounted up and off we went, chatting the whole time, until we reached the other students. They turned out to be the beginner group - the riders had been split into two parties based on skill level - and the remaining instructor, who was the younger brother of the woman who'd picked me up, was leading an unmounted but saddled grey mare along by the reins.

This felt very significant to teenage me, because I loved grey horses, so naturally, I asked why she was there. The answer was that she'd originally been assigned to a teacher who'd radically overstated his riding ability: she wasn't a beginner level horse, and due to some foolishness or other on his part, most likely yanking too hard on the reins, he'd been bucked off. This has resulted in him walking - or limping, rather - back to the main part of the camp to recover, leaving the mare behind. Which also meant that the instructors were now shorthanded: they'd expected to have a vaguely competent third adult along to help out with the beginners, and instead were on their own. Which meant that, as the only other person in the group with actual riding experience, I ended up being drafted as a helper.

My mission: riding alongside one of the more popular girls in our grade, who was very nearly as nervous about being on a horse as I'd been with the bike, and trying to keep her calm. Having started from a place of anxiety, she'd then watched the teacher get thrown and one of her friends led away looking like an overripe tomato; understandably, she wasn't having a great time. So I talked to her, and because she was scared of the horse, it was easy to joke about how I'd been scared of the bike, which I think made her feel a bit better; I won't say she ended up loving the experience, but she settled down, and nothing else eventful happened for the rest of the ride, which ended when we met back up with the advanced group and the bike riders to switch over.

My original group was now set to ride, and because the instructors were also swapping over, the brother and sister now got to lead the experienced group, while the other pair took the beginners. Which meant that, as I more properly belonged in the experienced group, I got to stay with the same instructors - and because I'd helped them out on the previous ride, I was offered the chance to ride the grey mare who'd proven too much for our teacher. This was, again, an extremely Horse Girl Novel thing to be happening, but there were only so many horses to go around, and as one person had already fallen off the mare after misjudging their skill level, it made sense to offer her first to the one student they felt vaguely sure was competent.

Offer here being the operative word: it was very clear that I could've said no if I wanted, and as she'd thrown her last rider, it would've been understandable if I'd declined. Still, I said yes, and it felt like that won me some extra respect from the instructors, if only because it made their jobs slightly easier. So I mount the grey mare, and it was instantly apparent that she was a fast, responsive horse. Up comes the rest of my group, several of whom are farm kids who actually know what they're doing, and we all set off - and once again, there's no teacher, because they're with the beginner's group.

Now, I've always been an extrovert, and whether due to practice or nature, even as a teen, I was very rarely intimidated by adults. If someone talks to me normally, I'll talk to them normally, and I was, by this point, having a really good time. This meant that, as a result of my cheerfully bantering with the brother instructor, I ended up riding alongside him at the front of the pack rather than back with the others, and when we hit a particularly long stretch of open track, I joked that I bet I could beat him in a race to the next gate.

"You're on," he says, and counts us down - three, two, one - and off we go from a walk to a gallop, leaving his sister to yell exasperatedly after us, "OI, DARREN!", with an implied you bastard at the end of it, because he definitely wasn't meant to be racing, and especially not with a student. But she couldn't chase after us, which means we got away with it, and of course he ended up being faster - he knew the track and his horse in a way that I don't - but I kept up decently, it was all great fun, and by the time the others caught us up, we were waiting at the gate for them, laughing.

The rest of the ride was uneventful by comparison, but pleasantly so. Some of the farm kids joined in the conversation at various points, the scenery was gorgeous, and the grey mare was perfect to ride. By the time we were done, the sister had forgiven her brother for being an idiot, and the two of them were joking that I should come help take the horses back to the stable, although of course I couldn't. But as we dismounted at the corral, and I stopped to give the grey mare a thorough goodbye pat, one of the farm kids, who was also part of the popular group, walked over and calls my name.

"Yeah?" I said, because this kid had never spoken to me before outside of class.

"You were really graceful," he said, and promptly turned and walked away again, before I could really manage to get out a thank you. It was an absurd thing to happen, I thought at the time - almost more implausible than all the other Horse Girl Novel stuff - not least because it wasn't the sort of compliment that teenage boys are typically known for making. It's the kind of thing that sticks with you, thought, which is why I still remember it so vividly some 24 years later. Graceful is not a thing I'd ever been called before and haven't been since - my general vibe is that of several racoons in a trenchcoat - but for one day, I got to live out the Horse Girl Novel Camp Fantasy dream, and it still makes me happy to think about.

All of which is to say: I am really, genuinely fond of horses! Though sadly, I don't think I'm capable of riding any more; I slipped a disc so badly in 2019 that I've taken permanent damage, and my suspicion is that three minutes in the saddle would be enough to put me into spasm. But either way, I can still write about horses - or creatures which serve the same narrative niche, ie: animals you ride and form a bond with - and that's pretty great.

[lostwysteria]

Part 20

Final part to the Nice Arc and the segue into the E-Soul Arc! Lets go!!!! This has been wild so far. Holy crap. Thank you guys, so much. Again, always feel free to ask me questions or just speculation. Today, work is hell. Mock inspection. *Dies like several tbhx characters*

Masterlist

Nice felt his world fall out from under him. He wouldn't make it in time. Nice could vaguely hear screaming. He didn't know that it was his own. 

The robots were all destroyed and Moon had punched Enlighter's lights out.

He rushed forward, hoping against hope that he would make it. 

A surge of blue lightning lit up the buildings. 

E-Soul zipped up a nearby building.

Nice collapsed to the ground. 

E-Soul had caught Lin Ling. 

“Sorry. I’m going to borrow him for a bit. I hope you don't mind? We have some catching up to do and he needs medical attention as soon as possible. See you later!”

Nice was frozen in so many different emotions. “What. The. Fuck.” He said, voice sounding a bit dead.

…

Shang Chao was pacing as he waited for his lover to return with their friend. A doctor was waiting on their floor as well. His heart had stopped when Lin Ling went over the edge of the building. It had only started again when Yang Cheng had caught him. 

The hidden panel slid back in the wall, revealing the stairwell that was mostly used in emergency situations. Yang Cheng entered and quickly laid Lin Ling on the couch. 

The doctor got to work immediately. He was a Trusted doctor and could diagone with just a touch. Thankfully nothing required a hospital visit. The unconscious hero just needed rest, fluids, food, and time to heal from mild torture.

He bandaged up what needed bandages and left soon after. 

…

Lin Ling felt like he had been run over. He groaned in discomfort as he woke up.

“Oh, thank goodness. You're awake." A vaguely familiar voice said. It made a pang of longing go through him.

It took him a few moments to be able to pry his eyes open.

Shang Chao’s smiling face greeted him. “Good morning.”

"Shang Chao? What? Where am I?" Lin Ling asked.

“Minevand A-Cheng’s apartment in Hero Tower. He caught you." 

“Caught me? I think I passed out some time after Nice and-" Lin Ling bolted up and immediately regretted it. “Nice! Wreck! Moon! Are they okay?!” He gasped out, pain stealing his breath away.

“They're fine! Don't worry! Lay back down!" Shang Chao fussed. “A-Cheng and I are more worried about you right now." 

"A-Chao’s right. What in the world has been going on?” Yang Cheng said as he walked over. He was in casual clothes and not his hero costume.

“You just disappeared after saving me that night. After revealing you were a hero the whole time we knew you! It's been four years!" Chao exclaimed.

“My parents died, my phone was busted in the altercation, and I had to transfer to a cheaper college. I hated it! But my life was falling down around me. I refused to drag you three down as well. Then the Threads of my powers connected to you three snapped and I just couldn't get up the nerve to try dnd reach out." Lin Ling told them. "How is Xia Qing, anyway?”

"She's in America on a work vacation in Florida. Miami to be exact. She met a girl there from our neck of the woods. They might start dating.” Yang Cheng let him know.

"That's not the point. Don't distract us!” Chao scolded. "Powers? Theads? Explain please?”

“One of my powers is ugh.” Ling groaned before saying the next part “has been named, by others, Maternal Instinct. I have metaphysical threads connecting people under my care back to me. It gives a general location and state of being. I knew you were in danger immediately even before I saw the guy pointing a gun at you.”

“Under your care?” Cheng asked.

“My powers came from being a super nanny and my homemaking skills. Over time that gained me Trust and my Hero Identity as Homemaker. If I consistently take care of someone and consciously claim them, then they come under my powers. I call those people my wards/charges. You three and my own parents were my only connections like that. For years. Until recently.” Lining sighed. “I was literally your mom-friend.” 

“That actually makes sense now. Why it felt like we lost a parent all of the sudden after you vanished. And why A-Cheng used to slip up and call you mom on accident sometimes. Behind your back.” Shang Chao said as he was looking on his tablet. Homemaker's internal only comprehensive hero profile was on it. All of his current abilities were listed along with explanations of them.

Yang Cheng was blushing from mortification at that revelation.

…

It was an hour later that the two helped Lin Ling back to his own apartment that he shared with Nice and Wreck.

“Are you sure you're alright with them? Nice gives me the creeps, honestly.” Yang Cheng asked. Lin Ling was glad that being a hero brought out Cheng’s confidence.

“I’m more than fine with them. Cone on. Don't be like that.” Ling scolded gently as the two made faces.

…

Nice burst into the apartment and collapsed at Lin Ling's feet. He buried his face into Ling’s knees and started sobbing. Wreck wasn't much better. He buried his own face in his thigh. Moon immediately went to get the massive blanket that Ling had finished. She cuddled into Ling’s side and covered them all up with it. 

Yang Cheng and Shang Chao shared a look and silently left. They would be back later to check in. Even if they didn't like it, the four needed space.

…

Lin Ling ran his fingers through Moon’s tangled hair and muttered nonsense soothing words as he calmed his family down.

“I can't. I just…” Nice wailed before ever so gently grabbing at his hands. “I love you. I'm in love with you.” Nice confessed while looking in Lin Ling’s eyes. The blanket had fallen off of them a bit.

“I am, too.” Wreck covered both of their hands with his larger ones. Moon scooched over to the other end of the couch. 

Lin Ling knew that no words needed to be spoken as he guided Nice up on to the couch and then Wreck. He then took his hands back. 

He cupped Nice’s face in both of them. He looked in to those tear filled sapphire eyes and leaned in. Their lips met in their first kiss. Ling poured all of his love for the man into it. By the end, Nice was dazed and gasping for breath. Ling then did the same for Wreck.

“I am in love with you both, as well.”

[i-want-men-i-cant-have]

OH MY GOD, IT'S HIM! OH, I'M GONNA DIE!

SYNOPSIS. when they meet their biggest fan… ( 2.2k )

౨ৎ —FEATURING. nagi, isagi, rin & bachira.

౨ৎ —CW.   reader is a typical fangirl.

౨ৎ —NOTE.   i had a dream where i was at a fan meet n’ greet and the girl in front of me passed out foaming at the mouth over meeting ego and that traumatized the writer's block out of me. takes place during the neo-egoist league.

SEISHIRO N.

you think you died, and your mother had to grab your soul and strap it back into your empty husk when you get an email from blue lock asking if you’d like to join nagi seishiro for a personal interview as his most dedicated fan.

your body must’ve still been weak, because when you finally came face to face with him (more like face to chest), your eyes went white and you slipped through his limp arms like sand, collapsing face-first onto the floor.

eventually, you got a grip on reality and were functioning well enough to start the interview. 

the bad part? his coach had to pick him up off his chair, shove the seat closer to you, and position him in the camera frame.

you would have been insulted if it weren’t for the fact that, if you held your breath long enough and inhaled slowly, you could catch hints of vanilla and detergent from his freshly washed clothes.

it didn’t exactly feel like an interview with the amount of food they shoved in your face (which was the only reason nagi agreed to it in the first place). the manshine forward didn’t even find the energy to lift his resin gaze from the food to answer your questions. 

you couldn’t tell if the person behind the camera was angrier at him or you for not cracking him yet. 

after thirty minutes, you had enough of the awkward interaction. this was your one chance to be face-to-face with nagi seishiro, and you were not about to let your legacy be limited to collapsing at the sight of him. you had to use your borderline stalker-level knowledge to your advantage. the flames of love and passion should steer your shared future.

you coughed into your hand to get his attention, only to be met with the sound of a wrapper being ripped open.

with a twitch of your eye you spoke, “nagi, you play a lot of games in your free time. do you have any recommendations?”

his mouth paused mid-chew, and with the fastest movement you’d seen from him all day, he grabbed a water bottle, took a few sips, and finally swallowed. 

“mmm… there’s this new one that came out, it’s a gacha. it’s pay-to-win, but if you get over that, the mechanics—”

by the end of the interview, he was talking at 1.75x speed and didn’t look as if he’d pick being in bed over spending time with you.

you even managed to snag his gamer id along with his number, even if it was just for the “share with a friend” rewards. but hey, being his “friend,” even if it was just for benefits, wasn’t the worst thing in the world.

hey, maybe if you weaseled your way into more of his games, you’d end up walking down the aisle for him, his purple-haired friend handing him a handkerchief to dry his watered eyes. after that, you’d have two kids and a maine coon named reo. right?

well, wishful thinking never hurt anyone in the past few thousand years it’s been around.

YOICHI I.

he looked more nervous than you to meet in person, a bashful shade of piggy pink coloring his cheeks.

the higher-ups either: a.) didn’t tell him you were the president of his fan club, b.) he was extremely good at hiding his distress, or c.) he was genuinely happy to have a fan.

luckily, you came prepared to win him over with a handmade card you’d poured your blood, sweat, and tears into, a hand-sewn, size-accurate lobster plushie with his jersey number and last name embroidered on the claw, and two gardenias, one for each of your hearts. the symbol of secret love.

did it take a lot of time and effort? yes. was it worth it? hell yes.

he held each gift as if they were a newborn baby. even the way he looked at them was so full of appreciation that it made up for weeks of bandaged fingers. he seemed more than grateful, thanking you at least three times per item.

after that, the day consisted of him teaching you the basics of football, how to kick, and dribble, all skills that were definitely useful in your mundane life. 

unfortunately, the most exciting part of the activity was how the rouge balls always managed to just barely graze your upper half whether that be your face, shoulders, or pride. 

but even with the mediocrity, he was still teaching you and you would never ever say that was unfortunate… only, it felt less like learning from one of blue lock’s top players and more like watching a youtube video. 

he only demonstrated what you were doing with stiff movement, then walked you through it by showing you his own body and confusing gestures that had you staring at him as if he was explaining quantum physics, “huh?”

it’s not that he was bad at explaining things (he was), but it was hard to follow when every time he looked you in the eyes, he’d instantly drop his gaze and start mumbling to the ball under his cleat. 

at the end of the day, you got a goodie bag of bastard münchen merch and had to lean over so your back could serve as a desk for isagi to sign your number 11 jersey in thick permanent marker.

but when kaiser entered his line of sight, isagi visibly grew antsy, side-eyeing him every few seconds as you talked. but that agitation morphed into something rabid when the blond said something in german you didn’t understand. 

isagi retaliated, spit flying at the forward as he smooshed your cheeks together with calloused fingers, pulling your face toward his chest. the next thing you knew, the marker was scratching battle scars onto your forehead like a man possessed.

you might’ve fainted if it weren’t for the grounding grip of isagi, who was too busy yelling at his teammate with enraged red cheeks to notice your fluttering eyes, slumped shoulders, jelly legs, and a sigh of pure ecstasy.

maybe you should invest in a face tattoo. perhaps today...

overall, it wasn’t an experience you’d recommend to anyone other than the president of his fan club. oh, teehee, guess only you can truly appreciate his presence in person.

RIN I.

writing ‘i will meet itoshi rin and we will get married’ one hundred times every day for the past month in your diary, listening to subliminals to sleep, and praying to god must’ve finally paid off because right now, you were personally being shown the daily schedule of blue lock’s very own itoshi rin.

the rest of pxg and the camera crew were just background noise. your eyes widened like a kid on christmas morning as you stared into his soul while he ate lunch, lips curved into a hazy smile.

the way he held his fork had so much poise. the mere shift of metal between his fingers exuded so much power that you forgot about the food sitting in front of you. he was kind, too, reminding you to eat a few minutes before he went off to train.

words caught in your throat, so you just stared at him wide-eyed for five solid seconds before giggling uncontrollably.

he was so considerate, you could swoon.

your face kept the same dopey smile the entire day. when he drank water. when he walked down the hall. when he breathed. he was truly a masterpiece, a body and face sculpted by an old master. you just knew his parents must high-five every time they looked at him and those eyelashes.

“oomph—” 

you walked straight into his back when he paused under the door of the workout rooms. he seemed to be deciding something before asking if you wanted to do yoga with him.

HE’S SO CONSIDERATE— you mentally wailed.

and that is how you ended up sweating buckets, face flushed from blood rushing to your head, and hands leaving wet prints on the mat every time you adjusted your form.

you would’ve thought he lied about “toning down his routine” for you if you hadn’t already memorized every pose he did, how long he held them, the names, the times he started—

the sound of his hands slapping against the mat jolted you back to reality. he was already in halasana or plow pose.

you let out a seething exhale through gritted teeth, praying to god, buddha, literally anyone out there that you wouldn’t fart or collapse. at least you did pilates daily just to prepare for meeting him. if not, you would’ve been dead thirty minutes ago.

this was supposed to be the time for you to ask him questions, opinions, and other such things with the calming exterior of yoga but at this rate, it was a battle to survive. your joints were burning and screaming for release from this hell.

he might’ve been “simplifying” his routine for you but that didn’t mean it was easy.

you managed to squeak out a few questions through pants: 

—do you see any of your teammates as friends? no. they're only there to assist him.

—do you have a rival in blue lock that motivates you to get up and train so early every morning? isagi yoichi. duh.

—is your dinner any good? no, not really. but he’s used to it by now. 

you really should’ve come up with more open-ended questions beforehand. 

and then, in the middle of shirshasana, you felt his hand grab your ankle to steady you as you wobbled.

“you can go back to child’s pose. you shouldn’t push yourself.”

“no,” you choked, gasping. “we’re the same age. ’m fine.”

he didn’t disagree, keeping to holding your ankle.

you could die happy now. not only did you spend the day with the itoshi rin, but he was touching your ankle. you were going to leave it unwashed for a month and take a photo of it for future worship. maybe even hold it when you feel lonely.

and while you were daydreaming in deep thought, your body gave out from lack of focus. your foot slapped rin’s face with an audible smack before you hit the mat like a sack of bricks. you stared at the ceiling, mouth agape, gasping for air. rin just stared at the wall, clearly trying to process what had just happened.

at least the social media manager got a good thumbnail at the expense of your dignity.

but forget that. the important thing was that you were never washing the foot that bore the sacred bacteria of itoshi rin’s face sweat.

MEGURU B.

when you first met him, you expected a fake smile masking his disgust, but instead, you were met with a running hug that lifted you off the ground as he twirled you in a circle.

you must’ve looked like a pervy old man with his young bimbo from how the rest of the team stared at your giddy face with contempt.

but how could they, so young and naive, possibly begin to comprehend the depth of your feelings? not even shakespeare could rival the scenarios you imagined before falling asleep. not even tchaikovsky could compose the proper symphony to match the way your heart raced whenever you saw his face.

it was a miracle none of the handmade sweets you slaved over last night got crushed when he hugged you. you even baked them fresh this morning to preserve that gooey, just-out-the-oven goodness. the aesthetic was ruined by the canned pineapple, but of course, that’s the first thing his eyes landed on and he devoured it like it was gourmet.

he even got the day off from training to show you around. his coach didn’t care if he missed practice, that was his problem, not lavinho’s (whatever that meant).

but of course, he turned it down so he could show off his skills to you instead as you clapped for every single trick or pass he did.

the delusional part of your brain said he was trying to seduce you like a bird performing a mating dance. the rational part of your brain said he was madly in love with you but had to express it through actions.

somehow, you weren’t being completely creepy and were able to bond on a strange wavelength. maybe that’s how you ended up with his actual address, so you could send each other letters when he eventually left blue lock.

apparently giving someone a gift and showing them genuine kindness goes a long way. groundbreaking. 

but when a bug-looking boy with a landing strip of green dye tried to talk to you he was met with a football to his head and a teasing bachira yelling at him that he has ‘plenty of time to talk to girls when he’s out of here.’

you simply said, “we can hang out sometime if you’d like,” and the peekaboo blond gave you every form of “contact” he had from his socials to his spotify and imdb page. 

you had to physically stop yourself from drooling and bouncing around like a rabid dog when he typed it all into your notes app. too bad for the poor bus driver who swiveled the vehicle when you randomly screamed on the way down from the blue lock prison. the man gave you a thirty-minute lecture on proper etiquette all the while you were giggling at the memory of bachira’s smile.

totally worth it.

[dandylion240]

“This can’t be real,” Evan muttered to himself, flinching from the apparition before him. It couldn’t be real. Ghosts aren’t real. Yeah like dragons aren’t real. His inner voice laughed at him. Shivering as the apparition knelt beside him. Yelping when it’s hand touched his shoulder and the minty scent washed over him as thick as the fog around him.

“Oh I’m real alright,” he chuckled, pulling Evan to his feet.

“Jayden,” Evan screamed, struggling to free himself “what did you do to him?” His demand fell flat as he looked into the dark pools of the soulless eyes. More like pits of darkness and despair draining the last dregs of hope from him.

“Don’t worry, I’ve taken care of him,” his lips grimaced in what might have been a grin. “I did what I should have done at the start.”

The scream. Swallowing the fear that rose like bile deep inside him. Jayden was hurt somewhere in all this fog. Craning his neck Evan scanned the fog swirling around him. Where could he be? Was he….

“He won’t be coming to the rescue this time,” Jasper gloated, pulling him close “you’re mine. All mine.”

Whimpering as Jasper’s mouth closed around his, gagging as his tongue invaded his mo9uth, leaving behind an after taste of mold, rot and decay. Evan's hands hung at his sides, paralyzed by what could only be his worst nightmare. 

His thoughts whirled inside his head as murky as the fog around him. What could he do to protect himself? Nothing he knew of could hurt a ghost. He could hit him over the head or something but would that do anything other than anger him? He had to get free. Once he was free he could find Jayden and then…what? What if Jayden was hurt? What if he was dead?

What about Josie? What if Jasper had taken her? What had he done to her? His body went limp, enduring the bruising kiss best he could. His only hope was to play along and maybe Jasper would take him to where Josie was. Once he knew she was safe he could work on getting them both to safety. Guilt stabbed his heart knowing he’d have to leave Jayden behind, it was small comfort knowing that’s what he had to do, what Jayden would want him to do.

Pulling back Jasper peered into his eyes as if trying to read his mind “you made the right decision.” His hands grasped Evan’s wrists, squeezing tight. “I know what you were thinking. Thinking you would hit me, hurt me. But you can’t.” He let one of Evan’s hands drop to stroke his cheek instead “it’s only a matter of time and you'll join me. We’ll have forever. Just you and me.”

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” a deep voice said from the thickness of the fog.

“I can’t just lie here,” Jayden moved his arms to push his body from the ground. “Argh,” his breath exploded from him as his body erupted in a torrent of fire and pain.

“No one ever listens,” the petulant voice said, ending in an aggrieved sigh.

“Maybe you could help instead of complain,” Jayden mumbled coughing weakly.

“Why should I? No one helped me.” he whined “I’ve been down here a lot longer than you.”

A horse whinnied nearby, frowning Jayden said “you’re the rider who caused us to crash.”

“I always ride on this night,” he stated “I never make it past the hollow. Every year it ends the same.”

“Why do it?” the question burst from him before he could stop it. What did it matter? The damage was done. All that mattered now was getting to Evan before whoever pushed him into the hollow got to Evan.

“Ha,” the man cried in triumph.

“What?” Jayden grumbled, his already frayed patience slipping.

“I know what you’re thinking,” he said wagging a finger in front of Jayden’s face “you’re thinking this is all a figment of your imagination.”

Jayden couldn’t dispute that. All of this from the moment he swerved to miss the horse had been surreal. As irritating as the man was to talk to his silence was worse. “Hey,” Jayden called “are you still here?” He held his breath grunting as he pulled himself up. Swallowing as the world around him swayed and darkened on a sea of misery. He was sure there wasn’t a spot on his body that wasn’t bruised and sore. His forehead felt cold and clammy and he felt as if he were revolving in a slow endless circle. Clutching his stomach with one hand while covering his mouth with the other he resisted the urge to purge his stomach of its last meal.

Retching would do him little good and would only awaken what few spots had dulled and slept. Death might be more preferable to the agony he suffered.

“Careful what you wish for,” his companion cautioned “there’s a Reaper coming for you.”

“What?” Jayden's voice squeaked, eyes darting around the fog filled landscape. “I don’t see anything.”

“They’re right over there,” he said pointing towards a dark shape in the trees.

It seemed to Jayden that every shadow and indistinct shape was something to be feared. “I must be hallucinating,” he mumbled, shaking his head. It wasn't fear that had him shaking at the thought of a reaper coming for him; it was who he was leaving behind. “Evan needs me. Josie. I can’t go until I know they’re safe. I’ve got to get out of here.”

“Haven’t you been listening to me?” the man asked irritation creeping into his tone. “No one gets out of the hollow.”

“You did,” Jayden stared fuzzily at the man who was … helping him, maybe? “You were riding a horse….” He gasped, lungs seizing up on him sending him into a fit, gasping and coughing that left his entire body weak and light headed.

“Of course I was,” he snapped. “It’s what I always do on this night. Every year on old Hallow’s Eve. For the last one hundred years.”

Jayden gasped, staring at the hands helping him up “that’s not possible unless…” 

“Unless I’m a ghost,” he grinned showing yellowed, rotting teeth.

“Am I dead?” Jayden asked, holding a hand to his throbbing head. He couldn’t imagine feeling this terrible if he were dead.

Letting his body go limp Evan knew struggling would be useless against Jasper’s greater strength. His mind groped for something he could do. Giving up wasn’t an option even if Jasper was worse now than he was when he was alive. Frowning he mulled over what Jasper said “that was a mistake,” he murmured aloud. His eyes slid sideways unable to meet the glaring pits of darkness and hate.

“What did you say?” Jasper bellowed, gripping Evan’s wrist with brutal force.

His breath escaped in a hissing gush as the delicate bones splintered beneath the vice grip like hold Jasper had on him. “You…made…a…mistake” he stammered. His head drooped as his vision dimmed around the edges. “Killing Jayden was a mistake,” he licked his lips, his mouth dry.

Jerking him forward Jasper glared into his face “that was not a mistake. Even as we speak a Reaper is helping him crossover. He’s gone.” Chuckling he tilted his chin in a way Evan knew well, one that showed he knew he was smarter than everyone else.

Shaking his head Evan put his hands up, pushing Jasper away from him wincing as pain took his breath away. “You’re wrong. Jayden won’t leave me. Not in life or death. He’ll come back and this time he’ll be like you.” He hoped he sounded as confident as his words. Inwardly he hoped Jasper were wrong, that Jayden wasn’t dead. 

“Interesting theory,” he grinned “I think we should test it.” Running a finger down Evan’s cheek “I doubt your precious Jayden has changed all that much. He was always a selfish, self-centered little prick. He’ll see what’s on the other side and forget all about you.” Leaning in close “he doesn’t love you as much as I do.”

Evan took in a sharp intake of breath, saying “he loves me.” Turning his face away so that Jasper couldn’t see how much his words hurt, hit the fear deep within him that just maybe Jayden wouldn’t come for him. The self important chuckle in his ear wiped the flicker of doubt from his heart “you won’t win,” he shouted staring stonily into Jasper’s smug face “he loves me. Dead or alive. He’ll come for me.”

An annoyed grunt came out as Jasper leaned in close “you sure about that? So sure you’ll stake your life on it?”

“Yes,” Evan shouted, glaring at the man he hated so much it made him ill.

“Challenge accepted,” he snarled, lifting both hands around Evan’s throat, squeezing, his nails digging into the warm smooth flesh beneath his cold dead fingers. Smirking as his victim’s body went limp in his hands after gurgling it’s last breath.

Previous/Next

[moon-fics]

I NEED AGNSTY VIGILANTE 🤲🏾

A/n: I love angst. It's my life and soul. I gift you, my first angsty Vigilante fanfic of the year.

Summary: Can you really call this relationship a routine? Or is it insanity?

You don't even have to look anymore, as your hands guide the gauze over his bleeding bicep. You've done this before in multiple ways on almost every part of him. Tonight is the third night in a row where he's been cut during patrol. On a Tuesday night, when most couples are cuddling up or going to bed, you are cleaning his wounds on the couch.

You can't really get mad without having to point the finger at yourself. He told you this would happen before asking you out. He went into great detail on what his life is like. You just didn't want to believe him. Maybe you just didn't want to lose him.

"And then I met up with Chr- I mean Peacemaker!" Adrian says excitedly. He moves his arm slightly and nearly forces you to start over. You're not even listening, and you know you should be. Your wonderful boyfriend is telling you about his day, but you're stuck on how bad yours was.

"That's great." You say in a monotone voice. You hope it's enough to keep him talking so he doesn't get up before you're done.

You finish his arm and rip the bandage with your teeth. You tie it just a bit tighter than usual, and Adrian catches onto it. He might not be the best with cues, but he certainly knows yours.

"Did something happen?" He asks innocently. You don't have the heart to tell him you've been feeling neglected or how you no longer feel the spark. "Do I need to go hit someone? I will go back out and hit them. They'll never see it coming." He presses for answers.

"No, no one needs to be hit," You assure him. He's shirtless on your couch, and you should be all over him. You want to hold him and fall asleep on top of him. Yet, you know he'd ignore the pain in his body. You'd be up all night wondering if you're crushing a bruised rib. "I'm just lost in thought." You finally answer.

He frowns at your response because a part of him knows you're lying. He's not as oblivious as some people assume; he can tell when people are upset or mad.

You place a hand on his shoulder and feel how soft his skin is. There are scars littered across his bare chest, and you can remember dressing most of them. You sigh because that's all you can do right now.

"Ok, well, if I'm all set, we can watch 'Fargo'!" He stands from the couch to grab the remote. You can't explain why you feel your stomach sink at that idea. Another night of watching "Fargo".

"I'm actually going to go to bed," You say. You fake a yawn before crawling off the couch. The stare Adrian gives you is enough to tell you he's not buying it. His lips are slightly parted, and his brows are pressed down. "I'll watch it with you tomorrow night." You suggest with a half-assed smile.

"Are you mad at me?" His question cuts through you. You weren't expecting him to even ask. You aren't sure if you should answer. You open your mouth to deliver a comforting response. To tell him you aren't mad, but he stops you. "Please, don't lie."

"I'm just tired of this," You say while gesturing in the general area. It's a terrible answer, and you cringe at it. "I'm tired of the same routine." You admit.

"I wouldn't really call this a routine. Even if it was, aren't routines good?" He shrugs. His hands fidget together nervously. His weight is leaning onto one leg while the other bends. "I thought everything was ok." He says.

It was ok for a few months. You were happy to be with him and to see his vulnerable side. Now, you aren't so sure you saw the bigger picture. You have him, but you also get him in small moments where he's injured for most of them.

"I just feel like I barely see you, and when I do, you're either bleeding out or running out to see Chris." You try to keep your voice level. Your throat feels tight and sore. It hurts to breathe and to speak because you can feel the tears threatening to form. "I just want to go on a date or to feel like an actual couple."

"I can take you on a date," He perks up. You want to believe him, truly you do. The last time you planned a date, it was cancelled because he got stabbed in the shoulder the night before. The time before that, the date went terribly because he was too busy scouring for potential threats. The only time a date went well was when you both cooked together and stayed in.

"Adrian, you are covered in cuts and bruises. If we go out, someone will notice or you'll be in pain," You point out.

Deep inside you, you can feel a ripping sensation. Like when someone tears up a paper or a letter. It's piece by piece and slow. You stare at Adrian, and it feels like he's the paper. You're ripping him up.

"I just don't know if I can keep doing this. It feels like insanity," Your voice cracks. Hearing it is enough for the tears to flood your eyes. To hear your own heartbreak is by far the worst thing. "I sit and I tend to your wounds and I feel... I feel this nothing." You speak as if air is failing you.

Adrian's eyes don't soften or even change. His jaw clenches as if he's thinking. You don't know if there's anything to say. You just admitted to feeling nothing with him.

"Should I go?" He mumbles while placing his hands on his hips. It's not a question of being mean. He's genuinely asking because he doesn't know what to say. You can't give him an answer from your lips, so you nod. "Should I come back?" He asks while heading to the door. You don't move, and he takes that as a 'maybe'.

"I do love you," His voice is warm as he opens the door. He stands there for a few seconds to take it in. "I loved every night with you."

"I know." You answer with a trembling smile. You can feel hot tears rolling down your cheeks. You'll miss him until he inevitably returns. You'll miss him.

He steps past the door and closes it behind him.

[bridgetlynn]

For the drabble game, Frank and Dana and, because I like pain, number 69 :)

Okay, so thanks for the kick to get something written. #69 was Annoyance. And I'm not sure if this is what you were thinking about - but I think there's a general overall feel of that emotion throughout. I just kind of wrote and wound up in an interesting place. And Robby showed up to play as well. Hope that's okay. Five sentences went out the window around 1pm. It actually clocks in at 4290 words. It's still untitled. Hope you enjoy it - even if it went in a different direction then I necessarily expected it to. So here are Dana dealing with Frank and Robby and Annoyance.

The start of a shift cycle, following the two day break, always came around too soon in Dana Evans’ opinion. This one, following the roughest shift she’d had in her entire career when not counting a global pandemic, had seemed to come a little sooner than usual. It also happened to be, on top of everything, a Monday. 

And now, something had been blown up that couldn’t be put back into its box; and according to her computer, it might not have needed to have such a large blast radius.

Needless to say she’s had better mornings.

“Hi!”

Dana looked up from where she was reviewing the status of the patients currently inhabiting her emergency room, as she had been off for four days, and met the bluest eyes she had ever seen in person. It would be a lovely sight if those eyes weren’t currently in the skull of a puppy turned human. A puppy wearing black scrubs which meant it was going to probably be her problem eventually.

“Who are you and why are you bouncing in front of my desk an hour before you should be?”

“Frank Langdon. Intern,” he introduced himself and then to her horror brought a hand up and proceeded to drain a can of Red Bull at six o’clock in the morning. “Nice to meet you,” he added once he was done. 

Dana just groaned, loudly, and held a hand out as she saw him start looking around for, hopefully, a garbage, “Give me.” He frowned slightly but passed the can over. “Sit,” she added, pointing at the chair directly next to her. “If I let you wander you’ll get lost or stolen and I don’t have the time to make flyers today.”

“Yes ma’am?” he questioned more then replied and slowly sat in the chair while Dana got back to reviewing the computer charts.  

Two minutes later the puppy’s feet started tapping and shortly thereafter the chair she had put him on started swinging back and forth. She glanced to the side and watched as the swinging slowly became spinning and let him have four rotations before her own hand snapped out and grabbed the arm of the chair, “Bad puppy. Q-word time. Shhh.”

“Q-word? You mean quiet?”

“Fuck,” Dana groaned and pinched the bridge of her nose. “Bad puppy. No more talking.”

“I thought you were quitting?” 

Dana rolled her eyes, and gritted her teeth, before looking up and replying, in a very serious tone, to Robby’s overly sarcastic question, “I’ve quit at least once a year since long before you strolled through those doors as a cocky fellow, barely out of his twenties, ready to blow through all the young and pretty nurses,” she said very pointedly.

“Well, that’s not true at all,” Robby replied, laughing slightly and missing the way Dana’s eyes hardened somewhat.

“No. It is,” she assured him. “Back then you were absolutely what my daughter would refer to as a Grade C Fuckboy with your floppy hair and ‘fix me’ energy.” She smirked, kind of meanly, at his widened eyes and added, “Oh! But don’t worry; by now you’ve reached at least an A. And you still need to be fixed. I’ve been told it’s your most attractive trait. Until those women actually date you.”

Robby opened his mouth and paused; then he examined Dana’s face and seemed to finally register that she wasn’t remotely amused at the moment, “Okay? What’s wrong? You’re pissed at me.”

She quietly gathered up the stack of papers she had just finished printing shortly before Robby arrived, the reason she had been here two hours before shift, and slid the folder across the counter to him. 

“Is this the thing?” he asked, dropping his voice to a nearly incomprehensible volume and Dana rolled her eyes again.

“Yes; that’s the pharmacy audit you had me run against Langdon’s hospital ID. I’d have done it quietly - like you originally asked - but I figured that was blown to hell after you started screaming about it for all and sundry to hear in the ambulance bay,” she responded at a normal level since as she pointed out - everyone knew even if they didn’t officially yet. “Stop fidgeting Francis James Langdon. God didn’t bless me with sons for reasons. Please stop doing things to remind of some of those reasons,” Dana stated without looking away from where she was double checking the inventory in Trauma Two’s cabinets and med-carts for various medications and supplies. 

As it was, normally, she wouldn’t even be doing the inventory in the trauma rooms; however, they had six fairly major trauma’s roll through one after the other in the course of an hour and a half, three for each room, and hadn’t had time before now to fully flip the rooms for much more than cleanliness. Which meant that her LPNs who had acted as Scribes for the traumas also hadn’t had time to get their notes into the computer; and therefore, Dana had no final inventory numbers of what was used and two very bare trauma rooms. It was definitely a case of doing for oneself when you need it done quickly and correctly - and she needed to get an order to Central Supply within the next hour. 

On any other day Dana wouldn’t mind him letting off a little energy while it was on the calmer side in the department; but she was on a time crunch and Frank had already dropped one box each of tubing, gauze and gloves in the last ten minutes and they were getting to the more breakable items shortly.  Easily distracted and over-caffeinated residents still in their puppy stages bouncing on her last shred of patience was not a great combination at four o’clock on a Saturday afternoon eight days into a July heatwave. She was half convinced they weren’t packed, beyond the traumas, because no one had the energy to leave their houses and get here unless they were ready to bleed out. Unfortunately, that could flip in a moment with no notice so, fidgeting wasn’t going to fly right now.

It was also her own fault for asking the hyperactive R2 to help her. The gangly boy was useful for high places and bulky crates. 

“I think I’m meant to be insulted by that,” Frank muttered while pushing the cart she pointed at over to the other side of the room. “But I’m awesome. So I won’t be.”

“Don’t think sweetie,” Dana replied. “Know. Know that you are to be insulted by that.”

“Oh come on Dana,” Frank grumbled, shuffling back over to her looking for all the world like Tanner and not for the first time Dana wondered if Abby hadn’t just cloned and shrunk her husband. “What’d I do now?”

“Knocked up your wife while she’s trying to finish her Master’s degree when you already have a two year old ,” Dana said decisively. “This is why I don’t have sons. My girl’s know not to let any nasty penis’ near them until after they finish their degrees. Boys would need to be tied up in their bedrooms through puberty. Too much work.”

She saw Frank smirk and shake his head before responding with a laugh, “No boy of yours would dare. Also, Kate’s married with a kid, Julia’s a lesbian and Rose is fourteen. I think you’re…okay?” She watched as he suddenly stopped moving the next cart and slowly turned to face the Charge Nurse before sputtering out a denial, “What did you say first? Because…no I didn’t!”

Dana blinked, because that was genuine confusion, “Oops?”

“What oops?!”

“I mean, Congratulations?”

Frank scowled and pulled his phone out of his pocket, glaring at the older woman, he snapped, “Excuse me. I have to go make a phone call right now.”

“I said oops!” Dana called after the resident. “Sorry puppy,” she mumbled and grabbed her tablet to keep marking down what needed to be restocked within the next hour. 

When Robby walked in a few minutes later she just raised an eyebrow at him, not in the mood to deal with the older version of the resident had just stalked away. He merely raised his hands up and, despite a clear warning on her face, asked, “Why did Langdon just ask me how to ask his wife why she told you something before him?”

Dana froze for a second and then burst out laughing, “He asked you for advice on talking to a wife?”

“I think I’m supposed to be insulted by that,” Robby mumbled and left the room while Dana continued to laugh. Robby scowled and Dana held up a hand before he could say anything else, loudly or otherwise, and continued speaking, “I do not appreciate it when orderlies whose names I do not even know start asking me if a senior resident is in jail for shooting up fentanyl or something. And when I ask what the hell they are talking about the response is, apparently, Dr. Robby was screaming about him being arrested for stealing medication and being high at work.”

Robby visibly winced at that and scrubbed a hand over his face, “I wasn’t thinking. He just got me so mad. I sent him home and he wouldn’t leave. And yes, I should have handled it a little better; I can admit that. He did approach me calmly and I am the one who blew it up into…loud.”

“Yes,” she snapped and then immediately lowered her voice. “Into “loud” is one way to put it. I mean, seriously, Robby? It was a bad day there is no doubt about it; but you’ve been spiraling for over a year and you crossed a line Friday. There is no excuse for Frank’s shit to be aired all over the fucking hospital,” she hissed at him. 

“And what about what he said to me?” 

Dana raised an eyebrow at that and then pointedly looked around the ER, where no one was even looking in their direction, before replying, “You’re Chief. Remember what I said to you when you asked what people were saying? No one sees anything or says anything where you are concerned. A fourth year resident in a competitive program who is more talented than most of the other residents put together? Hmm, I wonder how fast they want that star to fall?”

Robby nodded and fiddled with the stack of papers and rather than respond to what she had said he simply asked, “How bad is it?” She shrugged, “Well in thirty-three years I’ve seen worse. Hell, there was an anesthesiologist here in the early aughts, before your time here, who probably could have given Escobar a run for his money.”

“Dana,” Robby admonished. “Seriously.”

“I am,” she responded with a shrug. “What Langdon did isn’t good. But, when I tell you I’ve seen worse I mean it. And don’t tell me you dare tell me you can’t say the same.” Robby frowned deeper and tapped the folder with a pointed look to which she, again, rolled her eyes at the stubborn man. “Okay. Fine. I went back three days like you asked and the only somewhat questionable thing other than Louie’s meds was a, technical, pedes case on Wednesday.” “Pedes!?” Robby practically shrieked and Dana held up a hand, glaring at him. “Before you immediately jump to the worst case scenario, I remember that patient and the mother was so high strung that I jumped on as Frank’s nurse for it. You know he doesn’t deal well with mother’s that are clones of his own.” “Dana. Point please?” Robby implored, though he at least visibly paled at the comparison the nurse made. None of them liked thinking back on the one time they had met Louse Langdon in person.

“I’m getting there,” she muttered, resisting the urge to throttle him as she had been since early that morning. “Kid was almost seventeen, a wrestler and couldn’t stand up straight after practice. Back was totally frozen from the shoulder to hips. He admitted his partner screwed up some hold they were not supposed to be doing and he felt like he just got stuck. Scans showed no skeletal damage or tears, exam indicated that he probably just, essentially, pulled everything. Langdon called in a neuro consult and Janson came down.”

Robby winced again, “He should retire. Or be retired.”

“Yep,” Dana agreed, exhaling through her nose tiredly. “Janson prescribed valium and percocet. And Frank argued with him over here by the desk; pointing out, ironically, how bad of an idea it is to give a kid access to that kind of medication. Janson disagreed; but like you said - he’s old. So, Janson sent the script. Frank delivered the meds…and the mother winged them back at his face. The bottles landed halfway to the trauma rooms,” Dana explained, pointing behind her. “I don’t know what happened to them after that,” she admitted with a tight smile. “But Langdon changed the prescription to what he originally wanted.”

“Which was?” “Prescription strength ibuprofen and a week-long course of metaxalone. The mother was a bit more receptive to that after Frank explained that it was non-narcotic but that she should still disperse the meds to him herself at the correct times.”

“Skeletal muscle relaxer? Yea, I guess that’s a little better for that injury at that age,” Robby admitted quietly.

“Right,” she replied, nodding slightly. “So, then I went back to April, around when he got injured, and he only prescribed lorazepam ten times in that six month period and he never actually accessed the Pyxis himself for any of them before Friday. So take that how you will. Sometimes it is just a shitty vial or maybe he did something to that one. No way to really prove it.”

“OH Jesus what happened?!” Dana almost screamed and hurried across the room to her bouncing baby R3 who was currently walking through the ambulance bay doors alone, despite having the weekend off, and bleeding profusely; looking like someone had taken a bat to the side of his head.

“Baseball bat,” he mumbled, more than slightly dazed, as she steered him towards an exam room reminding herself that head wounds bleed a lot, and his white t-shirt being half red was probably not a big deal. 

“Robby!” Dana called, waving him down and pointing. She saw his eyes widen and he then proceeded to shove the tablet he was holding into the hands of Dr. Scott, one of the other A shift Attendings, who he had been speaking with before tearing across the department, tugging Heather Collin’s sleeve as he passed her to get her to follow him.

“What happened?!” he asked as both doctors came into the room while Jesse and Dana helped Frank up onto a gurney, ignoring his protests that he was fine. “You are not fine,” Robby calmly replied before Dana could do it herself. 

Which was probably a good thing as she was currently more likely to scream at him out of sheer terror then do anything calmly.  “Frank baby,” Dana said, trying to keep herself calm and stepping aside to allow Jesse to begin hooking the resident up to monitor’s at Robby’s quiet directions. “What happened? Did someone hit you with a baseball bat?” she asked carefully. “Do we need to get the police?”

Frank stared back at her, with thankfully even pupils even if he did look like he wasn’t fully aware of what was going on, and then burst out laughing. The fact that Jesse and Heather were both snickering a little and staring back at her and Robby while they did so was swiftly making her terror be replaced by aggravation. 

“It is not funny,” Robby snapped. “Look at him,” he added, and started listing off a barrage of lab tests, a full body CT, a chest x-ray and, after peering into Frank’s ear on the side of his head that was hit, an ENT consult, since his ear was bleeding. 

“It’s a little funny,” Collins disagreed. “No one hit him on purpose with a baseball bat. Don’t you remember he said his family was in town this weekend? Look how he’s dressed,” she added, pointing to Frank’s dirty clothes that Dana just realized consisted of baseball pants, a t-shirt and cleats. 

“Oh,” Dana mumbled and then froze again when Frank interjected something that she was sure she misunderstood in a spacey tone. “I’m sorry sweetheart what was that?” she asked.“Heather’s wrong. Henry absolutely hit me on purpose.”

“Henry?” Dana croaked out the question and felt somewhat justified in the pointed eyebrow she shot at Heather who looked horrified herself now.

“My older brother,” Frank explained, shrugging and then wincing. “Ow.”

“What ow?” Robby asked, looking exhausted. 

“Shoulder.”

“Did he hit you there too?” Jesse asked, since all four of them were a little flummoxed by the situation they were in; as were the various people who had been popping their heads into the exam room for the last ten minutes. “No, I wrenched it” Frank disagreed and then turned a pout in Dana’s direction. “I left my fidget.”

“Frank,” Robby redirected the younger doctor’s attention. “How’d you also wrench your shoulder?”

“Ginny,” he replied, still sounding distracted. “Heather? Can I have your clicky pen please?” he asked, pointing at the pen hanging on her shirt collar. “I won’t click it. Much.”

An hour later Dana was praying for her strength and her blood pressure. 

“Mrs. Langdon, your son has a grade two concussion because your other son hit him in the head with a baseball bat,” she explained slowly, glaring at the woman and not bothering to hide it. 

“Oh dear, honestly though boys will be boys. Henry didn’t do it on purpose. Frank caught out Henry’s home run. He wasn’t actually going to hit him; but Frank stepped the wrong way. He stepped into the swing instead of away from it. Henry would never want to hurt his baby brother. Henry’s my good boy. Always has been,” Louise Langdon explained, as though that made everything better. “Besides, Frank’s had that type of concussion before and he was fine. The last time it was his fault too. He was always getting hurt as a child. He just never pays attention to things; even now as an adult and it’s still happening. Are you sure I really can’t see him yet? Frankie can not make decisions about things like this. He’s very distractible,” the older woman was almost rambling at Dana by the end of her explanation, sounding like she was trying to justify it all in her own mind as much as to Dana. 

“Right,” Dana muttered. “And his shoulder? He said that Ginny wrenched it?” she asked, as that was the one thing that they couldn’t figure out; none of it made sense but at least most of it had a clear cause and effect.

“Oh, well, yes, Ginny. Henry’s wife. She might have had a few too many cocktails last night; it was a family bar-be-que,” she began explaining with a laugh and a shrug. “Well, she almost dropped Ellie.” Dana blanched and leaned back on the desk behind her as this woman casually explained that her son’s wife had almost dropped her five month old granddaughter because she was drunk. “Frank lunged, but since we were standing at the top of the back porch stairs he had to grab the railing to keep from falling when he overreacted.”

“Right,” Dana mumbled. “Well thanks for letting us know so we can treat him properly,” she added and hurried away before she got fired for murder. Suddenly everything Abby had ever said to Dana about never seeing her in-laws despite them living a half hour away and Frank avoiding all mention of his parents except in the most serious circumstances made a lot more sense. “Oh,” Robby mumbled and began quietly flipping through the papers in the folder, skimming through the information for himself. “These are Hagan’s records too?” he asked in surprise.

Dana nodded as she slipped on the cardigan she had worn that morning, “Sure are. He was prescribing the same dose of medication to Frank from when he got hurt up until last week. Right about the time he went on vacation. Or, more accurately, according to Lisa Jacobs, the charge nurse for the day shift on Five, otherwise known as the ortho floor, he has been encouraged to retire quietly due to inconsistencies in his prescribing. So yes, those are Hagan’s records. I thought they might help when you pull your head out of your ass and make sure he can keep his job.”

“I don’t know if I can do that,” Robby admitted. “I told him what needs to be done and he’s not answering his phone now.” “Yea, well I took care of that for you too,” she responded. “His cell phone is currently off and in the bottom of Abby’s purse. As of an hour ago Frank himself has been checked in across town at Presby to detox for the next week to ten days. They might pull some strings to keep him there; but Abby didn’t like that because that would mean keeping him in the psych ward since they don’t have an inpatient facility for just rehab.”

“So what you’re saying is I have a week to figure out where to send him that is covered by insurance?”

“I’m saying you have a week to pull a few favors out of your ass because insurance will stick that boy in a hell hole that’ll be overcrowded and understaffed and he’ll twiddle his thumbs for a month and bullshit his way past whatever first year psych resident he gets assigned to. This isn’t the 80s anymore Robby. Insurance doesn’t actually want people to get clean. They make less money that way.”

“I hear you,” he agreed and then noticed something. “Why are you wearing jeans?”

“Cause for the next two weeks I am on medical leave,” she explained, gesturing at her own face. “I mean, I’m fine. But, hey, free extra vacation days? I’ll take ‘em. Better than pizza. And I’m serious Robby. Figure out something. Because even if you’re pissed at him as your friend, you’re a damned doctor and Hagan fucked a lot of people up it looks like. I know he’s an adult; but there is a reason I mentioned the Grade C Fuckboy.” “Oh?”

“Yea; you made Frank Langdon look like the most responsible boring straight laced by the book rule following residents to ever walk through those doors. And you were two years older then than he is now. See you in two weeks.”

“Abby shouldn’t have called you. Not after last night,” Frank whispered as Dana took a seat next to him on the couch in the basement den of the Langdon’s small house three in the morning mere hours after they got off the worst shift of his career. “I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine,” Dana disagreed and squeezed his clammy hand. “Here’s what is going to happen,” she began, taking on her best no bullshit tone. “You are going to take this pill,” Dana explained, slipping a librium into Frank’s hand and gestured at the bottle of water sitting on the table in front of him. “Abby has six more upstairs that she will give you, in halves if necessary, you will use these pills to keep from going into DTs.”

Frank shifted on the couch looking uncomfortable and avoiding her eyes so she just squeezed his hand tighter and continued explaining the plan she had started coming up with the moment he had left the break room that night, “No later than Tuesday you will get a call to go to Presby. My sister-in-law is a Nurse Manager in behavioral health over there and she said she can get you in as soon as a bed opens up in their detox program. She said the absolute latest should be Tuesday morning.”

“You didn’t need to do that,” he replied softly, finally looking at her with tear filled eyes. Dana simply shook her head and wiped away the one tear that fell. “Sure I did,” she disagreed. “I’ve told you for years; I just don’t have time to put up flyers. Also, you’re finally housebroken,” she joked and then frowned when he had no reaction other then to still look like he was minutes away from a total breakdown. “Listen to me Frank, for as much as I’m very angry with you right now? I still love you and I will not lose you to this.” Dana leaned back into the couch and stretched a kink out of her neck before continuing, “Also you owe your wife a vacation, Robby an apology and that overly cocky brat who caught you at least one month’s rent coverage.”

“Dana,” Frank groaned in protest and she smirked even as she reached over and pushed his hair out of his eyes. “I’ll let you send it anonymously because lord if she doesn’t make Intern-you look cool, calm and collected. It’s got to be karma of some sort. She’s the universe’s gift to you for the headache inducer you were to every senior resident you had.”

“And what is she to you?” Frank joked back, even as he started looking like he was falling asleep, where he was sitting, from her repeatedly running her hand through his hair. 

“A reminder that boys aren’t so bad afterall,” Dana replied a few minutes later after he had finally fallen asleep. “See you in two weeks kid.”

[whowhowhoareyou]

Spotify mini podcast I can't skip because I'm showering: it's been a bad year for Boeing

Me: yeah it has!

Podcast: it started in January when a door panel blew out --

Me: that was in JANUARY??

[itspileofgoodthings]

ALSO I am learning how to teach very introverted students, something my natural skillset as a teacher does not help me with.

[rurpleplayssims]