#which i totally get it's a long fic

[efingart]

Just What I Needed - Chapter 24

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Frank Woods x CoD Bell

Woods rounded the corner quickly, his hand pressing into the banister as he propelled himself upward. Just ahead, Mason was taking each step two at a time.

“Fuck she’s fast! Was she always this fast?!” Mason exclaimed.

Woods didn’t respond. He was still in pain from the kick Bell had given him in the shoulder. It had come out of nowhere.

When he and Mason had brought her back to the apartment, she had been completely unconscious. Then he came back to her room, and she took him by surprise. Fully awake and ready for a fight.

At some point, she was on the ground, and her foot had landed square in the middle of his bad shoulder. If he hadn’t known better, he would have taken it personally. Just a lucky strike, he had to guess. Had to hope. Woods hadn’t had time to dwell on it because she had taken off running.

She was heading up the stairs before he knew it. Why up was anyone’s guess. It didn’t really matter. They just had to get to her before she did anything stupid. Likely she was hallucinating and thought she was somewhere else. Things could get dangerous real fast.

When he reached the top of the stairs, he found Mason there catching his breath at the door.

“Look,” Mason said, “She’s probably hallucinating. I don’t want to startle her. Hell, she might not even be able to see us.”

“Oh, she definitely could see me,” Woods said, thinking about the pain in his shoulder.

“Mason gently pushed the door open. Bell was standing only a few feet away. Her back was to the roof ledge. Hands in the air, she looked like she was talking to someone. Trying to stop them from doing something. But no one was there.

“Mason held up a hand telling Woods to stay back as he carefully approached Bell. She didn’t seem to notice him. Her gaze was fixed in front of her. The wind began to pick up, and her hair swirled around her. She didn’t seem to notice that either.

“-did everything you asked of me!” Bell wailed.

He didn’t have to wonder who she thought she was talking to. Adler. He had always had the impression that she hadn’t had time to negotiate with him. Beg for her life. That Adler just shot her, maybe even in the back. But he had faced her. After all the shit he put her through, he actually looked Bell in the eye and did it. 


“Bell," Mason said as he approached cautiously, "Adler's not here.”

Bell blinked. She turned her head slowly to look at Mason, still holding one hand up to keep the Adler, who wasn’t there, at bay. The other hand, she used to hold Mason back. But she stared at him as if he had materialized out of nowhere.

“He’s not real, Bell. I know-“

“Fuck you!” Bell exclaimed. She looked between Mason and the empty space where she likely thought Adler was standing. In a quieter voice that Woods could barely hear over the wind, she added, “You’re the reason why I’m like this.”

“He couldn’t tell who it was directed to, Adler or Mason. But then he realized Bell was staring hard at him.

Did she think he was someone else?

Bell took a step back. Even though she wasn't near the ledge, Woods knew she could bolt at any time. And if she didn’t realize where she was, she might end up accidentally propelling herself off the roof.

“Bell," Mason started again, "Even if you don't trust me. Just look around. There are always gaps where reality slips through. It's hard. It's fucking overwhelming-“

“Shut up," Bell choked out. Her voice was strained, breaking. Woods was too far to see, but he had a sense she might be crying.

“You think I’m an idiot?” Bell continued, “Maybe you were able to fool me once, but there’s no way. No way Mason and Woods would come for me. That's the reality."

“Mason’s shoulders dropped. He couldn’t hear it over the wind, but he was sure his friend just let out an exasperated sigh. Not that he’d ever let up. But the two of them were so damn stubborn they could be out here for hours.

"You don't have to believe me. But what's under your feet? Grass and dirt? Or dried rooftop tar? You know what you really feel, Bell."

“Bell muttered something in response that Woods couldn't quite catch. He saw Mason shift his weight impatiently. Mason knew what she was going through. He could commiserate with her, but his patience was always a little thin, even in the best situations.

Slowly, Woods stepped forward. He chose to head closer to where she seemed to think Adler was. As he moved, he wondered what Bell was seeing.

How many times had she imagined this?

She had so few memories she must have run through them over and over again in her head when she was alone in that prison facility.

When you’re locked up in a cell, sometimes all you have to think about is your past. And escaping. And those people who worked for Perseus had seemed intent on torturing her. They had drugged her recklessly too. They hadn’t cared a bit if she lost her mind.

Did they have her run through this over and over again? Just to torture her? What she had done to make her former pals hate her so much that they would devote so many months to torturing her. Even that blonde, Ivanova, played her part in the torture. But on that prison train, she and Bell had worked together.

What made them turn on each other?

Bell definitely saw him approach. She seemed to have forgotten about Adler and Mason. Her hard gaze was fixed on him. Woods was careful not to get too close. It was then he was sure; she thought he was one of those guards at the prison facility. She wasn’t seeing him as himself, just a hallucination meant to fuck with her.

“No,” Bell said, shaking her head. She pointed at Mason. “Him maybe, but you?” She shook her head again. Bell was looking Woods dead in the eye. “No, fucking way. Woods would-”

"Don't tell me what I would and wouldn't do," He interrupted her. His voice was firm, and she seemed taken aback by it.

Bell bit her lip. She kept her feet on the ground, but he could see her hips move as she shifted her weight. Her toes curled as she felt the rough texture of the rooftop. Her eyes widened briefly. Woods could only make an assumption about what might be running through her head. That what she felt under her feet didn’t match what she saw around her. That seeing him may have made her begin to doubt things.

Bell took a step back.

Fuck.

Woods exchanged a look with Mason.

“Lost so many people. Do anything to get them back. Mason coming back-“ He shook his head. He still wasn’t quite ready to talk about that one.

“And you? After everything you did? You’re-“

A hero?” Bell spat.

“Nah, that’s what-” Woods started. He waved his hand to indicate the city. “That’s what they say about- about people like us. But they don’t fucking know.”

They really don’t, do they? Civilians? No, fucking clue what it’s like.

If they weren’t calling him a baby killer, they were calling him a hero. He was neither. Why she thought he was going to say that was interesting. Maybe it was a word they had used, a way to try to pump her up, get her to believe them.

“After all the shit that was done to you. You could’ve- but you didn’t. Everything you went through. You’re one of us-” He said finally, gesturing between himself and Mason.

It was strange to admit. He couldn’t explore the feelings behind it at the moment, but it had been hard to say. Even though it was the truth.

Bell’s expression softened just slightly. Her hands lowered. Maybe her defenses were finally coming down.

“Look, we’re not stupid. We know everyone doesn’t see us as the good guys, right? Everything we’ve done hasn’t always been on the level, right? So, yeah if I’d have known who you were, what happened to you. If Mason had known? We’d have still come for you.”

“You’re just saying what you think I want to hear,” She shot back. But it was halfhearted.

“Bell, look, you really think they’d stand around having a conversation with you?” Mason interjected, “They wouldn’t just try to tackle you and bring you back? If you don’t believe us, fine. There are gaps where reality bleeds through.”

He could see Bell set her jaw, but she was definitely thinking it over. Allowing herself to be convinced. She was seeing the world around her for what it was, finally. He saw her toes curl up again. The way her eyes scanned the tarred roof. She looked up at the dark sky. Her eyes were focused when her gaze fell on the buildings around them. Bell turned. Carefully, she walked towards the ledge.

“Go slow. Put your hands out,” Mason warned.

He moved towards her, careful not to crowd her. Woods had to fight the urge to tackle her. Save her. But she had to see it for herself. They couldn’t force her and lose the little trust they had just built.

He watched from an unnerving distance as Bell put her hands out and touched the ledge. He let out a breath he didn’t know he had been holding as she knelt down and leaned over the ledge to look down. Bell let out a small cry as she looked at the city around her.

It must have been unsettling as the hallucination melted away, and a whole city appeared before her. Woods moved closer. He could hear her clearly.

“West Berlin,” She said. Then she looked over her shoulder at Mason. “You came for me? I live here now?”

“Yeah, sorry we stuck you with that old man,” Mason said, thumbing toward Woods.

Woods made a derisive sound in response, drawing Bell’s attention to him. She looked at him like she was seeing him for the first time. Her eyes were suddenly clear and focused. It almost made him uncomfortable to be looked at like that.

“You good?” He asked. She nodded.“All right, can you get the fuck away from there?” He said, chuckling a little, “You’re gonna give me a damn heart attack.”

Woods helped her sit on the edge of the tub. He leaned over to run the water until it was warm and placed a stopper in.

“Put your feet in there,” He directed.

The soles of her feet were practically black. He wasn’t even sure she realized how dirty her feet had been as he had stopped her seconds before she attempted to hop in bed.

Wordlessly, Bell complied. She hadn’t said much after the roof, just followed along with him, her hand in a vice grip on his shirt. Making sure he was still there. It was something he was familiar with.

Occasionally, Mason would need a reminder as well and just reach out for his friend to give him a tap on the shoulder. Or a shove. Whatever helped to ground him. Woods knew to respond in kind. Reach out as well. It had taken some getting used to at first. Not something he was used to. His family had never been affectionate that he could remember, but he grew to like it.

The tub began to fill with water. He stopped it when her feet were submerged. The water began to turn gray and swirled around her ankles. She leaned forward to watch it change color. He knew her fascination with it was because of the drugs and that she might actually be seeing something more interesting than gray water. At least part of this evening wouldn’t be a complete nightmare for her. He grabbed a washcloth from the top of a pile of towels and dipped it in the water, then picked up a bottle filled with pinkish liquid and poured it over the wet cloth. It had a soft floral scent to it.

Woods sat on the edge of the tub. Bell was gently kicking her feet in the water, watching with fascination at the ripples created by the movement. He looked her over. The hair on the back of her head was wild, tangled by the wind.

Woods reached out a hand to comb it smooth with his fingers. He wasn’t sure how she would react, but Bell closed her eyes at the touch. Her kicking slowed to a stop. When the tangles were gone, he dropped his hand. Woods thought he heard Bell sigh, but when he looked back at her, her face was neutral.

He then leaned over the tub and reached for her ankle. She curled her toes under, likely trying to hide the fact that she was missing toenails.

“What are you, embarrassed?” He chuckled a little. Bell didn’t respond. Then he picked her foot up a few inches out of the water he scrubbed at the sole. Even her calves and shins were streaked with dirt.

“With all the shit I’ve seen- Don’t you remember jungle rot? Hell, you should have seen me when I-“ He paused. He was trying to be reassuring. Let her know he didn’t care about a few missing toenails. But he wasn’t sure it was landing.

“I just can relate, is all.”

His feet had been in worse shape than this when he crawled out of that camp at Da Nang. He hadn't even thought to be embarrassed. And really, she was just missing a few toenails. His comment seemed to relax her. She uncurled her toes, and she watched him continue his work impassively.

Soon, the towel was nearly stained black. Woods dipped it in the water and squeezed it out, dripping dirty water into the tub. When he looked back at Bell, he caught her scrunching up her nose in disgust and smiled.

So there was some of the old her in there somewhere.

Then he picked up her other foot and started to scrub.

“Why?” She blurted out. This made him chuckle.

“Maybe because you were running around barefoot?”

Bell shook her head but seemed unable to complete her thought. He gave her time to think as he finished working on her other foot. Then he drained the tub and used the sprayer on her feet. Woods washed his hands.

Then he grabbed a towel and sat back on the edge of the tub laying the towel across his lap.

“Come on, gotta dry them now.”

She didn’t move. Instead, she stared intently at her feet and the last few streams of water heading down the drain.

“I hurt you,” Bell said finally. He blinked in surprise. He supposed she had, but it didn’t hurt anymore. Stung like a bitch when she had done it.

“You just did what you thought you had to.”

She gave him a look that seemed to say she wasn’t buying that.

“You still got a lot of fight in you. Never lose it,” Woods said. He patted his thigh and she complied, propping her ankle up on the towel.

“I could have just taken a shower.”

“Thought you might have had enough of showers.”

She actually laughed then. It wasn’t a great laugh, an exhausted one if anything, but he’d take it. And after everything that happened? Good to know she could laugh. And that she wasn’t pissed off at him. Or at least not yet. Maybe when everything settled in, she would be.

He dried off her other foot in silence. When he was done, he stood up next to her and offered his good arm to help her stand. It surprised him how unsteady she was on her feet now.

Was this the same woman who had just outrun both him and Mason on the stairs?

"Come on, I know you've been sleeping for a while, but you still gotta be exhausted."

"How long?"

"About a day, brought you back yesterday morning. Early.”

She nodded. Whatever she did with this information, he couldn't tell.

Woods brought her to her bed, lifted the edge of the blanket, and helped her in. Then he pulled the covers over her.

“I’ll be right back, ok?”

Bell sat up then. She made a noise in protest.

"I'm just gonna get you something to eat," He said, thumbing over his shoulder at the door. Her eyes darted to the door. She gripped the blanket in her fists, knuckles going white. Probably an effect of the drugging making her anxious.

"I won't be gone for long, ok?"

She nodded, but he could tell it made her uncomfortable. He left the door ajar so she could hear him working away in the kitchen. Keep her connected to reality.

Mason was in the kitchen making himself a sandwich. He looked as exhausted as Woods felt.

“Want one?” Mason asked, keeping his voice low. Woods shook his head.

Mason nodded towards Bell’s door. “How’s the patient?”

"She's ok. Getting her some toast."

Mason looked at the open door.

"She might still be having trouble telling the shit that's happening in her brain to reality," He said, "It doesn't just switch off. Even when she's not on the drugs."

Woods nodded as he put two bread slices in the toaster. He knew it, but he also knew Mason needed to say it. He was the best advocate for Bell’s situation. He’d be the voice he himself had needed. A gap Woods could have filled if he had been around back then.

"We gotta stop them from drugging her,” Mason said firmly.

"Already on it. Got Park on our side too."

"Hudson?"

“He called. We had a conversation."

Mason nodded. He knew what that meant.

"Adler?"

That made them both chuckle. Adler would have to go along with it whether he liked it or not at this point. Woods had managed to be somewhat civil in his conversation with Hudson. He needed him to understand the gravity of the situation, and now he and Park were looking into alternative solutions.

Mason yawned loudly, he picked up his plate, and began moving toward his room.

"Hitting the hay?"

"Yeah, might as well, right? You got her, right? No more late-night roof excursions?” Mason joked, then he glanced at the clock, “Fuck, early morning, I mean.”

"Yeah, I got her."

The toast popped up. Woods piled the two pieces on a plate and cut them in half diagonally. Filling up a glass with water, he took both to Bell’s room and set them on the nightstand. When he entered, he noticed that she was still sitting straight up, her wide eyes watching the door, waiting for him to come back. He sat on the edge of the bed and tapped her hand, then pointed at the plate. Finally, her posture relaxed, and she picked up the toast.

“Not exactly exciting. Not sure what kind of condition your stomach is in. Last thing you need is to feel worse."

Bell nodded and took a few tentative bites of toast. She seemed to decide her stomach was fine, and in a moment, the toast was gone.

“Nothing about your appetite has changed, huh? Get you a steak next.”

One corner of her mouth turned up at this comment.

“Don’t forget to drink your water, ok?” Woods said as he took her plate and stood up to leave. Bell tensed again, and her eyes widened.

“Frank-“ She started to say but didn’t continue. He knew she didn’t want him to leave her.

It was how it was going to be with her until she felt comfortable.

“Yeah, all right, hang on,” Woods said. He left and set the plate down on the kitchen counter. He went to his room to change into shorts and a t-shirt.

“The hell are you doing?” He muttered to himself as he pulled the shirt over his head. But he knew the answer. She wouldn’t be in this situation if he had just checked his ego and come for her earlier.

But it wasn’t just the guilt, was it?

He tucked his pillow under his arm.

When he came back into her room, he stood by the bed.

“Scoot over.”

If Bell seemed surprised by this, she didn’t show it. She just shifted closer to the wall making room for him. He pulled the covers back.

“This is only to keep you connected to reality," He said, tossing his pillow against the headboard next to hers. Then he got in. There wasn’t a lot of room on the bed, so he threw his arm around her and pulled her into him.

“I’m sorry,” She said quietly. Her voice had a distant tone to it like she was drifting to sleep. Woods wasn’t sure what she was apologizing for this time, maybe everything.

“Yeah, so am I,” He said. But he could tell she was already sleeping.

Careful not to disturb her, he settled in. And soon he was asleep, too.





It was mid-morning when Bell exited her room. Woods was actually surprised to even see her up this early. He had almost expected her to sleep off the day.

But there she was fully dressed in a t-shirt and jeans. She had pulled her hair into a short ponytail. And if she hadn’t looked so pale it would almost be like the past few weeks hadn’t even happened.

“I’ll get you some coffee,” Woods said.

He folded his paper in half, laying it over the arm of his chair. Standing he walked into the kitchen. The pot he brewed that morning had long gone cold. He dumped the water and started a fresh pot. In the meantime Bell had wandered into the kitchen. She was looking at everything around her like she was seeing it for the first time.

The coffee pot made a gurgling sound as it finished brewing. Woods grabbed a mug for her from the cabinet and after pouring the coffee in handed it her. He refilled his own cup and moved back to the living room. Bell, on the other hand, was hovering between the living room and the kitchen. He could sense some hesitation in her, like her first day here.

"Come on, this is still your home."

Bell nodded and took a seat on the couch. She looked around at the stacks of books piled up on the floor.

"What are all the books for?"

"I uh-" He paused, "Thought they might help you figure out a name for yourself. If that���s, uh, something you're still interested in."

She set her mug down and slipped off the couch onto the pillow on the floor. Bell looked down at the pillow as if she just noticed it.

"You never moved it."

"Nah, I knew you'd use it again."

Bell raised her eyebrows at this, but said nothing. Instead she focused her attention at the closest stack of books. Picking one of them up she brushed her hand over the cover. It was red, old, with a linen cover. The spine had long been broken and some of the pages were falling out. Carefully, she opened it.

"You got these for me?” Bell asked, not looking up from the book in her hands, “When?"

It was a funny question since she was clearly examining the check out card.

"Been a week or two,” Woods said with a shrug, “Who can keep track of the time?"

This time she looked up at him, again she studying him with that strange expression on her face. As if she was trying to see through him. It was like she expected him to turn into something else. Or to tell her he's fucking with her.

In fact, she probably was thinking that. Still unsure about what was real around her. Still unable to trust that he was being honest with her. At first it made him angry- how could she think he was like that? But there was nothing he could do to fix it. The uncertainty was internal. It wasn't a reflection of his character. The only thing he could do was be consistent. And maybe she’d grow to trust him again.

"Hey," He said as he leaned forward placing a hand on her shoulder to help ground her, "You hungry?"

At first, she tensed at his touch, her shoulder flexed as if she wanted to shove his hand off. But it only last for a moment before she relaxed again.

Finally, she nodded.

They both headed to the kitchen. Woods opened the fridge.

"Shit, that's right.” He said as he peered in remembering now that no one had bought food in some time. There was some deli meat, maybe an egg, but not much else.

"I can make myself something-" Bell started. She stepped in front of him and looked through the fridge herself.

"What did you eat?" Bell asked.

"Uhhh," He stammered. He hadn’t actually eaten anything, yet.

"Frank-"

"What I was worried about you!" 


Bell sighed and got out a frying pan.

"Hey, you should be taking it easy."

"I'm fucking sick of taking it easy, I want to do something that isn't just sitting on my ass. What else do we have here?" She opened the pantry.

"Don't you have any food in this apartment?" She asked, though she definitely was not expecting an answer. “Get the eggs and milk,” Bell ordered him.

”Yes, ma’am,” Woods said with a chuckle. He placed them on the counter.

From the pantry he saw she picked up some cinnamon and sugar and she placed those on the counter with the authority of someone who knows what they're doing.

Bell grabbed the milk, giving him a look when she saw how the container was nearly empty. She poured it into a bowl. The eggs she cracked and added to the bowl, whisking them together with the milk.

"Is Alex here?" She asked as she sliced up bread.

"Yeah." He was trying to suppress a grin, but she must have caught him.

"What?"

"Just haven't seen you like this in a while."

"Oh, get out." She said as she shoved him out of the kitchen.

He took a seat on one of the stools and watched her work. Bell plopped the slices of bread into an egg and milk mixture. As she watched the liquid quickly soak through the bread she sighed.

“What?”

“Just not the bread I’d use for this.”

“We could go to the grocery store later. Get better food. We need food anyway.”

Bell didn’t respond. Her mouth was a firm line. She plopped some of the soaked bread into a hot frying pan. She probably wasn’t looking forward to finding herself in a crowded store full of people. It had been overwhelming for him hadn’t it? That’s why when he did go, he always shopped at night. As late as the store would let him. He wasn’t the only one.

”An all-night grocery store,” Woods added.

“Yeah? They have those?” Bell asked, her tone hopeful. She did not look up from the pan.

“Y’know, it’s only hard at first,” He said. He too was staring at the frying pan, watching the bread cook. Whatever she said, it smelled great to him.

“Getting used to being around people again. People who don’t want to hurt you.”

Bell blinked a few times. She kept her eyes on the pan. Then she flipped the bread.

“It- it gets easier?” She asked the pan.

“It gets easier.”

Bell let out a soft sigh. He watched her plate the first few slices and sprinkle cinnamon and sugar on top.

“It would be better with syrup and powdered sugar,” She said, making it clear to him that she didn’t approve of the food she made. He knew Bell wouldn’t ordinarily stand for sub-par French toast.

“And better bread. Butter.”

All the same, she cut the slices in half diagonally and served them to Woods. The next batch she wrapped in foil and put in the fridge for whenever Mason got up. Woods was nearly done with his when she finished making hers. It was still pretty good food. Nice to eat anything that wasn’t takeout for once. But he didn’t tell her that. She would probably remind him how much better it could be with decent ingredients. Some of the personality she had before, when she was Bell, when he first met her, was coming out again. Assertive and stubborn. She liked things a certain way. He wondered if this is how she had been before.

Probably.

She plated her own food and sat down next to him. She took a bite of it and made a face.

“It’s not that bad.”

“I make better food than this,” Bell insisted.

“I’ll go grocery shopping.”

She took a disdainful bite of her French toast and chewed slowly. Woods had to hold back a chuckle. She was acting like it was something truly distasteful.

“I can order something,” He offered.

“No, I’m not wasting food.” Bell stubbornly stabbed her fork at a piece of the toast, then another, stacking them on the tines. He understood what she meant. Food was still food, you don’t just throw it out because you don’t like it.

“I’ll go with you,” She said, determinedly.

“Yeah?”

“You’ll be with me right?”

“Won’t leave you alone for a second.”

“After everything that’s happened you’d think I wouldn’t be nervous about something as simple shopping.”

“It’s different. A guy pulls a knife on you; you know what to do. A crowd of people? You’re just not used to it.”

“It gets easier?”

“It gets easier.”

When she finished he grabbed her plate and his and began washing the dishes. As he scrubbed the pan, he looked over his shoulder and said, “Take a look at those books ok? You don’t have to pick a name today, but I gotta have something to call you.”

Bell only nodded in response and left him to finish the cleaning up.

When he emerged from the kitchen he found Bell sitting on the pillow. Her legs were bent, shins resting on the edge of the coffee table, and her back against the couch. She had a book resting on her knees. Next to her was a pile of books she had already gone through.

“These are some interesting books you picked,” Bell said without looking up.

Most of the books were collections about famous women. Some biographies, in case she wanted to know more about who she was naming herself after, and then baby name books. The librarian had given him an odd look when he requested those, but he wasn’t worried about what she thought.

“Just wanted you to have all the options. Or I could just call you Vicky.”

“Vicky?”

“Yeah, short for Victoria.”

“Oh.” He had only been joking, but a look crossed her face like she was considering it. Sometimes she took things so seriously it made him want to laugh. But then she might think he was laughing at her. As she thought he settled back into his chair and grabbed a book off the top of a pile.

“No,” She decided, “I can’t use her name. I’m not her-“

Bell trailed off. He gave her a curious look and so she continued.

“I had a dream about her.”

“Thought you always dreamed about her.”

“No, I mean I do, but-”

Bell was looking at him now. Her brown eyes wide, shining.

“This time I wasn’t her.”


“You want to tell me about it?”

She shook her head and looked back to her book.

”You never have to tell me anything but if you ever feel like talkin-“

She had raised her head again, thinking it over. At least she was considering it, but in the end, she said nothing.

They read silently together and new piles of books grew around them. At least they were getting through the task fairly quickly. Occasionally, Woods would read a name aloud. She would take a moment to seriously consider it, then shake her head and go back to reading. A few names they even tried out, but eventually they were all rejected. Some she said out loud, but the moment they left her lips she knew they were wrong. He thought some of them had been pretty nice. But she had to be happy with them, that’s what mattered.

They read in silence for a while. Eventually Mason got up. He grabbed his French toast and ate it cold, much to Bell’s annoyance. He did try to tell her it was good, but Bell gave him an earful.

“All right all right,” Mason relented, his hands up, “You’ve convinced me. I’ll let you make me some good food sometime.”

“So is this what you’re doing today? Can’t wait to hear your brand new name. How about Alexandra? No?”

Bell gave him a look.

“Not helping,” Woods said without looking up from what he was reading.

“I’m kidding, I’m sure whatever you come up with will be great.” He left soon after. Mason had been away from Em and David for the past few days. Em was definitely accustomed to it having been on the job herself. But it didn’t mean she had to like it. And that she didn’t worry. But Woods was glad he had called him in for help. He’s not sure he would have been able to get Bell down from that roof on his own.

Woods flipped through his book. He wasn’t sure if he was really helping her by reading too, but it felt like leaving her to do it all alone might be too overwhelming. In fact the whole idea of it was overwhelming.

How do people pick out names?

Bell shifted on the cushion. She stood up, still holding open her book in her hands and did a slow paced lap around the apartment. Having her back completely changed the feeling of the apartment. It felt warmer, more inviting. And the idea of not having to come back to a cold and empty space again? He could definitely get used to it.

“How you doin?” Woods asked, looking up and watching her pace. He considered standing up himself. He set his book over his thigh and tilted his torso forward to give his back a good crack. Bell sighed.

“That sounds good.”

“Yeah?” Woods asked, a grin spread across his face, “Want me to pick you up? Crack your back?” He wasn’t actually sure he could do it with his shoulder still healing.

“Mm tempting,” She said as she completed another circuit. She rested one of her hands on her lower back. “How do people figure this stuff out?” She groaned, “All these names none of them seem right.”

“Maybe when you find the right one you’ll know.”

“I hope so.”

“What about in those books you were reading for fun? Any good names in there?”

She stopped walking to think it over.

“Not unless you think Meg suits me. Wendy? Mercédès?”

“Nah, never mind.”

Bell continued her reading and walking. As she did another lap he heard the floorboards creak behind his chair. And then stop. She had paused just behind him. He felt her fingers rest just on the skin at the base of his neck. It made the hairs on the back of his head stand on end. With one finger she pried his shirt away from the shoulder revealing his healing skin.

“This was the thermite?” Bell asked quietly.

“Yeah, the molinya.” Woods turned to look at her.

She let his shirt fall back into place, but let her hand linger for a moment before continuing her walk.

“Can’t help but feel like it’s my fault.”

“How could it be your fault?”

“If I hadn’t said anything about Duga-“

“Hey, it was a good thing,” Woods insisted, “Hell you even warned us. It wasn’t you. It would have been worse without you.”

Bell came around and sat down on the arm of the couch just across from him.

She could never just sit could she? Always had to be on the floor, or with her feet up, or like this, on the arm of the couch.

“What you found there- the recording. That’s what I saw in my dream. I saw Victoria record it.”

He watched her closely but said nothing. Bell looked away from him, her eyes narrowed. She tucked a loose hair behind her ear. He knew that gesture, she was thinking something through, gathering her thoughts.

“She seemed like she was, um, at war with herself. Maybe the gravity of the situation was hitting her.”

“What do you think she was doing?”

“Nova-6.” Bell sighed, “There were those sleeper agents right? And all that unaccounted for Nova-6. At least at the time.”

“But you don’t know for sure.”

“What else could it be? Victoria cracked the programming. Драгович.” Bell looked down at her hands in her lap.

“At the very least it’s good to know she hesitated. Some humanity left,” She said with a sigh.

“Never went off, though, did it?”

“What?”

“You think she was trying to use Dragovich’s sleeper agents in the states to activate those old Nova-6 stockpiles on civilians? But that didn’t happen.”

“Right, but that was 13 years ago. What’s even the half-life on that stuff?”

“A lot longer than 13 years.”

“How do you know that?”

“Just one of those things.”

“Frank, why doesn’t it bother you? Even if it failed, she still tried it. She broke the code-“ Bell stopped short, her eyes widened, and she jumped up from the arm of the couch. “Fuck, the notebook!”

“Notebook?”

“Yeah, she had all her stuff encoded and written in a book. She put it into a safe at Duga. Fuck. If I had fucking remembered sooner-”

“Oh, we got that.”

“You did?!” Bell threw her hands up. “Why the fuck was I trying to reverse engineer the recording if you had m- Victoria’s notebook?”

“Adler, took it.”

Bell’s shoulders slumped, and she took her seat again. But she accepted this answer. They both knew that it would be difficult to convince Adler to give her anything from her old life. Especially if it contained secrets, it wasn’t completely unreasonable. Adler, personally, had good reason not to trust her. He thought Woods and Mason were being naive.

“Did you get anything else?”

“Yeah, actually, I did. Hang on.”

He stood up and went to his room. From the nightstand drawer he pulled out a photo. He hadn’t been certain when he found it, but if there was any possibility that it was hers he wanted to make sure she got it. Who knew what Adler would do with it. When he came back to the living room he handed it to her.

It was a small black and white photo. Faded. And a little burned on the edges. The photo was of two girls. The younger one looking like she wanted to run off and play. The older had a serious expression on her face as she stared down the camera.

“They look familiar to you at all?”

Bell took the picture. At first her face showed no expression. Then she passed a finger over the smaller girl in the photograph.

“Where did you get this?”

“In the barracks. There was a private room. It looked like someone had tried to torch the place. Like they were really pissed off at whoever was supposed to be in there. Everything was wrecked. But this was tucked behind the nightstand. Hidden. Like someone knew it might get destroyed.” 


Bell clutched the picture to her chest. Sensing she might need a moment he stood up.

“I’m gonna get some more coffee. Want some?”

Bell nodded.

There was no telling when that fire had occurred. It could have easily been after Solovetsky. But it nagged at him. Victoria, had tucked it away for safekeeping for whatever reason. Maybe it was wishful thinking on his part but her hesistation about the recording just added to his suspicion that she may not have been a willing participant in everything. And setting fire to her room? That was an act of rage. That maybe at the end she had a change of heart. That she betrayed Perseus. He poured the coffee into their mugs and headed out to the living room. Bell was just exiting her room.

“I put it in there for safekeeping.”

“Yeah, it’s yours,” He said with a shrug. It was funny now to have confirmation that the photo was actually hers. Seeing her as a kid. Hard to think that anyone he ever worked with were kids once. Hell, they probably had the same trouble with him, imagining him born with a full beard and tattoos. ==

Bell took the mug and curled up into one corner of the couch with a different book. He took his place on his chair again, picking up where he left off.

The stack of unread books was getting smaller. They’d have to make another trip to the library at this rate. Or find some other method for name-choosing. Woods could feel his eyes glazing over. It was a lot of reading for anyone. Even Bell seemed to be losing stamina. They had depleted the coffee again and she was in the kitchen making another pot.

In his lap he had a book open about famous figures from World War II. A name jumped out at him that made him chuckle. He sat up straighter to read the passage. At that moment Bell had come back in and was setting his coffee on the table.

“What’s up?”

“Just a name I recognize.”

“Old friend?” She asked, leaning over to look at the book. He caught a whiff of something floral in the air when moved closer to him.

“Nah, no way. Come on, I was just a kid then.” He pointed to a photo of a young woman in uniform. She was smiling and standing next to Eleanor Roosevelt.

“Russian sniper. Did a tour with Elenor Roosevelt, uh the First Lady, in the 40s after World War II. I remember seeing it in the papers when I was a kid. She killed so many they nicknamed her Lady Death. What I remember is how much the papers liked to talk about how she didn’t wear pretty clothes and makeup. Kind of funny, did all that and what do the papers care about? How good she looks in their photos.”

Bell perched herself on the arm of his chair and looked at the photograph. He caught another whiff of that floral scent. It was nice. Then he realized she must have taken another shower this morning. He hadn’t really noticed until now. But he could understand it. Imprisonment kind of has a smell that sticks with you, even if other people couldn’t smell it.

“That’s her?” Bell asked, shaking him from his thoughts.

“Yep.”

“Lyudmila Pavlichenko,” Woods said.

“I’m sure I heard of her at some point,” She said. Bell placed her hand on the book moving the page to read it better.

“Probably.” He looked up and watched her read. She at least seemed interested. It gave him the spark of an idea.

“What about that for you?”

“Lyudmila? You think I look like a Lyudmila?” It was a genuine question.

“I dunno,” He shrugged,” Tough gal, tough gal. Maybe use a nickname. Lyuda? Lydia?”

She raised her eyebrows and glanced at him. Then she looked back at the page. With her thumb she covered part of the name in the headline.

“How about this?”

He looked at the remaining letters.

“Mila?”

She looked back at him searching his face for a reaction.

“Mila,” He said again to her.

“Mila,” She said back. He nodded.

“Yeah, it suits you. At least try it on. If you don’t like it, we’ll pick up where we left off.”

“No more, Bell?”

He shook his head. She was looking at the book again. Skimming Lyudmila Pavlichenko’s bio again.

He tapped her knee to get her attention.

“So what do you say tomorrow that we take your name out for a spin?”

“What does that mean?” She asked brows knitted.

“Didn’t I promise to take you to a record store?”

Mila looked uncertain. As she wasn’t sure if he was joking or not.

“Ok."

[glorious-blackout]

Happy to say that after finally getting rid of a year-long writer's block and questioning whether I should back out and quit once or twice, I finally have a completed first draft of my Big Bang fic 🥹

My projected 8 chapters has turned into 10 and it's all handwritten so I have *a lot* of work still to do, but just knowing I'll actually have something to post next month is such a relief 💖

[mx-myth]

Okay so I've had some meta thoughts about Laurence's amnesia and how it relates to his relationship with Tharkay sitting in my drafts for like over a year now so I figured I'd finally clean it up and post it. Heads up it's really long.

Laurence finally consciously realises that he loves Tharkay (or is in love with him, whatever nuance you'd like) after "knew him, and knew himself." But at this point he's completely in pieces as a person (more on this next paragraph). Post-amnesia, he's an entirely different man. Pre-Temeraire Laurence is the harshest, strictest version both of and with himself. He follows the rules to the letter, basically takes Temeraire only out of duty in the beginning, and even keeps the promise between him and Edith despite there being no formal arrangement at all. Post-Temeraire but pre-amnesia Laurence has softened. He's putting less emphasis on the rules and more on his morals (see: treason). He has more leeway but still carries that honor/duty/order with himself.

Which is why post-amnesia Laurence is the version of himself that discovers that he loves Tharkay. In the wake of losing his memories and then regaining them he's lost and unmoored. Both of his past selves are so different and therefore so distant. They're both true but it's too jarring for him - especially in his current circumstances, much less the overall war - so Laurence becomes a new person. This is Laurence at his most vulnerable, his most unguarded, who smiles more often now because he doesn't really know that he didn't smile that much before. He has two major tethers to his personhood: Temeraire and Tharkay (I hesitate to say only tethers, simply because Laurence's life isn't that small, but repeatedly these two are the ones who have had the biggest impact on his life, who have kept him going). Obviously he loves Temeraire, he's never going to stop loving Temeraire, he just isn't capable of it, but seeing Temeraire didn't bring back his memories (I can't imagine how Temeraire must have felt, meeting a version of Laurence who had never met him). Laurence loves Temeraire in the most unconditional, selfless way - to be very Greek about it, his philia. But I think when he finally comprehends how Tharkay was the catalyst behind this radical change of his self he dives into his memories again and goes over them in excruciating detail (and he was definitely doing that already, but now he's doing it with a lens exclusively focused on Tharkay). At some point he comes to the realisation that Tharkay loves him, and that he loves him, and that he's been unconsciously shoving it down every time it's surfaced (past-Laurence was saying no homo while actively homo-ing). And with the benefit of being an new version of the same person (and also some hindsight, finally), this Laurence says, I've committed treason. My country sees me as a traitor but they still need me to serve them as a tool. I lost myself once in a war (see: "what are you doing?") that's still being fought. Time is short and there's no guarantee I won't lose my memories again, that I will still be the person I am right now. What do I have to lose?

(And on some level, this Laurence thinks, what can stop me?)

He begins giving to Tharkay what Tharkay always had given to him. His acts of devotions start small (relative to Tharkay's; transporting too many ferals is obviously a little outside of what Laurence can feasibly do). He cares for Tharkay once he wakes ("have you noticed the top of your head appears likely to come off?"), he helps him eat and drink, he massages his hands once they heal, he stays with him through the nightmares that come to haunt him. And he continues doing these little things for Tharkay, hoping that he understands (he's willing to wait, Tharkay waited for him after all, and Laurence doesn't want to push him, especially as he's healing). But I think the act that hits Tharkay like, oh, it's different this time is when Laurence bargains his freedom to Napoleon. I feel like that carries unspeakable meaning for Tharkay, who was ostracized growing up and ended up never having a "permanent" home since he travelled so much. I can't imagine that he hasn't been in a similar situation before, but he's probably always been expected to weasel his way out of it without any outside help. He's trained himself out of expecting someone to help him, to care enough about him to save him. Yet part of the man who turned to treason simply so the dragons of France wouldn't die in pain lives on in this Laurence. Pre-Temeraire Laurence is rules and post-Temeraire pre-amnesia Laurence is morals, but post-amnesia Laurence is all heart. There was never a way he was going to leave Tharkay behind.

So Tharkay starts watching him. He watches Laurence continue to devote himself to him, again and again. He brings him his coat on cold days. When it rains and their scars ache he curls around his hands and rubs lotion into them. When he goes into town he always brings Tharkay back a little gift. He starts growing vegetables in the garden and he learns how to cook non-wartime foods and how to knit (because he is a man forged by war and what does one even do during peacetime when one's dragon is busy reforming the government, anyway?) and suddenly he's providing for Tharkay like never before. He looked away for one moment and suddenly Laurence's prescence and all that he does has made the manor a home.

Yet Tharkay, for years, has told himself so many times that Laurence is off-limits, untouchable, that he can love him but that there's no chance that Laurence will love him back. The only way he can love Laurence is silently, nearly from afar, and so he tried to do that. But he can't just stand by and so every time he finds himself committing a deux ex Tharkay (see: ferals, again). He understands that there's some shit Laurence needs to learn himself (and god is this series very good about character development for Laurence) but he's not going to do nothing when the man in about to die. For him it's about caring and providing for Laurence even if he doesn't know it. He learns to content himself with the knowledge that, even if nothing comes of it, he can still be by Laurence's side.

But then the amnesia plot happens (which he only learns of after all of it goes down) and suddenly there is a half-stranger wearing the skin of the man he loves (loved, he tells himself) looking at him with those familiar blue eyes filled with a completely unfamiliar emotion. He's relieved that Laurence remembers but he's said that his Laurence is gone that he's even thinking of it like that (Tharkay has a lot of anger, both at himself and others and the world). Laurence is right in front of him, he's not gone at all, but he's gone in a way that matters. But also this new Laurence is by his side all the time. He's feeding him and helping him drink and dress and he sleeps on the floor by his bedside. Tharkay is so confused because this has to be some kind of fantasy dream he's having. He must still be in the cave (and it's believable that he is, because he returns there every night in his dreams). But he isn't and he has to struggle to come to terms with this new Laurence.

So every time Laurence does something even remotely nice he hyper-analyses it and rationalizes it to himself. He deludes himself into thinking that this is normal for Laurence now. It's normal for Laurence to fuss and hen over him now; it's normal for him to smile at him with that emotion written plainly on his face that Tharkay still hasn't (refuses) to decipher. And he does this well into post-canon.

For that reason he only gets with the program when Laurence has to leave the manor (leave home) for a long while (probably with Temeraire) and suddenly Tharkay is all alone in this huge manor. He's wearing the socks Laurence knitted for him and eating food Laurence grew and walking into rooms and seeing little parts of him scattered everywhere. There's a novel he's reading left on the table by the chair he prefers in the library. There's a cookbook in the kitchen in which he's bookmarked recipes he thinks he might like. Tharkay finds a handwritten list of things they need to buy in town left out for him. He left his pillows on Tharkay's bed because he knows he likes sleeping with a ton of pillows (and they smell like him, and Tharkay pretends he doesn't bury his face in him, that he doesn't miss him while he's gone). When Tharkay wakes up in the morning he makes two cups of tea and waits for Laurence to come in from talking with Temeraire before remembering that neither of them are here (home). He expects Laurence to appear in the evenings to ask if he wants to go on a walk through the grounds with him (and he always ends up saying yes). Tharkay learns that the manor is too big for one man who has always been a little too lonely in his life.

So until Laurence returns home he plots and plans and agonizes. After a week once Laurence has come home (and the first thing he had said to him was welcome home, and Laurence had beamed at him, and it was so unbelievably natural to say it) Tharkay begins his attempts at reciprocating. He wakes up earlier so that he can brew Laurence tea so he can take it out to sit with Temeraire. He says that he cooked some of the recipes from Laurence's cookbook and insists on making them for Laurence (he had to figure out his system of marking which recipes were Laurence's favourites). He gifts him a sturdy, functional, and beautifully crafted knife to wear around the house for daily use; he specifically makes sure the knife is up to Temeraire's standards. In fact, Tharkay talks to Temeraire about everything, and Temeraire tells him, with no minced words while completely drawing his own conclusions, that it's very nice that Tharkay is asking him for his blessing, but does he really need it at this point? Haven't they been courting long enough? He's always approved of Tharkay, because he makes Laurence happy.

That's how Tharkay realises he and Laurence have been dancing around each other like shy birds, both of them subtly showing off but not making the first move. And maybe he realises that Laurence is thinking how he used to think - that it's okay as long as he can be by his side, that he doesn't need his love reciprocated (it's a very long chain of Tharkay loving Laurence, Laurence knowing Tharkay loves him and loving him back, and Tharkay loving Laurence and knowing he knows he loves him and loves him back). And of course Tharkay wasn't going to make the first move back then, and if Laurence hasn't by now, then maybe he should borrow some of Temeraire's courage.

It's something small. The words come later, given how action-forward both Laurence and Tharkay are. They don't even need words. Maybe Tharkay takes Laurence's hand during dinner and intertwines their fingers, maybe he touches Laurence's cheek after he's braided his hair as their eyes meet in the mirror, maybe as they pack away the port and piquet he kisses him good night. Whatever it is, they look at each other and simply know. Tharkay sees Laurence slowly start to smile, a huge one that spreads across his entire face, one that he's only seen on Laurence when he thinks he's alone with Temeraire. He seems to brighten, almost radiating light.

For his part, Laurence reciprocates. He squeezes Tharkay's hand, he turns his cheek into Tharkay's touch, he pulls him in for another kiss. He watches as something seems to drop from Tharkay, something that he hadn't even known he was carrying. He becomes loose and relaxed, his body language more open as he looks at Laurence with one of his little smiles, a bit of shyness that he's never seen before evident on his face. He tells Tharkay that he's the most beautiful person he's ever seen.

[sharknark]

⬇️rant about a really good hengren (reverse renheng) fic i read. link at the bottom give it a whirl

i've never read a fic so well-catered to my tastes before in my life and the best part is that i was so caught off guard by how good it was cuz the tags and summary had me like "right this is some omegaverse-esque, rawr XD mating shit"

but from the very first paragraph i realized it wasn't just ao3-typical possessive mating shit it was (dare i say) IN CHARACTER possessive mating shit. underappreciated dan feng lore is the two hearts shit, duty expects him to smother his own empathy and perform cruelty obediently (and that being in his dragon form literally numbs his empathy towards mortals) but then it's flipped around and he's criticized for being too heartless

there aren't a great many english fics that take advantage of the 'numbed empathy' thing, so this fic using that to explore the toxic codependency that drove dan feng to making yingxing immortal in the first place is so!

dan feng's dragon heart prioritizing it's own indulgence and power, his human heart screaming against it for empathy and restraint, but both hearts united in this possessive adoration of yingxing... dan feng is possessive to the point of harming his partner, forcing them to take his affection, inherently contradictive to the protective impulse to see the other unhurt.

dan feng makes yingxing immortal in a really sketchy operation, despite knowing that yingxing is literally defined by his pride in being a short-life. he wants yingxing to be with him so badly that he does the one thing that would hurt yingxing the most, too blinded by possession, this sickly overbearing affection, to empathetically respect yingxing's death.

yingxing lived cramming every second he could into his craft and his goals precisely because he has so much less time than all the immortal species around him, but when he's forced into immortality, his hands are scarred and ruined past the point of ever crafting again. he suddenly has so much time, all this time he would've cherished as a mortal, but is totally useless to him now that his purpose for living and passion is gone.

so there being a scene in this fic where dan feng is moping "yingxing doesn't wanna fuck because he's glued to his workshop", being followed up with a scene of dan heng fucking blade while kissing his scarred hand and crying that he's "so sorry", yeah no shit asshole, his dragon heart got what it wanted, blade has all the time in the world to fuck and nothing competing for his now limitless attention and no one's happy about it.

as arrogant about being a short-life as yingxing was, it really is compensation for the discrimination he faced for it. other immortals looked down on him, so having dan feng, THE top dog, be so deeply enamored with him stirred his own toxic codependent urges. he was so desperate to have dan feng's eternal regard that he's willing to die for him (as in the sedition), his death being the force cementing his place in dan feng's heart forever.

so the fic having yingxing ruminate on this, that he had hoped for dan feng to love him even centuries after he inevitably died, only for the fic to end with:

yeah yingxing... you left an impression... he made you immortal.... everyone's upset by this

(that's what makes dan heng forgetting blade was ever yingxing to begin with all the more painful because, you went and turned him immortal and when it backfired horrifically you went on and fucking forgot, bitch i'd be pissed to the point of centuries long bloody pursuit of vengeance too.)

here's the fic go read it and leave kudos and a comment, technically porn but i got so invested in the character study that part barely registered. also yeah if you hadn't realized already super dead-dove:

blah blah "renheng is toxic" sorry that's why i like it

[manglechanbluh]

I wanted to try some stuff with the comic format and I couldn't pass up the chance to do something with this scene from Reaping What You Sew by @thetriggeredhappy. Their interactions in it have been living rent free in my head since I've this fic, I swear.

Full panel below :

[montanamp3]

coming down with terminal post-fic disease (refreshing ao3 inbox page every five minutes) (i need to be put down like a dog)

[sleepyowlwrites]

can we start differentiating between slow burn and slow marinate? soaking up flavor is good but it's not the same as cooking

[infizero]

every time i so much as think about that scene where light looks at porn magazines while scowling i go into hysterics its genuinely the funniest thing i've ever seen

[stergeon]

Rating: Teen and Up

Fandom: Fire Emblem: Three Houses

Relationship(s): Claude von Riegan & Byleth Eisner

Words: 9.5k (Chapter 1 of probably 3)

By Fódlan's calendar, it's Imperial Year 1253, though it's been nearly seventy years since Claude left the country. The Officers Academy, the years of war, the friends and hopes and dreams he buried... all those things are a thousand miles and a lifetime away. Claude has barely even thought of them in half a century.

Then an unexpected guest arrives at his humble Almyran estate, and it's like she's walked straight out of his memory and onto his doorstep. The United Kingdom of Fódlan was left stunned and grieving when their queen disappeared a few years ago, but she’s alive—and while time has weathered Claude’s body and withered his senses, she doesn't seem a day older than when he last saw her, back when he was still a brash young man whose world had yet to be changed forever.

He could tell her to leave. He could say the word and have her back in Fódlan or sitting in an Almyran dungeon before the week is out. But there’s serenity in no longer being the last of a dying breed. Claude could use some company in the quiet and lonely days of his retirement, and seeing a familiar face after all this time might do Teach some good, too.

[kuiinncedes]

ty for tagging me @justgleekout teehee 🥰🥰🥰🥰 it's been so long since i did smth like this lmao

Rules are post gifs from your 10 favorite shows without naming them, then tag 10 people.

also idk if i even have 10 shows i would like enough to put here but we'll see lol c:

that's 7 but i don't rly have others i would say are favorite tv shows atm so i'm just gonna repeat from these LMAO

beep beep boop boop i'm not gonna tag anyone bc i feel like i barely interact here anymore and i feel awkward abt tagging lol 😭😭😭 naur but if you see this and want to do it at all i tag you fr <33

[hardlypartying]

“i’m not the bad guy you think i am”

“i got a boat that can get us off the island… we gotta get out of here, it’s better if we work together”

“they’re going to find john b and your sister” “sucks for them, that’s good for us tho”

“i told you we just had to work together”

“i can give you a ride out, drop you wherever, somewhere safe”

“i know your friends and my sister are on the island, i’m not helping them, i can’t trust them okay… i’ll give you a ride out but not them”

“i mean i always liked you kie, you’re at least half kook”

+

“i just lose control in moments like that, i’m trying to get better” kiara nodding along and her small “okay” as he explains himself

and her “oh god” and teary eyes when he starts slapping himself

HOW is this canon we were fed a full course meal 😭

okay anon you did it-- this delicious assortment of canon dialogue is the straw that broke the camel's back bc now i've got a new fic in the works directly based off of the line “i can give you a ride out, drop you wherever, somewhere safe”

or, the one where sarah was right and ward/rafe are the ones after them and rafe accidentally kidnaps kiara instead of sarah and uses her as extortion >:)

[mandasfandoms]

If anyone out there is a fan of both The Promised Neverland (manga) and Code Lyoko, I wanted to share an idea I had for a crossover fic that I'll never actually write.

Spoilers for both series.

So, first off for this idea to really work I'll have to change a few details in both series' canon.

For Code Lyoko, it would change the way the replikas work. Basically, the new idea is that the other supercomputers also have scanners and everything, and that when they are devirtualized from one of the Lyoko copies, they're devirtualized for real into that scanner connected to it, wherever that is. They're really there, they do not still have their Lyoko powers, they basically just teleported to a different location. No different than being devirtualized into their factory. So when they need to go back, they have to go to the scanner just as they would from Paris. Also, they have whatever they took with them into the scanner.

And for The Promised Neverland, it would need to change what year it takes place. I'm thinking this would be after the group reunites with Norman and is living at the hideout, but before Ray and Emma go to the Seven Walls. But also still somehow have it match with Code Lyoko, which took place in the mid 2000s.

So the actual fanfic idea is that the Lyoko Warriors, while trying to locate and destroy all the replikas, stumble upon one that's connected to a supercomputer somewhere in the demon world. Ulrich and Yumi are the ones who get devirtualized this time, and before they can find the supercomputer, they run into Ray and Emma. Both pairs think the other is an enemy at first, but once they actually talk, they quickly understand the situation.

They end up forming a mutually beneficial alliance - the Lyoko Warriors will help the kids escape the demon world through the supercomputer and get set up in the human world, and in exchange they will help fight X.A.N.A. Probably that would involve getting a few kids at a time into the virtual world, and they'd have to either build another skid or add more seats to the skid or something to transport them through the digital sea.

Also, maybe X.A.N.A. starts launching attacks in the demon world.

Also this idea would probably have to explore exactly how they plan to destroy the supercomputer AND get back to the scanners. I'm thinking a program that is on a timer that destroys everything but once they run the program, they only have so long to get back to the scanners before they get stranded, since there's nothing Jeremie could do on his end.

Anyway, I wanted to at least throw this idea out there if anyone is interested. Just because I thought someone might like the thought, if there's anyone else out there in both fandoms.

[callmehere-iwillappear]

18k...................

[sheliesshattered]

I miiiiight have just finished the next chapter in my long-neglected multi-part fic

[hwanghyunjinenthusiast]

all my dreamin' | hjs

all my dreamin' is only put to shame / and darlin', all my dreamin' has only been given a name / but it came easy, darlin' / as natural as another leg around you in the bed frame.

pairing: joshua hong x reader summary: your LA boyfriend wasn't built for midwest winters. ⇢ insp. by hozier's "to someone from a warm climate (uiscefhuarithe)" type: one-shot | fluff 'n smut wc: only 2.5k! au: established relationship rating: 18+ (minors do not have my consent to interact) cw: afab! and american!reader; cuddling (👀) for warmth; gropin’ and grindin’; k*ss*ng; slow, unprotected morning sex; p in v penetration. a/n: i love two (2) men — andrew hozier byrne and hong jisoo. idk what else you want me to say, lol. barely proofread (sorry!) 🔞 MINORS WHO INTERACT WITH ME AND/OR MY CONTENT WILL BE BLOCKED, WHETHER OR NOT THE CONTENT IS NSFW. I’M AN ADULT WRITING EXCLUSIVELY FOR OTHER ADULTS.

Slatted shades don’t stand much of a chance against the blinding white outside your window. It seeps through the cracks, sunshine refracting harshly off of knee-deep snow and stinging eyes that haven’t yet consented to opening fully. 

Even though that laser-focused beam of light hits you between your eyebrows, it’s not the reason you’re awake in the first place. The real reason is next to you with his head ducked under the covers, rubbing his flannel-coated legs together like he’s trying to start a fire.

“Cricket?” You mumble. 

Still heavy with sleep you didn’t get enough of, your head lolls to the side. If your boyfriend was still topside, you’d be nose to nose; but he’s not, and he doesn’t seem to hear you from inside the cocoon he’s made for himself. 

A little louder, your gravelly voice makes a second attempt. “Are you alive under there?”

“No,” comes the world’s most pitiful whimper from somewhere near your rib cage.

You don’t know what you expected.

With a muffled grunt of effort, you pull the edge of the covers away from your chin and wiggle your way down. In the half-light, you can’t make out Joshua’s face in its entirety. His sweatshirt strings are pulled tight and knotted, hiding most of his features from the air his breath has already started to make hot. All that’s left is the tip of his nose, one eye, and a single, loose wave between the two.

There’s also a hint of a frown in there somewhere when he peeps, “I’m cold.”

You shift even further until he’s within swaddling distance. Wrapping one leg over his topmost thigh, you pull him closer and allow him to nestle his face into the spot below your chin. From where he’s hiding, he can’t see you smirking. It’s for the best, really.

“Hi, Cold.”

“Don’t.”

You don’t listen. Instead, you snicker, more to yourself than him, “I’m Dad.”

Joshua lets out a long groan in reply, but that’s no surprise; you’re huddled so closely together that you felt it building in his chest. 

When it grows quiet again, and you’re no longer laughing at your own joke, the two of you each deflate against each other. Yesterday’s journey from LAX was exhausting in and of itself, and the several-hour leap in time hasn’t made things any easier since you landed. Neither has the weather surrounding your family’s cabin, although you’re faring much better than Joshua is.

His groggy voice comes out of nowhere, startling you. “I don’t know why people live here on purpose.”

From the sound of it, he’s already halfway back to sleep. His arm slips over your waist and pulls you closer, and you get the sneaking suspicion that he’d slip into the front of your sweatshirt if he thought for sure that he could fit. Frankly, you’re shocked he hasn’t tried. His clinginess increases exponentially when he’s exhausted.

“The midwest isn’t a choice; it’s a consequence,” you sigh. “I think being born here was a penance for crimes I committed in a past life.”

Without opening his eyes, Joshua mumbles, “Bleak.”

“Bleak indeed, cricket.”

The third time really must be the charm. Joshua snorts, much too tired to laugh any harder than that, and asks, “Does that mean what I think it means?”

Biting back a smile, you tilt your head backwards enough to kiss his forehead — what little you can see of it, anyway.

“That your self-warming violin legs kept me up all night?” Your amusement only grows when you peek down at him and find him glaring up at you. “Yes. Yes, it does.”

Lower lip poking out, he scrunches his eyebrows. As offended as he pretends to be, he can’t hide that ever-present twinkle in his eyes. “You could have saved me, you know,” he sniffs.

You mimic his tone with a smirk. “I turned the thermostat up as high as it goes, you know.”

The most you get out of him is a grunt acknowledging that he heard you. Normally, you’d accept this lack of retort as a demurrer, but then you feel his cold fingertips slink below the waistband of your sleep shorts, chilling the bare skin at your hip bone; and it finally hits you.

The thermostat wasn’t the remedy Joshua had been praying for.

As you untie the strings of his sweatshirt hood, you tell yourself that it’s retaliation that motivates your movements — paying him back for his freezing hands by exposing his face to equally cold air. That’s bullshit, though, and you know it. The truth is that you can’t card your fingers through hair that’s covered in thick, grey fabric.

You can’t steal kisses from hidden lips, either.

When Joshua’s mouth is finally on yours, you giggle without meaning to because he still tastes like last night’s spearmint toothpaste. You’d love to tease him for it, but your mind goes blank before you can try. He licks into your mouth, and your snark turns into a breathy little moan instead; he swallows it eagerly, smiling against your lips.

Pinch me. I’m dreaming.

The sudden snap of your elastic waistband against the small of your back makes you jolt. You pull back, lips swollen and kiss-bitten, and balk. He doesn’t give you the opportunity to scold him, however.

“You’re insane for wearing shorts when it’s this cold,��� Joshua insists. When you don’t bother to justify your decision — you’re not as much of a freeze baby as he is — he nips at your bottom lip. “I’m grateful, though. They’re easier to work around.”

You’re grateful that his hands have gotten warmer, the longer they cling to you, but you don’t say as much out loud — your body responds for you. His fingers knead into the flesh of your ass, and you roll your hips forward, chasing friction. You find it easily; it’s growing thicker by the second.

“Shit, sweetheart.” He’s still so tired that his words come out slurred — adorable — yet rough around the edges, which drives you the slightest bit wild. “Please do that again.”

“You just want me to do all the work.” You nudge the tip of his nose with yours. The sharp contrast in temperature isn’t lost on you; in fact, you adore it. His sensitivity to cold is one of a million endearing things about him. “Isn’t that right, cricket?” 

The half-expectant, half-sheepish look Joshua sends you confirms that yes, he does. But he asked nicely, and this isn’t on the shortlist of things you wouldn’t do for him, so you grant his wish without complaint.

It’s more than a little bit pathetic that such a lazy motion — a fully-clothed one, at that — makes you both moan in tandem. It’s haphazard, the way your fumbling fingers reach for the knot of his waistband. Your motor skills are still asleep, it seems, making an easy task infinitely more difficult. It only gets worse, the more frustrated you get.

You snag a fingernail on the stubborn flannel and hiss, “Jesus.”

“It’s pronounced Jisoo,” he supplies unhelpfully. 

To avoid the consequences of that quip, Joshua ducks his head down to leave a smattering of lazy kisses along the length of your neck. Whatever you might’ve clapped back with is replaced with a relieved sigh when the drawstrings’ vice grip on one another finally gives. 

Tugging unsuccessfully at the waistband in your hands, you pout. “Help.”

With the way he whines, you’d think you asked him to move a mountain. 

Melodramatically, Joshua’s head drops sideways. It lands with a muffled thump against the scrunched-up comforter that still surrounds you. He doesn’t move another muscle until you open your mouth to nag him; still frowning, still uncoordinated, his hands take the place of yours. His hips lift just enough for him to shimmy his pajama pants down — just enough to provide access.

You roll your eyes at his refusal to undress any further, but before he can remind you of how cold he is, you catch him by the mouth. Successfully placated, Joshua accepts your lips on his with an appreciative hum. That sound transforms into something bordering a groan when your hand claims his length and starts stroking him slowly.

Just like that, Joshua melts under your touch, like putty molding to your frame. His leaking cock is the exception; the only part of him that seems awake enough to beg for you. He’s throbbing in your hand and — once again — you can’t help but laugh. 

Joshua’s incredulous eyes widen, silently demanding an explanation. 

“Some of you is warm,” you offer with a cheeky grin. To ease that wrinkle between his brows, you envelope the crown of his cock with your palm and roll your wrist. The gentle squeeze prompts him to grind forward into your fist, making your stomach flip. “Must be thawing out a little bit.”

“Not fair,” he says, even though he’s moaning with screwed-shut eyes. “Can’t tease me until I’m adequately caffeinated. The Keurig is a million miles away.”

It’s one room over. 

The cabin you’ve borrowed from your parents is a mere six-hundred square feet.

You digress.

The prospect of coffee makes it even harder to fight off the urge to yawn, but you manage to do so. You manage to shimmy even closer to him, too, until the only barrier left is a thin layer of damp cotton. It’s his hand that drops down now to push it aside, making you shiver; and it’s him looking at you through half-lidded eyes that stokes the fire simmering in your belly.

“C’mere, sweetheart,” Joshua whispers. 

If his words weren’t invitation enough, the come hither motion of his fingers is. The brush of his fingertips against your clit is so enticing that you decide right then and there to follow wherever he leads. 

You’re the one melting when the tip of his cock replaces his fingers, flicking over that same spot, then gliding through your slicked folds. Each pass pulls another needy sigh right out of you. He takes every little sound he can tease out of you, as if he’s collecting them. 

When the target switches to your entrance, however, you go silent. Your fingers grip the sleeve of his sweatshirt, your forehead drops to lean against his, and your gasp dies on your tongue. It comes out of Joshua’s mouth instead, spearmint breath cooling as it fans across your face.

He might never say so out loud, but this is his favorite way to fuck you — holding you close against him, holding eye contact, holding his eagerness back to slide into you slowly. When he watches your breath catch, his pupils dilate; and he licks his lips, as if he tastes the moans you can’t quite vocalize.

For what it’s worth, you love him like this, too. Him and the drag of his cock; the way it makes pleasure course through you like molasses. The way he capitalizes on the angle of your leg draped over his hip, tilting up to graze your g-spot with a dizzying precision.

As hard as you try, you can’t think of anything better than this. There’s nothing as perfect as his hand’s light hold on your ass cheek, guiding you up and down his length; so fucking deep, but in no rush at all.

Mornings were made to be spent tangled up with him.

“Do you hear that?” Joshua murmurs against your lips. You thread your fingers through his hair and nod, whimpering as you cling to him even tighter. 

How could you not? 

Your arousal floods with every languid thrust, and you know without looking that he’s completely coated in you. And if his satisfied smirk tells you anything, it’s that he can feel you dripping from his shaft down to his balls. You have no reason to doubt it; your inner thighs are a mess.

Joshua takes his hand off your ass just to hitch your leg even higher up on his side. Immediately, you see stars. You can’t even articulate how fucking incredible it feels, having him this deep, so you kiss him with more desperation than you ever have; and you hope he can guess how close you are to unraveling.

It’s impossible to say whether he can read your mind or just your body, but Joshua picks up the pace ever so slightly. As he does, there’s a subtle swirl to his hips when he thrusts into you that has every one of your synapses lighting up like a switchboard. 

“Fuck,” is your eloquent, shuddered response. 

It’s the best you can offer when you're falling apart like this, clenching tightly around him to push you both closer to the edge. No better off, Joshua seems like he’s barely surviving the way your cunt grips him. His voice sounds as shaky as you feel: 

“I l-love it when you do that.” 

To prove it, he flicks his tongue along your bottom lip and begs you to open up for him. You comply automatically, earning a pleased hum from him that tingles down your spine.

You’d kiss him like this all day if you could, but the wildfire burning through the pit of your abdomen is becoming impossible to fight. Ironic, you think, given how completely you’ve soaked through your sleep shorts and how much you’re shivering.

Involuntarily, your head tilts backwards as the pleasure blooms. Joshua traps your bottom lip between his teeth — not hard enough to hurt, but firmly enough to keep you from disappearing. You know him; you know how much he loves to watch your pupils blow when you cum all over him, and that dead-set determination is crystal clear in the way he fights to keep his heavy-lidded eyes open.

He loses that battle mere seconds after your choked gasp, when your walls flutter around him and you start trembling. He’s twitching inside of you, release spilling, and now he’s the one who starts to laugh.

“What?” You’re still floating somewhere in the stratosphere, but you manage to snort, landing a playful swat on his bare hip. He doesn’t react at all, but you massage your palm into his flesh to soothe him anyway. “What’s so funny?”

In a sudden burst of energy, Joshua’s hands fly up to grab the comforter resting over your heads. With a grunt, he flings it off of you both, thrusting your unsuspecting body into cold air. He doesn’t even notice your startled yelp.

“So hot in there,” he pants. For emphasis, he runs the back of his hand over his forehead. He wasn’t lying; there’s a faint sheen of sweat on his knuckles when he pulls them away again. “Jesus. It’s like a fucking sauna.”

You reach out to unstick a strand of hair from his slicked skin, then you let your arm flop limply back against the pillows. Grinning, you tease, “I thought it was pronounced Jisoo.”

[youngpettyqueen]

finished chapter 3 of the fic and

christ alive.