#word vomit in tags incoming

[chickenparm]

weekly reminder that i'm not dead, just workin' on myself!

[scoonsalicious]

Unwanted: Chapter 16, Unaccompanied - Pt. 4

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Avenger!Fem!Reader

Summary: When your FWB relationship with your best friend Bucky Barnes turns into something more, you couldn’t be happier. That is, however, until a new Avenger sets her sights on your super soldier and he inadvertently breaks your heart. You take on a mission you might not be prepared for to put some distance between the two of you and open yourself up to past traumas. Too bad the only one who can help you heal is the one person you can no longer trust.

Warnings: (For this part only; see Story Masterlist for general Warnings) Language, allusions to sexy stuff, a long overdue conversation with Steve.

Word Count: 2.4k

Previously On...: You went to Tony for answers about how Carthage ended up on the Quinjet; he asks you to attend his annual shareholder gala on Saturday. You, vomiting, + a bunch of stuffy rich people. What could go wrong?

A/N: Quick note about how text messages are written herein: Outgoing messages (in this instance, from Pocket to Bucky) will be indicated by ">>" in front of them. Incoming messages are labeled with the contact name the phone owner has for that person in their phone. In this instance, Pocket has Bucky saved in her phone as "Magic Dick🍆🦾" lol

NOTE! The tag list is a fickle bitch, so I'm not really going to be dealing with it anymore. If you want to be notified when I update, please enable notifications from my Blog page!

Banner By: The absolutely amazing @mrsbuckybarnes1917!

Thank you to all those who have been reading; if you like what you've read, likes, comments, and reblogs give me life, and I truly appreciate them, and you!

Taglist: (Sadly, tag list is closed; Tumblr will not let me add anyone new. If you want to be notified when I update, please Follow me for Notifications!) @jmeelee @cazellen @mrsbuckybarnes1917 @blackhawkfanatic @buckybarnessimpp @hayjat @capswife @itsteambarnes @marygoddessofmischief @sebastians-love @learisa @lethallyprotected @rabbitrabbit12321 @buckybarnesandmarvel @fanfictiongirl77 @calwitch @fantasyfootballchampion @selella @jackiehollanderr @wintercrows @sashaisready @missvelvetsstuff @angelbabyyy99 @keylimebeag @maybefoxysouls @vicmc624 @j23r23 @wintercrows @crist1216 @cjand10 @pattiemac1@les-sel @dottirose @winterslove1917 @harperkenobi @ivet4 @casey1-2007 @mrsevans90 @steeph-aniie @bean-bean2000 @beanbagbitch @peachiestevie @wintrsoldrluvr @shadowzena43

Tumblr will not let me directly tag the following: @marcswife21 @erelierraceala @jupiter-107 @doublejeon @hiqhkey @unaxv @brookeleclerc

The gala had barely begun and you were already exhausted. Your stomach bug hadn’t let up, and you’d been vomiting for the last two days. Fortunately, you were able to get an injection of an anti-nausea medication from one of the interns down in the med bay, so even though you didn’t currently have to worry about puking your guts out on some obscenely wealthy financier, you just had to deal with the constant exhaustion you’d been feeling from your illness. 

Just a few more hours, you told yourself as you brushed off the advances of yet another man old enough to be your father. Not once had anyone actually wanted to discuss the Crisis Prediction Algorithm System. It seemed you were being viewed more as potential arm candy than Stark Industries’ CTO. That alone was enough to leave you longing for an early night in your bed. 

You did look amazing, though, you had to admit, even if you’d had to go a little heavy on the makeup to mask your pallor. When you asked Tony for a new dress, you’d anticipated taking the girls on a shopping trip. Tony, however, had other ideas and had sent a designer from one of the city’s top fashion houses to the Tower to collect your measurements, and then, the following day, a garment bag appeared in your room containing a striking dress in shimmering Iron Man-red. The bodice was form fitting and strapless, with an asymmetric neckline, and the skirt was full and came down to just below your ankles. 

It was gorgeous, and when your hair and makeup had been completed, you looked like a princess straight out of a fairy tale. You’d sent a picture to Bucky and he’d immediately sent you back a series of panting emojis that had you laughing. The following string of text that described exactly what he wanted to do to you in the dress then had you panting, yourself. Fuck your parameters, apparently.

But now, you couldn’t wait to get out of it for an entirely different reason. The call of your pajamas was so alluring. Not only were you physically tired, but you were bored out of your mind. As this was a Stark Industries party, and not an official Avengers gathering, most of your friends had opted not to come. Rhodey was here, now almost fully recovered from his gunshot wounds, but Tony wouldn’t leave his side, so he was constantly being surrounded by people and you couldn’t really find an opening to go talk to him.

When you’d asked Nat and Wanda if they wanted to come with you, Wanda had politely declined, letting you know that she and Vision already had plans to go out of town for the weekend, while Nat just scoffed at you. “I would literally rather swallow broken glass, Pocket,” she’d said. “Those things are boring as fuck and there is not enough money you could possibly pay me to go to one, sorry.” She’d ended up going bar hopping with Clint and Sam, instead.

So, there you were, all by yourself, not even able to distract yourself with the elaborate spread of food that Tony had provided, as the thought of eating still turned your stomach, when you felt a hand at your elbow.

“Hey,” Steve said softly. His presence took you by surprise– you couldn’t even remember the last time you’d truly spoken to one another, aside from clipped conversations about work and missions. “That’s a lovely dress.” A slight blush tinted his cheeks. “How are you feeling, by the way?”

“Steve, hi. Um, I’m good, thank you. Just really tired. Not quite in the right headspace to schmooze, you know?” you asked him, trying to fight off the awkwardness you were feeling at speaking to him again after so long. “You look very dashing tonight.” And he did, with his dark navy suit and cream button-up. 

He smiled, then held out a hand. “Would you care to dance?” he asked. You thought about it for a second. You didn’t want to lead him on, let him think you had any interest beyond the platonic relationship you’d always shared, but you were so fucking bored. One dance couldn’t hurt.

“I’d love to,” you said, taking his hand and letting him lead you to the dance floor.

He was surprisingly light on his feet, given his hulking frame, and he led you through the steps with ease. You somehow managed to only step on his toes twice, which gave you both a good laugh.

“I must have forgotten all my finishing school lessons,” you teased.

“Nah, you’re doing great.” Steve sent you out for a spin, but as he twirled you back into his arms, you were overcome with a wave of dizziness and stumbled. You felt your knees give out and your body begin to collapse in its exhaustion.

“Whoa,” said Steve, using his super soldier reflexes to grab you before you could fall and hold you steady. “I got you. You wanna sit down? Rest a bit?”

You nodded and he led you over to a quiet corner where some couches had been arranged for that very purpose. He guided you down to sit, then placed himself next to you, concern clouding his features.

“Are you alright?” he asked.

“Yeah,” you said. “Just, you know, between the nausea and the vomiting, I haven’t really been able to keep a lot of food down over the last two days. It’s got me so tired. I think I overdid it with a dance number.”

Steve chuckled, then stood up. “Let me go get you something to drink,” he said. “It’s important that you stay hydrated.” You nodded, and he was off.

With a sigh, you reached into your clutch and pulled out your phone, sending a quick text to Bucky, but knowing that, due to the time difference, he was probably sleeping.

>> I miss you.

You were quite surprised, then, when you saw the three dots appear almost immediately.

Magic Dick🍆🦾: Not that I don’t miss you too, because I desperately do.

Magic Dick🍆🦾: But aren’t you supposed to be livin' it up like Cinderella at the ball?

You chuckled at that before responding.

>> This Cinderella is tired and bored and would much rather be snuggled up in bed with her metal-armed Prince Charming watching a movie or literally any other activity aside from being at this ball unaccompanied. 

Magic Dick🍆🦾: You better be talking ‘bout me, doll. 

>> How many other metal-armed men do I have in my life, dipshit? 

>> Why are you even awake, anyway?

Magic Dick🍆🦾: I’m just teasin’ you, smart ass ;) 

Magic Dick🍆🦾: I’d much rather be curled up in bed with you doin any variety of bedly activities, too >:) 

Magic Dick🍆🦾: And I’m up because we’re getting ready to act on our intel and raid the communications office we were sent to find. 

Magic Dick🍆🦾: Hit 'em at dawn when they’re least suspectin’ it, ya know?

>> Jesus Christ, baby! Be careful! 

Maybe it wasn’t a good thing you hadn’t gone on the mission– you didn’t even have the energy to imagine yourself having the energy to conduct a raid in your current state.

Magic Dick🍆🦾: Always, doll. Gotta get back to my best girl, don’t I?

>> You absolutely do. Cause if I found out you died, I will kill you.

Magic Dick🍆��: I have no doubt that if someone were to find a way to murder me from beyond my grave, it would be you.

Magic Dick🍆🦾: Shit. Sorry sweets, I gotta go.

Magic Dick🍆🦾: Try to have fun. I love you.

>> I love you too, Buckaroo.

You stared at the screen for a moment longer, but there was no further reply. Wonderful. Now you would be spending what little energy you absolutely did not have to spare worrying about Bucky’s safety.

Steve returned then, handing you a cold glass dripping with condensation. “It’s lemonade,” he said as you took a sip. “I know how much you like lemons.”

You smiled in thanks, but it came out more like a grimace. Steve noticed immediately.

“Are you alright? Does it not taste good? I could go get you something else…”

You put a reassuring hand on his arm. “No, Steve, the lemonade’s fine. Thank you for getting it for me; that was very thoughtful. It’s just,” you sighed, “I was texting Bucky. He and Carthage are running a raid on a communications office as we speak, and now I’m just nervous and worried about him.”

Steve’s brow creased. “Oh,” he said, though you could tell there was more behind the word than the single syllable would imply. “I didn’t realize the two of you had gotten back together.”

Fuck. You were by far too tired to be having this conversation. Squeezing your eyes shut for a moment, you decided it was time to confront the giant elephant that had been sitting between you and the Captain for far too long. “We haven’t, not officially, anyway, but that doesn’t mean that we don’t still love each other, in spite of everything that’s happened. We’re just working on building trust. Or rather, he’s working on building trust, and I’m working on determining if I can trust him again. It’s a process.”

Steve’s shoulders sagged, the movement so minute you would have missed it if you hadn’t been watching him so closely in the moment. You took a deep breath before you continued.

“Look, Steve,” you began, “I know about your feelings for me.” His eyes shot up to meet yours, and he opened his mouth to protest, but you gently held a hand up to stop him from speaking. You needed to get everything you had to say out while you still had the energy to do so. “I’ve known for a bit, and while I’m truly flattered, and honored, that you care for me, I’m also so sorry that I don’t feel the same way about you. You’re a good man. A wonderful man, and I know most people would tell me I’m an idiot for not reciprocating, but I just don’t share those feelings.”

“It’s because of Berlin, isn’t it?” he asked softly, not meeting your gaze, and for a moment, you could see the small, shy boy Bucky had told you about from his youth.

“Berlin altered our relationship, it’s true,” you told him, “but the nature of my feelings for you were cemented long before that. You’re my family, and do I love you, but I love you as a member of that family. The way I love Tony, and Nat, and Thor, but maybe a little better than I love Clint.” Steve chuckled softly at that, and you smiled, glad you could make him laugh even a little. “I’m sorry this isn’t the answer you want to hear, and I’m sorry that you’ve had to watch me be with your best friend. None of it was ever done with the intention of deliberately causing you pain, but at the same time, I need to do what’s going to make me happy, and I hope you can accept that, as my friend and a member of my family.”

Steve looked like he was going to argue with you for a moment, but he kept his mouth shut and just nodded. “Yeah,” he said eventually. “I can accept that. It hurts,” he chuckled humorously, “but I want both you and Bucky to be happy.”

“Thanks, Stevie,” you said, suppressing a yawn. “Holy shit, I’m tired. I think I’m going to call it a night. I put in enough time to fulfill my obligation to Tony.” You stood, but immediately stumbled, the motion of standing enough to make you dizzy.

Steve was instantly on his feet, an arm out to steady you. “I got you,” he said. He put a hand to your forehead, checking your temperature. “You don’t seem to have a fever, but I’m getting worried about you, Pocket. I should escort you down to med bay.”

You waved the suggestion off. “No, it’s fine. The last thing I want is a bunch of doctors poking and prodding at me all night. I’ll be fine, I just need to sleep.”

“You can barely even stand up on your own,” Steve protested. “Let me at least walk you back to your room. Make sure you get there without falling over.” You were going to tell him you’d be fine on your own when a wave of nausea overtook you.

“Yeah, okay,” you said, clutching tightly to his arm for support. You had planned on going over to Tony and Pepper to say a proper goodbye, but given the way you were currently feeling, an Irish one was going to have to do, instead. 

Steve put a hand to your back and led you out of the banquet hall. You had to stop more than once to steady yourself, and you were grateful for Steve’s assistance. By the time he’d walked you to your door, you were running on fumes.

“Do you need help getting inside?” he asked, looking worried.

“No,” you assured him. “I’ll be okay. I am literally just going to collapse into my bed. Might not even bother taking the dress off, to be honest.”

Steve blushed, and you regretted putting the idea of you getting out of your clothes into his head. “Well, if you’re sure,” he said, running a hand behind his neck, the movement so similar to Bucky that it threw you for a moment. “If there’s anything you need in the night, anything at all, don’t hesitate to call me, alright?”

“Sure, Steve,” you said as he placed a gentle kiss to the crown of your head. You were grateful for his help, but you knew that, even if you were suddenly dying, you would not, in fact, be calling him. “Thanks for your help.”

You wished each other a goodnight, and soon you were once again within the sanctuary of your room. Managing to summon the will from somewhere, you shimmied out of the dress, draping it over your vanity chair; it was, after all, probably far too expensive to either sleep in or leave in a puddle on the floor overnight. You debated whether or not to take the time to remove your face full of makeup but, God, your bed was just so inviting, you’d deal with the consequences in the morning.

<- Previous Part / Next Chapter ->

[dancingtotuyo]

8. a cry of my heart to see

Woman | Joel Miller X Female Reader

Rating: Mature/Explicit

Chapter Summary: Tragedy strikes Jackson

Tags: Joel Miller X Female Reader. Age Gap (13/14 years). HBO Characters. Mostly cannon compliant for show & game. Timeline is changed.

Chapter Warnings: blood, medical care (probably bad I'm not a doctor tried to keep it brief and vague), Character Death, loss, grief, funeral, smut, P I V, cream pie, Oral sex (F receiving)

Notes: Shout out to my girl @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin for the beta read!

If you have checked out Before, I would encourage you to do so for more backstory on our dear reader!

Words: 3273

Series Masterlist | Author Masterlist | Playlist

THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS EXPLICIT CONTENT AND IS INTENDED FOR READERS 18 YEARS AND OLDER. MINORS PLEASE DO NOT INTERACT OR READ.

One Year Later 

He’s been out on patrol for days. They’re widening the perimeter and he’s on the initial team to do so. It’s nerve-wracking. You’re losing sleep. 

Maria tries to assure you they’re fine. No news is good news, but it falls on deaf ears. Her husband isn’t out there in unexplored areas. Joel is. Tommy tries to hide his worry. Despite both their assurances, you know they’re concerned. It’s risky.

For the most part, life goes on. Ellie has been staying in your guest room since Joel left. You thought she would look forward to having the house to herself, not that Joel doesn’t already spend the majority of nights at your house. You wonder if she fears the same thing you do. 

They’re supposed to be back in a week, but day 8 passes without sign of them. 

On the ninth day, one of the gate watchmen barrels into the clinic, causing you to knock over an entire bin of instruments you had just boiled. His eyes are wide, skin pale causing your stomach to drop. 

“What is it?”

“We just spotted them about a mile out. They’re down a rider. Another looks pretty banged up, can barely sit up in the saddle.” 

"Who?” You fight the urge to vomit. 

“We don’t know.”

“Go get Pooley.” The panic is setting in. You can’t do this. You can’t go into concerned girlfriend mode. Is that what you are? It doesn’t sound quite right. No, you need to be the medical professional you were taught to be. Calm, cool, collected like the professional you were on the UT Trauma team.

The man nods, rushing out of the clinic. You look around, pulling out everything you might need for easy access. You don’t know if he was mulled or shot or something else. This is hardly the first time something like this happened, but it’s the first time you haven’t been able to focus. 

It’s silly in hindsight, but you never worried quite like this over Gabe. He always promised to come back. He seemed so confident that he would that you’d bought into his confidence, and he always did until he didn’t. 

Once you’re convinced you’re set up enough to take care of the incoming injured, your feet carry you out toward the gate. It’s beautiful out today. The sun shines. Birds chirp and bees buzz. The kids play tag in the apple orchard, but it all feels like a bad dream like the world is moving in slow motion. There’s a ringing in your ears. 

The gate is just opening as the group draws closer. A small crowd has already formed, mostly the families of those sent out. You’re too far away to see out of the gate so you have to wait for them to file in. 

The first rider comes in. It’s not Joel. You can feel your grip on reality fading. You’re trying to stay. You have a job to do. Maria appears next to you as the second rider crosses in. She tugs you closer to the chaos, through the families waiting with bated breath. Two more. Not Joel. She brings you next to Dr. Pooley who waits ready to spring into action. People make room around you so you can tend to the injured as soon as they come in. 

Another pair cross into safety. John Lacy holds the reins of Adam Perkin’s horse as Adam hunches over in the saddle looking closer to death than life. John has them next to you within seconds, spewing the story of his injury to you and the doctor. You can’t pay attention, going on your tiptoes to catch sight of the last rider, but the horses block your view. The gate is closing now.

“Maria?” You look at her in desperation, pulled between the need to help and get status on Joel. 

She gives you a nod and dashes off to investigate further. 

Adam half rolls out of the saddle, in and out of consciousness before several strong sets of arms aid him to the ground. 

“Someone get the gurney!” A voice calls out as you fall to your knees beside the man. It’s your voice. Your body is taking over, but your brain is still elsewhere. The ringing in your ears grows louder. “Someone tell me what we’re looking at!” Your shaking hands rip the stained flannel and undershirt. They're already rags anyway. 

“Took a knife to the gut two days ago. Closed it up but it got infected and reopened on the way back,” John reports. 

“And you didn’t stop to close it back up?” You yell. 

“We had to drop the med bag.”

You groan in frustration. Dr. Pooley takes vital signs. Even in the haze you notice the signs that he’s over concentrating. His lips move to count Adams BPM and then he stops and starts over. 

“What do you have for me, Doc?” You’re desperate for help. Desperate for the old man to be able to do his job, but you see it in his face. He’s about to admit what you’ve assumed for months. 

“I don’t know,” he looks as lost as you feel right now, drowning in the panic of his own mortality. His own brain ceasing to work. You’ve seen the signs of dementia for months, and now the moment you need his help the most, he can’t think straight. You need his brain. You need to talk through this. 

“Gurney!” Someone yells, pushing toward you with the homemade gurney. It’s more of a litter you’d find in a medieval era movie, but it does the trick. 

They slam it to the ground, you don’t even have to let out the instructions before someone is counting and Adam is moved onto the stretcher. “Carefully!” You keep pressure on his wound, it’s definitely bleeding again. They must’ve missed something or it’s been bleeding internally all this time. Damnit! 

You’re almost to the clinic when you hear it, a life preserver in the raging ocean, Ellie’s voice. “JOEL!”

You turn to see her arms wrapped around his midsection, holding her as tight as she does to him. His eyes flicker to yours, and it’s like you snap back into your body with a thud, your mind crisp and clear. He smiles weakly your way and you can breathe again. 

You’re not sure how long it takes you. You’re pretty sure you’ve technically just performed a surgery you were in the room for once as a nurse 22 years ago. You probably missed most of the steps, but you know it was Adam’s only hope. Joyce Dobbins comes in with a poultice that’s supposed to help fight infection and “doctors him right up” as she likes to say. You don’t know enough to have an opinion. She’s the herbalist. 

You shower at the clinic, bones weary and eyelids drooping. Joyce knows enough to monitor him over night as does Rachel, Adam’s wife. 

You stumble home, the days events replaying on repeat in your head. The multiple times you thought you were going to lose Adam yet he somehow never faded. Lindsey’s never ending sobs from the backroom as she mourned Paul, you delivered their baby three years ago. Joel standing there giving you exactly what you needed so you could save a friend. 

Most of the time, it’s easy to ignore the dangers of the outside world while tucked within the walls of Jackson, your slice of normal in the world. Tonight is not one of them. 

You stumble up the porch stairs, anything but graceful as you cross the threshold. The house is quiet- no, peaceful. It’s an odd feeling compared to your raging mind. The house is clean, spotless. The orange glow of your living room lamp and the kitchen light warm you. Rumours spins in the corner, halfway through Songbird. You catch Joel in the kitchen wiping down the countertops. Your tea kettle whistles softly as he turns off the gas stove. 

“Joel…” your voice is hoarse. He spins around. He doesn’t smile, only walks toward you, pulling your limp frame into his as soon as he can. “I missed you,” you whisper. 

“I missed you too, Sweetheart.” His face burrows into the crook of your neck. 

“I thought…” you can’t finish the sentence without tears falling down your cheeks. He rocks you both softly. 

“Shhh, I know. I know.”

He kisses your head softly and then your lips. As much as you want to fall into bed, he forces you to eat something, drink the tea he’s brewed for you. You can barely sit upright, but you eat and drink and finally, he guides you upstairs, tucks you into bed, and curls up behind you. You fall asleep before he starts whispering sweet reassurances in your ear. 

You pull yourself out of bed earlier than you should. You have to go check in on Adam at the clinic. No news is good news. Anytime you’re not dragged out of bed after a day like yesterday, it’s a good thing. 

He’s not conscious but his fever is lower than it was when you left and that eases your worries some. Rachel doesn’t leave his bedside. 

Lindsey is in the backroom as they re- wrap Paul’s body. They’ll bury him today. He’s already been dead for three days. You take Lindsey’s hand without a word, standing solemn next to her. 

A hot tear marks your cheek as you watch Maria and Joyce diligently work. You were never awarded this luxury, could never gaze upon Gabe’s face one last time. Didn’t get to say goodbye. 

He has a tombstone in the cemetery. You don’t visit it often. He’s not there, his ashes spread to the wind now, rolling over the earth like invisible tumbleweeds. He probably likes that better anyway. 

The funeral is short, but all of Jackson crowds around for the service, to bury their fallen friend. Joel holds you close, arm wrapped around your waist. You lean heavy against him, gaining all your support from his frame. Carter and Ellie sit on the ground in front of you. 

When it’s time to lower Paul into the ground, Joel makes sure you’re steady on your feet before joining the rest of the patrol group. Adam is still unconscious in the clinic. They lower his body to the ground with precision that is too practiced. You wonder if he’s thinking of her, how he had to leave her body behind. He calls out her name at night sometimes. You know he’s reliving the night Sarah died. 

Lindsey’s cries start to pick up again. You slide onto the bench beside her, squeezing her hand tightly. Grace sits opposite you and Elaine stands behind. You don’t know Lindsey that well, but she’s joined your ranks now. Other women who have lost spouses close in around the grieving woman, a moment of solidarity. It’s a group that’s too large for your liking, too many lives taken. 

Joel holds your hand on the walk home. You keep walking, taking your path earlier than normal. You don’t speak, too many memories in your mind, too many emotions flooding your heart. 

You stop in at the clinic. Adam is in and out of consciousness. Joyce is giving him something for the pain. 

You cut your walk short, just one lap tonight. There’s a note on the door. Carter is at Maria and Tommy’s for a sleepover. You sigh in relief, thankful to not have to worry about another human being tonight.

Joel helps you out of your shoes. He helps you upstairs. His hands move slowly over you, half roaming, half massaging your weary muscles. He follows your collarbone and shucks the cardigan from your shoulders, frees you from your jeans leaving you in nothing but a tank top. It’s one of the few times his eyes don’t immediately land on your exposed crotch. He can’t help but chuckle at your commitment to not wearing underwear. 

Fingers delve into your tight calves. You let out a soft moan as you fall back into the mattress, sheets cool against your skin. 

Your eyes close, relishing in the feeling of him. This is the first real chance you’ve had to spend together since he got back. There’s nothing inherently sensual to his movements and the way he touches you, but your body heats in response, craving the connection, the assurance. 

The air shifts as your breath hitches. His fingers crawl up your legs leaving tiny trails of fire as he presses a kiss to each of your calves. Desire begins to burn in your body, slow and hot. “Joel…” You moan, legs falling open. 

“I know, Sweetheart,” He feels it too, voice low and thick as his eyes darken. “I know.”

Your hands tangle in his curls as he takes his time covering your thighs in kisses, swiping his tongue over your skin from time to time. “I’m here,” he says again. “I’m gonna take care of you.”

There’s no rush to the finish line, neither of you have the energy for that tonight. It’s slow, languid like a hike up a steep cliff as his mouth slowly greets your slick cunt, his tongue runs through your folds at a steady pace over and over and over and over. He’s pulling you closer to the edge, taking his time until finally, you cry out arching into his mouth, spilling more of yourself onto his tongue. 

He pulls away, chin glistening in your soft bedroom light, proud smile on his lips. “That’s my girl.” 

You whimper in response, hands traveling up his forearms. His calloused palms roam over your thighs and hip, fingers drawing soft patterns across your skin. 

Leading with his lips, he makes his way up your sternum. Not a drop of urgency in his body, he eases up your tank top. It’s like he has all the time in the world. You wish for all the time in the world as long as you get to spend it with him. 

Finally, his lips meet yours. You taste yourself on his lips as he pushes his tongue into your mouth. Your hands wander his shoulder and neck, your fingers glide through his hair again. Nails rake down his back. At some point he shed his shirt and pants, leaving him bare against you. 

“Lay on your back,” you say.

He pulls back slowly, eyebrows raised. “What are you thinking about?”

“Having you on your back.”

He chuckles, warm arms wrapping around your middle as he rolls over. You brace yourself on your knees. His hard cock presses against your thigh. You run it through your folds. Joel lets out a soft moan as his eyes glaze with lust. “Fuck, Sweetheart. Let me in there.”

“Patience,” you chide, but have no intention of keeping him waiting for long. 

You nudge his dick against your clit, sending sparks through your veins until you center your opening over him. He holds your hips as you slowly sink onto him. You stretch around him, filling you so completely. Once you’ve taken him to the hilt, you sit there, eyes focused on each other exchanging soft pants. 

Your cunt clenches around him, pulling moans from both of you, but you don’t move, hands finding purchase against his soft stomach, thumb running through his dark happy trail. The two of you bask in the feeling of your skin against the other’s, desperate for the certainty that you’re alive and breathing, that the blur you’re living in is reality and you still have each other. 

He cups your cheek, thumb brushing over your bottom lip. Your teeth scrape against it. Then you lift up just a little bit, keeping him mostly inside you before you sink back down. You keep the slow pace as you ease up and down, increasing the distance a little more each time.

 Joel’s eyes never move from you, sometimes meeting yours and other times appreciating your naked form above him. His hand trails down your torso, finding the wet heat of your core. He finds your clit with the precision only granted by his familiarity with your body. He has you memorized, every single inch of you. 

You let out a sharp gasp when he touches you. He holds his thumb steady against you, letting your movements drag his thumb across your clit. You clench around him and he groans. Up and down, your hands perched on his hairy chest, nails biting into his pecs.

 As you draw nearer to the peak, Joel starts to meet you, hitting a different angle inside of you. You let out a long moan, head tipping backward. Then you reach the crest, cunt milking his cock, coming undone on top of him. 

Sweat beads along Joel's forehead as your dripping pussy flutters around him. He’s not far behind you, filling you with his spend. The feel of him inside you, coating you, causes another breathy moan to leave your lips. 

“Fuck, Sweetheart.” He pants, pulling you down beside him, sweaty skin flush against his. 

You smile softly at him, brushing the curl in front of his forehead back. He kisses your palm. You should feel guilty for enjoying Joel’s comforts, his warm skin against yours when Lindsey lays in an empty bed across the way, but all you feel is relief. You’re grateful to be spared heartache for once. 

Eventually, Joel rolls out of bed, returning with a warm washcloth to clean up the mess he left behind. You’ve pulled on his white tshirt. You don’t say a word, just stare at him in the lamp light. He’s beautiful, a gentle giant, and he’s yours. 

When he crawls back beside you, he looks at you like he reads every thought in your mind, kisses your forehead, and turns out the lamp. You turn on your side. He spoons you, arm thrown over your waist. 

His soft snores start to play in your ears. The crease in his forehead is nonexistent with sleep as you look over your shoulder. Then, it hits you. You’re happy here with him despite the last 48 hours. It feels wrong, like you cheated death. You just hope it doesn’t come back to collect double, but you’re so damn happy. Joel Miller has permeated every single fiber of your being. 

You’ve known this, but now, you accept it. Your muscles tense with it. It’s not enough to send you spiraling by any means, but you fought it for so long, you’re not sure how to proceed. You could tell him now, wake him up and finally let the words slip off your tongue. More tension gathers between your shoulders. 

Joel mumbles, tightening his grip around you as he pulls you flush against him. He kisses your shoulder. 

“Don’t start with that.” Sleep coats his voice. You wonder how he’s so in tune with you even in sleep he can feel the tension. 

“Don’t think it works like that.”

He hums, squeezing you again. His lips press between your shoulder blades, beard brushing against your skin sweeping the tension away, pulling the thoughts from your head. 

He chuckles as you sink into him. “You sure about that.”

You reach behind you. Your nails rake over his thigh, just above his knee until you find your target. You pluck one of his leg hairs with a practiced precision. 

“Ow! Not nice!”

You laugh, burrowing into your pillow. “Go to sleep, old man.”

“Goodnight, Sweetheart.” He kisses your cheek, holding you so close your brain can’t think of anything but his solid frame at your back. 

[djarins-cyare]

Never Look Down

Part 2: Maia’s (Your) Morning

← Part 1 | Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

Prompt: “I don’t know what’s happening but I love it.”

Summary: Din has been ignoring his crush on Grogu’s babysitter for a while now, with varying degrees of success. But after a misunderstanding leads to some revelations, there’s no denying things any longer. Sometimes you just need to look at things from a different perspective.

Rating: Mature (18+)

Pairing: Din Djarin x Original Female Character (for his POV scenes) / Din Djarin x Reader (for her POV scenes)

Word count: 7,830

Tags/warnings: POV switch, hangover hell, light angst, confessions, even more references to erections, some swearing, references to sex, kissing, reference to fellatio, a lot of fluff, Reader has a name (and a job and an inkling of a backstory). Regarding her prior bad relationship, I don’t want anyone to be triggered by an assumption, so please note she was NOT in an abusive situation. Her former partner was just a drug-dealing douche.

Author’s note: I finished something new! [*cries in disbelief*] 😭. Thank you so much for your interest and support! 💖

READ ON AO3 (author’s preference)

Tumblr version ahead if you prefer…

You wake up somewhere dark and soft. It takes you several seconds to realise where you are due to the throbbing ache in your head that’s screaming for focus.

You’re in Din’s bed.

Oh fuck.

Well… more like no fuck. A shameful absence thereof.

Slowly, memories of the previous night drift to the surface of your foggy brain, each one deepening your embarrassment until you’ve reached the pitiful depths of utter humiliation. It cuts deeper than your hangover, which includes a pounding headache and a bruised shoulder (how did that happen?), yet is almost trivial in comparison. Kark, you drank – and said and did – a lot more than you should’ve.

Babysitting Grogu is not your primary source of income. In fact, you have a contract with Karga for city planning and infrastructure upgrades. But that’s just building holos, presenting them to the High Magistrate, and then outsourcing the work upon approval. It’s sporadic and flexible, leaving you with plenty of hours to kill. You took this part-time job to keep yourself busy, but you’ve come to enjoy hanging out with the little guy and his bafflingly sexy father. Both are good fun, have always been friendly and welcoming, and you’re fond of their company. Who are you kidding – you’re profoundly attached to them both. Plus, Din has taught you to use a blaster, helping you feel safer and more self-reliant now you’re free of your ex’s ‘protection’. The extra credits are merely a bonus, and you’d do this for free if it came to it.

Well, not this. Not turn up drunk, pass out in your boss’s refresher, then misread a gesture of kindness as a sexual advance. And you just had to fucking let your thoughts spill out, didn’t you? Shit, you basically told him you think he’s a virgin! Sure, you’ve wondered, but you’ve never drawn any conclusions, so why did you have to vocalise those thoughts as if you had? You’ve been so careful to avoid suggesting his commitment to his creed might be impeding anything fun. So what if he can’t eat with you or sleep with you – that’s his choice. He probably thinks you’re judging him now. You shouldn’t have opened your mouth, damn it!

Of course he rejected you.

How could you ever have thought Din would want to be with you after everything you did last night? There are so many reasons for him to have walked away like he did. Not only did you fail to provide trustworthy childcare, but you also vomited in his toilet and were a drunken burden on him after he’d had to go out on a job. Then you assumed he wanted sex, implied he might not have the requisite skills, stripped naked, climbed under his sheets, and stole his fucking bed for the whole night.

You’re a disgrace. The regret burns in your chest, branding you from the inside out as the fool who pushed a former bounty hunter too far.

Plus, you work for the guy, so that’s surely a factor. Your role here is simply to take care of his kid. At least it was. And, of course, he’s never shown any interest in you. In fact, whenever you’ve wondered if the two of you are having ‘a moment’, he’s always run away.

Why did you have to make an already bad situation so much worse by revealing your desires? You were coping fine with your self-imposed celibacy. Sure, it was frustrating, but you were surviving. Repressing your libido around him was working for you.

As much as you want to hide beneath the blankets and avoid the fallout, you know you can’t stay in Din’s bed forever. Even though it’s soft and warm and smells like him – fresh yet with a hint of spicy musk. You really can’t.

Fumbling to activate the lamp, you drain the water on the nightstand, noting your clothes strewn across the floor. Thankfully, they don’t smell of alcohol or vomit (at least you’re a tidy drunk), so you get dressed and stumble to the refresher. More memories return at that crime scene, adding to your shame spiral and giving you a likely reason for your bruised shoulder.

Din has left his ultrasound cleaner out of the cabinet, which has to be a suggestion that you use it, and you can take a hint. You recall complaining that your mouth tasted like bantha balls, and accepting his pity is the lesser evil. Though it’s far more than you deserve, it’s also far better than this flavour.

You gladly let the vibrations clean your mouth and then rinse away the residue, feeling much better for it. It’s not enough to ease your thumping headache, but it’s a start.

You can’t hear any noise from upstairs or across the hall, so you wonder if your hosts are still asleep. It’s clearly past dawn since daylight is spilling down the staircase, but it could still be early. Maybe you can just slip out unnoticed? You debate checking on Grogu first. Din probably slept on the couch, though there’s a cushioned chair in the kid’s room that he could’ve used.

Guilt and concern make you check on your charge despite the risk of waking a metal sentinel. But you’re surprised to discover an empty room. That means they’re either both upstairs and being quiet, or they’ve gone out. You’re hoping for the latter. Zandi insisted you meet her for lunch, but part of you wants to run straight to your friend’s place and cry about what an idiot you’ve been. Hmm, no. You should go home for a shower first. Not that it could wash off the disgrace, but it might ease your aching head, at least.

You dart across the hall for your shoes, straightening out your boss’s sheets before you leave (a token apology, if anything). Catching sight of a comb on top of his dresser sends another type of guilt burning through you. Stealing his bed was already an invasion of privacy, but learning about what he hides beneath the beskar feels worse. You anxiously smooth down the blankets, flick off the lamp, and tiptoe up the stairs.

Thankfully, you find an empty living space, lit by sunshine so bright that you realise it’s already mid-morning. Din must have taken Grogu to school.

There’s no sign of your glowrod, but you don’t care. He can keep it. You shove on your boots with as much haste as you can manage and fly to the exit, darting through. Kriff, it’s so blinding outside that you have to turn your back to the sun or risk your hangover increasing tenfold.

Just as you’re gulping lungfuls of fresh air and keying in the lock code to secure the cabin, you hear him.

“Feeling better?”

The Mandalorian steps out from behind the cabin, and you wonder if he’s been waiting to ambush you. Damn it, you should’ve known. Bounty hunter.

You can’t look him in the eyes. Well, the visor, really. Either way, you fix your gaze on the porch. You’d normally come out with something playful and witty, but today, your brain gives you nothing except wry honesty.

“The hangover and torturous headache are nothing compared to my embarrassment,” you answer sheepishly. “I am so sorry about last night.”

You don’t specify which part because you mean all of it. Drinking to excess and throwing up in his home, as well as climbing into his bed, stripping off, and assuming he would fuck you, then commenting on how you thought he couldn’t fuck you. You’re sure you’ll never live down this shame.

Din doesn’t respond to your apology, but he steps forward, a wall of beskar and muscle blocking you from leaving the porch. He leans past you – so close he almost traps you against the door – and reverses the lock code you just entered.

When the door behind you swishes open again, he gestures inside with a nod. “We gotta talk.”

Oh, frotz, this is bad. This is so so so bad. He’s normally relaxed and happy around you, welcoming (or at least tolerating) your friendly jokes and nicknames. But right now, he’s all stiffness and silence, thumbs in his belt and elbows out wide, staring you down as if you were prey. He is not happy with you. You’ve fucked up bad.

You’re going to lose your job. It’s not a substantial source of income, but you’ll lose your bonding time with the kid and the friendly teasing thing you’ve developed with his dad. You won’t get to watch how strong and beautiful this warrior-turned-father is anymore, how soft he is with Grogu, despite his hard beskar shell. There’ll be no more shooting lessons. He’s going to tell you how offensive your remarks were last night… kark, what if he has a duty to punish anyone who disrespects his creed? Is it disrespectful to suggest he can’t have sex, though? Maybe the offensive thing was you throwing yourself at him. Or perhaps he thinks you’re hideous and finds the idea of having sex with you offensive. Whatever the case, he’s going to—

“Maia….”

Hearing your name growled through his modulator snaps you out of your spiralling thoughts, and you realise you’re just standing there gawking at him in the doorway.

Suddenly, you feel meek in his presence, which has never happened before. Even when you first met, he was careful to make you feel safe and welcome. This menacing demeanour is new.

“Please,” you whisper, your voice trembling. “Can I just go home?”

Din looms closer like a rancor threatening its prey. “This won’t take long,” he insists.

With widened eyes, you shrink back toward the scene of your crimes, your near freedom now a fool’s delusion. He walks forward as you step backward across the cabin’s threshold, maintaining the proximity – a fateful dance that promises a morning even more tragic than the night before.

“Sit,” he commands, gesturing to the couch. He watches you perch yourself where you’re told to and then nods, appeased by your obedience.

A heavy silence clouds the room as your soon-to-be-ex boss flicks on the caf maker and heats the beverage while you quietly unravel on the couch. You’re not even sure what this is. It feels like he’s about to punish you (and not in a good way), but you have no idea how. Is he going to yell at you? Torture you with some kind of ritualistic Mandalorian justice? Or is he just going to describe how disappointed he is, fire you from this job, and threaten to roast you with his flamethrowers if he catches you anywhere near Grogu?

Whatever’s about to happen, you’re zealously ignoring the part of you that’s low-key turned on by how dominant he’s acting this morning. You can’t examine that right now.

After a minute or two, Din brings a cup to the couch and perches beside you, performing an awkward shuffle as he angles his body toward you. Still unsure how to act, you remain facing straight ahead, watching him in your peripheral.

He’s fully armoured this morning, his movements determined but stiff, and you recall how fluidly his body moved when he was just down to his flight suit. When he swept you into his arms, cradled you against his chest, and carried you to his bed…

No! Bad thoughts! Now is not the time for those because you’re about to receive the worst reprimand of your life (and you work for Karga!).

But your brain won’t stop replaying the memory, leading you to a distracting notion. He keeps his armour on the shelves in his bedroom – you saw it there last night. That means he must have come in to grab it this morning while you were sleeping. Damn, he’s stealthy! Though, to be fair, you were utterly passed out.

Wait. You woke up fully covered and tucked in. You don’t recall falling asleep, but you do remember arranging the blanket for optimum cleavage display. Kark, you really hope you snuggled down properly in your sleep. Because if not, there’s a chance that he opened his door to an inadvertent boob extravaganza, and he covered you up for the sake of your dignity. Fuck! How much shame can you suffer in a single morning?

He still hasn’t started talking, so before your thoughts ricochet in yet another distressing direction, you prompt, “You, uh, said we need to talk?” It’s probably best to confront your impending doom so you can run home and scream into a pillow.

Din huffs a little. “We do. Doesn’t mean I know how to start.”

Hmm, well, he doesn’t seem too angry, at least. Perhaps there won’t be any Mandalorian torture-based vengeance after all.

You don’t have the energy to play ‘guess the punishment’, but maybe you can stave it off if you beg for mercy. “Okay, then let me start. I said and did some monumentally stupid things last night, and I understand if you can’t forgive me and never want to see me again. But I just need you to know how truly sorry I am and that I really didn’t mean to offend you, and if I could—”

“Stop apologising,” he interrupts, shaking his helmet.

His order startles you into silence. It was insistent, but he didn’t sound angry at all. In fact, there was an undertone of something else. Almost the amused side of frustrated. What the kriff is happening?

Din sighs and tilts his visor toward his lap, then seems surprised to realise he’s still clutching the caf he made but clearly can’t drink in your presence. He silently offers you the steaming cup, and after a beat, you accept it, staring at it just as he did.

Never has a cup of caf received as much scrutiny as when two parties are unsure how to vocalise their thoughts.

“I made it for you,” he offers. “Thought… with the hangover….”

“Thanks,” you mumble, unsure what else to do or say. This isn’t going as expected at all, and your confusion is only growing. Is he doing some kind of bounty hunter ‘killing with kindness’ act?

This is absurd. You just need to get him talking, accept your punishment, and then you can escape.

“Um,” you begin, and his shadowed visor fixes on you again, unsettling you further. “If… if you don’t want to hear my apologies… what do you want to talk about?”

Your reluctant host forces out his response like it’s stuck inside his throat. “I want… I wanna ask you… some things. And I need you to answer honestly.”

Your stomach churns with nerves. He has questions? He must want you to explain what you said. He’s going to make you relive it – not by telling you how offensive you were, but by making you deconstruct your own comments and actions.

Kark. It’s a punishment, alright.

But if the penalty for your folly is the discomfort of explaining yourself, you can deal with that. This is a man you’re used to teasing, and he sounds just as unsure about what to say here as you are. So, you need to gather your confidence and endure whatever awkwardness this brings up.

You square your shoulders and lift your chin. “Okay… ask me.”

“You’ll answer? Honestly?” There’s an edge of desperation in Din’s voice from which you intuit his real meaning. You need to check any joking at the door.

Well, your current embarrassment level is sky-high, so whatever he wants you to respond to or admit surely can’t be much worse. You’ve already laid yourself (literally) bare for him. “I will. You got a slice of my inner dialogue last night, so I might as well continue the honesty.”

“Good… thank you.” He releases a profound sigh, a rush of static through the vocoder, and appears to gather himself for his first question. “Why do you think my creed means I can’t…?” He trails off, but you follow his meaning and match his heavy sigh.

“I don’t really think that,” you assure him. “Honestly, I’ve never known what to think, which means I’ve made no assumptions either way. But I guess… my drunken brain felt it was… safer to err on the side of caution when addressing it out loud.”

You’re not in the least bit surprised that he’s starting with this. If he is a virgin, you’ve mocked him, and if he isn’t, you’ve no doubt hurt his pride.

When he doesn’t respond, you suggest, “If that’s your first question, it sounds like you’re worried I’m judging you, so let me reinforce what I just said. ‘No assumptions’ means ‘no judgments’. But if you want to clarify things, I can promise you that whatever the truth is, I still won’t judge you.”

The importance Din is giving this topic is by far the biggest clue to the likely truth. No virgin would question you in the way that he just did. If they mentioned it at all, they’d probably just insist it’s not a topic for you to concern yourself with and never speak of it again. But inviting him to confirm his expertise gives him an easy way to lay the matter to rest. It’s also the kindest thing to do in the wake of your drunken foolishness.

He nods a fraction, accepting the premise, pausing while he chooses his words. “My creed doesn’t impose any rules relating to that, only that I cannot remove my helmet. And… some people kind of, uh… they get off on the mystery. So I do pretty well when I need to… blow off some steam.”

Huh. That was surprisingly direct (for him). You can’t help but smile, wondering if your delight stems from finally having proof that he isn’t without experience or that this discussion (so far) isn’t about how badly you fucked up.

Hoping to conceal your thoughts and keep the focus on him, you instantly slide back into teasing mode with a new nickname and a vague compliment of sorts. “Super Stud! You’re very discreet.”

“That’s the idea,” he confirms, ignoring his new moniker. “Although it’s by no means frequent, and since I got Grogu, I haven’t had….” He clears his throat. “Time and opportunity are rare.”

As much as you wish Din would choose to ‘blow off some steam’ with you, all you hear is a chance to atone for last night’s thoughtless actions. “I can take care of him while you go have some fun…?”

A massive scoff comes through the vocoder, and he shakes his helmet widely. “No, Maia, that’s… that’s not gonna work.”

But you persist, desperate to make amends. “Oh, come on, Metal Man, you deserve a break. Isn’t there anyone on Nevarro you can call for some fun?”

He sighs. “I have… options, yes.”

You furrow your brow at that. “So why did you say time and opportunity are rare? If you’ve got options, why don’t you just get your shiny ass laid while I do what you pay me for and take care of—”

A distinctly peeved huff crackles through the modulator, and you instantly fall silent. You forgot you’re not supposed to be teasing. Nor is it clear yet whether you still have a job. Foot, meet mouth.

He curtly redirects you. “Next question.” You assent with a nod, but when he continues, his tone is suddenly guarded and awkward. “Last night, you said… you suggested… that you and I might… blow off some steam.”

Fuck, this is the part you were dreading, and your pulse picks up. He seems nervous. Is that good or bad? Well, it’s better than angry and scary. You try to freeze your movements to avoid either wincing or looking too eager, nervously awaiting his question.

“Was that… because of the alcohol? Or… something, uh… real?” All you detect in his voice is discomfort, so you can’t tell which option he hopes for.

You sigh and take a careful slurp of the scalding hot caf to buy yourself time. It’s hard to answer because there’s a lot at risk. If you’re too honest about your feelings and Din doesn’t feel the same way, your relationship might end – professional as well as personal.

But once again, the fact that he’s asking suggests your answer is important to him, so the odds are likely in your favour. If he wasn’t attracted to you, surely he’d play it down and give you a way to save face. Just say he knew your silly drunken advances were simply an extension of your usual urge to tease and meant nothing, and that he forgives you for them. Surely he wouldn’t ask if they were ‘real’.

The concept sparks a tiny flame of hope in a dark and dusty corner of your mind, a pinprick of light to chase away the fears you walked in here with.

However, you can’t be too hasty or draw conclusions without facts. Though this isn’t going as dreadfully as you feared it might, the sensible option is to avoid getting your hopes up. He asked you for honesty, so you’ll give him that, but you decide to err on the side of caution again. An assumption against any interest on his part shouldn’t be offensive.

“It wasn’t… totally the alcohol,” you confess cautiously, and you see his body instantly tense up. Is that a positive reaction? “I’ve been trying to remember exactly what I said to you. I told you it was a ‘dream’, right?” Din nods once. “Well… that’s true. I admit I’ve had some daydreams about the idea. But it felt… safer not to mention it. Last night, you made it clear you weren’t interested in me, and you’ve never given me any reason to think otherwise, so I—”

“I did no such thing.”

Shit. The anger you were afraid of is finally colouring the Mandalorian’s tone, and he leans forward with his vehement denial.

What did you say wrong? Did you tease too soon with the new nickname just now? Shock and confusion contort themselves across your face, and you shrink backward.

He almost growls at your retreat, and the creak of his leather gloves as he clenches his fists has you bracing yourself for trouble. You honestly can’t tell if you’re turned on or terrified.

Before you can decide, he declares, “Last night, I had to walk away from a beautiful naked woman in my bed because she’d been drinking, and I would never do anything without full consent. I did not make it clear I wasn’t interested in you. Fuck, Maia, I have dreams about you too. All the time.”

Your mouth hangs open in surprise. Even knowing it was vaguely possible, you weren’t ready for that response.

He has dreams about you too!

Now that he’s confessed what got him so worked up, you see him make a visible effort to calm down.

His next words are much softer, soothing your prior unease, though your heart continues to thump from his admission. “Time and opportunity are rare because you’re Grogu’s babysitter, and that kid loves you. When he’s not with me, he wants to be with you. He only goes to school twice a week. That’s not a lot of time or—”

“—or opportunity,” you finish. “Okay, I get it. Why didn’t you say anything before? We could’ve been blowing off steam on schooldays for months already, but I had no idea. I would’ve climbed naked into your bed way sooner if I’d known.”

Din groans, a low and sinful rumble, and you wonder if you shouldn’t have put those images in his mind.

A deep breath later, he answers, “My son is my priority; his needs come before mine. He needs a good babysitter more than I need a good… uh….” He trails off and clears his throat. “And last night was the first time you’d ever said anything. I had no idea either.”

“But, but…” you stammer. Okay, so you’ve been keeping it to yourself, but you’re surprised he didn’t pick up on your attraction at all. “I’m flirting and checking you out all the crinking time, Metal Man. I thought bounty hunters were observant?”

He hums as if he’s flattered by your admission. “Teasing me is not a sign of anything on its own. And I’ve never seen you look anywhere other than directly at my helmet. You would’ve noticed my interest otherwise.” You furrow your brow slightly, not following, and he shakes his head in frustration. “You never look down.”

You look down.

Holy mother of meteors…

That is one obscenely snug flight suit and one fucking impressive erection.

Granted, you’ve noticed he’s been wearing the loose flight suit pants more often. In fact, you’ve missed being able to check out his toned ass in the closer-fitting ones. But since you can’t see where he’s looking, you’ve always been careful to keep your roving eyes chaste whenever he’s facing you. And, kriff, you never figured the reason for his wardrobe change was to hide this glorious attribute.

“Wow,” you breathe, unsure of what else to say. Suddenly, the volume on your headache reduces, and your lust levels shoot up. It’s so….

Din fidgets slightly, perhaps on edge because of your sudden scrutiny. Oops.

You revert your gaze to his visor, chancing some levity to ease the tension. “If I wasn’t fighting a skull-splitting hangover, I’d have a whole host of new nicknames for you already. Something about being as hard as beskar or carrying a concealed weapon… ugh, gimme a day, I’ll come up with a winner.”

His chuckle suggests the ice between you is now well and truly broken. You knock back the rest of your caf in the relaxed pause. It’s still hotter than you prefer, but perhaps it’ll quell your desire.

He lets you finish before breaking the easy silence. “Another question before you go, if it’s okay. Maybe a couple more, depending on how you answer the first one. I’d rather not leave this topic hanging now that we’ve addressed it.”

“Sure.” Right now, you’re willing to give this man whatever he wants.

“Okay. There’s another reason I walked away last night – besides your drunken state. It’s why I haven’t mentioned this before.” He swallows and inhales shakily. “You told me that your last relationship was terrible. And the fact that you chose to celebrate its end tells me you value your freedom. On my side, my relationships are rarely meaningful or long-term. So it might seem easiest to keep things casual.”

He pauses, but it’s unclear whether he wants your input. You can’t tell where he’s going with this, so you give him a one-shouldered shrug.

He leans forward and rests his vambraces on his cuisses. “If Grogu wasn’t around, it might be. But casual never ends well, and I will not threaten the bond you two have just for something meaningless. For the child’s sake, we gotta be sure where we stand before we… act on any of this. I can’t do casual with you, Maia. So the first question is: are you interested enough to try something… meaningful? Because if you’re not, we gotta bury this.”

He’s right. You start to understand why he got so worked up at your admission that you’re attracted to him for real. It complicates things.

He’s asked a logical and vital question, and you take a moment to give it due attention. Whatever happens, this cannot threaten your employment. So where are the lines?

You’ve felt something for Din from the start, and your attraction has only grown. That line is already blurred, and it hasn’t threatened anything, but it helps you see what he’s getting at. Your attachment to him and Grogu has become far more profound than you expected, so you couldn’t do casual even if you tried. It could only harm your bond with the kid if you tried to repress that attachment and keep things casual with his father.

Simply put, your feelings are already meaningful, so whatever comes next must be too.

Strangely, that doesn’t scare you. Your prior experience was poor – both oppressive and neglectful – but you were a displaced teenager on a new planet looking for protection when you got into that. Din is nothing like your ex, and this couldn’t be more different. You have faith in this man and, thus, faith in your answer.

“I am,” you confirm with a smile. “Are you?” He’s already confirmed he won’t do casual, but you need his agreement to start something meaningful.

He swallows, then echoes, “I am.”

A thrilling but weighty moment passes as you both digest this, just staring at one another in the wake of your mutual confessions. The air feels charged with promise. You can almost taste it.

It’s hard to judge how long has passed when he speaks again. “Second question. Did you use my ultrasound cleaner?”

Well, that’s a non sequitur. You have no idea how this query relates to your previous answer, but you nod nonetheless.

“Great. Come with me.”

He stands and leads you downstairs, stepping into his room and tapping on the main lights. When he sees that you’ve made his bed, he hums happily.

You’re quiet but hopeful, the heady feeling of promise that consumed you last night slowly filling you up once more as he turns to face you and beckons you closer.

“We should take this slow,” he starts. “You’re hungover, and I want you to feel comfortable when we….” He nods at the bed, oddly still reticent to describe the act.

“When we fuck.”

Din releases the cutest whimper and tugs at his pants. “That is not helping me with this problem. If you keep talking like that, I might not be able to resist,” he warns.

You scoff. “Shiny, are you really trying to threaten me with sex? Kriff, please tell me you didn’t use this tactic on any bounties back in the day.”

“No, I did not. And I’m trying to save that until your head doesn’t hurt,” he sighs. “But… question three. Before you go home, can I… kiss you?”

Your eyebrows shoot up as surprise and desire collide and carve a messy path through your chest, sending your heart tumbling into a double-time beat.

“Are you…” You’re not quite sure how to phrase your query, still chagrined by last night’s verbal blunders. “Is that some kind of metaphor? Does ‘kissing’ mean something different for Mandalorians with the whole helmet thing? Because if we’re just gonna thumb wrestle or something, I’m still in, but it’s kind of weird to call it kissing.”

He chuckles, and it eases your worry. “We do have a kissing substitute, but no, in this case, I meant what I said. I just gotta turn the lights out so you can’t see me when I remove my helmet. If that’s okay.”

All of your fears and concerns melt away with his answer. Gone are your worries about your budding romance having awkward or difficult restrictions, replaced by a certainty that you can handle not making eye contact. If observing that single caveat allows you to be with this man, you don’t even consider it a sacrifice.

Well, if he brought you down here to ensure it’s dark enough, you can help with that. You saunter to the door and touch the control to slide it closed, blocking out the sunshine filtering down the stairs, and then you turn to him with a smile. “It’s very okay. I’m not leaving here without a kiss, Din.”

He sucks in a modulated breath and doesn’t move for a second. “You… used my name.”

You know you’re allowed to – he’s told you that many times – but you find the nicknames help to maintain a friendly distance. Treat him as a friend, not as a lover. Except now things are changing.

“I thought I’d practice,” you explain. “I’m guessing that when we do get in that bed together, you’d prefer I scream out your real name instead of ‘Shiny’ or ‘Beskar Boy’.”

He groans sinfully again and reaches for you, fixing a glove around your wrist and tugging you to stand beside the shelves he stores his armour on. “Don’t move,” he instructs. Then he releases your wrist and taps a button on his vambrace, and the lights very slowly fade out until the room is darker than the void between galaxies.

Suddenly, sensations are everything. You can detect the warmth of Din’s body so close to yours, though you’re not yet touching. You hear him breathing more audibly than usual, a gentle but slightly stuttered hiss through the vocoder. You feel the air swirl around you as he raises his hands to his helmet…

The rhythmic thump of your heartbeat quickens, and despite your lack of sight, it’s as if the events occur in flashes between the beats. The absence of sound as you hold your breath. The gentle rustle as he slides off the metal helmet. The muffled clang when it hits the shelf as he lines it up. The scrape of the edge as he pushes it home. The nervous breath he releases in the subsequent silence, reminding you to exhale too.

Then he’s reaching for you, and your mind goes blank as his hands find your hips, closing the distance further. It’s not close enough to feel his arousal against you, although that’s probably wise. But if you weren’t still harbouring a headache, you’d be unable to resist pressing forward and seeking the impressive bulge you admired upstairs. Instead, you lay your palms on his cuirass and slide upward, burying your fingers in his cloak. That’s as high as you’ll go until you know what’s allowed.

One of Din’s gloved hands engulfs the nape of your neck, and you love how he’s controlling this, moving you in the dark to where he wants you. You can tell he’s leaned in closer by the sound of his breathing – more audible without the beskar barrier. Then there’s a sense of warmth on your skin as he brings you close enough to nuzzle at your hairline, gently at first, until you register the distinct press of his nose against your temple.

You feel it just before he speaks, his breath tickling near your ear as he opens his mouth to husk smooth, unmodulated words. “Go easy on me; it’s been a while since I’ve done this.”

Fuck, his voice is gorgeous. It resonates through you like a rumbling storm, drenching you with wanton promise, unleashing a different wetness upon you. If there were any frequency that could subdue your headache, it would be his soft and smoky timbre.

“Oh?” It’s all you can manage; a single syllable of surprise at his admission. He seems so confident.

“Mm,” he confirms, brushing his lips softly near the corner of your eye, and you detect some stubble around them. “Before we swear the Creed, we spend a while doing the things we’re taught to avoid after. I’ve only used this loophole once since then. So….” He trails off and presses a gentle kiss to the crest of your cheekbone, warm lips on soft skin, and you melt in his arms.

You want to assure him that he’s nailing it, preparing you so perfectly that he seems like an expert kisser, no matter how little practice he’s had. You want to thank him for deeming you worthy enough to use this rare loophole and express your stunned gratitude at the privilege he’s allowing you. But the notion of speaking confounds you, and all you can do is lift your chin and indicate your willingness to do this.

Din gets the message.

You can sense his nerves in the way he cautiously presses his lips against yours. But in the millisecond it takes to register a connection, your body reacts before your brain and electricity shoots through your nerve endings. Instantly, thousands of perfect explosions stud your skin, making you shiver in bliss.

He’s sweet, gentle, respectful… and it’s good. But it’s a little chaste for your liking, and you can tell he’s holding himself back. He needs to let go, so you emit a low hum of pleasure, which spurs him on and increases his fervour. You gently part your lips, and he gets the hint and takes the lead, deepening the kiss until your tongues meet – a touch that halts the spin of the whole galaxy around you.

Then he lets go. It’s as if he’s suddenly remembered how to breathe after holding his breath for decades, and oh, how utterly starved of oxygen he’s been. This kiss is feeding him, keeping him alive. His tightened grip, the tremors of lust you detect running through him, the way he almost whimpers into your mouth… it’s assertive and adorable in equal measures.

You can feel his inexperience, but you let him lead anyway. He gets lost in the sensations a few times, his rhythm faltering, but he corrects himself and responds keenly to your subtle signals of what’s good. It’s not long before you’re locked in a perfect moment, sharing an exquisite kiss with your ideal man.

When you part, it’s by mere centimetres, and you’re so full of happy chemicals that your hangover is barely a niggle at the back of your brain.

“I think that fixed my headache,” you purr against his lips. “I bet I could even thumb wrestle you now….” You have no clue what you’re implying, but you’re low-key horny, and openly flirting with him for once is fun.

Din’s unmodulated chuckle is the cutest thing you’ve ever heard. “Well, I was aiming for ‘mindblowing’, but I’ll take ‘headache-fixing’,” he jests, bantering right back for once. You can’t help but close the tiny distance to steal another lingering yet closed-mouth kiss, eager to show him just how addictive his efforts were.

Once again, your lips barely separate, lingering close. “Oh, it’s blown alright – completely offline. Probably why it doesn’t hurt anymore.” A salacious idea comes to you then, and you voice it a hair’s breadth from his mouth, knowing he’ll refuse but wanting to show you’re willing. “Maybe now it’s my turn to blow something of yours….”

The sharp gasp he sucks in and raggedly exhales indicates he’s just pictured your suggestion and played the image to its fruition. In the pitch-black room, you can pick up on his obvious arousal through sound and touch – the almost-groan he swallows, the twitch of all the muscles in his body as he reins himself in.

There’s a pause as he considers your proposal, and you can tell he’s waging a war with himself to refuse. You’ve put him in a difficult position. But this new closeness allows you to upgrade friendly teasing into full-on flirting, and you can’t resist.

It takes longer than you expect, but Din finally releases a shuddering breath, swallows, and presses a gentle kiss to the corner of your mouth. Then he rasps, “I would enjoy that very much, but it’s not why I brought you down here, mesh’la.”

Mesh’la? Who the fuck is that? You stiffen in his arms, unable to process the idea that he’s just said someone else’s name during an intimate moment. Even if it does sound similar enough to yours that you could maybe understand the slip, how could he—?

“Maia,” you correct pointedly as your thoughts spiral, pulling away slightly, your stomach suddenly in knots.

He tightens his hold and hurriedly assures you, “Hey, no, it’s not— mesh’la means ‘beautiful’ in Mando’a.”

There’s a tense pause, and then you murmur, “Ah,” embarrassed and glad you didn’t instantly flip out at your incorrect assumption, then suddenly flattered by the compliment. As you fall back into his embrace, your sluggish brain gives you nothing more, too confused by the pelting of emotions you just received in quick succession. Perhaps it’s best to adopt Din’s usual policy of silence.

But he saves you from your chagrin and redirects you to another topic. “Final question. Can I make you dinner one evening this week? We agreed we’re aiming for something… meaningful here. Getting physical right away is not the best way to achieve that.” He squeezes your waist with the hand that’s remained in place throughout. “As much as I’m looking forward to that part.”

A sweet smile is your reply, though you realise he can’t see it in the dark. Luckily, it’s followed up by the return of your vocabulary. “Dinner sounds good. Grogu too?” You love the little womp rat, but this sounds like a date, so you’d rather it wasn’t crashed by a decades-old toddler.

Din hums as he follows your thought process. “The kids at his school keep inviting him on playdates and sleepovers. The parents seem like good people, so I’m sure we could arrange something both he and I would be happy with.”

You nod. “Then I look forward to our first date.” You can’t imagine how a dinner date will work with a guy who can’t show his face, but at least now you know there are loopholes. Perhaps he has another for eating together.

“Me too… mesh’la Maia.” You hear his slightly cheeky but utterly earnest tone, and you can’t help grinning. How apt that he should give you a nickname just when you decide to start using his real name.

You want to kiss him again, but since you pulled away a little, you can’t judge where his face is anymore, and you’re not sure if you’re allowed to touch him to locate it. “Another kiss before I leave, gorgeous guy?” (Two can play the nickname game, and you started it).

“Always,” Din agrees through a chuckle, bringing you in close again with the hand on your neck, finding your lips and pressing something firmer, more resolute there. You open eagerly for him and revel in the thrust of his tongue against yours. He’s settling into it now, more confident in himself and his technique, while carefully heeding your responses.

You enjoy it while you can – the sensations, the taste, the warmth, the delicious calm energy that washes through you with his lips on yours, his tongue in your mouth, his hand on your neck. You commit the feelings to memory, unsure when you’ll get to do it again. You hope you won’t have to wait too long for your date.

It’s over too soon, but you accept that it has to be. As you separate, you attempt to lock in the memories of the features you’ve felt pressed against you – stubble, soft lips, a strong nose. It’s not much, but it’s more than you had before.

Din’s hand falls from your neck, and you bemoan the loss of heat and comfort, spiralling back toward your hangover from the heady heights of such an intimate moment. As you hear the scrape of his helmet on the shelf’s edge again, you panic a little and blurt out, “What’s your hair like?”

He freezes, and your panic swells for a different reason. Based on the comb you spotted on his dresser earlier, you’re confident you’re not asking a bald man to describe his hair, but perhaps it’s forbidden to ask.

“I-I mean, if I’m not allowed to know, then forget I asked. I just… now that I’ve felt your lips, it’s made me wonder about the rest. It’s fine if you can’t tell me, though.”

A few seconds later, the scrape of the helmet resumes, and he slides it into his grasp. But you don’t hear him put it on.

Din’s reply is a low whisper, and he sounds even more nervous than he was before you kissed. “You can’t see my face… but you can touch it. If you want.”

Oh. You wonder how many people have touched his face, which makes you hesitate. This feels more intimate than you should be getting right now. “Thank you. I think… just your hair today. I’ll explore the rest of you on our date, face included.” That promise wins you an eager hum.

Your hands remain buried in his cloak, so you slide one to the back of his neck and rake upward. A gasp escapes you as you feel soft strands, longer than you expected and curling slightly at the ends. You picture the cutest mess of unruly waves.

“Is it… what colour is it?” You’ve seen him without his gloves a few times – last night included – so you know his skin is a warm amber. But human genetics are so diverse that you can’t really assume anything about his hair based on that.

It takes a few seconds for him to answer, busy sighing in bliss and pressing his head into your palm like a tooka getting stroked. “Dark,” he replies simply. It’s unclear whether he’s hypnotised by your hand in his hair or he’s not used to disclosing details about himself. Both are fair excuses, and you have much more data than you did ten minutes ago either way. You’re convinced he’s gorgeous.

“Thank you, Din,” you offer as you force yourself to stop running your fingers through his silken waves and withdraw a step.

There’s a quiet rustle as he places his helmet back on and seals it. “You’re welcome.” It’s modulated again, but there’s something about hearing that metallic rasp that makes you smile. You just kissed the source of that sound.

With a muffled beep from his vambrace, the lights fade up again, revealing an impassive black T-visor. However, the armoured body below it somehow looks more relaxed and assured. Gone is the stiffness you felt in his limbs earlier, and though you wonder if a certain stiffness in his pants remains, you’re not about to start ogling him when you should be going home.

So you smile and suggest, “Walk me out?” and you’re rewarded with a nod.

When you exit the cabin for the second time in one morning, you feel like a different person. Though your foggy head throbs and your bruised shoulder smarts, your very essence sparkles with an energy you’ve never felt before. It flares with each lingering touch the Mandalorian bestows upon you, with every prolonged stare of his visor, and with his soft instruction to get home safe.

He’ll call you, he promises, slipping a new comlink into your hand.

When you exit the cabin for the second time in one morning, you feel like a better person. The girl who disgraced herself last night has gone, leaving a happier and more fulfilled version in her place. Even so, you’re sure glad that idiot version of yourself ran her mouth and became the catalyst for your new path with Din.

And you can’t wait to look down again. Maybe next time you’ll get to go down too.

Main Masterlist | Series Masterlist

Get ready for more loquacious end notes…

Maia’s job was inspired by this scene from s3e5. She’s not a civil engineer, but, like, she could be that girl with the datapad – doing all the planning and building the holos while the engineer gets all the glory (can you tell I work in a support role??).

I originally wrote details at the end of part one of everything Din decided – that she must be attracted to him based on how she worded things, and that he’d talk to her to verify that and determine whether it was something she’d like to act on or just ignore. But I realised it was better for the story to leave his intentions a mystery (is the thing he ‘doesn’t want to have to do’ ejecting her from his life, or simply having a grownup conversation?), which hopefully lets you feel more of Maia’s fear here.

I feel like there’s a lot of scope for misunderstandings, not just because of Din’s helmet, but also because he can be socially awkward. So there he is, massively attracted to this girl who threw herself at him the night before but he doesn’t know what to say, so he just sort of gravitates towards her, tries to get close. Is he sort of flirting? Maybe. The ‘get in their personal space’ thing might work for him when he’s casually picking someone up. So his actions here are him trying to say with body language “I like you too, I want to get closer,” but she misunderstands because of her embarrassment, sees it as intimidation, and shies away – a response which makes him even more clueless about how to vocalise things.

I hope the switch from third person (she/her) pronouns in part 1 Din’s POV to second person (you/your) pronouns in part 2 Maia’s POV wasn’t too clunky. I know it’s popular in this fandom to use second-person pronouns (you/your) even when writing from a third person’s POV (Din’s), but I just can’t make myself do it. If he’s the one whose head we’re in, when he’s thinking about the woman he’s attracted to, he wouldn’t be thinking “damn, you’re hot”, he’d be thinking “damn, she’s hot”. I was taught that we should hear internal dialogue exactly as it would sound to the person thinking it, thus we should use third-person pronouns when inside his head. You/your is only for when we’re inside the reader’s head (second-person POV so second-person pronouns). And of course, I/me pronouns are used if we’re ever inside the author’s head (first person POV). I hope that explains the switch here. I swear I can’t help my annoying adherence to grammar rules – it’s just been drilled into me. I wish I could be more flexible sometimes, but unfortunately the autism always wins 😔

GIF made by me again, slightly less blurry this time.

Definitions: An ultrasound cleaner is basically a sonic toothbrush from Legends. Both Boba Fett and Jabba the Hutt kept a rancor as a rather scary pet. Caf, as you probably know, is the SWU’s coffee. Din (and Maia here) often calls Grogu a womp rat, a pest on Tatooine (proving Din has spent long enough there to pick up the local lingo, and Maia has picked it up from him). A tooka is an SWU cat.

As always, comments/kudos (AO3) and likes/reblogs (Tumblr) will inspire me to produce more things. I don’t have a Kofi because I would rather have your help marketing my stories than take your cash, so if you enjoy my work, please support me with kudos and reblogs. Thanks!

Honestly, I’m not altogether thrilled with this fic. I struggle with shorter (ha!) pieces because, as those of you who have read Be-All And Endor will know, I’m much more comfortable playing the long game and writing things where I can focus on character development, foreshadow future events, reference and call back concepts, and do a heck of a lot of worldbuilding. So to me, this feels like it lacks depth because it’s a very simple and straightforward concept that lacks a full-on conflict/resolution arc, and as a character study it’s nothing that hasn’t been done before. I’ve also been struggling to write something I felt was good enough to publish in the wake of Be-All. I don’t think this passes muster, but in the end, I realised I had to just post something – anything – simply to get past that fear of doing it. So I hope this was interesting enough to at least hold your attention! I suppose I could write a part 3 where they have their date and the smut happens, but to be honest, I have several other smutty fics in the works that have much better setups, so I think I should focus on those. I might come back to this one day, though.

Tags requested…

@aheadfullofsteverogers @alltheotps @axolotllover225 @burntheedges @copperhalfcent

@dindenimchicken @feekedbeat @foomoosworld @jude77 @penvisions

@pigeonmama @secretelephanttattoo @stagerightlauren @the-mandawhor1an @titlee78

I tagged those below in part 1 due to interest in my series masterlist and WIP snippets (comments/reblogs). Nobody told me off for my audacity, so I’m hoping you’ll enjoy part 2 also…

@604to647 @cheekychaos28 @djarinmuse @gingerlurk

@joelalorian @kyberblade @readingupsidedown @sunflowersunlight7-blog

@thefrogdalorian @whataenginerd @wrathkitty

[void-of-unparalled-chaos]

Fic Masterlist

Because Tumblr search features are shit. Fandoms, Fics, and Series are organized in alphabetical order. Each link will send you to the Tumblr version but there will be a link to the AO3 version within that post. If you would rather go straight to AO3, my account is linked in the post pinned on my blog.

Assassin's Creed:

Of Blades and Parchment Series

Tumblr tag: #Of Blades and Parchment

Altmal AU where Malik never became an assassin and instead works as a crippled bookseller. Series is in progress.

DPxDC

Two Crickets (My addition is only 646 words but idk about the ones before it)

no tag

An addition to a prompt by @/ailithnight and writing by @/omnicrafts and @/atiyasnake

The GIW has had Danny for an undeterminable amount of time. The strain is finally more than he can handle and he body hops into a brain dead clone, R13. Danny thinks he is having a nice dream. Kon is worried for the escaped clone he found in the middle of a field.

TW: mentions of tortue

Here's Where You'll Stay (3082 words, 1 chapter)

Tumblr Tag: #Here's Where You'll Stay

"As John stared at the door preparing to get his face mauled, he couldn’t help but incredulously complain that this was not how he wanted his weekend to go. He had plans! He supposes that he would be willing to put them on hold for Phantom’s sake, but he wasn’t agreeable to the incoming face mauling. "

When Phantom comes down with Core Sickness it's up to John Constantine to save the ghost from fading.

Nothing Says "True Love" Like Being Given The Soul of Your Murderer (1510 words, 1 chapter)

Tumblr Tag: #nstllbgtsoym

Dead on Main ship. Addition to a post by @/nelkcats

"Another snarl caused him to lose his staring contest with the Bat. Nightwing was now standing between the two of them and appeared to be trying to placate the crime boss while Red Robin made the bloody stupid decision of trying to sneak up behind him. Red quickly paid the price for his folly, finding himself flat on his back pinned underneath Hood's boot while he honest to God snapped at Nightwing like a rabid dog.

"It's my gift! He gave it to me. Now fuck off before I m̶a̷k̸e̸ ̵y̶o̸u̶."

Yeah. Someone should probably interfere before they pissed him off anymore.

"You should corral your kids before one of em' loses a hand."

"Hngh." Batman leaves to break up the fight with Nightwing's aid. Hood scampers off to one of the corners of the cave, cradling the violet ball in his gloved hands as if it was the most precious thing in the world. It sounded like he was purring. John was suddenly very tired."

Rending Flesh From the Bone (3093 words, 1 chapter)

Tumblr Tag: #RFFTB

Dick wasn't so sure about Jason's "gut feeling", but what are brothers for if not to support each other during paranoia episodes? Now, deep underground in an abandoned subway tunnel, Dick is starting to have regrets as he watches the scene before him.

TW: Gore, Cannibalism, Vomiting, Zalgo Text

Slap a Bow on It (4752 words, 1 chapter)

Tumblr Tag: #Slap a Bow on It

Dead on Main ship, written for Dead on MAYn 2024

 "Contrary to popular belief, Danny wasn’t stupid. He could be a bit oblivious, but he always got there in the end. So when Danny woke up the next morning and realized that last night wasn’t a dream, he had an epiphany. He was being courted by the super hot and apparently undead crime lord who ran the haunt on the other side of the street."

TW: Danny is thirsty as hell, mentions/allusions to nsfw but nothing explicit

sketch of Danny's courting gift

Star Shoes (2772 words, 1 chapter)

Tumblr Tag: #Star Shoes

Dead on Main ship, written for Dead on MAYn 2024

"Things had been going so well for him lately. He should have expected the other shoe to drop. Or the metal pipe in this case."

In which Danny and his totally normal boyfriend who is definitely not Red Hood are abducted by cultists. Danny is super concussed, but he's got the spirit.

The Dead Stay Dead (My addition is only 679 words but idk about the ones before it)

no tag

An addition to writing by @/some-kind-of-creature and @/nerdpoe.

In which the LOA has a rule that those who die are never mentioned again and are erased from their records. Damian doesn't think to mention his late sister. Once he does he creates a portrait to commemorate her, but it turns out his sister is actually his brother now.

The Double-edged Blade of Chance (5309 words, 1 chapter)

Tumblr Tag: #The Double-edged Blade of Chance

Dead on Main ship, written for Dead on MAYn 2024

Not everyone gets to meet their soulmate. It was just a fact of life. There was always a chance, but chance was a double-edged blade. 

Jason quite literally runs into his soulmate at the young age of eight.

“Sorry! I thought you were a ghost!”

"Why would I be a ghost?”

TW: Major Character Death, Child Neglect, Mentions of Abuse, Mentions of Drug Addiction, Depression

Unnamed fic (ghost chirps/unintentional ghost adoption au fic)

Tumblr Tag: #ghost chirps/unintentional ghost adoption au fic

Addition to a post by @/starwrighter

Fic is currently a work in progress with only a minimal amount released to the public under the Tumblr post. Once it's completely written chapters will be posted and linked independently.

[jobrookekarev]

This One's For The Girls

Words: 1,940

Summary: Jo and Alex are excited for their first ultrasound and the chance to see their baby, but when they do, they find out more than expected!

 or 21x04 but with jolex babies!

Fandom: Grey’s Anatomy.

Relationship: Alex Karev/Jo Wilson. 

Characters: Alex Karev, Jo Wilson, and Luna Wilson (Mentioned). 

Rating: General Audiences.

Additional Tags: AU, Alternate Universe, Fluff, Romance, Family, Alternate Canon, Canon Compliant, Drabble, One Shot, Happy Ending, Domestic, Parenthood, Pregnancy, Children, Spoilers, Twins! 

Read at AO3

Read at FFN

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

Alex let the warm water run over him as he got ready for the day. It had been a quiet morning and Jo was slowly getting up as they got ready for work. He was enjoying a few more minutes of alone time in the shower. He also secretly used his wife's favorite soap and loofah.

“Incoming and I don't have a lot of time!” Jo said as she ran into the bathroom in her favorite fluffy robe. He had gotten this one for her last Christmas after her last robe, the one she had stolen from the hotel at Bailey's wedding, had finally fallen apart. 

“Do you want to use one of our other three bathrooms to vomit?” Alex asked, turning around in the shower to look at her, although she smiled and didn't seem nauseous. 

“Shh,” Jo shushed him, turning away from him as she grabbed the hairbrush. “I feel decent for the first time in weeks, so don't jinx it! Oh and don't forget we have our first OB appointment today.”

“Yeah, I thought it was after work?” Alex asked, turning to look back at her again.

“It is.” 

“So what's the rush?”

“Well Luna is still asleep, my charts are done, and I've got just enough time for a quick shower,” Jo said, putting her hairbrush down and turning around to him. Alex opened the shower door as she untied her robe and he stared down at her body.

“How quick?” Alex asked with a smirk. It had been a while since she felt up to this and he was determined to enjoy it.

“If it's too quick, I'll kill you?” Jo said, clearly thinking the same thing as she stepped into the shower, putting a hand on his shoulders and closing the door behind her. 

Alex smiled and pulled her in with a hand around her waist. The water fell over her as he leaned in, their lips meeting as they kissed. However, Jo's hands moved faster as she grabbed his hips and pulled him into her. The hot water wasn't the only thing that caused the shower to steam up that morning. 

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

“Hey I'm sorry I'm sorry,” Jo said as she ran down the stairs past the nurses station to where he was waiting. 

Alex had already changed out of his scrubs and into a change of clothes. He leaned against the counter on his phone, although he didn't look too pissed at her. The last she had talked to him was at lunch before she had left to study. It was supposed to be an easy day for both of them, but it never was. 

“The appointment was at 5:00 right?” Alex asked, looking at her with a raised eyebrow. 

“I know, I just got so busy with patients, and then Yasuda found this amazing surgery to save her sister's fertility and that took a little longer than expected. And I completely forgot,” Jo said, gesturing to her invisible patients with her hands before she shook her head and looked down.

“Hey, you have nothing to apologize for,” Alex said with a little shrug. “I waited for you at the clinic, sitting there like an idiot, being the only guy there.”

“I'm sure,” Jo rolled her eyes as he smiled, clearly teasing her. 

“But DeLuca had to leave.” 

“We were going to see the baby,” Jo wined with a pout that looked all too cute.

“We'll just reschedule,” Alex said, although he couldn't hide his disappointment.

“Wait, come with me,” Jo said with a little smile and a giggle. She realized they were both doctors and had access, and the training, to perform an ultrasound as she dragged him away. 

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

Jo lay on the bed as Alex moved the probe around on her stomach. They had borrowed an ultrasound machine and retreated to one of the on-call rooms where they would have some privacy. They could hardly stop from smiling and Jo kept giggling. Luckily they didn't run into anybody on their secret adventure, lest they both spill their secret immediately. 

“I don't see anything, do you?” Alex asked as he moved the wander around and narrowed his eyes at the screen.

“Just my intestine, stop moving it around,” Jo said with a laugh as she grabbed his hand. She moved the probe down towards her uterus before looking back at the screen. 

“How long has it been since you've done one of these?” Jo asked as she tried to find a good angle. 

“Probably not since my second year.” 

“As an attending?”

“As a resident,” Alex said as they both laughed.

“Well, that was ages ago old man, no wonder you confused my uterus with my intestines. I thought you'd be well educated with my anatomy by now?” Jo said with a smirk.

“I am well educated, I did get you pregnant didn't I?” Alex said as they just laughed again and she tried to focus on finding their baby.

“I still don't see anything,” Alex said as he pressed something, and suddenly their baby was on the screen. “Wait, what is that?”

“Yeah, there's our baby,” Jo gasped as she saw them for the first time and the sound of their heartbeat filled her ears. Jo smiled so wide, her cheeks hurt. “And there's the heartbeat!”

There they were. The baby they had wanted for so long and didn't think they would ever have. Before they had adopted Luna they had been trying intermittently and then officially after the pandemic ended. However, Alex's sperm count was low and things would be difficult. Then Luna got diagnosed with hearing loss and they decided just to focus on her. She would be enough for them. 

Then she fainted in Alex's arms and Levi dropped the bombshell on them that she was pregnant. They were so overjoyed, but she was secretly worried that it was wrong. That it was just a false positive and a chemical pregnancy or something. But this, seeing their baby on the screen made everything so real. While Jo didn't couldn't stop smiling, Alex looked at the screen suspiciously. 

“You don't see it do you?” Jo said as she leaned up and pointed at the screen where their baby’s heart was. “You see it right there?”

However, Alex moved the doppler around and pressed a few buttons searching for a better image. “Oh, and also… there.” 

 Jo instantly sat up and started the screen as they saw another heartbeat, another baby. “Oh my God!”

“Twins!” They both said at the same time, staring at the screen in disbelief as if two babies had magically appeared. 

They looked back at each other, both with wide eyes and dropped jaws. Alex stared back at the screen and Jo sighed as she flopped back onto the bed, putting her hand over her eyes. Alex fumbled and mumbled like he wanted to say something but the words couldn't quite get out. 

“Twins, you knocked me up with twins, Alexander!” Jo yelled at him knowing it was half her fault, but still in disbelief. 

“Shush, Jo the whole hospital is going to hear you!” Alex said looking between her and the screen the disbelief still written across his face. 

“I don't care! You knock me up with twins! That's like twice the diapers and twice the screaming, and crying, and, and, bottles, and formula or breastfeeding, and diapers!! Alex the diapers!”

“I know!” Alex said in disbelief, but there was a little sliver of a smile across his face before Jo reached up and punched his shoulder.

“Twins Alex! Are you serious? How did this even happen?” 

“I'm pretty sure you know how this happened,” Alex said with a chuckle as he smiled although shrank away when she reached up to slap him again. “Ow, It's more likely that somewhere along our lines, someone must've had twins and we just didn't know. I mean we still don't know anything about your biological parents, beyond your mom's immediate family. And it's not like my family history is that well documented either.” 

“Yeah,” Jo said in a whisper, staring at the screen as they both fell quiet.

“Jo,” Alex whispered too, looking over at her with concern.

“I'm serious though, how are we going to handle twins?” Jo said, staring at the screen and shaking her head as tears appeared in her eyes as she blinked them away, although they fell onto her cheeks. 

“Hey, hey,” Alex said, seeing her tears and dropping the doppler as he reached down to hug her. 

She sat up and buried her face in his chest as he held her. Alex rubbed her back and Jo tried to breathe and calm down. She didn't want to cry, but she did. She was confused, and surprised, and scared, and yet so full of love for her two babies. All these emotions just overwhelmed her and spilled over in tears. 

“Hey, it's going to be okay,” Alex whispered to her, pressing his lips to the side of her head. “If anybody is more prepared to have twins it's us. The best pediatric surgeon and the best OB resident in the Northwest. If we can handle Luna being in the NICU and everything that we’ve had to go through with her, then having twins is going to be like a walk in the park.” 

Jo laughed as she pulled back, sitting up and wiping away her tears as she looked up at his smile. “If you say that, you're going to jinx us.” 

“I don't care, we're having two babies Jo, twins!” Alex said, letting the excitement fill his eyes as they twinkled with joy. 

“Yeah, we are!” Jo said as she smiled and let the excitement fill her as she reached forward and kissed him pressing her lips to his as the excitement sparkled on their lips. 

“Okay, now lay back. I want to see them again!” Alex said, grabbing the doppler as Jo laid back. Although, she reached out for his hand and he held it, giving him a squeeze. 

It was easier for him to find the babies this time. They both smiled at their babies on the screen and listened to their heartbeats. They should’ve been taking measurements and checking their organs, but they were both healthy and they looked at their twins as their parents. They stared at the images of their babies, just enjoying seeing them on the screen. 

“We're having twins!” Jo said with excitement as she giggled and Alex looked it over at her. 

“Yeah, Karev twins!” Alex said, with a chuckle as he leaned down to kiss her before they stared back at the screen. 

“Oh my God, I'm pregnant with two big headed Karev babies!” Jo said, the smile falling from her face and her eyes went wide as she stared at him.

But Alex just roared with a laugh, as he leaned back, but Jo shook her head in disbelief. “Don't worry, chances are with twins you'll have to have a C-section anyway.”

“No,” Jo shook her head as she glared at him. “It's safer to have a vaginal delivery!”

“Yeah, but with twins they’ll be smaller!” 

“Shut up, no they will not. I've seen the size of your head,” Jo said, although Alex just laughed as he avoided another one of her attempts to smack him. “I am so going to kill you.”

“I don't care,” Alex said, his smile wide on his cheeks as he just laughed. “We're having twins!”

“Yeah,” Jo said in a breath as she smiled, still in disbelief as she said it again. “We’re having twins!”

[beefromanoff]

Project Mockingbird Ch. 14

summary: the aftermath of the attack, the reunion, the recap.

pairing: Bucky Barnes x OC

author's note: hiiii, not much to say with this one, but I have the next chapter ALMOST done as well so be prepared for a double update this week!

tag list: @bangtanxberm @scott-loki-barnes @kayhi808 @charmedbysarge

(let me know if you want to be added <3)

chapter list

_______________________________________

“We need aerial pickup in the woods outside the generator, my coordinates. Get medical ready, tell them we have an incoming Avenger.” 

Her eyes flicked up to Bucky at the last word, surprise lighting them up. His face was a standard mask of annoyance mixed with…was that relief? Blue eyes trailed over her body before meeting hers once again. He regarded her for a moment before speaking again. 

“So when were you gonna tell me you learned to fly a Quinjet?”

Typical. He does something heroic and chivalrous, but still has the same attitude problem. Some knight in shining armor. “I was waiting t’see if y’brought me a souvenir,” She croaked through her raw, burning throat.

As the smoke from the explosion began to clear, Charlotte's ears were still ringing from the deafening blast. She blinked, trying to regain her bearings as she looked around to assess the damage. Tears streaked through the dirt on her cheeks as her eyes burned, her whole body buzzing at how close she’d come to the end. She’d tried to stand a few moments ago, but nearly vomited at the pain in her ribs. Now seated against the base of a tree, she could feel the pain beginning to cloud her mind as the adrenaline wore off.

"Charlotte, hey, stay with me," Bucky's voice cut through the haze of confusion, filled with concern as he knelt in front of her. “Medical is almost here.”

Groaning, she sat up a little straighter. “Th’shouldn’t come outside the shield,” she paused to cough. “S’too smokey and there could be another detonation. We need t’move.”

Bucky regarded her grimly, eyebrows raised, but didn’t argue. “Okay. C’mon.” He helped Charlotte to her feet, his arm wrapped around her waist, steadying her as she stumbled slightly. She favored her left leg, still peppered with glass from the windshield, putting her arm over his shoulders for stability.

"That was quite the entrance," Charlotte groaned, her voice shaky as she leaned into Bucky's firm grip. “B’you could have stuck the landing a little better."

Bucky offered her a small smile that didn’t meet his eyes, shouldering the majority of her weight as they began to traipse through the shrapnel-littered woods. The pain must be bad if she was cracking jokes, begging for a distraction. 

“Y’could have shown up a little sooner, too.” She forced out between shallow breaths. 

“We stopped for burgers halfway,” He humored her. “You seemed like you had it handled.” He didn’t mention the way they’d been white-knuckled the whole flight back, nearly silent as they prayed they’d make it in time. The way he’d paced the floor, ready to rip the enemy aircraft apart with his bare hands when he finally got to it. The way he heard those words and was ready to throw himself out of the Quinjet just to get to her. She’s not gonna make it.

“D’you bring me one?” Her weight was getting heavier on his shoulder. 

“Yeah. Yeah, we did.” Bucky hoisted her arm higher around his neck, taking more weight off of her leg. “Hope you like mustard.”

As they finally approached the edge of the shield, they were greeted by the sight of a medical cart waiting to transport them back to the safety of the compound. The first rays of dawn were beginning to lighten up the inky sky, breaking up the darkness. When they reached the cart, Charlotte eased herself into the flatbed of the cart with Bucky's assistance, taking a slow breath as she leaned against the edge. Hopping in behind her, Bucky patted the hull of the cart, signaling that they were ready to go. 

The journey back to the main building was quiet, the only sound was the hum of the cart's engine and Charlotte’s occasional sharp breaths when they hit a particularly large bump. Bucky didn’t speak, but his eyes clocked every wince, every muscle tensing in her jaw. He glanced up ahead, seeing the compound buildings beginning to come into view.

As Charlotte sat in the medical cart, her mind was a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. Her eyes were squeezed tightly shut as the adrenaline that had fueled her during the attack was nearly gone, leaving her feeling drained and emotionally raw.vShe couldn't shake the feeling of disbelief at the suddenness of the attack, the way it had shattered the peace and security of the compound in an instant. It was a stark reminder of the ever-present threat posed by HYDRA, lurking in the shadows, waiting to strike when least expected. She’d allowed herself to get comfortable, to live in the delusion that there was a life after them. That they’d one day stop looking for her and let her go free. 

That delusion had brought one of the world’s most dangerous organization to the doorstep of the only people who had offered her a home. A family.

The thought of losing any of them was almost too much to bear, a prospect she couldn't even begin to contemplate. To think that it might have been her fault, her presence that lured them here…she couldn’t even let herself finish the thought.

Rounding the final corner and emerging from the treeline, the hangar and main building grew nearer. With them, the crowd of people gathered in front, clapping and cheering. The sound made Charlotte open her eyes. Standing outside the SHIELD headquarters were the two dozen agents who’d been there through the attack, had been under her assumed command. At the front of the crowd stood Calla, clapping furiously with tears in her eyes. Beside her, still in full battle gear, was Sam, Steve, Nat, Wanda, and Peter. All of them looking beautifully clean and unscathed. All of them cheering. Charlotte felt a wave of relief wash over her, finally accepting that it was over. The cart jolted to a stop, whistles and applause filling her ears. There was a knot in her stomach that she wasn’t ready to address yet, a maelstrom of emotions clawing through her, demanding to be felt. Instead, she focused on the physical feelings. People patting her shoulder, squeezing her hands, sliding under her knees and lifting her out of the cart. 

Opening her eyes, Charlotte saw dozens of faces beaming at her. Calla was holding one of her hands, the other was draped around the shoulder of whoever was carrying her. The feeling of vibranium under her knees told her all she needed to know. As Bucky walked through the crowd, they eagerly parted to let her through, the cheers never ceasing. The doors to the medical wing slid open with a whoosh, cool air conditioning wafting over them in contrast to the spring humidity. 

In the distance, she could hear Natasha’s voice telling the agents to give her some space, before Steve thanked them for their bravery and asked them to give their statements to Intelligence before heading home for the end of their shift. There was a hallway, a turn, and then she was being gently set down on the all-too-familiar medical bed. 

“From what I hear, we just need to put your name on the door,” Calla quipped, washing her hands in the corner. 

Charlotte mustered a chuckle, but anything beyond that threatened to set her throat on fire. 

“Okay, let’s get you cleaned up. What hurts the most?” Her eyes raked over Charlotte, fingers assessing each wound. Angling her leg, Charlotte nodded to the shards of glass protruding like spikes all down the side. Calla masked her concern like a true professional. “That seems like a good place to start.” 

She pulled a stool beneath her and slid her hands into a pair of gloves as Maddie, the lab tech, wheeled in a tray of first aid supplies. “Sargeant, would you mind lending a hand?” Calla looked expectantly up at Bucky. 

“Yeah, uh, sure.” He cleared his throat and stepped toward the bed. 

“Grab those scissors in the top drawer,” She nodded her head to the counter behind Bucky, shining a small flashlight in Charlotte’s eyes. He obliged, crossing the room to stand beside the bed. “Thank you. I need you to cut the left leg out of Ms. Rossi’s suit.” 

“You, wait, what?” Bucky looked incredulous. 

“I can’t effectively clean and stitch her up with the suit on, and I can’t take it off while Ms. Rossi still has glass sticking out of her leg. If I pull the glass out before taking the suit off, she’ll lose even more blood.” Her tone was calm but firm as she continued to work, cleaning a wound on Charlotte’s forehead. “So in order to get her taken care of and out of pain as quickly as possible, I need you to take those scissors, cut up the center of her suit, and get me access to the wounds.”

He stood, frozen, beside her bed. 

“Now, Sargent.” 

With that, he sprung into action. Setting the scissors down at the foot of her bed, nimble fingers unlaced her boots, gently removing them and tossing them to the side. They landed on the floor with a solid thump. Cold metal touched her ankle as he lifted the hem of her suit away from her skin and slid one scissor blade beneath it. His brow was furrowed in concentration as he carefully but quickly cut a line up the top of her leg. As he worked, Maddie tugged the fabric over the glass on the side, freeing the wounds. Once the scissors had reached her thigh, Bucky stopped. 

“Good,” Calla pointed. “Now bring the cut around the outside of her thigh so we can peel the fabric back all the way.” 

Charlotte could have sworn he flushed, but he did what he was told. Calla pulled the flap of fabric to the side, revealing a mangled mess of her leg. Blood, old and new, caked her skin and dozens of large pieces of glass stuck out the side, running from her ankle nearly to her hip.

“Sargant, one more thing. Could you hand me that towel?” Calla’s tone was warm and calm, smiling as Bucky dropped it into her hand. Offering it to Charlotte, she gave a clear instruction. “Bite down.”

Bringing the towel to her mouth, Charlotte didn’t have time to question before Maddie dumped a copious amount of antiseptic onto her leg, setting her whole body on fire. She bit into the towel so hard her jaw ached, a muffled scream filling the room and setting her throat ablaze. Out of the corner of her watery eyes, she swore she saw Bucky wince. The wave of pain caused sweat to bead across her forehead, her leg throbbing. They made every effort to work quickly, but that did little to quell the agony. 

Forcing herself to breathe through her nose, Charlotte clenched her eyes shut, telling herself all the same things she had in the past. Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in. Breathe out. It’ll be over in a minute. Pain is just my body telling me something is wrong, and I already know something is wrong. I don’t need the pain. I don’t feel the pain. I don’t feel th-

“Oh, shit,” Sam’s voice called from the doorway, pulling Calla’s eyes up to his for just a split second as she dropped a particularly large shard of glass onto the tray beside her. Steve and Nat pushed into the room, taking in the scene. Charlotte on the bed, eyes closed and sweat dripping as she bit down onto a towel. Calla and Maddie furiously working on her gruesome left leg, one set of hands carefully extracting shrapnel while the other cleaned and stitched the wounds left behind. Bucky standing beside the bed, hands behind his head and a grim look on his face. His helpless eyes met Steve’s and a look passed between them. Guilt? Understanding? Their unspoken conversation was interrupted by Natasha slid a chair bedside, gripping Charlotte’s right hand as her eyes flicked open. They were red from all the smoke, but alert. 

“Hell of a showing back there,” Nat gave a reassuring grin, squeezing her hand. Charlotte groaned, rolling her eyes. 

“If I didn’t know better, I’d say you might be born for this ‘saving the world’ gig after all.” 

Charlotte shot her a sidelong look, narrowing her eyes. Raising her hands defensively, Nat joked, “Listen, all I’m saying is it took Sam years to learn to fly a Quinjet and Bucky still refuses to use comms correctly. You’ve got ‘em both beat.” 

“Hey,” Bucky frowned at her. 

“Am I wrong?” 

Nat’s attempts to distract everyone from the tense situation were effective. Calla and Maddie had worked their way up Charlotte’s leg, staunching the bleeding and leaving a web of dark stitching and angry red cuts in their wake. As Maddie tied off the final stitch, Calla tugged her gloves off with a snap. “Alright, looks like we salvaged the leg.” She winked at Charlotte. “Let’s take a look at those ribs.” 

Attempting to prop herself up on her elbows, Charlotte winced, eyes squeezing shut. Several pairs of hands reached out to support her, Nat being the first to reach her thanks to her proximity. 

“Woah, take it easy,” Calla braced her other arm. “Gentlemen, give us a minute?” She nodded to the door, with Steve, Sam, and Bucky filing out obediently. When the door was shut behind them, she returned her gaze to Charlotte. “Is it alright if we go ahead and remove the suit? We’ll put a medical gown on you, I know how much you love those.” 

Charlotte scoffed but held her arms out long, granting them permission to tug the sleeves off. With the three sets of gentle female hands and a few more slices from the scissors, her suit lay in a stained and crumbled heap on the floor. For the next fifteen minutes, they set to work cleaning her various cuts and abrasions while Nat held her hand. Charlotte closed her eyes and leaned her head against the pillow, the exhaustion catching up with her. She had a difficult time processing all that had happened in the span of a week. The team leaving for their mission, her outburst with the agents, meeting Calla and finding out the bombshell about her relationship with Sam, learning to fly a Quinjet, the attack in the dead of night, almost being blown up, being rescued by Bucky…again, the heroes reception she’d received when they returned. It was too much for her muddled brain to process at the moment. 

“Alright, Char, you’re as good as new. Or at least you will be in a few days.” Calla squeezed her arm. “Thanks, Maddie, you’re good to go back home. Thanks for coming in on such short notice. Take the rest of the day off. Oh, and tell the guys they’re good to come back in.” 

“Thanks, Maddie.” Charlotte’s strained voice called after her. 

“No problem.” Maddie smiled. “I hope I don’t see you again anytime soon.” 

Laughing into a cough, Charlotte adjusted her position against the pillow, the white medical gown just as unflattering as always. Chairs squeaked across the floor as all three men rejoined them and took a position around the bed, looking at her expectantly.

“Good morning,” She raised an eyebrow. 

“Good morning.” Steve chucked. “How do you feel?” 

“How do I look?” 

“Like you just about got blown up,” Sam teased. 

“Yeah, not the best way to get blown.” She yawned, ignoring Steve’s choked laugh and Bucky’s raised eyebrow. “But you should see the other guy.” 

“I don’t think there’s much left to see.” Nat chimed in. 

“Guess that means I did my job.” 

“You did great, Charlotte.” Steve’s tone was warm, reassuring. The atmosphere thickened as smiles faded in favor of a more serious tone. “If you hadn’t been here, hadn’t acted when you did…things would have turned out much differently. Thank you.”

“Yeah, I’ve grown pretty fond of this place.” Natasha squeezed her hand. “Thank you for protecting it.” 

“This place,” Sam stood and crossed the room to stand by Calla, still typing notes into her computer. “And the people inside it. I owe you one.” 

Charlotte smiled. “No, you don’t. I’m pretty fond of it too. The place and the people.” She winked at Calla. 

“Sam, something you’d like to tell us?” Steve raised an eyebrow at Sam’s arm draped around Calla’s shoulders. 

Chuckling, he met Calla’s eyes. “Guys, this is Dr. Calla Arturo. My fiance.” 

Bucky let out a whistle as Steve grinned and stood to hug Sam. Nat simply picked at her nails, winking at the couple, another secret well kept. 

“I’m sorry, we have a lot to catch up on, it sounds like. Can someone order breakfast? With coffee?” Charlotte pleaded. “Lots of coffee?”

“Coming right up.” Nat popped up and strode out of the room to make the order.

Half an hour later, feet still clad in combat boots were propped on the edge of Charlotte’s bed, the smell of coffee filling the air. A cart sat full of discarded, empty dishes near the door.  The food was all but devoured the minute it was wheeled into the room. Now that everyone had given up on going back to sleep as the morning stretched on, Calla made a round, refilling everyone’s coffee before taking a seat beside Sam. 

“So we get to the source of the tremors, and we find nothing. Nada. Zip. It’s a complete ghost town,” Sam explained. “At first, we thought maybe they took everything underground, or it was cloaked somehow. We ran every scan possible, combed through the whole one hundred mile radius. We found nothing. So we camped out overnight, figured we’d do the same thing the next day.”

“We reviewed the initial reports of seismic activity, and sure enough, we were at the exact coordinates.” Nat shrugged. “It seemed like a fluke, somehow the coordinates got skewed. We were positive we missed something, kept waiting for the other shoe to drop, and then…”

“We got the distress signal from SHIELD.” Bucky met Charlotte’s eyes. “The signal that the compound was under attack.” 

“That was when we knew it was a decoy.” Steve’s eyes looked pained. “We knew it was an attempt to lure us away, leave it vulnerable. The furthest point away without going off-planet. We were just lucky it wasn’t a trap.” 

“So we got the hell out of dodge and came back here.” Nat’s gaze was unfocused, remembering. “We flew back as quickly as we could, we were on the live comm feed with the command center. We heard everything that was going on.”

Charlotte’s blood chilled. They’d listened to everything. Had she sounded like a complete rookie? Her adrenaline had been pumping so strongly, she couldn’t conjure more than a hazy recollection of what she said. 

“We didn’t think we would make it in time.” Steve was somber. “We heard you go back, try to extract the information. When they kept counting down and you still hadn’t gotten out…we were still flying over the woods outside the shield. It wouldn’t have been possible for us to get the jet to the landing pad and get out to you, and there was nowhere to land it with all the trees around you.” He glanced at Bucky, who’d set his jaw defiantly. “As you know, Bucky decided to take matters into his own hands.” 

Charlotte raised her eyebrows at Bucky, waiting for him to chip in. 

“If I would have known saving you would be this demanding of a job, I would have asked for a raise.” His dry tone was nothing new, but for some reason it struck her wrong. 

“I don’t remember calling for your help, Sergeant.” 

“I think the words you’re looking for are ‘thank you’.” 

“Gee, thanks, should I replace our next training session with an hour of groveling and falling at your feet? That seems to be the reaction you’re looking for.” 

“As tempting as that sounds, I think you’ve done enough falling for a while.” He nodded his head at the wrapped, gauzy mess that was her left leg. Charlotte’s hands curled into fists, gripping her coffee mug so tight the ceramic creaked. 

“Anyways,” Natasha cut in pointedly. “We made a note to keep parachutes in every Quinjet from now on, but thankfully, Cap’s shield did the trick this time. We don’t want to lose anyone. We’re a team. A family.” The last word seemed to be directed straight at Bucky, her eyes staring daggers at him, a warning not to be so…Bucky. 

“And now you’re caught up.” Sam joined. “Now tell us what we missed, because clearly it was quite a bit.” 

Calla raised her eyebrows at Charlotte, grinning. They exchanged a look, debating who should launch into the story first. It was Calla who took over, unable to keep her excitement at bay. She told them about her quiet morning after Sam and the rest of the group left, how she’d gone to get coffee and found Charlotte about to choke out one of the agents. A collective groan came from the group when she told them which one. His ego didn’t exactly fly under the radar in their training sessions, either. She told them about Charlotte’s flying lessons, missing surprisingly few details, and their dinner at her apartment, then the ultimate interruption of the attack. 

Calla nodded in agreement, her expression grave as she recalled the moment they had felt the first explosion rock the city. "Charlotte didn't hesitate for a second," she said, her voice tinged with admiration. "It’s like she just…locked in. She took off running before I could even process what was happening, started giving orders the whole way. She’s a natural” Calla gave Charlotte a watery smile. “She made sure everyone had explicit instructions to keep the shields up even if she went down. She flew out not knowing what she’d see or if she’d come back. Everyone is right to call her a hero."

Charlotte winced slightly at the word. It felt unfamiliar, foreign. It wasn’t a good fit. Not when she felt like she’d barely escaped with her life. If it hadn’t been for Bucky, she wouldn’t have. Prick as he might be, he was right. He had saved her. Again. 

Bucky remained silent for the most part, his gaze fixed on Charlotte as she and the others watched Calla recount the events. There was a fire in his eyes, a barely contained anger. Had Charlotte glanced over to see it, she might think it was directed at her. A result of her handling the situation poorly, or not acting as he would have. It was Steve, however, that looked over at him, seeing something else entirely. Bucky wasn’t a touchy-feely person, that much was blatantly apparent. That didn’t mean he didn’t feel at all. In fact, he felt more deeply than most people, the love for those he cared about able to blind him at times. As he sat and watched his friend watch the dark-haired girl on the medical bed, he just knew. 

His friend was utterly blinded by what he was feeling.  Nat raised her mug. “To Charlotte Rossi, Mockingbird, Avenger of the Avengers.” A chorus of agreement sounded around the room, mugs clinking in the air.

“To Charlotte.”

[loudblonde]

Simon "Ghost" Riley X Male!Reader Mafia AU (Chapter Four) "Nice?"

Memories from last night, slight miscommunication and panic settle in as (Y/N) realise what happened, but fear not because (Y/N) wants nothing but healthy communication even if they both suck ass at it and is that... friendship forming?

+18 themes, Minors do not interact I will block you. Reblog if you enjoyed, it means a lot more then you realise, leave a comment if you want to be on the tag list. Happy holidays everyone.

Warnings: Cod typical stuff, mentions of abuse, vomit(not Emetophilia), near panic attacks because of some not so nice things. It's still based on the military propaganda game of Cod, so expect stuff like that.

Word Count: 1950 (ish)

Short chapter because I have been away to my dads place baby sitting a 40 kilo big puppy dog who really believe himself to be a lap dog. He isn't, he is very heavy and not really a puppy anymore, hard to write with him constantly demanding attention.

Read on ao3 here

(Y/N) woke with a splitting headache and groaned. The conversations from yesterday vaguely played on his mind as he rolled out of bed. “Why must I be cursed with hangovers?” (Y/N) asked as he stood up carefully, he grabbed the nearest clothes, a big t-shirt as well as some tracksuit bottoms. He hopped into the shower, ignoring the way the water hitting the tile made his head burn with the power of a thousand suns.

Finally out of the shower, dried off and dressed for comfort, (Y/N) headed into the kitchen where the familiar masked man was sitting, his mask brought just up past his lips as he drank a cup of tea. “So much for being able to hold your liquor.” Ghost said.

“I don't usually drink whiskey that quickly one after another. Damn nearly emptied that whole thing, sure does feel like it anyway.” (Y/N) said as he took 2 aspirins before taking them. He swallowed them with cold water before resting his head against the cold glass.

Ghost chuckled. “Well, you made your bed.” He said. “Or well, I made you get into bed.”

“Funnily enough I don’t remember that part.” (Y/N) said. “Although that does… right, sorry you had to do that.” He looked away from the other.

“Isn’t the first time I have done that, won’t be the last. Don’t worry about it.” Ghost said.

“I am going into the basement and enjoying the cold there.” (Y/N) said and didn’t stop to listen to what Ghost said.

He barely made it down the steps before his legs gave out from underneath him. (Y/N) leaned against the nearest wall as the cold floors sucked any heat out from his legs and torso, leaving a cold rotten feeling in his stomach. He grabbed the nearest trash can and puked.

Once done he sat back and wiped his mouth, the burn from his stomach acid stayed at the back of his throat but he couldn’t move.

No. (Y/N)’s eyes remained on his legs, those legs covered and littered in scars, scars no one, not even König had been allowed to see, despite their years together.

(Y/N) pushed away any thoughts about what the other may think or have seen as he tried to control his breathing, he needed to prevent that incoming panic attack.

(Y/N) placed his hands on his head as he groaned out. “I am in the moment, I am calm, and nothing is going on.” He whispered over and over to himself as he gently banged his hands against his head, not causing damage.

(Y/N) took a deep breath and looked up, only to come face to face with that Ghost mask and those intense eyes. He glared at him. “What?”

“Heard you throw up, figured you needed some water.” Ghost said, holding the glass out.

(Y/N) looked at the glass for a moment before sighing and taking it. He took some of the water, and swirled it around his mouth before spitting it out in the trash can. (Y/N) closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the cold wall.

Ghost didn’t say anything but didn’t move either, his job was to protect after all, so here he was, protecting and definitely not worried about someone he had met a day ago. No sir, this was just Ghost doing his duty to the Price Family, who (Y/N) was a part of, his boss’s son. At least, that was what Simon was trying to convince himself and Ghost.

Yeah… Simon was definitely getting too close for comfort, he was starting to care for a man he didn’t trust- didn’t completely trust…

“Why did you change my clothes?” (Y/N) asked, voice monotone much like Ghost.

Simon cleared his throat and looked at him. His eyes closed and his hands trembled lightly. “I didn’t want you to be uncomfortable, don’t worry I didn’t see anything.” He said. “It was dark in your room.”

(Y/N) opened his eyes and looked at him, for a moment Ghost swore the eyes were red yet it disappeared just as quickly as it came, leaving him with those cold dead (E/C) eyes. “Good.” (Y/N) said before standing up. “Don’t undress me again even if I am drunk, I don’t care if I look uncomfortable or anything of that sort, do not undress me.”

(Y/N) grabbed the trashcan and walked up, leaving Ghost behind in the basement to maul over everything. Ghost knew he had made a mistake and he knew the wrath of John Price with mistakes, even though the man was better than his own family by a long shot, not that it took much, John Price was still a man to be feared.

In just that moment, Simon was 17 again, face full of regret as he had lost far too much cargo and the punishment that followed…. The years of having to prove himself over and over again just to work himself up to his position, just to regain Price's trust in him. It hadn’t been fun or pretty, he still had aches where the bullets had entered him. His elbow was graced and it had never been the same, on a cold morning it was still locking up despite years of physical training under his belt.

In short, Simon absolutely hated it. He hated the feeling, the primal fear, no, the terror he felt. He knew (Y/N) ‘earned name’ and he wasn’t ready to be on the receiving end of that.

Simon sat for far too long, his knees started hurting and his whole lower back was cold, wide eyes hid behind his mask when he finally made his way up, when he finally realised he needed to face the consequences of his actions, Simon should have known based on (Y/N)’s answer the day earlier than being seen without clothes was something far far too personal, that it was reserved for that one person, someone he genuinely seemed to care about even if he couldn’t, Simon… no Ghost was not that person, (Y/N) only knew Ghost, the weapon, the tool, the unbroken loyal dog to the Price family. (Y/N) didn’t know Simon, he was probably never going to, there was no need to know Simon, Price knew Simon but (Y/N)... (Y/N) He was just as broken as Simon yet so much more capable of not falling apart, (Y/N) in his eyes, he had no reason for a Ghost of himself.

Simon slowly walked upstairs, each step painful, long and filling his stomach with cold spiked ice. He walked up and up and up, it felt like an eternity, a staircase to hell that only went up, as though all mythology had it wrong, that heaven was deep below where there was warmth and hell was above in the cold clouds. When he finally sat foot above the cellar he looked around, waiting to find someone waiting and yet… he saw no one, well he saw (Y/N) on the couch, big headphones on and music blaring so loudly that even Ghost could hear it from a distance.

(Y/N) was drawing on his sketch block, it was still crude at this point but Ghost could clearly see the agony in the sketch, he left (Y/N) alone and went outside, sitting in the sun, just letting his mask soak up all the heat he had lost in that basement, the good thing about wearing all black, he easily got heated up.

At some point he felt someone join beside him, he looked over to where (Y/N) was sitting with his back turned to him, still drawing and now playing quieter music, Ghost still couldn’t shake the feeling of impending doom, but this was… nice? Pleasantly so. He wasn’t being hit or made to do anything, (Y/N) even seemed to trust him enough to sit with his back to him, Ghost knew not why but he had a very strong feeling that much within the family would shift as soon as (Y/N) took over.

(Y/N) knew that Ghost hadn’t been mean about it, he had been drunk, well, influenced and did what he was supposed to do, take care of him. He should have specifically said not to undress him but that was something they could amend. Now (Y/N) just needed to calm down and relax. With something relatively easy. Drawing and music.

So he started by drawing out his emotions, the cold reality of how he felt, getting it down on paper and then folding it away was a good way for him to sit with his emotions and problems without resorting to drinking or other less ideal activities.

He hummed when he finished and turned his music down before placing something a little more quiet on. He decided on good feelings so he started drawing Ghost in a fun halloween suit that had ghosts on it. He eventually walked outside to Ghost where they sat in silence for 30 minutes while he finished colouring in the black and white photograph, he spun around and poked Ghost on the shoulder, the man looked at him and with an almost childlike giddy grin on his face, (Y/N) showed Ghost the picture of Ghost in a Halloween ghost suit.

(Y/N) watched in amusement as Ghost snorted and took the drawing presented to him. He shook his head. “Thank you… and I am sorry, I should have-” “-None of that.” (Y/N) interrupted. “I was responsible for telling you outright but I didn’t, so it’s on me, it is an honest mistake and the fact you apologised means a lot. Just… please don’t again.”

Simon smiled and nodded. “Yes sir.” He said, causing (Y/N) to groan and chuckle.

“Sir makes me feel old, just call me (Y/N) or (Nickname).” (Y/N) said, smiling slightly.

Ghost hummed out. “(Nickname).” In a way he couldn’t put into words, not that he was good at using words, that name, that nickname fit so well on his tongue, so perfect, so… The ice was beginning to melt away.

“Simon… call me Simon.” Ghost, no Simon said.

(Y/N) smiled and bumped his shoulder with him. “Alright, Simon, but this means we are attached now, name buddies, can’t get rid of me now.” (Y/N) said. “Guess I am sticking around.”

“I wouldn’t want it any other way, (Nickname).” He said.

(Y/N) stood up and held his hand out. Simon took it and stood up before letting go, as (Y/N) turned around to walk back inside, Simon just looked down at his hand. He could still feel the heat from those short 3 seconds, he knew not why but he craved (Y/N)’s touch far more than he wanted to. Somehow (Y/N) had come in and torn down every single wall he had so carefully built around him for years, so carefully put up and reinforced so no one was to get in. After all, friendship isn’t in the field manual they were given, it wasn’t taught to them when Price trained them. It was not usable, it wasn’t necessary and yet, (Y/N), who Simon figured would be just as touch starved, was just coming in here, spending two days with him and already Ghost wants to become familiar, perhaps even friends, they were connected somehow in a way he had never felt before, it confused him and he had just given (Y/N) permission to use his name, to call him Simon and in return, he had been given a nickname to use, it was… nice? Was this friendship?

Tag list:

@rasberry-jupiter

If you want to be of the tag list just write it in the comments ^^

Please reblog if you enjoyed this

[psychewritesbs]

@linkspooky​ ..... ok but like.... I, mental gymnastics and word vomiter extraordinaire, am speechless because...

yes this exactly 👇🏼.

I can’t be normal about this. I have #thoughts so much for being speechless for the sake of Jungian nerdery.

In the end, it isn’t often that you meet someone who can Jung about Jung and about Jujutsu Kaisen no less.

I swear ever since I started watching JJK, the Jungian lens through which I felt JJK is written just felt... so deep. 

HOLA!

The supernova associations:

Supernova as symbol for the pinnacle of the sense of self is one of my biggest obsessions, so the symbol jumped up at me after I figured out Yuki’s connection to Vishnu. 

If you’re up for a completely unrelated rabbit hole... honestly, the only reason I took an interest in the subject is because in doing JJK-research regarding Garuda and Vishnu, I learned that the way Garuda is depicted in some Buddhist art shows Garuda in the form of an Eagle clutching a snake. 

Now, if you’re not familiar with the story behind the Mexican coat of arms, the Aztecs had a prophecy in which they had been told to settle down wherever they saw an Eagle clutching a snake. The place where they settled became Tenochtitlán, the largest city in the pre-Columbian Americas, now known as México City, the sixth-largest metropolitan area in the world that’s 21 million too many Mexicans in one single spot. I’m Mexican so I can say this...

It’s truly too bad that many Mexicans have become corrupted by power since as a symbol, Garuda is a destroyer of sin. The irony...

All that to say... the way symbols can repeat themselves across time, culture and physical distance... it’s fascinating. Which is why I love so much that you brought up Castor and Pollux.

YES.

Yeeeeeeeeees. My heart rejoices...

🤓 Comparative mythology 🙏🏼♥️.

Thank you for sharing that reference! Come to think of it, I felt like there was something missing with the Oedipus Rex rabbit hole, and Castor and Pollux bring it all back full circle. 

And now I can’t unsee Castor and Pollux--the dynamic is everywhere. It’s crazy how when you become conscious of a symbol, you can’t unsee it.

Which brings me to...

Yuki’s animus: Yuki embodying the very qualities she projects onto Choso is so... touché. And that’s one of the things I liked about Yuki tbh, how she had this nice interplay between masculinity and femininity. And to bring it back full circle, funny how Choso was always depicted as a “softy”.

Also, because of this, I can’t unsee my own projection of animus now. I literally became conscious of it. 

That said, my favorite authors are always authors who are meticulous about authorial intent, and to me, most of the time I feel like the way Gege writes is full of intent. And then there’s times when I’m like “ok or is it just a happy accident?”

I get the sense that the way he narrates the story through panel work and dialogue has changed and has become more like himself (because “in a story like JJK where the strongest sorcerers always have the strongest sense of self...”). It also feels like he’s deliberately using symbolism in a different way now... just can’t quite put my finger on it. 

Any thoughts?

Alchemy: So I started re-reading Jung’s book on alchemy. But I tend to skip the part where he analyzes dreams for the sake of learning about his process. But I’m thinking I need to read the dream part for the sake of symbol analysis.

Oh god. The nerdery that is incoming!

Anyways, thanks for the essay in the tags! I know you probably get lots of notifs so hopefully you’ll read this!

[unbindingkerberos]

Storm Fiend

Words: 582

Summary: The sea brings out its winged executor.

Tags: @unpetitoiseau @poisonedtruth @children-of-epiales @chadillacboseman @shegetsburned @linoleum-ice

Author's Note: For more information regarding Siren! Henry, there's a post I made just for it.

--

The rain poured that night. Lightning flashing, thunder booming and waves violently crashing unto one another. It wasn't only the ongoing storm that made noise. The screams of confused and dying mercenaries accompanied the heavy rain along with echoing gunfire. "Where is it?!" A man screamed, pointing his gun in every possible direction frantically. A figure darts past the side. "Movement over there!" They fired in that direction, hitting nothing but the air. "Baseman, where's the reinforcements?!" 

The man in question busied himself with a radio, meeting the gaze of the other. "I'm trying! All I get is static!" The man grits his teeth. "Well try harder!" Baseman yelps and does what he had done some previous attempts ago. "This is Baseman! We need backup ASAP." No response. "Please, fucking say something." His hands shaked. Were they really going to die?

Just then, a voice crackles through the comms. "This is Kellerwait--" the men let out a sigh of relief-- "we hear you. Reinforcements will be arriving soon. Identify the targets." Baseman stutters and fumbles with the radio. "Target. They took out the others. They're dead." Baseman glances at the dead body beside him, he feels ready to vomit. "Alex, Vincent, Beau and me are the only ones left." The comms were silent for a while and Baseman was starting to panic.

"Shit. We-"

"INCOMING- AHHHH!" A large figure swoops from above and grabs one of the mercenaries in the air. The men open fire and Baseman covers his ears. The sound of cracking bones caught their attention and the lifeless broken body of their comrade crumples upon impact. Beau was next then Alex then--

He's alone now. 

He drops the radio-- ignoring the voice calling for him, asking what was wrong. He picks up a dead teammate's pistol. One bullet. He feels something heavy land some feet away behind his back. Baseman's instincts were screaming at him to not look back; that it would mean death if he should. But he ignores it and aims at the gun--

The creature had glowing embers for eyes. Its mighty talons soaked in blood and powerful wings swayed with the harsh storm wind. Lightning illuminated crevices of the creature's face-- a youthful man soaked in the blood of his brethren. "You made a huge mistake, coming here." The creature steps closer, wings producing a thunderous crack that sends Baseman flying back to the ground. "The very stench of your human sin disgusts me." He reached for the gun but it was nowhere to be found. The creature was above him now, a bored expression screwed onto his face. "Farewell miserable cur."

Then it was all over.

All that remained was that eerie song that the storm carried and spread to the rest of the cruel sea.

--

The sound of dripping water echoes throughout the cave followed by beating wings. Henry lands on his nest, humming with contempt. His talons move to reveal the strange device on his hand. The humans had called it a "radio" , something that allows the humans to communicate in long distance conversations. He brings it closer to his ear in a strange curiosity.

It was of no use to him however, as the gadget was heavily damaged on the way back home. Scoffing, Henry flicks it away. He diverts his attention to the bookshelf Amarice had brought him some time ago. He grabs the book; teeth meeting the worn leather and opens to the folded page.

Tomorrow is another day.

[catnipkdodowrites]

Clint Barton and Midoriya Izuku deserve good things, and here’s why.

Look, I may have an agenda in saying this but in Marvel x MHA crossovers I fully believe Clint Barton and/or Kate Bishop should get to interact with Midoriya at any opportunity, because there is so much narrative potential! (But especially Clint because he’s my favorite. Did I mention I might have an agenda?) Have them interact please, I am begging you! Even if it’s just for one scene and has no real influence on the plot, or if it’s just Midoriya finding out about Hawkeye's existence and getting excited! Midoriya deserves to have quirkless role models, okay!? (The same goes for Iron Man and other characters who rely on their skills and intellect, but I am the Ultimate Hawkeye Fangirl, alright?) 

If you took these characters and stayed true to their canon personalities (or as true as you can with Marvel comic continuities), had these two characters meet, and wrote out a scene with them in it, both characters could benefit from each other and would have a good relationship if their canon characters ever got to interact. Conversely, if you tweaked their characters a bit or just one of those characters or went with a different canon version of one of those characters they would make excellent foils to each other. They have a lot in common, and there’s so much untapped potential between these two. So much untapped potential there are like five fics on Ao3 tagged as the two of them having an interaction significant enough to be worth tagging. FIVE. 

Disclaimer, I believe you can and should write whatever you want for the most part, opinions be damned, but some of the phrasing I use in this post may seem like I’m trying to dictate how others should write MHA x Marvel crossovers. Please understand I am not trying to sound like an asshole, I am just very autistic about both these pieces of media and I express my opinions in very specific language.

I’m going to focus on Clint for the purposes of this rant because… look at my icon for Christ’s sake. Plus, I may or may not have an agenda. Well, okay, the actual reason is that I think Clint and Midoriya interactions have more potential than Kate and Midoriya, but it’s like comparing the value of platinum to gold. Both are extremely valuable, but one is more valuable than the other. Now, please, allow me to explain. (Significant word vomit incoming, 4700+ words, there are footnotes at the end plus a TL;DR.)

Look, Clint is literally just a guy who works his ass off. Sure, he’s a super-talented marksman but that talent would be meaningless if he didn’t constantly work for it! Midoriya and Hawkeye are both surrounded by people with extraordinary/supernatural abilities for significant parts of their stories even if Midoriya does get superpowers. Both of them get to where they are in their stories through sheer determination and hard work, even if it was for wildly different purposes. This applies even more so in fics where Midoriya stays quirkless! They are the powerless heroes in worlds filled with heroes who have powers! Characters like Black Widow, Iron Man, Ant-Man, and Falcon are way closer to having powers than Hawkeye. Widow was enhanced by the Red Room program, Iron Man and Ant-Man are defined by their gear, and Falcon... it changes from media to media. Sometimes he has a psychic connection to an actual falcon named Redwing, other times his gear is a lot more advanced, and sometimes both. Iron Man has infected himself with nanites to gain a form of technopathy in multiple stories! (1) Hell, Spider-Man was originally Marvel’s “Everyman” character but Clint sniped that title right out from under him. Few things highlight how defining Normalcy is for Clint better than the opening panels from Hawkeye 2012 Issue #1 (also I will take any and every excuse to promo Matt Faction and David Aja’s Hawkeye it’s just so good.)

No matter what, Hawkeye has always been the normal guy on a roster of people with superpowers, super-intellect, fancy weaponry, and magic, and I love it! Ironically, that’s what makes him and Kate stand out, their normalcy. 

Side note, have you ever fired a bow? I have. (Did I mention I have autism and am obsessed with Clint?) It’s fucking hard. Forget aiming and hitting your target, have you considered repeatedly pulling back and holding the bow steady for an entire battle? Ouch ouch owie owie ow, my fucking muscles. The human body was not designed to handle that kind of constant repetitive motion, Clint and Kate have arm muscles for days, not to mention the dedication it takes to have aim that good. Aiming with a bow is hard. Sometimes Clint is depicted as being such an excellent marksman he uses the bow and arrow specifically to flex how good his aim is. There are other reasons  (Versatility of trick arrows, non-lethality, having been an archer since he was very, very young) but this is objectively the funniest one. He’s also used coins and pebbles when he needs to make a shot that an arrow is unsuited for or when he doesn’t have his bow, i.e. in his civvies. 

In fact, Hawkeye (2012) focuses almost exclusively on what Clint gets up to when he’s not superheroing. In the first issue, Clint gets out of the hospital and heads to his apartment. Clint can afford the rent jacks because of his Avengers and Shield pay, his neighbors cannot. We are explicitly shown the landlord mafioso Ivan evicting a single mother of two after tripling her rent. (2) We are shown Clint witnessing this. He knows that neighbor and she trusts him enough to have him double-check the lease to make sure that what the landlord is doing is legal. (It is.) Clint cares about his neighbors, enough that he regularly attends the semi-potluck grill night they have on the roof of the building. In fact, he doesn’t regularly eat except when he’s with the Avengers or on potluck night. So what does he do? 

He puts on a cheap suit and tie, heads over to an underground casino, and he gives a slice of pizza to a dog on the street. This dog belongs to the guards of the underground casino. He convinces them to let him in and he hunts down the landlord. He drops a duffle bag and gives the mafia a shit-ton of money in a duffle bag to pay rent for all of his neighbors tax-free. The mafia refuse the deal because they are jacking up the rent so they can evict people for not paying rent on time. This is because they want to sell the building. Clint then beats up the mafia until they accept the money. (3)  Well, okay, not exactly. The mafia attack him first, but Clint uses a playing card as a projectile to disorient one of the guards with a gun, and room devolves into chaos. 

Clint gets thrown out the front window of the laundromat and runs for his life. As the outer guards fire on Clint, the dog he gave pizza attacks them for it. They then throw the dog into traffic and he turns around to beat the shit out of them because, and I quote “What kinda man throws a dog into traffic? *punches sunglasses off of tracksuit Mafioso* Seriously I ask you.” Clint takes a Nickle out of his pocket and throws it with enough force to shatter the door windows of the car that’s about to hit the dog in a desperate attempt to get the driver to swerve. The dog still gets hit.

Oh yeah, allow me to introduce you to Hawkeye 2012 Issue #1 page 4. 

Unrelated note, Faction and Aja do a masterful job of storytelling in issue 1. The story is told out of order, but the proper context is given at the perfect moments so you can easily piece the story together, most of the flashbacks and flash-forwards are one-page long, when they aren’t things from one time period seamlessly blend with another, and the entire color pallet changes to signify what point in the timeline the panels are occurring... and that’s only issue 1! I am refraining from doing a keyboard smash here, as that is the only thing that can properly convey how much I love Hawkeye 2012.

Anyways, he takes the dog to the vet, and the tracksuit mafia show back up while he’s in the waiting room. He once again rocks their shit, and they take it outside. (4) We cut to Ivan sitting in a cab while Clint is outside. It’s raining. Ivan has a handkerchief to his bloody nose and- actually, I don’t think a cliff-notes does this justice. I’ll transcribe the dialogue below here because my attempts to do a scan of the page came out poorly and I’m unsure if there’s a high-quality scan online, just know you’re missing some of the pacing of the scene.

Ivan: “Bro, what kind of Avenger does this? I broke no laws, bro. Allowed to raise rents. Is touch luck for you and your friends but I know my rights.”

Clint: “Hold that thought, ya Tracksuit Dracula. You asked about the Avengers. Y’wanna know the best part about being an Avenger? having Captain America around you all the time He just-- the guy brings out the best in people. You... want to be good when he’s around. You really do.”

“Ivan, Look around you real quick. Because, right now? Captain America ain’t here. I’m going to pay you everything everyone in that building owes you and another 12.5 for the building outright. And that’s it. Negotiations’re over. You wanted to sell it? I want to buy it. I take care of my people and you get rich. The end.”

Ivan: “I had buyer.”

Clint: “I don’t care.”  

He turns to the cab driver, hands him a wad of cash, and tells him to take Ivan to JFK. Fast. The vet tech calls Clint back inside. The dog has a broken pelvis, broken leg, two broken ribs, and lost an eye, but will recover fairly well with proper care and rest. Clint pets the dog while he’s laying on the table after surgery. Clint keeps the dog after this. The name on the collar says “Arrow,” but Clint decides to come up with something better.

This whole story is really just Clint trying to do the right thing as best he can. At first, he’s just going for the first solution to the problem that he thinks of, but he adapts once Ivan turns him down. He saves Lucky because A. he likes dogs. and B. the dog saved him. Hell, the whole reason Lucky tried to save him was that he gave Lucky a piece of pizza because, again, he likes dogs and Lucky just happened to be standing there, looking cute. He cares about his neighbors. In later issues of Hawkeye 2012 Clint repeatedly is shown helping out his neighbors or just providing entertainment at the potluck. 

Clint also had a really, really rough childhood. His dad was an alcoholic, his parents died in a car crash because of that, before they died his dad beat both him and his older brother Barney, he and his brother ran away to join the circus, Clint was beaten and left for dead by one of his parental figures after he caught him stealing money from the ticket box, his relationship with his brother really fell apart after that- and that's the cliff-notes version! It varies somewhat based on continuity but the most consistent part is runaway orphan joining the circus. Personally, when writing Marvel stuff, I adapt it to “Foster care was shitty and my brother and I wanted to stay together, so we ran away, and the circus happened to take us in,” to modernize it a bit.

So in short, Clint is kind, determined, and has had a lot of hardship in his life, particularly his childhood. Hmm, kind, determined, a lot of hardship during childhood? Now, who does this remind me of? Oh yeah, fucking Midoriya!

A huge part of what I think makes MHA so interesting is that its main character is fairly untraditional as far as Shonen protagonists go. Hell, he’s kinda untraditional as far as superhero protagonists go in general. Midoriya is defined by his kindness, he is emotional, he wants to save people above almost everything else. The most iconic battles Midoriya has been involved in thus far are motivated heavily by his drive to save. Think Muscular, Overhaul, and Gentle. (Kouta, Eri, and Eri’s chance to smile again.) (I’ve only seen up to Season Four, although I’ve seen manga spoilers. Don’t ask.) Funnily enough, this all reminds me somewhat of Hawkeye’s traditional origin story. I shall now give you the cliff-notes version that spans multiple years of comics. (At least I think it does, I’d have to double-check and I only have so much time, y’know.)

Clint is inspired by Iron Man to use his skills to fight crime instead of just being a circus entertainer. Unfortunately for Clint, on his first outing after he stops a thief and picks up the money they stole to return it, he gets mistaken for the original thief. Then Iron Man shows up and beats him up. Clint is forced to go on the run, falls in with Black Widow, becomes a recurring Iron Man villain with Widow, falls in love with Widow, gets kind of depressed when Widow disappears (actually recalled to Moscow and reprogrammed), saves Jarvis (the Avenger’s butler, originally just Stark’s Alfred) from a muggers, gets Jarvis’s help to demonstrate to the Avengers that he’s trying to change, and has been an Avengers mainstay ever since. Clint later played a significant part in breaking through Black Widow’s programming and helping her defect to Shield, saving her.

It’s a very unconventional origin story. Redemption arcs have been done, but not many involve wanting to do the right thing from the beginning of a character’s story. My personal favorite adaptation of this backstory is from the cartoon Avengers Assemble, where Clint was a member of the Circus of Crime, but never felt good about it. He triggered the alarm on their biggest heist ever, getting them arrested by Shield, but Fury saw something in him and gave him a chance to make amends, becoming Hawkeye. I understand I am very biased on this though, so I will not argue for it being the best. That aside, it’s unconventional mainly because of how integral to the Avengers Hawkeye later became to the point where the Avengers have very few adaptions without him. So many story arcs involving Clint are based in his desire to do the right thing. All of Hawkeye 2012. His backstory. Widow’s defection. His near divorce over his wife killing someone. (It was justified and accidental.) 

There’s another parallel between Midoriya and Clint one could draw, although it depends somewhat on your interpretation of quirklessness in the MHA world. If you think about it, both Clint and Midoriya are disabled. Clint is Deaf. Depending on the continuity, he had progressive hearing loss as a child, had surgery to fix his hearing when he was older (11?), then his ears are injured in a fight, making him lose about 80% of his hearing. Most depictions of Clint’s deafness that I’ve seen stem from Fraction’s Hawkeye Issue #19 but Clint being deaf and wearing hearing aids dates back to 1983 and there’s some comic history after that as to why it didn’t become a frequent part of Hawkeye’s depictions until Fraction but we’re not getting into that right now. (5)

Ignoring Red Shoe theory, (I don’t subscribe to it but it’s still an interesting premise) the interpretation of being quirkless as a disability is a completely valid reading of the text! The pity Midoriya gets after his diagnosis, people treating him as lesser and weaker, his mother apologizing to him, these are all things people in the disabled community have dealt with! I’m not even pulling from fanon, that’s all canon stuff there. Clint has frequently used ASL and lipreading in comics since 2015! He’s worn hearing aids in various depictions on and off since 1983, when he first became a deaf character! He is disabled and a total badass! If you’re doing a story where Midoriya becomes a quirkless hero, well there’s a hero in the public eye whose main thing is trick arrows, i.e. support gear! In addition, the disability interpretation of Quirklessness would be an excellent parallel to utilize in a story that mentions or features disability advocacy.. And this is ignoring the possibility of them both being quirkless in a blended reality crossover. They could bond over having to grow up with quirklessness in a world that discriminates against the quirkless! Midoriya could have grown up idolizing the world-famous archer! 

On the other hand, if your Midoriya has OfA, Clint becomes a foil to Midoriya and a great one at that. Clint is a badass member of the Avengers who doesn’t have powers but rather kicks ass with trick arrows and a weapon from the Paleolithic era, plus some martial arts training. He’s what Midoriya could have been. Hell, Hawkeye showing up in the MHA dimension asking for help and hanging out with the next generation to give them some pointers while he’s there could lead to Midoriya doing some serious soul-searching. This isn’t a very far-fetched idea, he mentored Kate Bishop and has led several branches of the Avengers over the years, primarily the West Coast Avengers.

Another way Clint serves as a foil to Midoriya is his impulsiveness and brashness. Clint is generally trying to do the right thing, but he doesn’t always think it through. Again, the mafia thing. His origin story. The serious clashes he had with Cap when he first joined the Avengers. The times he’s been seriously tempted to kill his abusive father figure Swordsmaster. His tendency to flirt with every woman he meets. (6) The shotgun wedding with Mockingbird in the eighties comics (the issue he marries her in is also the issue he is deafened in.) I could go on. To contrast he’s also insanely loyal, once you've earned his respect. (Cap, but Widow as well. And Mockingbird. Kate Bishop.) 

On the subject of Ronin, that gives you a pretty good excuse to put Clint n Japan, he could be taking care of unfinished business for the previous holder of the Ronin moniker. (7) This works best in a blended universe of course, but could be tied into a dimension travel fic as well.

But back to the foil thing, Clint does tend to act on his anger as well. This is an excellent contrast to Midoriya. When Midoriya is emotional and expressive, it’s generally his sadness and stress, or his excitement. When Clint is expressive, it’s anger or self-loathing. Parallels, people! Parallels!

Another parallel/way they foil each other is how unhinged they can be. Look, Midoriya grabbed onto All Might’s leg, he rushed the Slime Villain to save Bakugo, he counteracted Eri’s rewind by breaking his bones faster than she could erase him. But Clint is his own brand of crazy. I mean, you have to be pretty nuts to fight superhumans with a bow and arrow, but sometimes Clint takes it to another level. One of the craziest things he’s done, though, is use a combination of a Life Model Decoy, a small-scale time machine, and careful planning to masquerade as his alternate persona Ronin while leaving most of his coworkers and friends under the impression that he was not, in fact doing that. He has on several occasions and in across several media fired a shrunk-down Ant-Man on an arrow (Pym and Lang, although this originated with Lang), in one incarnation had a distraction arrow that when triggered unfurled a “Bang!” flag, frequently utilizes boomerang arrows, and well, you read my summary of Hawkeye Issue 1.

Listen, if you don’t want to write Hawkeye into your story that’s completely valid but the opportunity is right there! It just- it’s just a pet peeve when someone does a hybrid universe and just writes Clint as having a “Perfect Aim” quirk. It’s not a deal-breaker for reading a fic if the rest of the story is interesting enough but it always hurts my heart because that’s just such a disservice to his character. I would take him having literally any other quirk over that. Because his whole deal is that he’s just a guy who’s really, really, good with a bow. That’s what makes him such a badass to me. He’s got a good head for tactics, some martial arts training, and perfect aim that he has cultivated his entire life. If you give him perfect aim as an actual power you have proven to me that you fundamentally do not understand the character you are working with. (Related note, I have mixed feelings about the version of him that appears in the Ultimate universe. Not a point I wish to delve into at this time, but worth mentioning nevertheless.) And you don’t have to understand him write a good story, I just… it’s just a waste of potential. And comics are so vast and the MCU version is so bland I don’t blame anyone for not knowing his character that well! It’s understandable! I’ve long since expected it since I became a Hawkeye fan!

I have read fics where the author is doing perfectly, I am completely engaged by and loving whatever universe they have set up, they have written these characters in such a way that it feels like a totally believable version of how their stories could have gone, and then BAM! Marksmanship quirk for Clint and I just... have to take a break and come back later. I understand this is not a normal reaction, but I am incapable of being normal about him, so here we fucking are. It’s just such a waste of potential. 

Listen, you have every right to do what you want with your fic, but I promise you your story will be more interesting if you just let Clint’s character exist in the way he was meant to, as a guy who’s super dedicated to his training and very skilled. I would be happy if there was just a moment, particularly in fics where dimension travel is involved, if whoever Midoriya’s mentor-figure-of-the-day is was thinking about how to deal with Midoriya’s frankly abysmal self-esteem, and essentially went “Hm, my favorite sunshine green bean really needs some encouragement and positive quirkless role model. What if I told him about the quirkless badasses from my reality who, to my knowledge, haven’t been enhanced by magic/genetic modification/cybernetics and still go toe-to-toe with people who have those things! Frequently! I bet he’d think they’re really cool and would maybe be able to hold his head a little higher knowing there are people like him out there who are heroes. He’d really start to believe that he can be a hero too and that he’s just as capable as his peers!”

Or, or, or! in blended reality fics, if Clint had a quirk that was just something kinda dumb like, I dunno, Binocular Eyes, and Clint just uses the bow instead, (Or he’s openly quirkless, IDGAF, just not Perfect Aim please for the love of god) and mentor-figure-of-the-day has a similar train of thought but instead of just telling Midoriya about them they cash in a favor or two that Clint owes them to have Clint meet with Midoriya. And Clint, being the somewhat kind-hearted person that he is, would absolutely be a good sport about it! He would encourage Midoriya! He’s been a mentor and leader before and encouraged other members of the Avengers to guide the Young Avengers rather than try to shut them down!

Alternatively, and this is only something you could pull off in a fic where Clint is a central focus and not part of the backdrop, Clint is faking having a “Perfect Aim” quirk. Or several of his colleagues are aware of it in order to help him conceal it, and mentor-figure-of-the-day spills it in while swearing Midoriya to absolute secrecy. Clint himself telling Midoriya would be really cute though, and perfect for a Mentor fic! Or Clint stumbling onto Bakugo (8) and co harrassing Midoriya and telling them off/threatening them! He would do that, he’s impulsive enough! Clint makes bad jokes, Midoriya is kind and sunshine incarnate, they would get along! 

There’s so much, I could go on and on and just- Oh goddammit, I was saving Clint and Midoriya interactions for my long fic that eventually devolves into has dimension travel as a part of the plot but I guess I’m adding a fic where Clint properly mentors Midoriya to my fucking to-do list. I only have myself to blame. Happy Valentine’s Day to me.

This is a cross-media thing too! It happened in Iron Man: Armored Adventures. Y’know, the one where he, Rhodey, and Pepper are all teens at the same high school and Tony is basically this world’s Spider-Man! Actually this is on brand for Armored Adventures, having watched that show. Very chaotic storylines, condenses like decades of comic books storylines into two seasons while staying unquestionably rated TV-Y7. It was actually pretty good, was the first animated series to feature Pepper Potts as Rescue, and also contains one of the best modern adaptions of Hawkeye’s original introduction. I’m not kidding. Oh, and the Avengers are formed at the end of the series, in a sense. I think they just wanted to leave themselves with some potential future storylines in case they got renewed past a second season while still having a satisfying ending. They did not get renewed.

Her name is Simone, in issue #12 of Fraction’s Hawkeye Clint watches cartoons with her kids while she uses Lucky as a pillow. He falls asleep watching the cartoons with them and Simone pulls a blanket over him as she takes her kids back to their apartment. Oh yeah and the whole thing takes place during Kwanzaa because the issue is a winter holiday special that uses the cartoon to tell a story that’s an allegory for Clint’s role in the superhero community. Very wholesome moment, I love Simone.

This marks the point part-way through writing the first draft of that paragraph, I went upstairs to grab my Hawkeye volumes to reread issue 1 and brought all four of them back to my desk to keep them on hand for easy reference. I also wished to make the point I was writing at that time more articulate. I also brought down my Hawkeye vs Deadpool volume and Marvel-verse Hawkeye volume. I had no intention of referencing either of them I just like having all my Hawkeye comics in one place.

This is quite possibly one of the hottest Clint Barton moments ever. I’ll probably upload a scan of it sometime in the future but it ends with him pinning Ivan to the wall by the throat. The next page where he threatens Ivan into selling him the building is also pretty hot, but you’ve already seen the dialogue for that. Ah great, now I’m tempted to a make post ranking the hottest Clint Barton moments across all his different incarnations, for fucks sake.

I can talk comic history of Hawkeye and how Hawkeye has evolved as a character all fucking day. I vibrate with joy when I get to info-dump about this shit and vibrate with stress when I have to dial it back. When I am both talking about it and dialing back, I cease to vibrate as all of my focus goes into scientifically measuring out the maximum amount of info dumping I can get away with. Please ask me questions about Hawkeye, I beg you. I know so much about his many incarnations across different media and I am waiting for any excuse to talk about them or do more research.

His character evolves out of this but classic comics Hawkeye is all about the ladies, and he frequently has minor storylines involving his romantic endeavors. I can’t say I blame him, I’ve seen the women he rolls with. Unfortunately for him they never seem to go well.

The previous holder of the name was Kingpin’s daughter. It’s a long story.

I wanted to talk about using Clint as a foil to Bakugo and/or Todoroki with his impulsiveness/anger issues but having better control over it and being quirkless but I just did not have the energy or the time. Could also be a foil to Eraser or All Might as a mentor figure but I would have to think on that some more and my cats are getting between me and the keyboard. :/

TL;DR: Clint and Midoriya are both characters defined by their determination, their kindness, their lack of power in a world full of powers, and I just think that’s neat. 

[word-wytch]

*Stalky fanperson word vomit incoming - you have been warned*

Firstly, I wanna say that I never, ever want to have to wait that long for an update every again. However, I also wanna say that this chapter was so freaking perfect that I’m really glad we had to! 😄 (I actually even managed to make it worse for myself by holding off reading it until I was certain I could give every one of the 18k words the time and attention it deserved, and I’m really glad I did - it’s utterly glorious!! 🥹) Congratulations on your summer-long work coming to an outstanding conclusion 👏👏👏

I wanted to do that thing that people do where they share their favourite sections, but I’m not even kidding when I say that if I did that I’d literally be copy and pasting the entire thing. Every. single. paragraph is literal poetry, art and/or a story in and of itself. You are a linguistic maestro, and I now have a new life goal of producing even just one line that comes even close to painting a picture like yours do (that’s the stalkery bit - I’m aware that this probably sounds a bit creepy 😬😬😆)

Also: me, before reading: OMGthey’regoingtokissOMGthey’regoingtokissOMGthey’regoingtokiss 🥹😃🥹😃🥹😃

Me, after reading: Ican’tbelievetheykissedIcan’tbelievetheykissedIcan’tbelievetheykissed 😱😱😱🤯🤯🤯

I still can’t quite believe they actually kissed, even though we all knew it was gonna happen. I thought maybe at some point one of them (r, most likely) would pull back and it would end as a heavy, emotionally loaded cuddle, or some touching, but damn, they actually crossed that line!!! I can’t wait to see how this affects things in the outside world from now on.

And the longing... The yearning... Ugh, it’s all so perfect! I don’t usually warm to these parts of a story, and even though they’re often necessary and essential I just want it to be over, but with these two? I’m a total convert.

I’m also seriously wondering how many other people have noticed or suspected what’s going on. We haven’t seen them from anyone else’s perspective yet, and by the reaction of the band, and those bits with Bill, I’m now concerned that they haven’t actually been as subtle as they/we think they have been, and it’s all gonna hit the fan realllllll sooooon…

(Plus, is Bill gonna be a problem? I said: is Bill gonna be a problem ? *raises one eyebrow and drops a closed fist into an open palm*)

I LOVE the being good/bad for each other internal battles that they’ve both got going on, it’s exquisite and so beautifully balanced, and adds a really special layer to both characters as well as the overall story.

Oh, and the song choices?!?! Puh-leeeeeze, SO PERFECT!!! 🥹🥹🥹🤩🤩🤩🥵🥵🥵 And Eddie on stage, singing, without his guitar?? I’ve never seen that done before, and it was exquisite!! 🙏🔥🙏🔥🙏🔥

IDK if you do a tag list, but if you do I’d love to be on it (and for anything else Eddie you write 😄). My brain is vibrating with both anticipation for the next part, and anxiety at the even slight suggestion that I might miss something 😵‍💫

Finally, I VISCERALLY AND BODILY **NEED** EDDIE’S TEETH ON MY NECK RIGHT TF NOW, so thank you for that… 🫠🫠🫠

‘K I think I’m done, thanks, bye 😆

Holy shit thank you SO much 🥹🥹🥹

It’s heartwarming to see my hard work so appreciated. I feel like “linguistic maestro” might be one of the highest compliments I’ve received so far. I’m incredibly flattered.

Our forbidden lovebirds have a lot of internal and external conflict weighing against them, and I am excited to explore this new phase of their relationship next chapter. As you can sense from the very last scene, they are on different pages when it comes to their attitudes about it. One has a whole lot more to lose than the other, and a whole lot more baggage when it comes to trust and relationships.

Part of what makes this so thrilling imo IS how dangerous it is. You bring up a good point with his friends and outside witnesses like Bill. You’ll certainly be getting hints of how they interpreted that night and what they think about the two of them in general as the story progresses.

I admittedly need to spend some time sitting down with my outline, as I am discovering that I might want to spend just a liiiitle more time (like one more chapter) exploring this limbo phase than originally planned. It’s so juicy being here, finally. The next phase will be even juicier ;)

I had closed my taglist for some time but I recently decided to open it back up and will add you. Thank you, again, so very much. 💕

[fireintheflames]

Long post incoming!

As a little mental health exercise for myself, I have decided to do some actual blogging about my real, irl life! Everything will be tagged with #personal stuff if you want to tune it out.

This is the first of those posts, we’ll see how long I can keep this up! These are probably going to be pretty long and rambling (I have a tendency to word vomit), so I’ll put a cut in if you want to continue scrolling.

Today’s topic: Touching Grass

For a bit of backstory/reminiscence, I grew up on a pretty sizable chunk of land (~15 acres, 10 of which we let go back to fields) in the Upper Midwest, one of those places that was parceled out of a farm in the 80s. My parents were very clear that my sister and I learn how to do at least a passable job at property maintenance, so I spent a sizable chunk of my youth mowing lawns, pulling weeds, planting gardens, all that jazz. Because the sweeper on the lawn mower broke one year (and dad was too cheap to get a new one and not handy enough to fix it), we raked around 2 acres of dried grass every summer after the first big cut by hand, and threw it all of it in the back field in “the pile” to compost and grow volunteer pumpkins and tomatoes. We had probably 5-6 active gardens at a time, scattered throughout the property.  I even had my own garden over the septic tank that I filled with annuals every year, and I laid the brick borders by hand (as for the positioning, septic tanks need to be pumped every couple of years. The flowers were so we didn’t bend the tank handles with the lawn mower and knew where to dig. I usually did marigolds, petunias, and snapdragons). So tldr, despite being an introverted nerd I did spent a lot of time outside doing manual labor.

Living in dorms and apartments for the past 6 years, I had forgotten how much I enjoy outdoor chores. The closest I could get was some small, unsuccessful window plants. And moving into the house with my fella in the fall meant all the lawn and garden work was already pretty much done. So I haven’t really done what I would consider “touching grass” in almost 7 years. I tried going to parks and nature trails, and while those are better than staying cooped up they didn’t scratch that itch to get my hands dirty. And in those 7 years my mental health has quite frankly circled the drain.

But this week has really been a big turnaround in that. Decided to start doing some outside work because with spring coming on, a lot of the tasks that were neglected before we moved in have come to light. Whenever I’ve been feeling stressed, I’ve been pulling the English Ivy the previous owner decided to plant in the front bushes.  My guy and I have been working to convert the back half of our lot to a native pollinator garden, and as the plants we ordered are starting to come in I’ve been planting them myself. Today I trimmed hedges with snippers for about 2 hours. And to my surprise, I feel great!! Both physically and mentally. I feel like I actually want to do things again!! I signed up for art classes, I have made plans to go traveling, just feeling like a whole new person.

So was it the touching grass? Probably not entirely. I think it probably had more to do with shaking off the winter, exercising, and just generally feeling useful. But now that I know that I really like doing outdoor chores again, I can incorporate those into my routines easier! We even have a little composting bin I can throw the grass clippings in (fun fact: if you dry them first, they count as “browns” instead of greens, so they can be used to offset other garden waste!).

[fxckn-sxck-fr]

hiiiiiiiiii i just wanted to let you know i really appreciate your writing!! its really hard to find yandere dick grayson content that isnt yandere batfam, your like a godsend fr!! cant wait for part 4 of your older brother series!!!!

First of all, THANK YOU SO MUCH. Part 4 is cooking, and I’m really glad people are enjoying what I like to call the “slow burn yandere” type of story. Not gonna lie, I thought you guys would hate it cuz of how slow it is, but yeah!! I love each and every one of you that decide to give my little story a shot.

Second of all, RANT INCOMING, BECAUSE YOU SAID SOMETHING SO TRUE.

NOTICE!! What I’m about to say should never hinder your enjoyment of yandere Batfam content. Please keep reading/writing fics you enjoy, and never let anyone shame you for doing so!!

But anyways, you’re so right that it hurts. I don’t know if solo yandere Dick content is as scarce as it seems, or if it all really is hidden under the yandere Batfam fics. Either way, I’ve finally realized I should just block the yandere Batfam tag so I can filter it all out (cuz I’m a responsible Tumblr user who controls their own internet experience instead of demanding people to change their writing for me). It’s kinda sad that it���s come to that, cuz I feel like I’m missing out on some amazing work, but alas…

As someone who’s into platonic yandere content, the yandere Batfam just doesn’t do it for me, cuz A.) a lot of it depends on fanon, and I’m a number one fanon detester (you’re well within your right to enjoy fanon, just don’t make any “hot takes” about a character if you’re going purely on fanon interpretation, PLEASE—), and B.) it’s not fucked up enough, GRRRR!!! This point is honestly a problem with platonic yandere content in general. People have this weird notion that platonic yanderes are tamer than romantic yanderes and it’s SO SAD. A yandere can carve your initials into their skin or leave the dismembered bodies of your enemies on your front porch without any romantic undertones to it!!

Also, anytime I do give a yandere Batfam fic a chance, it sometimes becomes painfully obvious that the writer has a favorite (nothing wrong with that, I just ask that you tag/put a warning of that in the description), and it’s never Dick or Tim, SOBS. I sometimes wonder if it’s cuz they wanna write solo platonic yandere content of their fav, but feel like they gotta put themselves in the yandere Batfam box? I don’t know, that might be me going crazy.

Honestly, the only genuine critique I have for yandere Batfam writers is that a lot of them use each individual character tag. And I totally get it!! They have a chance of reaching a larger audience that way, and they definitely deserve each like and reblog they get cuz they’re writing what makes them happy!! But it would be really nice if some of them considered only using the yandere Batfam tag/tag variants, especially as someone who uses the yandere Dick Grayson x reader tag for legit yandere Dick Grayson x reader content (I want a shot at reaching a larger audience too, SOBS).

Anyways. I’m really sorry that was long winded. I don’t get to talk about my personal thoughts and feelings that often, so this just gave me an opportunity to shit it all out. Y’all will send me a simple ask and get word vomit in return, I’M SO SORRY, RAAAAAAA.

[memento-mortuorum]

Information Hub

Desperate to survive, and hellbent on vengeance, a mortally wounded Dr. William Birkin injects himself with the fruits of his dedicated-- nay obsessive labor. The G virus was flawed however, while healing his injuries as expected, it quickly began to mutate out of control as the virus began to take over both his body and mind... Survival was not something thought possible, but at great cost the impossible can be achieved...

8 years later, William works alongside Rebecca Chambers as a fellow researcher, seeking to unlock the secrets of the recently discovered uroboros virus coming in from Africa. While the higher ups aren’t particularly thrilled about having William remotely anywhere near a virology lab, let alone out of prison, they’re well aware he’s likely the only man who has any chance of helping them with a breakthrough.

---

This Au primarily focuses on William Birkin and the hypothetical thought ‘what if Birkin had somehow managed to survive the G virus?’. While set primarily between the 4th and 5th Resident Evil games, prior events both before and during the Raccoon City infection may be explored. Similarly, other characters and their relations, such as Hunk and Kevin Ryman, may also be explored.

More information including tags and character information can be found under the ‘keep reading’.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

#Memento-Mortuorum - Blog tag, functions primarily so others can find it by using the tumblr search.

#Unlikely Survival Au - Au tag, this is the tag that content relating to the au will be tagged under.

#My Creation - The art tag! This is where artwork goes.

#Radio Noise - Ooc / mun speaking tag, generally used for misc. posts in which I may begin to just ramble about things whether it be updates, off topic chatter, or headcanon word vomit.

#Incoming Transmission - the ask tag, this tag will be used whenever an ask is answered.

#Character Profiles; [ character name ] - A tag used specifically for various posts involving a characters profile; headcanons, and various other tidbits of information. In play, it would look something like #Character Profiles; Rebecca Chambers.

#Resident Evil - Tag merely identifying what fandom / media the content relates to. Self explanatory, but here because somebody is ultimately going to ask.

Character Tags - Character tags will be used to identify and track various characters. All character tags will be labeled as the characters name; I.E anything involving Leon would be tagged using the tag #Leon S. Kennedy, William under #William Birkin, Hunk under #Hunk, etc. There may be small exceptions to this when dealing to specific groups of characters like the various USS squads in which case they’ll be tagged under something akin to #USS Alpha Team.

Other tags may be needed over time should the need arise.

[niuxita21]

OK so I slept on it and then decided to rewatch that last scene just to see how I felt about it and anyway long story short I am now on rewatch number 498579387 and can’t stop don’t send help