#because I’ll be pissed if it is different like you’re setting me up for failure here

[the-name-is-loser]

WHATS THE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN AP LANG AND AMERICAN LITERATURE

#loser’s liddol rambles #we have to talk an end of course [STATE TEST] this year if you take ap lang or ap lit #for . some reason #so is it… diff from lang and comp or nah #because I’ll be pissed if it is different like you’re setting me up for failure here

[seeingivy]

family rules 

satoru gojo x f! reader 

**read the other one’s here

in which a horrible fight, an even worse accident, and a few injuries leads to you, satoru, megumi, and tsumiki creating some family rules  

- 

Megumi sits across from you on the counter, his eyes narrowing at the ground, as you press a pack of frozen peas into his eye. He winces at the contact, his eye still swelling into a brilliant shade of purple. 

“I don’t know what I’m going to do with you, kid.” you whisper. 

His head remains low, refusing to meet your eye. After his fourth fight of the month, you feel helpless with where you stand with him, unsure how you can help him regulate how he’s feeling. You knew violence was an easy outlet for him, something you’re sure you had Toji to thank for, but you still tried to get him to change his ways, at least a little bit. 

Satoru’s approach, however, was squandering any efforts you were trying to make. The first time Megumi got into a fight, Satoru was positively pissed, not because Megumi punched a classmate, but because he didn’t place his thumb inside his fist. It was very infuriating for him to find out his kid couldn’t punch the right way. 

The second and third fights were hardly any different, Satoru majorly concerned with whether or not Megumi won, or if he hurled any insults while fighting, rather than actually reprimanding him. You knew Satoru could be immature, like a gangly man-child at times, but you were growing frustrated with his carefree nature as of late. 

At the end of the day, the two of you were responsible for Megumi. Tsumiki was easier in that sense, more receptive to the help you gave her. Slowly but surely, she had been coming out of her shell, coming to you and Satoru for help when she needed it. But Megumi was a stone cold rock, stubborn as they come. A blazing ball of anger. 

You hear Satoru’s key jam into the door, ready to brace yourself for the talk you wanted to have with Megumi. You had texted Satoru earlier in the day, letting him know that Megumi had gotten into another fight and the two of you needed to have a talk from him. 

He pads into the kitchen, a pale pink box resting in his hands. He places the box on the counter, pressing a swift kiss to your head and then Megumi’s. As he raids through the fridge, you open the box out of curiosity and feel your blood boiling. The cake says congratulations megumi in pale blue frosting. 

“Megs, do you mind joining Miki upstairs for a minute? I need to speak with Gojo over here.” you say, straining a smile at him. 

Both Megumi and Satoru’s eyes widen, the use of his last name signaling to Megumi that he should leave while he still can. Megumi stalks away, taking his bag of frozen peas with him. 

“You have got to be kidding me, Satoru. You bought him a cake for punching another kid in the face?” you say, clenching your fists in efforts to stay calm. 

“It’s just a joke, my love. No harm done. I’ll talk to him about it later. You know, all that cheesy stuff you say - words before violence, be the bigger man by walking away.” he says, pressing a consolation kiss to your cheek as he sets out plates for dinner. 

You cross your hands over your chest, absolutely livid with him. How can he be so calm about this?  

“Satoru, be serious for one minute. Megumi is our responsibility. You’re doing him a disservice if we keep letting him process his anger this way. Don’t lead him down the wrong path.” you say, turning towards him.  

He turns to face you, clearly frustrated with your insistence. You knew he thought you were a little bit of a stickler, the complete opposite of his carefree nature, but he usually loved you for it. However, your differences came with butting heads often, especially when it came to Tsumiki and Megumi. 

“I’m not leading him anywhere wrong. You’re setting him up for failure if you tell him to keep letting kids push him around like that. You’re the one leading him down the wrong path.” he states, crossing his arms across his chest. Childish, even during a fight. 

“Solving your problems with fists isn’t always the answer, Satoru. This is why he doesn’t talk to us when we ask him what’s wrong. We have to wait for him to explode, just to find out he was suffering the entire time.” you respond, clenching your fists so hard you’re sure you’ve drawn blood.  

“Whatever problem he has, I’ll deal with it. Remember, he’s my kid, not yours. My responsibility. So I’ll figure out what’s best for him moving forward.” 

He waits for a response, his eyes still boring into yours. You don’t bite back, but instead turn around to face the door, the tears welling in your eyes. 

“All quiet now, Y/N? Have nothing to say to me?” he says. 

“No, I don’t.” you bite back, bitterness evident in your voice. 

“And why’s that? You sure had a lot to say a few minutes ago.” 

“Because. He’s your kid. Not mine. It’s not really my business what he does, is it?” you spit back, turning to him with your tear filled eyes. 

As much as you can care for Megumi, he’s right. Tsumiki and Megumi are technically his kids, you’re just his girlfriend who happened to stick around once they arrived. And as much as you can care and love the two of them, that doesn’t earn you a place in their family. 

You feel Satoru’s fingers crawl around your wrist, his face softer than it was minutes ago. 

“Hey, hey. Wait a minute.” 

You shrug his wrist off, grab your keys, and run out the door. There’s no point in staying somewhere you don’t belong in the first place. 

 - 

You ignore Satoru for a few hours, currently eating ramen on a very annoyed Shoko’s couch. Nanami was here as well, having been around helping her hang some paintings in her room. You feel your phone buzzing on the other side of the couch, sure it’s Satoru spam calling you after you had been ignoring his texts.

He had been texting periodically every thirty minutes, but had resorted to calling for the past ten. Shoko thinks you should slap him once, set him straight for good. Nanami thinks the two of you should talk it out, maybe explain where you’re both coming from. 

You choose to ignore both of their advice, opting to watch Ten Things I Hate About You and diminish Shoko’s ramen supplies one bowl at a time instead. 

Shoko runs into the room, followed shortly by Nanami, who has a phone pressed to his ear. They’re both rushing around the room, putting on their shoes and shoving random items into a bag.

“Y/N, get up. Right now! We have to go.” says Shoko, placing your shoes in front of you as you still pace the room. 

You stand up, moving slowly for your shoes. They’re both still rushing around you, filling the backpack with an extra pair of clothes and the entire bunch of bananas sitting at the counter. 

“Where are we going?” 

They seemed to have missed the question you had just asked. Shoko nearly falls rushing upstairs to grab something, a sense of urgency present in the two of them as they move around you. 

“Do you know Megumi’s blood type?” says Nanami, as he hands you a hoodie to wear. 

“His blood type? Why do you need his blood type?” you say, pulling his hoodie on. 

“Satoru and Megumi. They got into a car accident. They’re both at the hospital now.” he says, your blood turning cold. 

He places his hand to your shoulder, squeezing once in support. A car accident. They both got into a car accident. You look up at Nanami, his brown eyes filled with concern. 

“O negative. His blood type is O negative.” you whisper, grabbing your phone from the couch and heading out the door with the two of them. 

As you scroll through the notifications on your phone, you realize the person calling you wasn’t Satoru, it was the hospital. You were the first emergency contact, followed directly by Nanami, who had actually picked up the phone. 

Nanami nods in response, relaying the blood type on the phone. The three of you file into the car, Shoko sitting with you in the back, her hand clasped into yours. 

“I know all the doctors there, they’re going to be just fine.” she says, securing her seatbelt on.  

You nod, twiddling with your house key in your pocket. You pull out your phone, texting Tsumiki to see where she is. Nanami had only mentioned Satoru and Megumi, the thought of her sitting all alone in a room somewhere worsening your mood all together. As you open your phone, you finally read all of Satoru’s texts, the one’s he sent after your fight. 

i’m sorry love 

you know i didn’t mean it 

just come back, you know he’s our kid 

you’re a part of our family 

i know you’re right. he shouldn’t be punching people every time he disagrees with them. i just have trouble being too hard on him, i don’t want to be like my parents 

not an excuse. i know i’m in the wrong. we can have the talk with him like you wanted. just come back y/n. 

kids are getting real upset with you gone, they miss you already 

we’re coming to get you. 

You drop your phone onto the floor of the car, the tears flowing freely now. They were coming to get you. You’re the reason they were in that car in the first place. 

Shoko places a hand to your back, directing you to calm your breathing as you enter the parking lot. Nanami parks the car and you’re rolling out of the car, your feet dragging you the doors of the Emergency Department. 

As you enter the waiting room, you spot Tsumiki sitting on the chair alone, her cheeks pink from crying. You run over to her, crushing her in your embrace. You feel her cry against you, separating to check she wasn’t injured. 

“The blood, it’s not mine. It’s Satoru’s.” she says, hiccuping in between her words from crying. 

You feel a tightness in your chest, feeling nauseous at the thought of how much blood is on her shirt. How much blood did he lose? You cross your heart that he’s still conscious at the least, so you can tell him how sorry you are for leaving in the first place. 

“Megumi?” you ask, still holding her in your arms. 

“He cut his arm, but I think they said he was going to be okay. They won’t let me in since I’m not over fourteen.” 

“That’s okay. Stay here with Auntie Shoko and Uncle Nanami. I’ll go ahead and check on them and come back okay?” you say, pressing a kiss to the top of her forehead. 

“I want to be a part of your family.” she says, her eyes colored red. You feel your heart squeeze at her words, slightly upset at yourself for even putting that idea in her mind in the first palace. 

“You are a part of my family, Miki. Me and Satoru were just having a little disagreement, that’s all.” you respond, squeezing her hand twice before heading towards the doors of the ER. 

You brace yourself, pushing the two double doors open. You see Satoru’s white hair first, lying in the bed directly across from the doors. He’s hooked up to two IV’s, his eye a brilliant purple. 

You walk in, grabbing his hand in yours. His eyes flutter open, his eyes softening at the sight of you across from him. He squeezes your hand twice, wincing as he sits up in his bed to face you. 

“If you put on a cute little nurse's uniform, we could live out one of my biggest fantasies right now.” he whispers, his hand caressing the side of your cheek. 

You laugh through your tears, cursing his idiocy in moments like this. He’s okay. He’s making perverted sex jokes while he’s in a hospital bed. He’s more than okay. You look back at him, his blue eyes staring into yours. You can feel the tears flowing out of your eyes, your neck drenched in your tears. 

“Hey, hey. I’m okay.” he says, opening his bandaged arms for you to enter his embrace. 

“Don’t do that again, ‘Toru. I thought you left me. You’re the only family I have.” you say, pressing your face against the side of his neck, taking in his familiar musky smell. 

“Excuse me little lady. You’re the one who left me. You’re the only family I have too. Can’t believe you thought otherwise for even a second.” he says, his hand running through the side of your hair. 

“You just seemed so mad. And technically, he is your kid.” 

He tightens his grip, pulling you away from his chest to look at you. 

“He’s our kid. I got mad but that’s what family does, love. We disagree, get into a fight, but come back to each other at the end. Kind of broke the rules by walking away, silly girl.” he says, his fingers poking into the soft of your cheek. 

“We don’t have any rules. But, I won’t walk away again.” you say, cupping his face in your hands. 

“Better not. I’ll crash the car again to bring you back.” 

You glare at him, squishing his face tighter in your hands. Still immature, even in a hospital bed. 

“There’s that downright horrifying glare I love.” he laughs, pressing a kiss to your forehead. You smile in response, pressing a kiss to his cheek in response. 

“Where’s Megumi?” you ask, settling back into his arms. 

“Getting stitches. I tried to join him back there, but they wouldn’t let me.” he says. 

“I’ll send Miki in to sit with you. She’s out there crying puddles. I’ll try to see if I can go in there and hold his hand.” 

He nods in response, letting go of you as you get off the bed next to him. 

- 

You watch Tsumiki run into Satoru’s arms as soon as she enters the double doors with you. You watch him hold her close, whispering into her ear as you cross the hallway to find Megumi. 

Before you grabbed Tsumiki, Satoru had mentioned that Megumi and Tsumiki had heard parts of your fight and seemed slightly bothered by the entire ordeal together. Tsumiki’s comment from earlier suddenly made a lot more sense to you. 

You find Megumi at the end of the hallway, wincing at the doctor putting stitches in his hand. When you reach his bed, you press a kiss to the top of his head, holding his free hand in yours. Your tears have returned, the relief flooding through you that your kid is mostly still intact. 

He squeezes your hand as the doctor continues, salty tears streaming down his face. You swipe your fingers across his cheek, wiping away the wetness with your hands. 

“Are you mad at me?” he whispers, his eyes still narrowed towards the ground. 

“No. Are you mad at me?” 

“No.” 

The two of you sit in silence, your hands still pressed together as the doctor continues the stitches. You can’t help but stare, eyeing Megumi for any signs of pain as time goes on. He has a long gash running down the length of his arm, a few pieces of glass lodged near his wrist. 

“I won’t fight anymore.” 

You shoot him a weak smile, letting him lean his head against your shoulder. The two of you sit in silence for a while, with him rubbing circles into the side of your hand as the doctor finishes. You and Megumi walk out of the hallway, his arm fully bandaged, to meet Tsumiki and Satoru back outside. 

Tsumiki runs over, crushing you and Megumi into a hug. You see Satoru’s shoulders relax at the sight of Megumi, running his hands through the kid's hair as the two of you walk up to them. 

You bend down, holding the two of them in your arms, with Satoru still sitting up in his bed. 

“So I was thinking.” 

“You can do that?” responds Megumi, effectively cutting off Satoru from whatever he was saying. 

You and Tsumiki laugh in response, you ruffling his hair. You swear you can see the makings of a smile spreading across his face. 

“Since we’re a family…we have to lay down some ground rules. We never made any when we started living together. First, Tsumiki always has to do whatever I say.” 

The three of you glare at him, none of you finding his joke amusing. 

“I’m kidding, obviously. Tough crowd. My first real rule is for Megumi. You can’t punch someone every time you’re upset with them. No more fighting.” 

You smile at him, your heart beaming at his words. Megumi nods in response, agreeing to the first rule put out. 

“Second, we all stay together, no matter what. No walking away. We can argue all night for all I care, but no one walks away.” 

The three of you nod in response, agreeing again. Tsumiki speaks up this time, cutting Satoru off. 

“Three. No arguing if we can avoid it. At least not all the time anyways.” 

You and Satoru promise her you won’t fight, at least not like that again. The four of you huddle together, squeezing each other into the tightest hug known to man. 

“I have one.” says Megumi, whispering into your ears. You nod at him, telling him to speak up. 

“No one leaves the house without saying goodbye. You especially, Mom.” 

Mom. Mom. Megumi just called you Mom. You stare down at him, meeting his gaze. You can see Satoru gaping at the two of you in your peripheral vision. He pushes himself further into the hug, hiding his face against Satoru’s shirt, the tips of his ears pink. You look over at Satoru, smiling at him. You can feel his pouting starting already, you knew Satoru was competitive when it came to these things. 

You hold them all close, soaking in the warmth of the three of them against you. You feel Satoru’s hand tangle with yours behind Tsumiki’s back, his forehead resting against yours. 

“Hey, fifth rule. Everyone calls me daddy from now on.” 

Megumi and Tsumiki groan in response, disgusted by his choice of words. You lightly tug at the ends of his hair, signaling him to shut up and stop ruining your first moment as a family. The four of you head out of the ER, hand in hand, with a congratulations megumi cake waiting for the four of you at home. 

#satoru #satoru x y/n #satoru x #satoru x reader #gojo satoru #gojou satoru x you #gojo satorou #satoru x you #jjk x y/n #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jjk satoru #jjk gojo #jujutsu megumi #megumi fushiguro #fushiguro tsumiki #jujutsu kaisen #seeingivywrites! #read more break

[falcor-thee-luck-dragon]

Tell Me A Story

Loki x f(magic reader)

Summary: Stuck in an Asgardian cell for your crimes, you meet an intriguing fellow prisoner who you can’t help but start to feel something for.

Warning: angst, fluff (you’re not leaving sad on my watch)

Masterlist

The ground feels hard. And your head feels incredibly fuzzy, like waking up from a deep slumber by some rude acquaintance who can’t mind their own damn business. Not to mention the throbbing sensation emitting from the left side of your cheek like two annoying disturbances. Were you smacked twice?

What in the bloody shitsticks?

The light in this place is so bright too, you have to squint when opening your irises for the first time to really get a good look at your surroundings. With the light in this awful place too much to bear, you cover your eyes with your fingers to lessen the harshness from above. Soon your gaze trails up witnessed a clean ceiling of pure marble white.

Wait. Are you dead?

Adjusting to the brightness, you slowly bring yourself into a seated position on the equally as shiny clean floor. To your left is a bed and a small nightstand while your right is a see through golden tinged barrier showing the other cells and a single guard walking down the hallway. Cells? Cells!

A prison? You’re in a fucking prison. Shit.

Letting out a dramatic sigh, head in your hands, you suddenly hear a knock on the white section of the confinement hold that turns into loud pounding. Thud! Thud! Thud! And a second later the white disappears, in place shows the same see through golden tinge. A guard on the other side.

“You’re awake.” He says, voice casual as an old friend.

You give him a puzzled look before feeling your face, “I think so.”

He takes a step into your prison where a sword is held in your face, maybe not so much an old friend after all, “As protocol, I must ask you three questions.” Delves the guard, stance never changing.

“Go for it tough guy.”

He remains unfazed, “Do you know your name?” Easy.

“Y/N.”

“Do you know why you’re here?” Uh.

“Well it wasn’t for stealing a child’s favorite toy.” You muse before quickly changing your façade, “But yes.”

He scoffs unamused, “Do you know where you are?”

Now this question you don’t have an answer for so instead do you give him your sweetest most innocent face possible, “uh, maybe you could enlighten me?”

The armored man rolls his dark eyes, “You’re in the royal dungeons of Asgard, placed here by King Odin for crimes against our realm. For that. You will remain until otherwise noted by the King.” Barks the guard, you stare up at him with wide eyes. Shocked and bewildered that you’re stuck in Asgard of all places.

“I didn’t even have a fare trial!” You protest.

“You didn’t deserve one, filth.” He counters before sheathing his sword back into its scabbard and off he goes into the golden tinged door. Out of sight in an instant. Rude.

Leaving yourself very puzzled and irritated at the whole ordeal, you never even got a trial to speak your side of the story. Nothing. Now you’re stuck in this dumb shit of a cell with literally nothing to do and no one around to bother, oh wait who’s that across the room?

Jumping to your feet, you swiftly walk over to the glass; there stands a man in green and black attire, leather bound book in hand as his slender face focuses onto the pages. He’s rather handsome in all honesty, with that dark shoulder length hair of his and the thoughtful expression across his face. You’re now fully intrigued.

Then your mind swirls with a thought, you’re in Asgard. So, this must be prince Loki, the one who failed to conquer Midgard. Soon a devilish smirk crosses your features, “What are you doing down here? I thought princes were the ones to put delinquents behind bars?”

Loki’s face shifts from surprise to amusement as he keeps his eyes onto the pages, “Kings.” Corrects the Asgardian prince.

You smile, “Well this king can eat shit!”

He lets out a breathy snort before finally drawing his gaze up to you, his expression quickly diminishes from amusement into star struck fascination when those beautiful blues land upon your beaming mischievous face. Loki has never seen someone so magnificently enticing in his whole entire life. But here you are, whoever you happen to be.

The raven haired man sets the book onto his nightstand before sauntering over to the glass wall, “And who do I presume you are? My new source of entertainment.”

Waving him off like a blushing maiden, you pretend to get all hot and bothered by his sly comment, “Oh wouldn’t you like to know.”

Loki smirks, “I would indeed.”

You curl a piece of hair around your finger, gifting him a shy smile as you avoid his steely gaze. “Sorry.” You mutter, “I only tell men who can take over whole planets in under three days.”

He immediately loses his humored aurora, replacing it with a slightly taken aback yet somewhat pissed off one. “Ouch. But I can’t image you’re any clever if you happen to be stuck down here with me.”

You point up a finger, “On the contraire, my faults are less hefty then your own. So who really lost here?”

“From the looks of it. Both of us.”

You nod, “That is a truthful observation, but what has gifted us a sentence in exile are two entirely different sides to the relatively same coin.”

“Mine being, failure to conquer and rule Midgard. And yours being?”

“Fine. I’ll satiate your appetite.” He raises a brow as you trail your hand down the buzzing glass, “I may have tried to steal some pretty gems downstairs. Blah blah and I got caught by some lady named Frigga who’s a lot more skilled with magic then I had first realized and now I’m here. Granted I don’t remember getting to said “here” but alas my body remains.”

Loki smirks, “My deer mother got the best of you. How is she up in the real world these days?”

“Oh you know, told me she loves reading, doing the usual witchy stuff, and she hates you so go burn in hell for eternity you shit head little boy.”

Loki could have choked on his own spit, “Pardon me?”

“You heard me, she said she loves you. Is that not what you heard? I really thought I was being pretty clear.”

The Asgardian prince shakes his head, “Forget I asked.” Turning around once again to find his way onto the comfortable looking mattress, new book in hand.

You pout at the lack of attention, what did you say to annoy him? Was it the little shit head boy? Maybe he’s just having a bad day.

——

There he is. That incredibly attractive Asgardian prince of Mischief, just standing there. Reading yet another book in his beautiful greens and blacks and golds as he chooses to ignore you. The insanely gorgeous but deeply irritating woman across the cell from him.

You’ve been in here for about four weeks now and Loki has not cracked once. You’re really trying too! All he’s done is gift you with some telling facial expressions or the wonderful side comment to address your theatrics or harmless shenanigans.

All you want to do is get to know him better. And maybe along the way get the fuck out of here with a little help, and then preferably take the prince along for the ride. If it was only that easy.

Levitating in your cell just because you’re tired of standing all the time, you keep your usual unabashed stare-down with the prince when a random guard marches by. He looks from right to left and forward again before doing a double take over to you.

“Hey! Stop that!” He shouts, lance raised at your smirking face while you continue to float, “You can’t do that here!”

You simply roll your eyes, “Who has made this new rule law?”

The guard pauses for a moment, clearly indicating that he just doesn’t want you floating because he’s a party pooper. He swallows, “By king Odin.”

“By king Odin? Doesn’t his son fly?”

“Huh?” He glances over to Loki who’s not paying attention to you two in the slightest.

“Not that one.”

The guard makes a frustrated grunt before removing his lance away from your face, no matter the safety of the glass, “You can remain afloat but only under my authority.” And with that does he stomp off down the corridor.

Idiot.

You beam a victorious grin as he leaves your sight when a sudden slow clapping can be heard from across the hallway. Immediately do you snap your attention up to the prince who’s already sharing one of his infamous smirks, “Congratulations. You’ll now have an enemy down here. And it only took you a few weeks.”

You scoff, moving yourself to float casually on your back, “It’s about time too. Things were starting to get unbearably dull around here.”

Loki hums, “Ever try reading?”

You snort, “No, no I haven’t. Hmm, but I’d love it if you could read to me, since I don’t happen to have any books within reach. It’s only fair.”

Loki raises a brow, “Only fair?”

“Yes. I have the guards annoyed with me, so, they won’t care much about you. And. You get to read, but also to me as well.”

“That’s a possibly compelling suggestion.” Says the prince, mulling over your words.

“I thought so.”

You close your eyes as a couple moments pass before he speaks again, “But I must decline.”

“What!” You shout in bewilderment as he lowly chuckles, “I might just about die of boredom, you want me on your conscience when I pass into oblivion from lack of entertainment!”

Loki smiles at your adorable face, “Make your own fun.” He teases, though you don’t realize this.

Moving yourself into a standing position, yet still without touching the ground, you press your hands against the golden tinged glass, “Loki! You are a beautifully great annoyance and if I wasn’t stuck in here I would throw all your books about! And then….then I’d knock down your nightstand!”

He smirks, “Charming.”

You pout while your fists clench in irritation, “Fine! I didn’t want to listen to your loathsome voice anyways!” He gifts you with a proud half grin as you turn from him to magically throw your wooden nightstand across the room.

You land, reaching a hand out to launch the nightstand back across the room once more before repeating this action again and again until the whole flimsy thing combusts when it crashes violently into the closest wall.

Breathing heavily, you slowly turn to face the irritation watching you do all of this, “Feel better Y/N.”

Pursing your lips together, you release your tight fists, “Yes.”

He nods, “What would you like me to read?”

“Something joyful…….please.”

Loki shares a handsome grin before giving you a respectfully small bow, “As the lady wishes.” Loki shares a small glance with your curious face before turning to search for a book. He kneels down and soon picks out a book colored in a deep blue, something foreign written in golden cursive on the front.

You slowly return to the ground, this time seated criss crossed as you lean half of yourself upon the glass as you try and get as close to Loki as physically possible. Which is difficult considering the hallway’s short distance keeping your cells apart, but you try anyways. He opens up the book and quickly looks up to catch your gaze before smiling and looking down at the first page.

Loki reveals the smallest blush before clearing his throat, “The Fox and the Raven.” You smirk at his adorable face, how focused and deep in thoughtful concentration he becomes as the words flow off of his sly tongue like molten gold. You could listen to him all day.

“Once there were two beings, equal in skill and game. Best friends since childhood even, but there was one thing that drove a wedge in their long relationship. Another. This beautiful being was beyond compare to that of any god or goddess alike. And the two friends where undoubtedly in love with them.

It began one windy day by the river, the beauty stood, washing their hair by the waters edge with not a mind to mess with anyone in their head. The two friends saw them and smiled. “I shall win their affections.” Claimed the dark haired admirer, Tala. “Not you silly fox, I shall be the one to draw their heart to mine.” Spoke Essek with great confidence, his bestfriend in the whole entire realm.

They looked to each other with clear frustration sculpted into their faces, so, the friends came to an agreement. Whoever failed to win over the water nymphs heart, that friend must stay in their animal form forever while the victorious one could live on as they always have. Maybe it was cruel. Maybe not at first.

Days turned into weeks, and weeks turned into months as the two friends would speak with the water nymph as often as they could. Tala in raven form and Essek as a dashing fox. All was going well as they played their little game of love until the water nymph began to grow quit fond of the raven for his talents in the sky and witty personality.

So much so that on the next full moon, the raven revealed himself to his true form before making love to the joyful water nymph on the rivers edge. And so the very next day when the fox arrived to speak with the nymph, he was surprised to find Tala laying underneath a weeping willow with the nymph in his strong arms.

The fox recoiled with jealousy before his heart shattered in two, Tala smiled a triumphant grin as the fox turned away in disappointment before rushing off into the woodland. Never to be seen again.

So that is why you can never trust anyone who is truly dear to you, for love is a fleeting thing and can turn friends into beasts for something as silly and pathetic as a beacon of affection.” Finishes Loki in an almost sour tone as you sit there on the cell floor, feeling a bit off and out of place from that abrupt turn of events.

You frown, “I thought you were going to read me a happy story?”

Loki closes the book, “I did.” Blue eyes on you in an instant.

“No. You really didn’t.”

Loki gives you an almost dumbfounded look, “The raven got to keep his original form and make love to the water nymph what else is there to want?” He questions like it’s the most obvious thing in the entire world. Not.

“The fox is depressed now. That’s not very happy.”

“It was happy for those two, was it not?”

You roll your eyes, “It was. But a happy story should have a happy ending for everyone involved. That’s the point of a happy tale being told.” You counter as he lets out a frustrated sigh.

“Not everyone gets what they want in the end, Y/N. That’s just life, some are fine and persist while others turn and run with nothing of any significance still clinging to them.”

You sit there a moment in bewilderment, soon rising to float threateningly by the glass, “That’s ridiculous! A happy story should be fucking happy! Love is supposed to be kind and beautiful, not this wedge that turns people against one another and supports a game that shifts into jealousy and disdain for one.”

Loki hums, “Well it is just a story after all. Love does that because it isn’t truthful ever, it’s a fleeting thing without any weight that only causes pain and disappointment.”

Your brows soon furrow at these dark words, “Oh and what do you understand about love?” You hotly challenge, voice accusatory and fierce.

“That it isn’t real.” Mutters the prince with a casual shrug, though his face flashes with uncertainty.

You scoff, “Is it now? You think love is a simple lie? A trick from the universe to keep races existing until their worlds collapse?”

“Yes.” Nods the Asgardian, “That’s what I believe.”

You take a breath, feet slowly touching the cool tiled floor as you speak, “You have no idea what it feels like then. So how can you claim it to be false?”

Loki crosses his arms, “True love isn’t real because that just cannot be realistic in any sense Y/N. Same thing as feeling happy or when you sneeze….the feeling is a feeling like butterflies in your stomach when you get excited. But like every emotion given, it leaves and the feelings are dulled or just dissipate altogether.”

“You’re wrong.” You bitterly mutter, voice low and filled with a somber hurt.

“And how would I be wrong then?” He wonders, truly curious to see how on earth you are able to counter this. He doesn’t wholeheartedly believe in love, though his growing affections for you seem to have him conflicted. He still wants to know.

“It is like magic, to be in love.” You reply, a faint smile ghosting your lips as you press your hands against the glass, “It is bright and brilliant and beautiful. It does not come and go like a fleeting spark from a dying flame. Love, like magic, forms from within when let into someone’s vessel. It is a power that always remains no matter where the person travels, or how old they become. Love, in the end and always through existence will remain. No matter what.”

Loki could have shed a tear at your beautiful explanation, yet his stubbornness persists, “A fairytale. Nothing more.”

“A fairytale? A fucking fairytale!?” You shout, voice rising in fury, “You don’t know anything but the lies you tell yourself you heartless bastard! All I wanted was a happy story that made me smile before I’m executed! And you couldn’t even give me that you selfish prick of a man!”

Loki’s heart grows cold as a winters morning, he blinks, forgetting how to properly breath at your heated declarations. He steps closer to the thin glass, brows furrowed in puzzled apprehension, “You’re being executed?” He asks, tone low and thoughtful.

Face falling into a deep frown, you lower your head in shame, “I have been condemned to die for my crimes above. Guess they’re not so simple as I had first claimed.”

“What do you mean?”

You let out a telling sigh, “I didn’t try and take the queens jewels, I tried to murder her..”

“You what?!” Whispers the Asgardian prince, eyes wide in shock, “What do you mean?”

Your gaze keeps trained onto the floor, “I am…well, I was….an assassin. Who, ultimately could not force myself to murder your mother Frigga, so I let myself be caught and taken. It’s the least I deserve for the life I’ve led. This is just how it goes, and I’m ready.”

Loki’s mind races, he never even suspected such a thing coming from you. Sure you’re indeed a beautiful mystery of a person who enjoys levitating in her cell for the hell of it. But your appearance and pose never revealed someone capable of homicide as their profession, least of all you.

And now, his father is condemning you to death rightly so, but Loki can’t help but think you don’t truly deserve this fate. Maybe, just possibly, he’d feel like he was losing a close friend. Someone who he never had any intentions of developing these strange new feelings for.

“I won’t let him end your life.” Suddenly speaks the prince, “You didn’t kill her, you actively chose not to, so I believe he could sway his final decision.”

You let out a breathy laugh, “Wishful thinking.” Just as three guards dressed in their true Asgardian golds walk to the front of your cell. Loki swallows, they dissipate the golden tinged force field, leaving you with nothing but air to keep you from their clutches.

“Y/N.” Softly calls the dark haired prince, voice small and desperate, he didn’t think they would take you so soon but what does he truly know anymore? Your sad eyes lock onto his as one guard snaps metal cuffs against your wrists, and another around your throat before he ushers you out.

Loki can’t tear his eyes from yours the whole time, and even after you’ve been dragged down the hallway and out of sight. He thinks, maybe you’ll return and it was all a big misunderstanding, a simple nightmare and he’ll wake any second now. But he knows this is foolish thinking, you’re never coming back. And he’s beside himself.

Loki bows his head in silent anguish, fists clenched tight as his heartbeat begins to race when suddenly he releases his grip and a small blast of green magic emits in the aftermath. Just enough power to knock some books onto the floor in protest. He doesn’t pick them up.

In the following days, Loki would pace around his cell like a nervous lion. Reading book after book to help pass the time though he couldn’t stop his racing mind from thinking about you. Where were you now? What had they done to you? Did it hurt?

He didn’t know and what’s worse is the guards only seemed to mock him about it, claiming your life was worth more dead then anything else. It stung like a heated iron spear left too long in the hot coals, he missed you beyond compare. How did you make him feel this way? When did that happen?

He missed your mischievous smile, your alluring eyes of curiosity and concealed chaos. The way you spoke to him like a person and not just a prisoner, or even a prince who’s disappointed his whole kingdom. You didn’t care, sure you lived to tease and pester him relentlessly, but you didn’t truly care about his current status.

You drew the attention out of him without even needing to try, brought a smile upon his face weather he was aware of it or not, and made him feel genuinely excited about waking up the next day. You became everything to him and more, and Loki hadn’t even realized this until it was too late.

But now you’re gone. And he will never see another Y/N for as long as he is to live.

Loki sits with his back against the wall, hair undoubtedly a wild mess closely matching that of the room about him. Books, clothing, furniture, and other personal belongings lay around his cell like the aftermath of a furious hurricane. He didn’t mean for this to happen, but when he got word that his mother was injured in the attack by the dark elves and freed prisoners. He new it was his fault, he led them to freedom after all.

With his mother healing from her non fatal wounds, and the loss of his dear Y/N to the axe. Loki has been doing less then tremendous these past few weeks, clearly. The prince now closes his weary eyes, breathing steadily as a new presence makes itself known across the golden tinged glass. He doesn’t care to look.

“Well don’t you look sad.” Teases a familiar voice, not condescending but just enough to make him laugh if he felt like it.

He opens his eyes to find your smirking face, body safe and sound wrapped in a cloak of white and intricately laced gold. How absolutely beautiful you are. His brows furrow as he mutters, “You’re just an illusion.” Voice horse and filled with doubt.

You raise a brow, “So is this?” You ask in reference to the clean cut illusion Loki is controlling, “I think not. I can see right through it.”

He forgot about the illusion he’s been creating since his breakdown, of course you’d see right through it, “You died. And my mother is hurt.”

“So you lost control within yourself and chose self deprecation? And apparently…chaos.” The trickster god rolls his tired eyes which causes you to chuckle, “I see my passing onto greater things has weakened your ego.”

He scoffs, “Your ghost form does not amuse me.”

Taking a glance down the vacant hallway, you step right through the golden tinged force field like it’s nothing more then air. “Loki Laufeyson, I am not a phantom or a dreary pigment of your imagination you foolish prick. I am Y/N, Goddess of Chaos and Magic. And someone who has missed you deeply.”

Loki frowns, blue eyes focused up at your truthful face as he sighs, “I….I don’t think I understand what is happening.”

You approach his side before kneeling down to reach his level, you two have never been this close before, “My tale was true as the forming of this realm itself. But your mother saw me for who I am, not what I have been enchanted to do with my life. So she gave me another chance to live, and so I did. To protect her and guard her until she deems otherwise, that’s why I’m still alive and that’s why your mother still has a beating heart.”

Loki reaches out for your hand that you gladly let him take, “Those prisoners..”

“I killed them. Every last one of those fuckers and the damn dark elves who attempted to crash their ship into the great hall. Let’s just say, it didn’t go according to their plans.” You explain, pausing for a moment to share a longing look with the Asgardian prince.

The corners of his lips rise into a soft smile, a deeply relieved one while you look down at your laced fingers, “Loki.” You whisper before drawing your head up to properly look at him.

“Yes.”

“I’m still counting on a better story.” You muse as he lets out a breathy laugh.

“Unfortunately none of these books happen to provide a decent tale, my dear.”

You gently squeeze his hand, “In that case I’ll bring you all the books stuffed in that giant library. There’s bound to be a good one, something happy.”

“I’d like that.” Nods the prince.

You smile, “But I have to ask you one thing.”

“Of course.”

“Did you miss me?”

Loki squeezes your hand right back, “More then I’d ever missed anyone.” Reveals the dark haired prince as he reaches up to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear, though his fingers linger on your cheek a moment longer before he slowly pulls them away and into his lap.

You can’t help but snicker which causes his face to scrunch up in puzzled embarrassment. Immediately do you reach up to cup his cheek, “I felt the same way. And I think I might feel a bit more too, quit possibly a lot more. No. Yes definitely a lot more then I first led on from a few weeks ago in fact and all I must admit to you now Loki Laufeyson or Odinson..prince of Asgard I think I’d like to kiss you now if that’s okay with you.”

Loki blinks, did he hear you right? “oh.” He mumbles, clearly unsure of himself or whatever wonderful thing you just said.

You immediately remove your hand from his cheek, “Too soon. Sorry I just thought I read you right maybe I was wrong I can just leav….” You don’t even have a moment to finish your sentence when his lips press pleasantly against yours.

His hands hold your face while your own hands gently grip onto his forearms for support in your awkward positioning, with him sitting and you still crouched. But it matters not when his lips move in time with yours, he feels so lovely, like a hundred roses pressing against your skin.

Giving you that soft velvety feel, you could kiss him all day if he’d let you. Though soon enough the two of you must break for some air, and with that do you pull him to his feet while you float just inches off of the messy ground. Loki never once taking his hand away from yours.

“How can you….how can you do that?” Wonders the prince as he glances from the ground to your face.

You shrug, “How can you move things with your mind?”

He smiles, “I guess, I just can. A terribly lackluster explanation I know, but perhaps I’m not truly certain how either.”

“Well let’s not dwell on the unknown for too long, this moment right now is too sacred for anything else. And though I have to leave, I will return to you…..and next time with more books. Then you will have no choice then to read them all to me.”

Loki hums, “I don’t see a problem there.” Before whispering in your ear, “Maybe bring some wine, I couldn’t think of a better way to spend an evening.”

You share a bright grin, “As the spoiled prince asks, but it will cost you.”

Loki raises an intrigued brow, “Cost what?”

“A kiss. Before and after I do your bidding. Can you settle for those terms?”

Loki’s lips pull into an adorable smile, cheeks almost dusting pink at your new flash of boldness. He’s never met anyone quit like you in all his years alive. “I believe those terms are acceptable.”

You give him a wink, “Good. See you then.” And with that do you crash your lips against his for on more heated embrace before leaving one final kiss to his slender cheek and floating out of the cell you go. Stopping behind the glass to give your new lover one last fleeting look, “Miss me you prick.”

Loki smirks, “Always.”

#loki x reader #loki x you #loki x y/n #loki #loki laufeyson #loki odinson #loki imagine #marvel x y/n #marvel x reader #marvel x you #marvel #god of mischief #fanfiction #fanfic #tom hiddleston

[bakubabes-tatakae]

For The Love Of Humanities Strongest (Part One)

A/N: This is a rerelease of the series that I’ve been doing for a little while now. I’ve made some changes and changed up the wording to make it more of an x reader piece for you all, so I really hope that this new version of it will be a lot better for you guys. I’ve been saying that I’m going to revamp all of my series for a while now, so I’m finally getting to that for you all. I’ll be starting my series up again and will be releasing a schedule for a weekly piece to them very shortly. ☺♥

Pairing: Levi Ackerman x Yeager!Reader

Summary:  When all seems lost Y/N knows that she can count on one person to always be there for her brother, Eren Jaeger, and herself. Can humanity’s strongest not only keep Eren in line, but keep his relationship alive as well?

Warnings: angst, character death, titan attack, family arguments

Word Count: 3.1k

Masterlist (only part one is rereleased so far)

Five Years Ago

As the Scout Regiment walked back through the gates of Shiganshina you were all greeted by many worried faces. You stuck as close to Erwin as you could, you knew that everyone was disappointed in the Scouts. Another failure in the books was how the citizens behind the wall would see this. And you knew that your little brother would be out there watching. He would smile on as the remaining Scouts made their way through the gates. He would be filled with happiness as he watched his favorite group of people return. 

The mumbling started as soon as they saw your faces. You walked next to Erwin’s horse, trying to hide your shame as you tried to ignore the words and whispers that circled you. 

Erwin had always been like a brother to you, he was your best friend, your shoulder to cry on. He had been the main reason why you had even joined the Scout Regiment. 

You looked over to your right shoulder and saw his smiling face. This boy had no idea what was really happening outside those walls. Keeping his innocence was going to be your number one priority. You and Erwin both looked over at him and upon seeing his smile you couldn’t help but hang your heads. 

So many of your comrades had lost their lives. So many people that you had spent so much time with were gone in a blink of an eye. You could never unsee the things that you had seen… and this was only your second time outside the walls. You were officially scared, to say the least. 

As you listened to the chaos around you, you couldn’t help but let tears slide down your face. “They’ve sure taken a hit, haven’t they?” “The rest of them got eaten.” “That’s what happens when pride takes you outside the walls.”

None of that was why you did it. Pride had absolutely nothing to do with it. You wanted to make a better world for the people that we still around after the titans appeared. Emotions flooded you as you tried to ignore the whispers once again. 

You felt a hand grasp your wrist and you looked up, a startled expression filling your features. You met the blue eyes of the one that had your affections. He put his hand on your face and wiped away the tears while looking back at the crowd around you. You hadn’t even noticed that you had let them slip. 

He looked over and saw your brother as well, but his face was different this time. There was no smile spread across it, just worry.

An older woman came out of the crowd and stopped the whole regiment from walking. She was shouting, shouting out someone’s name. You braced yourself again. You knew exactly what was about to happen. “Moses! I beg your pardon, where is my son? He should be with you all. Oh please, tell me he made it.” The woman reached forward and grabbed the front of Commander Shadis’s cloak. You turned and buried yourself in your lover’s arms.  You couldn’t bear to watch the heartache again. 

The Commander had no emotion on his face as he spoke to her. You had all seen too much, you were all exhausted. “I wish I had better news… Give it to her.”

Another man next to him handed her an object wrapped up in a blanket. Her cries broke your heart more than it was already breaking. “I’m sorry. That’s all there is left of him.”

The woman dropped to her knees and you pulled away from your boyfriend’s grip, running to her. If it had been you in the situation you had hope that someone else would do that same. 

Erwin tried to grab the back of your clock as you run by, but he was unsuccessful. 

You knelt down with her and wrapped her into your arms. You didn’t even know this woman, but you just couldn’t help yourself, and she held you without even thinking twice. You had to help as much as you could. She hugged what was left of her son to her and leaned against you. 

The Commander knelt down and she spoke to him once again. “He did good, yes? He was brave? Tell me my son stood his ground until the bitter end.” You had to turn your face from you, you could feel the tears coming again. “Tell me that his death meant something! Tell me his sacrifice gave us a better chance!”

None of you knew what to say to her. You all sat there in shock. You could now feel your brother’s piercing eyes on you. This was one of the last things that you wanted him to see. The Commander stood back up and his emotions got the best of him. “He was brave… But his sacrifice meant nothing.”

The woman went stiff in your arms. 

“As it is with all our losses, it’s all the same.” His screaming could probably have been heard all the way to Wall Sina. “The day was lost! We have nothing! Your son died because of me! I sent him to his death!” The Commander was losing himself, you had never seen him this emotional before. “I sent them all to their deaths and there’s nothing to show for it.” It was now that you wished you had covered your ears. “ALL OF IT AMOUNTS TO NOTHING!” 

Another group of men from the scouts grabbed our Commander and pulled him away from the woman. And with that the Scouts began to walk again, clearing the way of the road. 

As they reached you, Erwin jumped off his horse. “Y/n, let’s go. We have things to attend to. You had a family to get home to that’s worried.”

The woman looked over at you and with a weak voice that tore your heart in two. “Thank you for your kindness.”

* * * * * * 

You walked through the doors of your parent’s home to find your mother doing dishes and your father sitting at the table, looking through his medical journals. As they heard the door open both of them stopped, worried about whether it would be you walking through the door, or your other half there to tell them the bad news. 

When she saw it was you, your mother dropped the plate she was washing and ran to you, Carla Yeager had always been a huge family woman. “Oh Y/n, I’m so glad you’re okay.” Her hug was crushing, but you welcomed it, being outside the walls always reminded you of how much you loved your family. “There were rumors going around that a majority of the Scouts had been wiped out. I prayed that the two of you weren’t part of that.”

You gave her a weak smile. “I’m fine, mom.” You walked to your father and wrapped him in a hug. “Hey daddy,” He kissed the side of your head and sat back down, getting back to his work, the Grisha thing to do. You sat at the table and barely thirty seconds later after you sat down the door opened again. 

Your little brother stood before you with a huge smile across his face. He ran to you and jumped into his arms. “Y/N!”

You smiled the same weak smile you had given your mother again. “Hey, Eren.”

A little girl stood behind him and walked slowly over to give you a hug as well. “I’m glad you’re okay, Y/n.”

“You guys aren’t getting rid of me that easily, Mikasa.” You ruffled her hair as she stepped back from your hug. 

Eren jumped into the chair next to your father, the one that you had just occupied. Carla set bowls down in front of all of you and dinner commenced. Eren questioned your father about where he was headed next and the conversation went on as normal. That was until Mikasa spoke again, causing your mother to completely lose it. “So... Uhm, Eren’s thinking about joining the scouts.”

Everyone froze and Carla whipped herself around faster than she had when you had walked through the door. Eren’s face? He was pissed. “Way to keep a secret, you mouthpiece!” 

Carla ran to him and scolded him. “You get that thought out of your head right now, young man.” You hadn’t seen your mother this irate since you had told her Erwin had gotten you into the Scout Regiment. “No son of mine is going to be fodder, do I make myself clear?” She looked over at you and her eyes welled with tears. “It’s bad enough that that Erwin character roped your sister into it.” Carla took the towel from her hand and tossed it to the ground. “If she had told us she was going to do it before she did, I would never have let her leave the house.” 

“Stop yelling at me!” Eren had always had a temper, and he had no fear of hollering back at his parents. 

Carla looked over at you again, you knew that she had never meant the words that she said, but it didn’t make them hurt any less. “This is your fault. If you had never joined that stupid regiment we wouldn’t have this issue.” Her eyes welled up even more as she reached to grab the towel she had thrown. “You never listen to me, just like your brother isn’t now.” 

You opened your mouth to speak, but Grisha interrupted. “It’s a nightmare, Eren. The outside… you really have no idea.” 

“Yea, I get it, okay?” Eren put his head in his hands and tugged at his hair. “But it’s gotta be better than this life. I’m not stupid. I know it’s ugly out there. I know there’s death around every corner, but I just can’t give up on it.” Eren looked up at your parents and the emotions behind his eyes made you proud in a sense, despite not agreeing with his actions. “Otherwise this nightmare is never gonna end.” 

Grisha stood from the table, not wanting to argue about this anymore. “Excuse me, I’ll be late for the ferry.” 

Your mother ran after him as he walked away. “Darling wait,” She reached for his arm and tried to stop him. “Scold the boy for heaven's sake.” 

“Scold him? Dear, please, think this through. Mere words won’t hold back the boy's curiosity.” Grisha chuckled slightly but stopped as he watched her face. He turned to Eren and tried to reason with him. “Eren, behave while I’m gone and I'll let you in on what I’ve been doing in the cellar.” Grisha pulled at the key that was always hanging around his neck and showed you all. “Agreed?” 

Eren was smiling again as he jumped from his chair. “Yes sir, you got it.” As Grisha made his exit you all followed him, watching him as he left. Eren hollered after him, still writhing with excitement. “Have a good trip!” 

Once your father was out of earshot, Carla spoke to Eren again. “I meant what I said.” 

Eren was confused. “What?” 

“This whole idea is just irresponsible.” 

“Huh? Irresponsible? So what? It’s more responsible to live in fear and hide behind some wall your whole pointless life?” And with that, Eren turned around and ran.

“Eren!”  Carla turned to you and Mikasa, grabbing each of your arms and forcing you to look at her. “The boy needs to be protected from himself. Promise me that whatever happens, I can count on the two of you to have his back.” 

Mikasa nodded and you gave Carla a hopeful look. “Of course mom. I’ll always be there for him.” She let you both go and Mikasa ran for Eren. 

“Can you please go after your brother for me?” She pulled you into a hug. “Tell him to come home, please.” 

You nodded to her in an attempt to calm her. “I have to go back to my place anyway, so I’ll go find him.” 

And with that, you left your parent’s house for what you had no idea would be the last time. 

* * * * * * 

As you stood in your apartment you gazed around. It felt like it had been so long since you had seen your stuff. He wasn’t home yet, probably still at the office with Erwin, that wasn’t an uncommon occurrence. As you reached to pick something up from the floor a huge bang that sounded like a shot from the cannons rang through the air. The force shook the entire apartment, sending you to the floor. You put your arms out to catch yourself as you hit the floor and nearly regretted it, twisting your wrist on the way down. You stood up and looked around you as chaos ensued. 

You grabbed your ODM gear and ran from your apartment as fast as your legs could carry you. People were starting to build up in one area as they all stared into the distance. You turned around to look behind you and couldn’t believe what you were seeing. A hand was holding onto the wall that stood before you. Wall Maria is fifty meters high, there’s no way a titan could just be holding onto it. A second later it stood, the titan was taller than the wall and was staring straight at everyone below. You were frozen in fear. 

With one fierce blow, the titan kicked. Debris flew everywhere as that spot of the wall crumbled before you. Houses were being smashed, people were screaming. Flashbacks from your mission ran through your head. Boulders were crushing people everywhere you turned. Eren flashed through your head and your legs were moving before you had even realized it.

You knew your brother, he would be headed back to the house and you lived farther than where he had probably gotten. You had to move fast. Titans were flooding the streets. 

You ran through Shiganshina looking at everything around you, your heart pounding out of your chest. You hollered his name as you ran, not worried about the titans hearing you searching for him. There was already so much going on around them. 

As you got closer to your parent’s house, you heard a scream. You knew who it was the second you heard it. Eren. 

You turned the corner of the building to your left and stopped dead in your tracks. Eren and Mikasa were trying to lift some a wooden beam, that’s when you realized who was underneath it. Your mother screamed at the two of them. It had been their house that had fallen on her. When she saw you she focused on you. “Y/n, you have to get them out of here. Now!”

You couldn’t even think straight, so many things were running through your head. You ran to her and started to pull on the beam that the kids were pulling on, hoping that maybe your strength would be enough. Carla continued to scream at you. “You three need to run, even if you get me out I can’t walk. We’ll never get away from here.” 

A titan was coming toward you, those footsteps were something you were fine-tuned to listen for now. Soon it would be at your group. 

Eren shouted at her. “Y/n and I can carry you.”

“I’m not leaving you behind mom!” You pulled with all your might, this board had come loose.

Carla lost her temper, trying as hard as she could to save her children’s lives. “Will you two just shut up and listen to me for once in your lives. One thing I’m asking you to do, just one thing! Mikasa, make them, be strong.” She calmed a little, trying to get you to listen to her. “Do you want all four of us to die?”

You could hear ODM gear behind you and you hoped and prayed that it would be Erwin and your other half. Maybe the extra strength would be enough to lift it. 

“Hannes!” You turned to look at him as your mother said his name. “Take the three of them and get them out of here.”

With Hannes there, you knew what you had to do. “Hannes, help Eren and Mikasa, get out of there. I’ll take care of this ugly bastard.” Your anger was starting to get the best of you. Through your tears, you could barely see, but you grabbed your blades from your canisters and got your ODM gear ready. 

Hannes tried to talk you out of it. “Y/n, don’t be insane. You can’t take that thing down by yourself. It’s huge compared to the others.”

You ignored him and started to walk forward. Carla started to panic. “Y/n, don’t do this! Your brother and Mikasa need you!”

You had to focus. You saw Hannes talking to your mother more before following behind you. “I’m going with you. We’ll take this thing down together.”

You nodded to him and as you started to move forward he didn’t follow. Hannes froze. You hit the button for your grappling hooks and shot them toward the building next to the titan. 

As you got into the air and almost to the titan you felt yourself get snatched. You closed your eyes and panicked, it had to be its fist, there was nothing else that could have grabbed you. Your entire body said not to open them again. 

When you finally realized you weren’t in the first of a titan, you slowly opened your eyes. The sound of ODM gear had brought you back to the world. You were in the arms of none other than Levi Ackerman. Levi landed on a building a good distance away from the action and hollered to Hannes, holding you back from going after the titan again. “Take the kids and run!”

You could see Eren fighting and screaming as Hannes picked him and Mikasa up from the ground. Levi held you back and your mother began yelling again. “I love you three, stay alive.”

As you saw the titan bend down and start moving debris around you shouted at Levi, punching him in the chest. “The two of us can take him down! I know we can! Levi, we have to do something!” The titan picked up your mother and before you could even blink, he dropped her into his mouth. 

You buried yourself into Levi’s arms and screamed as the sound of teeth on bones filled the area. “NOOO!”

And just like that, everything changed. 

Taglist: @monic00l​ @strangeinternetwasteland​ @rowley-with-ackerman​ @kyu-pine​ @ellechanwrites​ @bonnisimpparker​ @impinthecloset​ @nikiniki743​ 

©bakubabes-hatake’s original content, please do not repost/modify without my permission

#levi ackerman x reader #levi x reader #attack on titan x reader #levi ackerman x y/n #levi x y/n #attack on titan x y/n #levi ackerman x you #levi x you #attack on titan x you #shingeki no kyojin x reader #shingeki no kyojin x y/n #shingeki no kyojin x you #levi ackerman imagines #levi imagines #attack on titan imagines #shingeki no kyojin imagines #levi ackerman fanfic #levi fanfic #attack on titan fanfic #shingeki no kyojin fanfic #levi ackerman fanfiction #levi fanfiction #attack on titan fanfiction #shingeki no kyojin fanfiction #aot x reader #aot x y/n #aot x you #snk x reader #snk x y/n #snk x you

[bookofmirth]

This kind of discussion that the other side of the fandom has about Lucien they also have about Azriel?

Because the arguments they use and talk about what Lucien is doing, Azriel spent 500 years doing with Mor and it was even Azriel who objectified Elain, even Rhys lost the color of his face when he heard his thoughts, but they see it as love.

Hypocrites.

So honestly, I think the thing that is the most telling in this whole entire discussion, is the failure to see that Azriel is being painted in the exact same (problematic) light as Lucien is. By sjm.

I'm going to go into a deep dive on this okay, because I've frankly been surprised that no one has (to me, at least) brought up the idea of Azriel's portrayal in the book being way worse than Lucien's, and so them both being POC, Azriel being more markedly so, should be a similar problem. Talking about either of them being angry or threatening to either Mor or Elain should be the same problem, right? 

Wrong.

This is going to be super long. Under the cut explanation of why the fandom describing Azriel as angry is not at all the same issue as saying that Lucien won’t leave Elain alone, and how while Azriel’s characterization is fucked up on sjm’s part, the fandom’s interpretation of Lucien is fucked up and that’s on the people who insist on reading him a certain way.

ACOWAR, tbh, fucked up Azriel’s characterization. I’m going to call a spade a spade. When he lost his temper at the High Lord meeting and left Mor cowering in fear, everything shifted. Suddenly his attentions weren’t caring, they were creepy. It became way less about his feelings for Mor, and more about his emotional baggage that causes him to have this rage and disregard its impact on the people he loves.

The thing is, all of these arguments about Elain not being able to stand Lucien’s presence, or him pushing himself on her, or whatever extreme interpretation people choose to make, those behaviors are actually explicit with Azriel. I’m only going to use 1-2 quotes as examples of these behaviors, but there are more. We know that:

Azriel has been in love with - obsessed with, has some sort of feelings for - Mor for 500 years. 

Mor does not reciprocate these feelings.

Azriel experiences rage and anger frequently, and towards the people he should be closest to:

“There was an icy rage in Azriel I have never been able to thaw.” (acomaf)

“Az had a vicious competitive streak. It wasn’t boastful and arrogant, the way that Cassian knew he himself was prone to be, or possessive and terrifying like Amren’s. No, it was quiet and cruel, and utterly lethal.” (acosf)

This rage causes Rhys, Mor, and Cassian all to handle Azriel with kid gloves because they know he can explode at any moment:

She had not mentioned it these past few days in Velaris. Had wanted to make this choice on her own, and had understood how the news might cast a shadow over the merriment. 

She knew Azriel would say no, would want her safe. As he had always done. Cassian would have said yes, Amren with him, and Feyre would have worried but agreed. Az would have been pissed, and withdrawn even further into himself.

She hadn’t wanted to take his joy away from him. Any more than she already did. (acowar)

Azriel tries his best to keep Mor from exercising her agency:

“We could try again,” Mor said. “Let me speak to them, let me go to their palace-”

“No,” Azriel said. Mor raised her brows, and a faint color stained Azriel’s tan face. But his features were set, his hazel eyes solid. “You’re not setting foot in that human realm.”

“I fought in the war, you could do well to remember-”

“No,” Azriel said again, refusing to break her stare. His shifting wings rasped against the back of his chair. “They would string you up and make an example out of you.” (acomaf)

And that leads us to situations like these, when his rage and anger do finally get the best of him:

The frozen rage there rooted me to the spot. But beneath it, I could almost see the images that haunted him: the hand Mor had yanked away, her weeping, distraught face as she had screamed at Rhys. And now, behind us, Mor was shaking in her chair. Pale and shaking." (acowar)

“I want to confirm that Briallyn has the Crown,” Azriel said. “I’ll travel to the human lands tomorrow.”

“No,” Feyre and Rhys said at the same time, in the same breath.

Azriel’s eye shuttered. “I wasn’t asking for permission.”

Rhys smirked. “Doesn’t matter.”

Az opened his mouth to object, but Feyre said, “You’re not going, Azriel. If Briallyn has the Crown and catches you, even if she just suspects you’re nearby, who knows what she could do to you?”

“Give me some credit, Feyre,” Az said. “I can keep hidden well enough.”

“We take no risks,” Feyre said, voice flat with command. “Pull all your spies out.”

“Like hell I will.” (acosf)

(later in acosf)

The High Lord and High Lady of the Night Court had faced off against the shadowsinger this afternoon, and emerged triumphant.

Perhaps triumphant wasn’t the right word, but the argument had ended with Azriel grudgingly agreeing not to spy on Briallyn for the time being - and brooding all through dinner.

Okay, so why did I share these examples? Because Azriel’s anger problem is explicit, it is canon, and that anger can and will be aimed at the people he loves. I could have kept going with the examples, but you get the picture.

Now, the portrayal of a man of color as threatening, especially against a white woman, is racist. That’s just a fact. Saying that Lucien is threatening to Elain has the exact same impact as saying that Azriel is threatening to Mor.

So why aren’t people coming at me for making the statement that Azriel displays red flags? (At least not publicly lol.) I suspect it’s because either 1) people don’t understand the full scope of the argument in the first place and so couldn’t recognize it elsewhere, or because they recognize that....

Sarah Janet Maas explicitly created Azriel to be a rage-y, angry man of color who stomps all over Mor’s autonomy and makes her cower in fear, and argues with the people he is supposed to respect just because... why? Well that’s a different issue, really, but the “why” doesn’t actually matter. The impact of his actions does matter. And his portrayal, combined with the very racist descriptions of the Illyrians, creates a problematic af situation. And to repeat, it is SJM who created this situation.

The fandom is the one saying that Lucien is a threatening POC. It is not canon. It is an intentional choice on the part of some readers to read him this way. They don’t have to read him this way, they choose to. They choose to participate in the narrative that men of color are a threat to white women. Intentionally? I doubt it. That’s why I and others have been trying to explain it, though.

Does SJM even realize what she has created in portraying Az as an angry POC, and by making it unclear why Elain is standoffish around Lucien? I doubt it. But that’s a her problem, not an us problem.

I do understand the instinct to read Lucien in that same overbearing, problematic way because we already have the explicit blueprint in Azriel. That’s already a thing in this world. But there is no evidence for Lucien being that way, and when people settle on that one interpretation amongst many other interpretations, then people are valid to critique the one that leans into the racism instead of away.  

We cannot change the way these books were written. We can critique the fuck out of them, and refuse to perpetuate racist, ableist, or homophobic shit.

SJM created this mess, but we don’t have to roll around in it. We can definitely do better.

#acotar fandom #ask #anon

[americasass91]

Pull-Up Contest

So here is my second ever request! Thank you @shythingstudentdragon​! I had a lot of fun with this! It’s kind of a sequel of this 👉🏻 Push-Up Contest. But it can be read as a one shot. Of course it is smutty! My specialty. Haha. Also I just want to take a moment and thank every single person who reads my stories! You’re awesome! You’re extra awesome if you like, comment, or reblog! But I love everyone who reads them! I just put them out there in hopes of helping you escape from this fucked-up world if only for a few minutes. That’s why I read fics. Okay and because I’m a Super Hoe for Chris Evans and more recently Henry Cavill👀. But anyways I’ll shut up! I hope you lovelies enjoy this!

Also. I’m well aware this👇🏻 is Ari and not Steve but fuck me 🥵

Rating: Explicit(duh, it’s me 🤷‍♀️)

Words: 3.9k

Warnings: smut, unprotected sex, oral(m receiving), shirtless Steve(This is a valid warning), language, I think that’s it.

💪🏼💪🏼💪🏼💪🏼💪🏼💪🏼💪🏼💪🏼💪🏼💪🏼💪🏼💪🏼💪🏼💪🏼💪🏼💪🏼💪🏼💪🏼💪🏼💪🏼💪🏼💪🏼💪🏼💪🏼💪🏼💪🏼

You were starting to think that there was something seriously wrong with you.

Here you were, at another one of Tony’s parties, supposed to be mingling with everyone and making friends and building stronger relationships.

But all you could think about was your sexy as fuck super soldier and having him pin you down against the pool table he was currently standing at and fucking you until you couldn’t see straight.

It was his fault really. Ever since 2 months ago when he and Tony had that push-up contest and you’d asked him to fuck you after, he couldn’t stop.

You’d be minding your own business and just walking to the gym for a workout when all of a sudden you’d be pulled into a closet and Steve would have his way with you.

Or you’d be having a movie night with the Avengers and he’d bring you to orgasm on his fingers as many times as your body would allow under the blanket you two shared.

So really this was all his doing. The fact that you were sitting at the bar with yet another Amaretto Sour and clenching your thighs together is all his fault.

There he is playing pool with his stupid perfect blonde hair. And his stupid tight, blue button up shirt. And his stupid tight, black pants.

You know exactly what’s in those pants and you can’t help but feel needy. You are trying your best to control yourself. You even keep trying to pull Nat into a conversation but then zone out when she starts telling a story.

She’s just about to snap her fingers to get your attention when a commotion starts over near the couches.

You both walk over in time to see Clint attempting to lift Mjolnir off the table.

You go sit by Steve who kisses your cheek. “Um, What’s he doing? He knows he can’t lift that right?”

Steve chuckles. “Well he’s had a little to drink and Thor told him only people who are worthy can lift it so naturally Clint thinks he’s worthy.”

You roll your eyes. Next Tony stands up and starts pulling at it. He has no luck. He quickly leaves the room.

You wrap your arms around Steve’s neck. “Well, what about you? Think you can lift it?”

Steve rolls his eyes. “I may be a little tipsy on Asgardian Mead, but even I know I’m not worthy either.”

Your eyes widen a bit. You pull back and study his face. His cheeks do look a little flushed and his smile is a little dopier than usual. You’ve never seen Steve anything close to tipsy before.

“I bet you could. You should give it a shot. You’re my big, strong super soldier.”

His eyes darken a bit and he leans in to whisper, “I think there are other ways I’d rather show off my strength to you, baby girl.”

Shivers go down your spine. But before you have a chance to respond, Tony returns. This time he has the right arm from his suit on. “It’s just physics.” He exclaims as he goes and grabs the hammer again.

And to no one’s surprise, he fails again. He scoffs and tells Rhodey to go get a piece of his suit.

Steve is trying his best to hold in his laughter. As is everyone else in the room. The almighty Tony Stark can’t lift Mjolnir.

Rhodey comes back and they both attempt to lift it with no luck. Eventually everyone who wants a turn in the room has tried and failed. Steve is losing it at this point. All because Tony can’t get over the fact that he’s not worthy.

“What’s so funny Captain Righteous? You think you’re worthy to lift it? Why don’t you give it a try?”

Steve rolls his eyes and stands up. “Tony I really don’t need to prove anything to you. You’re still pissed that I wiped the floor with your ass with that push-up contest you challenged me to.”

Wow, it may be the Asgardian Mead talking but damn. He was being a little cocky and fuck if it wasn’t turning you on.

“You know something was wrong with my suit! And what are you too afraid you won’t be worthy? Go ahead. Everyone else has tried.”

Steve rolls up his shirt sleeves to his elbows. Fuck. You cross your legs and clench your thighs together.

“Fine, I’ll try my best.”

He grabs the handle and tries to lift it. You swear you see it move just a fraction. But then he pulls again and nothing.

“Ha! Even the great old Captain America can’t lift it!” Tony points and laughs at Steve.

Steve looks pissed. He goes and stands in front of Tony and pokes his finger to his chest. “Why don’t you put your money where your mouth is, Stark? Sure I can’t lift the hammer, but I can certainly lift other stuff.”

He goes over to the couch where Bruce and Nat are sitting and bends down and lifts it up over his head. Holy shit. Well there go your panties.

He gently places the couch back down. He then smirks and starts flexing his arms. “You couldn’t do that without your precious suit Tony. So just admit I’m stronger and let’s get on with our lives!”

Tony scoffs. “Like I’d go down without a fight! How is my suit any different than you being genetically enhanced? You wouldn’t be able to even breathe without that serum swimming through your veins! Hell you’d probably even be dead! So I think it’s still a fair fight when I use my suit against your ‘muscles’.” Tony put the last word in quotation marks with his fingers and then crosses his arms and raises his eyebrow expectantly at Steve.

“Fine! If you think you’re so amazing then how about another contest? A Pull-Up one this time? If you think you can handle it?”

Tony rolls his eyes. “Bring it on, Capsicle!”

💪🏼💪🏼💪🏼💪🏼💪🏼💪🏼💪🏼💪🏼💪🏼💪🏼💪🏼💪🏼💪🏼💪🏼💪🏼💪🏼💪🏼💪🏼💪🏼💪🏼💪🏼💪🏼💪🏼💪🏼💪🏼💪🏼

Next thing you know, everyone from the party is down in the gym making bets on who’s going to win. You refuse to engage in such childish antics. You’re standing off to the side with Steve who has done a few more shots of Asgardian Mead.

“Babe, are you sure you want to do this? I mean you already proved yourself with the push-ups.”

He rolls his eyes and waves you off. “Don’t you worry, sweetheart. Let me just take a few seconds to kick his ass and then I’ll take you back to my room to celebrate my win.” He gives you a wink that goes straight to your still-wet pussy.

Tony saunters in with Rhodey with both arms of his suit on. He meets Steve at the pull-up bars. “Alright, ready to lose you old timer?”

Steve scoffs. “Bring it on, tin man.”

They are about to jump up to the bars when there is a shout from the back of the crowd. “WAIT!”

Everyone turns toward the voice which happens to belong to a very inebriated Maria Hill. “They should do this shirtless!”

“I really don’t see how doing this shirtless is going to-” Tony gets cut off by girlish screams coming from the audience. He looks over and sees that Steve has already removed his shirt and is posing and flexing his muscles.

“I think doing this shirtless is a great idea!” He smirks over at Tony, knowing full well he has the better physique of the two.

Tony scoffs once again. “Oh please, let me show you what real muscles are supposed to look like. Not ones that came from a bottle.”

He of course makes Rhodey put on some kind of sultry song while he seductively strips his shirt as best he can over the arms of his suit. He throws his shirt in Pepper’s direction. He of course has to do a few poses himself. Making sure his muscles are also on display. Which you have to admit aren’t too bad. Nothing compared to your super soldier, but still, not too bad.

Rhodey stands in front with a stopwatch. “Alright ladies! Let’s please get this over with because there is still more alcohol to be drunk!” The crowd cheers at that.

You move over to stand beside Nat. “So who are the odds for?”

She smirks as she’s counting her money. “Oh easy. After that last display, Steve.”

You smirk back. “Well I’m biased but if I was betting, that’s who I’d put my money on too.”

She raises her eyebrow at you. “It’s not too late to make a bet.”

You roll your eyes. “I’m not going to bet on my friend’s failure, Nat. I told you that.”

She shrugs. “Suit yourself.”

You move your gaze back up to Steve who is now somehow in the middle of a posing contest with Tony. They look fucking ridiculous if you’re being honest. You just smack your forehead and shake your head.

“Alright, Barton! Banner! Get up here! Banner, you’ll be counting for Stark and Barton you’ll be counting for Rogers.” He glances back at the two flexing morons. “And please let’s hurry before they embarrass themselves further.”

You chuckle at the look Steve is now giving Rhodey. He reluctantly stops flexing and gets back into position. Tony mimics him.

“Alright, the most pull-ups in 60 seconds will be the winner! Ready? Set? Go!”

Once again you are so glad you don’t have to count for Steve. They are both going way too fast for you to keep up. But then Steve starts grunting every time he pulls himself up and that steals all of your attention. It’s the same sound he makes when he’s fucking you and you can’t handle yourself.

He must be focusing on you because all of a sudden he makes eye contact. You bite your lip and clench your thighs. He smirks and let’s go of the bar with his left hand and starts doing one armed pull-ups. Jesus Christ. He winks at you. His pace has only faltered a little. You still think he’s going to win. God damn you can’t wait until he takes you-

“Time! Alright let’s see how our ladies did!” Rhodey turns to Bruce. “Okay, Banner. How many did our Tin Man do?”

Bruce replies with 214.

The crowd erupts into cheers. “Okay! Okay! Settle down! We need to get the other number before we get all crazy!” He turns to Clint. “Okay Barton. How did Cap do?”

Steve crosses his arms over his chest and flexes. He throws a smirk your way.

Clint raises his head and smirks at Banner. “350.”

Steve starts clapping. “And the best man won, again!”

Tony lowers his head in defeat. “Well, Capsicle. Good match. I’ll get you in something eventually.” Steve goes over and shakes his hand. “I look forward to it, Tin Man.”

You look over at Nat. “So what are you going to do with all of that money?”

She shrugs as she counts it. “Maybe donate it? Buy some expensive shit I don’t need? Not sure yet.”

You shake your head and make your way over to Steve. He’s buttoning his shirt back up. “That was quite impressive there, super soldier.”

He just smirks and picks you up and throws you over his shoulder. You squeal as he smacks your ass. “We’re going for a swim to celebrate!”

“Put me down, Steven!” You try to say with authority but fail when a giggle escapes you.

Tony points at your retreating forms. “So help me god if you fuck in that pool!”

Steve turns quickly to look at Tony. “What do you expect, Stark? We’ve already christened the kitchen, the gym, the movie room, and several utility closets. Might as well christen the pool too!”

“Fine! Alright everyone! Pool party!” Tony screams. The crowd cheers and heads in the direction of the pool.

💪🏼💪🏼💪🏼💪🏼💪🏼💪🏼💪🏼💪🏼💪🏼💪🏼💪🏼💪🏼💪🏼💪🏼💪🏼💪🏼💪🏼💪🏼💪🏼💪🏼💪🏼💪🏼💪🏼💪🏼💪🏼💪🏼

Steve finally sets you down when you get in the elevator. “Well now what, genius? You didn’t have to tell him your plan of fucking me in the pool.”

He smirks. “That was never my plan, baby girl.” He presses the emergency stop on the elevator. “I’ve always wanted to take you in an elevator. Now I believe I won a contest so I think I deserve my cock sucked. So.” He looks from you to the floor as he unbuckles his belt and lowers his pants and briefs enough to free his rock hard cock. He hisses as its slaps against his abdomen. “Well what are you waiting for, sweetheart? It’s not gonna suck itself.”

You cross your arms and raise your brow at him. “And just what makes you think I even want to suck your cock?”

He smirks and presses his body up against you and backs you up against the wall. His erection is now pressed against your stomach. You can feel his precum leaking through your shirt.

He puts his hands on either side of your head and leans in to whisper in your ear. “Because you want me to fuck that sweet pussy don’t you? You’d do anything for me to fill you up. Make you come so hard around my cock that you can’t even remember your own name. And because I can smell your arousal, baby girl. I know you want to. Now why don’t you be my good girl and get on your knees and open that pretty little mouth for me?”

As much as you hate to admit when he’s right, you know he is. Without any hesitation you lower yourself on your knees and open your mouth.

He groans as you look up at him. He strokes your cheek and grabs the base of his cock. “So fucking pretty on your knees for me.” He brings the tip to your mouth and smears his precum around your lips. Then he proceeds to push the head inside. You place your hands on his thighs for leverage and start sucking his tip and making sure your tongue is licking over the slit. He moves one hand to the back of your head and grabs your hair. He places his other hand against the wall.

You remove your mouth from his cock and lean back and take some deep breaths. He looks down at you. “Getting ready to take me in that throat, dirty girl?”

You nod your head and once again lean forward. This time you take him all the way down until his pubic hair is tickling your nose. You hollow your cheeks and suck as hard as you can while running your tongue along the vein on the underside of his dick. You start counting to 10 in your head.

“God damn, look at you. My little cockslut swallowing me whole. I’ve taught you so well.” He moves the hand that’s on your cheek down to your throat. “Fuck baby, I can feel myself in there.”

You get to 10 and pull off of him.You take a deep breath and wipe the tears that have fallen down your face away.

He tilts your chin up. “You are doing so good baby. So good for me. Can you swallow me one more time? Then I’ll fuck that tight, little cunt.”

You moan at his words. “Yes, Captain. I’ll be a good girl and swallow your cock again.”

You lean forward and take him in your mouth all the way down again. You begin to suck and work your tongue. Steve is grunting and cursing above you. You don’t even make it to 7 when he’s pulling your off of him and raising you to your feet.

He pushes you against the wall and crashes his lips onto yours. He hastily unbuckles your belt and pushes your jeans and panties down in one go. You quickly kick them and your sandals off to the side.

Steve moves his mouth down to your neck and starts sucking on the spot that drives you insane. He takes his right hand and movies it in between your legs to your heated core. He’s instantly met with wetness. He growls against your neck and proceeds to push 2 fingers inside you until he’s knuckle deep.

You grab onto his shoulders for support and whimper out his name. He takes his left hand and starts pinching your nipple through your shirt and bra.

You start grinding against his hand. You move your fingers up into his hair and tug. “Stevie, please. Need you.” You’re able to moan out.

He smirks against your neck and removes his fingers. He brings them up to your lips. You waste no time and suck them into your mouth, enjoying the taste of your arousal on them.

He releases his fingers and grabs your thighs and hoists you up until your legs are wrapped around his waist. “Are you ready, baby girl? I don’t think this will take very long. You got me too worked up with your pretty, little mouth.”

You quickly nod and once again tangle your fingers in his hair. “I don’t care. Just please fuck me, Captain.”

He doesn’t need to be told twice. “Guide me in, sweetheart.”

You move one hand in between you and grab a hold of his cock and move it towards your entrance. You ruin the head along your opening a few times, getting it nice and coated in your slick. As soon as you remove your hand, Steve snaps his hips forward and fills you with one thrust.

You scream out into the otherwise empty elevator. Grabbing onto Steve’s shoulders, nails digging in. “That’s right baby. You like the way my cock fills you up? Like feeling me that deep?”

You can only nod in response. He gives you a few more seconds to adjust before he starts thrusting at a brutal pace. You can only hang on and enjoy the ride.

“So fucking tight. God damn I love this cunt. Like it was made just for me. Isn’t that right, baby? Your cunt was made for my big, fat cock wasn’t it?”

You whimper out what you think is a yes. You’re not entirely sure. With every thrust his tip kisses your cervix in the perfect mixture of pain and pleasure. You already know your orgasm is going to be intense. You can feel it building.

“Fuck baby, I can feel you squeezing me. Gonna be a good girl and come for me? Come all over my dick?”

“Harder, please Stevie.” You are able to moan out while tugging his hair hard enough to make him growl. He obliges and starts slamming into you harder. His hands on your thighs tighten even more. His lips attach to your neck. You know there’s going to be bruises and hickeys tomorrow. You could care less.

All you cared about right now is being here in this moment with your Steve. Even though he was fucking you stupid in an elevator, you couldn’t help but think how much you cared about him. You were so in love with him it stole your breath away.

He moves his lips up to your ear and bites your earlobe. “Come on, baby girl. Come for me. Need you to milk me. I know you can do it. I know you’re close. I can feel you. Come for me, pretty girl.”

That was all you needed. You came with some kind of mix of a scream and a moan. You’re not even entirely sure what you said. You just know you have tears running down your face from the most intense orgasm you’ve ever experienced.

Steve stops thrusting and still inside of you. It takes you a minute to realize he’s no longer moving. You look up confused. At the same time you both say,

“Did you come?”

“What did you just say?”

You look at him with what you can only assume is a confused expression. “I didn’t say anything...did I?” You try to bring up any recollection of the thoughts that were going through your head the moment you reached your high. You couldn’t come up with anything.

Steve helps you out. “You said, ‘I love you’.”

You chuckle for a minute and then your eyes go wide as you stare into his beautiful, ocean eyes.

Oh.

Oh.

Oh no.

You guys hadn’t said that to each other yet and here you are screaming it out mid orgasm inside of an elevator.

“I’m sorry, Steve. I was in the throes of passion. I didn’t even realize I said it.” You cup his face.

You can swear you see disappointment flash in his eyes.

“Oh. So, you didn’t mean it.” His gaze falls onto the wall behind you.

You grab his cheeks with more force and move his head so he’s looking at you again. “I didn’t say that.”

The corners of his lips raise slightly. He looks so adorable and vulnerable right now. Like the man before the serum. “Really? You love me?”

You beam at him and lean in for a passionate kiss. Hoping to show just how much you love him through it. “Of course I do, you big meatball.”

He laughs and rests his forehead on yours. “I love you, too. So much. Tell me again.”

You smile, happy to oblige. “I love you, Stevie.” You feel his cock twitch inside you. He groans and starts thrusting again. He moves his head into the crook of your neck.

You hear him mutter into your neck. “Again.”

“I love you, Steve.” You tangle your hands in his hair as his thrusts return to their brutal pace from before. You can feel his cock twitching even more. You know he’s close.

You move your mouth to his ear. “Come for me, baby. I love you. I love you so much, Steve.”

You hear your name in the form of a moan falling from his mouth as he pushes himself all the way in and releases inside of you.

You both just stay like that for a moment. Clinging to each other. Coming down from your highs. Both from your orgasms and from your confessions.

After a few minutes, Steve raises his head up and pulls you in for a sweet kiss.

“I love you, Y/N.”

You smile so big, you think all of your teeth are showing. “I love you too, Steve.”

He was about to say something else when he’s cut off from a voice from above.

“Look, as much as I’d hate to break up this beautiful moment, I have something to say….Are you guys fucking kidding me?? The elevator? You know that’s the elevator I take everyday! You fucking did this on purpose!”

You and Steve burst into laughter at Tony’s anger.

“Oh yeah you’re laughing it up now! You won’t be when I make you take the stairs for a month for this little tryst! Your elevator privileges are hereby suspended!”

Steve smirks at you mischievously. “Ooh, we haven’t done it in the stairwells yet!”

“God dammit” you both hear from the speaker.

Permanent Taglist: @stargazingfangirl18​, @drabblewithfrannybarnes​, @harrysthiccthighss​

#Steve Rogers #steve rogers smut #steve rogers x reader #captain america #captain america smut #tony stark #Chris Evans #chris evans smut #requests #steve rogers requests #sorry not sorry #Cici91 writes

[dontcallmecarrie]

tfw the plot bunny strikes and refuses to let go, here, continuation of this:

.

Loki was torn between chagrin and vague amusement, as he observed everyone else’s reactions to the two Justin Hammers in between herding everyone to one of the safehouses Victor von Doom had somehow managed to get ahold of in this strange world.

At first glance, Victor seemed to be the most unperturbed— but Loki knew him well enough to note the way his eyes had widened when he’d seen the two side by side, couldn’t help but catch the tiniest shift in the way he held himself and Loki would bet anything that if he were any sort of telepath, he’d be hearing nothing but an infernal screeching coming from his corner of the room. 

Ivan Vanko wasn’t much better, but at least he’d elected to hyperfixate on cleaning up the loose ends they’d left in relation to their original mission: from his mutters, some of the security cameras’ footage had been trickier to access than not, and required even more effort to scrub. Loki gave it another five minutes before he was forced to look away from his computer and acknowledge the reality of the situation.

Meanwhile, the Winter Soldiers were an interesting study in contrasts; while Winter was extremely apologetic about the situation and had already apologized no less than five times, Soldat seemed to be content to look on in bemusement as the situation unraveled from there. 

...which wasn’t very different from what Loki’s own counterpart was doing, actually, but at least Soldat wasn’t enjoying the chaos. Visibly, anyway, and Loki was getting a new appreciation for just how irritating that particular smirk looked on his own face. If they all weren’t so focused on calming the jumpier, more visibly frazzled-version of their leader, someone would’ve punched it off his face by now. As it was, though...

.

“Who the hell are you people?!” Justin Hammer whisper-shrieked, in between sharp gasps for air and eyes wide as he cowered away from his kidnappers. “And wh— wh—”

“He’s more high-strung than you are.” Someone muttered to the terrifying figure who had his face—

“Of course he is, he has no idea what’s going on and you guys kidnapped him,” his mirror image replied with a flat look, before turning to face him looking vaguely embarrassed. “Look, Hammer— can I call you Hammer? Wait, no, you can be Justin, I’ll go by Hammer and man this is weird— I can explain. Just. Sit down and take a breather, because it’s, uh, a bit of a long story.”

.

Justin would’ve thought an explanation would leave him with more answers than questions.

He was sorely mistaken.

The headache he had now wasn’t much of an improvement from before. 

.

“So, let me get this straight: you,” Justin jabbed a finger at the dude with the dark grey mask which was just about the only thing differentiating him from his twin, “grabbed me because you mistook me for him—”

“Sorry about that, by the w—”

“—and you’re all from some other dimension and pissed off goodness knows how many organizations trying to figure out how to get home,” Justin steamrollered on, closing his eyes in an effort to take things one step at a time because he was trying not to feel overwhelmed but these guys weren’t making it easy, “is that right?”

“Well...”

“I mean...”

“Yeah.” Ivan— not the bastard responsible for his being in Seagate, another version of him who apparently didn’t actively try and screw people over— replied, and Justin opened his eyes just in time to catch the tail end of his shrug. “That about sums it up.”

“Okay.” Justin nodded to himself. “Why?”

“Why what? You’re going to need to be more specific, here, I’m not a mind reader.” 

“How’d you even get here? Or do you weirdos just go dimension-hopping for fun on a Friday night?”

“You’re not the only one wondering that.” The alien god said airily, toying with a— that was a knife, okay, Justin already knew he was in way over his head, he didn’t need the reminder, thanks. Where did it even come from, anyway? “I would really like to know that as well, Ivan.”

“Oh, nah, this was a freak accident.” Ivan snorted, then gave them all a smirk that gave Justin goosebumps for a second. “As for why...look at it this way: this was weird and stressful for us, and from the start you guys knew what was going on and have me to figure out how to get us back. Now imagine if it’d been the Avengers.”

The silent, broody one— Victor, was it?— made a noise of realization. “That is diabolical. I love it.”

“I know, I was trying to figure out how to temper it when this happened. The ray gun was supposed to be temporary, I’m not sure what happened but the end goal’s a duration of twenty-four hours. Sorry you guys got caught up in the beta, by the way.”

“We are going to be having words about proper lab safety protocols when we get home, Ivan.” Victor said darkly, and something in his voice that had six out of the seven other people in the room freezing for a second.

Justin couldn’t help but notice his...twin was not part of that number.

But first, because this was something he’d been wondering ever since he’d heard of how this ‘Cabal’ operated— 

“Why are you going to this effort?”Justin asked.

“Oh, boy, here we go again,” the guy calling himself ‘Winter’ muttered, but before he do more than start to turn to him in confusion, Ivan spoke.

“Because death is too simple.” He said, not looking away from the computer he’d pulled out. “Because any rando with a gun could do that, if they wanted. No, if I’ve got a beef with someone, I want them to suffer. I want them to regret ever having pissed me off, to curse my name every time they step on a Lego and realize who put it there, to—”

“Yes, I know, we get it.” One of the alien gods cut in. The one who didn’t look like shit, and had a long-suffering look on his face partway into Ivan’s spiel. “If I had a penny for every time you go on that rant...”

“Says the guy who uses my ideas to become the official nemesis of the Avengers.” Ivan shot back, unamused, and the way Winter sighed and Victor pinched the bridge of his nose told him this was a recurring argument. 

“Guys,” Justin’s...twin cut in, and Justin couldn’t help but feel something in the pit of his stomach clench as he noticed the way everyone from his dimension came to attention. “If we could focus on getting home?”

“I know, I know, I’m on it.” Ivan muttered, turning back to his computer. “Trying to throw SHIELD off our trail’s easier here, but it’s still not exactly a cakewalk.”

“Okay. What can we do in the meantime?” 

.

The more Justin saw of this ‘Cabal’, of Hammer and the others, the more uncomfortable he felt. 

Because the more time passed, the more it felt like...he was seeing a better version of himself.

How long had he tried to get people to respect him? How many classes on public speaking and marketing had he taken, how many books had he read in an effort to build his charisma, to be remembered as something other than the cheap knockoff of Tony Stark?

And now...

Justin watched as someone wearing his face walked around, and he was quiet, and fairly introverted, but something about him demanded respect, commanded all the attention in the room when he talked, and... Justin wanted that.

.

Of course, Justin’s...twin noticed.

For some reason, the look of sympathy he got felt even worse than the first time he’d donned prisoner’s uniform in Seagate.

Not to mention the conversation they had, when Justin was ushered into a quiet corner near the safehouse’s kitchen as they had tea.

.

It was. A talk. 

Not a great one. 

Not that there really could’ve been, considering, but.

“I am not you, you are not me, and that’s a good thing.”

Justin didn’t know what he was expecting, really.

Another version of himself, forcing him to acknowledge things he’d thought he’d gotten over— how was he supposed to handle it?

“You were set up for failure from the start, you know. No child should ever have to carry some of the burdens you grew up with.”

Just.

Someone who understood, and how was he supposed to deal?

“You cannot change the past, but you can control your own actions in the future. What do you want to do, who do you want to become? What makes you, you?”

Justin had thought he’d felt tired when he’d finally been brought into the mess these guys were part of, but now his exhaustion felt soul-deep and he didn’t know when he’d started crying but no matter how hard he tried, he just couldn’t stop—

.

Mercifully, the others left him alone for the rest of the day. 

He... needed to think.

.

Justin wasn’t the only one having a hard time, he knew: he’d noticed the way Soldat followed Winter around, trying to mimic his self-confidence, and the Loki of this world looked at the easy camaraderie his counterpart had with a hunger that would’ve made Justin very nervous if that expression were aimed at him. 

Something dark and feral, all jagged edges and brittle smiles and it shouldn’t have resonated nearly as much as it did but—

It made for a good conversation starter, if nothing else. Something relatable to bond over tea, because Victor was a monster who had an irrational disdain for coffee and Justin needed his caffeine fix if he wanted to keep what was left of his sanity.

.

Justin didn’t know what he brought to the table. Not compared to whatever his twin did, anyway, and he didn’t want to go that route either because he wanted to be himself. 

Even if he wasn’t certain what that looked like, anyway, not after decades of chasing after Tony Stark’s shadow, but...

He’d find out. Somehow.

.

“Hey! Guys, I figured it out!” Ivan’s excited cheer woke everyone up early one morning. “Just gotta get my hands on some materials, but we can go home soon!”

#No Hero [Downward Descending] #schrodinger's canon #My writing

[bluejayblueskies]

the before, the after, the in-between

Chapter Six: mixed reunions Words: 4.2k

Relationships: Jon & Daisy, Jon/Martin, Daisy & Basira Tags: Post-Canon, Scottish Safehouse, Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Mute Jon, Somebody Lives/Not Everyone Dies

Work Summary:

There was no knife, no blood, and Jon was not dead. And when he heard a strangled noise from beside him and looked over to see Martin standing in the doorway of the safehouse, flung open and letting in the frigid bite of near-winter and sunlight, there was sunlight, he felt such a dizzying, intense wave of relief that he could hardly breathe around it.

Then, he opened his mouth to say Martin’s name, and nothing came out, and all of the relief fell away in an instant.

.

Jon wakes up in the safehouse in October of 2018, alive and well but without the Eye and without his voice. In the days that follow, he finds himself confronted with a world that has reset itself in space and in time, a version of himself that is no longer the Archivist, and the fact that death during the end of the world had not been so permanent as it had seemed.

Chapter Summary:

Basira seems happy to see you, Jon writes.

Daisy exhales slowly. “Yeah. She does.”

Jon waits for her to elaborate. When she doesn’t, he sighs, taps his pen on the paper a few times, and writes, And is that a good thing or a bad thing?

Daisy stares at the page a long while. Just when Jon thinks she’s not going to answer him at all, she says, “It’s… good. Just odd. Feels… like she shouldn’t be.”

Read on Ao3 (link in source)

Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four | Chapter Five | Chapter Six | Chapter Seven

Or read below:

(cw for mentions of gun and knife violence, mentions of death/murder, mentions of blood)

Stars are just beginning to fill the sky when there comes a knock at the door—two crisp taps, unhurried, but with a heavy insistence that has Martin standing from the couch quickly, mumbling, “I’ll get it,” and crossing the room while Daisy and Jon watch from where they’re still sat on the couch.

“Hel—oh, yes, come in,” Martin says as he opens the door and Basira immediately pushes past, her eyes scanning the room in front of her with a firm intensity. “Nice to see you too,” he mutters as Basira’s eyes find Daisy, and a wide-eyed expression crosses her face so quickly Jon can’t pin down what it’s meant to be.

“Daisy,” Basira says, and then she’s across the room and standing in front of Daisy, hand halfway outstretched towards her. “It’s… it’s really you?”

Daisy’s hand twitches where it’s clasped in Jon’s. He gives it a subtle, reassuring squeeze. “It’s really me,” she says quietly.

Basira’s eyes scan Daisy’s face, the outline of her body, as if searching for imperfections. After a moment, her eyes find Daisy’s again and she nods, as if confirming something for herself. “Right,” she says, retracting her hand and dropping it to her side. Next to him, Jon can feel Daisy tense slightly, though her face remains carefully calm. Basira takes in a deep breath, lets it out, then steps forward and wraps her arms around Daisy’s shoulders, bending down at an awkward angle to do so.

Daisy goes rigid for a moment before softening. Her hand slips out of Jon’s as she tentatively returns the hug, her hands ghosting across Basira’s shoulder blades and her fingers tracing the hem of Basira’s hijab. Basira exhales again sharply, gripping Daisy a little tighter as she does so, and says, “I thought you were gone.” Her voice is even, but there’s a layer of desperation underneath it that makes it sound choked at the edges. Jon suddenly feels very out of place, and he tries to subtly shift towards the other end of the couch to give them space.

“I was,” Daisy says, voice muffled by the fabric of Basira’s hijab. “But now I’m not.”

Basira laughs a bit unsteadily. “Right,” she says again. “I… I wondered if you were back. Didn’t want to think about it too hard, though. Just in case.”

Daisy is quiet for a moment. Then, so quietly Jon almost doesn’t hear, she says, “I’m sorry, Basira.”

Basira grips her tightly for a moment more, then pulls back so she can study Daisy’s face. “Don’t be. You didn’t force me to do anything. I made you a promise, and I kept it. That’s just how it was.” She exhales slowly. “Besides, none of that matters now. You’re back, and that’s a good thing. God knows there’s enough that’s wrong in the world right now.”

Daisy sits very still, a strange sort of tension keeping her rigid. “You’re… not angry?”

Basira frowns. “No. It was hard, but it wasn’t… it wasn’t you, Daisy. You were trying to be better, before, but you did what you had to, and so did I. It’s just how it was; no point in being upset about it.”

Daisy looks down at a point just beneath Basira’s eyes. “Yeah. No point,” she echoes. After a moment, she says, “You’ve been… okay, then?”

Basira’s lips purse. “I’ve been managing. Finding my own way. Dealing with…” She waves her hand in the air, an encompassing gesture, and Jon doesn’t miss the way her eyes flick over to him. He’s not particularly fond of it, though he fights back the scowl. “It’s been a mess.”

“You said it’s been bad,” Martin says, coming up behind the couch with four mugs of tea carefully balanced in his hands. He passes the first one to Jon with a thin-lipped smile, then to Daisy and Basira in turn. “What does that mean?”

Basira sighs and blows across the surface of her tea in an attempt to cool it. “Well, after you… reset the world? Which we’re going to have a long conversation about, by the way.” She looks pointedly at Jon, who looks pointedly back and takes a sip of his tea to hide his glower. He’s still a bit irritated about the whole… group decision situation. Maybe more than a bit. “I woke up in the Institute, still sitting at the same bloody desk I’d been working at when everything went to hell. I knew something was off straight away, because that feeling of being watched? It just wasn’t there. Didn’t matter how, didn’t matter why—it just wasn’t. So I assumed that the plan worked and the Fears were gone, but I didn’t know yet that we’d been thrown back in time or whatever. Got up and started looking around, trying to figure out where Georgie and Melanie went. Yeah, it was weird that everything looked the same, but I’d seen weirder.”

Basira takes a long sip of her tea. Out of the corner of his eye, Jon sees Daisy shift, setting her still-full mug on the side table and tapping her fingers on her thigh in a rhythmic pattern. He thinks, for a moment, about reaching out, but instead, he just curls his fingers tighter around his own mug. “The place was pretty empty,” Basira says finally. “Before the change, the blood and stuff was all cleaned up about a week after that last attack on the Institute, and then it was just me and a few others. Rosie, a couple of people from Artefact Storage. The people who’d survived and who weren’t smart enough to just… stay away. Rosie was still at her desk. She looked like she’d seen… well. She looked like she’d seen what the rest of us had seen. And…”

Basira exhales slowly, and for the first time, she looks… hesitant. Like she’s not sure she should continue. After a moment, Martin says, “And what, Basira?”

Basira looks down into her tea, her jaw set. “And him. Elias. Jonah. Whatever. Just… sitting behind his desk when I opened the door to his office. Like nothing had even fucking happened.”

A shock of something simultaneously icy cold and red-hot laces up Jon’s spine, and he nearly drops his mug. He looks at Basira with wide eyes, even as he thinks that it makes sense, of course it makes sense, everyone who died while the world was wrong came back, of course he would too, why would it be any different. He remembers the sensation of the knife tearing its way through Jonah’s throat, the heat of the blood as it had dripped down his hands and wrists, tries to juxtapose the image of Jonah lying dead on the Panopticon floor with the image of him sitting alive and well and breathing behind his desk once again, and feels sick. He doesn’t realize he’s been holding his breath until the exhalation rips its way harshly out of his throat like it’s been punched out of him. He barely feels Daisy’s hand as it wraps around his, barely feels it as she takes the mug of tea from him and settles it on the floor so it won’t spill. He registers the brush of another hand against his arm, and he hears Martin’s voice from beside him, saying with concern, “Jon? Breathe, love. It’s all right, just breathe.” Then, to Basira: “Christ. He’s alive?”

“Was alive,” Basira corrects, and just like that, all of the air crashes back into Jon’s lungs and he takes a deep, rattling breath, his eyes focusing on her face as it twists into something that might be called a smile if one were being generous with the definition. “I… I didn’t really think. Just pulled my gun and pointed it at him. No Eye, no contract. No reason not to kill him. I wasn’t planning to shoot him, not really, but then he started rambling about- about apotheosis and failure and second chances, trying to convince me that there was no need to be hasty, that we could work something out. Called me Detective again. Just the same slimy bullshit, but without all the bravado and without the collateral.” Basira sighs and looks up from her tea, glancing at Jon with something unreadable on her face. “Melanie was pissed that I didn’t let her stab him.”

Jon makes a choked noise that he thinks, after a moment, might be a laugh. It’s devoid of any amusement, though, and might be bordering on hysterical. Beside him, Martin says quietly, “Shit. Well, uh. That’s… that’s good, at least?”

Basira grimaces. “Sure. It’s great that the bastard’s dead—again, I guess, assuming that you did kill him before everything went back to normal—but things are still a disaster back in London. I’ve been trying to keep them from tearing down the whole Institute, though don’t ask me why I even care about the place after all this. People are angry.” Basira taps her fingers on her thigh in thought. “It’s… probably for the best that you guys ended up out here, actually. Things haven’t been good for the people in charge of domains. They got ahold of Simon Fairchild, and it… it wasn’t pretty. There’s been some chatter about leniency towards the less actively malicious former avatars—I think that came up after they found Callum, actually, which… yeah, that’s a whole thing—but…”

Basira shrugs. But people wouldn’t be so forgiving towards the person who ended the world, Jon thinks with a wry, twisting feeling in his stomach. He fiddles with the notebook where it sits on his lap, but he doesn’t open it. After a moment, Basira continues, “So that’s the state of things, basically. Even though everything’s technically fixed, there’s still a lot of damage, and Georgie, Melanie, and I have been handling it as best we can. Though I think Melanie’s of the opinion that we should just let the entire Institute burn. She’s probably right, but…” Basira shrugs. “It’s just a building full of scary stories now. Might be able to make some use out of it.”

“Right,” Martin says with a sigh. “That’s… a lot.”

“Yeah,” Basira says, sounding weary. “It’s… it’s nice to have a break. To just appreciate the fact that everything’s better now, you know?”

Better for us, Jon thinks bitterly, and he can feel the edges of his mouth twitching into a scowl that he forcibly represses. He doesn’t think pointing out that they’ve condemned an infinity of other worlds to suffering for their own peace of mind would be beneficial, given they’ve already driven that argument into the ground and then some. Besides, he thinks as he rubs his thumb over the spine of the notebook, that would require him to open the notebook and writing it down, and Basira doesn’t know about his voice yet. He’s too tired to hear whatever surface-level pity she might be able to conjure up for him.

“I’ve missed you, Daisy,” Basira says, an increased vigor in her voice as she turns to face Daisy. She looks like she wants to reach a hand out towards her, but she doesn’t. “It’s been… hard. Being alone with all of this. I’ve had Melanie and Georgie, but I… I could use my partner.”

Daisy stares at her for a long moment. When she speaks, her voice is slightly more hoarse than usual. “You want me to come back to London with you.”

Basira nods, a slight frown forming on her face. “Do you… not want to?”

Daisy is quiet for a long moment. Her eyes stare down at the floor, focusing on nothing at all. “I don’t know,” she says finally, the words tense and choked, like the honesty of them pains her. “I… I need to think.”

Basira watches her for a few seconds, something stiff and rigid on her face. “All right,” she says at length, a touch of surprise and resignation lacing her voice. “That’s fine. I can’t stay past tomorrow, though—I have to get back and deal with what’s going on back in London. If you don’t want to…” Basira’s mouth flattens into a line. “It’s fine. I’ll understand.”

“It’s not—” Daisy cuts off with a frustrated noise, almost a growl. “I just need to think.”

“All right,” Basira says again, more placating this time. “I… won’t rush you.”

It’s quiet in the room for a long moment. Finally, as if at a loss for anything else to say and falling back on instinct, Martin offers a tentative, “Would… anybody like something to eat? You’ve been traveling all day, Basira, I don’t know if you’re… er, hungry or not.”

Basira stares at Daisy a moment more. Then, she sighs and says, “Sure, why not.”

“Great!” Martin says, sounding relieved. “Let me just… I’ll see what we’ve got that’s quick.”

He stands, and Basira stands in tandem with him. “I’ll help,” she says. “I’ve got some… things I want to talk to you about. And then after we eat, we’re going to discuss…” She gestures in the general vicinity of Jon and Martin. “Everything.”

Jon curls in on himself slightly. Martin just sighs and says, “Come on, then.” They disappear into the kitchen, and then Jon is left with Daisy on the couch, the faint clatter of cupboards opening and dishes rattling settling into the background.

Now that they’re alone, Jon reaches over and bumps his hand against Daisy’s, a silent question. When she turns her hand over, he takes it in his, threading their fingers together and squeezing firmly. With his other hand, he awkwardly flips the notebook open, ignoring Daisy’s sound of amusement as he clumsily takes his pen in hand and balances the notebook at the same time, and writes, Are you okay?

Daisy pauses for a few seconds before responding. “Yeah,” she says simply.

Jon waits for her to elaborate. When it becomes clear that she’s not going to, he writes, Basira seems happy to see you.

Daisy exhales slowly. “Yeah. She does.”

Again, Jon waits for her to elaborate. When she doesn’t, he sighs, taps his pen on the paper a few times, and writes, And is that a good thing or a bad thing?

Daisy stares at the page a long while. Just when Jon thinks she’s not going to answer him at all, she says, “It’s… good. Just odd. Feels… like she shouldn’t be.”

Jon raises an eyebrow and gives her hand another gentle squeeze. After a moment, Daisy continues, “Even after the coffin, there had been this… weight, between us. I knew she was glad I was back, but I could also tell she was disappointed. She tried to hide it but, heh, she’s always been easy to read for me. She wanted the person I was before, and I knew that, deep down, she was frustrated that I wasn’t that person anymore. I was never… angry with her about it. I understood. Basira’s practical, always likes to have the upper hand. And me choosing to ignore the Hunt… it wasn’t practical. Not for her. She was happy to see me, but she also wished it was a different me. It just… feels weird that it’s not the same now. I’m different, and Basira doesn’t like different. She doesn’t like change.”

There’s been a lot of change lately, Jon writes. Then, while Daisy’s reading his words, he continues, She went through a lot after you were gone. With everything that’s happened, the world the way it is, I

Jon pauses, and Daisy waits as he taps the pen on the paper, leaving little half-formed dots of ink where it makes contact. After a moment, he sighs and finishes, I think she’s just glad that you’re back. Whatever version of yourself that may be.

Daisy looks towards the kitchen. There’s the gentle murmur of voices, too quiet to make out any words above the sound of things sizzling in pots and pans. “Maybe. I… don’t know.” There’s a pause, and then she says, quieter, “Maybe she’s just glad that I’m not a monster anymore.”

When Jon goes to write, she squeezes the hand of his she’s still holding tighter, shaking her head. “Don’t. It’s… complicated.” She’s quiet for a long moment, looking away from Jon and focusing on the faint light streaming in from the kitchen. “The parts of me that she valued the most,” she says at length, “the ones that made me a good partner, that made me strong—they were all that was left by the time she found me after the change. They were all Hunt. And I knew when she looked at me, when she pointed her gun at me, that she saw me. Not the Hunt, not some… monster. Me. But I don’t… know if she believes that it was really me.”

Daisy grimaces, like she’s not happy with the words. Carefully, giving Daisy time to stop him if she wants, Jon writes, You don’t know if she accepts that all the worst parts of yourself are still yours.

Daisy is quiet for a moment. “Something like that,” she says finally. “She… she said it wasn’t me. That the person she hunted through the apocalypse wasn’t me. And I don’t know how I’m supposed to tell her that it was. That it is. It feels like…” Daisy blows out a breath. “Basira’s good at compartmentalizing. It makes her a good partner, a good… hunter. But if I go with her to London, and she just… puts everything that happened during the change behind us, I don’t think things are going to last.” Daisy huffs out a laugh. “She’s stubborn. I like that about her. Can also make things… difficult.”

Jon laughs through his nose and writes, Yeah, Martin’s like that too sometimes. He hesitates, then continues, So what do you want to do?

Daisy studies his face for a moment. “What do you want me to do?” At his look of surprise, she continues, “I can see it on your face. You have an opinion, so just… spit it out. Write it down. Whatever.”

Jon scowls. I do not, he begins to write, before his hand stills, leaving the sentence incomplete. He takes a deep breath, exhales, and scratches the words out with a bit more force than is strictly necessary. Next to them, he writes in thick, dark lines, I want you to stay. Then, quickly after: But you should go with Basira.

Daisy reads the words and hums. “Why?”

Because she’s your partner, Jon writes, irritation and a strange sort of sadness mixing in him and twisting his lips into a grimace, and because she needs

“I meant,” Daisy says, bumping her knee against Jon’s to cut him off, “why do you want me to stay?”

Jon blinks at her, surprised. He looks down at the paper, holds the pen tightly for a moment, and then writes in careful, neat letters, Because I like you. Does there have to be another reason?

Daisy hums and, after a moment, shakes her head. “No. I guess not.” She bumps her knee against Jon’s again, a bit firmer this time. “Thanks. But you’re wrong, you know. About Basira.” Daisy looks at the kitchen again, where the sizzling has stopped and there’s the faint clattering of dishes. “She doesn’t need me. She’d be fine without me. Always has been.” She sighs. “And so would you.”

Jon nods and squeezes her hand. I know, he writes.

Daisy sighs again, leans her head back against the couch. “I think,” she says after a moment, “that… I have to do what’s right for me. Not me and Basira, just… just me.”

Jon is about to ask what that entails when Martin’s voice floats over from the kitchen, telling them that the food’s ready. Daisy doesn’t say anything more as she stands, snorting softly as her maintained grip on Jon’s hand pulls him to his feet as well, and together, they head into the kitchen.

The first half of the meal is spent in relative quiet. Basira keeps shooting looks at Martin, who returns her gaze with something firm and unyielding. Jon shifts in his chair and nibbles on his cheese toastie, trying very hard not to grab his pen and start tapping it on the table just to fill the tense, awkward silence between them all. Finally, Basira finishes her sandwich, looks at Martin again, sighs, and says, “Martin filled me in on what happened.” Then, at Martin’s glare: “What? I’m not talking about it. I’m just… acknowledging it.”

“Good,” Martin says, pinching his toastie just a bit too firmly between his fingers. “Because there’s not much to talk about. Which is why we agreed not to talk about it.”

Irritation washes over Jon, and he tries to squash it down. He can’t help the way his knee starts bouncing under the table though, and he takes a sullen bite of his toastie. Not much to talk about. Sure. For a moment, he entertains the thought of dropping the sandwich unceremoniously, grabbing his notebook, and scribbling out, Thanks for asking for my input before telling Basira your version of events and saying that there’s nothing to talk about, but he pushes the thought away and takes another, bigger bite to distract himself. It’s fine. Martin’s… Martin’s right, it’s not the time.

(He’s still upset that he didn’t even get the slightest say in the matter. It’s fine.)

Rationally, Jon knows that Martin is just trying to avoid what would probably turn out to be a long, spiraling, extremely upsetting conversation-turned-argument. Irrationally, he wants to push the words we’ve condemned a thousand realities to hell; are you happy now? into Basira’s face and watch her try to defend herself. Was it worth it? he wants to ask. Was it fucking worth it, just so you can have your happy ending?

He doesn’t ask. He knows what her answer will be, and he doesn’t want to hear it right now.

It’s fine.

“So,” Basira says, not so much breaking through his thoughts as driving a battering ram through them, “the Fears are gone. For good. And they took your voice with them.”

“Basira,” Martin hisses.

“Just making sure I’ve got all of my bases covered,” Basira says defensively.

Jon glares at his plate. He sets his sandwich down, suddenly no longer hungry. He takes a deep breath, looks up at Basira, and nods. His fingers itch towards his notebook; he keeps them still.

“Hm.” Basira taps a single finger on the edge of her plate. “That… that makes sense, I guess. What with Annabelle’s whole… thing.”

Jon’s stomach squeezes. Throat tight, he nods again, looking away. His eyes land on Daisy, who’s sitting beside him and watching Basira with something unreadable on her face. Her toastie is sitting on her plate in front of her, completely untouched. Then, stiffly, as if preparing herself for a difficult truth, Daisy says, “I... know a little bit of BSL. Picked it up back when I was still a PC. It’s not much, but… it’s something.”

Basira looks at Daisy, her finger stilling on the side of her plate. When she speaks again, it’s quiet, and she doesn’t sound surprised. “You’re not coming with me, then.”

“Sorry,” Daisy says roughly. “Just… need a bit of time. Soon, I promise, just…”

“… just not now,” Basira finishes. “It’s… all right. I understand. Honestly, with things the way that they are out there right now, it… it might be for the best. Just until things settle down.”

“Yeah.” Daisy picks at the edge of her toastie. “You’ll… be safe, though?”

Basira takes a deep breath, and when she lets it out, her lips settle into a smile, thin and bordering on humorless but still warm in its own way. “Always am.”

Daisy laughs a little, just an exhalation of air through her nose. “Right.”

It becomes clear that none of them plan to eat more, so Martin and Jon clear the plates and stack them in the sink while Daisy and Basira sit at the table. Basira says some things to Daisy in hushed tones, and Daisy responds under her breath, and Jon takes wet dishes from Martin and wipes them down with a towel and stares out the window into the darkened sky and focuses on the sensation of cloth under his fingertips so he doesn’t lose himself in the inky black swirling thoughts that are threatening to drag him down.

“Hey,” Martin says quietly by his side, letting their fingers brush as he hands him another dish. “You all right?”

No is probably the honest answer. Jon is sure that Martin can see it on his face even as he nods and busies himself drying the plate in his hands. To his eternal gratitude, Martin doesn’t push, even as his mouth flattens and he continues scrubbing the dishes in the sink with careful, methodical motions. Jon is sure that, at some point, something will crack and Martin will push. Push until it all breaks and shatters and crumbles into a million tiny, sharp pieces. But for now, Jon dries dishes and scratches his thoughts into the back pages of his notebook where they’ve begun to pile up into messy tangles of words and emotions and focuses on the fact that, when Basira leaves in the morning, Daisy will still be here.

That, for now, he thinks, will have to be enough.

#tma #the magnus archives #jaisy week #jonathan sims #daisy tonner #basira hussain #martin blackwood #my writing #my fic #before tag #4.2k... how did this chapter get so long ;___;

[laurenwritesfics]

Here it comes! Chapter three! 

Read the previous chapter HERE. Read the full series on AO3.

Warning(s): alcohol consumption, use of coarse language, description of car accident

CHAPTER THREE: BEFORE THE STORM

The following morning, Frank woke early to check on Mary.

He could tell she’d been crying. Her cheeks were blotchy. One arm was draped over the side of the bed, seemingly still reaching for the book splayed out on the floor. He rested against the door frame, watching her for a moment. When something was wrong, she was a light sleeper. Desperate for a distraction. It would take her a long time to finally drift off. He didn’t want to walk any closer, fearing the noise might wake her. Then –

“I know you’re there.” Mary’s voice was muffled against her pillow.

“It’s too early. Go back to sleep.”

“Can’t.” Her fingers twitched. “I miss Fred.”

“I know. We’ll look again later, okay? Go to sleep.”

“No.”

Frank sighed and shut the bedroom door.

In the kitchen, Frank washed up last night’s leftover plates. Of course, Roberta hadn’t meant for this to happen. He knew that for certain. Wringing his hands on the dish towel, something occurred to him. What if it was Evelyn? He bristled at the thought.

He slung the dish towel over his shoulder and strode into the hallway to pick up the phone.

“Where’s Fred?” He asked tersely.

“It’s not like you to be awake so early. You’re usually passed out from a night at the bar after messing around with those silly boats.”

“Thanks for your concern, Evelyn.”

He could feel her eyes rolling through the receiver.

“To answer your question, I don’t have a clue where he is. Frankly I think it’s offensive that the first person you’d accuse is your own mother.”

Frank scoffed. “Really?”

“Don’t do this again, Francis.” Whenever Evelyn used his full name, he knew she was pissed. “You can’t blame me for everything.”

“I’m not. I’m just saying I wouldn’t be surprised.”

“Honestly, I think it will do her the world of good to spend some time away from that damn cat.”

Now Frank was pissed. “Yeah? Well that damn cat has been more like family to her than you’ve ever been. If you care so much about Mary then why don’t you visit? She needs her grandmother.”

“You know she doesn’t like me. It wouldn’t make any difference.”

“The only reason she doesn’t like you is because she doesn’t know you.”

“She lived with me for six months, Francis.” Evelyn didn’t want to admit that Frank had a point.

“Yeah, and she was gonna run away if the court hadn’t changed the guardianship order.” He shifted his weight and threw an arm out in frustration. “Y’know what, I’m not doing this.”

He didn’t bother to say goodbye.

In the few minutes it took to call Evelyn, Mary had stealthily made her way into the kitchen where she was now attempting to climb the counter to reach the cupboards. Frank rushed over and set her down on the tiles.

“Easy there, Spider-Girl. Go sit down, I’ll make you some eggs.”

Mary shuffled reluctantly over to the kitchen table, where she sat hunched over in deep thought. When Frank slid her plate onto the table, she stabbed half-heartedly at the eggs, taking tiny nibbles. The last time she had been like this was when Diane died. She was grieving again, and it tore Frank apart knowing he couldn’t do anything to stop it. Children react differently to loss – some dwell on it and discover the depth of their emotions, others brush over it and seem to just cope because they don’t fully understand the concept – Mary was the kind of girl who could easily get deeply invested in just about anything. The highs were astronomical. The lows were frightening for her. She was so open, so emotionally vulnerable, but when sadness hit her, she completely shut down. It was as if there were two different girls under the same roof. 

Frank and Roberta were doing their best to instill a sense of hope, but Mary refused to engage. They didn’t understand, she thought. They couldn’t. As much as she trusted, believed and understood the adults in her life, sometimes they could be frustratingly rational. She knew that they had her best interests at heart, and knew there was every chance Fred would be out there somewhere, but just for once, she wished someone would cry with her. All the comfort in the world couldn’t erase the fact that her best friend was gone. A part of her was missing.

For the sake of maintaining the illusion of normalcy, she had agreed to go to school for at least one more day. If they couldn’t find Fred, then she was going to stay home. Frank didn’t want her to feel isolated. She didn’t need to be put under more stress.

As they drove to school, Mary remained mute. When he dropped her off at the gates, she finally spoke.

“You don’t have to pick me up. I’ll walk home.”

Frank opened his mouth to protest but knew it would be useless.

She slammed her door shut.

He watched her shoulders slump, her feet dragging as she made her way through the yard. It broke his heart.

On the way home, he circled the neighborhood multiple times, rolling down the window to call out for Fred. Still, nothing. He called Roberta. Nothing. 

Heading out to the docks, he threw himself into work. He rattled drawers, pored over blueprints, made several phone calls. The afternoon wore on, dissolving into empty stillness. Frank climbed aboard the Celestia – a gleaming yacht that was the pride and joy of a wealthy dentist in Coral Gables – pushed his toolbox aside and broke into the storage drawer where he’d hidden an icebox. He grabbed a beer, popped the bottle cap in the sink and headed back up onto the deck. One day he’d have his own Celestia. Or at least be rich enough to consider it. When he started freelance maintenance work, he was driven purely by passion projects and impulsive agreements with bar patrons. Upon Mary’s arrival, he became a ‘yes man’. He took on anything he could to provide for her, even if it meant working until the early hours or missing Mary’s piano recitals. It didn’t matter how exhausted, frustrated or depressed he was, he struggled through for her. 

His thoughts drifted to Diane. What she would be doing now. Mathematics was her life, but it wasn’t her passion. He remembered visiting her one Saturday afternoon, confronted with chaos. Diane flung the door open and greeted him, covered in paint. Mary ran towards him, pressing tiny red hand-prints onto his freshly-laundered shirt. He thought of her first gallery showing. The way she glowed with pride. Mary’s enthusiasm as she held Diane’s hand and introduced them both to as many people as she could. Even those she already knew. It is, of course, impossible to travel back in time and change the course of your personal history. But Frank couldn’t help wondering what might have happened if it was possible. He certainly wouldn’t be day drinking on a yacht feeling like a complete and utter failure. Would Diane think he was? Probably not. They stood by each other unfalteringly. When Mary was old enough to add her first scribbles to a birthday card, she signed it (or rather, Diane did - Mary drew a scraggly flower and a heart) ‘to the world’s best uncle’. Diane embraced him and told him yes, he really was.

He believed it then. Things were different now.

 Bleary-eyed, Frank glanced at his watch. Shit. He needed to go home.

He fumbled for his keys and dropped down onto the dock. The sedan rattled to life. If Mary was ever locked out of the house, she would usually walk to Roberta’s for a spare key. If Roberta wasn’t home, she would wait by the front door, kicking up dirt. Now, though, all Frank could picture was Mary walking alone, too hell-bent on sleuthing to realize that she was lost. He swung out of the shipyard and drove down to Mary’s school. She wasn’t waiting in the parking lot. He headed to the reception desk. The secretary had seen her leave with the rest of her class. Frank said a quick ‘thank you’ and ran back to the car. A pang of tipsy dizziness hit him, so he sat in the car for a few minutes, pinched the bridge of his nose and blinked rapidly in a bid to straighten himself out.

He took the long way home. The streets were empty. He pulled into the driveway, got out and peered through the window. The TV was switched off. There were no books strewn across the floor or on the coffee table. He opened the door and called for her. No response. He checked her room. Empty. Frank was starting to panic.

Before he set off again, he cracked open another beer. He knew he shouldn’t, but he did it anyway. The stress – or rather, the self-inflicted guilt - was just too much to handle sober. Then, he called Roberta. “Roberta, it’s Frank. Have you seen Mary?”

“I’m sorry honey, I haven’t. She hasn’t come by.”

“Shit. Where the hell is she? This isn’t like her.”

“Maybe she’s hanging out with a friend? Study group?”

“She doesn’t have any friends.” It sounded harsh, but it was true. “If she’s gone out there on her own looking for Fred…if something’s happened to her, I’ll never forgive myself.”

“Don’t talk like that, Frank. I’m sure she’s fine. She’ll come home.”

“I’m gonna go drive around the neighborhood. If she comes by the house, call me.”

“Of course I will.”

“Thanks, Roberta. I owe you one.”

Without missing a beat, Roberta replied. “No charge.”

It occurred to him then that there was one place he hadn’t looked – the beach.

Frank stumbled into the car and shakily turned the key.

Even through his beer-tinted haze, he couldn’t see her anywhere. Mary’s voice repeated in his head as he drove.

“Slow down! Mom said never go to bed or drive angry.”

He wasn’t angry. He was anxious.

Turning down the winding lane that would eventually lead him to the beach, Frank felt a surge of adrenaline rip through his entire body. He gradually picked up speed. She was there. She had to be.

He was so caught up in his own trail of thought that he didn’t realize the car had started to sway. It was getting later. Darker.

It was starting to rain. The road was getting slicker by the second.

The blinding beam of oncoming headlights caught him off-guard.

He swerved.

The crunch of metal against metal echoed down the quiet lane.

Now he was sober.

Permanent taglist: @hiddelstannerbarnes  @redlipstickandblacktea @just-one-ordinary-fangirl @optimistic-dinosaur-nacho @djeniiscorner @its-tortle @k347 @ixalit @iguessweallcrazyithinktho @cevansfics @capchrisevaans @hawkeyeandthewintersoldier @musette22 @mcubabydotcom @worksby-d @chuckbass-love @bluemusickid @fallinforevans @hellobeautworld @katiew1973 @disaster-dean @rebthom89 @navybrat817 @denisemarieangelina @thesecretlifeofdaydreamss @brattycherubwrites @cherrychris @celestialbarnes @the-iceni-bitch @caplanbuckybarnes @caplanreads @autumnrose40 @mashep23 @babyyhoneyydarling @sweater-daddiesdumbdork @autumnrose40 @what-is-your-backupplan-today @stargazingfangirl18 @divine-mistake @angrybirdcr @dangerouslovefanfic @cloudystevie  @steebsbabygirl @eurynome827 @sweeterthanthis @honeyloverogers @patzammit @nakedrogers @before-we-get-started @howdoyousleep3​

#The Pieces We Leave Behind #Lauren Writes #laurenwritesfics #Gifted #Frank Adler #Mary Adler #Chris Evans #McKenna Grace #Chris Evans fanfiction #Chris Evans x reader #Chris Evans smut #Chris Evans fluff #Frank Adler x reader #Frank Adler x Lucy Montgomery #Frank x Lucy #angst #angst fic #chris evans x black!reader #chris evans x latina!reader

[cheyningdiamond]

Seen You Once Before...

Oh boy another SherHank fic? Yes. Yes it is. WARNINGS: Death, Gore, Blood, Crying, Topic of giving up on life, This is gonna be a depressing fic sorta so just be weary

It was a cold rainy night in Nevada. Sheriff was about to be executed by the agents for his cowardly acts and being deemed 'obsolete' by the Auditor. Sheriff hung his head, not wanting to look up as the Agent had a gun pointing to the back of his head. They were mocking, laughing at him. "Weeell, poor ol' cowboy here's gonna yee his last haw, ain't that right, fellers!?" One mocking his accent. "Such a shame... He lived as a coward and he'll die as one too~" The other laughed. The third one glared at them both. "Just shoot the fuckin' pussy in the head. I wanna grab a bite to eat soon." Sheriff tightly closed his eyes, staring down at his hat in front of him. His hands were tied behind his back and at this point, he didn't wanna even attempt to escape. All his life was had been nothing but failure. He failed to kill Hank.

He failed trying to protect Nevada. He even failed the Auditor. No matter what he did, who's side he was on, it just led to death, failure, and regret. He snapped out of his deep thoughts as he felt the barrel of the gun poke at the back of his head, touching his greasy light brown hair. "Any last words?" The agent smirked. "...Go fuck yerself." He replied coldly. "Ohoh, finally decided to grow a pair... Little too late for that, cowboy." He cocked the gun, and Sheriff closed his eyes again. They heard a gunshot, followed by an explosion, but it only left Sheriff on the ground with ringing ears. He opened his light brown eyes and witnessed the agent dead behind him. His head had been completely blown off and the gun beside him was on the ground. He looked up, seeing a familiar muscular black-wearing figure pounce on another agent, smashing his head into the wall, leaving red paste stained on the silver metal-like material. The last agent shrieked and tried shooting at Hank but ultimately missed. The agent was backed up by the window and with an easy kick, was sent flying out of the 4 story window, dying upon impact with the cold hard ground below. Sheriff looked up weakly, seeing the fire coming out of the hallway through the room doors. What shined in the fire was the red glasses wearing mercenary, staring down at him. His metal jaw was exposed and his outfit was torn slightly, like he had been through a rougher fight not too long ago. Sheriff knew he must've came to kill him off too, so he closed his eyes. "Just do it quick, Wimbleton... Ah know it's comin'..." He had tears forming in his eyes. He was deathly afraid of Hank. And Hank knew this. He was roughly lifted up by his jacket, but was thrown over the taller figure's shoulder. He blinked and watched Hank as they ran down the hallway, carefully not getting too close to the fires that burned down the facility. Sheriff started to reluctantly squirm. Where were they taking him!? Why won't they just kill him off!? He was waiting! There was nothing else! Sheriff started to yell. "Git off'a me!" He barked, kicking his legs weakly. This earned a very gruff. "Knock it off." From Hank. The metallic jaw had given him more of a echo-like and steel-grindy voice. Sheriff kept kicking as they reached the exit. He had to witness Hank shooting and killing every guard that got in his way from the room he found Clayton in, to now. They were finally outside in the pouring rain and Hank rushed to the van. They were pretty much in the clear now and Hank opened the trunk of the van, setting Sheriff in. Without hesitation, Sheriff kicked him in the knee, making him stumble back. He regained his posture and angrily grabbed the smaller man by his jaw, pinning him down to the trunk floor. "Now dammit, stop!" Hank snarled. Sheriff had tears in his eyes, but he was pissed. "Wh-Why th' Hell didn' you let me die back there!? They were doin' you a damn favor!" He hiccuped as he glared up at the Wimbleton, who stared coldly back with his red, blood-colored glasses. There was definitely blood stained on them. "Just. Stop. Squirming..." Hank growled. He forced Sheriff to sit up and pulled out a knife. Sheriff breathed sharply, thinking it was going into him as he closed his eyes. 'Finally, just end it. Please.' He thought. Hank pressed his body up against the Sheriff and began cutting the ropes that restrained his wrists. Sheriff just gave up. Obviously his time wasn't coming today. "Why're you helpin' me!? Last time ah checked, you wanted me dead!" "Well, things change, don't they?" He got off of him, removing his knee off of the truck and took Sheriff's hands, pulling him out of the trunk. "Come on. We're leaving." "A-Ah ain't goin' nowhere with you..." "You don't have a say in this. Now get in." Hank opened the passenger side of the van. Sheriff backed away, holding his shoulders. "A-Ah said no..." "Clayton-" Hank grabbed his arm, now furious. Sheriff snapped. "A-Ah said NO!!" Out of anger, he slapped Hank hard across the face. His glasses had fallen

onto the ground

and even broke from the sheer impact of the slap. Sheriff looked at Hank, then at his hand. Holy fuck. Did he just slap Hank fucking Wimbleton?? Ohh no. Hank held the side of his face and his ear rung from the impact and glared at Sheriff. Sheriff's eyes got big. Slapping Hank wasn't the only thing that shook him to his core... He stared deeply into his eyes. Those different colored eyes. She flashed in his memory. The train. Sheriff stared and started to shake. More tears fell from his face, his mouth was slightly agape as he started to say the name. That name. Hank glared and put his hand over Sheriff's mouth before he could even utter it. "...We're going. Now." Hank grabbed Clayton and shoved him into the seat and shutting the door. He walked over and got in the driver's seat, slamming his door. Clayton could tell he was frustrated now. This sent fear chilling up his body. No fucking way. Hank was once... A friend of his? Someone he got along well with!? He couldn't even believe, or even imagine Hank and him being friends. Or even sharing a laugh over something... Sheriff felt his stomach pit from the overwhelming stress. Both from earlier and now becoming too much. Hank silently drove away from the burnt down building, looking at it through his rearview mirror. Sheriff wanted to speak. He was pissed. He was afraid. He was confused. Why was- How did- Who- He couldn't even form questions in his head right now. Hank stared at the road as he drove. Only thing that could be heard was their gruff and heavy breathing. Sheriff stared into Hank's eyes as he drove. At this point, he decided to just figure out what was going on now. "...Wh-Where're ya takin' me...?" Hank ignored him as he drove. "...N-Now dammit, answer me!" He snapped, his voice shaking and cracked. This made Hank talk. "I'm taking you to our facility. You're still beat up and you clearly need a place to stay now, yeah?" He glared at him. "S-Since when did you even care...?" "..." "Why are you helpin' me!? What good have ah ever been to you fer you to help me!?" "Oh fucking Christ, can't you just be thankful!?" Hank suddenly yelled, feeling his temper get the best of him. "No! Yer a damn menace! A blight! All you want is people dead so long as it fills yer sick desires!" "I kill who I must. And in about 3 seconds if you don't shut your damn mouth, I'll add another on my list..." "Do it!!" Clayton screamed. "Ah ain't got nothin' anymore!" The cowboy started to come down into choked sobs as he yelled. "Ah failed my people, ah failed Nevada, ah even failed workin' for the Auditor because ah was too weak!" He glared at Hank. "So just fuckin' do it already! What's been stoppin' ya!?" There was a screech as Hank slammed his foot on the brake, roughly pressing Sheriff against the dashboard from the jolt. "Urgh-!" He grunted as he put his hands in front of himself to stop himself from smashing his face with the dashboard. Hank closed his eyes and started taking deep breaths. Was he, trying to calm down? That was rare... As far as Clayton knew the only stress reliever Hank knew what to do was kill kill kill. Hank slowly opened his eyes after a minute passed, staring at the dusty road they were on. With a low growl, he finally spoke. "...I don't know." Sheriff looked at him. "As far as I'm concerned, I should've had you dead ages ago... …But, I never did. I could've easily killed you back there before Jeb stabbed me dead. Every little attempt I just let you go. Is it pity? Do I feel bad for you? Fuck if I know." Clayton stared at Hank. "...What happened to you?" He spoke. "You were gonna be a mother. You had a calm life. You had a normal life as a normal person, man or woman, no matter! Why th' hell would you go and create all this chaos!?" Hank stared down, looking away from him. "I wasn't exactly fully innocent when you first met me, Clay..." Clayton stared. "H-Huh-?" "I had already killed a man. A man who was nothing but a drunk. A man who I unfortunately had fallen for." He started up the car as he

finished talking. "That was just my luck. But don't ever go and tell me I was innocent before. I never was. Never will be." He kept driving as Sheriff stared. "Yer, husband... Ya killed him?? That's why he was deceased when we spoke?" "...It was more self defense. He was gonna kill me and my son. I couldn't let him. So, I just..." Hank shook his head. Of everyone he killed, that was the last kill he ever wanted to talk about, let alone think it. "I don't wanna talk about it. Will you shut up and just let me take you back to get patched?" Sheriff sighed and nodded slowly. Fuck, he felt horrible now. Never would he thought they would've killed a soul back then. It was a silent 15 minute drive. The radio station played music but it was static and cut off every now and again. Clayton finally had the courage to speak up. To apologize. "...A-Ah'm sorry, Hank..." Clayton looked down. "For what?" "F-Fer everythin'... This whole war, what you went through... Er, givin' ya the big one eariler..." He looked at his hand, which still ached. Slapping teeth and metal really didn't tickle on the hand. Hank sighed. "It's, whatever. It's over now so no need to dwell on it." Clayton sighed. "Just- why? Why cause all this unnecessary violence? Why create this madness?" Hank kept his eyes on the road, but had a grim look. "...I can't exactly say... I never intended for this to be a full war." Sheriff shook his head. Everything was peaceful back then. Everyone played music, they all had a good time, just, living. Now look at it. The once gray-blue skies now black and red. Hank finally stopped the van once they were out at the hideout doors. He got out and opened the Sheriff's door. "Out. No more struggling..." Clayton nodded slowly and stepped out. With a hand on Clayton's shoulder, Hank led him inside... What was gonna happen? Was this where he was going to live...? Sheriff took a deep breath and just decided to wait and see...

#my fics #sheriff #hank #madness combat #holy shit this took foreveerrrr #if enough ppl like it i will continue #just not tonight am exhausted

[ofstarsandvibranium]

Cuddles and Quick Kills

Fandom: Marvel (Twitch Streamer/Gamer AU)

Pairing: Chubby!Bucky x GN!Reader

As requested by anonymous: Think you can give us some more Twitch Streamer! Chubby! Bucky? Pretty please? It makes me so happy to read! + other anon request:  chubby!gamer!buck mayhaps? maybe hes streaming (among us maybe) and reader keeps popping in out of view asking if he wants anything or if hes hungry or oh my god bucky look at this picture of two cats! theyre cuddling! its us! and then she really wants to cuddle and she doesnt say it but he know so he turns off his camera just so she can sit on his lap maybe? and just very fluffy if like u could? i like wrote it all out lmao im sorry but if you could write this i will give you my first born :)

A/N: no first borns are necessary to read this fic lol. also this is a lil different from the first request. and this is very sweet and precious. 

You had finished your streaming for the day. Bucky, being the great partner that he is, provided the food and drinks during your stream while he did things around the apartment. Now that Bucky had begun his streaming for tonight, you figured it was now your turn to be the loving and caring partner that you are. 

Thirty minutes into Bucky’s streaming, you hear him yelling as he’s debating with his discord friend group about who the imposter is. You figured since he’s talking and yelling a lot, he might need some water. So you grab two water bottles from the fridge and head to the streaming room. 

You slowly open the door and peek in. You see the side of Bucky’s face being illuminated by the lighting on his gaming desk. You quietly creep in, trying not to break his focus. You reach out, sliding one water bottle onto his desk. Your efforts to remain quiet and unseen are obviously a failure because Bucky immediately turns to you. 

“Hi, Baby Love,” he greets you with his nickname for you and one of your favorites. He pulls you in for a quick kiss and holds your hand that’s still grasping the other water bottle, “Thank you. You’re too sweet on me, darling.”

You cup his face and murmur, “You do the same for me, honey bun.” you peck his lips again and point to his monitor, “Also, you just got killed.”

Bucky whips his head to his screen and cries out, “Aw man! Not again!”

You snicker, “Sorry for distracting you.”

He shrugs, “It’s okay, you’re the best kind of distraction. You wanna stay?”

You shake your head, “No. I’ll let you enjoy your time with viewers. Might come back later with snacks?”

“Door’s always open for you, Baby Love!” he calls out as you exit the room. 

Another thirty minutes go by and you made Bucky a tray of snacks he could eat as he continues to stream. There’s fruit, chips, cookies, trail mix, and beef jerky. A wide variety of choices for your partner to choose from. 

Again, you creep into the streaming room and set the tray of food onto his desk and Bucky beams at you, “Aaawww, looove! Thank you!” you can hear his friends asking questions from his headphones and he replies, “Guys, Y/N made me a try of snacks for me to eat while I play! Aren’t they the sweetest?” he holds up the tray to the camera and he sees people replying in the twitch stream chat.

You giggled as Bucky wrapped an arm around you and pulled you in for a side hug, “Thanks, Baby Love.”

“You’re welcome. I’ll leave you to it-”

“Stay this time, please?”

You can hear his friends making fun of him, specifically Sam making gagging noises. You snicker and said, “Sure, just to piss off Sam.”

Bucky chuckles and replies, “Atta, love! You wanna pull up a chair or-”

You shake your head, “I’ll sit on the couch, it’s okay.”

“Positive.” you move to the back of the room where the couch lays, facing Bucky. You sit down and pull out your phone, somewhat listening to Bucky playing and also paying attention to the stuff you’re scrolling through. 

You then see a picture come up on instagram of two adorable kitties cuddling. You and Bucky both love cats so you clearly have to show him this. You get up and walk over to him, tapping his shoulder and holding out his phone, “Hon Bun, look at these kitties cuddling. They’re like us!”

Bucky looks at the picture and smiles, “Aaaww! That’s so cute!” he takes your phone to show the camera, “Look at these babies guys. I can’t wait to get some of our own one day!” He hands you back your phone and you turn to leave but he catches you, “Stay.”

“Hon, I’m right-”

Bucky pushes back in his chair and pats his lap, “Stay? Please?” he’s look at you with those blue eyes you fell in love with and you sigh. Knowing he’s won, Bucky smiles and then he says, “Alright. I’m gonna turn off the camera for a bit because I don’t want you guys to see how disgusting sweet we can get.” he turns off his camera and leans back in his chair, allowing you to sit on him, your legs draping off the side of his legs. You rest your head in the crook of his neck and you sigh in content. 

You proceed to watch Bucky play while you cuddle with him. You even try to help him figure out who the imposter might be, his friends screaming in his ear. 

You giggle as he continues to play, even cheering him on when he’s the imposter. You always admired his tact and ability to make some quick kills without being seen. 

At one point of the game, Bucky kisses your head and murmurs, “Love you, Baby Love.”

You smile to yourself when you reply, “I love you too, honey bun.”

#chubby!bucky #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #Bucky Barnes #marvel #au #marvel au #twitch gamer au #twitch streamer au

[chalkrevelations]

SO, Episode 28 of Word of Honor was a roller-coaster ride.

(Spoilers, as ever, so scroll away and come back later if you want to see it unspoiled.)

They managed two entirely separate scenes in this one that had me going “Did … did that just happen? Is this really happening?” Let’s get this one out of the way first: The scene of Zhao Jing in his serial killer lair with the altar and memorial tablets and his serial killer trophies. Y’all. I swear, scene opens with a shot from behind of drunk Awful Yifu in his Fantasy Ancient China underwear staggering through a set of doors into a room with candles and draperies, and before I was able to register the rest of the set design, my brain gave a terrified squeak and started rabbiting around like, “Oh my god, please do not let this be Xie’er’s bedroom. Oh my god, they wouldn’t actually go there, not even hinted, surely that would be too far!” Then my eyeballs caught up and registered the set, so I thought I was safe, but that didn’t even turn out to be the moment in the scene that had me going “Is this really happening?” (Although I do think the fact my brain immediately jumped to that scenario speaks to the creepy vibe the show has managed to build between Awful Yifu and Xie Wang). So, Zhao Jing is a sloppy drunk and absolutely shitfaced, stumbling around and yelling at his dead brothers, and I’m sitting here watching him, feeling like I need a shower, with my skin a little bit trying to crawl off my body, and then he picks up Rong Xuan’s memorial tablet and pours an entire stream of alcohol out of the pitcher all over it, and I say, out loud, to the screen, “Oh my god, they just had him figuratively piss on that tablet.” Only, no, they didn’t, because there was no need to have him do it figuratively because then, he literally whips it out of his pants and takes a piss on the tablet, complete with sound effects, and I’m open-mouthed, thinking “Is this really happening?” As some background, I grew up in mainstream U.S. culture where ancestor veneration isn’t formally practiced - although it isn’t an entirely absent part of our cultural mythos, it’s just that now when I when I offer cultus to the Patres Patriae, it’s deliberate and intentional – but I’ve been doing ancestor work in my particular flavor of polytheism for long enough, and intensely enough, that I had a visceral reaction of disgust and horror to this. Hand literally clapped over my mouth in shock, even after watching all of his ranting at his dead brothers and spitting at his dead shifu and just generally being a disrespectful asshole with delusions of grandeur building up to it. So, yes, show, you have indeed convinced me that Awful Yifu is the worst, even in an episode that also devoted that much screentime to Prince Jin.

Fortunately, the other “Is this really happening?” moment was at the other end of the spectrum, somewhere in the face of how married Zhou Zishu and Wen Kexing are, which I cannot believe passed censorship. I know I keep saying that, but every time I think I’ve adjusted to how far they’re going to go, the show laughs gay-ly as it pushes the envelope another mile down the road. Truly, this show is the gift that keeps on giving where these two are concerned, and not just because of Zhang Zhehan’s face. I realize I had to spend 50 episodes deciphering Lan Wangji’s smallest microexpression (not that I’m complaining), but I can’t believe how expressive both Zhang Zhehan and Gong Jun are in these roles, with Gong Jun’s little sadness eyebrows when WKX wants ZZS to humor him, and how soft Zhang Zhehan’s face gets when ZZS looks at WKX, and how great they both are at making all this look like a pair of adults who are in an established relationship and confident of each other. I’d be as weak as Wen Kexing if Zhou Zishu pouted at me the way he does when he tells Chengling that he can’t do anything to help decorate the Manor except observe and direct because he’s oh, so injured and frail, poor him. Wen Kexing can laugh at Zhou Zishu when ZZS pokes at him by saying the papercrafter was such a beauty! (Compare this to his reaction back in the day, when ZZS deftly manipulated him out of bringing A-Xiang along on their honeymoon adventures by calling her a beauty and implying she might draw attention away from WKX!) Wen Kexing waves kitchen knives at Zhou Zishu in (somewhat fond) exasperation! Zhou Zishu now accepts Wen Kexing piling his plate with food at the table as perfectly normal! There’s no crying in Spring Festival! They send their kid outside to watch the fireworks so they can have sex some alone time! (Merciless killers. How the fuck so adorable?) Someone must have backed up an entire truckful of money to the house of someone very important to get this aired, because what is the heterosexual explanation for … any of this?

Other thoughts:

We continue to get small things that maintain the parallels between Wen Kexing/Zhou Zishou and Gu Xiang/Cao Weining, including the mirrored theme of finding a home with a welcoming family, shown through family dinner, and expressed through WKX’s description of his former self as a “lonely ghost,” echoing A-Xiang’s self-description (to Shen Shen in an earlier ep) the same way.

HAN YING! Listen, I am stupidly attached to this bit player, and not just because he’s a familiar face (because half of Wen Xu’s screentime in The Untamed was just a disembodied head hanging at the entrance to the Unclean Realm, so it’s not like there was time to get … attached). And I say stupidly attached because ever since we first saw the way he looked at ZZS with big puppy heart-eyes, I knew he was going to be a goner. I just know they’re gonna fridge him for the next step in ZZS’s journey, because something has to pry ZZS out of Four Seasons Manor, as much as I, personally, would like nothing better than to see 8 more episodes of wedded bliss for two gay dads and their son. (OK, one thing I would like better would be if their daughter and son-in-law came to live with them, too.) At least it looks like Han Ying will get to die taking a figurative bullet for ZZS, which will make him happy and might prevent him from finding out the Glazed Armor he’s so proud of bringing is actually pointless, because don’t think that didn’t hurt to know while I watched him being so proud of managing to get his hands on it. But I’d prefer he didn’t die at all, show. Also, why on earth are there only two (completed) stories under the ZZS/Han Ying label on AO3? Because yes, I have looked. I have the search open in another tab right now. Why haven’t more people taken advantage of this guy’s utter devotion for ZZS? How are people looking at the way Han Ying reverently brushes his fingers over the single white blossom on the wall mural in ZZS’s rooms back in Prince Jin’s palace and not falling all over that?

Xie’er, oh, Xie’er. You’re killing me, here. I need someone to rescue you, you desperate affection-starved little sociopath. So, to recap, last time we met, your Awful Yifu finally let it slip that he was never ever going to acknowledge your existence in public. So now, you’re being a very clever boy, setting up a scheme to manipulate him into having to publicly acknowledge you if he’s going to claim credit for your successes (because I’m sure you can’t even contemplate failure) in service to Prince Jin. So clever, but I hate to tell you, you’re clever at everything except learning from your mistakes when it comes to your Awful Yifu. You really learned nothing from Beauty Ghost, did you? Ugh, your sad little face as you watch your hot mess of an Awful Yifu while you wait for the maids to make tea – it hurts me. Please tell me you’re playing some kind of long game, and you’re just a really great actor. Because he’s sloppy drunk, and right now, watching your face journey, I think maybe you think that makes what he’s saying true – that he’s not guarding his words, and he means it when he tells you that of course he loves you and would never leave you. “Are you still angry with me?” Awful Yifu literally asks. “Alright, I’ll apologize. I was just mad. It didn’t mean anything. We’re together in this. I’ll always stand by you.” Xie’er, you have got to stop believing gaslighting abusive men who shovel that BS. This is what they call the honeymoon period in the cycle of abuse. Seriously. This is textbook. Please stop making the same mistakes over and over again. Maybe think about the fact that your Awful Yifu is, single-handedly, the reason the Department of the Unfaithful actually exists in the first place. He is THAT AWFUL. I would like to think actually seeing his serial killer trophy room will make a difference, now that you have some confirmation of what Tragicomic Ghost told you and not the ability to wave it off as part of some he-said, she-said situation where how could we ever possibly know the truth, despite the fact that Zhao Jing has shown he’ll stab anyone in the back in his quest for power? But, then, I also thought maybe learning last ep that he never planned to publicly acknowledge you would make some kind of difference. Are you going to roll the dice again, gambler? Because I’ll tell you right now, the house always wins. (Not that you’d listen to me anymore than you listened to Beauty Ghost.)

(Also, wait wait waitwaitwait. Waitaminit. This is pure speculation and probably way too out there to be true (oh, but, someone’s going to write this AU for me, right?) Hot-mess drunk yifu tells Xie’er that they’ve been depending on each other “ever since I picked you up and brought you back home.” I can’t remember if we know anything about Xie Wang’s background at this point, but it does sound like Zhao Jing might have literally yoinked him off the street to raise him. He … he doesn’t think Xie’er is actually Yan’er, does he? Only he kidnapped the wrong orphaned urchin by mistake? I’m just sayin’, thinking back to Shen Shen’s reaction to finding out Zhen Yan was still alive, it would be exactly the kind of thing Zhao Jing would do, to keep this kid that his brother(s) wanted to find hidden right under their noses.)

Chengling and the chicken. I can’t, y’all. And Zhou Zishu’s face as soon as he realizes what Wen Kexing is telling Chengling to do – he knows this is going to be a show.

Prince Jin, you are almost as bad as Xie’r and his awful Yifu combined:

Prince Jin: Zhou Zishu, you mastermind, your super-secret spy network continues to spread everywhere, including into my very own palace. Oh, the things you must be plotting against me!

Zhou Zishu, chillin’ at Plum Blossom Manor, day-drinking, dressing up in pretty festive robes, taking advantage of his disciple’s unpaid labor so he doesn’t have to raise a finger for himself, and providing his husband with sex so incredible he is never required to actually cook: “OK, my gay husband and our son-with-two-dads, how about we just stay here together forever and be happy?”

Also Prince Jin: *Creeps on Zhou Zishu like a gaslighting m’fker*

Anyway, if Prince Jin always knew what Han Ying was up to all along, is the letter about ZZS’s father a plant, with false info? It was just kind of suspiciously hanging out in the open on Prince Jin’s desk.

#zhao jing #xie wang #zhou zishu #wen kexing #gu xiang #cao weining #zhang chengling #han ying #prince jin #word of honor #word of honor episode reax

[thiswasinevitableid]

93. I hire your matchmaking services but all the people you set me up with are horrible and I’m demanding a refund and you’re asking me for one more chance??? what are you going to do? be my date?

Indruck, nsfw, please!

Here you go! I was inspired by @kriskukko's incredible art for the orc designs in this, and I highly recommend checking them out!

“Indrid? Some from Kepler House is here to speak with you.” Ned pokes his head into Indrid’s rooms.

“Drat” Indrid hisses, dressing gown whipping about him as he scrambles to put the apartment in order while also dragging his notes on the man in question to the forefront, “I didn’t forsee anyone coming by today, goodness, he had his first engagement with Lady Austens daughter last night, what on earth could they need to see me for?” He tosses his spare pens aside, landing them in his second set of house slippers.

“Well, dear boy, given the luck you’ve had with them lately-”

“It’s not luck, it’s simply very unlikely futures. Please just, just stall whoever it is a moment, Leo is usually patient and-”

“I’m afraid I cannot do that my friend.”

“Why not? I watched you once talk an entire flock of constables away from your door. Praytell, why can Ned “Silver Tongue” Chicane not get rid of a single attendant?”

“Because the attendant ain’t here this time.”

Indrid slams the drawer of his desk, looking up as an orc in a deep brown suit steps into the room, tossing his hat onto the table. He’s shorter than Indrid and Ned (stout and strong, according to the notes Indrid received), wavy black hair streaked with grey at the front. One eye is blue, the other brown, and both regard the harried matchmaker with casual annoyance.

“Mr. Newton, I, ah, I was not expecting you to visit me.”

“Yeah, well, I didn’t expect to be on a date where she found me so damn dull she hailed a cab as soon as dinner was done. I was already in town on some business for Minerva, so I decided to come tell you I ain’t in need of your services anymore.”

“I beg your pardon? Your benefactor employed me to find you a suitable match and I intend to do just that. I know there have been missteps, but such things are to be expected when searching for one’s lifelong partner.”

“Uh huh. And the fact I’m Lady Minerva’s chosen heir, which means there are a bunch of folks waitin to mimic my style and choices, has got nothin to do with it.”

“I, ah, I can’t say that I’m ignorant of the potential repercussions of being the one assigned to locate a spouse for you.”

“Which is the long way of sayin you know damn well that if I decide to stop askin you for help, no one with money is ever gonna come to you again.”

There’s a determined set to his rounded jaw, and a glimpse at the future suggests Indrid will have better luck with a different tactic

“....were they really so awful?”

“Yes. They were rude, or thought I was rude, or thought I was dull, or we just had fuck-all in common.”

“Have you considered you might just be a tad more demanding than average?”

“It ain’t demandin to want the person I spend the rest of my life with to actually like me.” He sighs, “I’m sorry, Mr. Cold, but unless you got a real winner up your sleeve, I’m done.”

All responses, all timelines show Duck ending his time as Indrid’s client and walking out the door.

“You could try me!”

“Really?” Duck looks deeply unconvinced.

“I will admit it’s unorthodox, but I, I foresee us having a perfectly nice time together. It will let me prove that I am capable of choosing companions for you.”

The shorter orc looks him up and down more deliberately and Indrid fights not to draw his dressing gown tighter. He will not be intimidated by some newcomer from across the sea.

“Okay, I’ll make you a deal. I got to go to this concert tomorrow; someone from Kepler house is expected to show and Minerva is busy. You’re comin with me.” He holds Indrid’s gaze, daring him to renege on his offer.

Indrid summons his best, professional grin, “I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”

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

Indrid smooths his waistcoat and jacket as he steps from the cab, tucks a strand of his silver hair behind his ear. It’s his only concession to the nerves skittering up and down his spine.

Gatherings such as these are nothing new to him; he goes to them to gather new information and new clients, to remind the well-to-do families of London and beyond that he is the matchmaker extraordinaire. But there is always the moment between when they see him and when they recognize him, when every face in the room wonders why someone like him dares to enter their space.

Somewhere in Indrid’s ancestry is a love story between an orc and a goblin. His silver hair, very angular features, and complete lack of tusks or fangs is the proof. The red eyes don’t help--they unsettle everyone who sees them--but his mother insists they’re evidence of other orcs gifted with rare magic on her side of the family. He wears red spectacles over them just to be safe; he rather likes how the color stands out against his skin, and his glasses let him avoid prying questions.

Duck is waiting for him under the awning outside the music hall; he’s in a grey day suit this time, looking just as understatedly handsome as he did yesterday morning. Indrid must admit his desire to save his reputation is not the only reason he agreed to this; he cannot understand why Duck is having such trouble meeting his match. He’s good looking, moneyed, American--an exotic background in the eyes of the average, sheltered upper-class orc--but still has family history here in England. All Indrid’s matches showed a high probability of success. The point of failure must lie with the orc himself.

“Afternoon, Mr. Cold.” Duck smiles with everything but his eyes.

“Indrid is fine, given the reason for our meeting.”

Duck nods. Indrid wishes the ground would swallow one of them up. When the pavement fails to oblige, he offers his arm. The shorter orc takes it, both of them doffing their hats as they step inside.

“I, uh, like the earring.” Duck indicates the moth cuff on Indrid’s left ear, a stark contrast to the single gold hoop in his own.

“Thank you. A friend gave it to me. I, ah, I rather enjoy working moths into my wardrobe; I find them fascinating.”

“Y’know, back home we got moths that look like hummingbirds.”

“Really?” Indrid’s ear twitches, “how big?”

Duck holds up his hands to indicate the size. Indrid is about to demand details when they’re waylaid by their hostess and pulled into a cluster of families. Indrid breathes deep, feeling crowded in, and notices Duck routinely being cut off in conversation or given disapproving looks behind his back. Yes, Indrid supposes his manners are a bit rough, but there’s no harm in that. Too, everyone seems far more interested in the goings on at Kepler House and with Lady Minerva than with Duck himself. By the time they’re seated, their arms feel locked together from shared tension.

The violinists are quite good; Indrid enjoys strings, his recordings of them being his favorite music to listen to while drawing. But his mind is so consumed by futures and by thoughts about the orc beside him that he struggles to focus on the music. Duck is having a similar issue, though he hides it well; were they not side by side, Indrid would miss the way he fidgets with the knee of his trousers.

“Are you alright?” He whispers under the applause.

“N-ye-uh. Fuck. I, the musics real nice but I gotta say I’m gettin kinda bored. But I got no fuckin clue if leavin will piss everyone here off.”

“Intermission is soon. When it comes, keep quiet and follow my lead.”

When the guests rise to stretch their legs and fetch refreshments, Indrid guides Duck to their hostess.

“I’m so very sorry, but I’m afraid my stomach is rather angry with me and it’s best if I go home. Duck has agreed to accompany me so I do not pass out in the street. I’m sure you understand.”

She nods, and in a matter of moments they’re out on the street, each breathing deeply.

“Thanks for that.”

“My pleasure.”

“Guess I oughta just head back to the hotel.” Duck sighs.

“You could. But, ah, we’re not far from Kew Gardens and the weather isn’t miserably cold for once. If you’d like-”

“Hell yeah. Wait, fuck, sorry, tryin to swear less in public.”

“I don’t really mind.” Indrid starts them down the street.

“Lots of them do” Duck tips his head back towards the concert hall, “I mean, at least that rule is easier to figure out. It’s not that there aren’t weird rules and class stuff back home, but I grew up learnin them. Here I always feel like I’m one move away from makin an ass of myself. No one’ll say anything because of Minerva, but I know if it weren’t for her, none of ‘em would give me the time of day. It makes every interaction so goddamn stressful.”

Indrid twinges with sympathy, “When I first started in these circles, I wrote myself notecards and had Ned test me on them.”

Duck giggles, so absurd and loud it draws stares from passersby, “why? You seem to know your stuff.”

“I didn’t come from money, and I don’t always read social situations the way others expect. It was learn or live as a penniless artist for all my days.” As the gardens come into view he adds, “I know the basics of your life in America but if you weren’t here, what would you be doing there?”

“Workin in the Yosemite valley. I was a ranger there for a few years before Minerva called me here.”

“What was that like?”

Duck tells him as they wander the first stretches of the gardens. He’s midway through a tangent about bears when he stops.

“Holy fuck, you’re really still listenin.”

“Of course I am, this is fascinating.”

His companion smiles, “Glad you think so. But it ain’t polite for me to dominate the conversation like this. Now you gotta tell me what you do when you’re not gettin fancy folks together.”

“...You promise you will finish the story about the bear and the tent later.”

“You know it.”

Indrid knows that time passes more quickly with good company, but he’s still startled when the sun sets. The Savoy, where Duck is staying, is closer than his home, so their cab stops there first.

Duck pauses halfway out the door, “Meet me here for dinner tomorrow?”

Indrid grins, “I’d like nothing more.”

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

“I didn’t know the line even went this far.” Indrid watches the moors race by them out the window of the train.

“You and me both.” Duck rotates his map, glances at the letter he received a week ago, “okay, once we get off at Amnesty, we need someone to take us down Greenbank road. The house is at the end of it, somewhere around here.” He taps a patch of moor miles from anything else. Indrid studies his fingers and is glad that, of his more rugged habits, one he elected to keep was letting his nails stay claws rather than filing them down.

“My visions suggest that as long as we don’t ask anyone to drive us out after dark, we should have no trouble reaching it.”

Indrid tries not to be too giddy at the prospect of spending weeks and weeks more or less alone in the countryside with Duck. They’re going because an anonymous note informed him that he did indeed have a family estate and--once they determined that the house near Dartmoor did indeed legally belong to him--it was decided he would go to see how the old place was doing and perhaps take up residence.

He asked Indrid to come without even glancing up from the telegram from the solicitor. Indrid agreed without looking away from his drawing. If two months of semi-courtship in a crowded city got them close enough for that, Indrid dares to hope that being out here together will bring them closer still.

Amnesty is small, as they both expected, the air chilly and fog threatening to swallow whole buildings as they make their way to the Lodge where they’ve been told they can find a driver. When Duck asks the young woman working the counter for help getting to Greenbank Hall, she quirks her lips in a frown.

“I’m not sure there’s even a place called that around here….OH! Do you mean Beacon House?”

“Maybe?” Duck looks at Indrid, who quickly looks at the futures.

“Yes, it seems we do.”

“Okay. Since it's still light, I should be able to find someone to get you out there. If it comes down to it, I can, like, drive you out myself.”

They end up being driven by a friendly young man named Jake, who deposits them and their bags on the steps of the massive house with a friendly wave farewell.

“Agh” Indrid shivers as they step through the newly unlocked doors, “I think it’s actually warmer outside.”

“No kiddin. Damn fog means it’s already gettin too dark to see too. I’ll go get some kind of fire started, you see if you can find some lanterns or candles so we ain’t trippin all over ourselves.”

Indrid begins his search, comes to the kitchen and finds some matches and a candle. The solicitor arranged for food and other supplies to be brought in ahead of time, so in theory lanterns should be somewhere nearby. He’s just glad that the paltry light shows no signs of rodents getting into their food.

When he gets upstairs, he discovers two things; one, all the lamps are gas, so he’s able to light them easily. And two, a mother tortoiseshell cat is nesting with her kittens on a guest bed.

“Well, that explains the lack of mice.”

Footsteps behind him, “Got a fire goin in the sittin room, if you wanna pick a room for yourself I can light one th--awwwww” Duck moves past him towards the cat, who hisses at him, “now, there ain’t any need for that, missy. I ain’t gonna hurt you or your babies. But we oughta bring you somethin more’n mice to eat.”

“I saw some tinned food in the pantry.”

“Perfect, lemme go find a bowl.”

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

Beacon House has seen better days, but Indrid discovers the houses loss is his gain. Duck decides they can do many of the repairs themselves, and sets about ordering supplies from London or bringing them in from Amnesty. The few times they need help, the cook and several others from the Lodge come to assist in the project. These gatherings are far more pleasant than any Indrid had to attend for work (well, except for the ones where he was with Duck). And they always end before dusk.

Indrid occupies himself with figuring out why. There was no mention of this house when he first researched Duck, and even using the local name turns up very little. It’s not until he finds a diary belonging to one H. Newton in the library that he understands.

October the 15th, 1805

I fear the worst is upon me. I cannot leave the house, dare not even peer out the windows for fear of what I shall see. Lucy says it is my health, that we should travel to warmer regions so it will improve. But I know it is not so simple. Were we to flee, it would merely wait for our return. It may even waylay us before we reached town. I am cursed. We are cursed. We always will be.

Beneath the words is a hastily sketched image; yellow eyes and sharp fangs peering from between the bars of the front gate.

There are no more entries.

Indrid is unsure whether to raise the matter with Duck. On the one hand, he wishes him to know of any possible dangers. On the other, his friend is so very content these days, coming in from some project or other with grime on his skin and a smile on his face. Indrid’s own desire to stay with him here, in a house he can pretend is theirs, threatens to drown out all other reasons.

Eventually, his conscience shouts it down while he and Duck are on their evening walk.

“Oh yeah, Barclay told me about that a few days ago. Some ghost apparently wanders around the moor at night; got somethin to do with a murderous ancestor.”

“That does not alarm you.”

“You know I don’t believe in curses and destiny or anythin like that. People make up all kinds of stories when they’re alone in wild places.”

Indrid’s foresight guides his arm, gripping Duck and keeping him from moving forward.

“Does that look like a story?”

Directly ahead of them, a tor rises like a spike. Atop it, revealed by the rising moon, is a gigantic, fur-covered shape.

“See” Duck whispers, “were we back home, I’d say that was a bear.”

“And now?”

“Given there ain’t been bears in this part of the world in decades, I say we get the hell outta here.”

They take off back down the slope, the hall a collection of yellow squares of light in the darkening distance. A howl splits the air behind them and Indrid quickens his pace, keeps his eyes on the future in hopes of protecting them both.

This means he doesn’t see the burrow in the path until his ankle goes sideways in it.

“‘Drid!”

“Under no circumstances are you to try and help meAH!” He yelps as Duck swings him over his shoulder and continues his flight towards the house. As he’s bounced about, Indrid watches a glowing shape bounding closer.

“Thank fuck.” Duck crosses the gate, slams them closed, and lowers Indrid to his feet. Nothing glares at them from the path. But a growl creeps from the shadows and follows them until they shut the door.

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

“How’s the ankle?” Duck drops his coat on the chair opposite Indrid before tending to the fire.

“Better than yesterday. I should be up and moving tomorrow, if the futures are to be believed.”

“You know you don’t gotta rush. I’m happy to take care of you.”

Indrid picks at the ends of the blanket in his lap, “but I miss being able to aid you with work.”

“There’ll be lots of time for that. We got plenty to do to get the house to where we can live in it full time.”

“We?”

Duck goes completely still, then fails to put the fire poker back in place three separate times. When he finally meets Indrid’s eyes, he looks worried.

“‘Drid? What’s your endgame? With, uh, with me?”

“I…” Indrid grabs his teacup, intending to drink it to buy time and finds it empty, ‘I...I don’t know. I, I wanted to prove to you that I could find you a companion who made you happy, hoping you would give me another chance to locate your perfect match. But lately I, ah, I struggle to see that plan working. As I do not wish you to have any match but me.”

Duck moves across the rug, shadows on his face making it hard to read.

“I know that shows great selfishness on my part. If that is not something you wish to have in your life I, I…” he shrinks back as Duck leans down, certain this is the timeline where he accuses him of being a conniving monster.

“Funny you should say you’re bein selfish” Duck braces his arms on either side of the chair, “because I’ve been beatin myself thinkin’ I was selfish for keepin you out here so long.”

“Keep me here forever.” Indrid whispers. Duck smiles, closes the remaining space between them. His lips are still a bit chilly from working outside; Indrid does everything he can to warm them with his own.

The shorter orc straddles him and he whines so needily that Duck snickers in reply.

“What’s wrong darlin? Kissin too much for you?’

“On the contrary; it is far too little, but my injury means my ability to drag you to my bed and beg for more is greatly impeded.”

“Good thing we live alone.” Duck pulls the blanket from Indrid’s lap, nibbles his ear as the seer catches on and begins frantically undoing the buttons of Duck’s workshirt and shoving his suspenders. When at last he pushes it open he loses himself a moment, tipping forward to tongue at the golden ring in Duck’s left nipple.

“AHheh, gettin right to it. Good” Duck unbuttons his pants, “because I’ve been wantin to fuck you since before we even came out here.”

“Oh I see” Indrid purrs, “you lured me into the countryside to sully my virtue.”

Duck laughs, full throated, as his tusks catch in the firelight, “You forgettin the time we got drunk instead of goin to the opera and you told me you convinced two sailors to take you home?”

“Only if you’ve forgotten telling me about the young ranch-hand you gave several rides to” Indrid nibbles along his neck, his twitching oddly in their quest to grind against him without jostling his ankle.

“Not a chance. But I don’t care about reminiscin right now; right now, I got the best lookin fella in the world beggin for my dick.”

“I’m not begging.” Indrid tilts his head back to help Duck get his shirt open some.

“Not yet.” Duck grins, then shoves his hand down his trousers.

“Ohhhhhyes” Indrid reaches for him.

“Keep your hands on the armrests until I say you can move ‘em.”

“But, but” it’s hard to argue when he’s trying to stare a hole through Duck’s remaining clothes. His partner notices and makes a show of moaning louder.

“Only good boys get to watch the show. You gonna be good for me?”

“The best.”

Duck kisses the tip of his nose, then wiggles and kicks his pants and underwear off. Indrid can only watch, growing more envious by the moment, as he fucks himself open and rubs a thumb along his cock. Indrid tries bucking his hips, only to discover Duck is keeping himself out of reach.

“Cruel creature.” Indrid groans.

“Cruel? I’m giving you a seat to the best show in town.”

“I’d rather you take the best seat in town.”

Duck laughs, is still doing so when he bends to kiss him. Indrid whimpers, nails digging into the upholstery to keep his promise of good behavior. Duck notices.

“Good boy.”

“AHHHnnnthankyou, thankyouthankyouthankyou” Indrid moans as Duck drops his weight into his lap, grinding on his clothed cock with abandon. He flings Indrids hands up to his shoulders. The seer glides them up to his hair, burying them there where he’s now certain they’ve always belonged. Duck mirrors him, lips only leaving his to bite the tip of his ear.

“Fuck, Indrid, that’s it darlin, lemme ride you like the sleek little beast you are.”

He whines, loses his thoughts as Ducks hips quicken.

“I know ‘Drid, you like bein mine, like that I’ll bounce on this fuckin perfect dick as often as you want as long as you’re my good, sweet, ohsweetfuck, fuck, darlin’” Duck drops his forehead to Indrid’s shoulder with a groan as he cums, soaking the fabric of his pants. Before Indrid can think about stopping, Duck picks up again with as much force as before, growling in his ear to be a good little social climber and cum for his lord.

Indrid cums at that with a chirping sound he thought he’d stopped making long ago, legs spasming from the force of his climax. Unfortunately, this means his pleasure is chased by a burst of pain. He whimpers, flinches, and Duck spots the problem.

“Oh, oh darlin I’m sorry” He drops to the floor, rubbing Indrid’s thighs, “thought the position would keep you from hurtin.”

“Apparently not. I, I want you to know I don’t regret it in the slightest.”

Duck smiles, relieved, and rests his head on Indrid’s stomach, “Guess you did find me a match, huh?”

Indrid bends slowly, nuzzling his hair with a hum, “Yes, I believe so.”

#indruck #meet ugy #indrid cold/ duck newton #orc au #victorian au #trans duck newton

[writer-room]

Siblings: Chapter Four

AO3

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3

Summary: The Bats reflect on how their thoughts about siblings have changed over the years. Some opinions stayed, others didn't.

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

Tim didn’t know how to feel about being an only child.

He didn’t think about it all that often, there weren’t many kids he talked to at school who mentioned their siblings all that frequently. And, in some parts, he didn’t mind it so much.

The kids who did talk about siblings complained, whether their siblings were older or younger. There were those who said their sibling took up more of their parents attention, which was something Tim was already lacking in. Some said that they never had any time to themselves, something that Tim had an overabundance in, but still cherished. Others said that the accomplishments, and failures, of their siblings reflected onto them, making their parents expect more or less of them. Tim couldn’t afford that either. His parents already didn’t think much of him, he didn’t need it to be any less. And if they wanted more, he worried he wouldn’t be able to meet their expectations.

And yet…

Sometimes he liked the idea of someone else in that empty mansion. Someone to talk to when the rooms felt too large, when the loneliness was suffocating him. He liked the thought of sharing his recent theories, photos, and the like with someone. Wondered if he could go on for as long as he wanted without being interrupted.

Maybe they’d be someone who didn’t call him by a name that wasn’t his, then feign forgetting. Who didn’t treat his binders like they were assaulting their eyes. Who didn’t scrutinize his every movement for faking.

That’d be nice, he thinks. 

But there were pros and cons, he reasons. And for all he knows, if he had a sibling, they could’ve been just like his parents. Or they could’ve been kinder. Not like he’d ever know.

He had more important things to worry about than hypotheticals and wishes.

“Before you scold me, know that I took a five hour nap earlier today and I’m only getting a snack.”

Steph and Duke blinked at him from the doorway to the kitchen, their expressions a sharp contrast between exasperated and concerned, respectively.

“Wow, five hours?” Steph snarked. “That’s a new record. Are you dying?”

“Not yet,” Tim said, opening the fridge. “Give it a few weeks and I’m sure you’ll see rumors of my tragic defeat at the hands of, I dunno, Flamingo.”

“There’s a supervillain named Flamingo?” Duke exclaimed, staring at Steph incredulously.

“Oh, yeah, it’s a whole thing.” She nodded. “He had a scuffle with Jay and his kid a while back.”

“Jason has a kid?”

“Why are you up, anyway?” Tim talked right over him. “Duke I understand, he’s the disgraced child of the sun. But you patrol at the same time as every other nocturnal person in this house.”

“Hey-”

“I actually had to pretend to have a normal sleep schedule, my mom was getting worried and I didn’t want her finding me sneaking in with my full Spoiler getup on.” Steph explained tiredly. “I’m still trying to recover.”

“Tragic,” Tim hummed, pulling out a container holding a ham sandwich. 

“The only thing that's tragic is your outfit.” Steph snorted, looking him up and down.

Tim blinked, looking down at himself. His outfit consisted of a pair of knockoff Batman shorts, knee-high pastel dinosaur socks, and a long red robe that absolutely did not belong to him hanging loosely off him, exposing countless scars littering his body.

“I look awesome,” Tim said, popping the lid off the container. 

“Damian’s gonna start asking what battles you got your scars from again,” Steph tutted, striding further into the kitchen with a confused Duke following her. “Know that I will not be on your side when Dick notices and gets worried.”

“I’m more worried about Dami seeing this one,” He said, brushing the robe back slightly to reveal a poorly stitched surgical scar on his upper abdomen. “Because then he’s going to ask what happened, and then I’m gonna have to tell him that's where my spleen used to be, and then he's going to be reminded that oh, yeah, his brother has a missing spleen, and then he’s going to be treating everything like its diseased-”

“Does...he keep forgetting you lost your spleen?” Duke blinked, concerned. “I feel like that’d be something you were kinda always aware of…”

“Eh, everyone's worried about a different scar whenever they see ‘em.” He shrugged, glancing down as he traced over one of the surgery scars along his chest. “Which is frankly a little rude. I earned this right to be shirt free.”

“Hell yeah you did,” Steph grinned before her eyes dropped to the sandwich Tim was attempting to eat. “Isn’t that Cullen’s?”

“He didn’t label it, therefore it’s mine.” Tim said simply.

“Harper’s gonna kill you,” Duke warned warily. 

“Only if she catches me,” He said, taking a bite of the sandwich. “Why’re you guys here, anyway? Grabbing a snack?”

“Lookin’ for Babs,” Steph said, hands in her pockets. “Someone on Twitter started a war about which Batgirl was better, and Babs will probably get a kick out of being remembered as the ‘missing Batgirl.’”

“Oh she’ll be pissed about being remembered that way.” Tim agreed, shoving the rest of the sandwich in his mouth. “Babs will see it in five minutes or less, though. Swear she has a sixth sense for whenever someone mildly associated with the Bats is mentioned.” He mumbled.

“You wanna hijack the thread before she finds it?” He suggested.

“Hijack it?” Duke echoed.

“We’re gonna yell about random stuff that doesn’t contribute to the conversation until all hell breaks loose.” Steph explained, already pulling out her phone. “Tim?”

“How do you feel about discussing why the sun lightens hair, but darkens skin?” Tim suggested, leaving the container on the counter as he brushed by Steph.

“You just want to piss off someone from Metropolis.”

“It’s law as a Bat that I have to torment Superman whenever I possibly can.” Tim shrugged.

“Does that include me?” Duke blinked. “Because I personally think tormenting Superman is a bad idea.”

“Clark wouldn’t hurt a fly,”

“Yeah, but he’ll give me the face of disappointment and I don’t think I can live with that.” Duke protested.

“He can barely even manage--where are you going?” Steph looked up, only now realizing Tim was leaving the kitchen.

“I’m starting the mayhem on the big screens.” Tim grinned, looking back over his shoulder.

“Please don’t tell me he’s going to use Twitter on the bat computer,” Duke sighed.

“He’s totally going to use the bat computer,” Steph smiled, following after him. “C’mon! It’s initiation time.”

“Do you guys just call every weird thing you do initiation?” Duke called, hurrying behind them. “Because I’ve been told I’m part of an initiation five times in the last week.”

“You’re stuck in initiation until this becomes the norm,” Steph said cheerfully. 

“Of course,” Duke muttered.

Tim’s robe billowed behind him like an amateur cape as he wandered towards the door leading towards the steps into the Batcave. He threw open the door, the sound of it slamming echoing and startling the bats on the ceiling.

“Jesus!”

Harper jumped from the swivel chair in front of the computer, wide-eyed as she blinked up at the trio at the top of the stairs.

“Hey, Harps,” Steph greeted, hopping onto the stairs railing and sliding down. “We’re here to cause problems on Twitter.”

“Oh, well, in that case, by all means.” Harper snarked, getting up and grandly gesturing to the countless screens. “Not like I was using it for actual work.”

“Were you using it?” Tim asked, pointedly glaring at Steph to keep his recent adventure to the kitchen quiet.

“...looking for tasers to modify count as work, right?” She said after a moment.

“Technically,” Tim nodded,  ignoring Steph’s smug look that absolutely signified she was going to blackmail him later. “But you can just use Dick’s old escrima sticks. He goes through a pair every two or three weeks, but most still work pretty well, he’s just too lazy to fix them.”

“Sweet,” Harper grinned. She then paused, taking in Tim’s appearance as he slid into the seat she was previously occupying. 

“Why do you look like you’re auditioning to be the pretty girl who dies in a low-budget slasher?”

“First of all, how dare you assume I wouldn’t be the first one to die for representation points,” Tim said, pointing an accusatory finger at her. “Second of all, it’s called having fashion, and also being allowed to do whatever I want.”

“You have terrible fashion sense,” Harper snorted, crossing her arms as Steph and Duke came up beside her. “But fair, I can respect that.”

“See?” Tim said, looking at Steph. “Some people can afford to not be rude.”

“Keep talking and I’ll lose more blackmail material,” Steph calmly threatened.

Harper glanced between the two, to which Tim quietly, and quickly, turned back to the screen and ignored the both of them. Harper raised a brow but didn’t comment. Tim made a mental note to sneak into one of Jason’s unused safe houses after this was over. Steph couldn’t keep quiet for the life of her.

“What are you starting, anyway?” Harper asked, crossing her arms and leaning on the back of Tim’s chair. “A sob story about the Opportunity rover?”

“Another day,” Tim promised, opening up Twitter on the countless screens. He opened another one on the other half of the computer, which Steph quickly stood at and got her own Twitter set up. “Right now, we’re questioning how the sun makes hair lighter, but skin darker. And we’re dragging Clark into it.”

“If anyone asks, I had no part in this.” Duke said, watching the two typing with a frown. “Initiation doesn't include learning how to taunt Superman, right?”

“Eh, we can settle for you becoming close with a Kryptonian,” Steph shrugged. “Dick and Bruce share Clark, Jay’s got Bizarro, Cass and I got Kara, Babs I think counts with her, too, Damian’s got Jon, and Tim has Kon.” She listed off.  “Harper and Cullen took the ‘bully Superman’ route without befriending any of his family, which is a coward's way out, so you can take, I dunno, does Chris still exist in this timeline?”

“I can call in a favor from Bart to reset the timeline again so he exists.” Tim said with a casual shrug, pulling up the thread arguing about the Batgirls. 

“I’m sorry, what--”

“Finding Kryptonians who aren’t already taken is hard!” Harper protested, talking over Duke. “And Clark likes you guys being friends with his family. The only issue he has is Damian getting testy and Tim making heart eyes at Kon every five minutes.”

“I do not!” Tim squawked, whirling around in the chair to glare at the traitors he dared call family. In his head. Family in his head.

“You do,” Steph and Harper chorused.

“I’ve met Kon for less than twenty minutes and even I know.” Harper added. “I’m sure Duke knew.”

“I...yeah…” Duke coughed into his fist and turned away. “But in my defense, the gossip around here is practically shouted down the halls twice a week.”

“You were subjected to Dick having another crisis about Jay dating Kory for two months, weren’t you?” Steph said, trying to hide a snicker.

“There were so many things I didn’t want to know,” Duke whispered, face horror-stricken. 

“Eh, at least Jay hasn’t brought up Talia around Dami yet.” Tim shrugged. “At that point, it’s better to just vacate the premises.” 

“Wait--”

“Point is, you either befriend the Kryptonian or you torment them. That’s the rules.” Tim talked over him again, scrolling down the thread and boredly looking over the arguments. “You ready, Steph?”

“As I’ll ever be,” She grinned, giving a thumbs up. “How long till Babs notices and takes this whole thing down?”

“Few more minutes, tops.” Tim shrugged, already typing. “You two wanna give any input?” He asked, glancing behind him to Harper and Duke.

“Ask if Kryptonian skin can be used as extreme sunscreen,” Harper suggested. “That’ll rile him up.”

“Now I’m just curious if it can,” Tim said, but obediently began making his comment.

“You could just...ask?” Duke tried, clearly not taking in any of what was happening.

“Nah, Kon’s half human, I don’t think it works the exact same.” Tim shook his head, not looking back. “Kara would destroy me if I tried, Bizarro has the same problem, Jon wouldn’t know, and Clark would start telling Bruce he’s worried I’m deranged again.”

“Aren’t you?” Duke raised a brow.

“Only if I feel like it,”

“And when he forgets to sleep for ninety-eight hours.” Steph spoke up.

Tim rolled his eyes, tuning out his siblings as they continued to talk. He posted his comment before sparing a peek back at them, currently throwing off ideas to their hijacking plan like it was an everyday occurrence. Well, to Steph and Harper at least. But, to Duke’s credit, he appeared to be getting more used to it on prodding from his...sisters? Hard to tell, Steph was her own classification of family member. They were some weird choices for family, at least.

Tim watched them for a moment before turning back to making another comment on the logistics of sunscreen, a smile on his face.

He couldn’t find it in him to complain. Too much, at least.

#dc #dcu #dc comics #tim drake #trans tim drake #trans character #stephanie brown #harper row #duke thomas #barbara gordon #twitter #dumbasses #siblings #batfam #bat family #writing #my writing #fanfic #ao3 #fanfiction

[cupcakemolotov]

Wild Hunt

I think I promised @goldcaught a Klaroline Fae fic years ago. This one has been in the works for a while, let's not talk dates, but 2020 definitely slowed production down. I promise, the second half will not sit languishing in my WIP for too long! The biggest, most heartfelt thank you to Kiry, who has been both a cheerleader and a kick in the pants as needed to get this thing on track to being finished. Kiry doesn't sleep, but I can't complain too much, since they have kindly listened to me complain until the wee hours of the morning. (And also my girl @klarolinedrabbles who saw a super early version of this and was kind enough to be encouraging.)

Edit; And I failed to tag @kirythestitchwitch directly, but you know, today was a trip.

A couple of notes to avoid confusion:

Fae: A word used in this fic to generally reference a type of European mythological beings. Sean O'Connell: Cami O'Connell's Twin.

Synopsis: Killing Tyler Lockwood starts a chain of events that put Caroline exactly where she's always dreaded and longed to be: in the arms of Klaus Mikaelson.

Warnings: Alternate Universe; Alternate Universe - FaeAlternate; Universe - Soulmates; Fae!Caroline; hybrid!Klaus; Minor Character Death; Blood and Gore; Mild Gore; Implied/Referenced; Torture; Psychological Torture; Canon-Typical Violence; Compulsion; Blood and Injury; Blood Drinking

Hand pressed tightly against her side, Caroline took several careful breaths, her lungs burning and her pulse a steady thump in her ears. Her senses were hyper alert, magic straining to catch the faintest hint of a disturbance. All around her, humans slept soft and cozy in their beds, and the night had gone quite. As the silence continued to hold, she allowed herself to relax, letting the cold of the concrete at her spine cool her flushed and fever warm skin. For the moment, she was safe.

Reaching up, she rubbed her breastbone, lips curling into a small, pleased smile at the burn. Her father was angry. If she survived the night, that alone would make the pain of her injury worth it. Thankfully, the knife wound felt like it had finally stopped seeping, and her glamour would hide the blood. It was the iron poison that was going to cause her complications. The black spider web crawling up the line of her ribcage hadn’t made it close to her heart, she was her mother’s daughter too, but it weakened her all the same.

It left her in a magical disadvantage.

Grimacing as her phone buzzed silently in her pocket, she pressed a little further into the concrete behind her and looked around. There was nothing to suggest her cousins had been able to track her, though that was just a matter of time. Thankfully, even suffering from iron, she had enough control of her magic to hide the glow from her phone, though she didn’t quite dare to risk more.

Not yet.

Pulling it free from her pocket, she winced at the number of missed calls and quickly scanned the texts that had accumulated.

Bonnie (12:45 AM): Hello???

Bonnie (12:46 AM): You’re not dead.

Bonnie (12:46): Are you ignoring me?

Bonnie (1:10 AM): I swear, I’ll put Enzo on a plane. With the time differences, he’ll be there before dawn.

Bonnie (1:10 AM): Then you’ll have to listen to him complain about airplane food while he tries to kill people.

Bonnie (1:11 AM): I might do it anyway. I could use the alone time.

Wincing, because Bonnie Bennett did not bluff, she hurriedly tapped out a response.

Caroline (1:11 AM): I’m alive.

Bonnie (1:11 AM): What happened?

Caroline (1:11 AM): It was a trap.

Bonnie (1:11 AM): How bad?

Caroline: (1:12 AM): I’ve mostly stopped bleeding and Tyler is dead.

Very dead. She’d made sure of it. There was a lot someone like her father would do with a dead body, so she’d made a point to separate his head from his body so he couldn’t be resurrected. Baba Yaga spells were rare and costly, but if anyone could get their hands on one, it would be her father. It was why she’d then dumped her stash of holy water on the body and then carefully dusted him in iron shavings, rendering his body and his blood unusable.

The little dots below her conversation on her messenger app popped up and died several times, and Caroline closed her eyes, letting her head fall back as she waited for Bonnie’s response. She’d know that coming to Chicago was a risk, for a number of reasons, but even at her most pessimistic she wasn’t sure she could have guessed just what she’d find here.

What could possibly have led Tyler to be so desperate that he would trust her father? Tyler, who was one of the few people who knew the truth of her origin, who had hugged her when she’d said goodbye and told her he would always care about her. Tyler, whose blood she now wore beneath her nails, who had stabbed her with an iron knife and who had died with hate in eyes.

Her phone buzzed and she glanced down.

Bonnie (1:13 AM): Klaus is in Chicago.

Caroline stared at her phone, surprise and a shot of adrenaline leaving her momentarily breathless. Klaus. Here. In Chicago. The city where Bill had set up his most recent plots, where Tyler had attempted to betray everything that had once made him a good man. Sliding her teeth along her lip, she very carefully typed her reply, her fingers shaking.

Caroline (1:14 AM): You said he was in London for the next month. What changed?

Bonnie (1:15AM): I don’t know.

Bonnie (1:16 AM): Do you need an exit?

Bonnie (1:16 AM): He owes me.

Caroline was shaking her head even before she started typing. Being anywhere near Klaus was a terrible idea, and Bonnie knew that. That her friend would never make the offer unless she thought it necessary left dread sitting low in her stomach.

Caroline (1:16 AM): What’s got you spooked?

Bonnie (1:17 AM): Someone is blocking my scrying spells.

Caroline (1:17 AM): Bill?

Bonnie (1:17 AM): If we’re lucky. We both know what it means if we’re not.

Caroline’s fingers tightened on her phone case, her pulse loud in her ears. Bonnie was right. Very, very few things blocked her from seeing what she wanted to see. Bill could do it thanks to the blood bind but it wasn’t easy, and he never managed it for long periods of time. Grams probably could have done it. But the list of powerful witches who remained alive in the United States after the purging of New Orleans was short.

There was only one reason Bill would use the blood connection between them to block out any outside magic from interfering tonight. She hadn’t just pissed her father off, she’d actively disrupted his plans, and thanks to Bonnie’s magical brilliance, he couldn’t track her easily. But there was another way to drag her to a Fairy Court, and she would have to move very quickly to avoid it.

Baring her teeth in a mimicry of a smile, she gave herself a moment to feel a sharp burst of satisfaction. She had a list on her phone of her father’s potential means of retaliation, and Wild Hunt was right there at the top as the worst possible outcome, but it also meant Tyler must have been far more integral to his plans than she’d guessed. Even knowing that her chances of survival had just taken a serious dip, it did little to dim her pleasure. If she was very, very lucky her father’s precious Queen would feel the need to take out his failure on him directly.

A girl could hope.If she survived the night, she was going to find a fancy bottle of wine and pick up a cupcake. Maybe two cupcakes. She deserved the mini-celebration.

Caroline (1:20AM): I spotted half a dozen of my cousins tonight. I don’t know who holds their allegiance but it probably won’t matter. If Bill is super pissed, he’ll call them all.

Bonnie (1:21 AM): Fuck.

Bonnie (1:21 AM): If it goes bad, don’t be an idiot. Use Klaus.

Caroline (1:21 AM): No.

Caroline (1:22 AM): Favor or not, I killed his hybrid. He doesn’t strike me as forgiving.

Bonnie (1:22 AM): He’s not.

Bonnie (1:23 AM): You don’t have to tell him.

Caroline (1:23 AM): Uh huh. I’ll call you when I’m safe. 🤦😘❤️🏃

Shoving her phone back into her pocket, Caroline exhaled slowly at the bite that was her warning that her magic was nearly tapped dry. Giving herself another half-a-dozen heart beats to celebrate her first major victory, she turned her mind to her problem at hand.

Bonnie had good reason to be worried. It had been almost thirty years since the Queens had summoned a wild hunt to drag one of the half-Fae home for punishment. Bill had made a point to tell her in great details the torture that had awaited her cousin, the way the Queen had plucked his body and his mind apart for his treachery.

Caroline doubted she had become enough of a problem that the Queens would send the hunt, which meant that Bill would be expending a great deal of power to collect her. Her lips twisted, finger tapping silently against the side of her phone. Fae magic was powerful, and so was her father, but it could be circumvented. She needed to concentrate on that, put together her plan.

Pissing her father off twice in one night would normally be her highest priority, but instead what she wanted to think about was the message Bonnie had given her.

 Klaus Mikaelson was in Chicago.

Anticipation was a tantalizing thrill in her veins. She’d hoped the truth of New Orleans would have helped her grow out of her strange obsession. Instead, it left her wanting to know more. It was a struggle, when all she had to do was text Bonnie and ask for a location. She could then finally indulge in the bone deep curiosity that had been part of her life for as long as she could remember. Maybe figure out the cause of her obsession with a monster she’d never met.

She might’ve, if only doing so tonight wouldn’t put everyone she cared about in danger.

Caroline slid her lip between her teeth, letting the small hurt ground her. If she thought her father hated her enough to call down a Wild Hunt now, exposing the Fae’s secrets to Klaus would make his rage burn even more bitterly. She’d honestly have done it years ago out of spite if such a move would only put her in the crosshairs of the courts, but it wouldn’t.

Bonnie and Enzo would also be marked.

The High Courts currently considered her rebellion to be a family matter, though one Bill was unable to control adequately. She could not risk a Queen deciding she was her enemy in truth, not yet. Not when she was so close to figuring out how to banish her father permanently to the otherside of the Veil.

She’d be thrilled to just killing him, but she long since accepted that might not be possible. Tyler had been right, when he’d called her a monster. When he’d called all of them monsters. He just hadn’t understood that for all of the terrible things in this world that there were worse fate’s hidden behind the veil in between the worlds, horrors lovingly encouraged in Underhill that could break a human mind merely with their existence.

Earth had pushed the Fae back with their iron and religion all those years ago, had sealed the veil with witch magic, and humanity considered themselves victorious. But the truth was all they had done was defer the fight for the territory the Fae claimed as theirs to own to a different day.

The Fae hadn’t forgotten humanity nor had they forgiven them for their defeat. Banished behind magic, the Fae watched and watched and hungered. They had waited for the time that they had truly passed into myth, until the world forgot how to defeat them with a dangerous patience. But the nature of the Fae was as capricious as it was violent, and not all agreed on waiting.

Some had altered their plans and plotted a different course of action.

The Great Experiment.

Caroline supposed she should be grateful for that impatience, it was the reason for her existence, but all she could muster just then was a familiar anger. For six hundred years, members of the High Courts had mingled their blood among humans, hoping to breed children with resistance to both iron and the religion, the tools that had locked them away from the world that had once been theirs. And their plan had produced some success, though not always how they had hoped.

She was one such success.

Elizabeth Forbes had never been comfortable with her half-Fae child, but she’d also refused to abandon her to a world filled with monsters. Instead, she’d taught her daughter the good and the bad of humanity, had shown her the world as it was and what it could be. Her father saw her as a tool, a means to an end. Her mother’s love had been gruff and uneasy, but she’d tried.

She would never, ever forget that.

Or forgive Bill for her death.

Caroline had defied her father and his magic, had pitted herself against his will as she vowed vengeance for killing the one thing she’d ever claimed as her own. Her mother.

Hunting Bill required care and a meticulous eye for detail, and a particular stubbornness she had in spades. His magic was more powerful than hers, but he had always underestimated his only child by Liz, brushed her off as not powerful or clever enough for his schemes. It’s been a deliberate decision of hers to hide what she was capable of, hoping that such a ploy would save her mother. Now, she used her magic against him with the same ruthlessness he had taught her as a child.

But she was just one half-breed among hundreds, and so she’d learned to be careful. She wasn’t even the most powerful of those born on this side of the veil and underhanded ambush tactics had always served her better than brute force. A disruption there, a few dozen murder’s here. Just enough to skew her father’s chessboard while she worked to uncover the truth of his plotting. The fewer of her cousins who were able to carry out the will of her father and his fellow full blooded Fae’s plots, the safer humanity was from a terrible strike.

But she couldn’t kill them all, though she’d certainly tried. Her family did not die easily, and magic lingered in places of terrible violence like fingerprints. Each kill was a risk that could lead to her death. Over the years, it’s become clear that if she wanted to destroy her fathers plots, she couldn’t do it alone. The tie that connected them, the thread that burned so clearly now in her chest with her father’s rage, meant that she’d never be truly safe from him. Blood ties were not easily broken.

But Caroline knew witches, so she’d returned home, to the place where the only people she trusted still lived. Tyler had already been gone by then, lost in his need for vengeance, but Bonnie had been there, lingering in the ashes of conquest almost as if she’d been waiting.

It was then that Caroline had learned that humanity's greatest monster had become its potential savior. That the true potential of Ester’s terrible offspring had finally been unlocked. Klaus Mikaelson had broken his curse.

Her fingers curled into her palms, the strange, bone-deep curiosity that ground her joints together every time she thought of his name a familiar sensation. Klaus had broken his strange Sun and Moon curse in the forest she knew so well, had cut a bloody path through everyone who tried to oppose him, and laid the foundations for the army of hybrids he was determined to build. His perfect army that feared neither sun nor death and were unnaturally loyal.

Hybrids that Bonnie had helped create.

Her best friend rarely spoke of the events that led to the creation of the hybrids, refusing to give Caroline even the smallest detail of how a hybrid was made. Even tucked away in her home in Maine twenty years later, hidden by both Fae and witch magic. Caroline might not have the hows involved, but she knew the whys.

It all circled back to Bill.

Liz hadn’t been the only causality of her father’s hunger for power, just the first in their small town. Murdering Sheila Bennett had been a mistake in that it had set Bonnie against Bill, but it fit the pattern Caroline was starting to see in her father’s plans. Liz had been human, but one whose family had been deeply entrenched in the supernatural for generations. Sheila Bennett had been powerful, but she’d been born of the witch line that had created the Otherside. Gram’s had made sure her death had cost Bill, but it hadn’t been enough to stop his plans as Tyler’s presence tonight had proven.

Sometimes, Caroline wondered why Bonnie didn’t hate her. Bill was a scourge that returned time and time again, because her blood allowed it. Maybe if she’d been stronger they’d have been able to protect their families. But what she couldn’t protect, she could avenge.

Bonnie had agreed to help. Had been working on her own plans for years. The first real foothold into Bill’s master plan had been with the Augustine Society. Bonnie had been watching them for months before Caroline’s return, humans who had relentlessly experimented on vampires. They’d staged a rescue for the vampire that had been imprisoned, and it had been Enzo who had known of Tyler.

Tyler who had been the first of Klaus’ successful hybrids, whose loyalty was a shaky thing despite whatever magic bound him to his maker. Her childhood sweetheart who yearned for freedom from the yolk he had chosen. It’d taken months to go through the society’s notes they’d managed to save, to dig into the texts they had been experimenting with.

They’d known so much but understood so little.

But one thing had become crystal clear.

Bill was trying to bring down the Veil. Not unexpected, as most of the Fae worked to destroy it. But Bill also worked to understand what had led to the banishment of the Fae, so he could break it better.

It had been humans, werewolves and witches who had originally created the veil, blocking the Fae Lords from returning in great numbers after their banishment, forcing them to squeeze through cracks when the veil between worlds was thin or use now defunct gates. When iron had slowly lost its grip on the world, they might have managed more but for Qetsiyah.

Bonnie’s ancestor had been clever. When she’d bound the otherside, trapping Amara in stone and Silas forever out of her reach, she’d sunk the power of those souls into the Veil between humanity and the Fae, creating a second anchor. An additional failsafe to guarantee that no Supernatural would be so foolish as to undo her work.

Witch. Vampire. Werewolf. Hybrid. When they died, they were shuffled into Qetsiyah’s chosen afterlife, and their souls protected humanity. Humans were spared that fate, but their very existence acted a detriment to the Fae, as it was humanity who embraced iron.

The fastest way to destroy the Veil would be to free Silas. For a while, she and Bonnie had worried that he would succeed. But no one knew where Qetsiyah had hidden Silas’ body, and for all of her father’s attempts to restart Silas’ little cult, he’d always failed. The last real surge in members had ended when they’d been slaughtered, setting her father back decades.

The only other way to destroy what Qetsiyah had put into place would be to destroy the Veil at the root. And while no one understood the magic that had cast out the Fae so many years ago, her father didn’t need to understand the magic of the Veil to break it. He just needed dominion over it. But that was no easy task. Humans and witches could be bribed or fooled. Werewolves hovered at the brink of extinction. But the children of Esther, the hybrids that now walked the earth, defied every master but one. And so her father gathered his pieces and worked to subjugate Klaus’ creations in secret.

Caroline had tried to save Tyler.

She’d tried to talk him out of the part that Bill needed him to play. He’d refused. And the betrayal had burned like acid in her gut.

It had been Tyler, who had helped her dig Elizabeth Forbes’ grave. Her friend who had given her his gloves when her palms started to bleed, had said nothing when her tears had made her clumsy. It had been Tyler who sat with her and Bonnie, listening as Grams told them of the dangers in the world after Caroline had announced she was leaving. But her friend had died long before Caroline had killed him.

She shivered in the wind.

She knew Klaus played his part in that. It was impossible not to. It had been because of Tyler that she’d ended up in New Orleans, after all. The whispers of the destruction of the city, of how entire witch lines had been lost to madness and death had not adequately captured the horror of it. She’d seen what Klaus had left behind: werewolf packs left in ruin, the survivors turned and bound to his will. Broken witches and terror ridden vampires.

But rarely death. Klaus was not so kind to let his true enemies escape him in such a way. Instead, his wake left behind living ghosts. At least in this, she had done her best by her old friend. Whatever had driven him, whatever horror he had witnessed that had turned him so fully against her, she hoped he could find peace from it now.

She wasn’t so sure she’d be so lucky. Klaus was a spector in her life that she didn’t know if she could escape. And tonight, she’d killed his first hybrid. She grimaced. Klaus would not take to that news kindly. Best if she was long gone when he learned of it.

She wondered if she could manage it. She already felt the pull in her chest, the need to see, to touch, burning through her. It has always been like this. When Grams had first mentioned his name all those years ago, she’d felt the smallest of pulls, a jolt of curiosity. A tug she couldn’t explain. And everytime she thought his name, every time she heard another whisper of the night terrors he created, the tug to search him out grew stronger.

She’d deliberately chosen to look for those horrors once, hoping the truth of his nature would terrify her into running away. Instead, the monster that she had cultivated since she was seventeen and covered in her mother’s blood had approved. The more she learned, the more she wanted to know.

It was why she’d helped Bonnie disappear. Whatever happened between her and Klaus, she was determined to protect her friends from the fall out of it. But she was not the only Fae who hunted for information about Klaus, and Bonnie Bennet had helped create his hybrids.

Her people would destroy Bonnie, if they learned that truth. That a witch from Qetsiyah’s line had once again worked great magic against them would light the fires of their impotent rage for a long, long time. As long as Klaus and his hybrids roamed the earth, it made their chances of winning a war that much harder.

Fae magic was powerful, but given forced limitations by the rules they had to follow. Klaus and his creations were bound by no such things. And they were swallowing the world.

It had been nearly five years since the first hint of a hybrid returning to the US since New Orleans had raced through the Supernatural community. Over the decades, the US communities had watched from a distance as Klaus had bent Europe to his will, his creations breaking across city after city like a wave, choking out any dissent in their paths.

London, Paris, Milan. They all fell at Klaus’ feet with little more than a whimper.

The first real sign of his return had been when he turned New Orleans into a witches' graveyard, and then his gaze had turned to Chicago. Her father was no fool, he had to have known that Klaus had made this city the seat of his power in the States. Bill was far too cunning to risk catching Klaus’ attention unless he had a plan, and not knowing the exact details of what that plan was worried her.

Though she could guess part of it.

A sharp whistle cut through the air, and Caroline’s gaze cut along the rigid angles and sharply jutting corners of the builders around her, but she maintained her hiding place. She had no intention of being flushed out of cover like a bird they intended to net but she needed to come up with a plan.

Glancing at her watch, she grimaced.

It was nearly two in the morning.

If her father had chosen to call a Wild Hunt, she had roughly sixty minutes until the witching hour of three A.M. struck, and the Hunt was let loose. The blood tie to her father might have eroded to the point that he could no longer use it to force her obedience, but they had never managed to break it entirely. Fae magic was tricky. Blood ties more so. Instead, Bonnie had done her best to cloud it, to thin the connection to a single, potent thread.

A Wild Hunt would cut through the witch magic hiding her and return her to her father. Caroline was certain the only reason Bill hadn’t tried to do such a thing before was because of the cost. Calling a Hunt took a great deal of personal power. She would only have one shot of slipping away, and the risk of being caught by her father’s soldiers was dangerously high.

 Klaus was in Chicago.

Her fingers clenched, and Caroline put her phone away. She wouldn’t risk Bonnie or Enzo by going to Klaus, not yet. Not with Tyler’s blood fresh on her hands. But that didn’t mean she still couldn’t use his presence in the city to her advantage. In a game of half-breeds, it always came down to who was the better gambler.

Supernatural cities always had seedy vampire nightclubs and supernatural friendly bars littered throughout. When Klaus had taken over Chicago, he had commandeered several for his own use. But there was one club in particular that she’d pinned down as potentially being part of his stomping grounds; the number of bodies that were secretly removed from the club gave credence to her theory, though she supposed it could just be a place that attracted excess stupidity.

If she was going to have a chance tonight, she needed to go into that club and stay just long enough to let the scent of mingling supernaturals hide her trail so she could slip away undetected and find a place she could hide from the magic seeking her. If she was lucky, Klaus’ potential presence would act as a deterrent.

It was a risk.

Not only because she needed to keep her own blood-lust in check, but because she had never before let herself venture close enough to Klaus to risk catching a single glimpse of him. She was magically exhausted and wounded, the slow crawl of thirst thick in her throat, and her bones ached with the insistent need that made no logical sense.

She would have to be so very careful. Still, for now, her glamour was holding. Setting her teeth, Caroline turned and headed to the heartbeat of the city. Tonight, she’d find a way to live and tomorrow she’d call Bonnie and they’d work out a plan for her to escape. And she’d have to do it without indulging in a curiosity that had no name but was a pulse in her blood.

The rest is here: A03

(I’ll add the link to FFN once I get it posted.)

#my fic #klaroline #klaroline fanfic

[elisaphoenix13]

Delusional (Ch.1)

Okay, so this is something that won't be for everyone. It's a trope that me and my friends got into while RPing so this was born. I think this will be one of those fics that I'll only continue if there's enough interest. Let me know what you think!

Tony had been pissed when his parents told him that his mother was pregnant. He had no idea what possessed them to think having another kid was a good idea when they could barely pay attention to the one they already had, and he even said that. It ended up turning into an argument between him and Howard and Tony gave them both the cold shoulder for the entirety of Maria's pregnancy. Whether it was because of her age or possibly because of Tony's ongoing silent treatment stressing her out, his mother went into labor a month early. Tony couldn't even bring himself to visit his parents or the new baby at the hospital, but they eventually came home with his new baby brother that he almost considered ignoring completely.

But then he realized that would make him exactly like Howard.

So when his parents went gallivanting off to some party one day, leaving their preemie baby in the hands of the maid, Tony finally decided to properly meet his brother. A seventeen year age difference wasn't unheard of, but it still felt weird to walk into the nursery with the knowledge that the baby inside was a sibling. He decided he would make sure the baby was still alive and then go back to his bedroom to study for his physics final, but when he approached the crib the baby was sleeping in...he softened.

His baby brother slept peacefully on his back with his arms stretched out on both sides of his head and every so often snuffled in his sleep. He wasn't covered with a blanket and he vaguely recalled hearing that he shouldn't be at his age, but he was at least dressed warmly in tiny blue footie pajamas. He had wisps of dark hair that looked like they would be soft to the touch and Tony was tempted to reach out and see but he refrained. He didn't want to disturb the baby.

Tony had been so focused on ignoring Howard that he had to wrack his brain for his brother's name, which he knew his mother had told him. He was pretty sure he had been studying at the time and was only half listening, but it eventually came to him.

Scott.

Scott Harris Stark.

It was barely seconds later that the baby started to fuss and Tony looked around a little lost before finally giving in and leaning down to scoop him up. Tony was a goner after that. Scott's hair was just as soft as it looked and Tony was worried he could break his brother if he so much as sneezed. It didn't stop him from taking over most of the responsibilities of caring for Scott from that moment on though. Tony did his research, watched his mother, and even asked the maid for advice, but soon he was changing diapers. He fed Scott, stayed up for hours on end when he was colicky or sick, dressed him, played with him…

Tony was determined to make sure Scott had the love and attention he was deprived of. At least Maria tried with both of them.

But when Scott was just under a year old, tragedy struck. Both their parents died in a car accident on the way to a party, leaving Tony alone with his infant brother. Fortunately he was freshly eighteen so he could have legal guardianship over Scott and Tony had Rhodey and Obadiah for support and help with the company he now had control over. Scott always came first though. Tony made sure he had a decent childhood despite the fact that he easily got sick, and the adorable smiles he got in return were well worth it as Scott grew up.

So was the boy's first word. Dad. Tony never corrected him since he did raise Scott, and his brother never knew their parents. So as far as Scott knew, Tony was his father and Tony made sure to hide away the truth. As far as he was concerned, the lie wasn't hurting Scott and it was partly true in a sense.

He didn't expect it to be easy and it wasn't. Because Scott was born premature, he had special needs in the form of allergies (both food and environmental), asthma, and he even got sick constantly. Most days found Scott in Tony's room because the boy whined whenever Tony tried to put him in his own room, and he was terrified Scott would stop breathing in the middle of the night. Scott slept in Tony's bed until well into his grade school years when he finally started to grow out of his need to be near his father. Tony was still nervous and checked on Scott before he went to bed and at least once in the middle of the night when he woke up.

When Tony first found out Scott was allergic to peanuts, he was a wreck. He threatened the doctors to help his kid when he heard Scott wheezing for breath, and when the boy was finally recovering, he demanded they do whatever they had to do to check for any allergies he might have had. Tony didn't think he could handle seeing Scott as sick as he was again. The wheezing, the hives, the overall misery his little boy had been in…

It turned out Scott was severely allergic to all types of nuts. Peanuts, cashews, almonds, walnuts...if it was a nut, Scott couldn't have it. That was easy enough to plan meals around but then there was also shellfish, sesame, parsley, and pineapple. Whenever they went out to eat, Tony scrutinized every ingredient on the menu if it was available, and if it wasn't, he demanded to talk to the chefs. Fortunately once he learned what food Scott could have, it became second nature.

Tony always made sure to carry an inhaler and epipen with him, had extras held for Scott at school, and more in the boy's backpack. He taught Scott as early as possible what he couldn't eat because it would make him very sick and for the most part, things went well enough. There was only one incident at school when Scott unknowingly ate something he wasn't supposed to, but he was quickly treated with one of his pens and sent to the hospital. Scott was quick to bounce back from that since the school staff had been prepared, so the only constant issue was his asthma.

Scott never let it slow him down and Tony swore he was going to either go gray at 25 or suffer heart failure. The little boy was constantly climbing everything, and Tony once had to pull him off the bookcase that he managed to climb up to the fifth shelf. The fifth shelf. Rhodey had his fair share of retrieving Scott from high places whenever he visited too.

Before Tony knew it, Scott had grown into a young man with a talent for hacking and engineering and had a penchant for tacos, oranges, and lollipops. He helped Tony with a lot of his projects but absolutely refused to help with anything related to weapons. Scott never liked violence and always hated that Stark Industries was solely based on weapons making. Tony never faulted him for it.

"Scott, have you seen my--?" Tony stops mid sentence when he looks over at the young man and finds him at his computers with his feet kicked up on a small part of the desk, dozing with a lollipop in his mouth. "Oh, that's safe."

He walks over and takes the lollipop out of Scott's mouth and he jolts awake. "Hey! I was eating that!" Scott complains.

"Yeah, you were very proactive about it. I didn't raise you for 21 years so you could choke and die because you fell asleep with candy in your mouth." Tony rolls his eyes and sticks the candy back in Scott's mouth before he could protest. "Now have you seen that little screwdriver you like to steal?"

"You had it last, and I've been busy updating Jarvis's code." Scott answers.

"I saw that. I guess you're so good you can do it in your sleep."

"It was uploading!" Scott drops his feet to the ground with an annoyed huff. "And I told you I wouldn't help you with your stupid weapons. That includes finding misplaced tools."

"Fine, fine."

Tony tries fixing the cow lick in Scott's hair and rolls his eyes when it only floofs back into place. He learned very early on that his kid's hair was untameable but that didn't stop Tony from trying. Hair gel, pomade, hair spray...none of it could contain and style Scott's hair. The cow lick worked for him though so Tony wasn't too obsessed with trying to find something to keep it in place.

"Well while you wait for your new code to upload, why don't you make me a sandwich?" Tony says. "I gotta get the Jericho prototype finished tonight."

Scott frowns. "Why do they want you to fly all the way out to Afghanistan? What's wrong with how you usually sell this stuff?"

"It's just for a couple of days volpino. Now where's my tuna sandwich?" Tony asks.

"Probably in the fridge. It's deconstructed." Scott says as he leaves the lab.

"Oh, haha. Funny. I like mine constructed so get on it. Chop chop."

Tony smirks when he hears Scott mumble something under his breath along the lines "slave driver", but with no heat. Things had gotten easier as Scott got older but he never really grew out of his physical problems. He still had his food and environmental allergies, his asthma, and even his tendency to get sick, but that had mostly been remedied when Tony moved them to Malibu. The warm weather helped with that and Scott didn't get sick nearly as often as he did in New York, and that had been a huge relief for the both of them. Tony only wished he had thought of it sooner.

When Scott comes back with the sandwich and sets it nearby for Tony, the man looks up at him and rolls his eyes when he finds the younger man drinking out of a juice box. "You know you can have beer now right?"

"Juice is better." Scott says. "When are you leaving tomorrow?"

"You'll probably still be asleep. Even if I leave late." Tony grabs the sandwich and takes a bite. "So try not to blow up the lab while I'm gone." He adds around his mouthful.

"That's no fun." Scott says sarcastically. "Pepper called by the way. She said she has some paperwork for you to look at before you leave."

Tony groans. "Tell her I'm not home."

"It'll be true in a few hours anyway."

"Don't underestimate Pepper. She'll be waiting on the tarmac for me to look at those papers if she has to." Tony grumbles and then looks up at Scott with a suspicious smile that makes his son narrow his eyes at him. "You're 21. Maybe it's time to start giving you some responsibility with the company."

"I do. It's called making sure my dad doesn't blow himself up because he writes codes when he's half asleep. How are we still alive?"

"Rhodey and Happy." Tony replies dryly before whapping Scott upside the head. "Don't sass me."

Scott rubs the back of his head as he walks back over to his personal workstation to check on the progress of the code. When he had shown an interest in engineering and computers, Tony had immediately set up Scott's own work area with age appropriate equipment that he either replaced or updated as Scott got older. He was good at it too. Tony couldn't count the number of times he got calls from the FBI asking him to get Scott to stop leaving them viruses with laughing cat videos or something. They were always harmless and easily fixed, so Tony's response was to tell them to update their security so Scott couldn't get in.

Apparently they had yet to find a way to keep Scott out and Tony wasn't about to take away one of his son's very few joys in life. As long as it all stayed harmless, Tony would look the other way. He knew Scott was very capable of hacking into pretty much anything, and he was glad his kid was a pacifist. Because Scott was definitely very capable of getting his hands on nuke codes.

Tony actually wouldn't be surprised if Scott had already gone in and changed them.

Some whirring pulls Tony out of his thoughts and he looks over at the kitchenette to find DUM-E making smoothies again. A quick glance told him that there was at least peanut butter and almond milk in it so it wasn't safe for baby boy consumption.

"Hey! Are you trying to kill your little brother with that?" Tony asks and DUM-E beeps sadly when the blender goes off. "You know he can't have nuts!"

"There goes my social life." Scott says and Tony makes a face.

"I don't want to hear about that."

"Says the man whose one night stands I had to chase away."

Tony laughs. "To be fair, it was funny to see them get creeped out when you just stood in the kitchen and stared at them while drinking your juice box."

"...yeah. That was pretty fun." Scott admits.

"Sir, Miss Potts is on her way down." JARVIS says and Tony groans.

"Ugh the dreaded secretary with her paperwork."

There's a few beeps before the lab door hisses open and then the sound of heels clicking across the linoleum.

"Tony-"

"I know," he sighs. "Paperwork. Give it to Scott."

Pepper places the small stack next to his arm. "He's too busy making sure you don't blow yourself up."

"You know I had to teach him how to do that right?"

"And now he's better than you." Pepper says and Scott cackles.

"Ouch. My pride." Tony clutches at his chest in mock hurt.

"Please just look at this and sign. It won't even take you ten minutes." Pepper sighs.

"I trust you."

"Nice try."

#tony stark #scott lang #pepper potts