#but it did make me dig up this old WIP

[purplelurkinghini]

up in your arms, too late to beg you / or cancel it, though I know it must be / the killing time / unwillingly mine (x)

For further context and more self-indulgence, click here.

#Cornelius Stirk #The Harvester #I was watching that 1899 show and they played not one but two songs from my Cornelius playlist #and one of them is The Killing Moon #I don't blame them #it's a classic #but it did make me dig up this old WIP

[bucky-bucky-bucky-bucky]

How’s Your Head? | Bucky Barnes x Reader

This has been in my WIP forever and I finally finished it. Once again, I am looking for a soft, kind, Bucky Barnes to take care of me and flirt with me. Is that so much to ask?🥲

This is slightly longer than my usual stuff, just FYI. The WC is 7280. And yes the title is a Drag Race reference. 😂

Warnings: reader injury (not severe), creepy men (jail), blood, vomit, flirting, fluff🫶

Bucky didn’t like the staring. The eyes that seemed to follow him everywhere he went. The old woman just a few seats down from him leered at him almost aggressively, like she hoped looks could kill. And though this was a common occurrence, it still rubbed him the wrong way.

“Another adoring fan…” Bucky thought. 

He shifted side to side along with the rocking of the subway car and did his best to ignore her gaze- but couldn’t stand it any longer. He gave her a nod and a small, forced smile before heading for the adjoining subway car. Hopefully, he’d find an empty seat free from gawkers and onlookers.

But when he opened the door to the next car, he didn’t find the peace and quiet he’d hoped for.

“I’m not interested…” you said to the creepy guy sitting next to you.

“Oh, come on,” the man insisted. “Don’t be so uptight, sugar.” He rested a hand on your thigh and gave your leg a squeeze, his fingers digging into your flesh.

“Fuck off, dude. Seriously?” You banished his hand and stood from your seat, “eat glass, asshole.”

But as you tried to make your getaway, the man grabbed you by the wrist. He pulled you close as you struggled in his grip, his face only inches from yours. “Maybe you should learn some fuckin’ manners,” he threw you to the ground, your head striking the floor.

Bucky flew into a blind rage. He made quick work of your assailant, nearly removing the man’s head from his body. And with the entitled dickhead desperately escaping to another subway car, Bucky made his way to your side. 

“Hey, are you alright?” 

You sat on the floor, slightly dazed. A thick fog settled into every corner of your mind and your ears stung with a sharp ringing. “Yeah, I’m good. Didn’t hurt that bad,” you lied. Yet another interaction with an unknown man. Yes, he’d shooed away your creeper, but you wanted to be left alone. No more strange men, no more men pretending to be “one of the good guys” before showing their true self. 

If you could convince this random guy that you were okay, maybe he wouldn’t bother you. Maybe you’d be able to make it home without being touched by another strange hand. “Thanks for asking, but I’m-”

“Oh- you’re bleeding”. Only then did you notice the rush of warmth running down the back of your neck. Bucky yanked the jacket from his body and reached for your bloodied skull before quickly recoiling. “Erm, can I?” 

You nodded- the motion made you wince.

With cautious hands, he used his jacket to hold pressure to your wound. He stared down at you with genuine concern, his brow furrowed with worry. 

After a few moments, most of the fog cleared and brought you screeching back to reality. The reality in which a man you’d never met held his jacket to your bleeding scalp as you sat on the floor of a subway car. Pain pulsed beneath his touch and shot through your head. Warm blood dripped down your neck. But you didn’t care- all you wanted was to move.

Bucky watched as you struggled to get up and instantly tried to stop you. “Hey, careful. I don’t think-”

“I don’t wanna be on this floor any longer than I have to,” you did your best to stand, but the dizziness sabotaged your efforts. “People do weird shit on the train. I’d probably sitting in someone’s pee.” 

Bucky gave it a thought and instantly reconsidered his cautioning. “Ew. Yeah. You’re right,” the disgusted look on his face nearly made you laugh out loud. He thought back on all the questionable and downright nasty things he’d seen on the subway- he didn’t want you on that floor. “May I?” He offered you his free hand and got you safely into a seat. 

“Which stop is yours?” He asked, settling into the chair next to you. And though he seemed like a perfect gentleman, you gave him a suspicious glance. 

“Oh- I didn’t mean that in a ‘where do you live, I’m gonna follow you home’ type of way. More like, ‘how many stops do you have left before you can go get some rest?’ type of way”

You let out a laugh that sent pain pulsing behind your eyes. Maybe this stranger wasn’t so bad. “Um, I still have like five to go. I think. I’m coming all the way from Coney Island.” 

“Coney Island, huh?” A rush of memories hit Bucky like a train. Riding the cyclone with Steve and watching him puke. Spending all his money to win a stuffed animal for some redhead he had a crush on. 

“Yeah, I got to hang out with a girl I know from college. Haven’t seen her in a while and she’s never been out there. It was actually a pretty great day until that asshole cracked my head open…”

Bucky grimaced. He pulled his jacket from your scalp to give the wound another look, only to be greeted by a continuous flow of blood. “I think you should probably go to the ER. You might need stitches. And there’s a good chance you have a concussion.” 

You shot him only a nonchalant shrug, “I’m not worried about it. Plus, I don’t feel like going into debt so they can give me two Tylenol and an ice pack”.

Bucky liked your sense of humor, your wit. How you could be cheeky and sarcastic after being accosted surprised him. But he clocked the tension in your shoulders, the worry in your eyes. You were uneasy. Your glance darted from one end of the subway car to the other every few seconds; he knew you had to be searching for your assailant. Or the next man who wanted to touch you without permission.

“Hey, would you rather take a cab home?” Bucky said, pulling you from your anxious spiral. “I don’t blame you if you don’t want to ride the train after what happened.”

“Oh, um…”

“I’m not inviting myself home with you-” Bucky shook his head. He was cute when he got flustered. “I just mean, I’ll pay for you to take a cab if you’re uncomfortable.”

How you seemed to meet both the bottom of the barrel and the crème de le crème of men back-to-back nearly gave you whiplash. But this handsome stranger had done enough; you couldn’t let him pay for your ride home. “That’s- wow, that’s really sweet. But you don’t have to. It’s okay.”

“What if I want to? You seem uneasy… like you’re waiting for him to come back.”

You nodded.

“Then let’s get you a cab, alright? Next stop, we’re outta here.” He shot you a wink before once again reassuring you that he was not going to follow you home. “Is there someone who can keep an eye on you, though? Like I said, you probably have a concussion. And if your roommate or, um, significant other can sit with you for the rest of the night, that would be a good idea. Head injuries are no joke.”

“Well, I don’t have a significant other,” you almost laughed. “And my roommate’s out of town. She was supposed to get back around sevenish, but her flight got crazy delayed because of weather- now she’s not getting home for a few hours.”

Bucky’s brow furrowed. He checked his watch and saw that it was only 8:04pm. He needed someone to sit with you for the rest of the night. Just in case something happened, you’d need a friend or loved one by your side. And if you didn’t have someone there with you, Bucky knew he’d spend the remainder of his evening worrying about the cute stranger he met on the train. 

Just then, the subway stopped. Bucky offered you his arm and guided you onto the platform and up the stairs- all while keeping his jacket in place against your wound. Getting away from the train eliminated your unease. No longer were you trapped in the tiny space, your blood staining the floor. You had an escort in the form of a good samaritan, and a ride that would get you home without any further abuse.

 But when Bucky hailed you a cab, your anxiety resurfaced.

“Hey, um…” you eyed the car as it approached, “Would you- do you mind riding with me?”

Bucky cocked his head to the side. 

“I don’t know- I’m just a little nervous and I don’t really wanna be in a cab alone with another random man,” you said. “I know it’s probably inconvenient for you- I’ll pay for your ride home from my place.” The taxi neared the curb and stopped in front of you, sending your unease into overdrive. “Do you mind?”

Bucky clocked your wide eyes and shaking hands. Sure, you made jokes and sarcastic quips about what happened. But deep down, you were shaken. And he wanted to help in any way he could. “Not at all- I get it,” he gave you a reassuring look, “and you don’t have to pay for my ride. Let’s just get you home, alright?”

He held the door open for you and helped you into the cab before sliding in behind you- his hand still attached to your bloody skull. The ride was quiet, save for the honking of horns and cursing drivers. But having Bucky with you for the duration eased your discomfort. 

“So, is there anyone you can call to come look after you?” Bucky asked after a while, “A friend, a neighbor, a family member?”

“I don’t really have any friends,” you said. “But not in a ‘I’m a loser and can’t make friends’ kind of way, I promise.” Bucky laughed. You liked his laugh. “I’m just still kinda new here. And all my family lives in across the country. Plus, I only know two of my neighbors. One of them is an old man who always tell me my skin looks ‘so soft’-”

Bucky’s nose wrinkled, “Ew…"

“Yeah. And the other is this girl who told me to shut the fuck up because she thinks my footsteps are too loud? So yeah, I don’t have many connections here yet.”

He sensed a little embarrassment staining your words and aimed to make you feel better, “Well I’ve lived here for quite some time, and I don’t have any friends, either.” 

That didn’t seem possible to you. He was so likable. Quiet, yet endearing. And certainly, a gentleman. He made you feel safe. You wondered how his girlfriend would react when she found out he took another woman home. 

Bucky found himself wondering how you didn’t have swaths of friends. Even after your harrowing experience on the train, you were so charming. Funny. Sweet. It was even harder for him to believe you didn’t have a love interest to go home to. But after what he’d witnessed tonight, he didn’t blame you for keeping to yourself. 

“What part of town do you live in?” You did your best to conceal the optimism in your voice, the hoped that he lived close by. It was embarrassing how smitten you were with this man.

“Brooklyn,” Bucky said. “I’ve lived there for a while- save for some years I spent, um, away.”

Brooklyn. Nothing a quick train ride couldn’t solve. Though you weren’t too keen on the subway after the night’s events. “Well, tell your girlfriend that I apologize for keeping you so long.”

“I don’t have one,” Bucky said. Things inside the cab fell quiet.

“Oh. Well, do you-” you second guessed yourself, but decided to push through. “Do you want to stay with me until my roommate gets home? You know, since you’re so worried about me and my possible concussion and my lack of friends.”

Bucky stopped breathing. “Oh, um. Sure. Yeah. If that’s- if that’s alright. You sure you’re okay inviting a stranger into your house?”

“Well, you’re not really a stranger, Sergeant Barnes”. You shot him a wink.

An immediate ringing filled Bucky’s ears. He didn’t know what to say, how to react.

The rest of the ride was quiet. Bucky’s mind echoed with the sound of your voice referring to him by name. He liked the way it sounded coming from you. But he hated that you knew who- and what- he was. And when the cab turned onto your street and stopped in front of your apartment, he nearly panicked. He reconsidered his agreement to stay with you. But you didn’t seem to mind having the ex-Winter Soldier so close. And he didn’t want you to be alone with a head injury.

Against his better judgement, he followed you to the front door of your building. 

“My great aunt actually lived here back in the fifties,” you told Bucky as you fumbled for your keys. Bucky wondered how you could tell casual stories while dealing with a head injury and an ex-assassin. But as you continued to speak, he realized that he didn’t quite hear what you’d said. He was still reeling from your mention of his name. 

And then he noticed you struggling. You were dizzy after cracking your head open, and a slight shaking rendered your hands almost useless. No matter how many times you tried, you couldn’t seem to finagle the key into the lock. 

“Um, do you want some help?” He gestured to your keys and allowed you to drop them into his free hand. He pushed the old door open with a loud creak and escorted you inside the lobby- his hand still resting on the back of your head. It was quiet while the two of you waited for the ancient elevator to roar to life. And when the doors finally opened, he guided you inside and watched you press the ‘5’ button.

“So… how’d you know it was me?” He asked as the elevator slowly climbed to your floor.

“Well, when I first saw you, I thought you looked kinda familiar. But I couldn’t place you”. You laughed a quiet, bashful laugh, “Then you knelt down next to me, and I thought I was gonna pass out- but not from the head trauma. You just you have like, the bluest eyes I’ve ever seen.” The head injury had you a bit loopy, a little too honest. Too confident. “I knew I’d seen those eyes before… and then it clicked. You were so chivalrous, you know? So old fashioned. I mean, who uses their own jacket to stop a stranger’s head wound from bleeding?” 

Bucky shrugged. His cheeks flushed pink.

“I read a book a few years ago about Captain America and his efforts during World War II. And there was a huge portion about Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes… And that’s where I’d seen those eyes.” You flashed him a dramatic wink, “Truth be told, it was my favorite part of the book.”

A shy laugh made its way out of Bucky’s mouth, “Is that so?”

The elevator lurched to a stop and nearly sent you tumbling to the floor. You’d gotten used to the clunky machine since moving into the building, but your sabotaged equilibrium didn’t stand a chance against it. Bucky caught you in a careful, protective grasp before you could tip over. He gently righted you and searched your face for any indicators of discomfort. 

“You alright?”

“All good, Sergeant Barnes.” You gave him a salute.

He rolled his eyes and escorted you into the hall, “you can just call me Bucky, if you like.”

“Okay, Bucky-” you said with a smile, “follow me.” You lead him in the direction of your apartment- with his jacket still plastered to your scalp. The man was determined to help you. You’d give him that.

You once again needed his assistance when it came to unlocking your front door. But when Bucky got the door open, he just stood there. He didn’t go inside. He held the door for you and insisted you go ahead, finally peeling the jacket from your wound. He knew he didn’t belong here.

You noticed how tentative he was about entering your home and beckoned him inside. “You can come in…” you said. “Are super soldiers like vampires? Do y’all need an invitation?”

Bucky laughed, “No. I just… I don’t do this kind of thing very often.”

“Oh, you don’t accompany injured women home from the subway on a weekly basis? I’m shocked.”

You flipped on the light and let the warm glow reveal your apartment. Bucky admired the art covering your walls, the books lining your shelves, the smell of some kind of baked goods lingering in the air. This place was cozy, welcoming. Nothing like his apartment.

While he was distracted drinking in the details of your home, you gave his jacket a once over. Blood coated the leather and smeared the lining. It was enough to make you nauseous.  “Sorry about this mess… here, let me clean it up for-”

“It’s leather- I’m not worried about it,” Bucky shrugged. “I’ll just wipe it off later.”

“Ew, I think that’s considered a biohazard, Sarge.”

Bucky’s laugh echoed through your home- you liked the sound of his voice bouncing around your space. “Well, lucky for me, I’m not susceptible to biohazards. So, really, it’s not a big deal.” He shot you a wink and hung his bloody jacket on the back of a chair. “Let me take a look at your head.”

He gently moved your hair out of the way enough to expose your wound. He was as careful as he possible not to hurt you or make things worse. And using the dish towel you offered him, he wiped away enough blood to get a good look. 

“It’s big, but not deep enough to warrant stitches. And it looks like the bleeding has finally come to a stop.” 

“Perfect. I’m gonna go take a shower” you said. “Make yourself at home. You’re welcome to anything in the fridge, except the kombucha. My roommate will murder you if you drink her kombucha.”

Bucky didn’t even know what kombucha was. “Are- are you sure you wanna go shower?”

“Um, yeah. Gotta get the subway-floor germs off me,” you gave a dramatic shudder. “Some of us are, indeed, susceptible to biohazards.”

“That’s fair,” he laughed, “I’m just a little worried about your balance… I think it’s probably seen better days.”

He wasn’t wrong. The floor did indeed seem to dip and shift under you unsuspecting feet. The room spun on occasion. The walls wiggled. But you needed to get cleaned up. “I’ll be extra careful. Promise.” You offered him your pinky and made him link his with yours. “But I have more blood in my hair than anyone should- I need a shower.” You left Bucky alone in your living room with a promise to be back soon.

It was strange for him, being in a stranger’s home like this. He didn’t get invited places or have friends to hang out with. He had Sam- and that was it. And while Sam was great, he never felt quite like this at Sam’s apartment. Something about your place warmed him, made him feel a little lighter. Or maybe it was you. Who was he kidding? Of course, it was you.

But Bucky knew this feeling couldn’t last. In a few hours, your roommate would return and send him home. And that would be the end of it. Of course, he’d be thrilled to see you again under better circumstances. But assuming he’d get that chance would only lead to disappointment. And so, as he waited for you to finish your shower, he did his best to remember this feeling just in case it was the last time.

“I said make yourself at home and you didn’t even sit down!” you said when you emerged from the bathroom. You found Bucky in the living room with his hands in his pockets, admiring your things as though he were in a museum. Looking, never touching. “Relax a little, sarge. The couch is really comfy, I promise.”

Bucky liked the way you looked with your skin still slightly damp form the shower, your hair wet and a little messy. “Oh, yeah- I just got distracted looking at all your…” he gestured to your bookcase, “your books and your tchotchkes. You have good taste- I like that you have two copies of Fellowship of the Ring.”

“Well, my sister dropped one of them in the lake at summer camp when we were kids…” you pointed to the faded cover and worn spine of the book in question. “She took a hairdryer to it and it’s mostly fine, but my mom made her get me a replacement. I just can’t seem to part with this one, though.” You plucked your water-damaged copy of Fellowship of the Ring from the shelf and flipped through the pages, “too much sentimental value. You know?

Bucky felt a small smile creeping upward- you didn’t mind damaged goods. Maybe you’d want to see him again after all. 

“Can I get you a drink or something? I have water, tea, La Croix, wine…” you looked at him expectantly. 

“Oh, no I’m okay-”

“Well, I’m going to the fridge for some water anyway, so you’re not saving me a trip…” you shot him a wink and began your trek to the kitchen. He followed in your footsteps, too much of a gentleman to let you fetch him a drink. And though he didn’t know what La Croix was, he took the one you offered him with a smile.

He followed you yet again, but to the couch this time. He sat a respectful distance away- as respectful as your small couch would allow- and taste tested the blackberry drink in his hand. It didn’t taste like blackberries. But he thanked you, anyway.

He couldn’t believe he’d forgotten to check in on you after your shower- he was too entranced by the sight of you in your pajamas. “Hey, how’s your head?”

“Haven’t had any complaints.”

Maybe it was too forward of a joke. Maybe someone from his time wouldn’t appreciate crass humor. Bucky’s cheeks flushed red- and he burst into laughter. You joined him, ignoring the throbbing pain in your skull. 

“It feels fine. I mean, it hurts, but it’s nothing I haven’t experienced before” you said. “Are you just gonna make sure I stay up all night?” 

Bucky cocked his head to the side, “uh, I wasn’t planning on it.”

“Oh…” you grew a little embarrassed. “I thought you couldn’t go to sleep if you have a concussion.”

“You can go to sleep- it’s just good to have someone check in on you now and then,” he said. “And, hey, you don’t have to stay in here with me- don’t feel like you have to entertain me, or anything. If you wanna go to bed, I’ll be fine out here.”

“Well, I don’t know about entertaining, cause I think the concussion kinda fucked up my ability to tap dance,” you laughed. “But I wanna hang out here with you- if you don’t mind the company.”

He gave you a shy smile, “I don’t mind at all.”

Bucky wasn’t anything like the tabloids said. He wasn’t cold or scary or threatening. He sat on your couch, sipping a La Croix and admiring your throw blanket. He was the farthest thing from intimidating. He had a quiet calm about him that brought you peace. Never did you think you’d invite a man you met on the subway to accompany you home. But Bucky made you feel safe. He was sweet, he clearly cared for your well-being. He was, by all definitions, perfect.

“So, what do superheroes do in their downtime?” you asked. “Like when you’re not saving the world, what do you do for fun?”

Bucky shrugged. He didn’t do anything for fun. “Um, I have court mandated therapy appointments,” he gave an awkward laugh. “I read. I hang out with Sam when he’s not in Louisiana visiting his sister. And I have lunch with a neighbor of mine every Wednesday- this old man named Yori.”

“I’m sure he could say the same about you- that he has lunch with some old man named Bucky.”

Bucky’s head fell back in a laugh, “yeah, you’re right. He’s- he’s about twenty years younger than me.” Bucky didn’t bring up the fact that Yori didn’t know his real age or anything about his past. About how the Winter Soldier killed his son. “Um, what about you?” He quickly changed the subject, “what do you do for fun?”

You thought it over for a moment. You hadn’t expected him to ask; most guys never asked what you liked to do for fun. They didn’t ask you anything at all, really. “Well, I also go to therapy,” you said. “My therapist’s name is Angela and I love her. And when I’m not ‘hanging out’ with Angela, I like to read. I like to go on walks. Oh, and I do a lot of baking- there’s a Tupperware of chocolate chip cookies on the island if you want some.”

Bucky’s eyes grew wide. He was off the couch quicker than you could comprehend and returned with the entire Tupperware in hand. But before he could dive in, he offered one to you. He was a gentleman, after all. 

“Oh, shit, these are so good”. Bucky wiped a stray crumb from his lip, “seriously, maybe the best I’ve ever had.”

His praise made your cheeks hot. Bucky Barnes called you ‘the best he ever had’- it was enough to make you sweat. “Oh, I’m flattered. The recipe’s been in my family for generations, though, so I can’t take full credit, but I-”

“I’m giving you full credit”, he said as he finished his second cookie. “These things are incredible.” 

You smiled so hard it hurt. “Well, I make at least one batch a week, so…” This was it, your excuse to see Bucky again. You could simply say that you wanted to bake him some cookies as a way of saying thank you, and then you’d ask him out. It was a perfect plan, really. A flawless, surefire way to guarantee that you’d see him at least once more. But as you tried to suggest baking him a ‘thank you’ batch, your mouth flooded with saliva.

Bucky clocked the way you grew suddenly quiet. He dropped his third cookie and inched closer, placing a gentle hand on your shoulder. “Hey, you okay? Do you need something?”

You did your best to push past the wave of nausea. Breathing in your nose and out through your mouth, you willed your body to cooperate. You made a valiant effort, but it was no match for the clear and present threat of vomit. This was happening- now. You scrambled to your feet and made a beeline for the bathroom, swearing to yourself you wouldn’t puke in front of the James Buchanan Barnes. 

Bucky rushed after you and found you kneeling in front of the toilet, emptying the contents of your stomach. “Oh, shit- here, let me,” he carefully moved your hair out of your face, holding it behind you in an imitation ponytail. His touch was gentle, cautious. He didn’t want to pull too hard and hurt you- you didn’t need any extra pain. 

He watched your body lurch as you wretched over and over, voiding your system completely. It was harsh, almost violent. And when you finally sat back on your heels, black and white spots danced through your field of vision. You were empty. Spent. Exhausted. 

“Hey, do me a favor and sit against this wall, okay?” Bucky guided you backward until you rested comfortably like he asked. “I’m gonna go get you some water, and I don’t want you tipping over while I’m gone.” Even in your despondent, miserable state, he still made you smile. And when he was certain that you wouldn’t injure yourself in his absence, he rushed to the kitchen for a glass of water.

He returned moments later with ice cold water in hand. “Thanks,” you croaked, your throat raw. Small sips of the cool water eased the burning. And a few more swigs rid your mouth of the unpleasant aftertaste. “I’m sure you weren’t planning on watching a stranger puke tonight,” you laughed. It made your head pound. “But I appreciate the water. And you holding my hair.”

Bucky plopped down next to you with a “sure thing” and a “don’t worry about it.” But you’d heard those phrases before. You’d heard them from people who were never a sure thing, people who made you worry about everything they did for you. They’d throw their rare acts of kindness in your face and use them as ammo in an attempt to disprove the pain they caused. It was condescending. Manipulative. Hurtful.  But Bucky meant what he said. All he wanted to do was help. You could tell.

He watched you catch your breath. Watched you drink your water in small sips. But he kept an eye out for another wave of nausea. He wanted to be ready in case he needed to hold your hair again. And he found himself thanking the universe that you’d invited him in; imagining you going through this by yourself broke his heart. 

“How do you feel?” he asked after a while.

“Not the best... but I’ll probably survive.”

Bucky’s laugh filled the room, “well, that’s very good news.”

The two of you sat in a comfortable silence. Bucky’s hand rested near yours. Your thigh bumped against his a few times. You swore electric currents passed between the two of you each time you touched. 

“Hey, if you don’t mind, could you grab me some Tylenol?” 

Bucky was up in an instant, ready to fetch you what you needed. But he found himself lost with no idea where he was going. He was so intent on helping, on making you feel better, that he was ready to run off without a map.

“In the cabinet to the left of the fridge,” you laughed. 

He shot you a wink and sped off. And while he rummaged through your cabinet, you made an embarrassing effort to stand. You rose on wobbly legs, determined to brush your teeth. There was no way you were going to have vomit breath around Bucky- absolutely not. He was the handsome stranger of your dreams. And you couldn’t screw this up; not that you thought he’d kiss a random concussed woman he met on the subway. But you wanted to leave the very best impression possible.

Bucky came screeching own the hall, bottle of Tylenol in hand. “I didn’t know how many you wanted, so I brought the whole thing”, he shrugged. You shot him a smile in the mirror and gave him a muffled “thanks”.

He stood patiently in the doorway, waiting for you finish brushing your teeth. And when you banished the rank taste of bile, you accepted the Tylenol. You tossed back four pills, and before you could reach for your water, Bucky retrieved it for you. He was one step ahead of what you needed. 

With the pills washed down your throat, you gave Bucky an expectant look. “Back to the couch?”

“Yeah, I mean, only if you’re feeling up to it,” he checked his watch. Noticed the yawn you tried to keep concealed. “If you wanna get some rest, please, don’t mind me. You can go to bed- I’ll be fine on my own.”

“No, I’m good. I’m fine,” you took him by the hand and led him back to the living room. “I’m having a good time.” Bucky didn’t say a word; he just let you guide him. He hadn’t held hands with someone in- he didn’t know how long. And holding hands with you- a stranger he’d grown rather smitten with- was enough to stop his heart.

The two of you sunk back into the couch- closer this time- and kept the conversation going. Your thigh rested against Bucky’s; his arm curved around the back of the couch. You could’ve sworn he was playing with a piece of your hair as he talked. But you didn’t want to ask and ruin the moment.

As the night continued, Bucky was shocked. He couldn’t believe you’d only heard of a few of his favorite movies. And he’d never heard of any of yours. “Make me a list,” you said, handing him a pen and a scrap of paper. “And I’ll make one for you. A person’s favorite movies say a lot about them.” 

“Yeah?” he cocked an eyebrow at you. “And what do mine say about me? The ones you know of, that is.”

A sly smile pulled at your lips, “they say that you’re a hopeless romantic.” It almost sounded like an accusation, and Bucky couldn’t help but laugh. 

“Is that so?”

“That is so!” you told him. “But I’m gonna tell you a secret…”  You lowered your voice, beckoned him closer, scanned the room as though in search of any eavesdroppers. “I’m the same way.” 

Just as you finished your list of movies for Bucky, you considered writing down your number. It would be so smooth, so perfectly timed- but what if he thought it was too forward? What if he didn’t want your phone number at all? You scratched out your area code and handed him the list with a smile.

The two of you continued teasing and joking and learning about each other. You found out that Bucky loved peach cobbler. He learned about your passion for animals. And eventually you asked the question you’d been curious about all night.

“So, where were you headed?” 

“What?”

“Well, you were on the subway. I’m assuming you were going somewhere.” You thought he was probably going to some fellow hero’s house for Super Movie Night. Or maybe a meeting with Captain America and Company. He had something much cooler to do than anything you planned for the night, that was for sure.

“Oh, right…” he cringed. “Um, I wasn’t actually heading anywhere. I was just riding the train to, well, ride the train.” It was embarrassing. More embarrassing than anything he’d ever done or said in his hundred years of life.

You cocked your head to the side, “Hmm. Interesting. So, is that like a hobby of yours?” 

He wished he could take his answer back. He wished he would’ve said he was going to dinner. Or Target. Or literally anywhere. But no, he just had to be honest. “No, it isn’t a hobby. It’s more like… exposure therapy.”

“Shit. Sorry,” you threw him an apologetic look. “You don’t have to talk about it.”

“It’s okay, no big deal. I just- I don’t really like confined spaces. Or spaces with a lot of people. It’s a- it’s a long story.”

You nodded. 

“So, my therapist told me two combine the two and force myself to take the train- which isn’t great for my fear of trains,” he let out an awkward laugh. “Anyway, I was just trying it out. Seeing how it made me feel.”

Your heart broke for him. He had so many problems, so much trauma to deal with. And while you weren’t a psychiatrist, you didn’t think combining three of his fears into one nightmare was very sound medical advice. “And how did it make you feel?” 

“It wasn’t great- this lady was staring daggers at me for ten solid minutes. But I did get to teach that creepy guy a lesson, so at least there’s a silver lining.”

You laughed. He loved the sound- wanted to hear it all the time. 

“Thank you again, by the way, Sarge. You really rocked that guy’s shit.”

“I don’t like hurting people-” he shrugged, “It’s just something I’m good at. I try not to engage in violence unless absolutely necessary, you know? But that guy deserved it. Probably deserved a little more, but…” He gestured to you, “priorities.”

A warm rush flooded your cheeks. James Buchanan Barnes referred to you as a priority. 

The evening continued as the two of you swapped stories. You couldn’t believe how funny he was, how many ridiculous things he did back when he was young. In the comfortable safety of your living room, he came alive. You asked for more tales of young James Barnes and his antics with Steve Rogers. 

But as time passed, Bucky clocked the way you sank deeper into the couch. You nodded along with his stories and made comments here and there, but there was no mistaking your exhaustion. You leaned against his body more and more until your head rested on his shoulder. 

And then, you were asleep. Completely out. 

But Bucky didn’t mind. He sat still and quiet. He silenced his phone and yours. After the night you had, you needed the rest. And he was more than happy to help you get some sleep. He held in his laughter as you muttered nonsense under your breath- something about crepes and trench coats. It was perfect. Not the night Bucky expected, but the night he needed. And he’d stay in that exact position for hours if he had to. 

But after only forty minutes, a loud crash scared you awake.

Two large pieces of luggage fell to the floor inside your front door. “Fuck Delta airlines and FUCK LAX!” your roommate, Emma, yelled. “I swear to god, there’s a curse on that fucking airport and Delta is the devil’s airline.”

She eyed the room for a moment, taking in the unexpected scene. “Ew, why is there a bloody jacket in the kitchen? And who the fuck are you?”

You stood, begrudgingly leaving your spot next to Bucky. “This is Bucky, that’s his jacket. Some asshole attacked me on the train. I split my head open. He brought me home and kept an eye on me till you got back.”

Maybe she was just in a shit mood because of the travel nightmare. Or maybe she recognized Bucky. But either way, Emma wasn’t having it. “Okay, well, thanks for bringing her home. But I’m back, so you can go. Now. And don’t forget your nasty jacket.”

Bucky gave an awkward laugh. He mumbled a “nice to meet you” and stood from the couch. The two of you locked eyes for a moment, and you wished telepathy came with the serum. If he could only read your mind, he’d know how sorry you were. How horrified you were by Emma’s behavior. You couldn’t believe how rude she was being, how utterly unkind. 

But your mind and body weren’t quite working together. You were still groggy, lost in the haze of sleep. And your head injury only made things more difficult. You did your best to formulate a response to Emma and an apology to Bucky. But before you could say anything, Emma was at it again. 

“Seriously, dude. It’s time for you to go, get out of my house.”

Bucky was so flustered, so uncomfortable that he left without saying goodbye. Without getting your number. He shut down. He simply snagged his jacket from the kitchen and bailed. He heard you arguing with Emma as he walked down the hall. Heard you near-tears. 

He wanted to turn around and say goodnight. To protect you from Emma’s wrath. Comfort you. More than anything, he wanted to get your number. Maybe ask you out. But he was too thrown off by the whole thing. He didn’t expect such a response- he didn’t even get to tell Emma that you needed looking after. He just ran. And it made him feel like a coward. 

He pressed the button for the ancient elevator once. Twice. Five times. And when it finally arrived, he got in and slammed the button for the first floor. Ruining his chances of ever seeing you again. Sure, he knew where you lived. But he couldn’t just show up. You’d already dealt with enough creepy shit from weird men- he wasn’t going to stalk you. 

Bucky spent the entire elevator ride heartbroken. He knew he’d have to go home to his empty apartment; knew he’d think about you for way too long. You’d probably forget about him after a day- maybe two at the most. And he’d spend months trying to get over the stranger from the subway.

But when he stepped out of the elevator, he found you waiting for him.

“Hi, um… what?” He was more than a little confused. “How did you- how’d you get down here so fast?”

“Stairs,” you breathed. “Faster.”

Bucky couldn’t believe you. It was romantic; it was something out of one of his favorite movies. But it was stupid. “That was… that was a terrible idea- you could’ve gotten hurt. You almost fell over earlier when you were just standing still. Why’d you run down the stairs?”

“Cause I didn’t get to say goodbye…” your voice was soft, heartbroken. “And I didn’t get to give you my number.”

Wordlessly, Bucky handed you his phone. He didn’t know what to say, didn’t want to chance ruining such a perfect opportunity. He couldn’t believe this was happening to him, of all people. That you actually wanted to see him again.

When you finished, you extended Bucky’s phone in his direction- but recoiled as he tried to reach for it. “Promise me you’ll call?”

“On my life,” he said. The answer brought a warm smile to your face- a smile he wanted to see again. As soon as possible. And when you gave his phone back, he took a moment to stare down at your number. This had to be a dream. 

“Do me a favor and go get some rest, okay?” He extended his pinky and linked it with yours, “Drink a lot of water. And even though she seems like she’s in a bad mood, ask your roommate to check in on you every now and then.”

“Yeah, like she’s gonna go for that-”

“Tell her that if she doesn’t, I’m coming back to look after you myself. And I’ll drink her, her um…” 

“Kombucha,” you whispered. 

“Right, I’ll drink her Kombucha!” He laughed and shot you a wink, “That’ll do the trick.”

You pressed a kiss to his cheek, wiggled your pinky with his, and stepped into the still-open elevator doors. “Thank you for everything. I’m really happy I met you.” 

Bucky blushed. “So am I. Not under the best circumstances, but-”

“Worth it,” you shot him a wink. Just as the doors began to close, the two of you exchanged waves. And just before Bucky vanished from view, you threw a quick “call me” his way. And then he was gone.

You made it back to your apartment, nearly tripping over Emma’s luggage. She apologized as you grabbed a glass of water and nearly cried when you told her the story of your evening. And though you wanted to hear about her airport nightmare, you needed to sleep. 

You got settled in bed and realized- you missed Bucky already. 

And just as you decided to go to sleep for the night, your phone buzzed:

“Wanted to call but figured it might be too soon- seeing as it’s only been about four minutes. I’ll call you in the morning. And just so you know: even without the tap dancing, I found you very entertaining. I’m really glad I met you.

If you need anything at all, let me know. Feel better.

-JBB”

—————————————

Taglist: @beefybuckrrito @shadytalementality  @everything-burns-down @rainbow-unicorn-pony @mandersshow @breakablebarnes @psychoticmason @glxwingrxse @lonewolf471 @dreamerglassesgirl l  @the-gods-gloted-but-they-burned @purpleshallot  @seitmai @itvy5601 @dailyreverie  @navs-bhat @eviesaurusrex @themorningsunshine  @evangeliamerryll l @buckys-metal-arm @broadwaybabe18 @the-kestrels-feather @avocadotoastwithegg @goldylions @lokisasgardianvampirequeen @vrittivsanghavi i @idkitsem @avengetheunnatural @rassvetsky @hereforbuckyandsteve @barnesselo

#james buchanan bucky barnes #bucky fluff #bucky fic #bucky barnes x female reader #Bucky #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes #james bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes one shot #bucky barnes oneshot #bucky barnes reader insert #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x reader fluff #bucky fanfic #bucky fanfiction #bucky x female reader #Bucky x reader #bucky x reader fluff #bucky x you #fatws bucky #fatws!bucky

[omaano]

im so late on this but for the wip folder ask: HADES CODY????? SUNSHINE BOY BUT HADES??? im so hyped about it

YES! Sunshine boy is steadily making his way into the Hades AU!! He’s got his jetpack and a torn up poncho for dramatic effect (but no Wi-Fi antenna because I didn’t want to put it in his face 😅)

Why did I feel it necessary to add all these sketches to this one page? Because 1) I wanted to showcase how much I struggled on this one. It is just part of the drawing process. Like, Old Man Rex was a headache and a half but Cody still had him beat on the sketch somehow. And 2) because the solution to being stuck here turned out to be to switch my dark brown/desaturated purple to a red colour, scribble out the very very base of the pose (imagine blobs and swoopy lines and boxes) and then just keep chipping away at building the body and armor and whatever on top of it. (I think the sketch is still very red in the original file…)That had granted me a breakthrough with Rex as well, and now with Cody too… so I might as well remember this solution and spare myself the trouble with the next character ^^;

(Do I know what size a lightsaber actually is when it is held in only one hand? No. Am I willing to look it up properly? … not for the time being, no)

(and special thanks to Lou and Niko for bringing up Overwatch this week, because digging up my old reference folder from that fandom really helped me figure out parts of this sketch🫣🥰)

#my art #Wip game #Wip #sketch #commander cody #hades AU #he looks decent enough by now that I can add this post to the proper tag lol #Alex rambles #answers #shortmage #thanks for asking mage!!❤️ #I don’t really draw the clones so slim I know! #but i figured that the armor will cover it up anyway and I really needed the extra tilt to his hips that way #the hades style allows it just this once okay? #I do prefer to draw them thicker on my own too

[wildemaven]

had me fooled | dave york

-> pairing: dave york x f!reader

-> word count: 1405

-> content warnings: 18+ blog; mentions of alcohol, reader is mentioned wearing heels and a dress, mainly fluff, Dave and Carol are divorced, established relationship, soft Dave, if Dave is a murdering man— we know nothing about it, zero descriptive information about reader, please let me know if I forgot anything

-> notes: this was written on minimal sleep and like 3 hours, so I apologize for how rushed and lacking in all areas it might be. I just wanted to get it done before the new year so it wasn’t glaring at me from my wip pile. It’s not beta’d in the slightest, so all mistakes are my own.

-> holi-dave masterlist / wm masterlist

“I’ll see you at the office on Tuesday. Get home safe!” You yell with a wave to your colleague turned friend from the front door as she settles into her awaiting Uber. The last of the party goers to make their way home. 

The house is calm now. No longer filled with echoes of laughter and cheers that had permeated the walls throughout the night. Close friends, old and new, once scattered in every corner of your home. Now emptied cups littered on surface tops and trails of confetti shimmer across the floor in their wake. 

You relax into the silence as soon as the door clicks closed. The endless duties of a party hostess slowly shift into party cleaning duties, even at this early hour. 

The cold floor almost stings as you ease your bare foot onto the wooden planks, soothing the ache that’s built up through the evening. You toss your metallic heels you had purchased for the occasion onto the bottom step of the stairs as you make your way into the kitchen. 

You're grateful for the few friends who hung back, helping you gather up used paper plates and other food covered items into several trash bags. Deciding the rest of the mess was a future you problem. 

A small whimper catches your attention as you grab the last few empty celebratory bottles of champagne and place them next to the sink. 

You're met with the sweetest face and a look of annoyance, having to deal with a house full of people instead of a quiet evening of cuddles and ear scratches. 

“Don’t give me that look. Your Dad gives me the same one when he’s grumpy and tired too.” Bending down to give Delilah, the French bulldog who’s pouting at you from the comfort of her plush doggie bed, a few pets as she begs for you to hurry up so she can make her way upstairs to sleep. 

“Which look?” A groan floats from the couch in the living room, causing you to snicker at the defensive tone. 

Giving Delilah a scratch to the chin, a silent promise of bed soon, you make your way to the living room. 

“The cute look you’re wearing right now. Half asleep and grumpy that you’ve been having to entertain people for the past few hours.” You plop down on the opposite end of the couch where Dave is sprawled out. Pulling his feet onto the couch, your hands working to undo the laces of his shoes, dropping the shiny leather dress shoes over the arm of the couch— another future you problem. 

Your thumbs slowly dig into the soles of his sock covered feet that are resting on your sequin covered lap. You watch his eyes flutter closed, his brows pinched in welcomed pleasure as you knead out the stress of the New Year’s party you had convinced him to throw. 

“I’m afraid this is how I always look, Sweetheart.” Dave manages to grumble out, looking at you from where his head rests against a decorative pillow. He slowly removes his feet from your grasp, his arms open, beckoning you to join him. 

“It’s still cute.” Accepting his invitation, you crawl over him, nestling between his body and the back of the couch. “You had fun though, right? Everyone seemed to enjoy themselves.” 

“I did.” His fingers lift your chin, his lips finding yours in a soft kiss. “Even if I had to pretend like I enjoyed talking to half of them.”

“Had me fooled.” You playfully smirk at him. “Looked like you were really enjoying yourself most of the night.” 

“That’s because I had you by my side most of the night.” 

Dave’s hands had hardly left you the entire evening. Placed against the small of your back as you exchanged memories from the past year with your college friend who was into visiting for the holidays. Lightly brushing the length of your arm as he listened to a neighbor bore on about his new lawn mower that Dave had zero interest in hearing about. Your face in his hands, as the ball dropped on the tv screen, his eyes on you and only you— 5, 4, 3, 2, 1- HAPPY NEW YEAR! —That first kiss of the new year was shared as streamers and confetti exploded into the air. 

“Good point.” Your fingers begin to toy with the buttons on his shirt, as your mind reliving the entire evening, your head resting on his shoulder, his arms holding you close to him. “How are the girls?” 

“Asleep. They didn’t make it like they thought they would. Carol said they both passed out by 9.” You both laugh. Molly and Alice had both begged Carol and Dave to allow them to stay up until midnight, convincing them both they could make it the entire night. 

“There’s always next year.” A yawn escapes mid sentence, the evening and effects of the several glasses of champagne you indulged in finally catching up to you. “Let's go to bed, Dave.”

You start to push yourself up off of him, but you're stopped by his strong hand wrapping around your wrist. 

“Hang on a sec— there’s something I want to ask you. I’ve been meaning to ask you all evening actually.” There's a shyness in his eyes, one that you don’t see often with the confidence he possesses. 

You settle back into the couch, your legs tucked underneath you, your head falling back into the back cushion. Dave takes your hand in his, his breathing becoming a little erratic as he searches for the right thing to say. The silence between you drags on far longer than he means for. The soft snores courtesy of a sleeping pooch in the background are the only thing filling the room. 

“Yes!” Giving him an enthusiastic smile. 

“Yes? I didn’t even say anything.” His head lifts from the pillow, giving you a confused look. 

“My answer is yes!” A laugh bubbles up from your chest, you love catching him off guard like this. 

“To what? You don’t even know what I was going to say.” He sits up fully, face level with yours. Wondering if you truly know what he had intended to ask you. 

“You might be a man of the government, Babe. But you’re still easy to read. And I’m going to assume that the bulge you’ve been sporting in your pants all night, isn’t due to the effects of the dress I’m wearing. So, my answer is yes— I will marry you, Dave.” Your hand caressing the side of his face, his expression softening at your gaze. 

It was the same when he’d asked you to move into his home after only 6 months of dating. The girls were away with Carol for the weekend, the two of you enjoying a quiet summer dinner on the back patio. His quieter than usual demeanor wasn’t the first give away. He’d offered up space in the closet for you, a few drawers in the bathroom. He kept your favorite coffee in stock for when you stayed over, always brewed and waiting in a mug for you each morning. So when he said he had a surprise for you, all signs pointed to the obvious. Presenting you with a newly cut shiny key to his home, you promptly added it to your keychain after you both talked over how excited the girls would be once you were officially moved in. 

He reaches into his pants pocket, revealing the small velvet box he had tucked away all evening. Waiting for the perfect moment, only to realize a room full of people and all eyes on you isn’t what you would want. So he let the night carry on, watching everyone slowly trickle out the front door, until it was just you and him— alone. Just how you'd want it. 

“Dave, it’s beautiful.” He places the gold shiny ring on your left finger. Holding your hand out, admiring the diamond as it sparkles brilliantly in the dimly lit room. 

“It doesn’t hold a candle to you, Sweetheart.” His lips capture yours in a slow passion filled kiss, his hands pulling you closer, both of you falling back onto the couch.

“Are you going to ask me properly, Dave?” You tease, knowing he’ll be annoyed with himself if he doesn’t.

“Marry me? Make me the happiest man alive and marry my grumpy ass.” 

“Yes!”

#Dave York #dave york x reader #dave york x you #dave york x female reader #dave york x f!reader #holi Dave #wildemaven writes #pedro pascal #pedrostories

[nteyamsully]

dad!neteyam were teenage reader gets into a fight and shes like really fucking angry and only neteyam can calm her down and its just loads off comfort and cutesy shit to heal my daddy issues

𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐝𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐞𝐫

thank you for the request anon ! instead of teenage reader, i decided to make the reader as the mom but it still focuses on neteyam and his daughter. i just think it'd be cute too to have it from the mom perspective. i hope you enjoyed this <3 a part 2 is coming !

summary they say a fathers' first daughter is a female version of him. neteyam begs to differ because his princess has way too much fire in her than he did.

pairing dad! neteyam x oc! daughter, neteyam x reader

word count 1.7k

warnings edited, neteyam just being a dad girl, suggestive content, just youngest children doing what they want, mentions of bullying, violence such as punching, blood

glossary yawntutsyìp (darling), pa'li (direhorse)

PART 1 ; PART 2 (wip)

You always had believed that having four kids that weren't too old apart would be a wonderful family balance. The second child would have someone to look up to but also have the responsibility of looking after their younger siblings, the third child would not have to rely only on one older sibling but rather two, and the youngest would be able to learn and receive different insights on things from their older siblings. 

Neteyam said that your ideas were always beautiful and well thought. He loved the idea of having a big family with you. And the two of you did. 

Nutxe, your oldest child. While he has his mother's attributes, he behaves precisely like his father. His personality always makes you think of Neteyam. Ki'täm, your second child, was a blessing from Eywa a year later. Identical to his father in every way. Your mate has always made jokes about how three Neteyams would protect you because of how each of his sons were like him. 

But you didn't stop there; two years later, you had another boy. Ateyo, your son who resembles you. Unlike his older brothers, he would rather spend his time in the deepest part of the forest. Violence had never been his thing, so becoming a warrior didn't come naturally to him. 

A year later, Lili was born. Neteyam loves his sons with his whole heart, but when he his daughter came out of your womb, a new sense of protectiveness awakened in him. It was already clear to you that your babygirl would be a daddy’s girl.  

She was constantly spoiled by Neteyam. He was always giving in to her doe eyes, which she used against him since she knew her father would never say no to her. Even as she was growing, she continued using the same tactic. 

Your now-teenage children were leaving the hut as you watched them and spoke enthusiastically about being approved to stay a litte late after eclipse. You sighed disapprovingly and looked at your partner. 

Incongruously, Neteyam smiled. He moved up to you, his chin resting on your shoulder as he encircled your waist with his arms. “They have grown,” he solemnly said. 

“No, Mr. Sully,” you laughed. “You do not get to escape this by throwing the trump card. You have to learn how to say no to Lili.” 

“I cant believe she is thirteen now,” he sighs.

“Neteyam!” you exclaimed, slapping his hand that rested on your hip. 

Your mate chuckles, digging his face on your neck. “I hear you, yawntutsyìp. But know it is difficult when our daughter is exactly like you. Ateyo doesn’t use it against me, but Lili does.” 

“And she knows it. It almost feels like if our youngest child attempts murder, you would let her get away with it because she is your favourite.” 

Neteyam pouted as he took a step back, holding your shoulders gently as he turns you around. “Lili would never attempt murder.” 

“You know what I mean.” 

“Enough.” Neteyam pulls you closer to him by tugging the band of your loincloth. “The children wont be here soon. Let’s do something fun.” 

Your hands rested on his chest. Before a word could leave out of your mouth, he pressed his lips against yours. You didn’t realise how much you’ve missed having moments like this with Neteyam. It has been far too long.

“Cant believe that you managed to get Dad to say yes,” smiled Ki'täm.  

Because their father was aware of the risks posed in Pandora, it was occasionally challenging to win his permission. As lovely as the forest is, it is also dangerous. 

Nutxe scoffed, “That’s because this little manipulative baby sister of ours did her magic.” He playfully glared at her before pinching her cheeks. 

Lili hissed and slapped his hand away. “Be thankful that I had dad say yes because I’m about to make your life more exciting than it was when you were my age,” she says proudly. 

While rolling his eyes, Ateyo kept silent. His sister having anything she wants was never something he liked. At least when she hasn't done anything to deserve it. Never did their father treat them unfairly, though.

Neteyam promised that he would treat all of his children equally. The intense pressure from his father that he experienced as a teenager was something he didn't want with his children. While Neteyam adores his father, he can't help but admit that he was cruel at times.

Ki'täm noticed his younger brothers’ silence, observing how a frown formed on his face. He wrapped an arm around his shoulder, pulling him closer. “What is wrong? I thought you would love this.” 

Ateyo clicked his tongue. “Mom didn’t look like she was happy about it. And you,” he looked at Lili, “stop acting so spoiled.” 

Lili rolled her eyes. “This again. Jealous that I get to do whatever I want?” 

“Why would I be jealous for being a spoiled brat?” he argued. 

“What the hell is your problem?” she exclaimed. “You should thank me that you get to explore the forest around more.” 

Ateyo clenched his jaw, holding himself back from raising his voice. He could feel his anger rising by the second and he knew the choice to keep his mouth shut is better. Lili never backs down from anything she sees as a challenge, and by the looks of her face, she sees her argument with her brother as one too. 

He always had to be the bigger person between them.

Nutxe pushes his arm in between them quickly. “Stop. You are attracting other people,” he whispered harshly before looking around, making sure that his grandfather isn’t on sight to witness this.  

Jake had witnessed far too many of their disputes and had reprimanded them much too frequently when they're involved in violent tussles with other kids. He is Olo’eyktan, it is his duty to make sure there is peace and harmony within the clan. It's not simple at all, especially with his grandchildren causing problems all around. 

Just as Nutxe started to feel relieved that both of his siblings listened to him, it disappeared immediately when he heard a voice laced with venom speak up. 

“Don’t bother, Nutxe. Your baby sister loves all the attention.” 

Risei. She was the bully of the clan. When Lili was a little girl, she witnessed her wrongfully verbally abusing a young na'vi. They were ridiculed only for their personality trait and shyness. Lili reacted angrily to the Risei's audacity by confronting her, however it didn't end happily ever after. And that was how their rivalry began. 

“Do not start, Risei,” Lili snarled, her fists clenched. Ki'täm held her forearm and urged her to walk away, but she didn't budge.

Risei mockingly laughed, “Is that supposed to be a threat? You look like a baby pa’li who reacts when they don’t get what they want!” She peered over her little group, seeing them chuckle at her words which made her ego boost. 

Ki'täm begged, “Lili.” He didn’t want to get in trouble yet, not when he wanted to explore the forest after eclipse. 

“Ah, I forget,” Risei snapped her fingers in fake realization, “You get what you want. You must not know how it feels like, is it why you’re acting like this? Did daddy not give you what you want?” 

And something snapped in the youngest sibling. Lili pushed Ki'täm's hold off of her and scowled at Risei. The girl was too busy laughing with her companions to notice her menacing aura. Risei was caught off guard when she felt something hard make contact with her nose, which caused her to lose her footing and collapse to the ground. 

“I am so sick of you,” Lili seethed. She didn’t give her time to process and hovered above Risei, continuously slamming her fist on to her. 

Risei’s friends hissed and were about to grab Lili, but Ki'täm quickly wrapped his arms on one of them to stop them from getting near. “Nutxe, Ateyo, grab the other two!” he yelled. 

Ateyo groaned. Following what his older brother instructed was not the best course of action, but at this point it seemed to be the only option. If a girl attacked his sister, he would gladly be violent for her, but he knows his father and grandfather would skin him alive. As a result, he followed Ki'täm's suggestion. 

Nutxe rolled his eyes at their stupidity. He quickly stepped in front of one of Risei’s friends, preventing them from interfering. “Do not,” he ordered, which thankfully they listened. He turned back to his sister, seeing that she had completely executed her anger. 

“Lili!” yelled Nutxe. He attempted to pull his sister off her by the shoulders, however, his efforts were futile because she withheld great strength. She’s not recognised as potentially the next best warrior of their clan for no reason. 

But the calls of her name were unheard to her. All she could see is red. Truthfully, she wasn’t angry with Ateyo. Her disagreements with him were monotonous and repetitious, which irritated her. Risei had always bothered her and each time, she bottles up her anger to refrain herself from going feral. Bottling all that anger was clearly a bad idea because it still exploded violently. 

“WHAT IS GOING ON HERE!” A loud and authorative voice boomed. Unfortunately, it didn’t stop Lili. “Hey! That’s enough!” A pair of strong arms engulfed around her, carrying her off the ground. She growled and kicked her feet in the air. 

“Lili te Suli (Y/N)’ite. That’s enough!”  

Her eyes were still filled with rage, but she continued to breathe heavily. Jake studied Risei's features. A cut on her lip and brow, a broken and bleeding nose, and an eye that is beginning to bruise. He shook his head slowly. 

“I am fine,” Lili grumbled in his arms. 

Jake dropped her on the ground lightly, staring at his granddaughter intently. “Yeah, I could see that.”  

Lo'ak arrived on the scene, wondering as to why everyone was gathered in a circle. His father, whose hands were on his hips and who had his niece in his line of sight, caught his attention first. Then he noticed a female who was weeping with a totally messed up face. 

“Oh shit,” he mumbled, eyes wide. 

Jake rubbed his temple. “Lo’ak, call your brother and his mate to meet in the family hut,” he looked at the three boys who stood in their positions nervously, “the rest of you follow me.” 

Lili remained glued to the spot while keeping an eye on Risei. She was completely guilt-free. She had it coming to her. She deserved it after repeatedly harassing and tormenting defenceless people. 

“Lili te Suli (Y/N)’ite. Lets go!”  

The voice of the Olo’eyktan made her move. She knew she’s fucked when her parents will find out and her doe eyes wont work this time.

don't forget to reblog, like, and comment your thoughts <3

#avatar fanfiction #avatar twow #james cameron avatar #jake sully x daughter!reader #jake sully fic #neteyam fluff #neteyam fanfiction #neteyam sully #neteyam x na'vi!reader #neteyam x reader #loak fanfiction #loak sully

[simplegenius042]

Late WIP Wednesday & Six Sentence Paragraph Friday

Tagged by @socially-awkward-skeleton @cassietrn @cloudofbutterflies92 @direwombat @voidika @nightbloodbix @aceghosts and @adelaidedrubman

Tagging @strangefable @strafethesesinners @turbo-virgins @minilev @g0dspeeed @josephseedismyfather @josephslittledeputy @corvosattano @carlosoliveiraa @titiagls @derelictheretic @afarcryfrommymain @megraen @shallow-gravy @onehornedbeast @softtidesworld @snake-in-the-garden @wrathfulrook @shellibisshe @chazz-anova @purplehairsecretlair @florbelles @inafieldofdaisies @ladyoriza @la-grosse-patate @skoll-sun-eater @starsandskies @vampireninjabunnies-blog @yokobai and @thewanderer-000 + anyone else who wants to join in. Here's the taglist.

Three WIPs for Far Cry The Silver Chronicles, A Radioactive Calamity Of Love, Bombs & Gore and six sentences paragraphs for a little Classroom Of The Elite AU fic not related to any of my series as of now (though I do have a separate fic in the making for The UnTitledverse). You'll find these under the cut:

Here's a WIP prologue for The True Sinners, where Joseph, per the Voice's orders, seeks out the Tarot Card Holder to tell him of his family's fate in a clearer form than the Voice can give as well as the identity of the Muse. The Voice had only given Joseph one warning; to take the Tarot Card Holder's words with a grain of salt, though his Tarot's knowledge is indispensable for their... newest wrench in the plan, the Holder himself should be considered untrustworthy and far beyond the human he had once been. Enjoy Joseph trying to keep his cool as the newest dickhead in the series, the Tarot Card Holder, tries to strike our favorite prophet's nerves down below:

The humming continued on as the Holder seemingly glided along the wooden planks from inside his stand. Joseph could not see his legs from underneath the extensive robes he wore, and watched in silence as the Holder, with his disproportionate size, did not disturb the various items he skimmed past in his little shop.

Hooded back turned to his customer as he rummaged through his piles of oddments, Joseph cleared his throat, proceeding with the matters he wished to discuss, "I've come here to seek your help, actually."

He received no response or reaction from the Holder, who ceased his humming in favor of grumbling, callously picking items up and throwing them away.

Seeing that didn't get the Holder's attention, Joseph continued, "It's of the upmost importance. The Lord had guided me here to help me understand what it is I'm not seeing in my visions. The old world is on the brink of a great Collapse that will-."

The Holder piqued up at that, stopped rummaging through his messy mound of junk. His hooded head slightly turned towards Joseph, indicating his attention had been reached, and his deep voice rumbled out, "A Collapse you say?"

Joseph let out a breath, briefly smiled to himself as he proceeded to explain, "Yes. I have seen visions of a Collapse that will end the current world and-"

"-And bring forth a new one, wipe the slate clean, etcetera, etcetera," the Holder interrupted, tone radiating mild annoyance as his hand motioned with haste, "I know what a Collapse is. I'm just confused on why that sadistic prick of all mechanisms wants a last resort of horrifying proportions like that to come this early in such peace."

Joseph blinked, brows furrowed as he sets his aviators back up. He watched the as the Holder's robed arm returned to dig around once more. The Holder stopped his movements, tugged at the object he found, and yanked it out of its little hidey hole.

Finally turning to Joseph as the stacks of trinkets collapsed and collided into clatters behind him, the Holder paid it no mind as he approached the front of the stand to see Joseph, face-to-face.

Or rather mask-to-face, considering the Holder's porcelain disguise.

The Holder leaned over the counter with one arm, and even without the stool Joseph sat on, or the size of the stand giving its owner an extra foot in height, he understood that the robed clairvoyant would still be two feet taller than him.

Joseph felt slightly intimidated being looked down upon by such a huge person, especially with all the Lord had said of this person. And yet, Joseph still held onto his faith. As long as he had faith, he would be safe from whatever vile temptations this man had.

"Whatever peace you may think is occurring isn't set to last for long," Joseph insisted, "And the Lord had guided me here. In His own humble admittance, in his own infinite wisdom-"

The Tarot Card Holder snorted with a shake of his head, "More like desperation."

Joseph breathed in a calming patter, just as his beloved had once taught him, "I am here seeking your help to know the fate of my family. A fate that he himself cannot foresee anymore."

The Holder hummed, resting his chin on his gloved palms, the triangular hood holding up like a strong tent, undisturbed by the motion, "And so it sent you to me of all creatures. You both must truly be desperate to get a win for once, huh?"

Joseph face crinkled as he eyed the Tarot Card Holder with weariness. A "win"? What is he talking about? Is this the deceit the Lord had warned me of?

"I don't know what you mean..."

The Holder's eyes, barely seen through his mask, bore down on Joseph. Letting out a huff of air, the Holder explained.

"I figured," he started, "But I must ask, how well do you know of the Muse chosen to take the role of "Hell"?"

Joseph did not comment on the words the Holder spewed out of his forked-tongue as the Voice had instructed, but he did close his eyes in thought, remembering the words and visions the Voice had shared with the Father. The fire. The Garden. Himself. And the ever-shifting future of his siblings, their life and their deaths. That was not the reason to why the Voice tasked him with seeking out the demeaning figure of the Holder.

No, he recalled, it had been the inconstant shape of Hell's figure which led God to push me towards this very stand. He remembered how volatile Hell's setting, form, and voice was within those visions.

"Nothing at all," Joseph admitted conclusively.

"I see," the Holder noted as he tilted his head, the mask betraying no emotion, revealing no humanity, "And yet you said you were here to know of the fate of your family. You do know the knowledge of someone's identity and the fate of loved ones don't exactly coincide correctly, right?"

As the Holder placed his hand from his chin to the counter, Joseph gawked in surprise as the Holder stood taller from within his stand, adding an extra foot in height than what Joseph initially believed. However, this stupor was momentary, as Joseph hunched forward, hands clasped together as he placed them on the counter, his rosary stuck between them.

"I am here to know the fate of my family and the identity of this "muse", this Hell who haunts my mind," Joseph elaborates, neck aching at having to look up so high at the broader figure, "I was under the impression you could provide me both."

The Holder chuckled, shaking his head as if he was admonishing a child, "You neglect the cost of such knowledge. If you've come seeking the Tarot's help free of charge, then I'll be the first to gleefully tell you that you can't have both. Pick one or the other, and hand over whatever possession you have on your person to complete this exchange."

The Holder glances from Joseph's face, which scrutinized the Holder, to his rosary to roaming around the rest of his body.

"Unless... you have another possession to offer alongside the one in your hands?"

Joseph caught on, glancing to the rosary in his hands, gripping it until his hands drained pale.

He avoided the Holder's eyes, and the larger of the two softly hummed, whether in understanding or waning patience of the exchange Joseph couldn't bring himself to focus. The Lord never mentioned this...

"It didn't tell you, did it?" The Holder deduced, chuckling, "Ah yes, such exchanges as these require you to offer something of equal value in return. Often time a gift from a loved one, regardless if they reside in the mortal realm... or have already departed."

Joseph brushed the ornament of the cross, the beads digging into the palms of his hands as he held on to it, like he was holding her hand again.

She always had faith. And she shared that faith with me, giving me back something I thought tainted and lost to the words and hands of Old Man Seed. Gifting me a piece of her, an immortalized memory, like the ink on my arm.

And he was expected to let it go?

"Why?" Joseph breathed out, voice so timid that he was surprised when the Tarot Card Holder scoffed in response.

"Why else?" his baritone voice drilled into Joseph's head, not so dissimilar from the Voice, yet this was more... cold indifference on the Holder's part. Irritation reeked out of his words, an annoyance that has grown over time from spending the many years, perhaps decades, answering the same questions over and over again.

In the Holder's eyes, Joseph was no different from any other person seeking out the Tarots' wisdom.

Taking Joseph's silence as lacking an answer himself, the Holder explained further, "A possession that was a gift from another is far more valuable to the individual than it would be if they got something for themselves. The level of care one must put in to preserve such gifts, makes it harder to let go."

The Tarot Card Holder's broad shadow encompassed Joseph's body, the shorter man hesitantly looking up to find the Holder had leaned closer to his face. And in the empty chasms of the masks sockets, Joseph spotted the dim glow of inhuman gold irises glowering into his pleading blue.

"So, Prophet. Are you willing to give up her rosary for the sake of your family? Or will you give it up for a stranger's face and name?"

Here's a WIP for The Waters Of Life Flow, my Fallout 3 fic in the A Radioactive Calamity Of Love, Bombs & Gore series. Imagine wanting to find your dad with your best friend but some strange, blindfolded woman hijacks that plan to get you to show her around the Wasteland that you've only set foot on (and can't back out under what may have been a threat of "consequences"... however vague that can be considered a threat). This is still in its early stages of development. Anyway, Alph and Amata walk Marissa "Ress" Bishop to Megaton as seen below:

The heat of the sun simmered down on the trio as two begrudgingly walked in front of one, a situation more likened to a warden keeping watch of her wards rather than two "locals" giving the "newcomer" a tour as their unofficially branded captor insisted.

Alph glanced to Amata, his best friend taking the heat outside the air-conditioned vault as well as he is. He could guess that her jumpsuit was itching against her skin as badly as his own was, the material clinging too close for comfort, the blue clothes damp from sweat.

He chanced a look back to the woman behind them, the glaze of her long platinum blonde hair shining with an ethereal beauty, almost like how he envisioned angels would have from Dad's descriptions.

However, Alph wasn't foolish enough to neglect the memory that this woman was anything but angelic. He saw how she killed those crazed people at the school. While not ungrateful for saving them, forcing both him and Amata to walk her around the area with his old, yet still functional, Pip-Boy was a different story entirely.

Especially since there is practically nothing noteworthy marked on my map, but she wouldn't know that.

Which was true, the two maps on his Pip-Boy only showed the markers that indicated the only Pip-Boy wearers in the vicinity, and the trails had made. The surrounding area around his marker was dark on the map.

Amata helped him mark down the coordinates of their Vault and he had the foresight to mark down the location of both the school and what had once been a neighborhood.

And now we're on our way to "Megaton"... or at least where I hope it is.

Alph snapped out of his thoughts when he heard a curious hum. His focus returned, and he realized that the woman had noticed his gawking, in spite of the fact she was still wearing a blindfold.

When she gave him what he assumed to be a friendly grin, he couldn't help but remember the manic one she wore when she slaughtered their captors. Freaked out by the bloody image, he turned his eyesight straight ahead, focused on maneuvering around the boulders in scattered around them rather than the woman behind them.

He heard her snort behind them, and Amata turned her head slightly to look back at the woman, but paused in the action, and shook her head as she kept forward.

Her face was flushed, dark skin boiling under scorching sun. He wasn't any better, with his lighter skin turning an uncomfortable red. How in the actual fuck is the psycho behind us not dying in those clothes?

Though the better question would be to ask how her pale skin hadn't been burned to a crisp from the flamethrower that mohawk guy blasted at her earlier, but he chalked it up to just defective equipment... for now.

He heard Amata gasp beside him, grasping his arm as she pointed forward.

"I-I think this is it!" she stated aloud, relief and joy flowing out of the laugh she let out. Alph focused forward, really missing his glasses, but through his blurry vision, he could see a mass of metal welded together to form a gate. There was also a robot out the front of it, the corpse of a giant insect full of charred holes only a few feet away from it.

Alph smiled, checked his Pip-Boy, and saw that the predicted coordinates were a match. He almost let out a chuckle.

Until he felt the hand of that woman pat his shoulder, then he soon lost his smile.

"Good job you two," she congratulated them, arms slinging over both their necks, "I knew you'd make perfect guides. Now unless you don't mind burning in daylight, I suggest you get a move on. Capiche?"

And here's six paragraphs for a small Classroom Of The Elite AU fic I've been working on, a little "What If" canon divergent scenario I've come up with. Essentially it boils down to "What if Kiyotaka Ayanokoji was accompanied by Takuya Yagami and Ichika Amasawa to the Advanced Nurturing High School?" as a ploy orchestrated by Atsuomi Ayanokoji to see how the masterpiece can perfect the two fifth generation students to be equal to him and give these two a chance to help Ayanokoji adapt socially. I haven't ironed out the exact details of how this is done, but I mostly wanted to write a fic where Ayanokoji was like an older brother-like figure to both Amasawa and Yagami (...in his own way) and how this would fuck up the plot. Also, my man Yagami needs a win after being done so dirty in the source materials. I will be combining elements from the anime, manga and light novel because I'm insane like that (especially for Yagami and Amasawa). Anyway, here's the six-paragraph introduction:

The bus ride had been uneventful thus far. We passed by Cherry Blossoms and the dwindling city buildings of Tokyo, and as a vehicle of public transport, occasionally pulled up at stops to pick up further passengers; few were casual citizens, most were high-school students.

I fell under the latter; amongst the seated boys and girls wearing white shirts under red blazers with gold trims, though with definite differences in the uniform depending on the student's sex, was myself, standing with one hand on my backpack, the other on the straphanger above me. I involuntarily shook as the bus drove on the road to my new location.

I kept my idle gaze out the bus window, the flurry change of Tokyo's scenery from declining pink to the increase of concrete tempting me the chance to ponder on whether the sociopolitical status of Japan's society met the standards of equality, but I had held off on following that thought, especially with two eyes fleeting glances at me from the seats behind.

I found their staring difficult to ignore, more annoyingly so due to my keen awareness of the fact. I had wanted to remain inconspicuous, but their fidgeting would bring unwanted attention towards me, and on themselves, if they were too frequent. Perhaps not consciously, but subconsciously the rest of the students could become curious or worse, intrigued by my presence if the two continued their prolonged stares.

Though I couldn't exactly fault my kohais; regardless of how ridiculous the notion was, their observation of me was not unfounded. For Ichika Amasawa and Takuya Yagami, I was an enigma, a living legend in their generation. Not only a name, but a title, a successful set of data that they were expected to surpass in the curriculum.

I wasn't so concerned about Amasawa, as her apparent admiration of me likely outweighed any desire to do anything against me. Yagami though... despite his gentle demeanor, I suspected he was hiding his true thoughts of me underneath the surface.

Nothing I could do now; we were all on the same bus, heading into an unknown ocean of variables and outliers. A consequence of Matsuo's kindness upon taking care of the three of us, I suppose.

#wip wednesday #six sentence friday #far cry the silver chronicles #far cry 5 #wip: the true sinners #joseph seed #oc: the tarot card holder #series: a radioactive calamity of love bombs & gore #fallout #fallout 3 #wip: the waters of life flow #the lone wanderer #oc: alph dolen #amata almodovar #oc: marissa “ress” bishop #classroom of the elite #classroom of the elite au #cote #cote au #kiyotaka ayanokouji #ichika amasawa #takuya yagami #mentioned matsuo

[stars-and-darkness]

WIP WEDNESDAY!!!

week #17

y'all didn't think you'd seen the last of me, did you?

more amnesia au bc if don't put some effort into it alicia is going to hurt me. so here's some background:

She only feels eyes on her a moment later. Klaus has a way of moving that’s deathly silent, no matter the terrain. It’s no wonder she didn’t hear him approach. 

“What?” she asks, perhaps more sharply than he deserves. She feels a stab of guilt in her chest. 

“Nothing,” he says, turning on his heel to walk away. 

He’s already a few steps away when a “Wait!” tears out of Liz’s throat.

Klaus pauses, and casts a look over his shoulder, one eyebrow quirked up in question. His hands slide into his pockets. “Yes?”

She’s not sure, actually. She’s never been sure when it came to him. 

One day, Caroline is working a job she doesn’t particularly enjoy in the big city, the next she’s calling Liz to tell that there is more supernatural mess on the horizon, the next that the supernatural mess is solved, and also that she’s having dinner with Klaus, the Klaus, the one they’re both acquainted with better than Liz had ever wished to be. That first dinner was not a date, Caroline had insisted then and she still insists now, nor had the second or the fifth or the thirteenth.

The fourteenth, as she understands it, hadn’t started out as one, but that’s what it turned into and then weeks later Liz had received a call telling her that Caroline had taken a week off work to visit her … Klaus’s kingdom in Louisiana, and would she mind terribly if they were to make a stop in Mystic Falls, after all, she hadn’t seen Liz in so long.

Liz had missed her daughter and was quite eager to see her, of course. It’s the addition of the millennium-old children’s bedtime story given flesh that she objected to.

Said millennium-old children’s bedtime story looked no different than he had the last time Liz had seen him, which should not have been as surprising as it was with someone with a vampire daughter. He’d been unfailingly polite and too-charming, as if that would be enough to make her forget. He’d been polite when he requested—ordered, because it’s not as if she could have refused—entry into her house the first time, too. 

Just seeing him step over the threshold casually, invitation acquired years ago, was enough to have her blood run cold with icy rage no amount of dimples or twinkling blue eyes or compliments could melt. 

She’d been convinced that it would all end in heartbreak, as she had been when Elena Gilbert switched the Salvatore on her arm. 

But then Elena and Damon got married and they seem to be happy, and a few weeks ago her daughter called again, this time from this grand and ancient house rather than a one-bedroom apartment in a high-rise, and announced her engagement.

Maybe it will end in heartbreak, she decides, though not the kind she’d anticipated back then.

Liz grits her teeth together. “I’m sorry,” she forces out. “That was rude.” 

It may be the first time she’s ever apologised to him, ever.

He cocks his head to the side, and then his mouth stretches in a grin she also finds familiar from the months he’d spent in Mystic Falls.

Terrible tragedy, isn’t it … and so young … and her poor, poor son. He’d been wearing that grin when he spoke of Carol’s death, wicked as if he didn’t care if anyone knew that he had been the one to hold her head under. Poor boy, all alone. And just yesterday, he’d been on top of the world. Fortunae rota, no?

“Why,” he drawls now, bringing her to reality, “are you going soft on me?”

Liz had watched him hold court, nails digging into the soft skin of her palm. The gleam in his eyes had sent shivers down her spine. Later, she’d dubbed it insanity.

Liz feels her face harden and her lip curl. Maybe she likes him more like this, when the pretences are off, when he’s not simpering and trying to charm his way into her good graces. “Not a chance.”

He turns fully at last and grins, stepping forward. The winter sun glints off his hair, turning the curls into gold. “Good.” 

And then he flashes off, leaving her alone.

#tvd #klaroline wip wed #ella originals #amnesia au

[smallscarecrow]

So it’s been a long, long time since I wrote, but Sandman has the kind of effect on you where it drags you kicking and screaming back into making fic again. It’s still a WIP but I was happy with how this part turned out.

Special thanks to the dreamling discord server and also @wordsinhaled for their encouragement. And additionally: @softest-punk for their incredibly lovely retired!Dream ficlets that inspired me to work on this thing.

(He dreams, sometimes, of the glass cage. It is only natural to do so. But mostly, in these days, he dreams of it open, the floor of it covered in a thousand autumns’ leaves, and overgrown with peonies and poppies, and himself, in gardener’s gloves and dirt on his nose, digging away at the weeds trying to choke the incongruous flowers.

Matthew finds him in this dream one night. Mercifully, he says nothing of the cage, only sets himself on an iron limb and watches with large, dark eyes.

“Didn’t think I’d ever see ya like this, boss.”

“I am no longer your boss, Matthew.” Morpheus wipes sweat from his brow. Did he used to sweat, before? “What do you mean, ‘like this’?”

“I can have more than one boss,” Matthew says, fluffing up defensively. Then he settles. “Like a mess, I mean. But happy about it. Y’used to let Merv do all this shit.”

“There is no making without a bit of mess,” Morpheus says, because in the dream it seems important to say. “And….I think I am. Happy, that is.”

Matthew hops down to his shoulder in a flutter of wings, and tucks himself close under Morpheus’s chin. “Good. Better fucking stay that way. Or I’ll peck your nose off.”

Morpheus drifts gentle fingers over the nape of his old raven’s neck, the warmth under them too real, almost scorching. “I will try.”

He never remembers the dream when he wakes, but when he opens his eyes, his heavy body feels like it’s made of feathers.)

#the sandman #dream of the endless #matthew the raven #dreamling #my fic #retired Dream is so important to me y’all

[darkkitty1208]

The past few weeks before I finally returned from my unofficial hiatus, I've lost a lot of my motivation to write and anything to do with being part of the fandom as a whole. I contemplated quitting and never returning again, deleting all my works and socials and any other trace of me anyone could find, but I know that it's just the anxiety talking and my brain playing tricks with me due to IRL stress and that logically, I *do* have a place here in the fandom space. So I held back.

Now that I'm here again -- and have been welcomed very warmly by dear friends -- the urge to create has finally come around again and I want to get back into writing. It's just that, god, I feel very rusty. It's been quite a while and I feel like the words have run away from me after not using them for so long. I look into my mostly-abandoned WIPs and I can't find the right way to continue them.

But despite that, I decided to do a bit of the good ol' self-projecting and started a WIP (instead of finishing my old ones, lol). It's not much, but it's something. I felt compelled to share in hopes it would motivate me to write some more. This is all I've got so far, and it is admittedly very rough, but it's getting there.

~

Here’s the thing: healing isn't linear.

These are words repeated over and over again by those who you wouldn't think ever even had to heal. They're the kind of words that would lose its meaning the more they're said, and have you start wondering if to some people, they ever had any sort of meaning to begin with.

You can never really tell where it starts or where it finishes, or how it happened or if it ever did happen, the same way the flawed five stages of grief could never explain the true act of mourning and the same way your every emotion defies anything your logic could ever tell you.

Sometimes, Stephen finds, some things are just unexplainable like that.

Sometimes, Stephen doesn't think he's capable of healing. Sometimes, especially in nights where every bit of his sanity starts to fall apart and each choking breath would sting as it enters his damned lungs, he thinks he's too far gone to be capable of it at all.

(Sometimes he would sit silently and stare into nothing, thinking about the way nobody would understand that at some point in his life, he wasn't the man he used to be anymore. Sometimes he could feel it, the thing that consumed him, that took away who he was, and the way it would take up every space in his ribcage and burn his insides like acid, the way it would rip apart the space in his chest where his heart used to be. Sometimes he would think about it, and the way that it makes him nothing but an empty shell of a man. Every day that thing would grow inside of him and one day, it might ruin him; as if he isn't already far too broken to begin with.)

But it's here, in the roof of a sentient building he's grown to call his home where various pots are neatly arranged in small shelves, with his trembling fingers digging into rich soil and dirt sticking underneath his fingernails, that he starts to find proof that maybe, he had the capability after all.

It's here that he understands why humans would pick up a trowel and spend so much time getting on their hands and knees to dirty themselves with grimes of dirt.

There's something about the green of the Earth and the smell of her moist dirt in the early mornings, damp from the moon's tears, that soothes a part of him that he couldn't quite identify. There's something comforting about the mindless action of digging and burying and placing and watering. There's something comforting about knowing that his damaged fingers could sprout life even if it all depended on time.

But that's the thing, isn't it? Everything is just a matter of time.

(Sometimes he wishes healing isn't linear, the way he wishes time doesn't march on an ascending line.)

He remembers the same damp smell of moss and the same smudges of dirt on the knees of his trousers back then, the first time he was taught about gardening and farming and sprouting life from seeds.

He had still been a small boy in Nebraska, back then. He had been young, and he had never understood patience the way he does now. He didn't understand that what he planted was something that, if anything, was considered a miracle, and that miracles took time, and that miracles don't last forever. He didn't understand that life and decay is just a matter of time, and that everything including himself would eventually be nothing but rotting flesh and cracked bones, becoming one with the earth and consumed by the maggots and mushrooms.

Because that's the thing: everything is just a matter of time.

The experience had meant nothing to him then, and had taught him nothing much of anything at all, but it means something to him now.

#my writing #wip #ramblings

[tideswept]

First post of 2024, let's go!

First off! I'll be picking up my goal of 100 books a year again and will post a tracker next, feel free to join in and/or give recommendations as the year progresses. ❤ I'm a voracious but lazy reader, so I don't venture outside of my usual circle of authors as often as I should, which is actually the point of the tracker!

Secondly, I want to show off the podfic @sweet-cynic did of stubborn in the bones and the delicious Padobi/Masterkin @ossidae-passeridae wrote for silly ol' me. 💕

stubborn in the bones (podfic)

surrender | be moved and shaken

Yessss, yesss, look at the pretty, look at it!

Third, and really what you're interested in--State of Fic Updates and Previews!

ACTIVE WIPS:

[Hartwin] a tender gasp of inevitable ache ch2: 3k in, rough outline written out. Guesstimating something like 6k for this one.

Then Merlin pipes up.  “God, I thought you two couldn’t get more obnoxious.” Neither of them starts. Kingsman trained them too well for that. But Eggsy’s fingers curl around the stem of his fork before relaxing. Since there’s no data being fed into his glasses, he assumes this is an informal check-in.  He places another forkful of tender, exquisite salmon on his tongue, closing his lips around the tines and dragging the fork out without breaking eye contact with Harry. This might be mainly to yank Merlin’s tail, but he can’t deny that Harry watching him make a slaggy spectacle of himself ignites a forbidden, heady thrill. It’s better than the cock of a well-oiled gun—better even than firing off a snazzy one-liner when taking out bad guys.

[Hartwin] always be something sacred ch3: 1.6k in, some thorny things to work out. Might be a split POV chapter, might also end up being 5 chapters total after all, we'll see!

“Opinion on a blockade?” Harry asks, shrugging off his jumper, heading for the hidden armory beneath the staircase. He’d long ago bought and hollowed out the neighboring houses that bracketed his own for security and usage—pressing his palm against the wooden panel reveals a hidden entrance.  It’s amazing that Eggsy, despite all his rightful suspicions and cleverness, has never figured this secret out. He would have loved it. There’s no need for Harry to close his eyes and imagine that boy’s delight, he knows the exact grin that Eggsy would flash, his choked, skeptical laughter, his glee. How carefully Harry would have to watch his hands to ensure that Eggsy didn’t pocket anything.  Pain digs sharp claws behind his breastbone. He ignores it. Regret can come later, after Eggsy isn’t at the mercy of an unknown enemy. 

[Obikin] Untitled -- Alpha!PadObi/Beta!Masterkin: smutty irredeemable oneshot, ahoy!

Obi-Wan groans again. He stumbles onto his sleeping bag and lies there, gritting his teeth. Through their bond, Anakin experiences an echo of the pure need threatening to drag the nineteen-year-old into a feral state.  Or that will kill him.  Anakin swears in Huttese. If he were better at mind suggestions or at meditation, if he could karking heal, he could help. If he were an alpha, he could superimpose his will and force Obi-Wan to calm down. And if he were an omega… Well. Anakin didn’t successfully see one Padawan through an intergalactic war only to lose his second Padawan to something as ridiculous as this.

[Obikin] Untitled2: another irredeemable smutty oneshot, yay!

“Are you sure that you’re alright, Anakin?” Obi-wan asks for the third time, exasperated to the point where no matter what Anakin claims, he’s going to stop their walk and examine Anakin from head to toe. But instead of lying again, Anakin, who has been making the strangest noises as they pushed through the wildly lush jungle that covers the planet, groans piteously and stops so suddenly that Obi-Wan almost runs into him.  “Anakin?”  “I’m—kark, don’t make me say it.”  Since Anakin stubbornly refuses to face him, Obi-Wan circles around to find Anakin flushed and sweaty, his lips torn from biting down.

[Obikin] Untitled3: probably still irredeemable but not actually smutty! for @sweet-cynic, a bit of a... TMA-SW fusion AU? (featuring Priest-Wan because we could always use more of that.)

The day Obi-Wan Kenobi stumbles over the bedraggled figure curled up tight at a corner of the stairs leading up to the church is already one of exhaustion and fury drowned in alcohol. He is in no charitable mood, but discovering a small child wedged tight against the stonework in the middle of the night, with the chill of an early winter creeping in, horrifies him into action. Are they dead? Obi-Wan wonders, leaning down carefully. Wrapped up in misery and in shapeless, grimy garments, the child is nothing but a genderless mop of blond hair and too-pink ears peeking out from the collar of the jacket they’re wearing, some cast off business jacket for an adult repurposed for warmth against the bitterness of October.  He clears his throat. “He—” Blue eyes snap open.  Too blue, too bright, there’s not enough light that I should be able to see the color. But Obi-Wan doesn’t pay that thought as much attention as it deserves. “Hello there. That doesn’t seem terribly comfortable." The poor creature—Obi-Wan still cannot pinpoint a gender, the face dark with dirt—shifts away from him, inching to regain space as if they don’t trust him despite the markers of his office, the collar, the coat, the cross weighing heavy on his chest.

NEXT UP:

airline Obikin shenanigans for @virahaus

even more shenanigans set in bones of a miracle for @gretchenzellerbarnes

A coda for all things unsaid

I'm hoping Untitled2 will be finished today, but we'll see. :) After some of these go up I will finally get back to working on fear the crown and the devil is a gentleman. They're long overdue for updates. (Also have my eye on you should see what we do in my head--definitely want to finish that this month.)

And that concludes the State of Fic! ❤ If I have forgotten anyone or any thing or you have a question about a fic not mentioned, please give me a poke.

#berryfic #berrytalk.txt

[boyslit]

since my brain isn't letting me write new stuff, y'all wanna read the wip i had that sparked every path? it's kind of condensed brain-soup style but has key points and dialogue i wanted to include. :3 the doc name was just "ring"

---

(much, much later: a return to belobog for a week. Caelus catches up with old friends and old flames.)

koski came across a ring he's been holding onto for… no reason. reminded him of someone. more sentimental than valuable so he hasn't sold it. it's just cheap cubic zirconia, pretty as it is. he could probably have gotten someone to buy it at a high price thinking it's expensive orange topaz but… the thought of someone else having this sits wrong in his stomach. he's definitely not thinking about it lying in a box in his jacket pocket as he lies with Caelus after fucking. he holds his lover instead and pretends he's not leaving again in three days

catches a ride to the next stop with the express crew. swears he'll get off at the next stop, he's just wanting to make it off jarilo vi and into new markets. there's a whole wide world and new economies to learn to hustle after all. it doesn't hurt he can spend an extra day or two with Caelus.

when they disembark on a lively civship they still spend a couple days together before sampo realizes if he doesn't force himself to let go he's going to cling to Caelus forever

he secrets the ring into Caelus' pocket directly before they leave each other-it's a messy snoggy goodbye ofc. Sampo's off to find greener markets. Caelus is off finding side quests and people to help. eventually he digs in his pockets for money for lunch (some little hole in the wall Dan Heng knew about and only takes cash) and finds the ring. it's gunmetal finish with a brilliant yellow topaz. just like his eyes, even in a marquise cut like his diamond pupils. there's no way it was a coincidence. but why did sampo sneak it into his pocket?

it fits his ring finger perfectly. he feels warm and happy anyhow. it was nice to have something to remember him by since their work was taking them so far apart.

friends comment on ring later. c mentions he found it in his pocket earlier. m and dh exchange glances. "so he didn't propose with it, he just snuck it in your pocket? how cowardly."

"propose? propose what?"

"uh getting married? duh."

"well that doesn't sound like him anyway. is that what people do, ask someone to marry them with a ring?"

"yes????”

"March, he has even fewer memories than you."

"ooh, right. sorry"

cae studies the ring in his hand and thinks. "it's probably just a … a thing. something to remember him." later he snaps a picture of it on his hand and sends it.

c: [left me a surprise huh?]

[it's pretty. i like it]

[thanks <3]

he doesn't expect much in the way of a response but he did get a reply

s: [reminded me of you]

there's nothing else after that and Caelus feels a jolt of nervousness, wondering what's up. he tries to prod with humor

c: [careful, koski. you're getting dangerously close to sentimental~] a tilde to ensure the mood got through

it's a few minutes before he gets a reply. when calls reads it, he wonders if sampo has been writing and rewriting the text. it doesn't sound much like him

s: [i think i fell over that cliff a long time ago]

Caelus feels his breath catch in his throat- a heavy warm feeling collecting in his chest. they were never for talking about feelings. at least not honestly. sampo's dramatic declarations were mostly that- dramatics… but, maybe they hadn't been all bluster after all? Sampo's response hadn't been couched in poetic language. Even through text, it sounded like it had been muttered quietly, something he was terrified to admit out loud but unable to keep in any longer.

caelus swallows against the dread of the unknown and calls him instead. counts the rings. sampo picks up on the third ring.

“hey.”

“hi.” caelus wonders at the quiet, single syllable greeting. “you still on the Luofa?”

“mm. thought i’d get a …little drink before turning in for the night. skiff leaves in the morning.”

“is it any good?”

“finest plum wine on the entire Luofa~”

caelus chuckles. “that doesn’t tell me if it’s good.”

there’s a long moment of quiet. “i’ve been a bit… preoccupied. more interesting thoughts to hold my attention.”

“mm.” caelus leaned back on the bed and stared at the ceiling. “feel like sharing?” after a moment of quiet on the other side, he added, “anything to do with the ring you left me?”

“everything to do with it,” sampo whispered.

curled up in bed with the phone pressed to his ear, it felt like sampo was right next to him. caelus waited.

"my plans haven’t changed. you’ve got your work to do and i have mine. our paths are diverging.” sampo stares deeply into the crystal glass of plum wine without seeing it. “and it’s killing me to let go.” the slight break in sampo's voice nearly broke his heart. smooth-talking sampo koski didn't falter or stammer… unless the truth was that painful to tell.

“do we have to?” caelus whispered.

“we should.” that wasn’t a yes. that was the answer of a man who wanted anything but the path he was on.

“where are you?” caelus said suddenly. he pulled himself off the bed and shrugged on his jacket. “gilded frog by the jetty?” He saw the plum wine advertised when he and March and Dan Heng had wandered past that afternoon with snacks in hand.

“don’t,” sampo whispered, lowering his head to his hand. “that’s just going to make this so much harder.”

“you didn’t say we had to, just that we should,” caelus argued, taking off down the hall at a run now, dodging the night maid and skidding around the corner once outside. He waved apologetically at the person he dodged around and kept going. the frog wasn’t too far from their hotel after all and he was the second fastest of their little team. “i don’t want to let go either,” he said breathlessly. “wait for me.”

“cae-”

“please.”

the bartender’s head snapped up as someone burst into the little tavern, panting, phone still pressed to his ear. Sampo turned around, his own phone still at his ear, and locked eyes with Caelus. Caelus grinned and put the phone away, striding across the rest of the place towards the bar.

Sampo sighed, gave him a weary, tipsy smile, and put the phone away. This was only going to hurt a thousand times worse at the end, but seeing Caelus again now, that impending pain seemed light-years away. When they’d met, he would never have thought in a million years that this surly, grouchy-looking little punk harbored a smile like that.

It weakened his heart.

"Cae…" Caelus strode up to him, grabbed his face and pulled him into a deep kiss.

Just like that, whole again. Everything missing had returned. Sampo wound his arms around Caelus' waist and hugged him tightly.

#my writing stuff #hsr #sampo koski #caeSam #SamCae #caePo #?

[adelaidedrubman]

wip wednesday winner’s circle

well, the results are in, and as i’m sure everyone expected the winner of this poll was hank, by a landslide. tagging everyone in the notes for the poll + everyone who tagged me to share for wip wednesday. @florbelles @simplegenius042 @cassietrn @stacispratt @strangefable @direwombat @socially-awkward-skeleton @inafieldofdaisies @nuclearstorms @voidika @orionlancasterr @nightbloodbix @assassinregrets @cassietrn @unholymilf @henbased @wrathfulrook (and consider this an open wip day tag for any of my other usual suspects, sorry it’s tired in here)

technically over sentence count because it was close enough i felt like doing a contextually cleaner start and finish, here is your serving of the hank chronicles.

“There you go, little guy.” She smiles down at Hank as she gives two light smacks to the pumpkin. “You dig in on this, and I’ll be back before you know it,” she says with a parting kiss to Hank’s snout. 

Hank doesn’t need to be told twice — he reaches his hands up to grip the top of the rind, tipping the pumpkin on its side to spill the stringy mess of pulp and seed along the too-shiny rock. 

He sticks his hand into the mess of innards to bring a fistful of the orange mush to his mouth. His free hand is already reaching for a second serving as he licks the last sweet, gooey morsels from his fingers. He shoves the licked cleaned hand right back into the orange heap as he brings the next bite to his maw, alternating them so that treats are shoveled nonstop into his mouth. 

Hank loses track of how many times he does this — not much manages to enter his awareness at all, beyond the yummy flavor of pumpkin in his mouth and the growing fullness in his belly. He barely even pauses when he hears a thud and animal fighting sounds above him, looking around just long enough to see it isn’t happening where he is, so he reckons it’s those critters’ business and not his. 

He only halts the eager smack of his jaw when the quick forward grasp of his hand fails to dig into pumpkin — instead knocking against the rind too hard, pushing the entire fruit away. 

Hank lets out a horrified screech as he watches the nearly still full pumpkin hit the ground with a thud, then begin to roll away. 

This time, Hank doesn’t have time to think about the best way to climb down — he simply leaps after his precious meal, pain jolting through his little legs as they hit the hard, flat ground then smacking against his side as he loses his balance upon landing. 

But he fights through the hurt, hurrying back to his feet to scurry after the pumpkin as it crashes into the double doors at the end of the room, its heavy weight pushing them open easily. 

Hank just barely moves his little legs fast enough to squeak through the doors before they swing shut again, his eyes locked on that fast rolling blur of orange all the while. 

It gives him a strange feeling as if he were back in the old days, before Red knew to stop and wait for his little legs to catch up, and he had to chase after her everywhere. 

But just like Red once did, the pumpkin finally comes to a stop long enough for him to catch up. And with a quick pitter-patter of his feet against wood Hank closes the distance until his special treat is back within his reach. 

But the triumphant joy he feels at his claws digging into the rind is short lived. Because the moment he raises his head to look around with a wide victory grin, Hank sees something that makes his little heart stop and a horrible chill run through him from snout to tail. 

His precious pumpkin has landed at the feet of a horrible, vicious bear standing back on its hind legs to tower over Hank with teeth bared in an angry snarl. 

#oc: hank the opossum #the hank chronicles #wip #maybe i will get silly later and write as many sentences as the other ones got votes too but for now i haven’t the stamina

[noodleblade]

Random thoughts about how BD and KO's dynamic could've played out if budget cuts didn't send the big guy to the grave, and he became an autobot, be like: I imagine this happening in ep "Plus one"

KO: Alright, how long have you two been dating, because you argue like an old married couple

BD: (honking after him) Knock Out!

KO: Ugh, and speaking of bitter exes.

BD: Pull over KO, this is going to far

KO: Ha! Make me you slow brute (accelerates)

BD: Low blow (uses the terrain as a ramp) good thing I know how to take the high road! (KO, has to break in order to not get squash by BD)

KO: Hey! WATCH IT! Don't think you can get away with ruining my finish now that you're an autobot.

BD: End of the line Knock Out, hand over the humans and forget about the fossil

KO: Breakdown, don't tell me you now have a soft spot for them too. I'll make you a deal, big guy (transforms and holds the humans tight, turning his other sand into a saw) fetch me the fossil and I let the humans walk.

BD: ... Why you doing this KO?

Knock Out: Because, this is what WE decepticons do, now, play nice or else-

BD: Don't give me that scrap! You don't believe in the decepticon cause, you never did! So why do you keep playing lapdog

KO: How DARE you!

BD: Answer me, Knock Out!

KO: I did it for you! I left Velocitron for you! I joined the Deceptions for you! YOU were my cause! And yet you left us! Left me! For a bunch of fleshies and their leader.

BD: ... Knock...

KO: Tell me Breakdown, when did I stop being enough of a reason for you? (yeets the humans to distract BD, and transforms to go after the train)

;____________________________________; anon....that's so bittersweet</3 I stopped working to read this on my phone! The drama, the angst, the hurt....maybe one day the comfort....;___; <3

I have my own little Breakdown Lives and Becomes an Autobot AU wip I want to work on when I finish up some other projects I have going on. Its a bit more sad, somber than this (maybe I'll post some snippets at some point....)

But reading this, I kind of love them as bitter exes that are still not quite over each other!!! Makes me want to write a little something of them splitting off before the events of Prime and being forced to face off. I want the snarky digs and borderline banter. I want them not really putting their all into a fight and when they see the other in danger, momentarily forgetting their faction ties to save the other. I want a scene where they are forced to work together and realize how much they miss each other and how well they just ARE together. I want another bot there (my brain supplied smokescreen but anyone would work) watching them in awe. I want them pleading the other to come back to them and join their side, both of them too scared to leave not knowing if they would be able to get back what they had.BFWRNFCFKNVWKENDSFEKJVNF OK ADDING THIS TO MY RUNNING WIP DOCS THANK YOU. The wip list is getting ridiculously long.

#kobd #knock out #breakdown #tfp #transformers #anonymous #asks #fic ideas

[johnnyutah]

i finally finished this old wip for @stonathanweek (and coincidentally also @stoncyweek2023!)

prompts: canon-verse (day 5), long distance relationship (day 7) summary: Steve comes up with an awesome plan to make Nancy jealous. It backfires in the best way. rating: explicit ships: stonathan, stoncy, established jonathan/nancy, past steve/nancy (and future? 😳) steve and robin being best bros word count: 5660 content info: drinking, phone sex, miscommunication, smut & feelings, pre-polyamory, set before season 4

Also on AO3!

The front door of Family Video slams shut on yet another failed attempt at flirting, and Steve’s head falls into his hands yet a-fuckin-gain. “This is it, Robin,” he declares, elbows digging into the cheap melamine counter and fingertips digging into his temples just above his furrowed brows. “This is it. We’ve got no prospects.”

“That isn’t true,” Robin, the light of his life, tells him, soft and kind-hearted as ever. She pats his shoulder and goes on to correct him, “You’ve got no prospects. I’m just in the wrong city for love; you’re on the wrong planet.”

“The wrong p— you’re a real asshole, you know that?” Steve glances up from between his fingers just to check that she knows that. Robin’s sweet smile doesn’t falter for a moment, confirming her own theory. He’s sure that if they did live in another place, or perhaps another time, Robin could have a girlfriend in no time at all. Steve, however, is doomed. “What am I supposed to do with that, huh? I can’t exactly set off to Mars.”

“You could try changing it up,” Robin suggests. It’s the third time this week she’s suggested that he change. He’s starting to feel like she might mean it. “Instead of ‘ahoy, ladies’…”

She scrunches up her nose, thinking. Steve rests his chin on his knuckles and watches her. “Ahoy… fellas?”

“Ha-ha.” Robin pushes his shoulder again, this time not to comfort but to chastise. “I meant maybe coming up with a different approach.”

“I don’t do the Scoops routine anymore.”

“Right, you’ve switched to local video store geek recommending all your favorite flicks.”

“Geek! I’m not a geek! What about this,” Steve gestures up and down his body with broad, sweeping motions that draw out a flurry of giggles from Robin, “says geek?!”

“Like, all of it,” she laughs. “Every part of it. The hair? Dork. The smile? Total nerd smile— see, look, you’re offended but you’re smiling!”

Through his not-smile, Steve hisses, “What am I supposed to do about my smile? I’m freaking screwed!”

“Calm down, you’ll be fine!” It’s hard to take Robin’s consolation seriously as she struggles not to laugh. Some consternation must show on his face as she finally relents, wiping an eye dry before leaning away, and repeating, “You’ll be fine. You’ve got plenty of time to work out the new Harrington act anyway, and in the meantime, you’ve got good friends who look out for you.”

“I thought you said Dustin and the gang were annoying little kids.”

“God, I meant me, you dick!” This time he’s ready for the blow to his shoulder and he dodges it effortlessly, ducking under the slap and then swatting it away. It’s a good thing Keith left right away after his morning shift, as he hates when they squabble like this in the front end of the store. Not that there are any customers. Steve has apparently frightened them all away with his utter and total lack of charisma. Fantastic.

After he loses— quite badly, really, Robin, where was this killer physique and athleticism when they were being held hostage by enemies of the state— and they resume their work, Steve doesn’t put up much of a pretense of actually working, far too distracted by his foreboding future. The loneliness gnaws at him deeply, scraping down to his marrow until he starts fidgeting, uncomfortable with his own turbulent emotion.

Robin hadn’t meant it, and god knows she’s got it worse than he does, but… it does suck, not having someone and not seeming able to find anyone. Even when things were bad with Nancy there had still been things. And before her, when Tommy and Carol had dragged him to each and every party like a prized stud ready for the auction, he had felt wanted. He can’t remember when he last felt wanted.

Before he can voice this pathetic thought to Robin, she sighs, taking obvious pity on him. “You have any plans tonight?”

“Take a wild guess,” Steve grumbles.

Unaffected, she continues, “Sooo… my parents went to this big Christmas party last weekend, and they brought home these two huge gift baskets they apparently won in some raffle. And one of the baskets had some bourbon, and, um, I don’t really know anything about drinking, so, I… uh, I brought it, and I thought maybe it’d be fun if we. Drank it.”

Steve twists to stare at her incredulously. No part of the story makes even a lick of sense— what kind of parents let their eighteen-year-old daughter drink liquor freely? What kind of parents bring gifts home without occasion or cause? Who throws a Christmas party in January? Baffled, he echoes, “You brought it?”

“I brought it,” Robin confirms.

“In… what, in your backpack?”

“Yeah, in my backpack.” Both of them glance at the staff area, and she says, “What, you don’t want to? If you don’t want to, it’s—”

“Hold on, they just let you have it?”

“They don’t drink.”

“Well… what kind of bourbon is it?”

“I have no clue, doofus. I don’t drink.”

“Never?”

“I’ve never had anyone to drink with.” This confession lingers in the air for a heavy moment— not necessarily a bad one, but it weighs them both down, together. Then Robin coughs, and changes tack, “What types of bourbon are there?”

Steve doesn’t actually know. He’s not sure that he’s actually ever tried bourbon. It sounds both quaintly Southern and exorbitant, but the likely high price tag only adds to the allure. “Alright, we’ll just have to make sure we don’t leave anything for Keith to catch onto us. Guy would flip his freaking lid. But… we could try a glass, or two.”

“Neat,” Robin grins, eyes practically sparkling. “Yeah, I probably won’t have more than a sip.”

--

Steve sits— well, crashes— down onto the counter beside Robin. His legs dangle over the edge, while she keeps hers crossed. “I think I lost my voice,” he tells her, and in response she passes— well, slams— the bottle into his hand. “No, Robin, I’m serious, I think I sang too hard.”

“They’re making another one of these.” She points, and Steve follows her gaze to the TV set up in the corner over Comedies and International, which is currently playing The Evil Dead, but set to the soundtrack of the album Steve has been blasting over the Family Video intercom. “With the same director and everything. I bet it’ll be terrible; sequels always are.”

“Not true,” croaks Steve. He drinks the bourbon. It tastes a little better with every sip, although it still mostly tastes like he’s hiding in a cleaning closet and drinking heavy acid instead of hanging out with his friend and drinking actual good liquor. If this is good liquor, he thinks he’ll stick to cheap beer. “Dawn of the Dead.”

“Remake, not a sequel.”

“No way, it’s a sequel.” Steve passes the bottle back, massaging his throat. “Zombies and shit.” AC/DC comes to the end of howling ‘Back in Black’, thank God, no more falsetto— and the tape switches to ‘You Shook Me All Night Long’. He starts tapping his heels against the counter to the rhythm. 

On screen, Ash’s buddy Scotty shoves one of the zombified girls away with an ax. Robin watches. Steve grimaces. Scotty swears his head off on mute. Brian Johnson wails, “She was the best damn woman that I ever seen!”

“I love women,” Robin sighs, deep and emotional.

“Me too,” agrees Steve fervently.

“And I don’t hate bourbon.”

“Me either.” He reaches for the bottle and she takes a sip before sharing; it burns when it hits his already scratchy throat. Scotty locks the zombie in the basement. Robin reaches back for the bottle. The confession squeezes out before Steve can think any better of it: “I miss Nancy.”

“Oh my god.”

“I mean it—”

“I know you do—”

“I love her, Robin.”

“Oh My God.”

“Listen,” Steve says, hopping off the counter with grace and precision. He completely misjudges the distance between them and the floor, and ends up crash-landing hard; but at least he doesn’t fall over. Robin laughs harder than she needs to as he steadies himself. “Listen. She was my best damn… the best girlfriend that I’ve ever had. And I was so stupid to her. And she left me.”

“I thought she left because she didn’t have feelings for you anymore.”

“Could you just—” Steve flails for a moment, trying not to throttle his best friend and also trying to sort through his drunk thoughts to find the words he needs. “Yes. Okay. That may be true. But feelings come and go!”

“Fine,” says Robin reluctantly. “But, and I hate to put a damper on your drunken dreams of winning her back, but! In this case, Nancy has already moved on to someone else… right?”

Steve snaps his fingers. Jonathan— of course! That’s why that stupid horror movie seemed so familiar; he remembers seeing the freaky poster hung up in Jonathan’s room from when he and Nancy and Jonathan had fought off the Demogorgon the first time around. Steve hasn’t thought about Jonathan in a while, which seems odd given that he used to waste so much time thinking about the guy. Even before their team-up— actually, especially before they had teamed up, he had a penchant for watching the weird Byers kid. “Right,” he exclaims. “Yeah, yes! She’s moved on!”

“So,” says Robin, with the patience of a schoolteacher. “Don’t you think it’s time that you move on too?”

“Totally,” he agrees, catching her off-guard. “Yes. I’m gonna make her so jealous.”

When he looks over, Robin is fully chugging the bourbon. Steve snatches the bottle away, laughing somewhat maniacally— except not at all, this is awesome, he has a totally awesome plan.

Step one is get on the work computer and misuse his employee privilege as a Family Video store clerk. When he fails to type in his password correctly a third time, Robin sighs, finally hopping down from the counter. “I want it on record that this is a bad idea,” she declares, typing in her password anyway before heading to the back room. Steve takes advantage of her absence to quickly scan through their alphabetized account list. Thankfully Byers, J. is close to the top. 

He scrawls the phone number down on the back of an empty receipt as Robin closes down the store— beginning with the music, then the lights. They are left alone with only the computer, which Steve quickly shuts off, and the television, which Robin misplaced the remote for. Neither of them can find it in the dark and so they leave Ash and friends to face their inevitable demise at the hands of the zombie demons. It won’t be the worst close they’ve ever done, and Steve refuses to believe that Keith’s opinion of him could sink any lower.

Robin grabs the nearly empty bottle, shoving it into her backpack. Steve grabs his jacket, pulling it on with a wince as they step out of the store into the January night air. “It’s too cold to drive, and I’m too drunk to walk,” says Robin, arms already tightly folded over her chest but teeth not quite chattering yet. “I mean… no, wait, maybe that is what I mean.”

“I got this,” Steve assures her. It’s then that Robin notices the receipt, and lunges for it. Maybe if Steve had full control of his faculties he would be able to hold it out of her reach. She snatches the paper and Steve moans, “Aw, c’mon, give it back! You’re messing up my whole plan!”

“Your plan to get back with your ex by making her jealous? Oh my god, you’re serious.” Robin laughs, shoving the receipt back at him. Her grin is too wide and goofy to cause any real hurt, especially when her eyes crinkle up in the corners and she teases, “Look at that, Harrington! You finally got a girl’s number.”

Steve, smiling back, doesn’t correct her.

--

The only cab in Hawkins surely isn’t the only cab in Hawkins, but it feels that way as they drive down the otherwise dormant city streets. Most people, Steve reckons, don’t stay up late drinking with their coworkers on a cold weeknight in January. Or if they do, they probably go to a bar close to their office downtown, or even a nightclub.

In the backseat of the only cab in Hawkins, Steve and Robin lean against each other like siblings on a road trip, slouched together thanks to the late hour and all the drinking. He’s sure they smell like shit but they feel amazing, smacking each other’s arms to point out passing landmarks or giggling about the music on the radio. The driver hasn’t commented, leaving them to their own devices as they joke about how they feel like New Yorkers, or like superstars. 

The taxi drops Robin off outside her home first, and she leans over to give Steve a bourbon-soaked hug. He relishes in it, trying to remember the last time he got a hug from anyone. Hell, it was probably Robin, and before that, he has no clue. Dustin has been busy with his new Dungeons and Dragons group, and Lucas and Mike were never big on hugs anyway. So he hugs back, still laughing at Robin’s terrible Bronx accent, and as he does she whispers, “You got this, dingus.”

“Thanks,” Steve whispers back, feeling tipsy and joyful and supported— until he realizes that she meant he’s the one on the hook for paying the taxi driver. He settles back into his own seat to sulk.

On the radio, REO Speedwagon choruses, “I’ve forgotten what I started fighting for; it’s time to bring this ship into the shore, and throw away the oars, forever…” and the driver hums along.

Steve’s hand finds its way into his jacket pocket, where his fist closes around Jonathan’s number.

--

“Hey,” Steve nearly sings, as soon as the call goes through. “Hi. Sorry, I— I know it’s late,” which is technically true, even if he has no idea what time it actually is. But based on the moonlight streaming through the window in the kitchen, he’s breaking several social rules. “I just… It’s, um, it’s Steve. Harrington, in case, uh, you know any other Steves…?”

A woman answers. The receiver slips right out of Steve’s hands and he curses modern, cordless technology, fumbling to grab it before he drops the phone, or worse, the call. “… afraid I don’t know any Steves at all. Can I help you, young man?”

“Oh, shit.” The woman inhales sharply, and Steve’s mind supplements an image of Byers, Joyce. Shit. Of course. “I’m sorry, uh, I’m calling for Jonathan? If he’s even home?”

Sounding much less friendly, the woman pauses. “I don’t know who you mean, but this is a new number. If you’re trying to reach the Byers family—”

“Yes, exactly, yeah, Jonathan Byers—”

“They don’t live here anymore.” Steve crumples up the paper and tosses it, furiously, into the sink. “I have their forwarding number, if it’s very important…?”

“It’s urgent,” Steve assures her, scrambling to find something to write on. He ends up grabbing his father’s fountain pen and writing Jonathan’s new number painfully across the back of his hand.

After apologizing and wishing the wrong number a good night, Steve stares at those messy, ink-blotted digits. Before he can give himself cold feet, he dials the number; he doesn’t breathe once the whole time it rings.

The line picks up again. This time Steve is more cognizant that it might be Joyce, or even worse, Will— the kid would definitely recognize his voice, and while Steve is sure that Jonathan’s impossibly kind younger brother would support him in this late-night endeavor, he’s also sure that Mike Wheeler would definitely hear about it. Which would ruin the entire scheme, of course.

The scheme, which seemed so infallible back at Family Video, swims and wavers in his head now. Steve tries to go through the plan point by point, but it all falls to pieces when a groggy, familiar voice says through the receiver, “Hello?”

“Hey,” Steve says. He leans against the kitchen island, exhaling all the air in his lungs. “Hi. It’s Steve. … Harrington.”

“I only know one Steve,” Jonathan says, dry as a desert. Steve smiles nervously. “Why are you calling? Is something wrong?”

“No, no, all quiet on the Western front.” This nets him a chuckle from Jonathan, so he soldiers on: “I was just wondering, you know, uh… if you wanted to come over?”

Puzzled, Jonathan asks bluntly, “What? Why?”

“I was thinking about you,” says Steve, leaning into it hard. He has charisma, or at least, he once did— he knows how to do this part. “Thinking maybe you could come over and we could fool around.”

Nobody has ever hung up so fast.

Steve stares at the dead phone in his hand. He wonders about the vicious gossip that he’d heard back in high school about Jonathan Byers, that he was more than just weird and a loner. Maybe those rumors really were nothing but rumors spread by small-minded townies. Steve’s parents aren’t home. It would be so easy for him to break into his father’s liquor cabinet. He could probably knock himself out within the hour, and sleep off this whole bad idea. He could laugh about it with Robin tomorrow night at work— I wanted to do what last night? I got some girl’s phone number out of the system? Man, no, I went straight home and went to bed. On an unrelated topic, I need to update the contact information on the Byers file.

Steve presses the redial button.

It rings for a little longer this time, and he can just picture Jonathan deciding whether or not to pick up, leaning over his own kitchen counter with a vein jumping out of his forehead behind his messy, home-cut bangs. Sure enough, when the call does get picked up, Jonathan sounds even more stressed than usual. He demands, “Is this a joke?”

If he’s wrong, and Jonathan’s not that type of person, and he tells Nancy… Steve shakes off the doomed train of thought. “No,” he says, firmly. “Not a joke.” 

Jonathan swears softly, so soft that Steve was sure he wasn’t meant to hear it, then: “Are you drunk?”

“Well, yeah,” he admits. Jonathan sighs loud enough to nearly blow the speaker. “What about you?”

“No.” A pause. “I think I should probably be a lot less sober for this.”

“That’s the spirit,” Steve cheers. “Where are you? Can you come over?”

Just as he’s starting to get butterflies, Jonathan cuts through the excitement with a deadpan, “California.”

“California?” He squints at the number on his hand. Is eight-one-eight the area code for California? “What the fuck? Is Nancy there with you?”

“Um.” A very pregnant pause. “No?”

“What… are you… Are you on vacation?”

Once more, Jonathan sighs. “What do you want, Steve?”

“I told you,” he replies, and even to his own ears he sounds bitchy. He adjusts, softening his tone a bit. “Just wanna make you feel good, Jonathan. I’ve been thinking about it.”

“You haven’t exactly kept in touch,” Jonathan retorts, although his voice sounds different now. Steve listens keenly but he can’t hear anything else on the line except the complaining. “I mean, you thought I still lived in Hawkins, and I’ve been gone this whole school year.”

“Well, we’re not exactly friends,” Steve parrots back. That shuts the other boy up alright. “Doesn’t mean I don’t think about you.”

“Steve—”

“Even tonight, hanging out with a friend, I was thinking about you. Should’ve been thinking about girls. I was thinking about you.” Steve frowns. “You and stupid Ashley Williams.”

“Listen,” tries Jonathan. “You’re just drunk—”

“Even back when we were in school together I would think about you,” he admits, low. “Why do you think I gave you such a hard time? I heard what everyone said about you. Couldn’t get it out of my head. It wasn’t the first time I heard that someone could be… like that, but it was the first time I saw a boy and thought that I might be like that.”

What had the scheme been again? Call Nancy Wheeler’s queer boyfriend, rile him up a little? Get him to tell Nancy about it and make her all jealous? What is his endgame here, because only boys who like boys talk to boys about the things he’s talking to Jonathan about right now— and Jonathan isn’t even really reciprocating.

The soft breath is the only sign of life from California. Steve closes his eyes, swaying against the kitchen counter. “And I was so, so fucking stupid back then. That’s how I lost Nance, and that’s how come I treated you like… just like garbage. I broke your stupid camera, and I pushed you around, and when people gave you a hard time I didn’t say shit. I basically made your life hell.”

“You bought me a new camera,” says Jonathan quietly.

“Aw, c’mon, Nance.” Steve grimaces. “That was supposed to be a secret.”

“And I wasn’t the best person back then either. I mean, I can’t think about how I acted in junior high without dying a little bit on the inside. But… um… doesn’t mean I don’t appreciate it,” Jonathan tells him, in that same quiet voice. Steve wonders if he’s trying to stay quiet so he doesn’t wake up his family. Even when Jonathan had repulsed Steve, he’d always been secretly jealous of the closeness of the Byers clan. “And… uh, all that stuff you said, um… I used to think about it too. About… you and Nancy, mostly. It was wrong, I know, and—”

Steve interrupts, “Was it?” He sounds as wild as he feels. “Was it wrong?”

“Um…”

“You home alone, Jonathan?”

“I, uh.” Now there is a rustling on the other side of the line. “Will and El are at a sleepover camp thing for school, and my mom’s working nights this week at this temporary… um… Are we really— I mean, are you really…”

Steve hums. “I’m home alone. Didn’t even ask where my parents are, and they didn’t volunteer the information. But it means I’ve got this big place all to myself.”

Shallowly, Jonathan sucks in air. “Where are you?”

“The kitchen.”

That shocks a surprised laugh out of the other boy, which in turn makes Steve smile bashfully. “You can’t— you can’t have phone sex in the kitchen,” he scolds Steve. “People make food in there! Go to your bedroom, you fucking freak.”

“Look who’s suddenly an expert on phone sex,” Steve teases.

He goes anyway, heading slowly and normally towards the second floor until Jonathan casually drops, “Well, I have been in a long-distance relationship since September.”

Steve trips up the stairs, dropping the phone for the second time tonight. When he picks it up Jonathan is still there, breathing just as softly. Steve takes the rest of the stairs four at a time. He lunges for his bed and collapses there like a dead weight, still wearing his work clothes. Shit, he’s still wearing his shoes. He hears soft laughter coming down the line and, embarrassed about his heavy breathing, demands hotly, “You and Nancy have phone sex?”

“It would be pretty hard to have any other kind of sex two thousand miles apart.” That dry humor is doing terrible, insane things to his body right now. Steve chews his lip, closes his eyes, and fumbles with the button on his jeans. “So you get pretty good at discussing, and imagining. And waiting.”

“The first two sound alright.”

“Waiting can be fun too,” Jonathan tells him gently; his voice is so soft and low that Steve doesn’t realize he’s being seduced until his pulse has already risen. “But, yeah, talking is Nancy’s big thing. … I’m sure you remember that.”

Steve makes a face, giving up on his zipper. What he remembers about his sex life with Nancy is mostly too sad to dwell on, except during his most pathetic, embarrassing shower sessions and wet dreams. Things were good between them, of course— she’s the most beautiful woman on the planet— but after that pivotal time at the party, in this very bedroom, things were never the same. Sex with Steve had begun to remind Nancy of her dead friend, which would have been a mood-killer for Clark and Lois. Really, he shouldn’t have been surprised when she dumped his ass for Jonathan.

“What about this?” Steve imagines that Jonathan is right next to him on the bed instead of two thousand miles away. He turns his head to face the other pillow, but his eyes stay firmly closed. “Shouldn’t you… talk to Nancy about this?”

Once again, Jonathan effortlessly flips his world upside down with a sentence: “We did.” He sounds almost amused. “That’s why I hung up on you. I freaked out, and called her.”

Steve sits up so fast his head spins. “You called her? You— what did you tell her?”

“I told her you were drunk and trying to hook up with me,” says Jonathan, like it’s not a big deal at all. “And then her mother kicked her off the phone and chewed me out for calling the house so late.”

“But,” splutters Steve, “what did Nancy say?”

“She was really excited,” Jonathan admits. Steve, himself, is really excited— in fact, he thinks he might throw up for reasons entirely unrelated to the consumption of alcohol. “She asked for details, and I said I’d let her know if you called back. Then Mrs. Wheeler got on the line.”

He stares at the empty walls of his room, desperately trying to make sense of what Jonathan is telling him. “She wasn’t mad?”

“She was furious. Kept going on about time zones and all that shit.”

“Jonathan, I mean Nancy.”

“Steve, I know. I’m just teasing. You sound so tense.” Steve wonders how any man could feel relaxed while hearing this information. “Yeah, she was excited, and… a little nervous; she warned me it might have been a prank or something, but then I said ‘what if it’s not’, and she said ‘well, if it’s not, then obviously’… yeah.”

Steve gapes. “Obviously?”

“Yeah,” Jonathan echoes. “And asked for details.”

“Makes sense,” he says, weakly. “She’s a great reporter.”

“So, details.” Jonathan’s voice sinks down again, and Steve mirrors the change in tone, lying back down. He’s still reeling from the news that his plot to make Nancy jealous has been found dead in the water, and instead it seems that Jonathan and Nancy have machinations of their own. “Did you listen to what I said?”

“About Nancy?”

“About leaving the kitchen. Where are you now, Steve?”

“Oh. The— my bed.”

Jonathan exhales, “Good,” and Steve starts to melt. “And what are you doing right now in your bed?”

“Taking my shoes off,” he answers honestly, which startles another laugh out of Jonathan.

“That’s… a good place to start, I guess. How drunk are you, man?”

“I just feel… I don’t know. I feel good.” Keeping up the honesty is probably a good bet. “I like that you told Nancy. I like that she… likes the idea. She’s thinking about it, maybe.”

The line is silent, but live with Jonathan’s breathing. Steve’s chest rises and falls in sync. “Thinking about what, exactly?”

Right. Details. “This isn’t what I’d pictured,” Steve tells him. “I never imagined you out in California. In my head, you’re still the same scrawny, skinny kid forever stuck in Hawkins. Doesn’t make sense, you living so far away. Do you have a tan now?”

“Not really,” he admits, sounding sheepish. “I look pretty much the same. Taller, maybe.”

“I doubt it. Bet you’re still small enough for me to pick you up, toss you around.”

“You could try it,” Jonathan huffs.

“Bet you’re used to taking the lead with Nancy,” Steve continues, closing his eyes again. He kicks off his other shoe. “You ever been with someone bigger than you? I mean, someone who could really put you where they wanted?”

“You’re not so big,” says Jonathan. He sounds uncertain— it sends goosebumps down Steve’s arms. “Where would you want to put me?”

“I’d like to pin you down and watch your face as I get you off.” The reaction is immediate— the bitten-off gasp is a sound Steve will treasure forever. “I would want you in my bed, in my car… I don’t know. Everywhere. I’d want you to ride me.”

“Jesus.”

“I’d ride you too,” Steve hastens to add. “I’m not totally unfair.”

Jonathan makes a noise somewhere between a cough and a whimper.

“I used to think about making you suck me off, back when I was still kind of learning what blowjobs were and so they were pretty much all I could ever think about. You have a really pretty mouth,” he goes on even as Jonathan’s breath hitches, “and I think you would look good on your knees.”

“I do,” Jonathan says. “I mean, I would, I— Nancy tells me all the time.”

“What, you suck her off?” Steve laughs, except the noise kind of dies in his throat because Jonathan doesn’t laugh too. He puts the phone down, suddenly desperate to be free of his clothing. Throwing his work vest and shirt towards the dresser, followed by his jeans and briefs, he lies back down and repeats his question. “You go down on her?”

“Of course,” says Jonathan, kind and sweet and kind of dirty. Steve shuffles around until he’s comfortable under the blankets, and he can hold the phone in one hand and his dick in the other. He would usually grab lotion from his bedside table, maybe stop at a non-family video store on the way home from work to pick up a tape. Right now he doesn’t need any of that; he’s too close just from the sound of Jonathan’s voice. “I could do that for you too. I never thought it was something you’d want.”

“Well, you know what they say, Byers.” Steve palms himself, fucking in and out of his fist slowly. It’s too hot, too sensitive, too intimate. He clenches, his muscles tightening as he thinks about Jonathan doing the same. “If you scratch my back, I’ll scratch yours.”

Sure enough, there’s a quiet noise other than Jonathan’s voice. The connection isn’t clear enough for him to hear everything, but he can connect the dots. Jonathan says, still sounding strangled, “Did you manage to get your shoes off?”

“Yeah, now I’m working on getting my rocks off.”

A groan, low and a second too long. “Ugh. Nancy could’ve warned me you liked to tell jokes in bed.”

“What, am I not cool enough for you, California? Should I, like, tone it down, brochacho?”

“You’re kidding, but I do actually have a friend out here who sounds exactly like that.” Steve speeds up, his hips thrusting forward in small, jerky movements as Jonathan talks. God, he’s in so much trouble if he’s just getting off to the sound of the guy’s voice. He twists his wrist for a better angle as Jonathan continues, “You’re plenty cool enough for me, Indiana.”

“Hey, you’re Indiana too,” Steve reminds him. “God, I’m so— can you do more of the phone sex stuff?”

“Who says this isn’t the phone sex stuff? Maybe two guys jerking off together, talking about the state they grew up in is high-quality phone sex,” Jonathan teases. Now who’s telling jokes in bed? “You want me to give you the serious script, Harrington?”

“I want you to stop fucking around and put me on loudspeaker,” Steve gasps.

For a beat, Jonathan is silent. Then he does; the audio quality is slightly different, and Steve can more clearly hear skin-on-skin. Jonathan picks up the pace and Steve matches his rhythm, groaning through grinding teeth. When Jonathan speaks, he sounds nervous now. “Better?”

“Almost,” Steve says. “I want you to touch yourself. Keep touching yourself, the way you do when you do this with your girlfriend.” Jonathan’s breath hitches, and the sounds pick up— they are filthy in the best way. Steve is beyond glad they’re both home alone. His legs shake as he keeps going. “Except it’s different, right? When Nancy gets off she seizes up, right, like her whole body goes tight. With us, it’s different, and I want to hear you, wanna hear every part of it. I want you to ruin those fucking sheets.”

“Fuck,” gasps Jonathan. Steve tightens his grip too. “I wish—” and then before he can deliver that wish, he’s grunting, loud and primal and unmistakably masculine, as he comes all over himself. Steve can just picture it, those nimble, pale fingers wrapped around his dick— except he doesn’t exactly know what Jonathan’s dick looks like, so he has to make do with thinking about his own. And right as he’s about to sail over the edge, Jonathan breathes, “I bet Nancy’s getting off right now too.”

Well. It’s embarrassing how instantaneous Steve’s orgasm is after he hears that.

After all the discussing and imagining, as Jonathan had called it, they both come down slowly and in shared, comfortable silence. Steve sinks back down to sober, cold Earth like a fluttering leaf, and even after the reality of what just happened hits him he still doesn’t feel ready to accept it. The hard, unflinching truth is that Steve feels better right now than he ever has after sex, and Jonathan isn’t even here. He thinks he almost feels better right now than he ever has in his entire life. Uh oh.

“So,” Steve finally breaks the quiet post-orgasm haze lingering between them. “Are you coming home for spring break?”

#stonathanweek2023 #stoncyweek2023 #stonathan #stoncy #stranger things #fic blogging

[lavender-long-stories]

Ghosts

Sasuke x Hinata | Abandon from my WIP Folder

Hinata ran her fingers over the book on the shelf with a numb heart and somehow even numb-er fingers. It was always so cold in here, even when it was hot outside. She picked up a book and sat down in the dust with it. She wondered if it was a gift or if was it bought by the owner. Questions she would never have answered. The house was long since abandoned. No one was sure if anyone owned it, and there were rumors it was haunted, so people kept their distance. That made it the perfect hiding place when she wanted to disappear. Hinata didn’t believe in ghosts. She thought about bringing something for any spirits to let her stay, but she thought at this point, if they were there, they wouldn’t want to be bothered.

Hinata read her book for a while and shivered as the house creaked. It did that all the time. It was an old house, after all. Hinata shivered again, trying to tuck her fingers into themselves to regain some of the feelings, but she knew that she would have to go home soon. It was too cold, and it was getting too late to read by the light coming in the window. She got up and put the book back, brushing her clothes off of the dust. 

She picked up her bag and out fell the small box she had got from the bakery earlier. She almost forgot. Hinata settled back down, opening the box to reveal a slightly tosseled cupcake with a candle sticking up out of it. She took a moment to dig in her bag for the lighter she had to buy just for this occasion. She lit the candle and stared into the flame. Did she make a wish? What would a wish do? Hinata sighed and just blew out the candle. She stared past it to let her eyes adjust back to the dark, only to see a face on the other side just as far as she was from the candle. She screamed, jerking back and hitting her head solidly off the bookshelf. Hinata yelped, and the hand that wasn’t clutching the cupcake to her chest shot to the back of her head. The boy in front of her looked just as freaked out as she did as he had backed his way across the room. “Who are you?” Hinata asked. He looked around and pointed to himself. “You can see me?”

Hinata nodded slowly. “You couldn’t before.” He accused. Hinata shook her head. “What?” He looked around and looked at his hands. “Can you touch me?” He held his hand out at her.

Hinata scrambled up on her feet, grabbing her bag. “No, thank you.” He ignored her, coming closer. She swatted at him with the first thing she could grab. The book smacked him solidly in the face. He scrambled back. “Ow! How did you do that?!” “Stay away from me!” Hinata got up and ran for her exit. Once out, she looked back to make sure she wasn't being followed. She took a breath and slowed down to catch her breath. When she did, she looked toward home only to come face to face with him once again. “How did I get out here?” He asked She screeched and swung her bag. “Ow, stop that!” He yelled back. “Stop following me! I’ll call the police!” Hinata countered.

“You were trespassing, you know.” He earned himself another hit of her bag. “Ow, how are you doing that!”

“Go away!” Hinata barked, running down the road, but once she turned the corner, there he was again. In front of her, she looked behind her. He didn’t pass her. “How did you…?”

“How do you that?” He looked around like he was unsure of his surroundings.

Hinata stared at him. He looked just as confused as she was. “Who are you?”

“Sasuke. Are you dead, too?”

“Dead?” Hinata squeaked.

“I thought you were alive. You can see your breath.” Sasuke pointed at her.

Hinata blinked and huffed out. Yes, she could. It was cold, but… she couldn’t see his.

“Your dead?” Hinata asked.

Sasuke nodded. “I haven’t been able to leave that house in years. Now I … guess I am latched to you.”

Hinata hides in an abandoned house from her problems, unaware of the ghost there that has been keeping her company until she blows out a candle for her birthday.

#sasuhina #sasuke x hinata #clearing out the wip folder #wip wednesday #ghosts #wip dump

[trash-monkey]

Little Brother

Chapter 4

Once again I'm gently bounced awake which I open my sleepy eyes to see a smiling Shin had waken me up an hour later for dinner like he promised and the hunger of my stomach when smelling the delicious food caused me to wake up farther, he sits me up in his lap from my laying position in his arms to find that he had already been sitting at the table. Glancing around to see Mikey sitting next to Shin while their Grandpa sits at the head of the table and brother across from us with an unknown girl next to him.

"Say aw?" Shin holds a spoon up to me with mashed potatoes on it which I allowed him to put into my mouth and hummed at the yummy taste, the unknown girl awed at my cuteness.

"Hwllo" I give her a wave as Shin put the corn filled spoon into my mouth.

"Hey, I'm Emma" She coos at me which brother frown his eyebrows together at.

"Emma" I easily said her name making Mikey to pout and whine once again.

"It's not fair, why don't he like me, come on say Mikey, say Mikey." He try to encourage me to say his name again but I turned my head away causing everyone to laugh while Mikey fake cries, after settling down we continue on with dinner.

"Wa wa, placws." I asked once I'm done eating which Shin helps me hold the glass up so I can drink the water.

"Bu, pacify." Holding a hand out when the urge to suck something take ahold of me, he pulls the new light blue pacifier from his pocket before he dipped it into his water and wip it off with a paper towel to clean it before handing it over to be me.

"Ain't he a little too old for a pacifier?" Shin questioned as he watch me put it into my mouth.

"Yeah, going to try to wing him off of it." He simply stated as I turned myself around in Shin's lap to get under his shirt again and lay my left cheek against his heart to hear it while he eats his own food, ever so often he give my back a rub. I stayed cuddled up against his chest until dinner is over and given back to brother when it's time to go back, he sits me on the floor to put his shoes on before helping me.

"You be good for your brother, ok." Shin gives me a eyes closed smile while giving my head a pat after being settled into brother arms, I nod before we say our byes and get on the motorcycle once again to head back to brother's room where we both do our night routines and head to bed.

"You need a haircut" He commented on my messy hair after he had gently shaken me awake to get ready to go out after he did so himself.

"No" I quickly responded causing his eyebrows to frown together in confusion.

"Why?" He asked as he sets the brush down and picked up the shirt where he had set the clothes he had pick for me to wear for today over his leg.

"Me want mine like yours, it's sooo cool." I gestured to his viking like hair style and one I always wanted to try wearing but couldn't never get my hair long enough for it, while busy getting my arms through the sleeves of my shirt I didn't get to see the large smile on his face and his eyes softening.

"Ok, if that's what you want." He chuckled as he helped me get my head out of the shirt whole when my limbs won't cooperate and once I'm fully clothed we headed out.

"He still asleep?" Shin just gives him a nod once we step through the front door, brother quickly pulls his shoes off and goes to wake Mikey up while Shin helps me take my own off before picking me up to sit on his hip and made his way back to the kitchen.

"Hey buddy!" Emma smiled once she sees me in her older brother arms before Shin set me in the high chair that's now at the table.

"Have you had breakfast yet?" I shook my head at Grandpa Sano's question which he gives a nod before grabbing an apple from the middle of the table to cut it up into slices for me while Shin fix me a small plate of breakfast and Grandpa places the slices onto the high chair tray.

"Thank you!" I beamed before digging in and with cheeks puffed up like a chipmunk Emma pulls out her phone to take a pic and once I notice I give it a wave causing her to coo.

"Bu! wook!" I call out to brother when he walks in with a half-a-sleep Mikey behind him and gestured to my breakfast.

"Yeah, is it good?" He gives my head a pat after walking over and I nod in return with a hum, they both take a seat and Shin lays a plate in front of them.

"I'm happy to look after Ren whenever you need it." Shin mentions after breakfast when brother asked if they could look after me while he's gone and had placed me back on his hip while we watch the three teens slip on their shoes at the front door, brother thanks him before he turns to me.

"You'll be staying with uncle Shin and Grandpa Sano until I come back later so be good, ok?" I pout not wanting him to leave but knowing I can't always follow him so I reluctantly give a nod which he places a kiss on my forehead before following with the others.

"It's just you and us, uh." He runs a hand through my hair before telling him I want my stuff dragon from the backpack that brother had put my things in and had it by the door so Shin picks it up to remove the stuffy to me and place it on the couch in the living room.

"Here you go, some of Mikey's old toys." He takes a seat and put me on my feet to slide the large box next to the couch over to us, with a good grip on the edge of the box I fall to sit on my bottom and watch as Shin pull different kinds of toys out.

"Ooo Rarw" I point at the T-Rex he had pulled out and handed it to me, one of its teeth along with an eye is gone but I like it. Next he pulls out a small red truck and a large green tractor, with a smile I put them by my feet and watch as he takes out a large plane with one of its wings cracked which Shin frowns at the toy along with me, the simple toy rises fear inside me causing me to sniffle and my eyes to water the longer I stay near it.

"You want this?" I shook my head wildly not wanting the creepy plane as I move back from it, not knowing why it's causing me to feel this way but I want it gone.

"It's just a toy, Ren! It can't hurt you!" Can't keep the handle on the fear any longer the tears started to roll when he brings it close.

'THAT'S NO TOY! ITS THE DEVIL IN DISGUST! GET IT AWAY FROM MMMEEE! BURN IT BACK TO HELL I SAY!'

I immediately went into run away mode and hide behind the arm chair, not seeing the three men appear in the living room door frame but their voices caught my attention and ran to the familiar lay back man I saw yesterday.

"It evil!" He had picked me up when holding my tiny arms up to him and he got to wondering what got me upset since I was as cool as a pickle yesterday before I sobbed while pointing at the plane in Shin's hand.

"How's that got him scared?" A large man with short white hair standing next to an older looking man with a scar over the right side of his face.

"I don't know!?" Shin respond with worry at my sobbing form in Wakasa's arms.

"I want Bu! Want Bu!" I continue to cry my eyes out as my emotions takes control and the commotion attracted Grampa Sano, he only takes a glance at me and the toy plane before giving the toy narrow eyes as he remove it from Shin's hands. With strength we didn't know he still had he snap the wings off and throw it into the trash, even with it gone I can't settle down. Wakasa places me onto Shin's lap and watch as he pulls his phone out, he dial a number which rings two times before someone picks up.

"Hello?" I hear brother's voice.

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