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surreality51 · 1 year

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Fedal and Injuries

Reposting this as its own post so it doesn’t get buried, because I think this is an important point in understanding the Federer-Nadal dynamic:

We’ve all seen the stat that Federer had zero retirements in 1500+ matches. In Roger Federer and Rafael Nadal, Sebastian Fest interviews Feliciano Lopez, who is a friend of Rafa’s and admires Roger, about this:

“It’s unreal, absolutely unreal, that the best tennis player in history has never left a match….Aside from taking care of yourself and leading a healthy life, not damaging or punishing your body, you also have to have a little bit of luck, to have a genetically strong body.” Lopez has been watching Federer play for almost two decades. ”You see him, and he is very physically gifted, very coordinated. I’ve seen him play when he was fifteen, sixteen years old, and you could see that he was physically fit for tennis. He’s flexible, tall, coordinated, he’s not lacking in any area; his movements on the court are perfect. That helps, too.”

So not only does Roger’s build, coordination, technique, and movement make him perfectly suited to tennis and help him win matches, it also prevents injuries. Outside of bad back problems in 2012-13, a bout with mono in early 2008, and probably other minor injuries we don’t know about, Roger never had major problems until he tore something in his knee in 2016. That’s 18 years of professional tennis without major injury. Eighteen years without facing the challenge of medical procedures, extended absence, rehabilitation, reconditioning, and the mental battle to return to match fitness.

Compare that with Rafa, who has been plagued by injuries since the beginning. A congenital problem with his left foot (later diagnosed as Mueller-Weiss syndrome) nearly ended his career in 2005 at age 19, just four years into his professional career. Rehab, rest, and orthopedic inserts to cushion his foot improved the situation and he was able to resume playing. But as detailed in Rafa, he and his team knew full well that taking pressure off his foot via orthopedic inserts was going to fuck up something else down the line–knee, back, hips, something.

Turns out it was his knees, because in 2012-13, he had to have plasma injections in the ligaments of his knees because they had deteriorated badly–another potentially career-ending injury. Roger Federer and Rafael Nadal details the injury, treatment, and Rafa’s view on his inherent disadvantage when it comes to injuries compared to Federer:

[He] didn’t just experience how the injections made his knees feel better: while the needles were injecting the enriched plasma into a sedated Nadal’s joints, the tennis player was overcoming an almost built-in disadvantage he had against Roger Federer. “Federer hasn’t had injuries from excessive exertions, and he’s been playing tennis for years,” Sanchez remarked. [Sanchez is the doctor who performed the injections.] “Nadal has fantastic physical qualities, better than average; he’s good in every aspect. If he had a bad physique, he never would have gotten so big, but the fact is that if you have worn down a tendon that is still degenerating, and you keep doing what you’re doing, you’ll have to keep getting injections.”

[Sanchez on] Federer again: “His style of play and his physique give him a good balance.” That the doctor who gave Nadal’s knees their life back would compare him unfavorably to Federer was a bit noteworthy. “Don’t tell poor Nadal that,” the reporter joked. And then, Sanchez adds surprisingly, “No, he was the one who said that about Federer.”

youtube

^^Here’s an interesting video from a foot doctor (not Rafa’s actual foot doctor) explaining Mueller-Weiss.

So Rafa was always aware of his disadvantage when it came to injuries. I think the injuries aspect is an important part to understanding how the relationship between Roger and Rafa evolved over time, for two reasons in particular:

1. their political falling out in 2011-2012 was in part driven by their different experiences with injuries. Says Rafa in January 2012 when he aired some of his grievances from the ATP Players Council discussions:

“I say a lot of positive things now about tennis. I can’t complain about tennis, it has given me the opportunity to experience things that I might never have even dreamed of. However, is ending your career with pain in every part of your body positive? No, it’s not positive. Maybe he just has such a great physique that he’ll finish his career like a rose. Neither I, nor Murray, nor Djokovic will end our careers like roses; we will finish physically affected. Tennis is an important period in our lives, yes, but with how focused the game is, and how it’s spread out on the calendar… how old will we be when we finish playing? Unless you’re super privileged like him, who has an ease, and I don’t doubt his efforts, but for him the game comes easy. The rest of us all have to put in just a bit more effort than he does and we physically wear our bodies out more than he does.” (from Roger Federer and Rafael Nadal by Sebastian Fest)

Many of the changes that Rafa was pushing for on the ATP Players Council was rooted in his experience with frequent injuries: a 24-month ranking system instead of the 12-month ranking system, a shorter season, etc. Rafa made multiple attempts to get Roger to see his side, collected signatures from other players, but Roger was naturally more conservative, preferring to implement changes from within the existing system rather than making drastic changes. (But also keep in mind that up to this point, Roger had never been seriously injured, and thus probably didn’t understand Rafa’s perspective as urgently as he might have otherwise.) Finally, after banging his head against a brick wall for over a year, Rafa decided to resign as vice president of the ATP Players Council. Again, from Roger Federer and Rafael Nadal:

“I think he was a little frustrated by the end, and maybe he didn’t have enough time either, some of the injuries came back…” suggested [Eric] Butorac [a member of the ATP Players Council], who remembers perfectly well the day that Nadal told them he was leaving. “He gave us a good explanation, ‘Guys, I’m very frustrated with some of the things that are happening. And that frustration that I have is turning into aggressive conversations with some players, or here in the group. Instead of continuing to pour out my frustrations here, I would rather resign.’” Two years after that resignation, Federer, now the father of four children, also left the council.”

2. When asked when they started getting closer as friends, Roger once said in an interview that it was after his own injury in 2016 that he began to better understand Rafa’s perspective and experience. (Ugh, I can’t remember which interview it was, help? ETA: found it!)

You know, especially being injured, for me, as well, seeing what he had to go through. I could never really relate to injured players, to be quite honest, because I never really was that hurt like he was. I think the last year was a good reality check for me to maybe understand what he was going through so often.

So it was their unequal experiences with injuries that drove them apart in tennis politics, and it was their shared experience with injury that finally brought them closer together. It was in Fall 2016, when both Roger and Rafa were doing rehab, that Roger helped Rafa open his academy. A few months later, in January 2017, they faced each other in that legendary Australian Open final. That year, 2017, they split the four Grand Slams in a remarkable comeback year. The first Laver Cup was also that year, and the prospect of Roger and Rafa on the same team drove a lot of the publicity and ticket sales.

So they definitely had phases in their relationship. I’d say that they had turning points in 2008 (Wimbledon), 2012 (falling out), and 2016/17 (Fedal forever), but underneath it all was always a mutual respect. Even during their falling out in 2012, at the height of the tension between them, things never turned nasty. Things were tense, there were frustrations on both sides, and Rafa made the mistake of airing his grievances to the media, but even then Rafa took responsibility:

“I said what I said. I regret saying it, especially in front of you all [reporters]. Because when I say things like that, I should say them to him directly,” Nadal emphasized, thus bringing to an end the “damage control” that he had begun many hours before through mediators on both sides, basically between Tony Godsick, Federer’s agent, and Carlos Costa, the Spaniard’s representative.

Good job, Rafa. Rule #6 of in the Handbook to Successful Marriage is “if you have a disagreement, always talk to your spouse about it directly and work it out between the two of you, instead of complaining and bringing other people into it.”

#fedal #roger federer #rafael nadal #tennis #thank you for coming to my TED talk #mini essay

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skazoo · 2 years

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the accuracy of philosophical aphorisms.

↳ han jisung x f!reader

ok, you're tired, but you're sure those two floating, glowing, red orbs(?) are staring right at you.

length. 2.6k

genre. crack, fluff

warnings/tags. swear words, bad jokes, jump scare???, sexual innuendos

notes. first of many stray kids works bc i'm feeling really inspired lately. thanks to my best friend for beta reading as always. and thank you to that random tweet that got me started on this one

i'm desperate for feedback and i love comments with your opinion!

(cross-posted on ao3 only)

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"Sometimes you don't even have to open your mouth to give me a headache you know?"

Jisung lets the books he was messily stacking on the shelves fall on the cart he had been pushing around the library since midnight and pokes his head from behind the wall of old scientific tomes to look at you with comically wide eyes, eyebrows dramatically furrowed and a pointer finger accusingly directed at your form, hunched over the long study table at the center of the room.

"What does that even mean!? I'm literally just looking at you, and you can't even see me!", he sounds so offended that if you didn't know him so well you would actually be tempted to say sorry.

"Do you think I can't sense those two glow-in-the-dark things trying to burn a hole in my head uh? I can’t concentrate when you stare at me like that. Are you even blinking?”

Closing the big book you were reading, you turn around on the squeaky wheeled chair and get up to go search for the second volume on the Circulatory System, passing a slightly alarmed Jisung that, at your raised voice had frantically looked around to check if anyone could have overheard your conversation.

Your next big exam is coming up, and you have put your mind to ace it, not just pass it; you're going to conquer it just like Julius Caesar did with Gaul, and you're going to collect absorb your professor's praise like a sponge.

Jisung makes his way to you with silent steps, and when he speaks from behind you, it startles you momentarily. You hiss when the book falls on your foot with a loud thud.

"Well, you should be concentrating on me anyway, so… maybe if you gave me the attention I deserve", he leans on the shelf with his hands behind his head, "you wouldn't feel threatened by my dangerous laser eyes uh?"

"Laser ey- you're such a child", you scoff as you move from behind aisle four of the medical wing, huffing as you pick the heavy manual from the highest shelf. Who is even this tall?

"I'm an immortal being and I will not tolerate this treatment from-", you stop him before he begins to ramble and gloat about how superior he is and how you should respect his seniority over you.

"Oh, shut up, you make it seem like you've been living for centuries", you get back to your study station and let yourself fall back on the chair, "when it was like two years ago. Is this what you say to your vampire chicks? That you're Dracula's cousin or something? Do they believe you?"

He opens his mouth to retort but closes it immediately, opting for a scornful expression that looks more like a pout than anything.

Bickering with him like this, at this hour, in this place, reminds you of how the two of you met.

Starting college had been easy. The hard part was finding the emotional strength not to drop out every time an exam was near, or cry in frustration when you had to put your study aside to work at the off-campus famous coffee shop and not die of starvation.

The conclusion you came to was that sleep was for the weak and you definitely didn't need it to survive. And so you started frequenting the old, candlelit university library with creaky floorboards and spider webs on the ceiling during the most ungodly hours to finally get shit done.

Thinking about being totally alone, in the middle of the night, in a building that creepily reminded you of a hunted house made you a little bit hyper-aware of your surroundings at first, but it quickly became familiar, and you stopped worrying about every irrational thought that popped into your head from time to time.

The lonely peace you had gotten used to lasted exactly a month.

Another big exam was coming up, your stress levels were astronomical, and you were rushing around the library, music blasting from your earbuds, desperately looking for that damned book that seemed to live a life on its own, switching spots every time you needed it.

As you turned the corner, with your old volume in hand, you were met with utter darkness. Like it was so dark it seemed like if you took another step forward you would be sucked in like in a black hole.

Uneasiness sparked in you as you heard a quiet shuffling coming from the abyss, and uneasiness morphed in terror when two glowing red orbs, floating in mid-air staring straight at you, menacing, appeared in the dark.

Fuck, Nietzsche was right, 'If you stare into the abyss for too long, the abyss will stare back at you'. And it will also say "fuck" if you throw a hardcover-2kilos medicine book right at his abyssal head.

You screamed and got ready to throw another book as a figure of a man slowly emerged from the shadows with his hands raised in front of his head in defeat.

"Stop, stop! Don't throw another please! I'm the librarian! I'm just the night shift librarian, I work here! Please don't hit me", the stranger shouted in pain as he got nearer and nearer.

Your heart was beating like crazy, and its sound covered the music in your ears, "Hey-hey stop right there, don't come forward, stay right there, don't- don't move!"

"I work here", he whined, still a little startled.

"I've never seen you, are you- are you new?", you gripped the book in your hands so hard, your finger lost all its color.

"I've been working here for the past year actually", he admitted reluctantly, voice just above a whisper.

Your hands fell to your side, suddenly lifeless. You gawked at him, mouth fully open. This weird, stupid, frustrating dickhead was going to make you lose it; he was going to be the scapegoat, the last straw of all the tiredness and stress you had been storing in your body.

You could feel yourself starting to hyperventilate. "What the fuck man, couldn't you have said something earlier?! I've been coming here for a month! A month and you didn't even introduce yourself?! Are you sure you're not a serial killer? Because this is real serial killer behavior, I-I would know, Binnie and I listen to a lot of podcasts and-"

Your rambling was abruptly interrupted as the strange man who, you confirmed, was not fruit of your sleep-deprivation-induced state of mind, softly took your wrist in his hand, squeezing it with a worried and somehow soft urgency.

"Hey, okay I'm sorry, I'm not gonna tell you to calm down because I sense you're going to throw another book at me if I do, but you need to breath mh? You can do that right?", his eyes held an understanding of what you were going through that made you trust him a little easier.

"Yeah, yeah-yes I can do that, I can do that, yes", you crouched down to get the book you had thrown at him to occupy your trembling hands.

"So-"

"So-", you both started saying something to get rid of the uncomfortable silence that was left after your outburst.

He looked so embarrassed you almost pitied him, with his flushed cheeks and his wide eyes. "You go first."

Closing your eyes you took one big breath. "What the hell was that?"

It was such a simple question for a much more complicated answer, and you could somehow tell that the man standing before you was seriously considering running away without giving explanations of any kind.

His hand went over his face, and it seemed like he wanted to wash away the anxiousness off his being.

"Right, fuck, okay, see I'm not gonna lie to you because I actually don't have the power to erase memories or something like that, I just turned-"

"Turned into what?", your voice just an octave too high.

"If you let me speak", now he's annoyed? The nerve.

"I was recently turned into a vampire, and what you saw back there were my eyes, they tend to do that thin when I haven't fed in a bit..."

Silence, then a giggle that you couldn't for the life of you suppress, escaped your lips and transformed into a hysterical teary laugh. "Yeah, you're a vampire and I'm Dracula's daughter", you said slightly shaking your head, starting to go back to your books, ready to call it a night and go to bed, "yeah, definitely a serial killer...", you muttered.

"Unbelievable", he scoffed loudly to make sure you could hear him, "you're literally the first person, the first human I've told about this, and you don't believe it!?"

Is he actually offended?

"What do you want me to do uh? Quiver in fear because a weird college junkie or something like that told me he's a vampire at 3 am in an old library? I'm like fucking Saint Thomas if I don't see it I don't believe-"

Before you could finish your sentence, you found yourself pinned by the shoulders on the wooden shelves, the books poking at your back.

The man's mouth had morphed into a snarl revealing two pointy white fangs that twinkled, reflecting the light of the candles.

His pupils were completely blown, and even the thin rim of the red iris that, albeit weird, made him human, disappeared getting absorbed by an ink-black spot.

Your breath faltered, and you were left alone with your stunned mind that was rushing, trying to find a rational explanation for what you had just seen. Not finding any, you unconsciously reached for his canines, and as your hands were almost touching them, the stranger whirled around to hide his face. His breaths were heavy, and in the midst of it all, you wondered if it was taboo going around touching other vampires' teeth; it most definitely was because it's weird and embarrassing but maybe there was more to it? Oh my god, what if it was something sexua-.

The man stopped your train of thought. "Aren't you scared?", it came out as a whisper but the confusion in his tone was evident; you thought the frown plastered on his face was going to be ingrained on his face forever.

"Oh I-I'm freaking out, I don't know, I think my fight or flight instinct is broken because I can't move my legs, li-like at all", you muttered back, a trembling and awkward smile slowly forming on your lips. You were probably looking like a maniac right now. Maybe you were the serial killer after all.

"Look, I know this is a lot to take in. I shouldn't have told you but I-I have this thing with pride and-and Chan told me it's not rational, he told me I have to stop being so- so... stupid? But I keep- I keep...", he kept gesticulating, desperate to explain himself, to justify his behavior as if he was in front of a teacher who wanted to put him in after-school detention.

You stayed silent, still hadn't recovered entirely from the news that, guess what? Vampires, and maybe every other supernatural being present in Twilight exists and works as a night-time librarian on your University's campus. Fuck.

He's still rambling when you see a light bulb figuratively switch on above his head. "Oh my god, Chan! He has to know someone who can do it! He's older than me, like older than me, he's a werewolf but-but maybe he can help me erase your memory and put everything back as it was, he can-", he seemed excited but your brain had stopped elaborating his words when he had said 'werewolf'.

"He's a wha- look.... man", for some weird reason the thought of having this encounter removed from your memories, as weird and scary as it was, disturbed you a little.

"Jisung, I'm Jisung", he pointed at himself.

"Alright, Jisung I don't think I want to forget this", you didn't know why you felt embarrassed saying it. You looked at your shoes, twisting your hands behind your back.

He was caught off guard and sputtered a "What?" that was filled with the purest form of confusion.

"Well yeah, I like knowing things while other people are kept in the dark, and- and you seem like a cool guy, it can be useful to know a vampire sometimes no? And if you turn out to be a dick or a psychopath I would know how to kill you, right? With a stake to the heart. Right?"

"Wha- you would kill me if I was being a dick to you?", a small smile was slowly growing on his objectively handsome face. His eyes, now back to normal, twinkled with light humor.

"Like, if you were being a real dick, then yes, without hesitation", you raised your chin to make it look more serious but your eyes were smiling. Was your first college friend after Changbin going to be a vampire? How cool would that be uh?

The man- Jisung cleared his throat and extended his hand for you to shake it. "Just know that if you go around telling people I'm a vampire I'm gonna gaslight you first and then suck you dry", now a full and objectively handsome smile graced his lips.

You shook his hand, looking straight into his eyes, "Uhu kinkyy, is that a promise?"

He laughed and shook his head.

"I'm Y/N by the way, I'm studying medicine"

"Y/N uh?"

"Y/N. Y/N, baby are you there?", a hand touches your hip and you're back in the present.

Jisung threads his fingers in the loops of your jeans and brings you closer, bodies completely touching. You can smell the faint fragrance of his coconut shampoo and see your image reflected in his dark red eyes.

"I'm alright Ji", he kisses you on the nose, "was just reminiscing our past"

He kisses over your right eye, "Our lore you mean"

You scoff, "Stop being stupid and remember that I know how to kill you"

"And I wouldn't want it any other way oh, my Buffy the Vampire Slayer", he kisses your left eye.

Jisung tucks a strand of your hair behind your ear, "Do you want to go home baby?", he whispers.

"I can't Ji, I have to finish studying, and you're distracting me", you pout.

You're so tired you think if Jisung wasn't hugging you you would drop to the floor and start sleeping there, but the Circulatory System is still waiting for you on the table with your neon green highlighter and a long-forgotten cinnamon tea.

"But you're exhausted and I'm not gonna carry you home if you fall asleep here you understand?", he says with an almost serious expression, "I'm serious angel, dead serious."

As soon as those words leave his mouth you punch his shoulders because of course it's another vampire joke.

He laughs like a child and wheezes, "Ow- my god I'm so funny"

As he sees you gather your books and leave for the exit he hurries to blow out the candles and shouts after you, "Y/N wait, baby, you know you're my only chick right?! I still love you even if you're not a superior being like me!"

"Fuck you, asshole!", you shout back.

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robininthelabyrinth · 3 years

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Curse-breaker (Chapter 4/4)

- ao3 -

“You know him, right?” Jiang Cheng asked Lan Xichen. He was trying not to appear as nervous as he felt in asking, but he was pretty sure he was failing. “Nie-gongzi?”

Lan Xichen smiled. “I do. And thank you for calling him that, he prefers it.”

There were those that had started calling him Curse-breaker, as if it were a proper title; Jiang Cheng had heard it said a few times, and while he didn’t personally disagree with the moniker, which seemed appropriate, he also knew better than to just drop it into a conversation.

Luckily. He was trying to make a good impression here.

“What’s he like?” Jiang Cheng blurted out, then immediately wanted to kick himself. “I mean – it’s just – I didn’t see him much when he visited the Lotus Pier –”

He was making it worse.

It was only that he’d never quite met anyone with so much presence as Nie Mingjue: taller even than Jiang Cheng’s father, with that strange eye that seemed to see everything and anything. His features were generally set in a neutral expression that made him seem almost unworldly, like some god untouched by human concerns, but which sometimes softened a little when he approved of something – or someone.

Jiang Cheng could feel his cheeks going red, and tried to suppress it.

“Mingjue-xiong liked you,” Lan Xichen said, and Jiang Cheng lost the battle at once, his whole face heating up until it felt unbearably hot. This was worse than the time that Nie Mingjue had come to the Lotus Pier and told his parents to value Jiang Cheng more or else, and then his father had come in with a smirk and a snarl and somehow made them do it. “He said so.”

“He did?”

“Oh, yes. He said you were talented and faithful, with a good heart, and that we’d see great things from you.”

Jiang Cheng was going to die.

“That’s nice,” he said, with an effort. “I thought very highly of him, too. He’s…great.”

Wow. ‘Great’. Was that really the best he could do?

Lan Xichen studied him for a moment, then nodded. “He really is,” he said, and sighed. “I had the same reaction, you know. He’s…a lot.”

Jiang Cheng felt seen. “I know,” he said effusively. “He’s just – you know?”

“I do,” Lan Xichen said. “Just –”

He waved his hand in the air. Not even making some sort of gesture, just a meaningless sort of wave, but for some reason Jiang Cheng understood him completely.

There really just weren’t words sometimes, when you wanted to describe things or people that inspired feelings that went beyond the merely describable. Nie Mingjue was one of those – Jiang Cheng had known that Lan Xichen would understand, and sure enough, he did.

And to think that Wei Wuxian liked Lan Wangji better!

Really, his shixiong might be more talented than Jiang Cheng in many ways, ways that were often a matter of jealousy, but Jiang Cheng clearly had better taste.

“Oh, there you are,” a voice said, and Jiang Cheng tensed and turned to look – but it was only Wen Qing, so that was fine. “Lan-gongzi, Jiang-gongzi, I was sent to spend some time with you.”

She probably meant that she was sent away so that the adults would have time to talk about issues they thought were too sensitive to involve the younger generation, or else they just wanted to start drinking earlier in the afternoon than usual and didn’t want her judging them from a medical standpoint. Either might be true – Wen Qing was widely acclaimed as one of the most talented in their generation, as terrifying with her needles as other people might be with their sword, from more or less the first moment she’d finally been allowed to join the rest of them on equal grounds.

They greeted her, trying to stand up to be polite, but she waved them down irritably and took a seat instead. “What are you two talking about?”

“Nie Mingjue,” Lan Xichen said, and Jiang Cheng nodded. “We were just commenting on his many admirable qualities.”

Jiang Cheng nodded a second time, even more emphatically.

Wen Qing looked at them both with that critical eye of hers for a long moment.

Then she sighed in a huff. “He’s really all that and more, isn’t he?” she said.

“He is,” Lan Xichen said.

“He’s just –” Jiang Cheng tried the same gesture as Lan Xichen earlier, and was gratified when Wen Qing started nodding herself in total agreement. “Right?”

“Right.”

Nie Mingjue was aware that many people liked to stare at them, but they had assumed it was because of how unusual they were – even putting aside the eye, which was their most obviously not-normal feature, their behavior was not always in line with regular people’s. They didn’t show their emotions on their face as easily, being more naturally inclined towards sternness, and their manner was both sharp and incisive, straightforward and blunt; they had missed critical years of social development while lost in what amounted to seclusion, too busy solidifying their sense of self, consolidating their we into an I.

(They were still trying to figure out gender, a process complicated by the fact that it hadn’t made much sense to either of them to begin with. They were starting to suspect it would be better to just give up on it entirely.)

It turned out, according to Nie Huaisang, that that was not why all those people were staring.

“When you say they like me…”

“Sexually or romantically attracted, usually both,” Nie Huaisang said. “You have a lot of would-be suitors. Lan Xichen, Jiang Cheng, Wen Qing, Wen Ning, Jiang Yanli –”

“I don’t think you’re supposed to use their names directly like that,” Nie Mingjue said, though they weren’t sure about that. They’d forgotten more etiquette than they’d ever learned. “Also, isn’t Jiang Yanli getting married to Jin Zixuan?”

“He’s another of your admirers. As is Meng Yao…no, sorry, Jin Ziyao. You know he secretly thinks that you killed Jin Guangshan for him, right?”

They’d killed Jin Guangshan because he was rotten through and through, and he didn’t even have a qi deviation or a tormenting heart demon to blame for it. He just thought of people as things, even the ones he supposedly liked, and acted accordingly…they hadn’t really thought through the consequences of killing him when they’d done it, having long ago forgotten the concept of political considerations, but it was really amazing what could be covered up or excused if multiple sect leaders put their minds to it while the rest just breathed a sigh of relief that Jin Guangshan was gone.

“That seems like too many people,” they said. “They can’t all be my…admirers.”

“You think that’s it? I haven’t even gotten to Lan Wangji, Wei Wuxian – both at once, if that’s your preferred flavor – and even that feral child Jin Ziyao found in Kuizhou…you know just the other week, he loudly declared that you were better than sweets and the entire room sighed all at once in agreement?”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“I’m not. There are even rumors that say that Sect Leader Wen might be interested…”

They shrugged.

Nie Huaisang squinted at them. “Da-ge. Did you know about that one?”

“Sect Leader Wen is not subtle,” they said dryly. “But if it makes you feel better, his interest is purely a matter of cultivation, and also our father has already hit him for even making the suggestion.”

Nie Huaisang didn’t look impressed. “Are you sure it’s purely a matter of cultivation? Would you be able to tell if it wasn’t?”

Nie Mingjue considered how little they’d recognized any of the other people who were purportedly interested in them. “No,” they admitted.

“Hmm. What about Teacher Lan?”

“What about Teacher Lan?” they asked, suspicious.

“Nothing, nothing. Just something I read somewhere…”

Probably one of those spring books that he was always sneaking around, they concluded.

“Though…you have been going out of your way to meet up with Teacher Lan more often recently…”

“He’s helping me figure out some of the bureaucratic intricacies of changing succession,” they said. “He’s had the most experience, having to do it twice – once to get his brother out of the line of succession, and another to get him back in. He’s a good teacher.”

He was, too. For all of Nie Huaisang’s tall tales about Lan Qiren’s strictness and overly-rigid insistence on orthodoxy, the man himself had a very calming presence, still and tranquil. It made them think of a musical instrument and, using the Nie cultivation method as a base, start to think strange thoughts…

Though not the sorts of thoughts Nie Huaisang had in mind.

“I mean, I guess. Even I learned eventually, and – wait. Why do you need to know about how to change succession? You’re already the heir.”

“That’s the problem,” Nie Mingjue said. “I need to figure out how to abdicate my position in your favor.”

Nie Huaisang gaped at him.

“No, I’m not joking,” they said, because they knew their little brother. “I’m not suited for politics. I don’t think I ever was, and after everything that happened, I’m even less suited.”

They really weren’t. Too blunt, too sharp, too concerned with justice, too inhuman – they were good at fighting, in the sense that they knew how to be a saber as well as a human and could wield sharpness in the same way, a slash from their fingers being enough to cleave a man in half, but that wasn’t what being a sect leader was about.

No, Nie Huaisang would be much better at it.

“Da-ge, you can’t do this to me!” Nie Huaisang wailed. “Do you know how much work it’d be? Anyway, you can’t – our father’s already promised all of Qinghe Nie to your future spouse! So there!”

“Then I just won’t ever get married.”

“What?!” Nie Huaisang waved his hands wildly. “You can’t do that! You – you – do you know how many hearts you’d be breaking?!”

“So you’ve informed me,” Nie Mingjue said dryly. “It’s all right, Huaisang. I rather like the life Teacher Lan has made for himself, traveling all around and coming back every few seasons to teach something. I want to fight evil, and there’s a lot more evil out there than there is in here.”

Or, at minimum, there was more evil of the sort they were allowed to just stab. That was apparently frowned upon, in politics – there was a reason they said they weren’t suited for it.

“You’re not suited for fighting evil with a blade,” they added while Nie Huaisang was still spluttering. “But you can do wonders with people, if you’re given enough time to plan it. Being sect leader will put you in the position that will let you fight evil best, in your own way.”

“Not everything is about fighting evil, da-ge!”

“Isn’t it?”

Nie Huaisang didn’t seem to have a good answer to that.

After a while, he finally said, “…you really think I’d be good at it?”

Nie Mingjue pulled their younger brother in for a hug.

“You’ll be magnificent,” they promised.

They liked travel, just as they’d suspected they would.

People always recognized them – the eye was very distinctive, and they were also very tall – and immediately rushed over to share all their problems. They were very happy to help. Some of them they could fix personally, generally the ones that were stabbable, while they had a wide enough set of acquaintances to deal with many of the others: those who needed healing to go to the Lan sect or Wen sect, depending on whether problem was mental or physical; those that needed advancement to the Jin sect or Jiang sect; mysteries to be solved to the newly established Wei sect over in Yiling; and anyone with anything more abstruse than that over to Nie Huaisang personally to sort of.

Their little brother liked a good puzzle.

As for Nie Mingjue’s part, they liked fighting evil, and they liked helping people, too, if they could manage it, so it all worked out quite well. The road could be a little lonely at times, all alone with no one around, but it wasn’t really that bad. They were welcome at just about every cultivation sect and most of the other places they’d passed by, so it wasn’t like they were lacking for company if they wanted it.

It was only sometimes that they wished that there was someone else who might want to share this type of life with them.

It was a difficult life, always roving and never satisfied, intent on fighting evil for an eternity and prizing the doing of it over normal things, everyday things; they knew that they couldn’t ask someone else to take on a mission so absurd as stamping out all evil in the world, and so they didn’t. Who would be so foolish as that? Not everyone could leave behind all their responsibilities and ties to the world the way they did, passing instead through their beloved one’s lives by chance like a leaf tossed in the wind – nor should they, if those ties gave them joy.

Take their current mission, for example. One of Nie Mingjue’s earlier trips had taken them from Yiling to the Baixue Temple, with the highly unorthodox Wei sect’s equally unorthodox head disciple, Xue Yang, tagging along with them so that they could – in Wei Wuxian’s words – beat some sense into his head, and it had been on that trip that they had met Song Lan, who was thoroughly charmed by the idea of a sect established on principles of brotherhood rather than blood.

He'd also been rather charmed, they thought, by Xue Yang himself, and the interest had been mutual.

(They were getting better at recognizing that sort of thing.)

So Song Lan had gone off with them, with Nie Mingjue dropping both him and Xue Yang back in Yiling, and when he’d gone back again another time they had seemed very happy. But Song Lan had been thinking about his master and martial brothers back at home, and he’d asked if Nie Mingjue would be willing to carry along some letters that he didn’t dare trust to the post.

Nie Mingjue, suspecting a request regarding marriage was involved, had readily agreed. Sure enough, once they’d dropped it off, the entire Baixue Temple had all but exploded in excitement – they’d barely managed to make it out of there in time to avoid being dragged into all the fuss.

And now they were wandering around nearby, shaking their head in amusement at all the noise they’d left behind, looking for something more interesting to do. Some evil to fight, or something like that.

They found both.

“Well, that was exhilarating,” they commended to the cultivator in white that had worked together with them to defeat a rather astounding number of evil creatures in an effort to save some rogue cultivators who’d gotten in over their heads. Nie Mingjue’s reputation was already ridiculous, and was only going to get worse, they knew, but really this was a lot even for them. They wouldn’t have been able to manage it without help.

“It was,” the cultivator said, and smiled at them. “My name is Xiao Xingchen, disciple of Baoshan Sanren. Who are you?”

“Nie Mingjue,” they said. They thought they’d heard of Baoshan Sanren before, but they weren’t entirely sure – they had a tendency to forget things that weren’t that important to them. They thought it might be something to do with Wei Wuxian’s mother –something to do with the immortal mountain, and a doom that fell on those who descended from it…?

“If you don’t mind me asking, why did those rogue cultivators call you Curse-breaker?” Xiao Xingchen asked.

They thought about it for a moment, then shrugged.

Xiao Xingchen laughed.

It was a warm sound.

“Where are you going?” Nie Mingjue asked. “I can escort you, if you like.”

“Don’t you have things of your own to be doing?”

“Not really,” Nie Mingjue said. “I want to eradicate all evil in this world, a task that’ll take me a lifetime – and evil can be found anywhere. Why not with you?”

Xiao Xingchen ducked his head. “I don’t have a destination either,” he admitted. “I came down from the mountain because I wanted to help save all the people in the world.”

Nie Mingjue blinked. That was nearly as stupidly idealistic a goal as theirs.

“Well, then,” they said, and smiled. “In that case, why don’t we go together?”

It would be nice to have company, unrestrained by any obligations tied to the mortal world, and in return they could show Xiao Xingchen everything there was to see – introduce him to all the people, eat all the food, fight all the battles. And if in the end it turned out that that doom people talked about in regards to the mountain really was a thing…

Well, they’d see about that.

After all, Nie Mingjue had a bit of experience with curses like that.

#mdzs #nie mingjue #jiang cheng #lan xichen #wen qing #xiao xingchen #my fic #my fics #cursebreaker #hey remember when I asked for help in deciding the ship

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aalbedo · 3 years

Text

injured!tartaglia x reader (part 2)

part two of this

request: Hello I absolutely loved your one shot of Tartaglia helping an injured reader sdjgksjfkf if you don't mind I'd like to request a part 2 where reader asks him the story behind that big scar he pointed out? Maybe reader finds HIM injured and returns the favor and asks about his other scars while they treat his wounds?? Ahaha reader's just like "fuck I can't just leave you here to bleed out but don't you dare think this means I care for you or anything" lmao

format: two-parter (again, read part one first)

ship: tartaglia x reader

tags: fluff, reader is the traveler-ish (a completely separate character from aether and lumine, but still the traveler, does that make sense?), author forgets basic wound care halfway into the fic

warnings: blood, mildly graphic depiction of injury, stitches and needles

words: 3027

notes: hey so uhhhhhhhh i kinda went off the rails with this one, i didn't really follow the prompt in some points since uh... the part about the stories behind the scars... i kinda forgot about that... or like... eh you'll see, anyway, - banner still fucked up it will be fixed i prommy

Despite the high number of hilichurl camps, abyss mages, fatui agents, ruin hunters and ruin guards, Lisha was still one of your favorite places to explore, it was full of treasure chests to open, sweet flowers to pick and ore to mine. Plus, the atmosphere managed to still be peaceful, the open fields where the sun would shine uninterrupted for hours and hours on end were your favorite place to sit down and bask in the sunlight.

Your leg was still recovering from the tough hit you had taken a few weeks prior, which meant that you had to take more breaks while adventuring. Not that you would complain, taking breaks, putting some numbing cream on your wound, eating some reinvigorating food and drinking fresh water was just as satisfying as exploring.

After resting for about half an hour, you decided to get up, careful not to put any pressure on your injured leg. You threw your bag over your shoulder and walked north-west, towards the road to the chasm.

In the distance, you started hearing sounds of fighting, and as you got closer to them, you could see a tall figure fighting not one, but two separate ruin hunters, with a bow. It was too far away to see the person’s face, but you had half an idea of who it could be.

Then, out of nowhere, a bright purple flash, and in less than a second the ruin hunters were both on the ground, completely destroyed. Yep, it’s Tartaglia.

You thought about turning away and changing your direction before he could see you. You had already reluctantly thanked him for helping you that day, as well as paying for your medication out of his own pocket, but you still felt like you owed him a favor that you really did not want to fulfill. He was still the guy that almost destroyed Liyue, and made you fight for your life, despite everything.

Until you saw him fall to his knees, and as he turned to face your direction you could see his chest covered in blood.

You acted on instinct, ignoring your brain telling you to leave him alone, that he could tend to his own wounds, and you sprinted towards him. He may be an asshole, but you just want to avoid him, not leave him to die.

He was resting his back on a wall, head thrown back. Even from far away, you could see that he was breathing heavily. That same backpack you had seen on him the day he helped you was now sitting next to him, his left hand already rummaging through it.

His head shot up, he had definitely heard you coming towards him, his eyes widened as you kneeled down right in front of him and got a better look at his condition. You could see a cut crossing his chest, from his right shoulder to the middle of his torso, right over his heart. His grey coat was soaked in blood, as it pooled on the bend of his hips and slid down to the ground.

“So you do care about me.” he broke the silence, struggling to talk through heavy breaths and groans. He was completely out of breath, covered in blood, definitely in pain, and all he could think about was joking.

“I don’t. Just because I hate you, it doesn’t mean I want to see you dead.” You didn’t have time to get mad at him. “Also - I owe you a favor, I guess.” The only thought in your head was to help him, so you did not think twice before quickly unbuttoning his coat and undercoat and moving them out of the way.

You got a look at his chest and through the blood you could see several other scars, most of them looked years old, a few of them looked pretty large, carving his chest and abdomen. You wondered if his entire body looked like this, and why his face didn’t.

“Like what you see?” he joked again, his voice sounded hoarse, strained, very clearly struggling to talk. You sighed, couldn’t he just shut up for a minute?

You turned to your own bag to pull out anything you might need to help him. Potions, numbing cream and even a stitching kit laid next to you. You had bought the kit after that day, and started learning how to stitch wounds.

“No,” you dismissed him again. He whined quietly, you weren’t sure if it was because of your response or the wound.

All of the sudden, you felt… fear? Fear of what? Him passing out? And anger, at the fact that he wasn’t taking the situation as seriously as you were. He could easily die from this wound and all he was doing was making jokes.

You quickly started cleaning the blood with a cloth in one hand, while holding a bottle of antiseptic potion in your left, ready to pour it on top of the cut. You were being quick, passing your hand over his chest as fast as you could, trying to gather all the blood while avoiding the open skin, but there was so much of it that in mere seconds the cloth was soaked and completely useless.

You looked up at him and he was staring at the ground, his eyes completely unfocused. “Childe,” you called him and he squeezed his eyes closed, “try to stay awake.”

“Easy to say,” he muttered. At least he was awake.

You threw away the bloody cloth, and poured the antiseptic potion directly on his scar with no warning. Despite knowing that you were just helping him, a wave of guilt washed over you as you heard him cry out from the pain and throw his head back, wincing again when he hit the wall.

Half a bottle of potion and another clean cloth drenched in blood later, the wound had completely stopped bleeding, and you finally breathed out all the tension you were holding in your body.

His face, and body, were completely pale from the blood loss. His mouth was agape, eyelids half closed - looking at you, he sighed, barely letting any air out. You glared back, but by the way his head was positioned, you couldn’t help but look at his lips, the way they moved slightly every time he breathed out, they seemed so… soft, sweet. You brushed aside a thought that had snaked into your brain. His mouth curled up and he barked a laugh, but he stopped immediately and groaned again. Had he noticed that you were looking?

“Don’t laugh, it’ll hurt you,” you reminded him as you threw away the second blood drenched cloth.

“Sure,” he replied, voice still strained. “Whatever you say.”

You find a third cloth, the only clean one you had left, used some water from your bottle to make it damp and used it to wash your hands.

“Don’t talk either,” you looked at him as you opened a small glass jar containing numbing cream. “What were you thinking, being here alone and fighting two ruin guards?” He opened his mouth. “Don’t answer, you’ll tell me later.”

“I was just collecting some debts when those two attacked me.” He groaned again.

“I said, don’t talk if it hurts.” You made it clear from your tone that you were annoyed at the way that he was acting.

You dipped a couple of fingers into the cream, and hesitated before placing your bare hand on his chest, carefully placing the cream around the wound, so that he would not feel pain when you would be stitching it closed. As you got a better look at the cut, you noticed how the skin had been basically mangled, it looked like it would not be an easy recovery.

“You look like you know what you’re doing,” he pointed out, before groaning again. You were starting to wish you had taped his mouth with something.

“Because I know what I’m doing, I’m not an idiot. And you’re making me regret helping you, just shut up already.”

“Make me.”

Your hand froze over his skin. You moved your eyes back up to him, trying to decipher his expression. Was that an invitation, or just teasing? He hadn’t even tried to put on a smug face, his expression just looked tired and worn out, which made it even harder to decipher.

The longer you looked at him, the weirder it would get, you would have to do something before it got awkward and that thought from earlier slammed back into your head.

You wanted to wish you had run the other way, but the truth was that you were glad you hadn’t. Maybe it was all of the tension you had accumulated while seeing all that blood flow out of him, maybe it was the heavy lidded look he was giving you, but you placed your clean hand on the side of his face, cupping his cheek. His eyes widened, mouth parted ready to say something, but, before he could, your lips were on his.

The kiss was fast, you pulled back almost immediately and averted his gaze right away. You could feel him staring at you as you put your hand back into the jar and picked up some more cream.

“I didn’t think you would actually-” he didn’t finish the sentence.

You quickly caught a glimpse of his expression before focusing on taking care of the wound. You contained a laugh as you saw him look absolutely dumbfounded and flustered, he had seriously been rendered completely speechless by what could barely be considered a kiss. If he hadn’t lost that much blood that day, his cheeks would definitely be red.

Honestly, you couldn’t believe what had happened either. You couldn’t believe you had even done it. You could’ve just laughed it off and kept medicating him in silence. But you were glad that you didn’t.

Neither of you uttered a word for a while, and even though the atmosphere wasn’t explicitly awkward, you wished he would say something. After a thick layer of numbing cream and several minutes of silence, you finally gathered the courage to look back at him. He was clearly pretending to look away, as if he hadn’t spent the entire time looking at you working.

“Is the pain gone? Can I stitch it now?” Your voice came out unexpectedly soft. You touched the skin around the wound, waiting to get a reaction from him.

His head snapped back to face you, and he nodded. “Can’t feel a thing,” he said as he touched his own chest. “I can stitch it though, if you wa- Ah!” He lifted his right arm, the injured one, and immediately stopped mid-air, “fuck- shit, not this,” he almost yelled.

“You ripped a tendon.” You gently took his right arm, putting it back down for him, and looked at his shoulder. “I’ll stitch it, don’t worry - I’ve learned.”

He didn’t say anything, and you took it as permission. You opened the kit you had bought at Bubu pharmacy weeks prior: recurved needle, thread and tweezers. You could feel Tartaglia’s gaze on you as you struggled passing the thread through the needle, but in the end you managed to do it.

As you hovered over the wound, your gaze fell on a large scar, the one that would normally be visible from over his coat on his neck, and it went down over the left side of his body down until his hip. It looked pretty old, but it was still very visible.

“Can I ask you… how did you get that?”

“Mh?”

You pointed at the scar with your pinkie and slightly traced over it, “this scar, what happened?”

He followed your finger with his gaze, and kept his eyes on the scar even as you moved back to the still open wound. “Oh, that?” You passed the needle through the skin and pulled it out on the other side. “I was 14.”

You saw some blood trickle from the cut as you carefully pulled the thread and passed the needle through one more time. By the way he had spoken, you felt like he was going to continue talking, so you didn’t interrupt.

“Uhm, when I was 14, I-” you heard him pass his tongue over his lips, “the Abyss, you know.” You nodded quietly as you passed the needle through a few more times.

“You don’t have to talk about it, if you don’t want to,” you reassured him, you knew that it was a pretty sensitive topic, or at least you imagined it would be. You stitched a few more loops with ease, getting progressively more comfortable with what you were doing.

“It’s fine, I- I was in-” his voice was starting to shake the slightest bit, but you noticed the change of tone in his voice.

You finally reached the end, and you cut the thread, tying it tightly at the end. You put the needle and the tweezers back into their container.

“I had to fight this… huge- and when-” once you looked up at him, you realized how lost in thought he was, looking at his scar, unable to take his eyes off it, he was probably getting some flashbacks. “I-” his voice cracked, his lower lip trembled ever so slightly, and you could not bear it anymore. Without even thinking about it, you grabbed the side of his face and dragged him in for an actual, proper kiss.

He fell right into it and reciprocated immediately, placing his left hand on the side of your waist. It was sweet, and tender, and you got a better feel of what his lips were like: just as soft as they looked.

You pulled back first once again, and as you got to look at his surprised face, eyebrows raised and everything, your mind started racing. You had just kissed not just a Fatui, not just a Harbinger, but the Harbinger that had tried to kill you, that manipulated you and that nearly destroyed Liyue for the second time. And he was sitting in front of you looking like an idiot.

You couldn’t figure out what you were feeling, but there was something going on deep in your chest, and stomach.

“This doesn’t mean anything,” you quickly clarified before he could say anything. “Neither of them do, they were just to shut you up.”

“Were they?” he asked. And just like that, he came full circle back to the false smugness.

You really, really did not want to think about the weird feeling that was growing in your stomach. “Look at what I got from Baizhu.” From your bag, you pulled out a thick strip made out of cotton and a small vial full of Slime concentrate.

“You’re avoiding the question.”

“What do they mean to you?” you bit back, waiting to see if he would face the question himself, or back out like a hypocrite.

“What did you get from Baizhu?”

You both chuckled, and you noticed his bare chest rising and falling back down as he laughed. “He said it’s a new type of bandaging, you use slime concentrate to stick it to the skin.”

He lifted an eyebrow. “I don’t love the sound of that, actually.”

“I was skeptical too the first time I tried it, but trust me - it’s much more comfortable.” You heard him sigh in defeat as you already spread some of the slime condensate over the strip, and set down the half empty vial. “It won’t hurt.”

“Do you promise?”

He looked into your eyes with a relaxed expression, you looked right back. “I promise,” you replied with a kind smile, before turning your attention to the strip and stuck it over the wound, carefully placing it so that it would cover the entire cut.

“All done,” you said as you started getting up, but you felt a hand grabbing your arm, another one grabbing the side of your face, and tugging you back down, and before you could realize it your lips were once again on Tartaglia’s.

You couldn’t help but reciprocate the kiss, his lips were still soft, and at that point you felt like you could get used to them. The kiss was exactly as gentle as the one before, you could feel your fluttering in your chest as Tartaglia’s thumb started gently rubbing your cheekbone.

He pulled back first this time, and as you opened your eyes back you could see a wide smile on his face.

“Sending me mixed signals, huh?” you pointed out.

“I told you, I never had anything against you personally,” he said as he put his clothes back on, trying to fix them as much as possible, despite the very clear cut on his chest and the blood covering them completely.

“I’m gonna need some time before I’ll believe that.” You got up and reached down a hand for him to get up. “You’re gonna need to prove it to me.”

He grabbed it with his non-injured hand and stood up beside you. “While you take your time, care to walk me to Bubu pharmacy, so I can buy some of these sticky bandages?” he asked, a wide smile still on his face.

“Sure,” you simply replied, picking up both of your back and tossing them over your shoulder.

You watched him move his injured arm slightly, to figure out how much he could move it. Unsurprisingly, not much.

He hummed. “I’m gonna have to take some time off from duty, hopefully they won’t kill me for it,” he said in a joking manner, but you could sense that he wasn’t kidding about the killing part.

“Well,” as you both started walking back to the harbor, you got an idea, “you could use the time off to show me that you truly don’t hate me.”

“Like what?” You could feel his gaze on you.

“Like, we could go out for dinner,” you suggested, keeping your eyes in front of you. “In a completely neutral way, and then see what happens from there.”

“Sounds good.”

“It’s a plan, then.”

#likes; comments and reblogs are incredibly appreciated!!!#next one is gonna be albedo x reader again lmao i cant leave the man alone #i'll try posting once a week i guess #more than that i just cannot do #genshin #genshin impact #genshin childe #gi #genshin tartaglia #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact childe #genshin impact tartaglia #tartaglia x reader #childe x reader #genshin childe x reader #genshin tartaglia x reader #how many fucking tags #x reader

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buoyantsaturn · 3 years

Text

I’m all eyes (1/1)

summary: So, obviously, if Nico was wearing Jason’s sweatshirt, then they must be dating, right?

word count: 1,871

read on ao3

Will didn’t think he was the jealous type. Jealousy required some amount of anger, right? But he wasn’t angry - maybe just disappointed. And really, he didn’t even have all of the facts, so he shouldn’t let himself get worked up over it anyway.

It’s just that, well. It sucked to always look over at the Big Three table to see Nico in that giant purple SPQR sweatshirt. Or, it didn’t suck - it was a good look, and purple was definitely Nico’s color, as much as Will would prefer to see him in camp orange. The part that sucked was that Jason was always sitting beside him, and that sweatshirt definitely looked like it was Jason’s size.

So, obviously, if Nico was wearing Jason’s sweatshirt, then they must be dating, right? And on the one hand, it was exciting, because that meant Nico was into guys, which meant that Will might have a chance with him (and bonus points because he, too, was tall, blond, and blue-eyed). On the other hand, Nico was taken, and Will wasn’t a homewrecker (or whatever the fifteen year old version of a homewrecker was).

Anyway, Will had a lot of mixed feelings about seeing Nico in that sweatshirt. And he kept having those mixed feelings when he started to see more and more of Nico around camp. He would come by the archery range while Will was practicing with his shotgun (on his own target that he’d made specifically for shooting practice). He had started going to campfires (where he would pull the sweatshirt over his knees and turn himself into an adorable purple blob). He’d even started coming by the infirmary every few days so that Will could make sure he was keeping his fading in check (so, to be fair, Will had asked him to stop by occasionally, but that was for purely medical reasons).

On one particularly hot day in September, Nico entered the infirmary sans sweatshirt, and Will’s heart jumped in his chest. Sure, he’d seen Nico without that sweatshirt on a few times before, but he’d reacted the same way then, too. He tried to act normal, checking Nico’s solidity and making sure that his arms and legs still cast shadows, but the second Piper stepped into the infirmary, Will’s mind went blank.

She was wearing a giant purple SPQR sweatshirt, the one that looked just like Jason’s that Nico always wore. And hadn’t Jason and Piper been dating before they set off on the Argo II?

“Is that Jason’s sweatshirt?” Will’s mouth asked before his brain could stop it.

Piper paused and glanced down, like she’d forgotten what she was wearing. “Oh, uh, yeah. Nyssa’s got the AC blasting in the bunker, so I snagged this from Jason’s cabin on the way here.”

“Oh.” Did that mean they were still dating? Or maybe they just had a really amicable breakup? Or...Nico, Jason, and Piper were all in some sort of polyamorous relationship? Not that there was anything wrong with that, of course, but the three of them together certainly made for an odd bunch. “Sorry, did you need help?”

She shook her head. “Nah, just came to see what was holding Nico up. He’s been helping us try to track down Leo.”

“Really?” Will asked, glancing at Nico in surprise. “That’s...nice of you.”

Nico shrugged. “I’m just gonna make sure he stays dead this time.”

Will grinned. “Ah. That’s more like it.”

“So, am I good to go?” Nico asked. “I’d like to track Leo down before Thanatos does.”

Will rolled his eyes fondly. “Yeah, go ahead. But as a bit of medical advice, murder might not be best for your mental health.”

Nico scrunched up his nose. “I don’t think you have to worry about that.”

“Sure, Death Boy,” Will said, brushing off his reply. It was probably a joke anyway. Right? “Get out of here already. I’ll see you later.”

As Nico started toward the door, Piper threw an arm around him, which Nico immediately tried to shove off, albeit unsuccessfully. Once he was sure they were gone, and once Kayla returned from her snack break, Will snuck out the back entrance.

He went to the cave under Half Blood Hill, announcing himself as he pushed the curtain aside and walked in. He found Rachel the way he usually did, one bare foot holding a paintbrush as she worked on her current project. “Hey,” she greeted, not lifting her eyes from the canvas.

“Hey,” Will replied moments before flopping down face-first onto a pile of overstuffed pillows. He was pretty sure it was the space that Rachel pretended was her bed whenever she stayed the night at camp so that Chiron wouldn’t realize that she snuck into the Apollo cabin every night to sleep on one of the spare bunks. He’d gotten close with Rachel since the end of the Titan war, seeing as he was usually the one to catch her when she collapsed after giving a prophecy. It had helped them bond. Now Rachel felt like something of a sister, except Will’s only experience with siblings were his godly siblings, who always just felt like close friends. So, anyway, Rachel was somewhere between Will’s newest vaguely-related sister and a close friend. Which meant that they had a good enough relationship that they could sit in silence without it being awkward, which was how the next few minutes passed.

Then, Will lifted his face off of a pillow and glanced to the side, spotting a familiar shade of purple. He picked it up - an oversized SPQR sweatshirt. “Whose is this?”

“Huh?” Rachel barely glanced away for a second before turning back to her easel. “Oh. That’s Nico’s. He must’ve left it here last night.”

Will’s head snapped up. “Nico was here? Wait, you hang out with Nico?”

Rachel shrugged. She leaned forward and pulled the brush out from between her toes, apparently deciding that Will had become too much of a distraction for the time being. “Yeah, we go way back. We both helped Percy and Annabeth with the Labyrinth, remember? And then after that he would check in on me sometimes to, like, make sure nobody came after me. It was kinda creepy at first, you know, because he just sort of appears out of nowhere sometimes? But as soon as I started feeding him, he opened his mouth and never really shut up, so the creepiness kinda faded.”

Will smoothed a hand across the fabric. It was soft, and big enough that it would fit him easily. And Rachel said it was Nico’s, not Jason’s - not that it could be, since he’d just seen Piper wearing Jason’s about ten minutes ago. And if Rachel and Nico were friends, then she would know-- “So Nico’s not dating Jason?”

Rachel blinked, clearly taken aback by the question, and then laughed. “No, definitely not.”

Will’s brain was moving too fast for him to process anything. “He-- I--” He scrambled to his feet and gathered the sweatshirt in his hands. “I gotta go!”

“Uh, bye?” Rachel called after him as Will took off out of the cave. Piper had said that she was with Nyssa at Bunker Nine, so Will took off toward the woods. He was grateful for his long legs that carried him across camp so quickly, leaping over fallen branches and thankfully not tripping up on any roots. He found himself outside Bunker Nine in no time, and it wasn’t long before his eyes landed on Nico. He sprinted up to the other boy, hunching over for half a second to catch his breath before he said, “Can I talk to you?”

Nico nodded, his eyes wide in obvious surprise at having Will suddenly appear in front of him. (Served him right for doing the same to everyone else for the last few years.) Will led him out of the bunker and away from listening ears, and then handed over the sweatshirt.

“Oh,” Nico said, sounding almost disappointed. “Um. Thanks.”

“Rachel told me it was yours, so I...brought it,” Will told him. “I always thought-- I mean, I assumed-- You and Jason are just so close, and I figured--”

“I don’t like Jason,” Nico said quickly, defensively, and his cheeks began to color. “Not… Not like that, I mean. He just got this for me because he was sick of me stealing his all the time.”

“No, right, of course,” Will replied as his heart sank. “I mean-- Oh gods, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to assume you liked guys-- I never should’ve--”

“I do,” Nico cut in, and Will’s mouth snapped shut. “I, um. I’m...gay.”

“Oh. Oh! Cool! I mean, I am too! Or, uh, I’m bi, but, uh. I like guys, too.”

If Will’s arms weren’t frozen at his side, he probably would’ve smacked himself for babbling like a total idiot. But maybe it was worth it to see the way Nico’s cheeks continued to grow red.

“Cool,” Nico said softly, dropping his gaze to his shoes before rapidly looking around at anything that wasn’t Will. “Would you, um. Would you maybe be interested in sitting with me at the campfire tonight?”

Will was pretty sure his soul had left his body, but he still managed to ask, “Like, as a date?”

Nico scuffed the toe of his shoe against the dirt. “If… If you want.”

“Yeah!” Will said quickly, and then, “That would be, um. Cool.”

“Cool,” Nico repeated. He started fidgeting with the sweatshirt in his hands before he suddenly held it out to Will. “You should take this. It’ll probably be cold tonight, so…”

Will barely managed to stop himself from saying, it’s okay, I have my own. Instead, he forced his hands out to take the sweatshirt back. “Cool.” Did he know any other word in the English language besides cool? “I’ll, um. See you tonight then.”

Nico smiled, and Will’s heart soared. “Yeah. See you tonight.”

When Will arrived at the campfire later, happily yet nervously showing off the SPQR laurels on his chest, he made his way straight to Nico, relieved to see that the other boy had shown up in just a t-shirt.

“Hey,” Will said, smiling brightly as he sat down in the open space beside Nico. “You know, it might get cold this far from the fire. Maybe you should borrow this.” Will held out his own neatly folded orange camp hoodie, one with a large 7 on the back and a red cross on one sleeve - a sweatshirt that was unmistakably Will’s.

Nico smiled down at the sweatshirt, and then up at Will like this was exactly what he’d been hoping for. “Okay,” he said as he took the sweatshirt and pulled it on over his head.

“It might be a little big on you,” Will warned, but Nico only smiled brighter when his head popped out of the neck hole.

“That’s okay,” Nico replied. Just the very tips of his fingers stuck out the ends of the sleeves, and Will got the sudden urge to hold Nico’s hand. Maybe he would try later, when Nico didn’t have all of his focus directed at Will. “That’s how I like it.”

thanks for reading!!

buy me a coffee

#solangelo #will solace #nico di angelo #mine #my writing

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kaijurakunsobs · 3 years

Text

Seeds

remember guys! you can ask me to tag them on future updates

Summary: The idea of a soulmate is well known, they will come to you one day, either as a lover or a friend. A single bond made of invisible thread is what will let you feel their emotions, joys and worries, to experience their pain and for them to feel yours.

But beware, for not all blessed unions are meant to be, if you were to hate and push them away, a slow death shall consume them and a garden will bloom within their chest, the flowers will fight and push to feel the sun from the outside, a poetic dead of a broken lover. A beautiful dead for your hollow existence.

You know that your mother was never a good person, or so you have been told.

Miranda meet her when she came from the city to the village, four months pregnant and with the false story of being “sick”, her sickness? She decided to cheat on her rich husband and she wanted to have you away from prying eyes and possibly abandon you here. Your birth giver was upfront about how "Having a bastard could ruin my lifestyle!", Mother Miranda smiled sweetly and had Alcina give your mother refugee and help during the birth, the Lady agreed and housed the woman.

On the night of your birth, Alcina held you in her arms, begging Miranda to let her keep you, but she denied. You were hers and hers alone.

As for your mother? Only Miranda knows what happened to her, but you suspect, that her body is buried somewhere in the forest, alone and forgotten, you couldn’t care any less.

Miranda was the one to raise you, to love you, the one who would be there when you were sick, to kiss your tears away when nightmares woke you up. She was the one to break your body apart and scream in our face how much of a failure you were, just like Alcina or Donna or those pesky lycans running amok outside, but within your failure, she saw minimal success, you were quick to learn how to care for her experiments, which were the signs of cadou rejection and how to treat it, at least, you could be useful until she placed you in the mansion the villagers were building for you.

You have seen so many people been brought to the lab, so many lives being taken for a selfish reason, that you grew numb, there was no anger or pain, you felt no grief when the test subjects saw you and begged for help, you did nothing for there was nothing inside you.

You are surprised when Miranda begins to show interest in a kid, you know he was brought here years ago and somehow had managed to survive the horrors your mother put him through. Interest grew into an obsession and then into pride, hope, you will forever remember how hard Miranda screamed when her golden child came out a failure too, cursing at the skies and asking why? He had been so close to being her perfect little boy and he turned out to be yet another fuck up.

But she doesn’t throw him away, her favoritism shows when she moved him from the medical area into a room in her private chambers, never allowing you to go close to him, slapping you and kicking up a storm whenever she saw you too close to his door, even if you were passing by. But you never resent him, you can’t hate him or her, all you can do is nod and go away.

But curiosity is something hard to get rid of, and so you waited for days almost a month until Mother left to meet up with Alcina, using the moment to sneak into his room. A beautiful room, compared to yours, he had a big bed with a canopy, the thick curtains prevent you from seeing him, it feels like a fairy tale when you part the curtain to peer inside.

Truly like a fairy tale...a beautiful boy lays there, his golden hair is going gray, probably out of stress. He has a couple of scars on his face and some new ones on his arms. You feel like reaching inside and kiss him to break the spell, but it feels...wrong, like if you could tarnish him even further by touching him, like if your mother would appear and toss you aside for laying one of your dirty hands on his skin. No matter how bad you wish to be his Knight and save him, the terror you feel over defying Mother Miranda’s orders makes you stay still.

And then, it happened.

It began as an agonizing stab in your chest, it made you trip backwards painfully slamming your head against the wall, gasping for air when the pain as a needle began to pierce through you slowly making its way to your heart, a pitiful sob left your mouth, rendering you useless while your body overcomes the initial discomfort. It takes all of your willpower to get straight and look up at the ceiling through your tears, the light it's blinding and it leaves you dizzy, almost ready to empty your stomach.

Karl Heisenberg, age eleven, lays on his luxurious-looking bed, his entire body shakes painfully, breaking through his mouth, and the fever that's racking his body is the only thing keeping him from noticing that, his soulmate is standing a couple of steps away from his bed.

But how do you even know this?

Because Miranda told you about the concept of someone blindingly loving you for all eternity, who would be your other half and the missing piece to your broken existence, Dimitrescu once said that those stories were silly little fantasies, that love should be won over and one should prove to be the right person for someone else and not just have it “hand it over”.

You used to dream of the day you would feel the connection between yourself and another person, of being able to experience their joy when their eyes fell on you. But this is far from what you wanted, what you always wished for! All you can feel is pain, radiating from so many places in your body, rendering you useless, overwhelmed with anger, grief, sorrow for “yourself”.

Everything quickly piles up, so consumed by what Karl is feeling that you don’t hear the tray that falls and the porcelain plates that shatter, you vaguely register the sting of Miranda slapping you and the distant sound of her screams.

She drags you out of the room and into the cold world outside her home, across the heartless forest and you wonder...if you might end up like your mother, buried under some tree to be forgotten. But Miranda keeps walking until she throws you at the feet of Lady Dimitrescu, speaking to the tall woman and leaving you under her care, forever.

When you were younger, you used to fear the Lady. She was imposing and so strong, a self-made matriarch, but she's so careful when helping you up and guiding you through her beautiful home, her hands are so kind when she helps you to undress and sit in the tub filled with warm water, racking her fingers through your messy hair...so this is what a mother truly is like?

She only leaves you alone when she goes to fetch anything you could wear, looking displeased when she hands you a maid's uniform "We must send for the seamstress, I cannot have you wearing those shabby clothes" that, for some reason gets you to smile.

Later, her movements are soft as she runs a brush through your hair, the fire makes the wood crack and explode, filling the room with a nice warmth, something you never lacked off but that never truly permeated your body.

"Y/N, care to explain why mother Miranda was so angry, earlier?" you hear the concern in her voice, a bit of worry hidden in a stern tone.

Alcina can see you shrink a bit, as if ashamed of what you had done “I saw the kid mother keeps in her chambers” it comes out like a whisper, scared of Miranda appearing at that moment to slap you again “I think he’s my soul mate, Alcina!”

Lady Dimitrescu chuckles lightly and smiles when you turn around to look at her ”Your soul mate, some dirty man-thing? Oh my sweet girl I hope it isn’t real and you were just revolted by the sight of a man!”

“But I felt his pain and his emotions...it was scary, but maybe he will love me!”

“Just because you can feel what he feels, doesn’t mean everything will be alright. That’s why those romances are so volatile, darling! There’s no real reason for them to work beyond being stubborn and tell yourself that it will work out” the lady is classy and gracious in her movements as she poured herself another glass of wine “That the other person at the end of your bond will fall to their knees the moment they see you, but in reality, they might resent your sole existence and end up killing you!”

“Killing me?” that comes as a surprise, you have never heard of this.

“Yes...a cruel and unjust dead” Alcina brings you to her lap letting one of her hands spread over your small chest with a sorrowful look on her face “Your lungs will get infested with flowers, a bouquet of throe will bloom within your body, each day the garden will grow and fight to see the sun beyond your mouth and it will rob you of all air and kill you in no time”

She sees you wonder about it, a million questions that you wish to ask, everything falling apart when her curious daughters come into the room, moved by the rumors some maids had shared about their mother adopting another child. All too eager to know their new sister.

After that day, the topic is never brought up.

You grow and learn everything under Alcina’s guidance, the woman is hellbent on making a lady out of you. She teaches you how to read and write, about math and how to sing, applauding when you show her the gift the cadou in your stomach gave you, Midas' touch.

Her daughters and your self-appointed sisters, all laugh and joke around you, treat you like if you were another human when you are no different from their mother, another failed creation, a remainder that Miranda was cursed to not have what she wants. But the love of your little family drowns those thoughts, leaving the happiness of your existence in a nice home and the ever-presence of pain and resentment in the back of your head.

As you grow you notice, each cut and wound that leaves a scar on your skin turns to gold when made by you, but looks as pale lines when made by Heisenberg. You can’t help but laugh when the idea of being a piece of pottery repaired via kintsugi pops in your head, and for a moment you ask yourself if Heisenberg also has golden scars to match yours?

You cry the day when you finally leave the castle, trying hard to convey your love for your mother and sisters with hugs and kisses, in low whispers, promises of coming over as much as you can. The Lady kisses your forehead and sends you off with some final words of advice.

"Never lower your head and always do your best, remember you have us and we would never let you fall"

You are eighteen when you become the miracle worker of the village, crafting medicines with alchemy, signing at the church when the congregation asks you to, turning anything into gold with your touch, smiling with grace, and claiming to have been blessed with a precious gift by Mother Miranda to help the poor and keep the village off absolute agony. In the end, everything tastes like vile and ash, the forced smiles and the sweet tone of your voice make you gang behind the long veil that covers your face.

The days when you sing at the church, are the only ones when you can feel all his hatred directed at you, each painful stab making your eyes tear, yet you keep on making the people happy with hymns crafted before you were even born. If you could let him feel how similar your anger for Miranda is, perhaps the pain in your chest would dissipate, but you can't because you are hollow.

Among the villagers you are Lady Y/N L/N, the golden touch child, you are adored and blindly loved, Miranda smiles radiantly whenever she hears nothing but good words from her cattle, how much they dote on you, ready to serve without a thought, the eagerness to work under you. You may have been a failed vessel but you are a success as a flycatcher, bringing the sheep down to the slaughterhouse to be sent to the other Lords.

On meeting day, the pain and emotions that you feel seem to amplify the closer you are to Heisenberg.

As you sit beside your adoptive mother, your smaller hand in hers, while Mother Miranda speaks and praises each one of her children, lingering a bit too much on her golden child. The pressure in your chest grows, it feels like when you submerge in the tub as if your lungs were being crushed under an invisible force, ready to cough and gasp for air.

Across from you, he sits, posture closed and annoyed beyond belief when Miranda asks him to stay a bit longer after the meeting is done, you feel relief when Lady Dimitrescu gets up, opting to ignore Heisenberg in favor of bringing you back to the castle for your scheduled visit.

You two aren't even halfway through your journey back when you notice you are missing something, a small gift for today's reunion, a bag of fine jasmine tea.

"Mother, I need to get back. It seems I misplaced something, you go ahead!"

There's no time for Alcina to respond before you volt back to the church, the soft lace of your veil beautifully flying behind your hurried steps, slowly dropping your speed the closer you get to the entrance of the building, from it you can see Miranda, she as shed her mask off and is touching Heisenberg's face the way you have seen brides or wives touch their husbands' faces.

A pulse of repugnance and despise make you stumble back, pressing your back against the outer wall, it feels like the first time you met him, it's blinding and leaves you disoriented for a second, a hand flies up to your mouth when a wave of nausea hits you. He's not only pissed, he feels filthy and is suppressing a murderous intent behind a mask of indifference.

The sensation grows and grows until it's crushing you. One look up and you see him standing before you, a hand caging you between him and pillar.

"What are you doing here, freak? The tall bitch sent you to spy on me? tell her to fuck off" this isn't the first time you hear his voice, but it feels like it, even if his words are filled with malice, they taste like bitter wine for you.

"NO!...I mean...no, Lord Heisenberg. I came back because I lost something, a small bag"

"So you are afraid the dog stole from you, are you calling me a thief?" your mouth opens to explain to him once more, but the burly man only growls and steps away "Think whatever you want, I can't care any less for whatever the scum thinks of me"

Later, in the solitude of your home, you will call yourself an idiot, asking yourself why you reached for his empty hand when he turned around ready to leave, why you didn't revealed who you were, why you didn't cried when the man slammed your body against the wall.

"DON'T YOU DARE TO TOUCH ME, BITCH!" Heisenberg's tobacco infused breath hits your face, the painful stab of hatred felt like if your body were being torn apart "I CAN'T STAND PEOPLE LIKE YOU, YOU MAKE SICK!"

This time, when he turns around to leave, you don't reach out, you stay there, gasping for hair and coughing like if you were drowning, a slick sensation in your throat makes you gag and cough harder than before, both of your hands are cupped over your mouth, scared at the idea of throwing up.

Thank God you don't.

The moment passes and your body calms down, but your eyes grow wide when you see what made you gag.

A single yellow carnation petal covered in spit rests between your hands.

-----

Yelow Carnation: rejection and disdain

tag list: @happygalaxymilkshake @mightybeeb @kittyb2000

#re8 #resident evil village #resident evil 8 #resident evil #karl heisenberg #karl heisenberg x reader

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shyrose57 · 3 years

Note

Brothers anon. Sorry about the previous ask I get nervous easy and feel like I need to check im not annoying anyone at times. If I am ever annoying you though or you want me to do anything though please tell me!

Watson is close to everyone from the group, because he's seen as the dad figure and an easy person to talk too. Besides from that Jackie and Grievous are close and often train or play games together, and Jackie and Ran are close, they don't do much expect just hang out and since their both the youngest that helps them feel a bit closer. Ran and Grievous aren't really close, though Grievous wants to make attempts to become closer to Ran, potentially by inviting him to training sessions or game nights.

The other fighters from the Pit are still around! They mostly aren't around the Pit as they have jobs and other stuff to take care off, but they try to vist often. Like Genevieve and Levi come over on a regular basis to train with them all and just hang out. And sometimes Genevieve and Levi participate in the Pit's fights just for fun.

He was kept in a room in Mizu. The room was reminiscent of a jail cell, with no glass in it, and a door that required a key to be opened, he wasn't completely chained down but they did put cuffs on his wrists to prevent him from moving around to much. Benjamin honestly just kind of felt like something was off, because most people don't commit mass murder without a reason and he couldn't find a reason for Ranbob doing it. And he has reported multiple times (along with the others) feeling a strange weightless feeling near dreams room, almost like their getting sucked into a void, while also hearing a distant voice in their head calling them to come closer. When everyone said they heard the voice, with Ranbob even saying from where he was that he heard the voice but much clearer, and sometimes he feels like he doesn't control what he's doing. Benjamin and Isaac decided to block off the room and nearby rooms and made it a rule that if anyone heard the voice or felt like that to report it to them and where they felt it so ot could be blocked off.

Because Ranbob said he heard the voice too Benjamin started thinking that maybe Ranbob wasn't in control and there's something deeper going on. They specifically figure out its the mask when Charles finds it and brings it up to the group, where reports of the voices and feeling come back ten-fold, and even Ranbob who was starting to show progress and become a bit more willing to talk harshly backtracked to where he almost tried to attack anyone who came into the room. So Charles quickly puts it back as far from the group as possible, with Cletus following him to make sure he actually puts it back. Later they talk about destroying it but the question of what will happen to the possession on it stops them, as what if when they break it, the possession type thing (its not actually a possession I just forget the word oop), moves onto another object? Maybe even connect to them or Ranbob?

Ranbob does learn how to sew! Charles helps him learn actually and it helps the two get close! Cletus and Isaac are forbin as of now to return to Mizu, there are talks about going back later in time but for now everyone agreed it'd be best to hang back and avoid Mizu no matter what.

Life in the house is very hard to adjust to at first for Ranbob especially, its mostly awkward and learning boundaries. But after a few weeks to months living with the fishermen Ranbob becomes much more comfortable to open up a lot. Closest to Ranbob is definitely both Benjamin and Charles, as Benjamin is the one who recognized what was happening to Ranbob and Charles is the one who he spends most time with (mostly teaching Ranbob random skills).

Even after the fight ends Ran is still incredibly mad, and when Ranbob is so much as mentioned he growls and gets more aggravated. The fishermen are mostly surprised, Ranbob did mention there was a survivor that he remembers almost killing before they escaped, but because it seemed like a sensitive topic they never pressed him to tell them more. They never would've expected the survivor was his brother though. And the gladiators are completely surprised, expect Watson, Ran told Watson his past about Mizu and his brother (because I like to think Ran has night terrors due to Mizu and Watson is often the one to comfort him). Its only once Ranbob gets taken off to the medical bay and Ran goes to blow off steam in the training area the two sides talk. Where what they've been told is shared and connections and understandings are made. And they all manage to agree to try to get the brothers at least on talking terms, so they can talk about what happened and at least attempt to fix their relationship.

They are not! Other enderman hybrids do exist but their very rare due to complexity with passing the enderman genes. Though Ran and Ranbob did have a family of 6 they where apart of (the 2 other siblings where younger than them) but not every member had enderman genes.

They do notice how Jackie looks similar to Tubbo but they mostly just brush it off, as if Cletus takes off his head gear he looks like Quackity and of course Ranbob looks like Ranboo with the mix of black and white skin.

Hey, don’t worry about it, seriously. I do the same thing with people, so I kinda get it. I really do enjoy reading these, so really, I should be thanking you for sending them!

The bonds between everyone sound interesting. So Watson’s just generally the dad friend? How does he feel about that? Has he just unironically adopted all these dorks? Is it something of an inside joke? Jackie and Grievous sound like quite the combination. Honestly I can imagine these two either being very chill, or very chaotic, depending on the day. Ran and Jackie just hanging out sounds neat, what do they do together? Do they play games like Jackie does with Grievous, or do they just nap and cloud-watch, or something similar? And Grievous trying to bond with Ran sounds nice, how does that work out for him? Do they find some sort of activity that brings them closer?

I saw you mentioned Ran and Jackie were the youngest, which brings up two things. One, does the height difference remain? I’ve seen a lot of art depicting it as such, and honestly, the thought of some new fighters being tossed into a fight with these two, and A, seeing this short kid next to this ridiculously tall guy, and B, their expressions when being told Ran’s not an adult is very amusing to me.

And two, what exactly is the age limit for going into the Pit? It’s probably not incredibly young, but how old are Jackie and Ran to be stated as the youngest? In their early teens? Late? Older? What kind of rules are there in the fights, no deaths aside?

The other fighters still being around is pretty cool, how do they get along with the gladiators? I imagine fairly well, since you’ve said they hang out, but are they close with anyone is particular? And what exactly is the Pit, besides a tournament? Do people fight for money in there? Do they just fight to fight? Is it open to a lot of people?

So the fisherman hung around Mizu and talked to Ranbob? It must have been strange, seeing the change in their would-be murderer. It does bring up the question of how in control Ranbob was when he first met them. Was he relatively himself at the start, and only begin to fall more under Dream’s thrall later, or was he under it from the start? And how do the fishermen feel about this?

Actually, how young even is Ranbob? I believe you mentioned him to be Ran’s older(?) brother, but as previously said, Ran’s among the youngest of the gladiators, so how much older is Ranbob? How old was he when he was led to kill the residents of Mizu?

I believe the word you’re looking for is possibly spirit? I’m assuming? And yeah, pretty smart of them to get away from it. Do they ever end up dealing with that in the future, or is it a ‘let’s just agree to never go near that thing again.’ kinda deal?

Charles and Ranbob bonding! Very nice! What other skills does Charles have, and where’d he learn them? Actually, what’s the general backstory for the fishermen? Is it anything that could tie in later, or no?

But that adjustment period can’t be easy. As we saw, the fishermens’ house was pretty small, and for Ranbob, to go from literally being the only person there in a huge city, to such an arrangement, well. It can’t have been easy. How did it affect him, and how did the fishermen deal with it?

In relation, how did Ran deal with going from Mizu to outside it? I imagine the lifestyle was a bit different from what he was used to.

So the relationship isn’t so easily fixed, hm? Y’know, all things considered, that’s pretty fair. How do the two groups get along, once they’ve decided to get the two brothers back together? And what kind of plan do they come up with? Perhaps deciding to travel together? Or maybe stick around and fight more? How does that work out for them?

How does Ran feel about the brother that almost killed him being around his new family? And how does Ranbob feel about finding him again? Did he even think he was still kicking, or believe him to be dead?

So Endermen hybrids aren’t that common huh? Does that happen to be why Porkius was so interested in them? And are any of the fishermen or gladiators hybrids as well? Philza’s often shown with wings, and honestly, I’m curious to know if your AU’s Watson is a similar hybrid, or otherwise.

Also, how do the gladiators fight? Are there double battles and team ups? Is there anyone they fight better with? What’s their general strategy?

And how does Porkius feel about these new developments? Does he know? Help out, or let them sort it themselves? What’s going on with our resident king?

#dream smp #dream smp au #Brothers AU #tales from the smp #ranbob #cletus #isaac #charles #benjamin #jackie #ran #grievous #watson #porkius #the lost city of mizu #the pit

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brinkofdiscovery · 3 years

Text

Tyler Whitman

TW: Guns, Death

Reaping was a good job. Ending the suffering of the dying, escorting their vulnerable souls to a new life--it was nice. It was easy to view it in a positive light. The actual act of taking the soul, though, that was something Tyler hadn’t gotten used to. It was the sight of it, mostly. It wasn’t messy or violent by any means, but seeing his hand phase through someone’s chest so he could pluck the soul from their body? It was just strange, and it was something he could definitely do without. Typically though, if he was lucky, his client would already be dead by the time he got there, and it'd be resting outside the body for easy picking. Unfortunately this time he’d find no such luck. And in the ungodly hours of this Wednesday morning he was wrist deep in metaphysical energy in the middle of an ice cold hospice room.

It was over quickly enough though, and soon he was on his way out, invisible to the nurse who entered just as he’d slipped out into the hallway. The door opened on its own, and Tyler stepped out into the cold morning air of the hospital parking lot. The streetlights overhead were dim, and didn’t offer enough light to hide the faint glow of the soul Tyler cradled in his hands--everything his client once was, now just a small, swirling little orb of dull red light. Tyler had never been able to grasp what made any soul glow the way it did; it was something to do with energy, something about the life it’d led. A lot of talk about guilt and clarity and light that he'd never really understood. This one was dull though, clouded with dark maroon patches that spun and twisted around the bright red that tried to shine through beneath it. He didn’t know what that meant specifically about the woman he pulled it from or the life she had led, but Life had explained it well enough that he at least knew it wasn’t a black and white binary of “good and bad.” This soul was just old, and complex, and in desperate need of cleansing. It wasn’t his place to judge, his job was just to deliver her safely. He was still watching the colors swim when the smell of hickory smoke filled the air, thick and rich and wholly unnatural in the middle of a medical complex. He looked up to see the smoke clouding the streetlights above him, and before long he could feel the heat of it’s flame against the back of his neck. He spun around on his heel, drawing his gun from his hip and taking steady aim for the plume of hellfire burning only a few feet in front of him. Tyler had never met a demon before, but as the flames eventually died down to a simmer, it wasn’t hard to recognize the man standing in the ashes for what he was. Fire licked at the heels of heavy, muddy work boots as he stepped out of the rising pillar of smoke. Golden eyes almost seemed to glow in the low morning light as they traced a line from the pistol in Tyler’s hand, down to the soul held protectively at his side, and finally back up to meet the unwavering glare of the reaper himself. The demon smiled wide, plucking his cigarette from his teeth before breaking the silence with a low whistle. “Well shit, you were ready for me, now weren’t you?” He brought his cigarette up to his lips, taking a final, slow drag before he tossed it aside all together. “Here I was thinking I was doing a good job sneaking up on you.” Tyler didn’t waver. He didn’t move. He kept his aim true, and at his side his grip tightened securely around his client’s fragile soul.

“It’s a joke.” The demon continued, stepping aside to motion to the still-smoldering circle of broken pavement and ash behind him. “See I came in real loud with the fire and the smoke and--” “What do you want?” Tyler pushed his weapon forward, frustration mingling with the tremor in his voice. He held his gaze steady. The demon blinked, staring right back at Tyler for a few quiet moments. “I’m Clay.” He offered, “Clayton, I guess. If you’re wanting to be professional about it, but nobody really calls me--” “What do you want!” Tyler pushed his pistol forward again and cocked the hammer back, his other hand tightened once more, a white knuckle grip straining against the fragile mass of energy. Clayton smiled again. He motioned to Tyler’s left hand with a subtle nod, “Careful, there.” Tyler balked at the motion, and fury rose in his chest as the demon refused to answer him. He spared a quick glance away from him, down to the soul in his hand, before he noticed the way it was straining and twisting frantically against the force of his grip. He kept his gun aimed for Clay, but he turned his attention to the soul instead as he loosened his grip and drew it closer to his chest. “God, what...” He turned the soul over gently in his hand, searching for any splintering or damage he might have done. It looked okay for the most part, but it was spinning faster now, dizzy and scared and struggling to right itself. “What do you--no.” He held a finger up to Clayton before he could open his mouth. “I know what you want. Don’t talk. I know exactly why you’re here, I just…” He trailed off, staring at the soul as its frantic twisting colors returned to a gentle, slow spiral. There was a barely visible crack along it’s surface that he could see now, and some kind of strange, irregular flashing branching out from it, just below the surface. He frowned and ran his thumb over the damage before exhaling sharply. He turned his attention back to Clay, who had leaned in to watch everything with an infuriating, self-satisfied smile. “How long you been doing this, kid?” “Seventy years.” Tyler answered. “Shit, seventy years!” He almost laughed, “That ain’t nothing. You ever lost a soul before?” Tyler’s pistol pushed closer again, the barrel was almost pressed against Clay’s forehead now. He looked more amused than threatened, as if he was considering raising a hand to ease the gun off to the side. Instead Clay just raised his hands slowly and took a step back. “Easy, now, I’m not gonna take it from you. I’m asking. I don’t think I could take you in a fight.” Tyler scoffed and rolled his eyes, clutching the soul closer to the fabric of his shirt. “Fuck off.” “Hey, I mean it! Not much of a point in trying when you could just.” He made a motion like he was reaching into his own chest and yanking something out with a closed fist. Tyler frowned at the suggestion, but he lowered his weapon just a fraction of an inch. “So you think I’m going to give it to you?” “I want it. I think you should.” “And that’s it? That’s all you’ve got? You think I’m going to compromise my job, break the fundamental laws of life and death--” Clay dropped his head back and rolled his eyes. “Damn it kid it ain’t that big of a deal, loosen up! You been doing this for seventy years now and you’re telling me you ain’t ever traded off a single soul?” “This is a person.” Tyler insisted. “Yeah it was, and she was a piece of shit.” “She gets another chance!” “Do you even know what she did?” “It doesn’t matter!” He stepped closer, raising his aim again and stopping just short of placing the barrel against Clay’s forehead. “It doesn’t matter who she was, or what she did, or how many times you fucking ask me; she gets another chance!” Clay opened his mouth to interrupt, but Tyler desperately shook the gun in his face, his blood boiling at the sight of Clay not even bothering to hide his amusement. “You’re not getting this soul,” Tyler snarled. “You can show up to bug me every time she dies for fifty more lifetimes, and the answer will be the same. It’s coming with me, it’s going to be cleansed, and renewed, and put back out into the world, and there’s nothing you can do to stop that. Do you hear me?” Clay blinked slowly, entertained, but thoroughly unimpressed. After a moment he conceded with a shrug and stepped away. He pulled a cigarette from his shirt pocket and brought his hand up to block the wind as he brought it to his lips. Hickory smoke started to fill the air again. “Give it fifty more years. You’ll change your tune.” Hellfire rose up from behind him, reaching out to embrace him again, and he stepped backwards to meet it halfway. The flames climbed higher, and with them rose that unearthly thick smoke that stung at Tyler’s eyes and choked the air. “I’ll be around, kid.” Clay called out before the flames finally swallowed him. The fire roared, impossibly tall and impossibly bright before it finally reached its peak and fell. The flames spread low across the pavement before they finally suffocated and died, and Clay was gone, leaving behind only ash and burning embers. Tyler lowered his gun, finally. He could feel the warmth of the soul against his chest, now. It was still struggling, still sending those flickering bursts of light out from the fracture he’d caused. He sighed, and holstered his gun so that he could smooth a comforting hand over its surface. “Come on,” He said softly, “Let’s get you somewhere safe.”

#push comes to shove #people in hell want ice water #guns //#death //#writing #my ocs

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brasskier · 3 years

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@badthingshappenbingo trope #4!

Trope: Concussion

Summary: Jaskier feels like a detective, albeit a clumsy, scrambled-eggs-for-brains kinda detective. He has two mysteries on his plate at the moment - why is Geralt in a bad mood, and why won't his brain cooperate? (Hint: perhaps it has something to do with hitting his head that morning.)

Read on my ao3 or below the cut:

Jaskier probably should've told Geralt when he slipped and smashed his head into a rock on the riverbank coming back up from his morning bath, or should've at least known it was bad when bright worms of light started squiggling in his peripheral and words suddenly got a lot harder to string together. And maybe he would've, if he wasn't so intent on figuring out why Geralt was in such a piss-poor mood that morning. He felt like a detective - albeit a clumsy, scrambled-eggs-for-brains kinda detective - stringing together clues and occasionally nudging the witcher along with leading questions, at least when he could get his brain, lips, and tongue to all cooperate.

Unfortunately, Jaskier was doing about as well at solving the mystery of Geralt the extra-grumpy witcher as he was figuring out what was going on in his own skull. It'd happened once when he was a boy, falling out of a twisty, too-tall tree. His father, may he rest in peace, didn't notice until Jaskier, uncharacteristically silent, stared vacantly past him— until that point he'd been more preoccupied scolding him for ruining yet another fine pair of trousers. (His parents paid good money for those things, but he was pretty sure maybe they should've learned by that point and stopped dressing him up in finery before releasing him into the world.)

Speaking of, he could use a new pair of pants. Maybe once they made it to the next town he could find a seamstress, maybe even invest in a nice new doublet as well. Geralt always pretended he found such purchases frivolous and vain, all huffy and monosyllabic, but Jaskier knew full well it put him in a good mood to have something to tease Jaskier for.

Good mood. Right. He was supposed to be figuring out why he was in a decidedly not good mood. He was supposed to… well, he really didn't know past that. His thoughts flitted about his head like a chicken desperate to escape its coop, and this thought made him giggle to himself, picturing his squishy brain with a beak and feathers squawking about.

"Jaskier?" He glanced up at the witcher that had reclaimed his attention, finding it distinctly difficult to track his movements as he bobbed along on his horse. "Did you listen to a thing I said?" Well, that was a silly question, Jaskier thought, because in order for him to listen, Geralt would've had to have said something. His mind trapped like a stuck cog on how to put this minor incongruence into words, and the witcher glared at him in the space of his tenuous silence.

"How could I?" He asked finally, head tilted to parallel the uncertainty etched in his tone.

"With your ears," Geralt deadpanned, and Jaskier grimaced under the frustration of his misunderstanding.

"No, that's not— I meant— you didn't—" he attempted to elaborate, but once again found his brain, flighty as a hummingbird, refused to put thoughts to language. Geralt slowed Roach to a halt, and only then did Jaskier realize he'd at some point stopped walking. He wasn't too sure when that happened, but he was sure he had to start again, because Geralt was already in a bad mood and the uneasy threat of abandonment always loomed thick.

This, in hindsight, might've been a mistake. The trees spun, ground tilting ominously like a ship caught in a storm, and Jaskier staggered with the rhythm of it. This, finally, mercifully, seemed to tip off Geralt and his fancy-schmancy witcher senses that something wasn't right.

"Jaskier?" He called, and he still sounded decidedly disgruntled. This wasn't good; Jaskier was supposed to be getting him in a better mood, not making things worse. He'd even been quiet for a change (moreso due to his tongue's uncooperativeness than any conscious choice on his part, not that Geralt needed to know this detail).

The witcher swung a leg off the saddle, dismounted with the grace of a cat. (Which was funny; wasn't Geralt supposed to be a wolf? Didn't Geralt's brother know a cat witcher? Maybe cat witchers were even more graceful, like ballerinas; Geralt would never do ballet.) This thought would've also made Jaskier giggle, but he was hesitant to unclamp his jaw at the moment, fearful that more than words might spill past it.

"Jaskier?" It was more urgent this time, which Jaskier vaguely recognized was not good, but couldn't quite recall why. When he managed to force his eyes to focus for a split second, Geralt was in front of him, before the forest swelled again and swallowed him with it. He pressed a hand over his eyes, in the vain hope blindness might put an end to the spinning; he had no such luck, and found himself drifting even in the darkness.

"Mmm?" He hummed, which was usually Geralt's line, but he was determined to keep up the tight-lipped defiance of his own body. He felt a hand scrape his forehead, shifting his carefully mussed hair, and then move down to cup his chin between two fingers. It was a gruff, economic movement; Jaskier, in his self-imposed darkness, pretended it was tender.

"What's wrong with you?" Even Geralt's voice seemed to be swimming, tilting forward and back with each strangely distorted syllable. What isn't, Jaskier wanted to joke in return, snicker a little at Geralt's frustration. But he couldn't, at least not without giving into opening his mouth, and besides, Geralt was already in a bad mood. Instead, he shrugged, a turn of phrase about tables that turned flitting through his thoughts, and he surely felt like he was on a turning table, not that any tables Jaskier had ever seen were exactly known for turning.

"Is it your throat?" It was a reasonable line of thought for Geralt to stroll down, to be fair, considering the whole thing with the djinn. Gods, how he wished he had a djinn right now, less-than-stellar experience aside. If he had one, there'd be none of that bloody Valdo Marx bullshit; no, instead the forest wouldn't spin anymore, his brain and tongue would cooperate, and Geralt would be in a good mood.

Jaskier really was doing a shit job of uplifting Geralt's spirits, wasn't he? At the very least, he'd managed to tease out the source of his foul temper; at present, it was Jaskier himself. He risked a peek out into the world again, found concerned amber eyes tucked under a tight scowl tilting like a leaf in the wind, and promptly squeezed them shut again. Oh, yeah. Geralt had asked him a question— what was it? Ah, it was gone now, too late. He shook his head, hoping he was actually answering. This was a mistake, because it sent stars erupting in the darkness and an unbidden groan worming its way past his lips.

"What, Jaskier?" Geralt sounded even more exasperated, if such a thing were possible, and Jaskier flung a hand up to press over his mouth, as if that might help whatsoever; it didn't.

"No— fuck, I'm—" In one clumsy motion he managed to tear himself back and away from Geralt, jerk to the side, and stumble over his own two feet and onto his knees just in time to escape vomiting on Geralt's boots. That was good; vomit on his boots would've really pissed him off. The weathered hand that had earlier cupped his chin (Jaskier could still feel the ghost of it on his skin) came to sit heavy between his shoulder blades. This touch not even Jaskier could make feel gentle.

"Okay," Geralt hummed, somewhere to his side. "Alright, okay." Was this Geralt's attempt at being soothing? How Jaskier wished he could tell him he appreciated it; maybe later, when his stomach wasn't still bucking uncooperatively like a spooked horse. This was funny, too; Roach in his stomach, kicking and snorting, but Jaskier was beginning to get tired of silly tangents.

Come to think of it, Jaskier was just tired, his limbs suddenly heavy, pounding in his skull coming into sharp focus. The hand migrated up to his collar, no doubt to tug him back upright, but he wrenched free and let himself drop to the dirt before Geralt had the chance. A nap sounded absolutely divine at the moment, and he was beginning to think he couldn't care less whether the witcher stuck around to wait it out or not. (This last detail was, patently, an absolute lie, and Jaskier knew it full well even as the thought first pattered into his consciousnesses.)

Geralt rolled him over, flipped him on his side, and this was both a small mercy (he hadn't been abandoned) and a horrendous blight (the sun glaring directly into his eyes, even as he pressed a clumsy hand to cover them again.) Another callused hand swiped across his forehead, his cheek, made its way down his neck and pried back his doublet. Jaskier wasn't sure what Geralt was looking for, and he also didn't particularly think he'd find it, whatever it was.

"There's no fever," Geralt announced, as if this were some grand discovery, a breakthrough in medical sciences. "Something you ate?" Ah, so now Geralt was playing detective, and Jaskier had all but given up on his case; another reversal of roles. Well, maybe at the very least Jaskier could give him better clues, or at least try.

"Head," he groaned, rolling back onto his side, cool dirt not unpleasant against his skin. This time, no hands tugged at him, but instead Geralt gave a soft hum, barely distinguishable from the ringing in his ears. "Hurts," he tacked on because, while it might've been implied, with Geralt it never hurt to be explicit.

"Now we're getting somewhere." That thrice-damned hand returned again, worked its way through his hair, dragging along every bump and curve until he scuffed against a half-healed scab and a sharp pain ricocheted through Jaskier's skull. He recoiled, writhing for a moment before curling even tighter into himself. "When did you hit your head?" That was a good question, because Jaskier wasn't all too sure anymore if he even had.

"Dunno," he mumbled. Now if only Geralt could put a pause to the interrogation so he might be afforded the small mercy of dying in peace. “River?”

"Helpful." Footsteps, echoing through the dirt and drilling through his head with each heavy footfall, further and further and further away until he could only feel, not hear, them. This was fine. Not the end he felt truly befit a heroic bard of his renown, but humble enough to satisfy him nonetheless. Just him and the trees as he returned to the earth from whence he was borne.

Then those blasted footsteps returned, those hands hoisted him, and he was face-first on the scratchy wool of his bedroll. He nuzzled against it, like a cat (he really needed to ask Geralt for the name of that cat witcher his brother knew).

"You have a concussion." A light flickered to life somewhere in his brain at this revelation. One of his grand mysteries, finally come to its disappointingly anticlimactic conclusion. He still didn't know why Geralt had been in such a piss-poor mood, but he decided that was a puzzle for another time, letting his breath even out with impending sleep.

"Jaskier, I need to know you understand me, okay?" As soft as his words were, Jaskier couldn't help but find it incredibly rude of him to interrupt his much-needed and well-deserved rest. If he kept pushing it, Jaskier thought, perhaps Geralt would be having to solve the mystery of why he was grumpy.

"Mmm, okay." This earned him another pat on the shoulder, as gentle a touch as anything Jaskier could ever hope for.

"I'll need to wake you periodically to make sure you don't lose what little wit you have," Geralt informed him, "but you can rest now." He felt like a sinking ship, overcome with warmth. Loose-limbed and giddy, he jutted out a clumsy hand and flailed blindly until it flopped against Geralt's arm, and he latched on. "Just tell me next time you hit your head."

"Thank you," he managed to get out on the tail end of a breath, slurred with exhaustion, disappointed when the witcher carefully extracted his wrist from his grip. A blanket settled on top of him, and he fumbled to tug it closer.

"Just sleep." Needing no convincing, Jaskier did as he was told. And in his dreams, Geralt was in a good mood, and he could still feel the ghost of his hand on that patch of skin on his chin.

#the witcher #the witcher netflix #geralt #geralt of rivia #jaskier #dandelion #bad things happen bingo #jaskier whump #concussion #the witcher fanfic #the witcher fanfiction #brasskier does bthb

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azurika-writes · 4 years

Text

Starstruck

Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: you win a competition for a tour around the compound with a group of other winners and a meet and greet with the Avengers afterwards. You’re there to meet your idol, Bucky Barnes but he gets swarmed by other people who are there to meet him and so you almost miss your chance, until Steve Rogers sees the desperation in your face, he comes to your rescue.

Warnings: this is a slow burn one shot, Bucky is your idol, language, Tony can’t mind his own business for a minute and is rude, sweet Bucky :)

Words: 4,215 (holy shit)

Authors Notes: I don’t know why this is so long holy shit, it’s my first slow burn fic I’ve written so far instead of drabbles. This idea came to me in a daydream and I don’t know if anything like this has previously been written but regardless, I hope you enjoy and feedback is more than welcome as always :)

It was a big day for you, full of excitement and nerves as you glanced down at your VIP pass. It wasn’t often you won these competition things, and you don’t really know why you participated, maybe it had something to do with a certain superhero that was listed to be apart of the special meet and greet or maybe it wasn’t that reason but you’re glad you did as you were one of 5 winners. Winning a special tour of the Avengers compound and then meeting the superheroes in the flesh afterwards.

You were most excited to meet one particular superhero. The one with the black and gold vibranium arm and the shaggy hair and a full-grown beard covering his adorable cheeks. The one you’ve read and studied so much about the last couple of years.

Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes. Former veteran soldier, former Howling Commando, survivor.

You surprised yourself because, history books, you would normally find quite boring, but knowing he was apart of that era made it all that more interesting and you became hooked, infatuated even as you researched every detail about the war he was apart of, understanding what he had to endure during his time in captivity, the ins and outs of his and Steve’s friendship, the good and the bad. The further you dug into his life, the more your heart clenched tightly in your chest.

The more recent interviews of him, you wouldn’t believe he was once a different man. You half expected him to be this closed-off person with no interest in the public whatsoever but to your utter shock and surprise, Bucky was so down to earth. Paying close attention to the interviewer’s questions. Answering them in-depth with so much philosophy behind his words. You watched hours upon hours of YouTube videos of Bucky meeting with fans, he took pictures and smiled for the photo. Autographed their merchandise. Bucky was always smiling, despite everything he had been through. You followed him on Instagram and Twitter. He’s never noticed you, but some other lucky fans were noticed, it didn’t bother you because you preferred not to have the attention, you looked forward to seeing his posts, stories and tweets he puts up for the world to see.

You admired him. You wanted to tell him face to face just how strong he was. The strong soldier has endeavoured so much in his life. Hydra stealing his freedom away from him, turning him into their own little puppet. He deserved this peaceful life he was being given.

You wanted to meet Bucky Barnes and here was your chance, you just hoped you wouldn’t trip over your words once you finally did. You held the folder that contained handwritten stories, artwork and letters of encouragement that you wanted to give to Bucky as a gift and a picture you wanted to be signed under your arm.

You hung the pass around your neck as you waited with the crowd outside the large black iron gates. A muscled and tall security walked over a few moments afterwards and asked for everyone’s names, checking them off the piece of paper he had in his hand on a clipboard.

“Please pay attention to any instructions you’re given. Please stick together. Do NOT venture off on your own. If you do NOT comply with any rules, you will be asked to leave. Any questions?” The security guard asked and there were mutters of no’s from everyone in the group. “Alright, follow me please.” You all followed the man in silence, occasionally glancing at the other people.

The iron gate that was hinged upon two stone pillars opened easily and quietly. And once everyone was inside, it was closed with an echoing ‘clang’, momentarily startling you. The security guard walked ahead and led the group up a really long pebbled footpath. The bright green grass on either side of the path was littered in gorgeous flowers and blossoming cherry blossom trees. Your feet scuffing across the stones as you walked, taking in the scenery around you. The place was absolutely magical, if someone was to describe it to you, you would think they were just fantasising. Something that you would absolutely do As you continued walking, to your left was a large space where the quinjets were receiving their maintenance from engineers. The large A on the front of the building came into view. The place looked enormous, larger than you ever expected.

You almost stumbled into the person in front of you. It was only then you realised everyone had stopped walking and was waiting near the doors.

The security guard turned around one final time. “Alright everyone’s attention, please. As I mentioned previously, please stick together. Do not be tempted to break away from the group and roam around by yourself. Please abide by these simple rules. Other than that, have fun and enjoy your experience. Mr Stark himself will take the guide over once you’re inside.” And with that, the guard flashed his key-card and the large glass doors opened. He stepped aside and motioned for everyone to go in.

The lobby was probably the biggest you’ve ever seen imaginable. Even pictures from Pinterest couldn’t compare to the sheer size of this. The floors and walls were marbled. Workers behind their desks typing away on their computers and phones ringing off the hook.

The ding from the elevator caught everyone’s attention. Excitement bubbled up within you. You knew it was most likely to be Mr Stark since he was going to be the tour guide from here, but something in you wished for a moment it would be Bucky Barnes.

But when the doors opened on the lavished elevator, it, of course, wasn’t. You hoped your disappointment wasn’t too noticeable.

“You’re the groups of winners?” Tony wondered, pulling up his tablet to check the list of names. He called each name out one at a time to receive a stamp on their wrist. Once everything was validated, Tony led the way. The group following him closely but quietly.

“As you folks can see, this is the lobby. We currently have over 10,000 staff employed in this area alone with over 200 security guards.”

“Why do you have so many?” A man from your group asked Tony.

“Because we’re the Avengers, you don’t know who is out there to harm there. Hydra could walk through those doors at any given time. Moving on.” Tony walked towards the staircase, he explained it was because of maximum weight capacity in the elevator. The stairwell was echoed and so many stairs. You were quite winded when you got to the top.

“Are you alright there, Y/N is it? Do you need a medic?” You didn’t know whether Tony was joking or being serious, but you took quite a few deep breaths and shook your head no.

“Alright. So welcome to the main floor. Here we have the common room, debriefing room, offices, a kitchen and numerous bathrooms along the hall.” Tony explained, pointing to each doorway down the long and narrow hallway. This was the floor of the common room? Bucky Barnes could be here, he could be through those doors, and that thought alone made your heart jump in your throat.

“What is the common room used for?” A younger lady asked Tony.

“The common room is where we, The Avengers hang out, unwind and relax after kicking ass. Follow me.”

In the near distance, you could hear hushed voices as Tony led the group into the actual common room. It was empty besides two people; Clint and Natasha. Two superheroes you easily recognized.

“I wonder where Bucky is?” You leaned in and asked the girl standing next to you. She smiled back politely, “I haven’t seen anyone yet. They are due for the meet and greet right?” She asked you. With a nod of your head, you noticed Tony had stopped talking and was looking in your direction.

“If you two are done with your conversation.” You both muttered an apology. “This is Natasha and Clint, our finest heroes. You’ll meet them and everyone else a bit later, let me show you the kitchen area.” Tony led the group further into the compound. The architecture was just incredible and out of this world. It was something you never really expected.

Tony showed you every nook and cranny of the compound; The indoor swimming pool with sauna and jacuzzi, the gym on the lower floor, the sleeping quarters one or two floors up, and he showed you the helipad where the quinjets received their maintenance and checks before takeoff.

��Have you guys enjoyed yourselves?” Tony asked as he led you all once again into the common room, where this time more voices were heard. Everyone answered incoherently but you decided to keep quiet, afraid of getting told off again by Tony. “It’s been a pleasure having you.” He sighed, stopping just outside the door of the common room. “Now is the time you’ve been waiting for. You will have a chance to meet each superhero and please, don’t be shy. They are not as scary as they seem.” Tony winked, opening the door and motioning for all of you to walk through. As you were about to walk through, Tony grabbed your wrist and held you back. For a moment you were worried you would be denied this opportunity to meet your hero, “Are you alright? You’ve been the quietest out of the group.” Tony consoled.

“I’m fine, I’m just taking everything in.” You smiled and Tony nodded, letting go of your wrist, allowing you through the door and once you did and made eye contact with those baby blues, you almost died. You became starstruck and it was almost impossible to peel your eyes away from him. In a line next to him stood the Avengers in their casual clothes, each with a glowing smile on their faces as they saw the pure shock on the group’s faces.

“Hi and welcome!” Wanda smiled ushering everyone forward.

“Hi, Wanda. I’m your biggest fan.” One of the girls gushed as she stepped towards Wanda, tears running down her cheeks. You watched the group approach the one superhero they wanted to meet the most, you didn’t anticipate 3 other girls would approach and crowd Bucky so quickly. But the guy took it well, smiling and talking to them as he answered their questions, they were giggling and no doubt flirting. You stood back awkwardly, unsure about what to do.

“Hey, kid. Are you gonna meet anyone?” Tony asked amused as she stood next to you, pushing his glasses up his face.

“He’s kind of occupied.” You chuckled, your eyes wandering over to Bucky.

“Yeah, he usually gets all the ladies.” Tony chuckled, stepping away to help someone.

Your heart sank into the pit of your stomach as you noticed more and more people were now waiting to meet the former Winter Soldier. He was a lot more popular than you had realized, and it was just a realization that maybe you weren’t meant to meet him. You instead chose not to waste this once in a lifetime opportunity and decided to approach Steve Rogers who was free from a crowd and he was your second favorite superhero.

“Hey!” He said smiling as you approached, his perfectly lined teeth on show. His T-shirt was pulled across his broad chest. Steve stretched a hand out for you to shake.

“Hi! How are you?” You asked politely, returning the firm handshake. His hand was silky smooth like he had dipped them in a butter dish prior to meeting everyone.

“Can’t complain. Got a few days off to enjoy the sunshine. What do you have there?” He pointed to the folder that you had under one arm.

“Oh, it’s kind of embarrassing but these are some things I wanted to gift to Bucky Barnes, but it looks like I won’t meet him.” You chuckled sadly, looking down at your feet.

“He’s the popular one with these greets. He really outshines us all, I’m sure he would really appreciate it though.” Steve comforted but knowing time was running out and people just kept swarming him. You pulled your lip between your teeth, desperately willing yourself not to let your true disappointment show, but you couldn’t help it. You would never get this opportunity again and Bucky was impossible to reach out to on social media with over 50 million followers on Instagram and a whopping 20 million on Twitter. Even if you did reach out, there were too many people trying to reach him, your messages and tweets would be swallowed. This just annoyed you since you were only a couple of feet from the man you’ve spent a long time learning everything about, sympathizing with and he was still out of reach.

Steve had been looking at your contour of emotions while you remained quiet. The folder under your arm was thick, he knew you were a genuine fan of Bucky’s and not just some fan girl who was here to flirt and try and get a hold of his personal number or request a follow on social media.

“May I take a look?” Steve asked, pointing to your folder. His voice startled you slightly and you nodded shamefully. There was far too much dedication in that folder and you were sure he was going to lecture you for being too invested in Bucky when Bucky didn’t know who you were. You passed him the folder and Steve quietly looked through, you watched his eyebrows rise and fall on occasion and small smiles here and there. You swallowed the lump in your throat and bounced on the balls of your feet.

“Alright, guys. That’s it, time is up! I really hope you all had a wonderful experience and could I please ask you all to calmly exit the common room and I’ll meet you in the hallway.” Tony spoke up and you panicked. Bucky was still laughing and joking with the girls and it was a moment lost. But Steve still hadn’t given you your folder back and you knew he must have heard Tony.

“See you later ladies!” Bucky called out to them as they waved and blew kisses. You heard Bucky chuckle, “Man I thought they’d never leave.” He told Clint before walking out after the group.

“Uh Y/N?” Tony started but Steve looked up with glossy eyes.

“Wait Tony, I’d like to keep her a while longer, don’t worry I’ll show her out afterwards,” Steve said, Tony was confused and you were confused, was there something he found in that folder that bothered him? Were you in trouble? Oh god, maybe your letters were too personal.

“Alright, freezer burn. Rest of you follow me please.”

One by one the avengers left, except for Steve. You were still standing in front of him awkwardly, your heart beating a thousand beats per minute. You noticed he was now taking his time flicking through your folder.

“This is really beautiful.” Steve complimented, he made sure Bucky was out of earshot before he continued, “You’ve spent so much time on this, your dedication, you really meant every word you think about him don’t you?” You knew he was referring to one of your many letters of encouragement, reminding him he’s human and a good man.

“I meant it.” You replied sheepishly.

“You should meet him, Y/N. He would love this so much.”

“I can’t. Tony has already kicked everyone out.” You chuckled, reaching for your folder but Steve wasn’t giving it back just yet.

“And I’ve already told him I wanted to keep you a while longer. You’ve clearly come here to see him and it’s only right you did. FRIDAY, where did Barnes disappear to?” Steve asked the disembodied AI.

“Sergeant Barnes is in his room, Captain Rogers.” Steve sighed and rubbed his neck.

“Please tell him to come back to the common room.”

“Yes sir.” The AI responded almost immediately.

“Cap? Can I have a word?” Tony walked through the door with his arms folded. Steve nodded and handed your file back to you.

Your heart rate was still accelerating at a dangerous speed once you were left alone in the common room with your folder clutched to your chest. You were still worried Steve found something that might have bothered him, you were confused why he wanted to keep you behind while everyone else had to leave and you didn’t understand why he wanted you to meet Bucky so badly, you were already given the opportunity and it didn’t happen.

Your thoughts froze when you heard heavy footsteps in the hallway and a tall, muscular figure round the corner with his hands shoved in his pockets. His eyebrows creased together when he saw it was just you in the room and not Steve.

“You’re still here?” Bucky asked, his eyes narrowed and you gulped, nodding your head. “Not keeping you hostage is he?” He chuckled, trying to lighten the mood. A smile grew on your face as he stepped closer to you. The purest of blue eyes you’ve ever seen in your life and they were looking right at you, one side of his shaggy hair was tucked neatly behind his ear and from this distance, you saw the dog tag chain around his neck and the tags clanking under his black Henley. This was your last opportunity to say what you wanted, to give him this folder, you knew you wouldn’t get this chance again and you were grateful to Steve for helping you out.

“I um… sorry I’m a mess.” You chuckled and blinked the tears away. It was like a reunion you weren’t really prepared for.

“It’s okay, let’s take a seat.” He motioned to the couches and you followed him. He sat on the coffee table opposite you and once you were ready and collected, you spoke more clearly.

“This is for you.” You handed your folder to him and he took it gracefully. “I um…” your voice came out shaky and nervous but you kept going, “I just really have to tell you that I think you’re wonderful, a true hero, one of my heroes and um, I never really thought I’d get this opportunity to meet you in person and definitely not, um one on one, this really means the whole world to me.” Tears were starting to run freely down your cheeks at this point and Bucky sighed happily.

“You know, I’m extremely grateful for wonderful people like you. I noticed you when you walked through the door but unfortunately, I got swamped and I felt kinda bummed out myself that I didn’t even get to say hi. Thanks for coming here today and staying behind. I’m really glad you did and thank you so much for this.” He waved the folder in his hand. “I’ll definitely take a good look through it later in the privacy of my own room.” He smiled.

“I do have one thing for you to sign if that’s okay?”

“Yes of course!” He shifted on the coffee table slightly and the wood cracked under his weight. Your hands immediately covered your mouth as you tried to suppress a giggle.

“If anyone asks… that wasn’t me.” He chuckled and stood up, choosing to sit next to you instead.

“What happened to the coffee table?” Tony asked as he reappeared through the doors. “You’re here an awfully long time Missy.” Tony pointed accusingly at you.

“Sam did it and leave her alone Tony. She has Steve’s permission to be here as well as mine.” Bucky glared and your cheeks heated up. “What did you want me to sign, doll?” Your heart almost choked on its own blood vessels at the pet name you knew very much about. It was more common in the 1940s and you wondered if Bucky or Steve ever used it today as an endearment to their women.

“Make sure she’s gone so-”

“Fuck off Tony. Excuse my language, doll.” God, was he trying to kill you?

“You... you called me ‘doll’.” your breath got caught stuck in your throat.

“Twice.” He winked.

Tony muttered under his breath as he left the common room with a weird looking android following him. Once you collected your thoughts, you pulled out one of your favorite pictures of Bucky that you had printed off the internet and handed it to him. Bucky reached into his pocket to pull out a sharpie and pulled the lid off with his teeth as he signed it. Your eyes slightly wandered over to his metal hand, it was the black and gold you loved so much. You remembered reading into so much detail about the different bionic arms, this one was made in Wakanda by Shuri herself with a lot of features that weren’t disclosed to the public. It looked more comfortable than the old silver arm with the red star which symbolized Hydra.

“There we go!” His voice startled you. Your eyes shot up to meet his own and you blushed under his stare.

“Th-thank you so much.” You stammered. Feeling hotter than a cookie baking in the oven.

“You’re welcome!” He smiled, clipping the lid back on the sharpie.

“Again, I really do appreciate this. Thank you for being so humble and I hope you find the letters encouraging.” You grinned looking down at the signed photo with a long message scripted on the back that you’ll read a little later.

“Well as I said, I really appreciate you for staying behind and for the folder. I can’t wait to look through it.”

“Could I… could I be cheeky and ask for a quick selfie with you?” You bit your lip nervously. You were prepared for him to say no and that you had outstayed your welcome, so you were a bit surprised when his face lit up like a Christmas tree.

“Yes!” You pulled your phone from your pocket and brought the camera app up. Bucky scooted in closer to you. “Tag me in it so I can add it to my story.” he smiled for the camera and you clicked the button, checking the photo to make sure it was good. You thanked him for the hundredth time.

“Okay, but I doubt you’d see it.” you chuckled and stood up, putting your phone back into your pocket.

“Why’s that?” He deadpanned and you chuckled.

“Um, sir. I don’t know if you know this but you have like 50 million people following you and probably 100 million DMing you to try and talk to you.”

“Hmm. You’re right, maybe I’ll have to try and find you then.” He winked and before you could react, Tony reappeared.

“I’m leaving,” you told him before he made another snarky comment about you still being there.

“If you’re ready, would you please follow me.” He started to walk towards the door but you, for some reason kept still in your spot, contemplating whether to throw your arms around his midsection and give him a hug or walk away and regretting not hugging him. You went with the first option, and Bucky, seemingly reading your mind already had his arms opened wide and embraced you gracefully. They were big and strong, just like you had anticipated. His cologne was like sandalwood and vanilla, mixed with spearmint. Daring yourself further, you reached up on your tiptoes and kissed him quickly on the cheek.

“Thank you, Bucky. It was a pleasure meeting you.” you smiled, pulling away from his embrace. He nodded curtly towards you. Tony huffed impatiently by the door and you reluctantly walked away from your hero.

Tony led you to the elevator since it was just the two of you. You felt the need to apologize for outstaying your welcome.

“Mr. Stark I’m so sorry for staying longer I-”

“Don’t stress kid. Cap explained everything, and don’t worry I almost guarantee Barnes will be in touch when he gets to the end of your folder.” you smiled but knowing that wouldn’t be true. Bucky probably wouldn’t think about you again after today. After all, he did receive hundreds and hundreds of gifts each week.

The lavished elevator dinged and you stepped out in sync. Tony nodded to the security guard and you handed your VIP pass back to him before he opened the large glass doors for you to exit.

“Thank you again, Mr. Stark.” You walked out, taking one last look of the compound before walking down the long pebbled path once again. Once you reached the iron gates, you gave the first security guard your name and he ticked you off the list, opening the gates and allowing you to exit.

“Have a nice day, Miss.” He said and you nodded with a small smile. You walked further down the sidewalk and stopped. Turning the photo Bucky had signed for you. Smiling greatly as you read it.

Dearest Y/N,

It’s not often I get fans like yourself. You’re truly one in a million and for the record, I’m glad Steve kept you behind, I’m glad he connected us. We will meet again soon, doll. Until then, please keep safe and please keep reaching out. I notice more than you think.

Best regards,

Bucky

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awstenknyght · 3 years

Text

Big Hero Six AU Part Two!!!!!!

A/N: i finished the next part!! please give me validation i love this au so much- also disclaimer!! this is not exact to the movie because A. obviously some details have to be rearranged and B. disney should’ve let hiro say fuck and i will stand by that

Warnings: death, language, spoilers for the big hero 6 movie!!

Tags: @love-pyramus @mrlcverman @joshkatz @thatsmycigarbutyoucanborrowit @weaselweaselweasel @the-cowbi @mister-sunny-raccoon-boy @panicky-pancakes

Wheels followed Kath to another room, this one more isolated than the rest. “I want to show you what I’ve been working on.”

Katherine pulled out a roll of duct tape. She put a piece on Wheels’ arm and pulled it off quickly.

“Ow! What the fuck Kath?” Wheels said, pulling her arm back.

A small box across the room lit up and a boy rose up from it. He was tall with blonde hair. One of his eyes was a stormy blue, it almost looked like it was made of metal.

“Hello! I am Switch Eye, your personal health care companion! I was alerted to your need for medical attention when you said ‘ow.’”

“A robot?” Wheels asked, amazed. She moved closer and examined it. “Kat, this is amazing-“

“I will scan you now,” Switch continued. “Scan complete. You have a slight thermal abrasion on your forearm. I suggest an anti bacterial spray.”

Wheels watched in awe as Switch Eye sprayed something on her arm. “You must’ve done some serious coding on this thing.”

“Mouse worked on it too,” Kath replied with a shrug. “He’s gonna help a lot of people.”

Wheels grinned. This whole school was nothing like she expected. For the first time in years, she felt like she had something new to learn. And SFIT was where she needed to be.

There was a knock at the door. A man came in and smiled. “Katherine! Working the midnight oil?”

“Just picking something up, Professor,” Kath replied with a grin.

Then man spotted Wheels’ bot and picked it up. “Wow. This is an excellent piece of machinery. What’s your name?”

“Wheels, sir,” she said, tapping her fingers excitedly, ready to ramble on and on about her work. “I used magnetic-bearing servos. Wanna see how I put them together?”

“Hey genius, he invented them,” Kath called over her shoulder.

Wheels’ eyes widened. “You’re Snyder? As in Snyder’s law of robotics?”

“The one and only!” he chuckled. “You know, you have some real skill. Have you ever thought of attending here?”

“I- uh-”

“She’s pretty serious about her bot fighting career,” Katherine said with a smirk. “Ready to go?”

Wheels bit her tongue and nodded. Maybe she could go here.

As they got out to the car, Wheels stopped. “I have to go here. If I don’t, I’m gonna explode.”

“So dramatic,” Katherine said sarcastically. “You could always do the showcase?”

“Showcase?”

“Invent something that blows the judges away, and you’re in. It’s gonna be hard. You’re gonna have to give up bot fighting.”

Wheels looked down at her fighter. She had to do this. Whatever it takes, she’d get into SFIT.

***

“I have. No ideas. Brain empty.”

Wheels was surrounded by crumbled up papers and broken pencils. She had been sitting for hours. None of her ideas were good enough.

“Wow. Washed up at fourteen. So sad,” Katherine said sarcastically, not looking up from her book.

“I’m never gonna get into SFIT. I’m never gonna amount to anything.” She felt Katherine pick her up and spin her around before throwing her lightly onto the bed. “Hey! What the fuck?”

“You just need a to look at it from a new angle,” Katherine said with a shrug.

Wheels threw a pillow at her sister before something caught her eye. Her bot. What if-

Wheels grabbed the notebook off her desk and began scribbling all over it. Katherine smiled with satisfaction and went back to her half of the room.

Over the next month, Wheels worked on her project relentlessly. Finally, almost a month later, it was ready.

“Are you scared?” Katherine asked as she pushed a large recycling bin to Wheels’ assigned stage.

“What? No. You’re talking to an ex bot fighter, nothing scares me.”

“Yep, she’s scared,” Josie chimed in from behind. She’d been spending a lot more time with Katherine’s friends from school, and they were more then happy to help her out.

“Kat! Your girlfriend is bullying me!” Wheels whined.

Katherine laughed. As everyone else continued to joke around behind them, she pulled her little sister to the side. “You ready shithead?”

“Of course, asshole.” Wheels nodded her head in determination. “I have to get into this school.”

“You will,” Katherine replied. She looked through the curtains to see a small crowd gathered. “You’re on!”

Wheels took a deep breath and rolled up to the stage. This was her time to shine.

“This is a microbot,” she said, holding up a small black piece of metal. Her microphone screeched. The crowd began to look uninterested and she panicked.

Then, she caught Katherine’s eye. Her sister nodded her head and mouthed ‘Breathe.’

Wheels took a deep breathe and continued. “It might not look like much, but when it comes together with its friends,” she put on a headpiece. “Things get a little more interesting.”

The bins next to the stage tipped over and thousands of tiny bots spilled out, forming a geometric structure next to her.

“The possibilities are limitless. Building, transportation,” the bots lifted her up and moved her across the stage. “Even accessibility! You think it, microbots can do it!”

The crowd, which had grown significantly since the demonstration started, cheered. Wheels left the stage and was met with a huge hug from Katherine, as well as congratulations from Davey, Cora, and everyone else.

Wheels noticed one more person coming out from the crowd. “Dad?”

Pulitzer nodded tersely. “Excellent bots you’ve got there, Octavia. You know, we could make a lot of money mass-producing these.”

Wheels didn’t know how to respond. Her father had never said anything about her work before, barely even looked at it. And now he was willing to work with her to mass-produce them?

“Not so fast,” Snyder said, running up. “You could also wait and develop your bots, or you could sell them to someone who only cares about his own self interest.”

Snyder was giving her father an icy glare. Wheels knew the two didn’t get along, but she never questioned why. Pulitzer had a lot of enemies.

The two bickered awkwardly for a bit before she cut in. “Sorry father, but I’m not for sale.”

Snyder smiled as Pulitzer walked away, assistant in tow. “You made the right choice kid. I hope to see you at school.”

He handed her a white envelope with the school’s seal on it. Her eyes widened. No way.

The next few minutes went by in a blur. There was lots of congratulations, Cora invited everyone over for dinner, but Katherine pulled her away.

“I know what you’re gonna say,” Wheels said as she gazed at the school she’d soon be attending. In a high-pitched mocking impression of her sister’s voice, “I should be proud of myself that I’m finally doing something important with my life!”

“No, I was just gonna say that your shirts on inside out.”

“What?” she looked down at her t-shirt. Kath was right. “Fuck you.”

Katherine laughed. “Welcome to need school, nerd.”

Wheels smiled. “Thanks for being for me. I wouldn’t be here without-“

Before she could finish her thought, people stated flooding out of the building. Katherine pulled someone aside. “What’s going on? Are you okay?”

“There’s was a fire,” she coughed. “Everyone else is out, but Snyder’s still in there!”

Katherine let her go and moved towards the door. Wheels grabbed her hand. “Katherine, no. You’re gonna get hurt!”

“Snyder’s in there. Someone has to save him.” With that, Katherine ran inside.

Stupid Kath and her stupid hero complex. Wheels moved to follow her, refusing to let her do it alone.

She was blown back by an explosion of heat. Everything went black, then red. Jet head was pounding. Every sound around her was dull, as if it was happening far away. Her hearing aid must’ve fallen out.

Katherine.

There was no way she could’ve survived that. Kath was gone.

#fuck you im pinning this #PLEASE read it and talk to be about it-

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twdbegins · 3 years

Text

A Little R&R

Simon x Fem. Reader

Warnings: Some sexual references.

Word Count: 2,110

“Mmhm, well, you’re gonna see a noticeable change if you keep that up.”

Nobody has ever said that being a doctor is easy work. As a matter of fact, being in any job in medical field is probably one of the most demanding jobs there can possibly be. However, you had gone through a lot of school to become a doctor and while it was hard work, it was rewarding work. Nothing filled you with more joy than helping others. It was something that made you super passionate. It reminded you that, despite the fall, there’s still good in the world.

With that being said, there were still times when the workload did sometimes get to be a bit much. At least before, when you were in a legit hospital, you had nurses and other doctors to provide their hands-on help. Now, it was pretty much just you. If you were lucky, Simon or another savior might be able to offer some minimal help, but in an overall sense, you were on your own. Another challenge refers to the more sanitary side of things. Since you weren’t in a hospital, the infirmary wasn’t as sterilized as you wanted it to be. You cleaned the infirmary from ceiling to floor every single day and as often as you could. You always deep cleaned your tools and sterilized them, but at the end of the day there was no way for everything to be completely clean.

The worst part of it, though, was the fact that you had every single solitary patient. Obviously, if you’re the only doctor, then everyone is going to come to you. Some days you would have one person come in and some days you would have 40 people come in. It just varied from day to day. Your absolute least favorite day was check-up day. After you had been at the Sanctuary for about a year (and Negan realized you were there to stay) he found it necessary for every savior to have an annual checkup. Everyone. On the same day.

The first year you had to do it was absolute hell. Everyone showed up at random times during the day and there was no order whatsoever. However, the next year, you put a system in order. Every savior would have to come at a specific time, starting with the highest in command to the lowest (this was per Negan’s request). So, Negan always went first, Simon next, and so on and so forth. You usually averaged about one savior every fifteen minutes. Which doesn’t sound that bad, but considering there’s an average of about 150 to 200 saviors, it makes out to be a long day of work.

It was checkup day, November 11th to be exact. You had made sure to hydrate plenty the day before and get a good night of sleep, because you were not taking any breaks to try and get this over with quicker. Sure enough, you heard Negan’s familiar voice in the doorway at 6:00 A.M. sharp;

“Well, good morning, doc!” He chirped.

You gave a smile;

“Negan.” You said acknowledging his presence.

Negan always went first because he was indeed highest in command. He also liked to just get it over with so he could still get a useful day of work. He knew the drill. He stripped off his signature leather jacket, setting it on the chair in the corner with his beloved Lucille. He had this rather unsettling smirk on his face. As much as you respected him as a leader, he could be quite disrespectful to you. Not in a “I don’t respect your feelings kind of way”, but he was known as a ladies man (his multiples wives as evidence to that). It didn’t at all offend or bother him to have a woman put her hands on him, in a professional way or not. He sat on the table as you began his checkup exam. He stayed silent for a little while, but you knew it wouldn’t last. As you were listening to his lungs and overall breathing, he spoke;

“You know, if you really want to see how I can handle myself, you can close that door and I’ll just show you.” He prided.

You hushed him, waving a hand in front of his face. You couldn’t properly hear what you were listening for if he was talking. You stayed quiet as you finished listening to his lungs before you answered. You hung the stethoscope around your neck as you tested his reflexes.

“Now, that’s not a very professional thing to say to your doctor is it?” You said grabbing the reflex hammer off of the counter.

He shrugged;

“I mean, doctor-patient confidentially, right? Or does that not apply anymore?” He asked.

“No, it does...depending on who you are,” You said truthfully.

You tested Negan’s reflexes on his knees, noting that his response was a little slow;

“Reflexes are delayed,” You said taking the back of his hand and checking for dehydration. Nada. “Did you drink last night?”

He nodded as you wrote it down on his chart. He was healthy as a horse.

“Well, other than the reflexes, you’re good to go,” You said truthfully.

Negan smiled;

“Sweet,” He said getting off of the table and retrieving his jacket and weapon of choice.

“Will you send Simon in, please?” You asked.

Negan zipped his jacket;

“As long as you two promise to behave in here.” Negan said approaching the doorway and motioning for Simon who was right outside.

Simon walked in, Negan giving him a slight glare as he left. Simon raised a brow and looked at you;

“What was that about?” He asked.

You rolled your eyes;

“Turned him down. Again.” You said referring to his advances.

That wasn’t at all an uncommon occurrence. Negan was always trying to pick you up and had even thrown a marriage proposal your way before. All to which you denied and continue to deny every time. It was kind of a running joke between you and Simon now;

“Shocker,” He said pulling you to him, “Mornin’, baby.”

You gave him a quick kiss;

“Hi.” You replied.

He sat on the exam table, eager to get this over with. He hated going to the doctor, although he was willing to make an exception. You checked his eyes and ears first, both in perfect condition. You checked his lungs and breathing next, as you had done with Negan.

“Take off your shirt, please.” You asked.

He smirked as he lifted it over his head;

“Yes ma’am.” He set his shirt aside and winced at the cold metal of the stethoscope against his back.

His hands were on yours hips, rubbing in circles as you listened to his breathing and heart beat. His heart rate was a little elevated, but that was most likely from the fact that he was raking you over. You were asking just some general questions (all of which you knew the answer to) along the way. You had your hands at his neck, feeling for any swollen or tender lymph nodes;

“Have you had skin irritation or any noticeable changes to your body lately?” You asked as you felt his neck gently, his skin sensitive to the feel of your touch.

He groaned;

“Mmhm, well, you’re gonna see a noticeable change if you keep that up.” He said.

You pulled your hands away and tried not to laugh;

“Sorry. I’m almost done.” You said reaching for a tongue depressor.

“What time do you think you’ll be done?” He asked curiously.

You shrugged and gave a questionable look;

“Late for sure. Open wide,” You instructed, “Maybe midnight?”

You checked his throat for any signs of inflamed tonsils or strep throat as he attempted to speak a response that was just muffled;

“Huh?” You asked taking the depressor away.

“I said to come to my room when you do get off. I’ll be up.” He repeated.

You nodded, jotting the final notes on his chart;

“You don’t have to wait up for me.” You kindly said.

“Sure, I do. I want to.” He retorted.

You smiled, and sighed contently when you finished his examination;

“Well, my love, you are in perfectly good health.”

He laughed at your monotonous tone and slipped his shirt back on, before standing back up;

“Do you have any breaks today?” He asked.

“Nope. Straight shot from start to finish.” You replied.

He nodded with a slight grimace. He hated seeing you work yourself too hard. But you wouldn’t do it any other way. He kissed you again before leaving;

“I’ll see you tonight. Don’t work too hard.”

The day went by horribly slow. Person after person came through. You repeated the same tests over and over until you felt like you’d freaking pass out. Finally, low and behold, you examined the very last savior at around 12:15 AM. Basically 18 hours of straight work with no breaks. Honestly, it should’ve been longer than that, but some exams didn’t take as long as others. You were exhausted and drained. You cleaned the infirmary as usual, used the shower, and finally were lights out at 12:45. You locked up and straggled to Simon’s room, which felt like miles away. You walked into his room and, sure enough, he was awake and waiting for you.

You looked tired, to say the least. He offered a comforting smile;

“Hey. All done?” He asked.

“All done.” You affirmed.

Your legs and feet had never hurt so bad in your entire life. You quite literally collapsed onto the bed, letting out a sigh of relief that you felt in your soul. He sat on the end of the bed as you just took a moment to mellow out. Your feet were a horrible shade of dark pink, borderline red from the heavy blood flow from being on your feet all day.

“126. 126 saviors came through. That’s a personal record.” You said with a laugh.

Simon shook his head in disbelief;

“I don’t know how you do it. Anybody that you think will kick the bucket this year?” He asked slightly joking but also not.

You scoffed;

“From a physical health standpoint, no. Mentally though, that new guy Derek might be in for it if he doesn’t change his attitude,” You stated honestly.

“Oh, yeah. The tall redheaded guy, right? I think Richie got into a tussle with him a few weeks ago.” Simon said recalling the big fight that went down.

You hummed in affirmation as you watched him trace circles on your leg lazily with his index finger. You groaned and rubbed your face;

“My feet hurt so bad. I feel like I’ve been standing and walking all day.” You growled.

Simon got up from the bed and laughed;

“That’s because you have,” He grabbed a bottle off of the dresser and sat back down. You suddenly felt a cold presence and rubbing sensation on your leg. You looked down and let out a groan of relief upon realizing Simon was rubbing your legs and feet;

“You are an absolute angel, you know that?”

He smirked;

“I do my best.”

His hands worked wonders on your aching lower limbs and appendages. You raised a brow;

“Where did you get lotion from?” You asked examining the dark red, label-less bottle.

His hand gently gripped and slid down from your knee to your ankle;

“I have my ways,” He grinned; “I thought you outta know that by now.”

“You’re still full of surprises. I never know what tricks you have up your sleeve.” You laughed heartily.

He still grinned;

“Yeah, well, I gotta keep it interesting,” He joked, “No, but I found this last week. I’ve just been meaning to give it to you.”

The lotion’s scent was so good and so calming. You definitely could’ve fallen asleep right where you were.

“At least I know I’ll sleep good tonight.” You stated.

“Speaking of, I think it’s time to call it a night.” He said rubbing the last bit of lotion in and returning the bottle to the dresser.

You groaned and rolled over to your side of the bed with him quickly sliding into his side. You rested yourself against his side, immediately feeling like you were about to fall asleep. Before you drifted off, however, he softly said a few last words for the night;

“You really do keep this place running,” He said kissing your head, “I love you. And I’m really proud of you and everything that you do.”

You looked up at him sleepily, kissing him softly before falling asleep in the arms of the best thing that’s ever happened to you.

#simon x reader #The Walking Dead #the walking dead simon #simon the walking dead #simon twd #twd simon #simon twd x reader #simon twd fanfic #simon twd imagines #twdbegins

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mister-fleck · 5 years

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knock ‘em dead: joker x reader

Prompt: “Nsfw joker/reader, with him wearing that red suit.”

Swiping the last bit of red paint over his bottom lip, Arthur hummed in satisfaction and set down the delicate brush. He picked up his already lit cigarette from the ashtray The Murray Franklin Show provided and took a long, satisfying pull. The white filter was stained rouge like he was some sort of common whore.

“Look at you,” Arthur breathed, smoke escaping his lips like a ghost. Genuine satisfaction pulled his mouth up into a sly grin, his index fingers no longer needed. “What a handsome devil.”

He’d be lying to himself if he said he didn’t love pre-show jitters. The promise of an audience, the chance to express himself under hot, bright lights. Arthur was an entertainer, always had been, and this feeling — the white-hot anticipation of being called on stage —

It never failed to turn him on.

Arthur used to hate his body’s visceral reaction to excitement. It was universally known to be inappropriate to do a comedy act with a massive hard-on, and the inevitable throb in his pants used to force him to run to the nearest restroom, stroke himself to completion — which, in turn, aroused him even more.

The idea of getting caught. Of having a time limit. Of having to keep quiet.

But Arthur was off of his medication now. He could think clearer. Hold himself higher. Shame didn’t exist anymore.

Which is why he didn’t hesitate to palm leisurely at the front of his suit pants, blissfully alone in his dressing room.

What a high it was. Arthur retrieved his pistol from the inside of his suit and dragged the barrel of it down along the column of his throat. His cock twitched hard. It made him giggle.

Licking his lips and tasting chemicals, Arthur put out his cigarette against the brick wall and leaned back in his chair. He could hear the audience laughing on command, probably in response to some stupid, sexist quip Murray had thrown at them. If only they knew true comedy, Arthur mused, lip jutting out. What a shame.

A small monitor had been placed in the corner of the ceiling, broadcasting a live stream of the show. Bright green eyes flicked up to watch as he gripped at the base of his erection through the fabric of his slacks.

We have a very special guest in the third act of our show, Murray had stated towards the end of his opening monologue. One that I’m sure all of you, including the viewers at home, will absolutely love.

Arthur rolled his shoulders back with a moan, his leg bouncing as he tried to contain the nervous energy that buzzed about his slender frame. He swiveled back to face his reflection once more, smirked at the prominent bulge between his legs, and popped open the first button of his pants with a nimble flick of his thumb.

—

You really hated Murray Franklin.

It had been almost three years to the day that you had been hired on as a stage assistant for the beloved talk show and the excitement that once consumed you had dulled into something bleak, something vaguely annoyed.

Upon hearing Murray cut to commercial with that disgusting smile of his, you removed your pair of headphones and set them aside. Thankfully there wasn’t any grand musical act tonight, which required hasty set-up between breaks and almost always guaranteed getting griped at. You had a moment to breathe, walk around a little. Shake off the foul mood.

Excusing yourself from the rest of your colleagues, you rubbed at one of your shoulders and made your way towards the restrooms down the hall. Maybe if you splashed some water on your face, a third coffee wouldn’t be needed.

The women’s bathroom was located across the hall from the main dressing rooms, the backstage design surprisingly crowded for such a large studio, and your eyes flicked up to the name scrawled across the chalkboard placard that was attached to one of the doors.

Arthur Fleck.

The name had become a familiar one over the last two weeks. It was all the team could talk about, just how terrible this comedian was. You had only watched the man’s clip once — you didn’t find it necessary to replay his obvious discomfort over and over again for your own enjoyment. It was pretty sick, the way her fellow coworkers would snicker and hit rewind, nearly obsessed with the pain on Arthur’s face as he tried to spit out his first joke.

A muffled groan broke you out of your thoughts. You narrowed your eyes at the door, lips pursed. It had been left open a few inches and through this opening you could see newly-polished dress shoes tapping idly at the carpeted floor. You frowned, your heart going out to the guy. He must be so excited. Or nervous, probably assuming that this was his big break — when she knew fairly well that Murray had discussed beforehand the various ways in which he’d embarrass him.

You had half a mind to warn Arthur. To put an end to what may become a devastating evening for the poor man. Biting at the inside of your cheek, you hesitated before taking a step closer to the door.

Another groan. Longer this time. Low and rumbling, like a wild animal. Like a lion.

Your brows furrowed with concern. Was Arthur okay? Maybe he was feeling ill — he certainly wouldn’t be the first guest to vomit before coming on stage — and was trying to suppress the urge to get sick.

Figuring that he didn’t have anybody else in this moment, you quietly made your way closer and gently pressed your hand against the door with the intentions of opening it.

But now that you were closer, now that you were fully in the doorway, you were able to see what was really going on.

Lounging there in his pressed red suit sat Mr. Arthur Fleck, one hand lighting a new cigarette, the other wrapped confidently around his cock.

You forgot how to breathe. Immediately, your body erupted with heat, your cheeks and ears flaming, your neck flushed pink. Your modest skirt and blouse suddenly felt three sizes too tight, constricting and uncomfortable as you stood motionless by the door.

It would have been best if you turned around and let him be. If you had pretended not to see anything, if you minded your own business. But you couldn’t move, couldn’t look away from how carefully Arthur was pleasuring himself. The look on his face was dangerous, dark with want.

You felt your panties grow damp.

Instantly horrified at your own behavior, you squeezed your thighs together and felt your heart jump into your throat, your hand lifting to delicately cover your mouth. There was something about the swagger in Arthur’s posture, the way his long lashes fluttered, the way his chest heaved once more with a deep moan. It had you wildly aroused and rooted to the spot.

Then, his gaze lifted. To the mirror. To see you.

Your first instinct was to run, but Arthur spoke before you could react: “Can I help you?”

His voice was calm, almost sweet. Patient. He made no effort to hide what he was doing but paused mid-stroke as he tried to grab your attention.

Eventually, you found your voice. “No! No, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to — “

“You’ve been watching me.” Arthur squeezed at the base of his cock and your eyes dropped once more before hastily shooting back up. “Why?”

Sweating and trembling, you squirmed and gaped at him. He had caught you. “I shouldn’t have, I’ll go, I’m so sorry, Mr. Fleck.”

Arthur was quick to stop you there. “No. Come here.” A pause, where he took another drag off of his cigarette. “Close the door.”

You really shouldn’t. You shouldn’t yield to this man, you shouldn’t blindly succumb to a stranger in face paint.

But you did.

Swallowing hard, you quickly glanced around to make sure nobody was looking before slipping inside.

“Lock it, too.” Arthur added, almost as an afterthought. “Pretty please.”

With a short nod, you turned the deadbolt and shivered at the finality of the click that came with it. Your fists clenched and unclenched at your sides as your chest began to rise and fall.

“You look positively ill,” he commented, lips pushed forward in a pout. “You know, it’s me going out there tonight.” He thrust slowly up into his fist. “Not you.”

“I don’t — I don’t know what to say,” you stammered, having a hard time keeping your eyes up and off of his cock. He was beautiful sitting there, on full display. Nobody could convince you otherwise.

Like a patient professor coaxing the right answer out of his student, Arthur sat up, leaned forward, rested his elbows on his knees. “Tell me what you want,” he prompted, batting his lashes, putting on a show. “Use your words.”

Abruptly bashful, you looked at your feet, knowing that there wasn’t any way that you’d be able to give him a coherent response. You weren’t exactly sure of what you wanted in the first place.

You felt yourself throb hard. Okay, maybe that was a lie.

Arthur sighed, tucked his erection back into his pants, and got to his feet. You heard him stalk towards you, each footstep deliberate, like he was daring you to bolt. He soon stood directly in front of you, his silence eerie but sensual as he basked in the way you quivered under his stare.

Soon after, you felt your chin being lifted with the tip of his index finger. His hands were so cold. “Look at me.”

The power radiating off of him made you weak. You knew instantly that it would be unwise to disobey.

You locked eyes with him and he rolled back his shoulders, no doubt taking in the lust in your eyes, how blown your pupils were. He slowly shook his head, openly admiring you.

“Such a good girl you are,” he murmured, so hushed and sweet. “Aren’t you?”

Dizzy from his praise, you whimpered. He was so tall, and his eyes — they were so intense. You nearly forgot your own name.

Arthur splayed his hand out over your neck, teasing the sensitive skin there with his fingertips before pressing you against the back of the door. His hand wrapped around your throat, flirting with the idea of applying pressure.

When he spoke next, it was so low, for your ears only. “Would you like to be my good little girl?”

“Yes,” you answered him instantly in a breath, swooning under the height of him. There was no reason to deny it anymore, not with how his free hand had lifted to sweep hair behind your ear.

A short chuckle escaped Arthur. He was clearly enjoying himself. “And what’s the magic word?”

His grip began to tighten around your neck, enough to make you pleasantly short of breath. “Please.”

Arthur preened, taking great pleasure in your submission and remained silent before casually commanding, “Kneel.”

More than willing, you began to bend your knees but he teased you, not quite releasing the hold he had on your neck until he saw how badly you wanted to follow his instruction.

Your knees hit the carpet and he took the opportunity to loosen the collar of his dress shirt. “Look how pretty,” he cooed, stroking your cheek. He hummed once, happy with how you had smiled up at him. “Tongue out.”

Needing to steady yourself, your hands came up to clutch carefully at Arthur’s hips before you did as you were told. His erection was straining hard against the fabric of his slacks and Arthur sighed in relief as he pulled his cock free.

You couldn’t help it — with your body so wound up, with your panties soaked, you couldn’t stop yourself from surging forward to lick a stripe up along the length of him. You had wanted your mouth on Arthur the minute you saw him from the doorway.

Arthur groaned and cradled the back of your head with one hand, the other flattened against the door as he leant against it. “That’s right,” he encouraged, his nostrils flaring. “Just like that.”

Thrilled to be pleasing him, you clenched your thighs together once more and swiped your tongue over the tip of his cock, a little kitten lick. Arthur grunted, hips jerking, and you took this as a sign to continue, taking his length ever so slowly into your mouth — just in case he wanted you to stop.

But Arthur didn’t protest at your bold decision, instead tightening his grip in your hair and coaxing you further down. “There we go. That’s my girl. Mmf.”

Hooking your fingers into his belt for leverage, you hollowed your cheeks and swirled your tongue, feeling frighteningly at home and safe with him. Like you belonged there, kneeling before him. Being his girl.

As you began to languidly bob your head, he seethed in a breath and kept his eyes on you. Arthur was so handsome, an entirely different man than the one you had seen on that wretched video tape.

He was in his element, completely in control of himself now. You sucked harder.

Arthur began to tremble, struggling to keep his composure as you let the tip of his cock brush against the back of your throat.

The monitor overhead went up in volume, startling the both of you.

“Don’t touch that dial! We’ll be right back with Dr. Sally after these messages.”

Looking flustered, Arthur pushed back some loose strands of green hair that had fallen out of place in the midst of his indulgence. “Running out of time, aren’t we?”

He pulled himself out of your mouth, leaving you panting. Your efforts had left you deliciously out of breath and the way Arthur looked at you — like he really saw you. It made you want to kiss him.

“Up,” he instructed, taking most of the initiative himself when he saw how unstable you were on your feet. Your balance didn’t matter, though — because you were airborne almost instantaneously, Arthur’s hands curling behind your thighs to guide your legs around his waist. You squeaked and wrapped your arms around his neck to stop yourself from falling.

“If it weren’t for the paint, I’d kiss you,” Arthur husked, and he reached down to yank your panties aside, nearly ripping them in the process. You gasped loudly and he placed a finger to your lips, shushing you.

“Don’t worry, princess. Daddy’s got you.”

All it took was a swift roll of his hips for Arthur to slip inside of you. You were so wet, your thighs slick, and you couldn’t discipline yourself well enough to hold back a sharp, feminine cry.

Arthur didn’t hesitate to shut you up, covering your mouth with his hand, and didn’t give you any time to adjust to the size of him. Once he had found his footing, he began to fuck you so viciously, so hard that your tailbone started to ache.

Overwhelmed by it all, you felt tears roll down your cheeks, your pleasured cries muffled as you gripped onto the lapels of his suit. You were already so close to cumming — you had never been so worked up in your life.

“Gonna cum all over my cock, aren’t you?” Arthur taunted, his neck glistening with sweat as he rammed into you.

Nodding furiously, you sobbed into his hand and fluttered around him, making his hips stutter in response. He gritted his teeth and thrusted with deep, unforgiving strokes, punching each word: “What a good — little — slut.”

This sent you toppling over the edge, positively screaming against his palm as you came, your back arching. You accidentally bit down on one of his fingers and he gave you a rough laugh before pulling out of you and cumming all over your inner thigh.

Down the hall and to the right, the live jazz band on stage chose this moment to come to life, the sweeping trumpets signaling the end of the commercial break.

The two of you remained panting for a minute, breath mingling, sated and sticky with shaky limbs. Eventually, Arthur regained his focus and lowered his hand, letting out an abrupt laugh upon seeing damaged flesh.

“You bit me, you rascal.”

Winded and lightheaded, you gave him a breathless giggle and winced apologetically, “I’m sorry.”

Tickled by this, Arthur continued to laugh and lost himself briefly in the music playing outside, spinning you in a slow circle before carefully setting you down on the vanity counter. Your head spun — how could this man go from lust-crazed to light and charming so quickly?

When you looked up, Arthur had already tucked himself back into his slacks and was approaching you with a handful of tissues, taking it upon himself to gently clean the mess off of your thigh.

“Hey. Want to hear a joke?”

Still coming down from such a high, you hummed in affirmation, giving his spontaneity a sleepy smile.

Arthur took a step back to fix his attire in the mirror, lips quirking.

“Little Jonny tells his friend: My grandpa died yesterday. Friend asks: Oh, how did that happen?”

You were already giggling, entertained by the childish, high-pitched voices Arthur was putting on.

“Johnny says: He hit his thumb with a hammer. Friend exclaims: But you can’t die of that!”

Arthur smoothed back his hair, fixed the collar of his shirt. If you weren’t so enamored with him, you would have noticed the handgun being tucked away in his coat pocket.

“Johnny then tells his friend: I know, but he wouldn’t stop screaming and cursing, so we had to shoot him!”

Surprised by the dark material but enjoying it nonetheless, you concealed your sudden laughter behind your hand. He appeared to be glowing in the midst of your positive reaction, watching you with those wild, wild green eyes.

Three knocks fell upon the door. “Mr. Fleck? We’re ready for you.”

Arthur beamed, smoothed out the front of his suit. He posed for you, hands on his hips, angling his shoulders like a model would during a photoshoot. “How do I look?”

You found yourself grinning despite yourself at his silliness. “Very handsome. Knock ‘em dead, Arthur.”

He stepped forward, pressed a big, comedic smooch to the top of your head, and winked at you. “Great minds think alike.”

---

reader tag: @taintednihilist @galaxycat-1459 @hxneyboy @sebastianshoe @insomniabird @jesstaggartt @lenawiinchester @emissarydecksetter @ghoulsguilty @vampirozi @spaceinvader @aclownthing @zy-nnic @alirabbitt

(if you’d like to be added to the reader tag, shoot me a message!)

#joker #joker x reader #arthur fleck x reader #arthur fleck #joker movie #drabble

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arrantsnowdrop · 4 years

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On the Front Line - Bucky Barnes x reader (fluff)

Summary: Reader is an SSR agent working with Peggy and Colonel Phillips in Europe when the 107th is captured by HYDRA, and they're not exactly thrilled by the situation.

Warnings: mentions of violence/death, swearing, 1,967 words

A/N: Haven't written for Marvel before but the Captain America movies are all I've watched this past week and my age-old love for James Buchanan Barnes has resurfaced quite prominently. Fanfic is my coping mechanism, what can I say :/ I think I'll open requests up for at least the Cap trilogy characters (Steve, Sam, Bucky, maybe some more idk) because they're fun dudes, ya know? Hope you enjoy! :)

..........

“You mean to tell me you’re not planning a rescue mission?” you said bluntly, crossing your arms over your chest and glaring at the man sitting across from you.

Colonel Phillips sighed and nodded, not looking up from the papers he was signing.

“With all due respect sir, I think that’s stupid,” you huffed. The colonel rolled his eyes.

“Well then what would you suggest I do, agent?” he asked sarcastically. “We don’t have the men or the resources to push behind enemy lines right now.”

“We could at least try to push the enemy back, that way a rescue team would have less ground to cover before reaching the base,” you argued. Phillips shook his head.

“We’re not going to waste half our ammunition on a stunt like that,” he said dryly.

“It would give us a chance-”

“HYDRA would still kill or kidnap everyone on that rescue team, just in less time,” he retorted, exhaustion evident in his voice.

Your eyes drifted to the map that hung behind him, frowning at the triangular symbol marking the location of the HYDRA base where the men of the 107th Infantry were being held captive.

“(Y/n), you know I don’t want to let those men die there,” Phillips added mournfully, “but a rescue mission just isn’t feasible.” You bit your lip and nodded, looking down at your lap.

“I understand, sir,” you mumbled.

The SSR had transferred you to Colonel Phillip’s staff only a week before the 107th had been captured. You did not know them well, but you still felt guilty knowing there was nothing you could do to help them. You couldn’t fathom how hopeless you’d feel if you’d been taken hostage and knew no one was trying to save you.

“Colonel Phillips,” came an unfamiliar voice from behind you. You turned around, brows furrowing at the sight of the tall blond man known as “Captain America” stalking towards you, Agent Carter close behind him.

“Well, if it isn’t the ‘Star-Spangled Man With A Plan,’ what is your plan today?” Phillips asked, sarcasm dripping from his voice.

“I need the casualty list from Azzano,” the blonde said intently.

“You don’t get to give me orders, son,” Colonel Phillips replied dryly.

“I just need one name, Sergeant James Barnes from the 107th.”

The Colonel rolled his eyes and began flipping through a stack of papers on his desk. You looked up at the newcomer and gave him a small smile.

“Agent (Y/n) (L/n),” you said, sticking out your hand for him to shake. He reached out and grasped it firmly.

“Steve Rogers,” he said, nodding once and looking back up at Colonel Phillips.

“You and I are gonna have a conversation later that you won’t enjoy,” Phillips grumbled, pointing his pen at Peggy.

“Please tell me if he’s alive, sir. B-A-R-”

“I can spell,” Phillips interrupted, standing up. “I have signed more of these condolence letters today than I would care to count, but the name does sound familiar.” He turned around, facing the three of you.

“I’m sorry,” he said genuinely.

“What about the others? Are you planning a rescue mission?” Steve asked urgently.

“He is not,” you stated, glaring at the Colonel.

“I thought you were going to try to convince him to plan a rescue, (Y/n),” Peggy asked. You groaned and turned around in your seat to face her.

“I did try,” you said exasperatedly. “Clearly it didn’t work so well.”

“But if you know where they are, why not at least-” Steve started, but Phillips cut him off once again.

“They’re thirty miles behind the lines, through the most heavily fortified territory in Europe,” Phillips explained. “We’d lose more men than we’d save, but I don’t expect you to understand that, because you're a chorus girl.” You glared at Phillips sternly.

“You don’t need to be so rude,” you said, pushing yourself out of your chair and stalking away.

“(Y/n)!” Phillips called, but you shook your head and kept walking.

You respected the colonel a great deal, but you weren’t going to stand by while he made fun of well-meaning people. Poor Steve just wanted to save his friend, and that was nothing to ridicule.

Though you hated to admit it, Phillips was right. Just making it past enemy lines would be hard enough, let alone thirty miles beyond that.

“(Y/n)!”

You whipped around, squinting at Peggy and Steve as they sped towards you.

“What do you two want?” you asked suspiciously.

“I’m going to get Howard to fly Steve into Azzano,” Peggy whispered quickly, eyes darting left and right to make sure no one was listening. Your eyes widened in surprise.

“Wow, ok,” you managed, shocked that the Agent Peggy Carter was willingly disobeying Colonel Phillips’ orders.

“We need someone to distract Phillips for a few hours,” she continued. You looked up at Steve.

“You’re gonna save those men?” you asked.

“I’m going to try,” he said with a determined nod. You grinned and glanced at Peggy.

“Of course I’ll help you,” you said. “Distraction is my middle name.”

~~~~~

“Senator Brandt, I regret to report that Captain Steven G. Rogers went missing behind enemy lines on the third,” Colonel Phillips articulated, pacing slowly around the tent.

“Aerial reconnaissance has proven unfruitful. As a result, I must declare Captain Rogers killed in action. Period.”

You sighed, standing up from your seat next to the young Corporal who’d been typing down Phillips’ words.

“The last surveillance flight is back,” Peggy said as she walked in. “No sign of activity.”

“Go get a cup of coffee, Corporal,” Phillips said, the younger man nodding quickly and scurrying away. You smirked, always finding it amusing how wary Colonel Phillips’ men were of their commanding officer.

“I can’t touch Stark, he’s rich and he’s the Army’s number one weapons contractor,” Colonel Phillips said sternly. “You both are neither one.”

“With respect, sir,” Peggy started, “I don’t regret my actions. And I don’t think Captain Rogers did either.”

“(Y/n)?” Phillips asked, turning to you.

You bit your lip, looking down at the reconnaissance reports on his desk.

“I’m not sorry,” you said finally.

“Oh?”

““Attempting a rescue mission, even if it proved unsuccessful, was better than just abandoning those men,” you said, looking up at him. “Yes, the mission failed, but at least we tried.”

“What makes either of you think I give a damn about your opinions,” Colonel Phillips huffed, brows furrowing in confusion as he glanced outside.

“What the hell’s going on out there?” he muttered, watching as soldiers rushed past the tent. You shook your head, quickly following him and Peggy out to the edge of camp.

The three of you pushed through the crowds of men, curious to see what was causing such a commotion.

“Look who it is!” someone shouted excitedly.

“I can’t see anything,” you groaned, jumping to try and see over the men in front of you.

“Oh my gosh, it’s Steve,” Peggy gushed.

“It can’t be,” you muttered, eyes widening in surprise as the men in front of you moved aside, giving you a clear view of Steve Rogers leading the battered men of the 107th back into the camp.

Peggy grabbed your hand and rushed towards Steve, weaving in and out of the medics swarming the crowd of newly arrived soldiers.

“You’re late,” Peggy said to Steve, clearly not upset at all. He grinned at her and held up a battered looking transponder.

“Couldn’t call my ride,” he replied, turning to you. “Agent (L/n).”

“Captain Rogers,” you said with a wide smile. “It’s a pleasure to see you again.”

“Hey! Let’s hear it for Captain America!”

You laughed as the soldiers around you began cheering loudly, shaking your head in slight disbelief.

“I can’t believe you did it, Captain,” you said incredulously, grinning as you took in the celebratory scene around you.

“Honestly, neither can I,” said a man standing behind Steve, a small smile on his face. “But I’m damn glad he succeeded.”

Steve chuckled, turning to the brunet soldier and beckoning him to come closer.

“Buck, this is Agent (Y/n) (L/n) with the SSR,” Steve said, gesturing to you. “(Y/n), this is Sergeant James Barnes.”

“Bucky,” the man said, smiling down at you as he extended his hand towards you.

“I see you found your Sergeant, Captain,” you joked, shaking Bucky’s hand.

“Took a lot of searching to find,” Steve said admittedly.

“How come?” you asked, tilting your head to the side.

“He wasn’t with the main group of captives,” Steve explained, pointing his thumb towards Bucky. “Zola had him locked in an isolated wing.”

“Dr. Zola experimented on you?” you asked, gawking at Bucky.

“Yup,” he said with a curt nod.

“And you’re alive? Holy shit, Rogers, I’m gonna need to borrow your friend for a second or two,” you rushed, grabbing Bucky’s hand once more and pulling him towards you. Steve laughed as his friend stumbled forward, patting him on the back before turning towards Peggy.

You sped away from Steve, dodging in and out of the thick crowd while practically dragging Bucky behind you.

“Easy, tiger,” Bucky chuckled, squeezing your hand.

“Sorry!” you called, casting an apologetic look back over your shoulder to him but continuing your fast-paced trek.

“Where are you takin’ me, doll?”

“The med tent,” you replied, blushing slightly at the pet name. Thank God you weren’t facing him.

You ducked under the entrance of the large canvas tent, letting go of Bucky’s hand as you weaved your way through the bustling space. The hospital had become rather busy with the sudden influx of wounded men, so you guided Bucky into one of the less crowded areas and pointed him towards an empty examination table.

“You know, no one’s ever come back to us alive after being messed with by Zola,” you started, grabbing a notepad and pen as Bucky hopped up onto the table obediently.

“Guess that makes me special, then,” he said with a grin, swinging his legs back and forth. You laughed softly, grabbing a spare chair and rolling it closer to the table.

“Very special indeed,” you smiled, sitting down and flipping the notepad open to an empty page. “I’m going to need any information Zola revealed while you were with him, whether it’s about his experiments, or shipping orders, or anything, really.”

“He likes dark chocolate,” Bucky said thoughtfully. “Ate a lot of it while I was in there, didn’t offer me any.”

You rolled your eyes, jokingly jotting down ‘dark chocolate’ at the top of the page.

“Unfortunately, I don’t think Dr. Zola’s food preferences will help us take down HYDRA,” you said sarcastically, biting your lip to stop yourself from laughed as Bucky stuck his tongue out at you playfully.

“I think the experiment he was doing on me had something to do with human durability,” he said, leaning back and propping himself up on his elbows as he looked down as you. Your eyes widened at his sudden seriousness, quickly jotting down what he said.

“Like testing human durability?” you asked.

“Improving it,” he corrected, chewing at his bottom lip. “He wants to chemically alter human anatomy, or something like that. Make muscles and bones more resistant to damage under stress.” You looked up at him quizzically.

“Did he tell you all this?” you asked. Bucky chuckled and shook his head.

“That’s what he told his lab assistant,” he clarified. “But he also talked to himself a whole lot. He kept narrating what he was doing while he was doing it.”

“Very Type A,” you concluded, continuing to take notes.

“I think he’s lonely,” Bucky said in mock sympathy, grinning as you scoffed.

“He deserves more than loneliness,” you replied dryly. “What Zola needs is a bullet in his head.”

Bucky nodded in agreement, raising his eyebrows as he peered down at your notes. You glared at him, tilting the notepad towards your chest.

“These are confidential, mister,” you sassed.

“Oh gosh, I’m so sorry,” Bucky drawled playfully. You grinned, finishing the sentence you were writing and looking back up at him.

“You’re certainly a character, Sergeant Barnes,” you quipped, blushing as he smirked at you.

“Well, it’s not everyday I get the opportunity to impress attractive SSR agents,” he teased, “so I tend to make the most of these sorts of situations when I get the chance.” You rolled your eyes.

“And how much experience do you have charming such agents?” you questioned.

“So far, just you, doll,” he said slowly, grinning widely as you gaped at him, face flushing red.

“Well, that’s, uh, well then,” you sputtered, your resolve finally breaking.

“Cat got your tongue?” Bucky teased. You glared up at him pointedly and shook your finger at him warningly.

“You watch yourself, Barnes,” you said, the small smile on your face detracting from your attempt to ward off the attractive man sitting in front of you.

“You need any more information?” he asked with a grin. You bit your lip and nodded.

“Yes, actually,” you said slowly, the conversation suddenly becoming much more serious. “I’m going to have one of the doctors do a physical exam on you to make sure Zola’s experiments haven’t caused any permanent harm or anything like that, but we also need to know what exactly his experimentation on you entailed.”

Bucky frowned, shifting uncomfortably in his seat.

“Only if you’re comfortable, though,” you added hurriedly. “I can always get someone else if you don’t want to share with me, I promise I won’t be offended.”

“No, doll, it’s alright,” he said softly, looking up at you with his bright blue eyes. “I genuinely don’t remember much, I was unconscious most of the time.”

You nodded, jotting that down under the rest of your notes.

“I think he stuck me with some needles , but other than that I have no clue what happened in there.”

You looked up at him, frowning at how dejected his expression had become. You inched your chair closer to him, resting your hand on his thigh reassuringly.

“Hey, don’t get all upset on me, Barnes,” you said. His gaze shifted towards you, offering you a small smile.

“I just wish I could remember more,” he admitted. “It sucks knowing someone messed with your body but not having a clue as to what he did.”

“Still, you have to remember that the information you’re giving us is the most information we’ve had on Zola’s experiments in months,” you said. “Do you remember where he injected you.”

“My back, my arms,” Bucky said. “Probably more.”

“Well, based on what you’ve already said, Zola was probably trying to strengthen the muscle groups in those respective areas with his injections,” you offered. He grinned at you.

“The doctor can do some actual tests to see if anything actually changed, but that’s my theory for the time being,” you continued, standing up from your chair and stretching your arms over your head.

“You’re pretty smart, you know what?” he asked, looking up at you. You laughed, waving over an unoccupied physician.

“The SSR wouldn’t have hired me if I wasn’t, but I appreciate the compliment,” you said with a wink, turning to explain Bucky’s situation to the doctor and asking one of the nurses to fetch Colonel Phillips.

~~~~~

“Fancy seeing you here,” you said, sliding into the empty seat next to Bucky at the bar. He looked over at you with surprise written all over his face, grinning as you draped your coat on the back of your chair.

“(Y/n) (L/n),” he said incredulously. “I didn’t know you took breaks from work.”

“Only occasionally,” you quipped, waving the bartender over. “A glass of Schnapps, please.”

“You’re not at work and you’re drinking?” Bucky observed. “Jesus, who are you and what did you do with (Y/n)?”

You laughed, thanking the bartender as he set your drink down in front of you.

“Needed to unwind a little,” you explained. “Phillips is being slightly too condescending for my liking.”

“How you manage to put up with that man everyday is a mystery to me,” Bucky chuckled. You rolled your eyes.

“Technically, you put up with him everyday, too,” you pointed out. “He’s in charge of both this camp and your unit.”

“But I only have to see him like once a week,” Bucky retorted with a wave of his hand. “If I try really hard, I can pretend he doesn’t exist.” You laughed, taking a small sip of your drink.

After Steve returned, you'd traveled to London with Colonel Phillips, Steve, and the rest of the SSR agents in the camp. The last week had been spent trying to analyze the information Steve had collected about HYDRA during his rescue mission.

Much to your delight, Bucky had accompanied Steve to London. He often frequented your meetings, offering a combination of strategic insight and comic relief.

“Steve told me you’re joining his personal crusade against HYDRA,” you said. He nodded, a small smirk on his face.

“I’ve been following him around for my whole life, keeping him out of trouble,” he said thoughtfully, drinking from his own glass. “I guess I’m not ready to stop just yet.”

“He’s lucky to have you looking out for him,” you replied. He shrugged, downing the rest of his drink.

“I’m lucky to have him,” he voiced honestly. “Without him, Zola probably would’ve killed me by now.”

You bit your lip, realizing that without Steve’s sheer determination and dedication to his friend, you probably never would’ve met Bucky.

“Well, I’m glad he went back for you,” you said softly, glancing at him and blushing when you saw he was staring at you.

“I am too,” Bucky replied, a small smile on his face. “There’s this really cute agent I never would’ve met without him.”

You rolled your eyes, blush deepening as you shoved your shoulder against his playfully.

“Quit teasing,” you said, really not upset at all.

“Never, doll,” he quipped, winking at you and glancing towards the door. “How about we blow this joint and get some fresh air?”

You grinned and nodded, hopping out of your seat while Bucky set some cash down on the table. Your brows furrowed as you noticed his money covered both of your drinks.

“I can pay for myself,” you said, looking up at him.

“Of course you can, but you don’t have to,” he replied, spinning around towards where Steve was sitting with a few other men from the 107th.

“Steve!” Bucky called, his friend perking up at the sound of his voice. “I’m takin’ this lovely lady on a walk, I’ll see you later.” You swatted his hand away as he gestured towards you, Steve laughing loudly from across the room.

“Have fun!” he shouted. Bucky looked down at you and grinned.

“You ready?” he asked. You nodded, slipping your coat on, grinning as he offered you his hand.

“Such a gentleman,” you sassed, grabbing his hand and starting towards the door.

“Always for you, doll,” he replied, pulling the door open with his free hand. You grinned as the cool air hit your face, a stark contrast from the stuffy bar.

“Have you been enjoying London, Buck?” you asked.

“Hell yea,” he chuckled. “Cool buildings, cool accents, what isn’t there to love?”

“The architecture is quite cool,” you laughed.

“I’m assuming this isn’t your first time in London,” Bucky said.

“You’ve assumed correctly,” you said. “Peggy and I get called here all the time for meetings.”

“The SSR seems pretty demanding.”

“They are, but it’s for a good cause,” you replied. “The harder we work, the sooner the war’s over, I guess.”

“How long have you been working with them?” Bucky asked.

“A few years, they hired me straight out of school.” You looked up at Bucky, his face illuminated by the streetlights. “How long have you been in the army?”

“A while,” he said. “Did my training back in the states, then got shipped out here.”

The two of you were walking slowly on the sidewalk, making your way back to the building all of you were staying at.

“Did you wanna come to Europe?” you asked, leaning against his arm.

“I dunno,” he replied, rubbing small circles across the back of your hand with his thumb. “Kinda felt like an obligation, and I didn’t really have a choice. How about you?”

“It was the first job offer I got, so I felt like I couldn’t say no,” you replied thoughtfully. “I guess I was indifferent at the time, but I’m glad I made the decision I did.”

“I am, too,” he replied softly. You grinned up at him.

“Oh?” you asked. “Why’s that?”

“Never would’ve met you if you hadn’t,” he said smugly.

“Smooth,” you replied, hoping your flushed face was hidden in the dim lighting. The other day Peggy had brought up that you blushed constantly whenever Bucky was around, and unfortunately, she was right. It really wasn’t your fault, though, he was a shameless flirt.

“I’m being honest!” he grinned with a shrug of his shoulders. “War sucks, but it’s the people that make it tolerable. Steve, the guys back at camp, now you.”

“Well, I enjoy having you around, too,” you added quietly.

“Aw, you’re getting all sappy on me,” he teased, pressing his lips to the top of your head softly. You gasped, eyes widening as you looked up at him in surprise.

Bucky bit his lip, looking down at you nervously.

“Sorry if I made you uncomfortable, do-”

You cut him off swiftly, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him down for a kiss. He grasped your waist firmly with one arm, pulling you closer to him as he cradled your face in his other hand.

You pulled away reluctantly, gasping for air as your eyes met his.

“Wow, that was-”

“Pretty good,” he smiled, lips flushed and blue eyes twinkling. You grinned and shook your head, panting slightly.

“Bucky, I’d say that was way better than pretty good.”

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