#now that sounds like a joke but NO. they Will vaporize you if you touch them! they are not just slow dopey critters!! look up the Teeth !!!

[keeps-ache]

oh but really, i'm so scared of sloths

#just me hi #listen because i have the reasoning of a madman and i need to talk about these creatures #firstly. Why are they considered cute #i do Not understand- have you Seen their faces ?? they're so scary‚ if i saw that outside my window at like 3 a.m. i'd just die. no #hesitation #second. the nails. the long creepy claws‚ i. i‚ .... #just Think about it for a second #third. the teeth #nothing else to add there just look up Sloth Teeth and boom! point made #fourth. they're slow but deadly #now that sounds like a joke but NO. they Will vaporize you if you touch them! they are not just slow dopey critters!! look up the Teeth !!! #fi- WAIT hang on this is so funny i gotta show this rn hang on

[sunflowersandsapphires]

Tis the Damn Season

pairing: Matt Murdock x fem!reader

summary: Based on a request from the lovely @dorothleah, Matt and his childhood best friend have a realization at Christmastime.

warnings: smut adjacent times (it’s just spicy towards the end, nothing graphic), descriptions of family holidays (they’re positive), Christmas specific, swearing

A/n: ahhhhh this one was so difficult to write—I really hope I did the prompt justice. (Also, this is set early on in S1 but let’s just pretend that all the bombing stuff didn’t happen bc that would definitely overshadow Matt’s holidays. Plus Mrs. Cardenas was an Angel so she is still alive and living her best life somewhere outside of this piece because I said so.)

w/c: ~4k

Breathing deeply, you couldn’t help but smile as the bitter cold wind swirled around you. Despite the extreme temperatures, winter in New York was beautiful. Layers of silver clouds drifted through the city, muting the constant stream of artificial light into something less aggressive, more ethereal. The thin layer of snow covering every exposed surface created a gorgeous blank slate of sorts, like an untouched page in a child’s coloring book. Monotone and full of possibilities. It was a sight you missed dearly, so much so that your heart flipped every year when you stepped out of the airport and back into the city you were raised in.

California was beautiful too, of course–not that you’d gotten to see much of it between your 8 years of post-secondary school and 2.5 years of residency so far. Even summer breaks had been spent studying or interning, rather than visiting the gorgeous beaches or tourist attractions across the state. When you found yourself swamped with work and longing for a break, you never dreamed of California, though. Only of New York.

Which is why the winter holidays were so important to you now. This was the only opportunity you had to visit family, to visit Matt. Most years, you spent about a week with your family for Christmas and spent a few wonderful evenings with your beloved childhood-best-friend-turned-charitable-defense-attorney, but this year was unique.

After encouraging your parents to take a much needed vacation, you’d mentioned to Matt that you were struggling to find a hotel to house you for the holidays. Charming and protective man that he was, he was appalled that you hadn’t asked to stay with him instead–arguing passionately with you until you agreed to stay at his loft for a couple days rather than spend the holidays alone.

Which led you on the snow-laced journey from the baggage claim to Matt’s front door, which you studied apprehensively, hand frozen in a fist that hadn’t yet knocked. The fluttering in your stomach was inevitable, your nerves always acted up when you saw Matt, but it was especially intense when your mind was occupied with the knowledge that you’d be surrounded by him and his things for a weekend.

Blowing out a breath, you let your eyes fall shut as you knocked rapidly on the door, the percussive sound echoing the pulsing in your ears. Footsteps padded down the hallway towards you, halting at the door as it slowly creaked open.

“Hi Matty,” Your voice was quiet, your cheeks blooming with warmth as he grinned at you. His beautiful smile hadn’t changed at all, still revealing the wit and mischief of the 14 year old you’d met all those years ago at St. George College Prep.

His signature red glasses twinkled with the reflection of the flickering hallway lights. “Long time, no see, sweetheart.”

As the familiar joke vaporized your anxiety, you dove into his open arms with a squeal. He was as warm and muscular as ever, his arms tightening around you as if waiting for you to dissolve. You weren’t sure how long you stood there, basking in the comfort of his embrace and letting it melt a year of stress away.

While you were enjoying the first hug you’d received in too long, Matt remained almost rigid beneath your touch–his brain counting every second and wondering where the line would need to be drawn. He could have stayed in your grasp all day, but that wasn’t what “friends” did, right? Inhaling deeply, he pulled away from you.

“C’mon, sweet girl, let’s get you inside and warmed up.” Taking your hand, Matt guided you down the hallway and into his apartment, the sight of which made you gasp.

Strings of multicolored lights were strung around the perimeter, wrapped around every available surface in a festive tangle. A small, but otherwise impressive, fir tree stood against the massive paneled windows, smattered with glittering ornaments and candy canes.

The air suddenly felt forced out of your lungs, your breath staggering like a newborn foal as you surveyed every inch of the apartment. When your parents had booked their holiday cruise, you’d been slightly devastated–which wasn’t fair of you, since you’d encouraged them to get away for the month, but that didn’t stop your heart from aching at the thought of the traditions you’d miss. Christmas was your parents’ favorite holiday, and they went all out each year–decorating the house with gorgeous poinsettias and tinsel, buying the largest tree they could find at the local farm, stringing lights around the entire house. The festive beauty of your family home was one of your favorite sights, and you weren’t ready for the absence of decor.

But the absence never came, because you had Matt, the most amazing best friend a girl could ask for. The man who knew you inside out, and had anticipated your reaction to skipping a family Christmas, taking it upon himself to make up for their departure.

Biting your lips as tears threatened to fall, you let Matt enfold you in another hug, a drop of moisture rolling down your cheek when his lips pressed against your forehead.

“Merry Christmas, sweetheart.”

“You did all this for me? Matt, I–” Withdrawing from the shelter of his arms, you strode around the apartment, running your fingers along the wires Matt had painstakingly decked his apartment with.

“Before you get too grateful, you should know that Foggy helped.” Matt laughed, rocking from foot to foot as he waited for you to take it all in.

Giggling at his glowing blush, you nodded, “Well, you both did an amazing job. Ugh, I could kiss you right now!”

The words slipped out of your mouth without a thought, but they froze Matt in place.

Your relationship with him was unlike any of the other friendships he held. There was a flicker of something deeper–a tense heat simmering underneath every touch, a magnetism that simultaneously drew you together and forced you apart.

After knowing you for 15 years, Matt could read you as if you were composed of braille. Every inhale, every pulse of your heart, every flutter of arousal from you crafted a story of love that he was terrified of losing. Neither of you could handle the stress of a long distance relationship. So, he held you close while keeping you at arm’s length.

Or, at least, he had. The urge to abandon all logic and act on his wildest desires was growing stronger by the minute. Treading over to where you stood, admiring the Christmas tree, Matt encircled your waist with his arms, tilting his nose against your temple.

“I missed you.” He murmured against your cheek.

“I missed you too, handsome. So much.” You leaned backwards into Matt’s firm chest, tangling your fingers with his.

Swaying slightly as he held you, Matt stayed silent, allowing you to soak up every ounce of joy from each tiny detail of the holiday ambiance he had painstakingly put together. Sure, it had been a chore, but it was absolutely worth it for the skip of your heart beat, the stutter of your breath as you held back happy tears. He’d do anything to give you the Christmas you deserved, and that included enlisting Foggy as his eyes for a week of decorating.

Because he was human, and his patience could only be strained so much, he eventually pressed a kiss to your head and spun you to face him. “Ok, I think it’s about time for me to pull my responsible host card and remind you that you need to eat.”

Laughing at his smirk, you nodded eagerly. “You’re right, I’m starving.”

“Really? I had no idea.” Matt gasped in feigned surprise, sparking another round of giggles from you.

“Shut up, asshole. I was admiring your hard work! Isn’t that what you wanted me to do?” You shoved at Matt’s chest fondly.

“You’re right, I apologize,” Matt chuckled with you, rocking backwards after your playful push. “Have a taste for anything in particular?”

“Anywhere you want to take me, Matty.” You grinned.

_____________________________________________________________________

Nearly tripping over a crack in the sidewalk as you laughed brightly, you were launched into another set of giggles as Matt caught you by the elbow. Comfortably full after dining at Matt’s new favorite Thai place, the two of you ambled around the city catching up on the last year.

“Christ, you’re going to break something.” Matt sighed, but he was beaming at you. “That would honestly serve you right, though, after laughing at my pain.”

“I’m sorry Matty, but the idea of you wearing one of those bikini body shirts is amazing. Foggy is a pranking genius!” You crooned, jealous that you hadn’t been there to witness the practical joke.

“This from the woman who tricked me ruthlessly every April Fool’s Day.” Matt shook his head, biting back a grin as his mind flooded with memories from your shared childhood.

“Oh please, toothpaste oreos and salted coffee is child’s play, Murdock.” You jested, letting your joined arms grow taut as you leaned towards an enticing display in the window of a store you were passing.

“Hmm, well I’ll continue waiting for an apology then.” Matt turned his nose into the air teasingly.

“Should I buy you another Christmas gift to make up for the torture I put you through?” Without waiting for a response, you entered the doorway of the quiet little shop you’d been admiring, drawing Matt up the steps after you.

Carefully studying the rows of vibrantly colored trinkets, you felt an overwhelming sense of peace as you wandered the store. You let your mind wander as you ran your fingers along the rack of knit sweaters you were ogling. Somewhere in the rush to look through the myriad of options, you’d dropped Matt’s hand. Swiveling your head over your shoulder, your heart jumped when you didn’t see Matt behind you.

Before you had a chance to panic, a calloused hand tangled with yours, tucking you back into your friend’s warm side.

“God, Matty, I thought I lost you!”

“Don’t fret, sweetheart, I’ll always find you.” Matt murmured, his voice steady with truth as he kissed your temple.

Leaning into his touch, your heart twirled at the sentiment, emotions welling up in your throat. Squeezing Matt’s hand, you coughed around the lump in your esophagus, eyes once again roaming the row of sweaters. “Did you want to get out of here? You said we were meeting your friends tonight, right?”

“Yes,” Matt answered, a bit hastily given that he was still trying to decipher your reaction to his words. “Uh, yah, we aren’t too far from Josie’s.”

“Oh my god, you didn’t tell me we’re meeting at Josie’s! Fuck, I’m glad the place hasn’t been condemned after all these years.”

“Foggy and I have done our due diligence. The health department must have our pictures taped over dart boards by now.”

“My two favorite menaces to society,” You laughed. “I’m embarrassed to admit that you may have to lead me there. My navigation of the city is a bit rusty this year.”

“You’ve been away too long.” Matt tutted in disapproval. “Far too long.”

You grew silent beside him, your fingers twitching in his hold. “I know, Matty.”

“Sorry I didn’t mean—“ He started but you interrupted.

“Oh, I know you didn’t. And I miss you too.” Matt withheld from turning to you in surprise before you corrected your statement. “I mean, I miss you and my family and the city, you know? I love California, it’s just not the same.”

Cursing yourself for fumbling over your words instead of just admitting to Matt how much you wanted to stay here with him, you tugged at your lower lip with your teeth to keep from rambling any further. Twin blooms of heat pricked across your cheeks, your eyes falling shut with regret and longing.

Matt bumped your hip with his. “Hey, don’t go quiet on me. We still have more catching up to do.”

The corner of your mouth twitched into a small smile. “Oh yah?”

“Of course! I haven’t even told you about the kitchen fire that Foggy set at Landman and Zach in the spring.”

Snorting in disbelief, you shook your head. “How on earth did you two not get fired?”

“He blamed it on a partner.” Matt grinned, making you chuckle.

The walk to Josie’s was short and filled with pleasant conversation, despite the brief hiccup. When you finally reached the familiar dive bar, you inhaled deeply, smiling at the sour odor of stale beer and tobacco.

Inside, the sticky floors and dim lighting immediately transported you back to the first time Matt brought you here, begging you to come with him to the “Jewel of Hell’s Kitchen”. Sure, it was more cubic zirconia than a diamond in the rough, but you understood why Matt loved it. The atmosphere was unmistakably familiar. No bells and whistles, just cheap beer and good company.

“This way,” Matt lead you further into the establishment, waving at Foggy and a gorgeous blonde woman who were seated near the windows.

Foggy leapt up to tackle you in a hug as soon as you were within hugging distance, crushing your lungs before you could laugh. “God, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes.”

“Way to rub it in, bud.” Matt scoffed, smirking when his business partner gave an exaggerated eye roll.

“You’ve seriously got to teach me how to keep him in line.” Foggy sighed, scowling at the dark-haired man.

“You think I know how to do that?” You chuckled incredulously. “I’m not sure that’s possible without divine intervention.”

“C’mon, you’re practically the Matt-tamer.” Foggy cajoled, spinning around to face the table. “Karen, Matt-tamer. Matt-tamer, meet our lovely receptionist, Karen Page.”

Laughing as Foggy gestures towards the seated woman, you gave her your real name.

Karen smiled brightly, reaching her hand out for you to shake.

“You know, I could’ve introduced her myself. She is my friend, after all.” Matt pouted and you grinned, placing a hand on his arm.

“We all know you would have done a great job introducing me, Matty.” You snorted, rolling your eyes to Foggy.

“Um, are we not going to comment on the fact that I’m apparently not allowed to be friends with you?” Foggy asked, taking his seat beside Karen again.

“I didn’t say that!” Matt argued, sliding into the other side of the booth.

As Matt and Foggy bickered, you and Karen exchanged a knowing smile before you headed to the bar.

Waving as you spotted Josie’s stony face, you couldn’t help but smile when she rounded the bar to give you a one-armed hug. “Hey, kid. We’ve missed ya around here.”

“So I’ve heard,” You chuckled. “Can I get a couple of beers?”

“Your boyfriend letting you pay for the drinks?” Josie shook her head in distaste.

Almost dropping the two beers she’d passed you, your mouth dropped open in surprise. “Oh, uh…”

“C’mon, don’t tell me he hasn’t made a move yet. Poor kid acts like ya hung the moon.”

Chuckling awkwardly, you shrugged. “We’re just friends, Josie.”

“Yah, yah. Heard that one before.” Josie sighed, shooing you back to the table.

Trying to refocus after her comment, you plastered a smile back on your face and took your seat next to Matt, handing him his beer.

“Thanks, sweetheart,” He leaned against you and your skin burned. You could practically hear Josie raising her eyebrows from across the bar.

“You ok?” Matt asked, tilting his head towards you. “Did Josie snap at you or something?”

“You have to cut her some slack, she’s working hard to keep this place afloat.” Foggy frowned in sympathy.

“Oh no, nothing like that, she just caught me off guard is all.” You reassured, willing your body to relax into Matt’s hold.

“How so?” Karen asked with genuine curiosity.

“Oh, er, she asked me if…” Looking at Matt hesitantly, you let the words tumble out before you could fib. “She was wondering if Matt and I were dating.”

“What did you say?” Matt murmured.

“I told her the truth. Though, I wonder if I should’ve said we were, that was always easier.” You sighed, shifting in your seat uncomfortably.

“Always?” Karen asked, eyebrows shooting skyward.

“When we were kids, people always assumed we were dating. Eventually, it was easier to say yes than explain anything.” Matt explained with a shrug.

Foggy smiled, “Ah, so this has nothing to do with the fact that you both act like you’re dating for a weekend every year?”

You and Matt immediately grew defensive, spitting out two remarks at the same time.

“We do not—“

“Are you kidding me—“

But the realization of how close you were sitting to Matt made you pause. The man in question seemed to have the same epiphany because you both jumped apart with a huff.

Foggy and Karen exchanged a glance before nodding. Clapping his hands together, Foggy changed the subject.

“So…how’s California treating our favorite medical student?”

————————————-

Sitting on the worn leather couch in Matt’s living room, you blinked sleepily, the bright LED string lights coming back into focus as you reopened your eyes. You’d hoped that the beautifully decorated tree would draw you out of your thought spiral, but it was only fueling your rapid fire thoughts. Fidgeting with the fabric of the cushion you were sitting on, you couldn’t help but think of Foggy and Josie’s parallel accusations.

You and Matt were close, that was true, but you didn’t “act like you were dating”…did you? Sure, you were pretty much constantly touching each other, and you had nicknames for each other, but that was all platonic.

Or was that just what you’d told yourself? To let yourself sign off on the emotional turmoil you experienced every year when you had to leave the man that you loved.

Fuck. You loved Matt.

“What are you thinking about?” Matt’s voice startled you, your body jumping a few inches off the couch. Handing you the mug of hot chocolate he’d prepared for you, Matt took a seat next to you, his brow folding in concern.

“Oh, uh, nothing, Matty.” You lied unconvincingly.

With a snort, Matt shuffled closer, placing a hand on your knee. “You’re a terrible liar, sweetheart. What’s on your mind?”

“Did it…bother you? What Foggy said, about us?” You asked timidly, biting your lip when his hand stilled on your leg.

“Did it bother you?” He parrots, his voice uncharacteristically small.

Laughing despite the thick tension clouding around you, you shoved your shoulder against his. “I asked you first, Murdock.”

“Fair enough.” Matt chuckled nervously, exhaling quickly before answering, “No. It didn’t bother me.”

“Permission to ask you a follow up question?” It was risky to ask for further clarification before answering yourself, but you needed to know.

“That seems like cheating, but I’ll allow it.” Matt jested, his worry poorly concealed behind his teasing tone.

“Why didn’t it bother you?”

For an intense moment, your soft question was met with icy silence. Then, he responded with a warmth you’d never heard from him. “Because I’ve known exactly what I’ve wanted with you since we met all those years ago. And, consciously or not, I decided to enjoy my time with you in that way.”

Mouth falling agape, you pondered the answer for a moment. Had you been seeking that with him too? Is that why you were more than ok with the state of your relationship every year?

Interpreting your failure to speak as unease, Matt apologized. “I’m sorry. If I’d known that you were uncomfortable about it, I wouldn’t have–”

“I never said I wasn’t ok with it, Matty.” Your voice was deep with want, your eyes focused on every twitch of his facial muscles as he processed your response. “I’ve wanted more with you for years, I just thought I was better at hiding it than I apparently was.”

Matt chuckled, resting his forehead against yours. “We’re idiots, aren’t we?”

Matt’s breath heated your face, his lips felt too far away despite them hovering over your nose. Leaning into him, you crossed the invisible boundary you’d been dancing around for over a decade. “That depends on what we do next.”

Matt’s sharp inhale sparked a shiver down your spine. Settling one hand on your waist, the other cupped your chin gently. “Do I have permission to kiss you?”

“You fucking better, Murdock.” You murmured, hands wrapping around his nape as he closed the distance between your mouths.

As his plush lips met yours, the air was forced from your lungs. The evening ambiance of the city was drowned out by the blood rushing in your ears. A jolt of adrenaline, that was heavily threaded with pure need shocked your system, drawing a soft loan from your vocal chords as his tongue prodded your bottom lip.

“Matty, please,” You whimpered as he withdrew his mouth from yours.

“What do you want, sweetheart? Use your words for me.” Matt’s smug tone prompted another moan from you.

“Want you. Please.”

“Anything for you, love.” Hiking you into his arms, Matt wove his lips between yours again as he carried you to the bedroom.

————————————

Scrunching your nose against the chill that overtook you as your foot slipped out from underneath the blankets, you retracted your leg, settling back into the cocoon of sheets and muscular arms with a sigh. Unfortunately, the abrupt temperature change had shocked your consciousness out of slumber, and now you had to face the consequences of whatever had happened last night.

Your bare back was pressed against Matt’s warm chest, each inhale of his lungs jostling you with a comforting rhythmic motion. His hands were joined atop your stomach, his thumbs rubbing circles into your skin. Whining softly, you pressed backwards into his hold, his arms tightening instinctively as you did so.

“Morning.” He murmured, pressing a kiss to your temple.” The feeling of his lips dancing across the thin skin on your head was pleasant, until your brain reminded you just how fleeting this moment would be.

“Morning.” You responded, your tone revealing your nerves.

“Hey, I can hear you working yourself up. Talk to me. Are you ok?” Matt’s brow furrowed, his blank eyes darting around you as he sat up to study you closely.

“I’m ok, Matty. Just…thinking about us, is all.” You shrugged, eyes falling closed as he placed kisses down your neck.

Hesitating before planting a kiss on your collar bone, his voice quieted. “Do you regret it?”

“Absolutely not.” Using two fingers to turn his face to you, you drew him in for a deep kiss. “God, you make me so happy, Matt. But I still have a few months left in my residency.”

“I know, sweetheart.” The clear disappointment in Matt’s voice almost shattered your composure.

“I wish things were different.” You sighed, resting your foreheads together.

“Don’t say that. You are getting a fantastic education so you can become the best pediatrician the world has ever seen. We can enjoy our time together now, that’s enough for me.” Matt’s smile didn’t quite reach his eyes, but his optimism was contagious.

“And in April?” Matt’s hand came to cup your cheek.

“I’ll be here, waiting for you, as long as you want me.”

“I’ll always want you, Matt Murdock.” You promised, threading your fingers into his hair as he kissed you with a smile.

#matt murdock #daredevil #matt murdock x reader #my writing #marvel #matt murdock x you #matt murdock fluff #matt murdock angst #matt murdock x fem!reader #matt murdock fanfic #matt murdock fanfiction #matt murdock fic #human disaster matt murdock #matt murdock my beloved #marvel's daredevil #marvel daredevil #netflix daredevil #daredevil fic #daredevil fanfiction #daredevil fanfic #daredevil mcu #daredevil netflix #charlie cox #mm #christmas fic

[stevethehairington]

"and you're trembling, but he reaches over and he touches you, like a prayer for which no words exist, and you feel your heart taking root in your body, like you've discovered something you don't even have a name for."

- you are jeff, richard siken

The back of the Winnebago is so quiet. It is so so quiet.

Four rowdy children under the same roof and not a single one of them says a word now. No jokes, no laughter, no bickering. The only sound amongst them all is their shaky inhales and measured exhales as they all marinate in this— this.

The plan that has to work, the uncertainty of what lies ahead. The heavy truth that this may very well be the last time some of them see each other.

Even Robin and her near constant stream of consciousness rambling is silent beside him. The only way he knows she's actually there is when they sail over a pothole and her shoulder bumps into his.

It's fucking eerie.

The silent knell of a death march — or ride. Whatever.

It makes Eddie's stomach turn.

Eddie is nervous. He's terrified, actually. This is bigger than anything he's ever dealt with in his life before, and he doesn't know how he's made it this far, he really doesn't.

But even more, he doesn't know how everyone else around him is so... calm. Sure, they've all done this before, it's far from their first time, but jesus fucking christ, have they really gotten used to fighting interdimensional monsters that threaten to destroy the world? Does that not scare the absolute bejesus out of them? He doesn't understand how no one else is losing their head about it. How an eleven year old is facing fucking doomsday like its nothing while he quakes in his god damn boots over here.

Eddie tightens his grip on his makeshift spear, knuckles going white. Clenches his jaw so hard he's scared he'll crack a tooth.

He tries not to think about how a cracked tooth is the least of his worries right now. How that actually doesn't even sound all that bad compared to the cracked limbs and cracked jaw and fucking vaporized eyeballs that loom in their futures. In Max's future.

Jesus christ, she's so young. Chrissy was so young. Eddie is so young.

His chest feels tight all of the sudden, his brain fuzzy and unfocused. His vision starts to go a little spotty and he can't breathe, he can't fucking breathe.

He can't fucking lose it, though, he can't. Not here, not now. Not in front of everybody else who's fucking cool as a god damn cucumber.

Eddie squeezes his eyes shut, tries to slow back down. Digs his nails into his palm until the pain of it grounds him. Brings him back.

The fist around his lungs loosens, just enough, as Eddie walks through the breathing exercises Wheeler taught him when he'd nearly lost his marbles last time.

He hasn't even noticed that the Winnebago has stopped moving. Doesn't see that it's all but emptied out. He's the only one left.

Until Steve god damn Harrington slides into the empty space beside him, close enough to touch, and says, "Hey."

Eddie startles, whole body spasming and flinching back until Steve holds up a hand like Eddie's some spooked wild horse and he's trying to ease him back down.

His heart rate slows, but he's still trembling.

Steve reaches out, and his hand curls around Eddie's wrist, thumb coming to rest just over his pulse point. His hand looks rough, still scraped to hell, covered in dirt and blood and dried bat sludge, but his touch is soft. Gentle.

Despite that, it's still solid. Grounding in a way that Eddie needs.

Eddie looks over, because how could he not, and Steve's... he's already looking back. His eyebrows are drawn together in concern, his mouth pursed, like he wants to say more, but chooses not to.

He looks so... he looks so.

And Eddie feels this, this thing expanding in his chest, looking into those glossy eyes, and it's— it almost feels like, like hope or something equally as ridiculous.

It makes him want to laugh, because who the hell could hope in a time like this?

This situation? It's fucking dire. And their plan? It's built on assumptions and fucking faith.

Someone isn't going to make it. That's just how these things work. Eddie's run enough campaigns with storylines just like this one to know the bitter truth of it. There are too many of them, too many moving parts, too many unpredictables. The odds are just not fucking on their side.

(And he has this terrible, horrible feeling, this rock solid pit, in the bottom of his gut, that it's going to be him.

He's the least experienced here, after all, and he's the most likely to freeze in the face of danger.

If someone's going to die today, it's going to be him.)

It's a fact that Eddie has resigned himself to. He's— he hasn't accepted it, per se, but he's acknowledged it. Has started to let it set into his bones.

It doesn't feel real. But it doesn't not feel real either.

He doesn't know what to feel anymore, really.

But Steve, with his big eyes, and his sturdy hands, and his reassuring touch — he feels a lot like hope, like something better than hope.

Something that Eddie can't quite put his finger on, but it seizes his chest in a whole new way.

Eddie wants to chase that feeling.

Wants to let himself believe.

(He knows he shouldn't.)

(Lying in the dirt and a pool of his own blood four hours later, he's glad he didn't.)

#steddie #eddie munson #steve harrington #stranger things #yeah so like. i read some siken and i uh. spiralled. #i invite you to spiral with me now #if you ignore the last two sentences the ending is actually pretty hopeful!!!!!! lol #mack writes #macks ficlets

[ornii]

Crossing a Black Cat

Wednesday Addams X Male Reader

I decided to do a few cute little short series based off of the Bitterly Beautiful Story since everyone seems to love it, this one is my favorite so far.

After defeating Crackstone with his soon to be wife and defeating Thornhill, (Y/n) regained his sight due to odd circumstances. With everything that happened, Nevermore seems to be finally at peace for now and he, Wednesday and Enid can finally live “Normal” lives. Well as “Normal” as these three can get. Their relationship was strengthened after the events of Nevermores near collapse. (Y/n) lies on Enids bed next to her, looking at his hands. Enid looks at hers.

“It’s Just, Different.. actually being able to see it instead of just making out a shape.” He says.

“Seeing colors must be new too Huh?” Enid asks.

“Well, I’ve seen them before, just not long since I’d end up vaporizing whatever I looked at so, I never got a chance to really look at color before… it’s, so off putting.” He said, “I have you and Wednesday to thank for this.” He smiles at Enid and she does as well, they turn to Wednesday, who was typing her novel.

“Babe.” He says.

“I asked you to refrain from the pet names for now, they give me nausea.” She says.

“Wouldn’t you like that though?” Enid asks and Wednesday paused to consider this.

“… You’re right, you can continue the pet names.” She said.

“Quick turnaround.” He says sarcastically as he stands up and approaches Wednesday and gets behind her, his palms gently wrapping around her waist. And a small kiss was placed on her neck. Wednesday sighed, but it was a mixture of annoyance of being touched, and relief that his love for her was genuine and true.

“So, any updates my little Black Cat?” He says and Wednesday stops typing.

“My progress has gone on blissfully, but it seems a certain warlock wishes to impede my progress by distracting me with his toxic affection.” Wednesday keeps her eyes focus but has the tiniest smirk on her face, he chuckles and kisses her cheek.

“I love you, you know that.” He says, and Wednesday purses her lips.

“I… despise you as well.” She says, she admitted her love only once, after (Y/n) came back seemingly from the hospital, after making a joke at her expense she rightfully let him have it, and before the two began to express their repressed lust for each other in front of Enid, who didn’t mind. She sits on her bed smiling at the two, her best friend and her bestie, together as a couple? She literally couldn’t ask for anything better, besides a double date with Nevermore’s premiere couple and her and Ajax. She gets up all giddy and smiles.

“You two are just, so adorbs, so…” Enid begins.

“So?” The two ask her.

“Why don’t we, Double Date?” Enid says, much to the amusement of (Y/n) and Absolute displeasure of Wednesday.”

“That sounds—“ (Y/n) was ready to say something positive, until Wednesday cuts him off.

“Positively Awful.” Wednesday says.

“What? That sounds great, We’ve never went on an official date since you absolutely despise human interaction besides me and a select few people, I’d be nice to be with you and with some friends to boot.” (Y/n) says to Wednesday who’s cold demeanor halts his warming up of her to the suggestion.

“Enid, if you know what’s good for you—“

“Wednesday… what did I said about thickly veiled threats if things don’t go well for you?” He says.

“I am not your pet, I do whatever I please. And I shall not participate in this.” Wednesday said, and (Y/n) and Enid smirk.

“Okay.” Enid says standing up, “I’ll cancel the embalming lesson at the morgue.” Enid says, to Wednesday shock.

“…Embalming?” She asks.

“Well we had planned for you and I to take that class, Ajax and Enid just wanted to do the make up for the bodies.”

“They super creep me out but I’m an awesome stylist!”

Wednesday looked at the two, actually at a loss for words.

“So, in Order for you to get this, double date.” He says.

“Emotional Blackmail, it seems I am rubbing off on you more than I expected, fine.” Wednesday admits to the smirk and joy of the two.

“Good, im kidding though, now let me go get my jacket.” He says and leaves for his dorm, Enid was all giddy trying on outfit combinations. Wednesday says nothing as Enid drones on and on, she suddenly stands up and walks to her bed and begins to fiddle with something under it, a notebook, she opens it up and flips though the pages.

“I think this is too chice, but maybe this is too mob fashion? I— Wednesday?” Enid asks, and slowly approaches.

“Whatcha doin?”

“Considering the use of this.” Wednesday says.

“And what is that?” Enid asks cautiously.

“(Y/n) refuses to teach me the Irish tounge in order to curse people, he said Id use it to curse those who give me a minor inconvenience, as if he doesn’t trust me.. so I’ve been gathering information and deciphering from what curses and spells he’s casted in my presence.

“Okay, what are you doing right now?”

“Cursing him.” Wednesday responds.

“Well.. sounds like he had you pegged right, Wednesday is this about the double date? You seriously can’t just enjoy yourself with him?” Enid argues and it turns into a classic argument. As (Y/n) was walking back to their dorm room, he suddenly saw a flash of green light from the window. Fearing the worst he ran up with speed, eventually he bursts into the room to see the oddest scene he’s even laid eyes upon, Enid and Wednesdays clothes were on the floor, and on Wednesdays bed was a, Black cat. It was being barked at by a large golden retriever.

“…What the hell?” He says, the Retriever quickly turns to him and rushes, cuddling up to him and barking and whining, she had a beautiful coat and looked like an amazing dog.

“I am so confused…” he says, until he notices that this retriever has.. Pink highlights in its fur, just like..

“Enid?” He asks, and the dog wags her tail vigorously.

“Okay If You’re Enid sit.” He says and the dog does it, without question. A look of puzzled but also stunned realization comes on his face.

“What happened?! Why are you a dog? And why are you such a good girl? Yes she is!” He says scratching her Neck which instinctively makes her all giddy again.

“Who did this?” He asks and she turns to the black cat and growls, he calms her down and approaches the cat who’s calmly sitting down on the bed.

“…Wednesday?” He says to tue cat who Just glares at him.

“You can’t be serious.” He says and kneels down to see her face to face, his eyes looking deep into her golden yellow eyes and pitch black iris.

“What did you do? Why are you a a cat?” He says and reaches out to pet her, she hisses and he reels his hand back.

“Yeah, totally Wednesday.” He says, “Okay, any idea what happened?” He says and Wednesday walks over to the book lying on the ground, (Y/n) picks it up and sees the Irish translations.

“We’re you casting this curse? I don’t recognize it, seems like you just made one up which subsequently turns you into animals, awesome… which means there’s no counter curse for it.” He says, which makes Enid sit there sadly whining, she turns her anger back to Wednesday, Growling. The Cat hissed back, it seems the two were having an argument about this, while he couldn’t understand it, you could tell Enid was rightfully pissed.

“Enid don’t be too angry, there isn’t a counter curse for it yet. I can finally put my name in the annals of history as the master of the counter curse to the, curse that doesn’t even have a name yet so I can’t be a curse— god dammit.” He says, (Y/n) sees Wednesdays writing so he knows it was her. He turns to the cat, who looks obviously angry.

“You wrote this, didn’t you?” He says, and Wednesday let’s put a small, unenthusiastic meow.

“I can’t understand that but from your tone I’m going to say yes, it’ll take me a while to develop the counter for it so…” he says and heads to the door.

“I’ll have to do some research, you guys comin?” He says and like the loyal pet she is Enid follows, Wednesday does with much less enthusiasm. Everyone watches as (Y/n) walks to the Library with a dog and a, Cat? (Y/n) enters and quickly begins to scan the shelves for a specific book, books related to curses and magic charms, taking Wednesdays notes he begins to compare the notes to what Irish curses he can find. It took him a few good hours to decipher it all.

“Hmm. Okay.. Okay! I can see what you tried to do, make me into a mindless thrall Wednesday.” He says annoyed, Wednesdays feline eyes just looked away.

“We’ll talk about this later.” He says and begins to procure the items for a counter curse, the first thing he does is head to the first for certain plants, Angelia roots and Five finger grass. But it was mostly him playing fetch with Enid with a random stick he found while Wednesday watches from a tree.

The next step was much less simple, to refine counter curse dust from a rock, which was mostly him hitting it with a knife while the two watch, and after gathering the other ingredients from Thornhills former class, which Wednesday was pushing glass bottles over, but regardless he was ready.

Be brought a cauldron into his room and sat it down, casting magic to set it aflame, after mixing everything into it and letting the flames heat it up, the liquid soon turns to a murky oil like substance.

“Alright, the Counter curse should be done in maybe an hour, only thing we can do now is wait.” He says, an unknown amount of time has passed and (Y/n) sits in a chair at his desk writing, listening to music as Wednesday sat next to him on his desk, she slowly began to curl up into a ball to sleep. Enid was at his feet, snuggled up to his leg.

“You know, this is why I don’t trust you with magic, you’re impulsive, too forward…” he begins, Wednesday opens one eye, but listens to more.

“But that’s why I love you so much, you’re so dispassionate and, but somehow so honest with yourself that I can’t really deny it. I just wish you understood that I’d do anything for you, that you don’t have to put on this act.” He admits, Wednesday considers this and closes her eyes again.

An hour later and everything is finally back, he has a cup of the odd liquid.

“Okay, the fumes from this counter curse should lift the spell, when I put it into the goblet and set it aflame. The fumes should fill the room and lift the curse. I’ll leave the room once that happens.” He says, the two look at him a bit puzzled.

“… You two lost your clothes when you transformed, so when you turn back you’ll be naked, do you really want me to be in the room when that happens?” He asks.

Enid and Wednesday growl and hiss.

“Thought so.” He says laughing and pours some into a goblet and lights it, the heavy fumes begin to emit and he steps out. He waits for a few minutes and hears a sigh of relief from Enid.

“Finally! I thought I was gonna be eating kibble forever!”

It was silent for a few minutes until he hears the door open, Wednesday steps out and the two look at each other.

“Okay, how do you feel?” He asks, she quickly wraps her arms around his neck in a deep hug, he was taken aback for the moment until he slowly accepts it and hugs her back.

“I … I as afraid I’d be the foolish feline forever, when Enid and I were arguing I cast a curse out of spite, I was wrong and.. I’m sorry.” Wednesday admits.

“You hate social interaction so much you’d curse me to be your thrall for all eternity just to miss a double date?” You say, Wednesday was dead silent for what seems to be forever.

“…Yes.” She replies and (Y/n) just laughs, he softly clenches his face and kisses her smoothly.

“You are a force of nature, but I love you, so.. are you “Feline-fine?” He asks.

“.. Yes I am fine.” Wednesdays responds.

“Good, because that was a Cat-tastrophe.”

“Stop it.”

“Why? Are you getting mad at me my Smitten Kitten.”

“I am going to scratch your eyeballs out..”

“Heh, I’d expect nothing less.. meow— ouch!”

#netflix #male reader #reader insert #wednesday #wednesday addams x male reader #wednesday addams x reader #wednesday x reader #wedensday x you #enid sinclair #enid sinclair x male reader

[psychokinetic-ectoplasm]

💞A Valentine's Surprise💞

Pairing: Ray Stantz x Female Reader

This was a request by a friend that wasn't necessarily meant to be for Valentine's Day, but it seemed too good of an opportunity to pass up. The basic premise is Ray coming home after being out ghost-busting all day to find you waiting for him with a surprise.

Happy Valentine's Day, everyone!

Also here on Ao3

NSFW

Ray shut the door behind him by leaning back against it and taking a breath. He was exhausted, and his back was aching from lugging around a proton pack all day. All he wanted was to fall into bed and sleep for twelve hours. However, soaking in the tub for a little while sounded nice, too. Maybe he could convince you to join him…

“Hey, sweetheart, I'm home!” he called, pushing off the door and slowly making his way back toward the bedroom. He wasn't entirely sure where you were, but he knew you were here. “Man, it's been a long day… I'm beat. I know I said we could go out if I got back early enough, but if it's okay with you, I could really use some sleep. The class five full roaming vapors are one thing, but we had two possessors back to back! I got lucky this time and didn't even get slimed. Venkman and Spengler weren't so fortunate. But we're all dead on our feet. Ha, sorry… Maybe that was a bad joke…”

He paused here to yawn and run a hand through his hair. He was so tired it didn't even phase him that the bedroom door was closed, which was unusual. “There's more, but I can tell you about it later. Hey, where are—”

Ray broke off, now having opened the bedroom door and realizing why it had been closed to begin with. His jaw dropped momentarily until a smile started tugging at his lips, and his body began immediately responding. Suddenly, he didn't feel so tired anymore.

You were sitting on the bed, obviously waiting for him, wearing only some red lingerie — that left very little to the imagination — and a smile.

“Hi,” he greeted, his smile widening.

You smirked in return. “Hi.”

You'd been waiting for him for nearly an hour, and his reaction was worth every second. It was as though Ray couldn't decide where to look first, which made you chuckle. You'd definitely surprised him. And in addition to yourself, you’d set out candles, flowers, and his favorite chocolates to be enjoyed later… But Ray only had eyes for you right now.

Ray stepped further into the room, approaching the bed. “What’s all this?”

“Well, it was going to be your Valentine’s gift, but if you’re too tired…”

“You know, I’m… I’m not feeling so tired anymore.”

“Yeah?”

Ray hadn’t stopped moving and was now crawling onto the bed on all fours up to you. He stopped when you were face to face. “Yeah.” 

He then looked down, letting his gaze drift over you, taking in the tantalizing view of your breasts through the sheer fabric covering them, and then lower, his breath catching and his cock hardening further within the confines of his pants as he realized that was indeed all you were wearing. There was a tie in the front that seemingly held it all together. Ray eyed it and idly bit his lip, wondering briefly if he could undo it with his teeth…

“You got this for me?” he asked, his fingers toying with the bow but not undoing it yet.

“No, I got it for me,” you teased. “For when I want to feel sexy.”

Ray grinned and softly kissed you. “You’re always sexy. Always beautiful. And this is… wow.”

You blushed and glanced away. He always had been very good at doing that. Your sweet man… “Thank you, Ray.”

“But you know… As much as I like seeing you in this…” He felt his cheeks get warm as he thought about what he was going to say.

You lifted a hand to his face, not wanting him to feel embarrassed for whatever he was thinking. It was endearing, really, the way his lustful thoughts sometimes flustered him. “What is it?”

Ray cleared his throat, unable to help but look over you again, his hands itching to touch you. He wanted you so badly… “I think I’d like it more if it were on the floor.”

Despite your cheeks still being a light shade of pink, your coy smile was back in place. “Then what are you waiting for?”

Ray gazed at you for a moment longer before moving to kiss you again, this time with a little more insistence. You hummed and raised your other hand to his face, your thumbs caressing his cheeks as the kiss gradually deepened. He didn't stay on your lips for very long, however.

He left a trail of soft kisses down to your neck, breathing in your scent as he went. You were wearing that perfume he liked so much. It made him feel a little giddy to know you'd gone all out for him. And he certainly wasn't going to let you down.

“Ray,” you whispered, stroking his hair. It was always so soft, even after a long day of ghost busting. “As much as I love you in uniform… Aren’t you a little overdressed for the occasion?”

Yeah, yeah he was. He then chuckled against your neck when he realized he was even still wearing his boots. “Guess so. Don’t worry, that’s easily fixed.”

Reluctantly, he moved away from you and sat at the end of the bed to remove his boots before standing to strip off his flight suit. You moved to the edge of the bed, raising up on your knees to help him undress the rest of the way. You tugged off his black shirt while Ray undid his belt and pants. You couldn't help but run your hands over his chest, loving the feeling of his warm skin under your palms. You were also quite fond of his chest hair...And Ray knew it, too, as evident by the sweet but slightly smug smile on his face.

Before you could get him out of his underwear, however, he kissed you and gently pushed you back onto the bed, lying you down and hovering over you. It briefly disappointed you that he wasn't letting you feel his skin against yours until you realized why. He'd left enough space to undo the tie on the front of the teddy. 

You could tell Ray was eager, but he wasn’t rushing. He carefully untied the bow and parted the fabric with the lightest caresses on your skin, making you shiver. He broke the kiss and looked into your eyes for a moment before kissing your cheek, your jaw, and finally, your neck again.

As Ray pushed aside the fabric, he trailed his hands down your sides, leaving goosebumps in his wake. His lips were still on your neck, seeking out the sweet spot he knew would drive you wild. He loved that he knew you so well, that he could elicit such sweet sounds and reactions from you. You came alive under his hands and mouth, just as he did under your ministrations. With that thought, he lifted you just enough to get the teddy off and let it fall to the floor next to the bed.

Ray found that spot on your neck at the same time he covered your breasts with his hands. You moaned and arched into his touch. He felt like he couldn't get enough of you, between lightly sucking a mark onto your neck and kneading your breasts that fit so perfectly into his hands… You were so perfect…

“Oh, Ray,” you sighed, your fingers threading through his hair.

“I love you, baby,” he whispered, brushing his lips against your skin. “I love you so much.”

With that, he moved on from your neck and began to kiss down your chest, replacing one hand with his mouth. He licked and teased your nipple, bringing it to a peak before moving to the other side. If it were up to Ray, he would have stayed there longer, maybe even move lower to taste you, but you both were too desperate and needy now, too worked up and aroused.

Ray got off of you long enough to remove his underwear. You couldn’t help but take in the sight of him naked. He was gorgeous, perfect in every aspect. He might not think himself perfect, but you did. And you wanted him. Badly. And there was no doubt he wanted you, too.

You reached for him, pulling him back on top of you by his hands. The smile on Ray’s face was soft as he let you guide him. Once your faces were close enough, your lips met in tandem, both of you humming as your skin made contact. You hooked your legs around his hips, pulling him tightly, intimately to you. Ray rocked his hips, which allowed him to grind against you.

“Raymond,” you gasped, breaking the kiss and tugging restlessly at his arms and shoulders. “Please, I need you.”

Without a word, Ray reached between the two of you, lined himself up, and pushed into you, both of you moaning at the feeling of him stretching your walls, filling you.

He groaned and pressed his forehead to yours once he was buried to the hilt. “Sweetheart, you feel so good.”

You nodded, running your hands over his back. “Oh, so do you, Ray. God…”

Ray pulled back just a bit before thrusting back in. It was not hard or fast, not yet; he just languidly rolled his hips, both of you sighing and gasping in pleasure. And things were already so slick between you from how aroused you were that Ray glided easily in and out. Your hands caressed each other anywhere you could reach. Eventually, Ray caught your hand, sliding your palms together until you could lace your fingers together. You both loved having that point of contact whenever you made love. Both of you always marveled at how much bigger his hands were than yours, and now was no different. His were so much bigger, but they fit together so perfectly. Just like your bodies did. 

But this wasn’t enough. Both of you wanted more.

Ray rolled onto his back, taking you with him. You sat up, your hands braced on his chest — your fingers curling into his chest hair — and your breath shaky as you ground your hips on him, making you both gasp. Even just like this, the feeling of him inside you was so damn good. But what felt even better was when you finally started moving on him, rising and falling, riding him with abandon until you found a rhythm that worked for both of you. Ray’s hands were tight on your hips, helping you for a few moments before he sat up, his arms wrapping around you and his lips attaching to your neck.

You could only moan in response and throw your head back. Ray moaned, too, louder than usual because you had pushed your fingers into his hair and tugged. He always loved it when you did that…

Both of you began to get desperate after that, no longer caring about finesse or savoring the moment. Passion was driving you now. Your echoed impassioned moans and cries filled the room as you both chased your releases. Ray's moans were music to your ears, and your cries of pleasure — cries interspersed with his name — drove Ray wild.

“Ray!” you whined. “Oh, God, don’t stop!”

He groaned, one hand braced behind him so he could snap his hips up to meet your movements. “I won’t,” he panted and took in the sight of you, from how your head was thrown back, the way your breasts bounced with each movement, down to where you two were joined. “God, you’re so beautiful.”

“Raymond!”

He hummed and caught your lips with his, swallowing your moans. You were so close, so desperate for release. He was making you feel. So. Good.

“Ray, baby, please… I’m so close… So close,” you panted and whined against his lips.

Ray managed a smile. “Cum for me, sweetheart. I wanna feel you cum around me.”

“Oh, Ray!” you cried, your head falling back again as your movements faltered, your body shuddering as you came.

Feeling you cum around him sent Ray over the edge right after you, a choked moan leaving him as he pulled you tightly down onto him, letting him spill deeply within you.

You clung to each other, riding out your orgasms and trembling together. You held Ray's head against your chest, and he could hear your heartbeat. 

Once the pleasure began to ebb, Ray laid back down and took you with him. You nuzzled and softly kissed his neck as your breathing returned to normal. Even after working all day, and now after this, Ray still smelled amazing. Whatever was just naturally him was intoxicating to you.

“I love you, Raymond,” you murmured.

Ray pressed a kiss to your hair. “I love you, too, sweetheart.”

The pair of you cuddled for a little while longer before you both dragged yourselves out of bed only to properly get ready for bed. Ray got done before you, and as you walked out of the bathroom, you figured you'd find him already asleep with how tired he was, but instead, you found him sitting on the bed eating some of the chocolate.

“I thought you were dead on your feet,” you teased as you blew out the candles before cuddling up next to him.

Ray immediately wrapped an arm around you. “I am, but I worked up an appetite.” He offered you a chocolate. “Want one?”

In lieu of answering, you ate it out of his hand, making a point to let your lips slide over his fingers. Ray watched you, his jaw slack. When you noticed, you smirked up at him.

“You okay?”

“You trying to get me going again?”

You caressed his cheek and ran your thumb over the delicate skin near his eye. He looked beyond tired. “You're exhausted, Ray. I don't think you could handle it.”

Ray set the chocolates aside and lay down. You followed suit, allowing him to pull the covers over you, and snuggled up with your back against his front. Ray wrapped his arms around you, keeping you close. He softly kissed behind your ear.

“If I wasn't so tired now, I'd take you up on that challenge, but…” He could feel his eyelids already getting heavy now that he was relaxing. “I'll have to take a rain check. Maybe in the morning…”

You hummed, lacing your fingers through his and holding his hand to your chest. He was warm and solid against your back. You never felt safer than in his arms. “I'm holding you to that.”

He, too, hummed, drifting off. 

“And, Ray?”

“Yeah?”

“Happy Valentine's Day.”

#my writing #ray stantz #ghostbusters #ray stantz x reader #ray stantz x female reader #valentines day

[baronessblixen]

Prompt: 11. “You lost it. Well, we lost it."

Angsty first kiss fill-in for "Paper Clip": What happened on that elevator ride? (wc: 1,093)

Tagging @today-in-fic @xffictober2023

Fictober Day 15: Temporary Insanity

“How are you, really?” Scully asks once the elevator doors have closed. Her hand is reaching out to touch him, to make sure it’s really him, that he’s here and alive.

“Feeling pretty good for someone who was dead.” Always making light of everything. Always joking in the worst possible moments. Her elation of seeing him here, of having him back when her hope was beginning to wane, fizzles out and is replaced by niggling frustration.

“It’s not funny,” she says, shoving him. Mulder’s eyes widen, stunned.

“Hey, Scully,” he says gently, with a smile. “It was just a joke. You know me.”

And yes, she does know him. She knows he runs into danger without a single care for anything in the world, except finding the truth. She’s been on his his heels for all of it, saving him when she has to, when he goes too far, and putting herself in danger in the process. And for what? For him to stand here laughing after she thought she’d lost him.

Maybe last year she would have laughed. Maybe last year she would have just rolled her eyes, declared it a classic Mulder move, and be done with it. But that was before. Before everything. This year, she’s almost her sanity and her soul. Her life – several times. Now, she almost lost him, too. And right now, it’s too much; her carefully stitched-together composure unravels.

“Do you have any idea how scared I was?” Another shove, harder. “How worried I was I’d never see you again?” Another show before she drills a finger into his chest, not far from where she shot him.

“I do, Scully. I do. I was-”

“I dreamed about you,” she says, going on undeterred. “I heard you,” she admits, angrily wiping away tears. “I felt you.” She says those words quietly, ashamed that she utters them at all. How ridiculous they sound. How ridiculous all of this is.

“I dreamed about you, too,” he says, taking her hands into his. They feel like they always have. Warm and strong; determined. “I was trying to reach out to you.”

“Yeah, well.” She huffs. “There are phones for that.”

“I wasn’t in any position to use a phone.”

“You traveled here, didn’t you?” Another shove because she needs to remind herself of his solidness, but also to have him not trespass in her personal space.

“I thought you’d be happy to see me.”

“I am,” she says. “Mulder, I am, but I-”

“You lost it,” he provides softly, cracking a small smile.

“My anger is justified,” she says and he nods.

“Well, we lost it then. And hey? I’m glad I’m standing here arguing with you, instead of being dead somewhere in a ditch. Better?”

“Yeah.” But it isn’t. How many times has she cheated death this year? Two times? Three? She’s come so close that she’s stopped counting. Every time, she just picked herself up, bought a new blouse if it was torn or bloody, threw away shoes that weren’t as lucky as she was, and calmed herself down when a nightmare tried to take her under. She’s done. She feels it in her fingertips. She feels it like a current running through her body. She needs something. Something to make her feel alive.

She doesn’t think as she grabs Mulder’s shirt with both hands, going all in. Their mouths meet in a bruising first kiss, but the pain melts away with every second that passes. She pushes Mulder against the wall and he takes her with him, his arms tightly wound around her. He lifts her and she lets him, their mouths fusing. She feels his hardness against where she’s soft and wanting. Time disappears. Everything that happened this year vaporizes between their lips. Desire is all she knows. She wants to feel his skin against hers and to taste every inch of him. Isn’t that what she deserves? What they deserve?

He’s the one who deepens the kiss, always ready to jump in first. He tastes like danger and life, salt and coffee. He tastes like Mulder. The thought brings tears to her eyes, hot and angry. She kisses him harder, trying to drive away new doubts and fears. But it doesn’t last. It was never meant to last. The elevator dings and Mulder’s arms release her. She slides down the front of his body, still feeling him. They remain that way, breathing heavily, staring at each other. His lips are swollen, and she knows hers must look the same. She licks them, still tasting Mulder, and wanting more.

“Don’t,” he says softly, closing his eyes. “Thank you for reminding me that I really am alive.” He smiles, his eyes still closed. Undoubtedly trying to shield himself from reality. She wants to apologize, but the words don’t come. She straightens her clothes and her hair; always the professional. Mulder blinks his eyes open slowly as if he were waking up.

“You’re getting out or not?” There’s an elderly man glaring at them and for the first time since they got on this elevator, Scully feels like smiling. Like laughing out loud. She bites her lip and just nods.

“Yes, sorry,” Mulder mumbles, his hand finding its place on Scully’s back. Her skin sizzles, remembering moments ago when his hand was there, too, holding her in place, holding her close.

“That was-,”

“I should haven’t,” Scully says, not looking at him. “I was just- I’ve just been under a lot of stress with you being dead- gone. Your father’s funeral and the threats and-”

“Scully.” He stops her ramblings and her walking. His face is close to hers, and she knows now what it’s like to be even closer. She knows what he tastes like, and his little noises, and where his hands go when he’s given permission. As much as she wants more of this, of this oblivion she’s only gotten a taste of, she knows it can’t happen. Won’t happen. Not while the truth is still out there, and while they’re being hunted for sports.

“I shouldn’t have done that,” she repeats. "It was a moment of temporary insanity."

“No, it wasn't and I’m glad it happened,” he says.

“There’s a but.” And he nods.

“I’m not saying I’m not interested. I think you know I, um-”

“It’s a not now,” she finishes for him.

“Yeah,” he replies. “A not now. Are we- we’re okay, right? You’re still with me?”

“Of course I am. Where are we going?”

He tells her and she follows him.

#fictober23 #i have no idea what this is #scully is angry cause i was in a mood while writing #msr #xf fanfic #my writing #my fic

[nightiingaled]

Close Your Soft Eyes | Zaer/Kirin/Ravid

TW: Smoking, Post-Sex Distress(?)

Ravid sits crisscross at the edge of the bed, trails of steam coiling from the end of a Vapor Stick in his mouth. The sleeping forms of his partners are a welcome sight in the bed, but the jitteriness – it’s there beneath his skin, begging him to leave. Leave the room behind, put it behind him as quickly as possible.

He loves them both dearly. They love Kirin: her freckles, the taut little curls of her hair, the way she giggles when the two of them are kissing her. He loves Zaer: their little laughs, the perfect shape of their nose, the gentle way their hands trail down his back.

That’s why he should leave.

They startle at the touch of someone’s lips to the skin of their shoulder, forgetting their shirt is lost to the pile at the end of the bed.

“You’re smoking – something wrong?” Zaer’s soft voice murmurs against their skin.

“Hmm.”

There are no answers Ravid wishes to give, no answer they truly KNOW. They do know sex has never been uncomfortable to them, a thing they delight in on the regular. But never like this – never with people they truly care about. Was he afraid, right now – in this moment?  

The scars across their back are touched lovingly, Zaer’s fingers tracing gentle lines across the raised damages of old. “I see.” And of all the people there in that room, perhaps Zaer is the only one who truly can know what haunts Ravid’s mind. But they could simply be saying the words without actual understanding. Who was to say.

“What’s wrong?” Another voice, Kirin – ever the one to drift lazily – asks sleepily.

“Memories,” is the only answer Zaer gives. It is the best explanation for the moment.

“Well - you know the answer to that right?”

“Hmm?” It is a sound made by Zaer and Ravid both. Though Zaer listens intently, Ravid is only half away of the other two behind him. Kirin sits up, scooting across to the end of the bed. She wraps her legs around Ravid’s back, pulling him close to her before leaning across his back, scars and all. She kisses him on the cheek before leaning into the crook of his neck. Zaer, still laying on his stomach beside them, rubs little circles in Ravid’s hand before kissing the fingers one by one.

“Our sun and sea,” she murmurs against his neck, kissing a soft line up his clavicle. “Don’t you know you’re safe here with us.”

“But you’re not safe with me,” he replies in turn, toying aimlessly with the vapor stick in his hands.

Kirin kisses the beginning of a scar at the top of his shoulder. “Nonsense.”

Zaer reaches out and touches her hand, shaking their head. Their eyes meet and there is the unspoken message—This is something she may never understand. She sighs and leans into Ravid’s shoulder once more.  

“Fine, but I want cuddles. Will you deny me my cuddles?”

Ravid exhales sharply, a little chuckle rumbling in their chest.

Kirin walks her fingers up Ravid’s spine, repeating slowly, “Will you really deny me cuddles?”

He turns around in her hold, reaching out and pulling her face to his, kissing her on the lips and leaning the two of them back into the bed. He rolls the two of them towards Zaer, reaching out across the bed and kissing Zaer across that perfect nose. Zaer resituates and becomes the one with their legs around Ravid. Kirin facing Ravid from the other side, the three become a tangle of arms and legs as they hold each other close, soft laughter suddenly erupting from Ravid in the center.

“What?” Kirin queries as the laughter spreads from Ravid to Zaer as if some shared joke had passed between them. Nothing of the sort, however, as Kirin herself becomes infected by the laughter, snorting a little.

“WHAT!” she asks again through her chuckles.

“Nothing – just – I love you. The both of you. And for once in my life—”

“We know,” the other two whisper together, leaning into Ravid.

“We know.”

#♜ drabble ⇾ ravid. #♜ drabble ⇾ zaer. #did yall want a sappy post-$ex thing?? #bc you got it

[jazzy---j]

Daughter of Poseidon: The Lightning Thief

“even the gods have to bow to fate”

Chapter Summary: A field trip suddenly becomes dangerous and traumatic, unveiling an unsettling reality for Cassie Jackson. Leaving her and her brother scrabbling for answers.

Masterlist >>> Read on ao3 (1/23)

We Accidentally Vaporize Our Pre-Algebra Teacher

This is not really how I pictured my life going. I don't know what exactly I pictured but the life of a half-blood was not it. But I am who I am for a reason.

However despite how amazing my demigod, hero life sounds, if YOU are reading this because you think you might be one of us, my advice is: close this book right now. Believe whatever lie your mom or dad told you about your birth, and try to lead a normal life. It almost is not worth it.

Being a half-blood is dangerous. It's scary. Most of the time, it gets you killed in painful, nasty ways. Which can honestly be such a drag.

If you're a normal kid, reading this because you think this is fiction, great. Congratulations. Read on. I envy you for being able to believe that this is just a fun little bit of urban fantasy escapism.

But if you recognize yourself in these pages, if you feel something stirring inside-stop reading immediately. You might be one of us. And once you know that, it's only a matter of time before they sense it too, and they'll come for you. Don't ignore it. Try and get in touch with me, with any of us and we will find you. We never leave a demigod behind.

Don't say I didn't warn you.

My name is Cassandra Jackson. But everyone just calls me Cassie. It’s faster, easier and if you call me Cassandra... well you will literally be sleeping with the fishes.

I'm eleven years old. Until a few months ago, I was in the sixth grade with my older brother Percy. We went to Yancy Academy, a private school for troubled kids in upstate New York.

Are we troubled kids? Well duh. Wouldn't be much fun if we weren't.

I could start at any point in my short miserable life to prove it, but things really started going bad last May, when our sixth-grade class took a field trip to Manhattan- twenty-eight mental-case kids and two teachers on a yellow school bus, heading to the Metropolitan Museum of Art to look at ancient Greek and Roman stuff.

I know, it sounds like a chaotic disaster. Most Yancy field trips were.

But Mr. Brunner, our Latin teacher, was leading this trip, so it may not be so bad.

Mr. Brunner was this middle-aged guy in a motorized wheelchair. He had thinning hair and a scruffy beard and a frayed tweed jacket, which always smelled like coffee. You wouldn't think he'd be cool, but he told stories and jokes and let us play games in class. He also had this awesome collection of Roman armor and weapons, so he was the only teacher whose class didn't put Percy to sleep.

I hoped the trip would be okay for us. At least, I hoped that for once Percy and I wouldn't get in trouble. Boy, was I wrong.

See, bad things happen to us on field trips. Like at our fifth-grade school, when we went to the Saratoga battlefield, Percy had this accident with a Revolutionary War cannon. He wasn't aiming for the school bus on purpose. And I still swear I didn't mean to light the wick. At the time I didn't know the thing still even worked. Percy and I were just immersing ourselves in the history of Saratoga. But of course, we got expelled anyway.

And before that, at our fourth-grade school, when we took a behind-the-scenes tour of the Marine World shark pool, Percy sort of hit the wrong lever on the catwalk, and our class took an unplanned swim.

At our third-grade school, I let out all the animals at the petting zoo. They just looked so sad, and I know this is crazy but I heard the horses just begging me to let them out. So I did, and a teacher may or may not have taken a trip to the ER.

And the time before that... Well, you get the idea.

But this time Percy and I talked it over and we decided that we had to get it together. We were determined to be good. We were gonna keep each other in check, no mess ups, no screw ups.

All the way into the city, we put up with Nancy Bobofit, the freckly, redheaded kleptomaniac girl, (also my roommate, lucky me) hitting Percy's best friend Grover in the back of the head with chunks of peanut butter-and-ketchup sandwich.

Grover was an easy target. He was scrawny. He cried when he got frustrated. He must've been held back several grades because he was the only sixth grader with acne and the start of a wispy beard on his chin. On top of all that, he was crippled. He had a note excusing him from PE for the rest of his life because he had some kind of muscular disease in his legs. He walked funny, like every step hurt him, but don't let that fool you. You should've seen him run when it was enchilada day in the cafeteria. He also had the weirdest fashion sense with a rasta cap and baggy jeans. But he was one of the greatest friends Percy has ever had, besides me of course, and I was thankful for that.

Anyway, Nancy Bobofit was throwing wads of sandwich that stuck in his curly brown hair, and she knew we couldn't do anything back to her because Percy and I were already on probation. The headmaster had threatened us with death by in-school suspension if anything bad, embarrassing, or even mildly entertaining happened on this trip.

Which is such a shame because I had so many plans.

"I'm going to kill her," Percy mumbled.

I scoffed, picking the foam out of the hole of my seat, "Get in line bro."

Grover tried to calm him down. "It's okay. I like peanut butter."

He dodged another piece of Nancy's lunch.

"That's it." Percy started to get up, but Grover and I pulled him back into the seat.

"You're already on probation," Grover reminded him.

"And you know who'll get blamed if anything happens," I added.

I grabbed his hand, "Come on Percy we talked about this."

We locked eyes, and I took a second to analyze my brother's face. Even though we weren't actually twins we still looked really similar. Both of us had wild windswept jet black hair and vibrant sea-green eyes.

“Remember what mom said, ‘“Hold fast, Perseus.””

He sighed and closed his eyes, nodding in agreement.

Looking back on it, I wish I'd let Percy deck Nancy Bobofit right then and there. Heck, I wished I'd done it. An in-school suspension would've been nothing compared to the mess I was about to get myself into.

Mr. Brunner led the museum tour.

He rode up front in his wheelchair, guiding us through the big echoey galleries, past marble statues and glass cases full of really old black-and-orange pottery.

It blew my mind that this stuff had survived for two thousand, three thousand years. Probably even longer.

He gathered us around a thirteen-foot-tall stone column with a big sphinx on the top and started telling us how it was a grave marker, a stele, for a girl about our age. He told us about the carvings on the sides. I was trying to listen to what he had to say because it was kind of interesting, but everybody around me was talking, and every time Percy or I told them to shut up, the other teacher chaperone, Mrs. Dodds, would give us the evil eye.

Mrs. Dodds was this little math teacher from Georgia who always wore a black leather jacket, even though she was fifty years old. She looked mean enough to ride a Harley right into your locker. She had come to Yancy halfway through the year when our last math teacher had a nervous breakdown.

Which I, of course, had nothing to do with.

From her first day, Mrs. Dodds loved Nancy Bobofit and figured Percy and I were devil spawns. She's not entirely wrong but, that wasn't the point.

She would point her crooked finger at us and say, "Now, honey," real sweet, and I knew we were going to get after-school detention for a month.

One time, she'd made Percy erase answers out of old math workbooks and I had to scrap gum off the bottom of all the desks in her classroom. We were both up until pass midnight. One day Percy angrily told Grover he didn't think Mrs. Dodds was human. He looked at us, real serious, and said, "You're absolutely right."

So not ominous at all. Everything's all fine and dandy.

Mr. Brunner kept talking about Greek funeral art.

Finally, Nancy Bobofit snickered something about the naked guy on the stele. I turned around to say something but Percy beat me to it exclaiming, "Will you shut up?"

It totally came out louder than he meant it to.

My big brother ladies and gentlemen.

The whole group laughed. I turned and gave them a death stare and they quickly shut up. That's right no one was gonna make fun of my brother except me. Mr. Brunner stopped his story.

"Mr. Jackson," he said, "did you have a comment?"

I dared a glance at Percy and his face was totally red. He said, "No, sir."

Mr. Brunner pointed to one of the pictures on the stele. "Perhaps you'll tell us what this picture represents?"

I looked at the carving and felt a flush of relief because we just studied this in class. Percy should remember this. "That's Kronos eating his kids, right?" Percy exclaimed.

"Yes," Mr. Brunner said, obviously not satisfied. "And he did this because..."

"Well..." Percy started trying to remember. "Kronos was the king god, and-"

"God?" Mr. Brunner asked.

"Titan," I coughed into my hand.

"Titan," he corrected himself as grabbed my hand to give a gentle squeeze in thanks.

"And... he didn't trust his kids, who were the gods. So, um, Kronos ate them, right? But his wife hid baby Zeus, and gave Kronos a rock to eat instead. And later, when Zeus grew up, he tricked his dad, Kronos, into barfing up his brothers and sisters-"

"Eeew!" said one of the girls behind me, I turned and made a face at her. Percy gripped my hand tighter in warning. I turned back around and made a face at him too. He ignored me.

"-and so there was this big fight between the gods and the Titans," He continued, "and the gods won."

Some snickers from the group.

Behind me, Nancy Bobofit mumbled to a friend, "Like we're going to use this in real life. Like it's going to say on our job applications, 'Please explain why Kronos ate his kids.'"

"And why, Miss Jackson," Brunner said, "to paraphrase Miss Bobofit's excellent question, does this matter in real life?"

"Busted," Grover muttered.

"Shut up," Nancy hissed, her face even brighter red than her hair.

At least Nancy got packed, too. Mr. Brunner was the only one who ever caught her saying anything wrong. He had horse ears.

I thought about his question, shrugged, and gave the safe non-committal answer, "I don't know, sir."

"I see." Mr. Brunner looked disappointed. "Well, half credit, Mr. and Miss. Jackson. Zeus did indeed feed Kronos a mixture of mustard and wine, which made him disgorge his other five children, who, of course, being immortal gods, had been living and growing up completely undigested in the Titan's stomach. The gods defeated their father, sliced him to pieces with his own scythe, and scattered his remains in Tartarus, the darkest part of the Underworld. On that happy note, it's time for lunch. Mrs. Dodds, would you lead us back outside?"

The class drifted off, the girls holding their stomachs, the guys pushing each other around and acting like complete morons.

Grover, Percy, and I were about to follow when Mr. Brunner said, "Mr. and Miss. Jackson."

Damn... almost made it.

Percy told Grover to keep going. Then I turned toward Mr. Brunner. "Sir?"

Mr. Brunner had this look that wouldn't let you go, intense brown eyes that could've been a thousand years old and had seen everything.

"You must learn the answer to my question," Mr. Brunner told us. "About the Titans?" Percy asked.

"About real life. And how your studies apply to it."

"Oh."

"What you learn from me," he said, "is vitally important. I expect you to treat it as such. I will accept only the best from you, Percy and Cassie Jackson."

I was kinda annoyed with that statement. He pushed us so hard.

I mean, sure, it was kind of cool on tournament days, when he dressed up in a suit of Roman armor and shouted: "What ho!'" and challenged us, sword-point against chalk, to run to the board and name every Greek and Roman person who had ever lived, and their mother, and what god they worshipped. But Mr. Brunner expected Percy and I to be as good as everybody else, despite the fact that we both have dyslexia and attention deficit disorder, and Percy and I had never made above a C- in our lives. And no he didn't expect us to be as good; he expected us to be better.

No pressure.

Percy mumbled something about trying harder, while Mr. Brunner took one long sad look at the stele like he'd been at this girl's funeral.

He told us to go outside and eat lunch.

The class gathered on the front steps of the museum, where we could watch the foot traffic along Fifth Avenue.

Overhead, a huge storm was brewing, with clouds blacker than I'd ever seen over the city. I figured maybe it was global warming or something because the weather all across New York state had been weird since Christmas. We'd had massive snowstorms, flooding, and wildfires from lightning strikes. I wouldn't have been surprised if this was a hurricane blowing in. That would actually be the least of my concerns.

Nobody else seemed to notice. Some of the guys were pelting pigeons with Lunchables crackers. Nancy Bobofit was trying to pickpocket something from a lady's purse, and, of course, Mrs. Dodds didn't see a thing. Morons.

Grover, Percy, and I sat on the edge of the fountain, away from the others. We thought that maybe if we did that, everybody wouldn't know we were from that school-the school for loser freaks who couldn't make it elsewhere.

"Detention?" Grover asked.

"Nah," Percy said. "Not from Brunner. I just wish he'd lay off me sometimes. I mean- I'm not a genius."

"You most certainly are not," I said smirking as I unwrapped my sandwich.

“Shut up, Cassie,” Percy said jokingly as he flicked my shoulder.

I stuck my tongue out at him.

Grover didn't say anything for a while. Then, when I thought he was going to give us some deep philosophical crap like they say in the movies, he said, "Can I have your apple?"

Percy shrugged and handed it to him. I offered him my granola, but he declined, and I began to feed it to the pigeons.

I watched the stream of cabs going down Fifth Avenue and thought about my mom's apartment, only a little ways uptown from where we sat. I hadn't seen her since Christmas. I wanted so badly to jump in a taxi and head home with Percy. She'd hug us and be glad to see us, but she'd be disappointed, too. She'd send us right back to Yancy, remind me that I had to try harder, even if this was our sixth school in six years and we were probably going to be kicked out again. I wouldn't be able to stand that sad look she'd give me.

I also wished that I could go visit the dance studio around the corner. I had been dancing since I was 6, my mom enrolled me to try and run off all my nervous energy and help me focus. I fell in love and have been dancing ever since. Unfortunately, I haven't been in a year because of school. I was extremely out of practice and just itching to start again.

Mr. Brunner parked his wheelchair at the base of the handicapped ramp. He ate celery while he read a paperback novel. A red umbrella stuck up from the back of his chair, making it look like a motorized cafe table. Like in those Italian romance movies that I watched from the window of Ms. Noris's fourth-story apartment across the street.

I was about to drink my juice box (yeah a juice box, sue me) when Nancy Bobofit appeared in front of us with her ugly friends-I guess she'd gotten tired of stealing from the tourists-and dumped her half-eaten lunch in Grover's lap.

"Oops." She grinned at me with her crooked teeth. Her freckles were orange as if somebody had spray-painted her face with liquid Cheetos.

I tried to stay cool. The school counselor had told me a million times, "Count to ten, get control of your temper." Sometimes, it actually worked for me. Percy on the other hand... not so much.

The next thing I knew, Nancy was sitting on her butt in the fountain, screaming, "Percy pushed me!"

Mrs. Dodds materialized next to us.

Some of the kids were whispering: "Did you see-" "-the water-"

"-like it grabbed her-"

There was no way what I just saw was real. No way. All I knew for sure was that my big brother was in trouble again.

I looked over at Percy like, "Dude, what did you do?"

As soon as Mrs. Dodds was sure poor little Nancy was okay, promising to get her a new shirt at the museum gift shop, etc., etc., Mrs. Dodds turned on us. There was a triumphant fire in her eyes as if she just proved an argument. "Now, honey-"

"I know," Percy grumbled. "A month erasing workbooks."

That wasn't the right thing to say.

"Come with me," Mrs. Dodds said, "Cassandra too!" she said almost triumphantly.

Oh great! I'm in trouble by association.

Percy froze and stared at her in disbelief, "She didn't even do anything!" he yelled.

"I'll be the judge of that Mr. Jackson!" she sneered.

"Wait!" Grover yelped. "It was me. I pushed her."

I stared at him, stunned. I couldn't believe he was trying to cover for us. Besides the fact that it was totally a bad idea, Mrs. Dodds scared Grover to death.

She glared at him so hard his whiskery chin trembled. "I don't think so, Mr. Underwood," she said.

"But-"

"You-will-stay-here."

Grover looked at me desperately.

"It's okay, man," Percy told him.

"Thanks for trying," I added.

"Honeys," Mrs. Dodds barked at us. "Now." Nancy Bobofit smirked.

Percy gave her his deluxe I'll-kill-you-later stare as he grabbed my hand.

Damn, I did not want to be on the other end of that.

Then I turned to face Mrs. Dodds, but she wasn't there. She was standing at the museum entrance, way at the top of the steps, gesturing impatiently at me to come on.

I glanced at Percy and he looked just as puzzled as I felt.

How... how did she get there so fast?

We have moments like that a lot when our brain falls asleep or something, and the next thing I know I've missed something as if a puzzle piece fell out of the universe and left me staring at the blank place behind it. The school counselor told us this was part of the ADHD, my brain misinterpreting things.

I wasn't so sure, this time. My grip on Percy's hand only tightened.

We continued after Mrs. Dodds.

Halfway up the steps, Percy turned and glanced back at Grover. He was looking pale, cutting his eyes between us and Mr. Brunner, like he wanted Mr. Brunner to notice what was going on, but Mr. Brunner was absorbed in his novel.

I looked back up. Mrs. Dodds had disappeared again. She was now inside the building, at the end of the entrance hall.

Okay, something clearly isn't right.

In any normal situation, she would make us buy a new shirt for Nancy at the gift shop. But that clearly wasn’t the plan.

We followed her deeper into the museum. When we finally caught up to her, we were back in the Greek and Roman section.

Except for us, the gallery was empty.

Mrs. Dodds stood with her arms crossed in front of a big marble frieze of the Greek gods. She was making this weird noise in her throat, like growling.

Even without the noise, I would've been nervous. It's weird being alone with a teacher, especially Mrs. Dodds. Something about the way she looked at the frieze as if she wanted to pulverize it...

"You've been giving us problems, honey," she said.

Percy said, "Yes, ma'am."

I decided to stay quiet, with my mouth we'd end up in even more trouble than we already were.

She tugged on the cuffs of her leather jacket. "Did you really think you would get away with it?" The look in her eyes was beyond mad. It was evil.

She's a teacher, I thought nervously. It's not like she's going to hurt us. I'm pretty sure that is highly illegal.

Percy said, "We-we'll try harder, ma'am." Thunder shook the building. If we were in a movie that probably means something very bad is about to happen.

"We are not fools, Percy and Cassie Jackson," Mrs. Dodds said. "It was only a matter of time before we found you out. Confess, and you will suffer less pain."

"Percy-, " I said nervously as I gripped him.

Ok, now I'm really confused.

I didn't know what she was talking about.

All I could think of was that the teachers must've found the illegal stash of candy Percy had been selling out of my dorm room. Or maybe they'd realized I'm the one who super glued the science teacher to his desk chair and let loose all the frogs in the classroom.

What can I say I enjoy chaos.

"Well?" she demanded.

"Ma'am, I don't..." I trailed off.

"Your time is up," she hissed.

Then the weirdest thing happened. Her eyes began to glow like barbecue coals. Her fingers stretched, turning into talons. Her jacket melted into large, leathery wings. She wasn't human. She was a shriveled hag with bat wings and claws and a mouth full of yellow fangs, and she was about to slice me to ribbons.

Then things got even weirder.

Mr. Brunner, who'd been out in front of the museum a minute before, wheeled his chair into the doorway of the gallery, holding a pen in his hand.

"What ho, Percy, Cassie!" he shouted, tossing a pen and small glinting object in the air. It flew so fast I could barely make it out. Mrs. Dodds lunged at us.

With a yelp, Percy and I dodged in opposite directions. I felt talons slash the air next to my ear. I snatched what I could now see was some sort of metal bracelet cuff out of the air, but when it hit my hand, it wasn't a bracelet anymore. It was a spear!

Ok...that's new. Bracelet turning into medieval murder weapon.

To my right Percy was holding a sword, the same sword Mr. Brunner used on tournament days.

Mrs. Dodds spun toward me with a murderous look in her eyes.

My knees were jelly. My hands were shaking so bad I almost dropped the spear.

She snarled, "Die, honey!"

And she flew straight at me.

Absolute terror ran through my body. I did the only thing I could do: I slashed with the spear.

The metal blade hit her shoulder and passed clean through her body, clashing and clanging with Percy's blade as he swung through with the sword.

Mrs. Dodds was a sandcastle in a power fan. She exploded into yellow powder, vaporized on the spot, leaving nothing but the smell of sulfur and a dying screech and a chill of evil in the air, as if those two glowing red eyes were still watching me.

We were alone.

The spear went limp like a wet noodle in my hands and seemed to shrink. It began to wrap around my arm and once it was done it harden again into a bracelet cuff that looked like a snake coiled around my arm. I tugged on it, trying to get it off but it wouldn't budge. I finally decided to just pull my jacket sleeve over it and deal with it later.

So.... that happened.

Mr. Brunner wasn't there. Nobody was there but us.

I ran to Percy, and he gripped me tightly in a hug. He was shaking just as badly as I was.

"Percy, what was that?" I exclaimed.

"I don't know," he said, eyes still searching the exhibit as if Mrs. Dodd's would show up again.

My hands were still trembling. My lunch must've been contaminated with magic mushrooms or something.

It was much more believable than the fever dream we just witnessed.

"Come on, let's get out of here," Percy said as he grabbed my hand and we went back outside.

It had started to rain.

Grover was sitting by the fountain, a museum map tented over his head. Nancy Bobofit was still standing there, soaked from her swim in the fountain, grumbling to her ugly friends. When she saw me, she said, "I hope Mrs. Kerr whipped your butt."

Percy stopped walking, "Who?"

"Our teacher. Duh!"

I blinked. We had no teacher named Mrs. Kerr. I asked Nancy what she was talking about. She just rolled her eyes and turned away.

Percy asked Grover where Mrs. Dodds was.

He said, "Who?"

But he paused first, and he wouldn't look at us, so I thought he was messing around.

"Not funny, dude," I told him. "This is serious."

Thunder boomed overhead.

I saw Mr. Brunner sitting under his red umbrella, reading his book as if he'd never moved.

"Stay here Cassie, I'm gonna figure out what's going on," Percy said.

He went over to Mr. Brunner.

I moved close enough to hear what they were saying but not too close in case there were any more surprises from Mr. Brunner the only other teacher on the trip. My ears strained to listen.

Mr. Brunner looked up, a little distracted. "Ah, that would be my pen. Please bring your own writing utensil in the future, Mr. Jackson."

Percy handed Mr. Brunner his pen. I hadn't even realized Percy still had that. "Sir," Percy said, "where's Mrs. Dodds?"

He stared at Percy blankly. "Who?"

"The other chaperone. Mrs. Dodds. The pre-algebra teacher."

He frowned and sat forward, looking mildly concerned. "Percy, there is no Mrs. Dodds on this trip. As far as I know, there has never been a Mrs. Dodds at Yancy Academy. Are you feeling all right?"

Yep, something is definitely going on.

chapter 2 >>>

#percy jackson and the lightning thief #percy jackson and the olympians #percy jackson’s sister #percy jackson oc #pjo stuff #pjo series #pjo oc #pjo fandom #pjo #pjoverse #pjo fanfic #percy and cassie jackson #percy jackson #percy jackson fanfic #percy jackson fanfiction #sister of percy jackson fanfic #daughter of poseidon #daughter of poseidon fanfic #daughter of poseidon and the lightning thief #cassie jackson (oc) #cassie jackson and the olympians #cassie jackson fanfic #annabeth percy jackson #poseidon #son of poseidon #black annabeth #annabeth chase #grover underwood #greek mythology #rick riordan

[mischief-rei]

≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈ go ahead.. count all 'f 'em.. 'll wait heh heh heh heh

-my god you two, you’re gonna kill me lol-

1.) Jevil has two souls within him, but you can’t touch either one easily. The souls are like vapor or a thin mist.

2.) Merlot, when really excited, he will vibrate in place like a Pomeranian. When happy and excited, his eyelight will shift into the shape of a star. This has happened twice in public, both times were towards food.

3.) Trojan can’t handle jump scares. Anytime he’s startled, he’ll freeze up and produce sounds that you’d typically hear from a tv with no signal; tv static. Once he mellows out, his brain does a hiccup and doesn’t remember what happened in the last five minutes

4.) Edna can’t cook. She tries so hard to do so for Gin’s benefit, but Gin often throws the food out when she’s not around.

5.) Rei has a fascination with the science field and will do just about anything to obtain new knowledge, even if it means she ends up being a test subject

6.) Being a very young scientist, Rei doesn’t really have the tools necessary to do much on her own. So, she borrows items from varying labs. The only thing she won’t borrow is spare souls. She sees no reason to study any other soul until she fully understood her own.

7.) Gin is germaphobic. He doesn’t do any sort of work without protecting himself and the work space. This gets in the way of many social interactions, even dating.

8.) Grief can be difficult to get along with, but she will be the most loyal companion you can make. She will fight tooth and nail to protect the people she wants to have stick around. She’s saved the lives of several monsters and humans in the past, which is why none in the mobfell area have tried to bring her in to Asgore.

9.) Red shy’s away from people due to how he’s treated by the majority in the underground instead of throwing around jokes. When he’s more comfortable around you, he may jest a little but don’t expect clean humor. His brand of humor is dark as hell or downright raunchy.

10.) Asgore (Gruff) tends to act tough around others so as to not be viewed as a weak king. When he thinks no one is looking, he’s flipping through his phone to look at adorable animal memes or photos. He owns a blog called Kibble Corner to share his adorable findings.

11.) Gruff’s blog is very popular. His following gave themselves the name ‘Big Chungus Army’. He doesn’t understand why.

12.) Nyx has the curiosity and impulse control of a ten year old (as some of you have noticed by now). He will dig around new places no matter if it’s personal affects or generic paperwork. He currently holds several author’s manuscripts for personal reading. He eventually returns them with sticky notes of ideas that he thinks will help the story progress better. Needless to say, many of those writers didn’t appreciate the feedback.

#if more are sent I’ll make more XD this is what I could cook up for now after walking around a large art fair lol #hope ya enjoy Shorty ;)

[singingcroissants]

Patch Me Up

Hello, I’m back friends!! Things have been so busy lately, but I couldn’t stay away for too long! Of course I wrote this at 11 pm instead of translating Homer like I was supposed to be lmao. This is probably terrible but I figured I’d post it bc why not ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ Enjoy!

Warnings: language, blood/injury, cheesy a$$ fluff

Note: This fic is aged up, as always!

Eyes heavy and muscles aching, you turn your key in the door.

The routine after a big fight was always the same: kick your shoes off, fumble through your dark apartment, and try not to think about whatever shitshow you just survived. But tonight, your side stung a little too much, and the blood seeping through your white t-shirt sent a shiver down your spine. Once you locked your door, you shuffled over to the bathroom sink to take inventory of your wounds. Lifting your shirt with a wince, your suspicions were confirmed. It was a shallow cut, you wouldn’t need stitches...but it was a pretty long gash, and it was definitely aggravated from rubbing against your shirt. In addition to the knife wound, you had a large bruise on your cheek, and your arms were peppered with little bruises from where the attacker grabbed you. Suddenly you froze, bile rising in your throat at the reminder of his pockmarked face and sadistic grin. Refusing to linger on the memory for too long, you splashed some water on your face, but grimaced when the action sent a searing pain into the laceration across your rib. Your vision turned white for a moment as you swayed, briefly losing your balance. Leaning your back against the bathroom wall for stability, you slid down to sit on the cold linoleum floor, head back, as you rubbed your knees in an effort to busy your shaking hands. Suddenly aware of hushed breathing coming from the doorway, you looked up, startled. To your surprise, Five Hargreeves stood in the doorway, watching you coolly. You two had a complicated relationship, constantly competing to be savior of the city. Over the 5 years you had known each other, you had never seen him smile; he was all business, all the time. What he was doing in your house on a Tuesday night, however, you couldn’t say. You were pulled from your thoughts as you felt his eyes on you.

“What happened?” He asks after a pause.

“On my way home from work I saw the Baxter Street gang following a young woman down 5th avenue, and I tried to take them on my own.” You hesitated, your pride wounded. “...It didn’t go so well.”

Five rolled his eyes, and muttered, “Yeah, I can see that.”

His jaw clenched and unclenched as his gaze slid over you. You watched him back intensely, surprised to catch a momentary glimpse of alarm in his eyes as he took in your bloody shirt and bruised cheek.

“Stand up,” he commanded.

Confused but too tired to argue, you began to rise to your feet, but not without muttering an indignant “What are you even doing here?”

To your embarrassment, the moment you stepped away from the wall you faltered, and he blinked across the room to catch you before you hit the ground. With his left hand resting on your back, and his right gripping your hip beneath your shirt, he guided you to an upright position wordlessly.

Through your haze of pain, you noted deliriously that he was making a suspiciously low number of snide remarks about your current position.

He lifted you up effortlessly and sat you on the countertop.

“Can I take this off?” he motioned to your shirt. Trying very hard to ignore the blush spreading to his ears, you whispered a faint, “Yes.”

The electricity skyrocketed when your eyes met, the tension of the moment visible in the slope of your shoulders, and Five’s bobbing adam's apple.

In a swift motion, he lifted the shirt up and stoically began cleaning your wound. You searched for any sign of concern in his face, but he showed none. Silently he worked, your heavy breathing and the buzzing electric lights the only sounds in the bathroom. Once he had disinfected the gash and carefully wrapped bandages around your waist, he quickly straightened and removed his sweater. Clearing his throat, he looked away and said casually, “Put this on.”

However grateful you were for his first aid skills, you began to grow shy at Five’s unceremonious kindness towards you. Fidgeting with the hem of your bloodstained shirt, you stubbornly said, “Oh thanks, but I’m actually perfectly comfortable in this. It’s actually designer-”

“Put it on,” he interrupted, his tone rising. A voice crack betrayed his attempt at austerity as he reigned himself in once more: “I’m not going to ask again.”

He left you staring, sweater in hand, as he turned to face away from you.

“Fine, fine... Thank you,” you conceded. You slipped off your soiled shirt with a wince, and put on Five’s sweater. It was soft -really soft- and smelled like leather and pine. You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding.

Echoing off the wall came a muffled and surprisingly gentle “You’re welcome.”

“You can turn around now, Robin Hood,” you called, in a half-hearted attempt at sarcasm. You had hoped that in using your usual nickname for him it would ease the tension in the room, but it did the opposite if anything. But maybe, you thought to yourself, the tension wasn’t necessarily unpleasant.

The two of you made your way to the couch in your living room, and within minutes Five had helped himself to your kitchen and returned with steaming mugs of tea.

Now you sat, side by side, staring into the swirling vapor rising from your cups.

Five broke the awkward silence: “You shouldn’t have tried to take on that gang by yourself, especially when you’re not prepared. That stab wound was worse than it looked, y/n. You could have been seriously hurt.” He hesitated,” Or worse.”

“Since when do you tell me what to do, Five?” you responded, heat rising to your cheeks. “You’re not my partner, you’re my competition. And what do you care, anyway? If I died, you’d have everything you ever wanted! They’d hand you the fucking key to the city!” Your emotions overtook you, exhaustion having decimated any boundaries you might have clung to otherwise. “So why the hell are you on my couch, and why am I wearing your sweater, and why does it smell so good?”

Shit.

To your surprise, Five Hargreeves laughed. He sat in front of you, mug of peppermint tea in hand, laughing. Miracles do happen, you joked to yourself, awestruck.

His laughter slowed, and your face burned bright red in the soft glow of your table lamp.

“Do you really not know why I’m here?” he asked in a low voice, suddenly more serious.

You shivered.

Closing the distance of the couch, he reached out and caressed the bruise on your cheek after a brief moment of hesitation. The uncharacteristic warmth in his eyes made yours shimmer with tears, and you weren’t quite sure why. It had been a long time since anyone looked at you like that.

“I’m here because not only would I care if you fell into harm’s way, I wouldn’t be able to live with myself. It’s impossible not to notice you when we’re both out there, trying to keep everyone safe. You’re brave, and strong, and kind. To be honest, you’re the reason I keep fighting for this city, your selfless desire to protect and care for others...I just never knew how to tell you. It didn’t seem right. But when I heard you had gotten hurt, I imagined the worst, and I just... well, I just had to tell you.”

Your heart swelled, and suddenly he was kissing your lips, his eyelashes fluttering against your cheek. One hand rested on your thigh, and his other was combing through your hair. The moment was tender and new and so very fragile, the opposite of everything you had known about Five Hargreeves. He shifted his position and leaned down to place a gentle kiss on the bruise on your cheek. You leaned into him, finally allowing yourself to give in to your fatigue from the evening’s events. Five quietly took you into his arms and began rubbing your back, calming you even further.

Normally physical touch made you shrink up, but somehow the man beside you was learning how to break down your barriers at lightning speed. Perhaps you had been closer to each other than you realized for quite some time.

In all the excitement, you felt your eyelids begin to flutter closed as you fought to stay awake.

“Darling,” Five whispered, “You can fall asleep, it’s okay. Let’s just rest.”

That was all that you needed to hear. You drifted off in his arms, his chest rising and falling slowly beneath you. The stinging in your side drifted to a dull ache, and your tight muscles began to slowly unwind themselves as you slept. And it felt good.

Now that you know what it’s like to be taken care of by someone, you don’t think you can ever go back to your old “post-fight” routine.

Five knows you won’t have to.

#five hargreeves #number five #five hargreeves x reader #five hargreeves imagine #five Hargreeves fanfic #five hargreeves fluff #tua fanfiction #umbrella academy #soft five #five x reader fluff #can you tell i like sleepy fluff scenes

[confused-stars]

Kurogiri’s Nanny Service - Part Three: Monoma

(part one) (part two)

It's a comfortable rainy afternoon, and three kids are huddled over a pile of wallets, watches and jewelry on the floorboards of Kurogiri's bar.

Keigo's small wings are puffed up in pride as Himiko admires a bracelet, rhinestones shining in the dim light when she turns it this way and that.

Tomura seems more invested in the wallets, going over the business cards and such with interest, and piling off the money and credit cards separately from the rest of the treasures.

He pauses to stuff a bill into his pocket, and Takami, who is sprawled out in a nearby booth, pries one eye open. "If you wanna have sticky fingers, you gotta be more subtle about it, brat."

How he noticed is beyond Kurogiri entirely. But it's been a point of contention how terrible Tomura really is at stealing. Or any kind of subtlety. He was never trained for that, with his sensei always telling him to just take what he wants by force, but he gets frustrated that Takami seems to catch him every time.

Keigo pouts, even as Tomura puts the money back. "C'mon, To, that's my hard earned haul! You don't even need money."

Tomura rolls his eyes. "Neither do you, beakface. Kurogiri would take care of your stuff, too, if you asked him."

Keigo's hand flies up to his nose and he makes an affronted noise.

"Not how that works, baby bunny," Takami interjects, "Villains don't wanna owe debts. Even to their friends." He gives Kurogiri a glance. " 'specially to their friends."

Kurogiri meets his gaze evenly. "Does that mean I can expect you to pay your tab today?"

Takami throws his head back and laughs as if that was the funniest joke he ever heard.

The children giggle, too.

Traitors, all of them. How is he ever going to make honest villains out of them like this?

Kurogiri decides not to complain about it, because he's the adult here and he'll act like one.

His phone vibrates in his pocket. He knows better than to ignore it, so he glances at the text he's received. It's just coordinates. That's nothing unusual. In fact, it's more common than getting sent actual words as instructions.

"I have to go," he says, already creating a portal in the air.

The children don't even react beyond small noises of acknowledgement. They're already more than used to this, too.

It's only Takami's eyes that bore into the side of Kurogiri's head as he steps through the portal, sharp and predatory. He's been asking questions about the man in charge of Kurogiri and Tomura recently. He's suspicious.

Kurogiri is not allowed to tell him more than necessary, but he understands the concern. Takami is bringing his child here, after all.

And the concern might not be unfounded - Keigo is passionate and clever, already skilled at pickpocketing, and his quirk is incredibly useful and versatile. If he weren't considered a possible future asset, Kurogiri doubts that All for One would be allowing this to continue. He's always been strictly against Tomura socializing with other children his age, or anyone at all. And now he's allowing both Keigo and Himiko. Not to mention the fully grown, dangerous villain. Tomura has never been happier, never been more stable. There has to be some kind of plan at work here that Kurogiri can't see yet. Some kind of additional angle.

The portal vanishes behind Kurogiri; that strange tension of using his quirk, of stretching it out like a well-trained muscle, dissipating at once.

He's standing in a nondescript room that he's been to many times to pick up objects to transport, or have a meeting with All for One outside of his main base of operations. Sometimes they keep prisoners in here.

This time, though, it's empty save for All for One and a small child.

Kurogiri immediately feels part of him soften, even as his guard goes up.

The boy looks to be maybe Himiko's age, six or seven, with neatly combed, blond hair and startlingly grey eyes that look awfully familiar.

"Introduce yourself," All for One says in that gentle tone he usually reserves for Tomura alone.

The child bows politely. "Hello. I'm Monoma Neito, it's nice to meet you." His words and tone are carefully formal, but there's a slight clumsiness in the way he speaks. It's, frankly, adorable. And nothing Kurogiri is used to. None of his children have manners.

"I am called Kurogiri," he replies, "It is a pleasure to meet you as well."

"Are you made of that stuff?" Neito asks pretty much immediately once the very basic niceties are done with. He waves his arms at Kurogiri's form to indicate what he means.

It's a good thing Kurogiri is used to Himiko. And the other children's bluntness, too, to some degree.

"... for the most part," he replies, and then gives All for One a questioning look.

"Neito is my grandson," his master explains, and Kurogiri can't find it in him to be shocked. They do look similar enough. "His parents are out of town on most weekends," All for One continues, "So I offered your services."

Kurogiri wants to sigh. He's not actually a nanny. Is he? If even All for One is treating him like one, he might as well put up a sign. (Tomura hardly counts, Tomura is his boy.)

"Of course." He bows his head. Neito seems well-behaved anyway, it shouldn't be much trouble.

___

Fifteen minutes later, there's a small boy hanging off of Takami's wing by his teeth, and Kurogiri has very little recollection of how they got here.

"I hate your job," Takami laments, shaking his wing with very little gentleness in an attempt to make Neito let go.

Kurogiri reaches out to hold his wing in place, and Takami freezes.

"I... apologize. I was under the impression he was a little better behaved than this." He gently nudges Takami to sit down, his wing spread out, and Neito ends up finally letting go once his only other option is to end up sprawled on the floor.

"You can't just bite people!" Himiko chides, "Even if it'll feel nice, it won't be nice for them."

Neito breathes, then shakes himself. "Your quirk is weird!" he complains.

Kurogiri nods in sudden understanding. All for One told him about this, before he left them to their own devices.

"Neito, you should not copy someone's quirk without knowing what effects it will have on you. Or at the very least you should test it in a safe environment."

Neito crosses his arms. "This is safe."

Kurogiri sighs. "Yes, it is, but you still didn't give a warning. The adults that are taking care of you need to know when you're experimenting, so we can keep you from getting hurt," he explains.

"Or ourselves," Takami grumbles.

Neito huffs. "Fine." He doesn't apologize. Kurogiri doesn't make him. He somehow doubts All for One would approve of that - he never apologizes for anything, after all.

The wing Kurogiri is still holding onto pushes against his hand.

Kurogiri glances at Takami, curious, but the thief is very pointedly avoiding his gaze.

He always tells Keigo he's 'too trusting' when he lets the other kids touch his wings, and Kurogiri has never dared to. Much less touch Takami's. It just happened on instinct this time.

The wing pushes against Kurogiri's hand again. The upper edge of it feels strong and warmer than Kurogiri expected. The feathers here aren't particularly soft when Kurogiri runs his hand along them. Not as soft as he imagines the down feathers to be, anyway.

Not that he's going to try to find out. That would be wholly inappropriate.

"You're cold as fuck," Takami complains, but he's not at all pulling away, and Kurogiri continues, trailing his hand down lower to the longer secondaries that make up most of the actual wing.

"My apologies. It's my quirk." Must be. His quirk is highly complicated and has more layers to it than he can count. Sometimes he gets strangely upset that he's not able to give Tomura warm hugs. Not that Tomura enjoys physical contact much, anyway, but Kurogiri feels like he should be able to give him some warmth, and his body under the ever-wavering vapor is cold as a corpse's.

"Your quirk sounds like a pain in the ass," Takami murmurs, "But at least it looks cool."

Kurogiri chuckles. "I'm flattered you think so."

"You got a real face under there somewhere?" Takami cranes his head back to eye Kurogiri skeptically. "Your hands feel solid enough."

Kurogiri gives a half-shrug in answer. "There's... something underneath. But I don't know what it looks like. The mist never fades."

"Mysterious... hey, can you pull out that crooked feather over there? 's itchy as all hell."

The preening thing is another family activity that Kurogiri has avoided so much as commenting on in the past. Now, he carefully tugs at the feather that's standing out from the rest of them, until it comes loose and Takami sighs in relief.

"Yeah, fuck, that's better."

"You said fuck," says Neito, behind them, and Kurogiri nearly jumps. He hadn't thought the children were paying any attention to them right now.

"Twenty minutes to corrupt a child, you're beating your own records," he says dryly to Takami, who cackles and reaches out out ruffle Neito's hair, but the boy steps back and frowns at him.

Neito is very well-kept, and Takami is kind of... well, grimy. And scary-looking. Kurogiri doesn't blame him.

"Aye, and I'll say worse words, so you better get used to it, li'l chompers."

Neito's nose crinkles when his frown deepens.

"Don't tease the child," Kurogiri scolds, feeling not for the first time like he shouldn't have to take responsibility for Takami, the thirty year old adult.

Then again, he somehow doubts that anyone taught Takami manners during his own childhood.

"Hey, why can't I be chompers?" Himiko complains, tugging at Takami's other wing like there's nothing to it. Her hands are probably sticky with something, as usual, but Takami doesn't move away.

Maybe he's not that terrible with children.

"Ah, 'cause you wanna be. It's no fun when you like the nickname," Takami explains, picking her up and plopping her down into his lap.

"I actually really like mine!" Tomura says from atop the bar.

Takami snorts. "Once we teach you decent thievin', next point of order is makin' you not be a shit liar."

Tomura huffs, crossing his arms. "I don't need to know how to lie. Sensei never lies."

That gives Takami pause. His eyes meet Kurogiri's, and he pulls his wing away, folding both neatly against his back.

"Yeah, I'm sure he doesn't."

#nanny service au #j writes #hawks tag #progress is being made #this is so slice of life that i have plot points planned that will be exclusively happening off screen #the ss kurokami is such a small ship that it's basically a rowboat but that still technically makes me a captain

[veebs-hates-video-games]

Ok, finally time to make a post that lives up to the name of this blog for a change and not just treating it like a joke.

Let's just get this out of the way up front: Eufloria HD on Switch is shit.

For a little bit of background, I played the original Eufloria like a decade ago and thought it was pretty fun. And I mean the original original, which I think was just some random free thing someone made that got mentioned in a post on Rock Paper Shotgun. I'm pretty sure it was also called Dyson back then or something.

It was simple and fairly elegant, with minimalist graphics that conveyed everything important well and an interface that I'm pretty sure could be used with a single mouse button and no keyboard. It was relaxing and laid back, with maybe 20 levels of low to moderate difficulty that I don't ever remember being stressful in any way. I vaguely remember there being some music I liked, but I'm less sure about that.

At some point it was made into a full paid game and sold as Eufloria HD, and I forget why I never played it. I feel like it was made by someone else or changed enough stuff that it seemed to be missing what I liked about the original. Probably. Maybe. This was still a while ago. And then I kind of forgot about it.

Silly me got excited seeing it turn up on the Switch and got it on sale just to have something chill to play when my brain's not up for more involved stuff. Wow was that ever a mistake.

It does work with the touchscreen, which is what I was hoping for and made the most sense from my experience, but they actually never tell you that. The tutorial goes on and on about the button controls only, and they're way more complex and involved than what I was used to from before. Also now there's a challenge mode and achievements and a story and all sorts of stuff. Ok fine, maybe that could be good.

Haha nope.

All the additional stuff makes the gameplay less smooth, and both the button controls and touchscreen ones have a lot of annoyances for me. It's also decidedly not chill.

The sounds in the game are aggravating. There's a hissing rumbling noise whenever you're zoomed in on an asteroid, and you're zoomed in on one a large amount of the time. Thankfully it has a separate volume slider so you can just turn that sound specifically off, but it's a terrible sound that shouldn't exist in the first place. For bonus points there's basically no other background noise ever, even music, so most of the time it's just you and the slightly less annoying pew pew your plant ships make.

I stuck with it for a few levels trying to get used to it even though it wasn't what I'd hoped for, and then I promptly got vaporized by the AI on the fifth level before even really doing anything. This is supposedly a relaxing game, and on the default settings I got absolutely obliterated with no warning by an AI character with a larger number of units than I had and more of them, on a level early enough in the game that it was still showing me tutorial popups.

There are probably more things to complain about that I've forgotten while writing this, and there are probably also more to discover later in the game. I'm never going to find out though because I'm not touching it again. It superficially looks like the game I liked when I was younger, but if it was remade by someone who completely missed the point.

If I could use my computer right now I'd go dig up Dyson on my old hard drive and play that and hope it's still what I remember it being, but instead I'm just going to sit here feeling resentful that I felt too crappy to play more Hades today (now there's an excellent game that I'm just now getting to) and discovered this disappointment of a game.

#eufloria hd #eufloria #dyson #mentioned: #hades

[bondibee]

Did you know I used to write fanfiction

Here's some 

(sfw laac stuff)

Glados tapped her nails on the arm of her chair. It had been a few months now, two months and seventeen days to be exact, and the sensation of moving her hands still hadn't quite gotten old. There was a novelty to it, having hands. It was interesting to walk around in her little human costume every now and then, even if it didn't serve any functional purpose at all. Well, that wasn't entirely true. It did serve a purpose in regard to her guest. 

It had been almost two weeks since Chell showed some humility and admitted that she needed glados in her life, and came crawling back to the safe haven of the enrichment center. 

13 days since Chell had moved in. 

Maybe she was more than a guest. She had her own room, after all. Well, more like her own apartment really. The first night she was back glados found herself harshly reminded of just how needy humans were, how they needed food and water and "a place to sleep that isn't the floor". And this one also needed privacy, the spoiled brat. So, to keep her from complaining or more importantly breaking anything else, glados had graciously given her one of the less damaged relaxation chambers to sleep in. Apparently that alone wasn't good enough for Her Royal Highness, she needed a bathroom and a lamp and fewer cameras. It took a lot of bickering and some very unappreciated threats but eventually a compromise was reached, and chell had her little apartment, and glados had an acceptable level of surveillance. 

It still felt strange. Glados flexed her hands and watched the way the black polish on her fingernails reflected the lights. Two of these nails had broken during the first proper test run of this body, during a fall down an elevator shaft. At that time she had next to no idea how to operate it, and it was all she could do to let Chell grab her around the waist and hope that they would survive the landing. 

That they would survive each other. 

She dismissed the thought before it had a chance to form. Chell wasn't anything to be feared. Yes, she was unstable, unpredictable, prone to violent outbursts, and physically much stronger than glados in this body, but that wasn't the end of the story. Glados was no longer trapped in flesh and blood, she could trade these arteries and vessels for the wires of her facility in an instant, and chell couldn't fight that. Not now, not this time. Glados knew her now. She would be prepared, the next time chell decided to try something. She would have the upper hand, and no one would get hurt. 

It did feel a little silly though, watching her sleep. 

In her sleep chell looked harmless. Just a tiny animal, fragile bone and muscle that would be so easy to throw down a pit and forget about forever. It was so much more complicated than that, of course. It always had been. Chell had to go and make everything complicated, when she came back and gave glados all these reasons to keep her alive. To keep her in the forefront of her thoughts.

She'd spared her before, in a similar situation, yet entirely different. Chell gasping for air before fading out of consciousness on the floor, a crumpled mess of bloody knuckles and matted hair that had run for too long on adrenaline and spite alone. Glados remembered watching her sleep then in the silence of peace after ridding the world of that blue menace, thinking how small she was, how defenseless, how close to death already. She could've been done with her forever, but chell had made it impossible. An unkillable pest.

Glados couldn't get a good view of her- there was one camera in chells bedroom and it was fixed toward the door, but she was there in the bottom left corner, just barely. It felt like watching a ticking bomb, waiting for the moment it would go off. Chell must have had a reason to come back, beyond the flimsy excuses she gave. 

"Because I missed you", "Because the surface world is full of headcrabs", bullshit. 

Glados knew that Chell was still bitter. Beneath the soft smiles and the calloused hands that so gently caressed her face, the heart of a killer was still beating. This calm couldn't last forever. It never had before. Glados drummed her fingers on her thigh. She wasn't afraid of Chell. She didn't know what this was. Something about how small her guest looked like this, with that piercing gaze hidden behind closed eyelids and dark hair draped over her shoulders. Something about how defenseless she was, and how she let herself be that way, even here, even now.

Glados had seen Chell sleeping up close before. Just once, and not for very long. She hadn't known what to do after she fell asleep- glados herself didn't do that, it seemed like a waste of time- so she'd slipped away, carefully removing chells arm from around her waist and shutting the door behind herself as quietly as she could. She looked even more vulnerable that time, without her clothes. 

Chell wasn't always a peaceful sleeper, though. Sometimes she woke up screaming- a sound that nearly startled glados into an error state and elicited some deeply buried primal sense of panic. Chell said she didn't remember her nightmares. Other times she stayed awake the entire night, staring at the wall or wandering around bored. Only once since she'd been back had she slept through the entire night. 

Chell wasn't moving now, but she wasn't asleep either. Glados could tell from her breathing. It wasn't any good for her to be sleep deprived all the time- she had joked with chell about the adrenaline vapor but that was actually more of an emergency protocol and they were kind of running low on it. And chell did have a job to do here, it's not like she was staying for free. So she couldn't be wandering around like a zombie all day because she couldn't sleep. Glados leaned closer to the monitor and crossed her arms. If it were any normal human it would be easy enough to force them into unconsciousness, but this was chell, and the thought of trying to make her take a pill or filling her room with sleeping gas made glados extremely nervous. She didn't want to invoke any unnecessary anger. But what else could she do…? 

Glados waited quietly. She watched the way chells breath moved her body in rhythmic waves, slow and steady. But still awake. 

*****

Chell sat up with a gasp- back straight and eyes wide in the dark. 

"It's me," glados said. Chell seemed to relax a little at that, but the tension didn't entirely leave her body. 

"... Everything okay…?" She murmured. 

"Yes, uhm…" glados paused, trying to think of a good way to phrase her request, of a good way to make chell think it was her idea. But, looking at that tired face, nothing came to mind. "...Can I sleep with you?" She asked. 

Chell blinked and furrowed her brow, as if she didn't understand the words. Her eyes flicked over glados's face. "I… uhm, yeah, I mean…" Chell shrugged, and gestured vaguely with her hand. She moved to make room for glados in bed, making some effort to straighten out the covers as she did. 

Glados felt strange, sitting on the edge of Chell's bed and taking off her shoes. She'd never done this before, actually gone to bed. It also felt strange sitting with her back to chell, even if she was currently so tired she had already settled back down on her pillow. She didn't like turning her back on her. But, she didn't do anything, not even as glados took off her blazer and set it aside. It was only when she started to pull back the covers that chell made a sound. 

"'re you gonna sleep in that…?" She half mumbled into her pillow. 

Glados looked down at herself, questioning. Did she mean her clothes? It was the same thing she always wore. "Yes?" 

Chell grumbled and very groggily sat up, reaching to rummage through the mess at the foot of her bed. It was amazing how quickly she'd managed to fill her room with useless garbage. Like the old t-shirt she thrust in Glados's direction. Aperture Science 5k and Fun Run, it read. Chell didn't even bother to look at Glados's disgruntled expression before settling back under the comforter.  

"Really?" Glados groaned. No answer. "Tch, fine…" as casually as she could, she stood up to undress. It's not like it mattered, it was nothing chell hadn't seen before, but… still. Pulling on a ratty old shirt that now smelled like sweat and… her. Glados couldn't place the feeling, but it was there, rumbling around in her chest. 

She ignored it and climbed into bed, and tried to get comfortable. There wasn't a ton of room, and glados pushed on chell's arm to make her move over. She didn't budge- a brick wall of a person in every sense. She pushed her again and this time chell swatted at her like a fly. 

"Stop," she mumbled into her pillow. 

"Move, I don't have any room."

"Tragic."

"Chell!" The big lug groaned and finally shifted her position, moving closer to the wall so glados wasn't almost falling off the bed. 

"Finally," glados grumbled. She pointedly adjusted her pillow and rested her head with a huff. Chell didn't even notice. That was probably fine, she needed her sleep after all. 

Chell slept better when glados was there. Well, there like this, as a warm body chell could touch and bother and suffocate with her stupid hair. It was pretty apparent looking at the records, that night when chell had fallen asleep by Glados's side was the one when she got the most rest. It was then when she'd actually gotten a full night's sleep, for the first time since she got back. So that's why glados had come tonight, to try to coerce her little human brain into some sort of relaxation that came from being near another human. To test a hypothesis. Or something. 

She couldn't deny that there were other reasons. 

Watching chell from afar was all well and good, keeping an eye on her from a safe distance was practical. But somehow it didn't feel the best. At times she felt too distant, too removed. She couldn't deny that she was grateful for the occasions when chell came to laze around in the central chamber, even if she was annoying, and distracting, and got dark hairs all over glados's chair. When she was nearby like that, it was different. More immediate. She was a living, breathing thing that glados could reach out and touch, bigger than her but still perfectly tangible. Comprehensible. Containable. As if glados laying beside her and gently resting her hand on chell's arm would somehow stop her from deciding she was fed up, and running away. 

Deep down, glados knew she could never try to stop her again. Not really. She didn't have it in her. Whatever part of her wanted to be here now was the same part that knew that however much they bickered, however many lunches were thrown, glados would never be able to land a finishing blow. And chell know that. Obviously she did, or she never would have come back. 

She held all the cards. Glados was essentially defenseless in the only way that mattered, and there was nothing keeping chell from taking advantage of that. Nothing at all. 

Glados tightened her grip on chell's arm ever so slightly. What was she doing here, really? Helping chell sleep, sure, but even she didn't believe that. What was it? 

As if on cue, chell stirred, and turned on her side to face glados. 

"Why did you come here…?" She asked. Her voice was different when she was tired, even deeper and more gravelly than usual. 

"Well I'm trying to sleep," glados said in the most dismissive tone she could muster. 

"Don't have your own bed…?" 

"No, I don't." 

Chell squinted at her. In the dark it was hard to make out her face, beyond the vague shadows of her eyes. "Really," she insisted. 

Glados sighed. "It looked like you were having trouble sleeping, I thought it might help if I… if you had some company." 

Chell was quiet for a while, but glados could feel her eyes on her. Eventually she yawned, and mumbled "I guess…" before settling back down.

"Hmpf." Glados would count that as a victory. "I'm doing this for your sake, so don't make me change my mind." She turned over- tugging the covers away from chell as she did- to face the edge of the bed. That was a miscalculation. She didn't like turning her back on chell. She didn't like not being able to see her. She didn't like this feeling of defenselessness, even if they were just going to sleep and Chell didn't seem to have the energy to do anything. It made her uneasy, but not in the simple way of sensing a threat. It was knowing she was in danger, but not feeling like she was.

It was trusting someone she knew she couldn't.

Glados stayed still for some time. She waited for chell to do something, but she didn't. It gave her plenty of time to wonder how the sleeping thing was supposed to work- or if she even could. She'd never done it before. It might be impossible for her. Usually when this body felt tired she would just leave it, and it would rest until she needed it again. This was a strange thing to do. And it was boring. She really hadn't thought this through. 

Eventually, something changed. An arm around her waist. A kiss on the crown of her head. 

"...What are you doing? Go to sleep," she chided.

Chell's voice was warm and quiet, if not a little hard to make out "...Isn't this something couples do?" 

Glados froze. "...Are we a couple?" 

"Are we?" 

She didn’t know what to say to that. There wasn't a clean answer. She ran through the possible outcomes of a few options but none of them were particularly good. What could she say?

Chell waited a minute or two for an answer that didn't come. After a while she conceded, "You don't have to answer that." 

Glados nodded. It wasn't like her to be at a loss for words- that was chell's job. 

She held onto her wrist when she tried to pull her arm away. Chell pulled her closer. Glados didn't know how to feel. But there was nowhere else she wanted to be. 

#the best thing abt my fics is how nothing is capitalized right cause I write on my phone with one finger #fun facts #love as a construct #chelldos #portal 2 #bondibeewrites

[captaincravatthecapricious]

Overworked Prompt fill for @haunted-by-catholic-guilt​ @celosiaa​ for the bingo

SEND ME SOME MORE PROMPTS IF YOU LIKE!!!!!!

It’s evening.  At least Martin thinks it is.  He’s rather lost track.  Time stopped making sense for him a while ago.  Had it really only been this morning when he was in his office, doing an endless stream of meaningless paperwork? 

Weeks and weeks and weeks and months and months and months of small meaningless tasks.  

He really hadn’t thought about it until now.  Is it really that much work to fill out a single form?  It shouldn’t be.  It isn’t.  But the sheer number of them… that’s what makes it drudgery.  Makes minutes and hours stretch beyond all logical comprehension.  Not to mention the endless intrusions of Peter Lukas.  

No.  Not thinking about that.  He’s …dead?  Right?  

Martin isn’t sure.  In the Lonely… out of the Lonely.  Everything a blur.  A cold, miserable, sandy blur.  And all he wants to do is sleep, but apparently that isn’t happening.  His brain is still trying to catalogue the endless, meaningless tasks he is leaving behind.  Still trying to run the budget and the expenses, and the personal reports that have been sliding over his desk for months.  

Paperwork heavy on the brain… heavy on the body.  Especially when that body has nothing to look forward to at his empty flat with its empty fridge and its empty bed.  

He is very tired.  

He can’t shake the feeling that this is a vaguely unsettling dream that he will wake up from in that cold and empty bed and search for breakfast in that empty fridge (because breakfast is the most important meal of the day, some distant parental voice tells him every morning even though the thought often turns his stomach) and hurry out of his empty flat for his empty office and that infernal ticking clock.  Measuring out every word he types.  Every breath he draws.  Every paper he signs.  Every spreadsheet he makes.  Every thought of Jon that he carefully does not think.  

‘For all the compasses in the world, there's only one direction, and time is its only measure.’  

Had he heard Jon say that once?  A quote from a play that Jon liked.  Hadn’t he read it to impress Jon, once upon a time?  A lifetime ago?  A death-time ago?  Three deaths ago?  

“‘For all the compasses in the world, there's only one direction, and time is its only measure.’”  He says it out loud, this time.  The first words to drop from his still frozen lips after leaving that Forsaken place.  Was?  Was that a joke?  

Jon’s head shoots up.  His eyes are wide and locked on Martin’s.  (Not that that is new, Martin keeps catching him staring.  Even as he tears around the archives gathering clothes and and statements and toiletries.  (Has Jon really just been living here?)  “Was that… that was… did you?”  

Martin blinks at him.  It might be his exhaustion making whatever Jon is trying to say incomprehensible, or it might be Jon’s exhaustion, for that matter.  

“That was Rosencrantz and Guildenstern,” Jon eventually stutters out, looking dumbstruck, half of a jumper that Martin thought he had lost sticking half out of a very battered backpack.  “You read it?”

Martin doesn’t have the energy for more words.  He nods.  

“I didn’t know you read it!”  Jon has perked up considerably.  “I read it in primary school, maybe a bit dark for a child, but my grandmother just bought me what was inexpensive… I was actually in it in uni….”

Martin would very much like to be paying attention to what had to be one of the most verbal and sharing Jon moments he has been witness to, but he’s very tired and it just sounds like white noise and he’s still thinking about that ticking clock floors above and an office he won’t go back to and paperwork that will never be finished and a half finished granola bar he had in his drawer for emergencies.  He could get his phone charger and laptop, in fact Jon probably already had… but ….but all that work.  All that he has done and all that he hasn’t… it’s all there.  And it’s going to stay there.  And Martin very much has not accepted that he doesn’t need to finish it.  Because he has been told every day in every email that he needs to finish it.  That there is a never ending stream of work that he can never catch up with that he can never overtake.  So he stayed long hours, turning himself into quite the hypocrite.  And Jon is still talking, his too-tiny form slightly revitalized with his excitement and nervous energy as he continues to pack.  

They are in a car.  Daisy’s, Martin thinks.  And Jon is still talking.  Possibly still about the play?  Possibly not.  Martin can’t tell.  He thinks he just heard Jon mention something about Scotland being a conspiracy of cartographers?  Is that right?  

Martin barely feels like he is there.  Is he tangible?  Or no… that isn’t what he is wondering.  He feels TOO tangible.  Too heavy but still not solid.  Like he is a wavering stack of signatures and numbers instead of a person.  Just a vehicle for meaningless work.  A thought that makes him dead tired.  What is he without that structure, those spreadsheets.  He has lost himself in the lines and fine print.  And he doesn’t know what is left.  Half fog.  Half paperwork.  All gritty eyed, and salty haired, and bone-weary.  

Jon has stopped talking.  He is… a passible driver.  Passible at best.  Having run himself out of things to say, the exhaustion is creeping back in.  His hands shake slightly on the wheel and they still have to stop by Martin’s sad, empty flat before they can leave London and make the terribly long drive to wherever it is they are going.  And Martin doesn’t have it in him to drive, and even if he did, he really really shouldn’t.  An ex boyfriend had tried to teach him once.  Once when he thought maybe he could drive a cab and maybe that would bring in enough money to fill his stomach, but that relationship didn’t last, and Martin was still scared shitless of driving anywhere but an empty suburb going 32 km/h or less.  

He curls around himself, trying to ward off the guilt that starts to gnaw at him then.  Jon shouldn’t have to drive the whole way.  Jon is exhausted.  And they don’t even have time to spend the night somewhere.  At least… that’s what Martin managed to get from the conversation with Basira that he… had technically been physically present for.  

No.  No.  No.  He’s fine.  He can pack.  He will Not make Jon do that for him.  Jon is clearly shaking.  Jon can take a shower and have a nap on his sofa (or his bed a little part of his brain says, leading to a dangerous heat in his cheeks) while Martin packs.  He can pack his own clothes.

 But they are at his flat now.  And Martin can hardly drag himself out of the car and up the two flights of stairs (broken lift).  His head is swimming and his limbs are heavy.  He sits heavily on the couch to gather himself, and Jon is already rushing around riffling through his things, stuffing jumpers and boxers and binders and socks and tea into a duffle bag that has seen better days.  He can’t bring himself to be embarrassed.  He wishes he could help.  

Then there is tea in his hands.  Made completely wrong, but Martin appreciates the effort.  and there are their bags at his feet and Jon is next to him.  There is no distance between them, and Jon leans into his side and Martin finds himself holding back tears.  Or failing to hold back tears.  In any case, he is tired and his face is wet and Jon is shaking slightly against his side and he can’t tell if this is the worst he has ever felt or the happiest he has ever been.  Perhaps both at once.  

Jon is easing him to his feet, nudging him towards the shower so he can wash the sea-salt from his eyelashes and hair.  

Martin is in his shower.

Martin is divested of binder and in an overlarge hoodie.  Hair wet but not salty.  He can’t help trying to picture Jon in that jumper.  Even large on Martin, Jon would be swallowed whole by it.  Jon is in his shower.  In his (Martin’s) less empty flat.  But his flat is hollowed out and gutted.  Jon asked him about 20 times if he would be alright on his own while separated by running water and water vapor and a door.  Martin had nodded each of those times.  Clinging to the sounds of Jon singing softly through the door.  

Martin gets the feeling that Jon is doing that just to ground him and Martin can’t say that he minds.  He wish Jon doesn’t need to, but he is grateful.  

He is coming down from a panic attack, and Jon is done in the shower but has yet to return.  Martin feels like he has been hard reset.  He is curled up on his couch.  The last of his possessions have been packed.  He isn’t going back to work.  He can rest.  Well… soon.  He can rest in the car.  He can rest in Scotland.  They both can, with any luck.  

Jon is coming out of his washroom, drying his hair and in another jumper Martin thought he lost months ago.  

Jon is in front of him, hovering and looking like he isn’t sure if he is allowed to touch.  Martin reaches out and grasps his fluttering hands.  And Jon sinks to the floor in front of him.  

They are in the car.  Martin is dozing against the window on the passenger side.  Jon is behind the wheel.  They are holding hands.  

#the magnus archives #tma #hurt/ comfort #jonmartin #fic #tmafic #writing #m writing #art #my art #prompt fill #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #panic mention #exhaustion

[bonnie-barstow-of-flag]

Knight of the Outlaws:

@avictimofthejazz An AU where the tables are turned and the FLAG Crew is on the run from the law.

The droning of a stately voice from the murky, shadow-filled halls beckons the brunette to trek far deeper than she normally would have. At this hour, few members of the staff would have cheerfully elected to remain behind. Dedicated Bonnie Barstow still had work left to finish on Kitt's repairs. Otherwise, she too would have retreated home to her cozy place at Greenview Terrace.

In fact, the only reason she's in the hallway now instead of her garage, was that she required a series of files left on Devon's desk. The rest of her support staff had left for the night which, left her to retrieve the files by herself.

The sound of the voice amplifies, the excitable fervor grew with every word spoken. The continuance caused her to listen in at the lawyer's door.

Eavesdropping outside of investigatory work isn't her strong suit the way it was Michael's. Normally, Bonnie wouldn't deign to give in to the temptation, but there's something so remarkably off about the situation. So she feels compelled to go against her more flighty instincts.

The relative warmth of the hallways vaporized into a subzero-Antarctic freeze. The chill that washes over Bonnie nearly ceases the steady drumming of her heart. Every muscle bristles with the shock of what she overhears. This had to be a monumental mistake!!! There’s no other way to explain it.

She treads backwards with hurried steps retreating down the hallway. Instantaneously, her mind set upon a determined course of action. She’s going to do the only thing she could; warn the others and attempt a rescue. Bonnie is keenly aware that this could be a fools errand. One that could result in her ultimate demise, but she doesn’t care. She can’t just stand by and do nothing.  

This is a trillion times worse than a hostile takeover. The darkened shadow would befall the Foundation at any minute. Unlike times in the past, the best of the FLAG Lawyers would be powerless to override the judge’s verdict. It would take an absolute miracle to restore order. 

Wilton’s unimpeachable reputation is about to be left in the cold clutches of one of the  most vile and vicious men in the universe. Garthe Knight has just been installed as executor and heir apparent of Wilton’s will. This meant that in writing Wilton’s biological son was deeded the Foundation, the Mansion, control of every operation and invention brought to fruition from the funds the organization had been granted, and worse the staff. How this could have happened, the brunette could hardly fathom. This has to be some kind of expertly laid trap drudged up by the likes of Wilton’s wayward Ex-wife and no doubt Garthe.

_____ 

The payphone at a shady corner by Greenview Terrace feels heavy in her quavering hands. “No. This isn’t a joke, Michael. I’m telling you...” The thick silvery chord of the phone is absently twirled about her finger-tips. “We have to do something!” Arrives her grim pronouncement. “Garthe can’t be allowed to get his hands on Kitt or the Semi.” Bonnie deliberately pauses, leaning her lanky frame against the phonebooth wall. 

What she is inadvertently suggesting is a crime. Actually, it’s worse than simply a crime. It’s really a series of felonies-burglary, grand-theft auto, possession of stolen property, and the list goes on. Condoning this feckless behavior is far from settling easy on the breadths of her shoulders. 

She does however, have a conscience and an obligation to Wilton’s legacy to come out swinging against this injustice. Wilton would have never wanted an insane man at the helm of his most cherished operations. “Get in touch with Devon, Rc3, and April. Warn them not to return with the Semi.” With a wistful sigh, she adds another instruction. “Have them cover the Knight logo in any way they can. Come morning the local police will be looking for all of us.” It would be far too difficult to abscond with something as large as an eighteen-wheeler.

“Michael, there’s more. I’m going to need your help.” She intimates. “We’ve got to break in and retrieve Kitt. Garthe was arriving at the mansion just as I was leaving and he’s posted guards everywhere.” That was the rotten news. Now, for the good news. “He doesn’t realize I still have a functional key to the garage.” 

There’s a weighted pause between the revelation and her next statement. “Kitt still needs a few relatively minor adjustments, but those could be done on the run. If-- I gather the right tools before we leave.” Yes. She just used the word “we”. There’s no way she’s allowing him to go there alone. “You can find me at the corners of Fourth and Main. And Michael, hurry.” Time was not on their side tonight. 

#Knight of the Outlaws #Welcome to FLAG gone amuck #Outlaw Flag AU #avictimofthejazz #preplotted starters #dark au

[7-seasof-fandom]

Forgotten childhood friendships

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13727611/2/A-messy-family

I couldn't sleep last night, so here's a fic. I hope you enjoy it!

Big thank you to my lovely husband @deadliest-little-thing for proofreading this!! :) you're the best, love

"You know what, Vanya, I used to really like you," Five said, trying to not let his frustration show. It was hard though. They used to be so close, Vanya was the one person Five could go to when all the Umbrella Academy stuff was too much, she was the one person who understood how to get through to him when he was driving himself too far and she was one of the easiest to talk to. She had always understood him and he had understood her. They had trusted each other in a way that had felt so intimate and safe. Now he could barely recognize her and it stung. On top of that, the pain and confusion seemed to be one sided.

"Right, when I was quiet and compliant and did whatever you wanted me to," Vanya snapped back, giving him a challenging look. Five had to bite his tongue to not take her up on the unspoken dare. "Well, I'm done being controlled, Five," Vanya growled, stepping closer. He realized in horror that her eyes were starting to glow. He swallowed thickly, instinctively taking a step back. All safety Vanya had ever made him feel, vaporized like dew in the sun.

He was suddenly unsure of everything. The predator was suddenly prey. Five felt like he was in a free fall. He tried to breathe but instead his mouth just opened and closed, like a stranded fish gasping for oxygen.

Vanya gave him a triumphant smile, clearly enjoying his panic. Five tried to force his breathing under control. Just that one thing. He needed to be in control of that one thing in a situation where he suddenly had absolutely none. He felt like his whole world had done a 180 and it was still spinning.

"That's not what I meant," he tried, his voice pathetically hoarse and weak. He shook his head, trying to shake off the images that started to creep into his mind. Vanya let out a laugh. It sounded a terrible lot like her violin. Five felt nausea arise and once again had to swallow thickly. He rubbed at his sore chest, trying to force out another sentence. "I just meant that I miss the Vanya who cared about other people," he mumbled. He bit his cheek in an attempt to make sure nothing other than words came out, but it was in vain, as he had to rush past her to empty the content of his stomach into their father's favorite vase.

A weak groan escaped his lips as he leaned against the table, holding on to the vase, his arms were shaking under his weight. He could feel Vanya's glare from behind him and for a moment he was overwhelmed by the urge to run away and hide, but he was too weak, too exhausted. They were all gonna die- they were- he shook his head, snapping himself out of it. This wasn't the apocalypse, just an absolutely awful situation. He sucked in a shaky breath, turning around to face Vanya as he still leaned on the table for support.

Vanya gave him a look which was painfully familiar. Gosh he missed her... "You okay, Five?" she asked, worry seeping into every letter of the question. Five wanted to laugh, but he was afraid that if he opened his mouth he'd have to pay the vase another visit, so instead he just stared at her, wondering at what point her becoming her own person had meant that they couldn't be friends. Sure, he was an asshole, he knew he was an asshole, but... he tried, right? It was hard, but he tried and somehow, with Vanya, it hadn't been as hard. But even so, he had clearly failed, because out of all of his siblings, Vanya actually seemed to be the one to despise him most.

"Five, I didn't get free of Dad and Leonard just for my own brother to tell me that he liked me better before I got to be myself and make my own choices," she hissed in frustration. Apparently she couldn't even call him out for his behavior without him playing the victim.

"That's not what I meant," he mumbled, choking on air mid sentence. He gasped, staring at a discoloured tile on the floor, wondering if it had always been like that. It seemed to sway from side to side, unable to stand still. Five realized, as his head hit the table, that he was the one struggling to stay still.

Then everything turned black until the sound of a violin playing overtook the darkness wirh a brightness so bright that it hurt and made his head puls and throb with pain. His whole body felt like it was burning up. He couldn't breathe. He couldn't move. He couldn't- he bolted up from the bed, gasping for air. The violin music slowly faded away, instead turning into a familiar, comforting humming. Grace was by his side, a wet cloth in her hand. She grabbed his shoulder to support him and help him lay down, as he was overcome by dizziness.

Laying back down he noticed Vanya by the side of his bed, a worried look on her face. Made sense, she just almost killed them- then he realized the apocalypse was months ago. It had just been a nightmare. Then, what was she so worried about? He was brought out of his thoughts by the wet cloth being placed on his forehead. He shivered. Why was it so cold? Grace gently touched her hand against his cheek. It stung like ice. "You're burning up, sweetie," she told him, softly. Then she continued humming and doing the same stuff she would always do when any of them were sick. Then, to Five's dread, she left him and Vanya alone.

Five threw a quick glance at his sister, before reverting his eyes to the ceiling, trying to ignore the jolt of anxiety he felt when looking at her. Five was sick from pushing himself too far, as he had so many times before and for the first time in 45 years Vanya was by his side as she had been so many times before, only this time nothing was like it ever had been. He pressed his lips together, trying to hold back a whimper at how unfamiliar this familiar situation was, but to his great regret he failed.

He could hear Vanya shift in the chair beside him. "You shouldn't push yourself so much... I would've thought you knew better by now," there was worry in her voice, but also something else, something strange. It didn't sound right with Vanya's voice, but he had grown to become more acquainted with it than he'd like. "Especially with how you always tell everyone else what to do," she added, dismay shining through clearly in her voice. Five found himself wondering if she had really stayed with him while he was passed out just to continue their argument.

"Well, I've gotta make myself useful somehow," he mumbled. Ignoring the sting in his chest. Vanya looked at him with an alarm, but she didn't say anything. Five didn't want her to anyways. If he allowed his mind to get numb enough, he was back to being thirteen years old and him and Vanya were just enjoying each other's company in silence. They were good at that. Just sitting in silence, but still saying more than most. However, after he came back, it seemed like a thousand words didn't even hold up to one.

He let out a sigh. Things really were just so much simpler when you were a kid, weren't they? He tried to ignore Vanya's stare, instead fidgeting with the edge of his blanket. He remembered how he and Vanya had once built a fort out of the blankets and pillows from their room. Ben had helped. He really missed them a lot. Ben was dead, gone. Far away and out his of reach and even though Vanya was right there, right beside him, she somehow seemed to be even further away.

As he thought back to faded childhood memories, he couldn't help the stain that now was on them, caused by the thought that apparently Vanya didn't think fondly of them, like he did. Had she even wanted to be his friend or had he just forced her? He swallowed thickly, sending the bucket beside his bed a glance. Was he just as bad as their dad? He tightened his grip around the blanket, his hands visibly shaking from the tension, but what did that matter anyways?

He stared at the ceiling for what felt like forever, memory after memory replaying in his mind. Each of them stained. "I'm sorry," he blurted out. His mouth felt dry like sandpaper. His words broken and worn. Way too late. Vanya tilted her head, trying to catch his eyes, but he couldn't make himself meet hers. "I just wanted to be your friend. I thought I was," he continued, hoping she didn't notice the tear running down his cheek. It stung like a needle, as it fell down his skin.

Vanya felt like all air had been sucked out of her, as realization hit her and all satisfaction she had felt at Five's discomfort turned into guilt. She looked at her brother, who was very obviously trying to hide his tears, but at this point they were running freely. She leaned close, trying to help him wipe the tears away. As her hands made contact with his burning hot cheeks, he froze at her touch. For a moment she feared that he'd flinch away, but instead he leaned into it, allowing her to cup his cheek.

"I'm sorry too, Five... I didn't realize."

He looked at her for a moment, before closing his eyes and leaning his face even more against her hand. "It's a'ight," he mumbled, clearly struggling to hold back a yawn. "I'm an assssshole all the time, it's only... hmmm... it's only fair, y'know?" She didn't even get to respond before she was yanked forward as Five suddenly decided to lay back down. He apparently fell asleep right then and there and took her hand down with him. She couldn't hold back a laugh, which startled him awake.

"Shhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh, Vanyyyya. You're soooo loud... I still love youu thoughhhh," He slurred, looking at her with sleepy puppy eyes. Vanya couldn't help the soft smile that spread across her face, even as she had to try to find a comfortable position with her hand stuck as Five's pillow. Five clumsily moved to the side, making room for her on the bed, but still not letting go of her hand. "It might as well be your hand now," she joked. Five just snorted, snuggling close to her as soon as she laid down beside him.

She ran her free hand through his hair, which she then realized was wet with sweat. "Ew," she mumbled, pulling him closer as she tried not to worry about how much he was clearly trembling. She took it as a good sign that he was holding on to her too. That meant he still had some strength left. She felt another sting of guilt. She hadn't realized how sick he was. Back when they were kids she was always the one he told, always the one who knew even if he didn't tell. Things were so much simpler back the, she thought, as she kissed the top of his head. They'd be okay though. They had each other, and it would obviously take a lot of work, but they could work this out. They always had.

#tua #the umbrella academy #five hargreeves #vanya hargreeves #fanfic