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incorrectmarvelquotesss · 2 months

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— flufftober (day 19) —

Warnings: fluff, implied sex

Prompt: “Hey, wake up!”

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

@flufftober || flufftober masterlist

A/N: Like I said, I have a ton of them in my drafts just waiting to be finished.

Bucky was ready to crash.

His eyes were dropping shut as the soft rumbles of the Quinjet sing him a lullaby. The seat, no matter how uncomfortable, had never looked so inviting. He wanted nothing more than be at home in his bed, holding his girl. But they were still hours away from the Compound then.

And Steve just had to have the post-mission meeting five minutes after they landed.

Bucky was ready to blow a fuse by the time Steve dismissed them. He hurriedly packed his duffel bag, exchanging the Kevlar for regular clothes without bothering to take a nice long shower—they had been out in the rain anyway. Not that you liked the smell of wet grass and dirt.

He just hoped he didn’t smell like shit as he sat into his pickup and drove away.

The landscape of trees woved into old town buildings before he pulled into the driveway of an old brownstone. It was in good condition, but it wasn’t hard to tell that it had been standing for a couple of decades. The vine that had grown along its side had etched into the bricks and the driveway was still gravel halfway through.

He had left it like this for that damn mission.

He parked beside the bright blue SUV and shoved the door open, grabbing the duffel bag on the passenger seat at the last second. He grumbled incoherent threats to Fury, Steve, and the stupid, idiotic people who just couldn’t stop doing harmful things. He kicked off his shoes quickly, ignoring the fact that you were going lecture him on putting his shoes on the shoe rack where they belonged. Especially when they looked like that—muddy and wet.

He took two stairs at a time, ready to finally have you in his arms.

Then, when he opened his bedroom door quietly, he saw that his spot had been taken. His heart skipped a beat or two. The two figures were easily recognizable, cuddled up in the bed with the extra pillows thrown behind you. Bucky’s heart thumped loudly in his ears as he took in the sight before him, heart practically melting.

He dropped his duffel bag, accidentally waking you up with the knives clashing in there. He came over and kissed your forehead, running a hand through Grant’s curls of hair and gently kissing his chubby cheek. The four-year-old smiled in his sleep.

“You smell like shit,” you said with a loopy smile. You tilted your head back and pouted your lips, letting him know that you expected him to get into bed with you and your baby boy the second he came home. He kissed your lips quickly three times, both an act of love and apology.

“I’ll be quick,” he murmured, unable to talk louder even if he tried. His heart was still trying to process the absolute precious moment in front of him. “Wanted to be home.”

You hummed lightly and let your eyes droop shut. “You hurt?” You asked with a grab at his hand. He squeezed your hand gently.

“No, ma’am.”

You peeked at him and have him a once over. “Be quick.” His eyes wandered over the two of you again, so unbelievably baffled by the fact that he had a wife and kid to come home to now.

“Yes, ma’am,” he mumbled against your forehead before placing a chaste kiss on the two of you again. He took no time taking off his clothes and hopping into the shower, all that dirt and grime that had been stuck in his hair streaking down into the drain. No wonder he had smelled like shit.

He dressed in his boxers and sweatpants, drying out his hair as much as he could before coming out of the bathroom. Grant couldn’t sleep without a nightlight, so he didn’t have to wait for his eyes to adjust to look at the two of you again. He swore his heart would never stop melting at the sight of you and his son. It was a miracle that he still had trouble believing in.

But he knew how to ground himself to reality now. He carefully moved all the pillows away from you, checking the clock just before climbing into the bed. It was already 6:30am and he was sure he was going to get just a blink of sleep before Grant decided it was time to wake up. He was always a morning bird.

Just as Bucky fell asleep, Grant yelled, “Hey, wake up! Mommy, wake up!” He shook you, which indirectly shook Bucky awake too. “Daddy’s home! Daddy’s home!” He crawled over you and fell onto Bucky’s side before Bucky could move to lay on his back.

“Hey, buddy,” Bucky replied with as much energy as he could possibly muster after half an hour of sleep. But, with the way Grant was grinning and looking down at Bucky, with his blue eyes sparkling, Bucky couldn’t have imagined a better way to wake up.

He turned his head slightly to see you smiling up at him from where you rested your head on his shoulder.

Well, he could think of a few other ways.

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writing-promptsss · 13 days

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Prompt #29

"Try pretending to be someone else. You will become more popular."

"I would rather kick myself in the behind than get down to your level."

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multifandom-disaster · 1 year

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Prompt #29

Person C, staring at person B: They are beautiful.

Person A: I know. And they are mine.

#prompt #writing prompts #writing #writing ideas #dialogue prompt #not a quote #prompt 29 #otp dialogue #imagine your otp #otp prompts #otp things

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kybercrystals94 · 6 months

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Sought

By KyberCrystals94

Read here on Ao3!

Whumptober 2023 | Day 29 | Prompt 29: “What happened to me?”

Rating: G

Words: 300

Summary: Echo is found on Skako Minor, but it isn’t Fives that finds him.

The question comes out of nowhere, breaking through the transmission of data like the piercing beam of a search light — startling but welcome. He feels found, somewhere beneath the zeroes and ones where his humanity lurks, waiting and watching for a weakness in the prison of his mind.

“Who are you?”

Not what. Who. The question seeks personhood, seeks him. Found him. Him. Personhood. Humanity.

Him.

Brother.

Soldier.

Friend.

CT-1409. CT-1409. CT-1409…

Echo.

<<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>>

The warmth of open-air burns against skin, curls around frozen metal. His lungs feel a shock of breath, his eyes see blinding light, unhindered by frosted glass. It hurts. Everything hurts. But pain means freedom. Please. Let me out.

The stream of data is cut short, and his mind searches for a timeline. The Citadel. The shuttle. No, I’ll go first. Burning. Fire. A voice screaming his name. Fives. No…

“Echo, it’s Rex. I’m here.”

Rex.

“Rex,” Echo breathes, lungs still burning, “you came back for me.” He reaches out, frozen fingers finding purchase on familiar armor.

“Yes.” The clone captain sounds uncertain. “Yes, I did.”

“What…what happened? Where am I?”

Where’s Fives? I promised him…

Rex holds his hand, puts a comforting grip around Echo’s wrist. “It’s okay, Echo. You’re safe now. Just sit tight, trooper. You’re going home.”

But Rex didn’t answer him.

The timeline shifts. Fives should have come back for him. I kept my promise. I’m alive.

An unfamiliar clone is kneeling at his other side, stilted questions, careful fingers prodding.

Echo ignores him, turning to his captain. “Rex, where’s Fives? What happened to me?”

“Echo, please,” Rex whispers, “I promise I’ll tell you everything…not yet. When you’re stable.”

But that was answer enough. The timeline settles into place. A long time has passed. And so has Fives.

Fives is gone.

END

Tag List: @isthereanechoinhere96 @followthepurrgil @amorfista @mooncommlink

✨Let me know if you’d like to be added to the Tag List!✨

#Whumptober 2023 #Day 29 #Prompt 29 #What happened to me?#Star Wars #The Clone Wars #Star Wars the Clone Wars #ARC Trooper Echo #ARC Trooper Fives mentioned #Captain Rex #The Clone Wars S7E2 Missing Scene #MIA #fanfiction #ao3 fanfic #ao3 writer #fics by kyber

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promptsbytaurie · 6 months

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prompt #29

“I watched you fall. I remember, because after you fell, they wanted me to rise. How could I? I watched you fall. I fell with you too.”

#prompt 29 #writing prompt #dialogue prompt

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my-lovely-writing · 2 years

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Civilian sighed, scrolling down their news feed to see an article about how Villain accidentally blew up an orphanage which was right next to Hero's Headquarters. Thankfully, no deaths.

Civilian texted Villain a screenshot with the caption, "You just went from one and only to one and lonely." At the same time, they received a picture of Villain posing with the orphans, captioned, "You just went from baby to Mommy/Daddy!"

#writing #writing prompt #prompt #villain #civilian #villain x civilian #dating #breaking up #adoption #tw explosion #tw breakup #prompt 29

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midcinmancave · 5 months

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Story Prompt: “That’s all? Easy.”

Summary: Every game has its consequences. Complete Story Source

Fictober Submission #19 Fandom: Midnight Cinderella Featuring: Nico Meier, The Princess Warnings: None Rating/Genre: General Audience, Romance Writer: Robert Branche’s Admin

#Fictober23 #Midnight Cinderella #fanfiction #29 #Nico Meier #MidCin #Kingdom of Wysteria #KOW Writer Project #イケメン王宮 #Prompt 29

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angrypaperearthquake-tbbb-main · 1 year

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Hi again! It's me with the second request! So sorry for bothering 🙏🏻

Little context: I had a dream once about protecting Zeno cause I didn't want him to die... Only to realize he couldn't die..

and so, I wanted a prompt drabble for that! Soooooooo Zeno x Fem!reader romance with prompt: Shielding the other one with their body (I honestly forgot the number again TT so sorry for that)

Thank you again for making this for me! You're so incredibly talented and I can't wait for the results!

Love u!,

Suzy

Hello again darling 🥰

Thank you so much for participating in the 200 Followers Drabble Prompt Challenge event!

I hope you like this one as well! These are so angsty. Please enjoy!

Title: I Won't Do It Again Fandom: Yona of the Dawn/Akatsuki no Yona Characters: Zeno x Fem!Reader Prompt: #29 - Shielding the other one with their body Word Count: 100

“What do you think you’re doing?!” Zeno shouted in anger. “I…,” You pause, in shock of what you did, “I just… I wanted to protect you.” “Do I look like I need protection?” Zeno asks in frustration as he shoves his sliced arm in front of your face. The wound quickly disappeared as the ligaments, muscle, and skin reattached. “I’m sorry,” You say while holding the bleeding wound on your stomach. Zeno takes a deep breath, composes himself and pulls you into his arms, “Don’t ever do that again, please.” “I won’t,” You promise as you cry into his arms.

Again, thanks for participating!!! 💚

All completed drabbles will be posted on my A03 account.

#200 followers event #200 followers drabble prompt challenge #drabble prompt challenge #prompt 29 #shielding the other one with their body #zeno #fem!reader #zeno x fem!reader #drabble #fic #fanfic #fanfiction #yona of the dawn #akatsuki no yona #akayona

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cadrenebula · 7 months

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Prompt #29: Contravention

Keres sat against a wall in the Goblet, waiting. It appeared almost as if she was sleeping. Almost. Anyone that knew the strange dark skinned viera woman would know she never slept in the open. Not in this world. Especially not when some void hunters lurked in the area.

Bright pink eyes looked up to meet the lavender set of another. The au ra woman had appeared suddenly and quietly, crouched before where Keres sat. Keres could detect the Atropos. After all they needed to know when the other was around. Especially since Atropos was very good at stealth.

"Do we have anything of substance to report to Him?" Keres asked coldly as she stared unblinking at Atropos.

"No. It's still far too dangerous for me to approach. The Void Hunter lingers still." Atropos huffed softly. "I still think this is a foolish effort. We should-"

"No. Do not speak of it. It is a fool's dream to hope. Just because Ronove is free does not mean this ends well. You know I have been serving Him longer than either of you. It was sheer dumb luck. The same will not happen again. Get any notions of rebelling out of your head before you end up dead." Keres sharply scolds Atropos. "He is very close to success on his plans. All he needs is that Vanguard. We have to get him that boy."

"Of course... Apologies, sister. Do you still intend to fight Ronove if you find him?" Atropos asks as she fidgets with a strand of her dark hair.

"Of course. I will remind him of his place. And the price of betrayal." Keres gives her sister a fanged grin. "He will leave that place to feed eventually. When that happens, I will be there. If you want to keep pissing Him off though, stick to the small stupid things. Stop getting your hopes up on something that won't happen. Remember I have been alive much longer than both of you. Things don't change for us. It's the same shit, different century."

"I know... We're not people, we're monsters to them. Like those void hunters lingering nearby. I won't be a fool to allow them to find me, sister. Surviving matters." Atropos replies as she looks down towards the ground, trying to hide her disappointment.

Keres lightly pats the other voidal on the head. "Good. I'm going hunting for now because I'm hungry. When I return you can go hunting while I watch for the idiot Vanguard or Ronove to make an appearance."

#FFxivWrite2023 #FFxivWrite #Prompt 29 #Prompt Contravention #The Last Vanguard #Keres and Atropos #Servants of the Elder

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kay-elle-cee · 2 years

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Jilytober prompt 29: "Why did you grab a bat/pan when you have a wand?"

Thank you for the prompts, @jilytoberfest!

It's late.

She can never sleep well when James is away on missions. She always tries to trick herself into picturing him at his flat with the others, doing something mundane like playing catch with a quaffle, or reading in his bed, but she knows. She knows he may not come back this time.

It's nearing midnight and Lily's run through all of her normal distraction techniques, so she's opting to make a late-night snack in a desperate attempt to focus and then hopefully sleep. She can't handle another week of sleepless nights, waiting for his return. She has to stay sharp, too.

She's in the kitchen making eggs when she hears the unmistakable sound of someone tumbling out of the fireplace in her flat's living room.

Springing into action, she runs through the tiny door frame separating the two rooms, hot pan in hand to meet her uninvited visitor with vigor. Her makeshift weapon raised high (and eggs sliding to the floor) she freezes at the intruder's shouting.

"Wait! Wait! Wait! Lil it's me!"

Covered in soot and dirt and blood, crumpled on her living room floor with hands bracing above him for the impact of her pan, is James.

Or, she thinks it's James. She hopes it's James.

She hesitates, lowering the pan slowly. Frowning, she remembers their safety question. "What did you buy me on our first date?"

Even covered in Merlin-knows-what, his smile still lights up a room. "A set of silver scales. You almost tore my head off when you found out."

The pan drops from her hand as quickly as she drops to her knees next to him, hands gently fluttering around, not sure if or where he's hurt. Or, for a matter of fact, what he's doing here, four days into his mission and a week early returning.

"They caught on to us," he explains, as if reading her mind. "We had to abort the mission, get out as fast as we could. Sorry if I startled you." He registers the pan and the eggs on the floor and his eyes slide over to her, lit with laughter. "Why did you grab a pan when you have a wand, love?"

Lily rolls her eyes—leave it to him to find a joke fresh off a compromised life-or-death mission. She can't hide her smile, though.

"Muggle instinct, I guess. Now let's get you into the kitchen and see what healing potions you need." She helps him off the floor carefully, noticing how he sucks in his breath as he steps with his left foot, and lets out a sigh of relief that he's made it back in one piece.

Sleep will come tonight. Eventually.

Other Jilytober drabbles here.

#kelsey writes #jily #jilytober #jilytober2022 #drabbles #ficlets #31 prompts #prompt 29

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lire-casander · 1 year

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#29 doing something silly to cheer them up

doing something silly to cheer them up original prompt list here

TK notices something’s off with Carlos the moment his fiancé enters the loft. It’s in the way his keys clink against the ceramic plate Carlos’ niece Martina has gifted them with. It’s in the way Carlos seems to drag his feet across the floor instead of his usual sure step. It’s in the way even Carlos’ greeting sounds bland and dull in TK’s ears.

“Are you okay?” he asks, standing up from the couch where he’s been reading the latest installment in the comic he’s following. “You sound off, babe.”

“I’m fine,” Carlos says.

TK steps closer to him and kisses Carlos on the cheek; he can feel the tension oozing from every pore in Carlos’ skin. “You sure?”

“Yeah, I’m sure,” Carlos insists. “I need to take a shower, then I’ll make dinner, okay?”

“Fine,” TK replies, unsure of how to react before Carlos walks away and into the bedroom. As if on cue, TK’s phone beeps with an incoming text message. When he checks the screen, he sees it’s from Andrea. He can’t help to think that something bad must have happened. It’s not that he doesn’t talk to Andrea, but they don’t usually text each other after having lunch together that very same day.

Please take of Carlitos, he’s very upset, he reads on his screen. He frowns, but before he can text anything back, Andrea’s sent a new message. Celia has told him that she won’t be able to make it to the wedding. Her boss needs her in Manila for the whole week and there are no flights back in time from there.

TK sighs. He knows how important Celia is to Carlos; she’s his big sister, the one he looks up to. She’s also a very busy woman, with a boss that keeps her on her toes and, apparently, sends her to the other side of the world the same week she’d asked off for her brother’s wedding.

That sucks, TK replies swiftly. That man should learn empathy.

He missed that class in preschool, Andrea jokes back, but TK can read a hint of sadness between the lines. He knows she must be upset too; after all, there has never been a big Reyes family event where one of their members had to miss it.

After a few more texts, TK clicks his screen off and places the phone on the counter. He looks around, searching for a way to try and cheer Carlos up, and he comes up with the silliest way. He laughs to himself, and he gets down to work.

When Carlos gets out of the bathroom, he’s greeted with the sight of his fiancé in an apron, standing in the middle of the kitchen space, covered n flour. “I’m afraid to ask,” he says.

“I was trying to make a cake for you,” TK explains, turning around to face him. “It was a tight fight between the flour and me. The flour won.”

Carlos scoffs. TK counts that as a win. “You know better than to make such a mess in the kitchen,” he begins. “In fact, I’ve seen you bake a cake without a fuss. It’s the only thing you can do in the kitchen with your eyes closed. What’s really going on here?”

TK holds Carlos’ gaze for long moments before cracking up. “I know about Celia,” he finally admits. “Your mom texted me. I just wanted to cheer you up?”

“By making a mess in the kitchen?”

“By making a mess in the kitchen to see that could make you smile,” TK continues. He clocks his head to the side and looks at Carlos carefully. “Is it working?”

At first, it doesn’t look like Carlos is giving in, but after a few seconds a small smile finds its way, and it lights up Carlos’ eyes.

“It’s working!” TK exclaims triumphally.

“Only because it’s you,” Carlos says in a low voice as he approaches the mess TK’s made of the kitchen. “I love you so much.”

“And I love you,” TK reciprocates, leaning up to kiss Carlos’ nose.

“I know,” Carlos tells him, looking around. “Believe me, I do.”

#lire's 40 to the 40s #prompt 29 #prompt 29: doing something silly to cheer them up #tk strand/carlos reyes #carlos reyes/tk strand #tarlos #911ls #911 ls #911 lone star

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perfectpaperbluebirds · 2 years

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Lethargy/Exhaustion

@sicktember 2022 Prompt #29

Fandom/OCs: MCU Avengers / Sick!Steve Rogers

Title: From the Ice Inside Your Soul

Words: 1547

Inspiration: this post about a stoic whumpee who doesn't complain from @stealthy-sneezing and this post about a sickie who can’t lie down from @victoriablackrose

Author’s comments: My all-time favorite whumpee, Steve Rogers. This is a purely self-indulgent fever fic with a side of collective caretaking, so basically all of my favorite things. Both the prompts I used are so lovely, so I’ll honestly probably use them again. But they helped flesh this out, so they’ve already been put to good use!

With one last bash from Steve's shield and crushing blow from Mjolnir, the battle ended. The Avengers paused, still in their battle stances, looking around to ensure the aliens were indeed all dead. The street was eerily silent without the creatures’ screeching and clicking, and for a moment the only sound was the heroes' breathing. One by one they relaxed and began to clean themselves off and check themselves over. After making sure everyone was in one piece, each went their own separate ways to examine the alien bodies and ship, decompress (or de-Hulk), and see to the perimeter and casualties. Steve, standing in a sluggish fog, suddenly realized he was all alone, and he wasn't exactly sure how long that had been the case.

The fight had taken absolutely everything out of him. He had been feeling run-down and tired for days, maybe even weeks now. He had been dreading a call to assemble, and simultaneously knowing it was bound to happen for that very reason. He wasn't sure how he survived the fight, since he was likely operating at less than fifty percent capacity, but the team had pulled them all through. He wasn't going to be able to remain upright much longer, though. With shaky arms he secured his shield to his back, wondering how it had gotten so heavy, and with shaky legs began to make his way to the Quinjet.

He didn't see any of his team on the way there, and he didn't know whether that was good or bad. He felt overwhelmingly guilty about not helping clean up the fight, but knew he would be useless anyway, as lightheaded as he was. The jet's door sprang open and he staggered inside, closing it behind himself as he collapsed onto the nearest bench. He leaned against the wall and closed his eyes, falling asleep in seconds.

A hand on his shoulder shook him awake some time later. Steve opened bleary eyes to find Tony, Bruce, and Natasha looking at him with a good deal of concern.

"Oh good, you're alive," Tony said, rolling his eyes. "We've been looking for you everywhere. Thank God for the tracking device in your suit. Would you like to explain to the class why you're not using the very expensive communicator in your ear?"

"Oh, right…." Steve pulled out his earpiece with clumsy fingers. "I think it's broken. I haven't been hearing anything in it all day."

He dropped it into Tony's palm. Tony quickly examined it, snapped it open, readjusted the wiring, then closed it again. This time when he spoke into his own com, Steve's responded immediately, along with everyone else's.

"There. Fixed it. You should've said something hours ago." He tried to toss the device back to Steve, who fumbled and dropped it, and had to pick it up again with shaky fingers. Tony frowned upon watching all this. "Are you okay, Cap?"

Steve leaned back against the wall again, rubbing his eyes. "I'm not sure. I'm not hurt or anything. I'm just… I'm so tired. Exhausted. Shaky. I'm not sure what's wrong with me."

Bruce pushed past the other two right away, giving Steve a quick once-over. When Bruce's hand brushed across Steve's face, he pulled it back quickly.

"You're burning up, Cap. You feel hot even to me. That's… that's quite the fever."

"That explains it, I guess," Steve mumbled, clearly fighting to stay awake.

"We're almost finished out there, so we'll be out of here soon. You just rest," Natasha said, squeezing his shoulder.

"Not sure I'll be good for much else, I'm afraid," Steve sighed.

"No worries, Cap. We've got it under control. We'll be back in a blink." Tony flipped down the visor of his helmet and flew out the door of the jet, Natasha jogging behind. Bruce stayed, sitting down beside Steve and getting comfortable, but looking equally tired.

"We'll be home in no time, Steve. Just relax. Everything will be fine."

"I'm not worried. I'm with the best team in the galaxy," Steve said, even as he drifted back to sleep, hardly noticing when his head came down on Bruce's shoulder rather than the wall.

~~~

The Quinjet touching down at the Avengers tower didn't rouse Steve, so he had to be shaken awake again when it came time to disembark. He hadn't moved his head from the doctor's shoulder, so it was Bruce's gentle encouragement that finally brought him back to consciousness. He was able to walk under his own power, though very lethargically, but Clint and Thor stayed close at his side to be safe. As soon as Steve stepped out into the NYC sunshine, he inhaled sharply, driving a palm into his forehead with a quiet moan.

Clint touched his arm. "What's up, Cap?"

"My head is killing me," he mumbled, his eyes still screwed shut.

"C'mon. Let's get you inside," the archer murmured, giving his arm a gentle tug. He began to move his legs, letting Clint steer him.

"I really don't feel well," he said, almost too quiet to hear.

"I know. We're gonna get you looked at," Clint replied, looking at the rest of the team worriedly behind Steve's back.

They got inside without further incident where Steve collapsed onto the nearest couch. The rest of the team wanted to send Steve to medical immediately, but he quietly asked if they could just have someone come up to look at him instead.

"I'm too tired to walk all the way there just to have them poke and prod me then tell me there's nothing they can do for a genetically modified supersoldier like always. They can do that here, and I can sleep in the meantime."

When he fixed them with his pleading, blue-eyed gaze, no one could say no, especially when his logic was sound. They made him promise to check into the hospital if the doctor recommended it, and when he did, they had no more arguments. A call was placed down to medical, and after that there was nothing to do but wait.

The team trickled in and out for their own debriefs, showers, and post-mission rituals. Steve didn't care to move until after he was checked over, so the others brought him clothes and food and whatever else he needed, making sure he wasn’t left alone. Mostly, though, he just slept. Curled up in the corner of the couch, his head at an awkward angle, he looked so boyish and vulnerable, especially with the hectic flush over his cheeks.

At last a pair of doctors and a nurse arrived. Steve was awakened yet again, and they began to run him through a whole battery of tests and inspections as most of the team looked on worriedly. He passed most of the tests. Nothing seemed to be seriously wrong except a fever, headache, and the crushing fatigue. They took a bunch of blood to run his labs, then told him there wasn't much they could do for a supersoldier running a temperature. After giving him advice for general fever care, they said they would call up if there were any abnormalities in the bloodwork, then left as abruptly as they'd come.

As soon as the door shut behind them, Steve let his head fall back with a tired sigh.

"Looks like you were right about there being nothing they could do." Tony sighed too, sitting on the arm of the couch beside him with crossed arms. "Sorry about that."

"I wish I wasn't right. I hate getting fevers now. It's so much worse than it used to be. It's like I'm back in the ice… or the ice is back in me. Right down in my core." Steve shuddered violently as he spoke.

"Let me get a cold rag for your face at least," Clint spoke up from the side. "We have to do something." He strode away quickly.

Thor sat down beside Steve, looking fervent. "Is there anything else we can assist you with, Captain? Anything at all that you need?"

Steve shook his head. "I don't need anything right now except sleep. I'm completely exhausted."

"Then let me assist you to your quarters!" Thor cried, jumping up.

Steve shook his head again. "I'll just stay here for now."

"But you will rest better in your bed!"

"My head hurts too much when I lay down. I'd rather stay sitting up," the supersoldier said quietly.

Thor promptly sat back down, wrapping an arm around Steve's shoulders and pulling the other man against himself. "Then you must rest against me. It will be more comfortable. And perhaps your shivering will stop as well. I've been told I'm very warm."

Steve smiled tiredly, shifting his weight to lean against the demigod and closing his eyes right away. "I won't argue with you on either count."

Clint returned then with a wet rag. He bathed Steve's neck, then let the rag rest on his forehead. Steve sighed in relief at the coolness. Within minutes, he was asleep again and snoring.

It didn't seem right to leave him alone in this state even when he was asleep, so the rest of the team settled in as well, preparing to keep watch over their sick captain for as long as was necessary.

#sicktember 2022 #prompt 29 #mcu avengers #sickfic #everyone is hotter with a fever

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chocoblep · 7 months

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#29: To Aid Thy Neighbor

It was the third time this week that Hinan had been called upon for a job. Sometimes they came in rapid-fire like this, but most of the time he refused if he thought it was going to have him away from home for too long. After all, The Lucky Fin was doing better than he’d ever thought it would, and he hated to leave Rhuk alone with it for too long. Maybe he should hire someone else to work there full-time, so that he and Rhuk could take time off sometimes and just go places. Be spontaneous, or whatever.

This job, though, looked like it would be a short one. As he met with the client, he sat on possibly the smallest chair he’d ever had the misfortune of squatting to sit on in his life. It was uncomfortable, but the Lalafell had insisted he not absolutely tower over him, so he’d begrudgingly obliged–but not until after offering to pick up said Lalafell and hold him at eye level. That hadn’t gone over very well.

“Look, he’s just… he’s harassing my customers, and he doesn’t know what’s going on and needs to stop, and having a big guy like you hanging around between the stalls will help, I’m sure of it.”

And so, Hinan found himself loitering between the stalls of two street vendors who were having a feud in Ul’dah. What had started it, he didn’t know, and what would end it, he didn’t know either, but they were nasty to each other until he stepped in between them and leaned against the pillar that separated them.

“So I hear you two’re having problems,” he rumbled, and the neighboring merchant pointed his stubby finger at his client.

“He’s been driving people away from my stall!” he said, and Hinan arched a brow.

“Funny, that’s what he told me you were doing,” Hinan replied, and looked over at his client, who was happily helping one of his own customers. “What’s he doing?”

“Telling them my wares are shite and to go to the other cloth merchant on the other side of the strip!” the tiny man languished. “An’ then they do, like they trust him over me or something!”

Hinan looked to his client, who had just finished up his sale, and narrowed his eyes. “So what’s the deal, then, Moroboso? Is he harassing your customers or are you harassing his? I’m getting two conflicting stories here.”

“Okay, look,” said the neighbor. “I may have driven off a few of Moro’s customers, but it was because he did it first!”

“I’m only sending away some of them, Leno!” Moroboso replied, and then lowered his voice. “I wanted the big guy here because the ones you’re trying to sell to that I keep sending away are those damned cultists that have been infiltrating the city!”

“Wait, what? Cultists?”

“Cultists?” Hinan echoed. “You didn’t tell me this was a protection detail.”

“It’s… it’s not, not really. You’re big and intimidating, so having you here might deter them from approaching altogether, but–”

“No buts!” Leno shrieked. “You’re hurting my bottom line!”

“No, I’m helping you stay out of trouble!” Moroboso exclaimed. “Do you want that lender to come after you for selling to the wrong people!? How much less business have you been doing than usual? Look at your books and tell me!”

“I’ve been doing less!” Leno ground out, but he went to the books and looked anyway, and then showed Moroboso the ledger. “See!? About twenty percent less yesterday and the day before!”

“Week-over-week?”

“Less–no–about the… same?”

“Right, so,” Moroboso began, briefly looking for customers. “The ones that are suspicious I’ve been sending to my guy over on the other side of the strip who I’ve got set up as a cloth merchant. He doesn’t actually sell anything–well, but he screens them. If they’re legitimate, he’ll send them back to you for their purchases.”

“Well, some of them have been coming back…” the neighboring Lalafell admitted. “What’s this cult, then?”

“Some kind of doomsday cult. They’ve been buying out vendors outside of Ul’dah and then stockpiling somewhere, or sending it all somewhere else, nobody’s sure, but it caused a huge shortage in supplies that were supposed to go to locals. Now that they’ve exhausted their sources outside the city, they’ve come inside and started their shite here. We’ve already caught almost a dozen of ‘em in the last two days alone!” Moroboso sighed when his neighbor opened his mouth to retort, and then continued, as if he’d predicted what the other would say. “I didn’t tell you straight off because no offense, but you’re not a spectacular actor.”

“None taken,” the other Lalafell murmured, cowed. “Well, okay, what can I–” he turned, looking at a hyuran man who had just walked up to his stall. “How can I help you?” he asked, and then went into merchant mode.

Hinan looked the customer over, and when he looked at Moroboso, he was shaking his head frantically at the Hyuran man behind Leno’s shoulder, and then jerked his chin toward his own stall and resumed his business. When the Hyuran man came over without a sale, Hinan watched Moroboso lean forward and murmur something to the man conspiratorially, and the man smiled at him, thanked him, and then trotted down the street.

“That one of them?” Hinan asked.

“I think so,” Moroboso replied, as Leno stared at him with a scowl on his face.

“Permission to go see how your man’s screening?” Hinan asked, and when Moroboso nodded and gave him a small parcel to deliver when he got there, he took off into the crowd, keeping an eye on the man as he wove through the throng of people.

When he reached his destination, he eyed the stall from a distance. When the merchant sold the man a few skeins of a rich Thavnairian cloth, he wrapped it all up in red paper and sent him on his way. He was just sliding the gil into a large pouch when Hinan approached.

“Delivery for ya from Moroboso,” Hinan said as he stepped up, handing the older Midlander gentleman the parcel.

“Oh, thanks! That’s probably my lunch,” he said cheerfully.

“Moroboso told me about what’s going on with the… unsavories. Thought you didn’t actually sell anything?” he asked.

“I don’t, well… I do, but I always get back whatever I ‘sell.’” he said, making air quotations with a smile.

“What’re you doing with the gil you just made, then?” he asked, and the man beckoned him closer as he unwrapped what was indeed his lunch.

“I don’t know what Moroboso’s doing with it, but I do know that he’s got something planned.”

“And how are you screening them?” Hinan asked lowly.

“Easy. I mentioned the end times casually in chat at first. You wouldn’t believe how dumb the devout are. That one Morobosa just sent showed me a mark on his arm and told me all of his family has it, and that it marks them as believers. Even invited me to join them for dinner sometime. So please, if you could, tell Morobosa that it’s a half sun scar on the inside of the wrist.”

“You’ve been waiting on an identifier?”

The Hyur offered Hinan a piece of raw carrot, which he eagerly popped into his mouth. “Yes. And the ones I send off with the red-wrapped parcels get stopped by the Flames, and then the goods get returned to me. So none of the stock actually goes anywhere–would you look at that.”

Right on cue, a Miqo’te wearing a Flames uniform stepped up with a brown-wrapped parcel and settled it on the counter. “Delivery for ya.”

“Hey, great! Thank you,” the Hyur said, and the Miqo’te wiggled his ears. He looked briefly at Hinan. “You can talk around him, Morobosa said he was hiring a big brute today and this is him. He even brought me my lunch, sweet thing he is.”

“Well, the latest is definitely one of ‘em,” the Flame said. “I think Captain wants to see if some of the other merchants would be willing to temporarily part with their goods to help us out in catchin’ ‘em.”

“Wouldn’t be a bad idea,” the Hyur replied. “I’d tell him to go for it. This seems to be working well but I don’t know how many merchants are starting to run low on their own stock. I’d suggest sooner rather than later.”

“Aye,” the Miqo’te said, and then gave him a nod of his head. “Thanks for helpin’. And as always, keep the gil for the finder’s fee.”

The two men saluted each other, and then Hinan smiled. “I’d better get back to Morobosa.”

When Hinan returned to Morobosa’s booth, he leaned down and asked “So what are you gonna do with the extra gil?”

The Lalafell hushed him and then pulled him over to the opposite side of his booth from where Leno was dealing with a perfectly legitimate customer.

“Don’t tell him,” Morobosa said, “But I’m fixing his awning for him with some of it, and the rest is going toward pulling in extra stock for all of the merchants to handle the influx of locals that couldn’t get their supplies outside the city. I expect we’ll be very busy in a few days’ time.” Then he smiled. “Any word from my man?”

“It’s a half-sun scar on the inside of the wrist,” Hinan answered, and the merchant grinned so wide that Hinan was afraid he’d split his face.

“Excellent! Now I can spread the word and we can get a good system going for filtering them out!” He went over to share a few quiet words with Leno.

And that was how Hinan got involved with the Sapphire Avenue Exchange’s efforts to lock down a doomsday cult.

#FFxivWrite2023 #FFxivWrite #Story #Hinan Akaruta #Prompt 29 #Contravention

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tricksterfiction · 7 months

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Prompt #29 Contravention

Qaro'a appears first over here! Once Bitten, Twice Shy Part 2 CW: Blood, Somewhat Graphic Descriptions. Below Read More.

Savior Complex - Phoebe Bridgers

Sen scribbled some inventory notes, dabbing an inkwell, then tracing down a ledger. Her hair tied up in a ponytail, old bluerose tucked in above her horn, and she wore a pale teal shirt with suspenders and gray skirt. The lights were turned down, Gaelicat's Rest was quiet. She was surrounded by tall stacked bookcases of reference material new and old, anything she could get her hands on. Beyond the partitions lied the beds of the ward, empty this eve. Bright white sheets tucked tightly, not yet heavily stained.

Sen had insisted the Rest was missing an important space for medical care and injury especially now that it's masters had returned and opened the doors of the spa for weekly afternoon teas and welcomed guests to relax with food and cheer on the weekends. Attracting casual patrons and adventurers alike.

She had settled into her red mage boots enough to provide appropriate care, not discounting her years and years of practical medicine on top of it. It was strange being referred to as the head medic, having taken initiative and filling an empty spot.

She thought about heading out to get another bowl of stew, when there was light taps on the door. She almost thought she hadn't heard it. She looked to the chronometer with a squint, it was past her normal bedtime but not all that late for someone to come stumbling in bleeding.

"Come in," She called, there was more tapping, fainter. She felt a chill roll down the length of her spine. She had checked the wards only a few days ago. Who could blame the raen being on edge after dealing with a necromancer for months now? She licked her lips, leaning down to grab her focus to toss it up in the air - hand wrapping around the handle of the rapier. She stood from her desk, boot heels clicking across the tile cautiously approaching the door.

Turning the knob and the door pushed open forcing her back. Her rapier clattering to the ground. Stumbling in over the threshold was Qaor'a. His silvery hair a mess, fresh blood down the side of his temple, he clutched his cane close to his body - what she assumed had kept him up long enough to make it here in the first place. Carrying deep gauges across his body, presumably the work of a beast. His head lulled pressing into the frame, he was barely conscious.

He panted a desperate whimper, "H-help."

Sen automatically caught the miqo'te, carefully scooping under his arm to guide him to a bed.

"What the fuck Qaor'a..." She muttered, gently raising his arm down by his body gingerly lifting his Hearer's uniform purple robes. In a moment she was up again, calm and cool. There would be questions once she saved his life.

Sen quickly tied a starch white apron about her waist, washed her hands, pulled on gloves. Reaching into the potion cabinet to pull out something quick to stymie the bleeding first. Her focus following behind her.

Sen uncorked the bottle, supporting his head while she tipped the contents down ensuring he swallowed before she placed his head back down. Tugging a table with sterilized tools, she snipped open his robes, what was left of them from being torn. Peeling the blood soaked threads away. His breath was ragged.

She quickly examined what she saw, the most egregious wounds were over his abdomen and chest but as she went over the length of his body she discovered his leg had been torn up as well, the artery aetherically clotted and in a delicate state ready to rip open again. Blood leaked from his temples, and blood was dripping down from his nose.

Qaro'a's silvery eyes fluttered in and out of consciousness.

She had pulled a bottle of cheap ether for herself quickly downing that. It had aromatic notes of glue.

Sen took a deep breath and began to work.

The focus glowed a bright clear red bobbing as it slowly turned in a circle, light green aether poured out of it in a misty healing hue. The air cooled gently as Sen poured over her patient. Aetherically stymied the flow of blood from every wound she found, working in tandem with the potion as it flowed it's way through his body. She lightly dulled the pain as best as she could but it would have been too great of a expenditure of energy to fully commit.

Carefully she disinfected each wound, one sopping cotton pad after the other. Slowly adding to a growing pile at the bedside steel bowl. Cleaning blood from his face, his eyes, and with it started a pile of bloody towels.

He groaned, teeth baring. Fists full of sheets, crying out in pain. A conjurer's tolerance for pain being incredibly low. Still, Sen sympathized. It wasn't their job to get hurt. The pain would keep him awake.

She measured out arm lengths of thread, correctly eye balled the amount she'd need for each section. Sen pinched delicately, effortlessly pulled thread through flesh - neatly closing each injury seamlessly.

It was at least over a bell by the time Sen pulled the hooked needle on the final stitch. Sweat beaded freely at her forehead, she was panting with exertion. She leaned back, using a towel to dab herself dry.

"E-e-xhausted al-already?" He croaked, apparently still had enough energy to sass her. He smiled weakly, "Path-pathetic."

"I beg your fucking pardon." She laughed, shaking her head. She sipped from a water skin taking a small break now that he had stopped bleeding.

She stood up from her stool, stripping the bloody gloves, pulling on new ones. Expending the last little bit of energy she had to continue to dull the pain as she worked around him to prepare for the evening to sleep. Finally softening the wounds with salve before wrapping them with bandage. Neat and tidy.

Laying his cane beside the bed, it hummed distantly in her hand - it was both familiar...and it sang a sour note. She hesitated by it, her brow furrowed with concern. Setting up an iv of fluids for the night, he'd need it after all the blood loss, aether depletion, and potentially an upset stomach by the time morning arrived.

She sighed checking the chronometer, she'd have to monitor him for the next few bells.

He slowly rolled his head to follow her as she moved, catching her thinking, "Sen."

She bent down to listen, reassuring him, "We can talk in the morning, so don't worry. You'll be safe."

"I fucked up." He strained, but his eyelids were heavy. "That's why I'm here." His lip quivered, hand reaching out. "I'm begging you, d-don't tell anyone I'm here."

She caught it, "I promise, now please rest." Leaning over to press a light kiss to his forehead, his eyes fluttered shut.

#ffxivwrite2023 #ffxivwrite #ffxiv #writing prompt #prompt 29 #late entry #Contravention #the contravention is implied

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idanwyn-et-al · 2 years

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(XIV||22-29): Fuse.

(Continued from here.) (♪ - I highly recommend listening to this one for reading!)

Despite her best efforts, that flame of bravery quailed as she was guided to the crowded steps of the Tribunal. Her seeking eyes picked them out of the assembled; her immediate family, dressed in somber finery as befitted the occasion. Raphael Bale, her father, his salt-and-pepper hair combed neatly back from his worried face. Her mother, Mathilde, similarly-frightened with a spark of indignant anger in her pinched expression; taller than her husband by six ilms or so, a gift from her Durendaire grandmother, as was her umber skin. Mathilde’s sister, Elodie de Centurio, had her sword arm looped through Mathilde’s; she cut an impressive, elegant figure as always, with her blazing-red hair and its streak of white tamed into short curls, her sturdy adventurer’s body immaculate in a tailcoat and dress trousers. Anne-Sophie’s elder brother Felix, heir to the House, kept his face schooled into a perfect courtly mien that gave nothing away; it was only when his eyes caught hers that he offered her a wink, which stirred that flame of hope within her breast. It burned brighter as she saw Noémie, hand-in-hand with her wife, Aurienne de Courcellain; the astrologian and the pacifist mouthing ‘go get ‘em’ and ‘we’ve got you, Annie,’ respectively.

Rallying herself with their support, she stood up as straight as she could, managing to look much taller than her five-fulm-two-ilm frame would seemingly allow. They had come, after all. They would stand by her to the end.

---Previously, in the Gyshal’s Greens:---

I’ve always enjoyed rain. Even now, as it patters against the shingles of my hideaway, it brings back memories of watching droplets streak like serpentine comets against the lead-glass panes of our summer home. For all that we Bales are a hardy folk, favoring strength of body as a means to carry a clever mind, we didn't much care for outdoor excursions when it rained.

Everything within that western manor took on a festive air during summer thunderstorms. Stewards that had served since Father and Uncle Alberic were babes at the breast pressed their noses to the windows, gasping with delight as levin threaded wild ribbons between the clouds. Father would break out the good port and overindulge, playing cards and dice in the cellars with the kitchen staff. Mother and Aunt Elodie would gather us children in the conservatory facing the gardens, then throw the doors wide and race us to the stables and back, laughing and shrieking with each heart-rattling boom of thunder. “Warm up, wet moppets,” Mother would say each time we returned indoors, all of us stripping down to our smallclothes and seeking out the baths in the eastern wing.

Later, Felix would help the maids with the washing, while Noémie and I curled up with books and board games in the library, letting the warm fire dry our combed hair. As the cloudy skies grew darker, Mother would draw Father to bed, which we children all pretended not to notice, especially because it meant we could stay up late. Felix used to join us half the time, pretending he was too old and too important for our silliness, but inevitably succumbing to our childhood flights of fancy.

I wonder how many times Aunt Elodie carried each of our overtired bodies to bed in her strong swordswoman’s arms, giving us a gentle kiss on our foreheads before retiring for the night herself. Safe. We were all safe during those storms; the mountains around our estate were much taller than its highest gables, and the dragons did not often attack when levinbolts fused blinding pathways in the skies, seeking the tallest targets.

Perhaps that is why I enjoy this cabin, called the Gyshal’s Greens, so much. It feels safe, too; hidden and remote. A summer estate for the Knights Errant; humble for an estate, to be sure, but with its own vault beneath its weathered boards. Its own thriving gardens, too, and a nearby spring-fed brook. No stewards---at least, not yet---but we all like it that way. It means there is always good work to be done; the sort that leaves you exhausted but fulfilled as you enjoy a filling supper that you grew much of with your own hands.

I had plans to start a dodo hatchery in the spring, for meat and eggs. Perhaps a pen of aldgoats in the blackberry brambles out back, too, if we could keep them from destroying our crops. I say “had”, because my future is uncertain now. This may be my last night in the Greens, and I am here alone; Miovont off to Ala Mhigo with his sailing crew, and Trineaux with his adoptive parents in Empyreum. Though I miss their company, in truth I am glad for this moment of solitude. Miovont’s lighthearted jokes might fall flat for me tonight; a shame, since he tells such jokes as a way to stubbornly defy the early death that crawls through his veins. Trineaux would be keeping his hands busy, either cooking or cleaning or separating out the mending for me to do; though born to nobility, he was raised in the Brume, and his family performs day-to-day tasks with fervency that nearly seems religious in nature. Strange how that particular trait is never seen as heretical.

No, I should not let my thoughts turn to bitterness. I must have faith. Ishgard is changing, and, when I am honest with myself, the actions that I took to get myself to the First were rather reckless. Now that I have travelled more, both in that other world and in mine own, I understand that the rite I performed could leave any nation vulnerable. It is my dearest hope that the Holy See knows my contrition on this matter, while still allowing that the practicing of such magicks cannot and should not be anathema any longer.

I have already prepared for tomorrow. A suit of my dress armor sits polished on its wooden form, my Glass at the ready by its side; not the same dress armor I favored when I travelled to the First, but similar enough. I know the Temple Knights will strip me of it straight away, but it is important to me to come correct, as they say.

I will enjoy the fire in the hearth and the rain against the windows until they lull me to sleep. When I awake, I will muster my courage and head to Whitebrim Front to turn myself in. I wonder if I can collect the bounty on myself and donate it to some venerable cause; the Fury knows I have put any number of smallfolk at risk simply by accepting their bread and board. Perhaps someone will catch me on the road tomorrow and take the reward; given how Nymeia has been spinning my threads of late, it would suit.

When at last Anne-Sophie dozes off in the oversized chair, she dreams of an upturned ewer, pouring a gentle stream over the Gyshal’s Greens. Atop these waters are illuminated pages that float like water lilies, surrounding the Mystic Knight with a sense of peace that she has not known in moons.

(Continued and concluded here!)

#FFxivWrite2022 #my writing #Anne-Sophie Bale #XIV Write 22 Anne-Sophie Story #The Trial of Ser Bale #first person pov #gotta do it for the penultimate challenge!#Prompt 29 #Fuse #with mentions of #Ishgardian Knights Errant #yay less long posts #also dun dun dun some religious foreshadowing #House Bale

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