#so if someone is already in charge of the upper east side

[little-pondhead]

[inspired roughly by this post. My brain snails started going nuts so I thought it'd be easier to post this separately :)]

…

It was a lovely day in Gotham. Well, as lovely as it could be. The sun was up, peeking through the overhead cloud cover and making the buildings gleam in the rare sunlight. The air was fresher than usual, and faucets ran clear of strange and unusual toxins.

Somewhere in the Upper East Side, in a little neighborhood tucked away from the rest of the city, marched around the new boss of the area. She was a young girl, just barely in high school. But despite it being the middle of a work day, she wandered around her chosen streets, content to do whatever she wanted. Above her, a pair of siblings watched on and discussed the unique situation.

"So let me get this straight: that fourteen-year-old goth girl is a crime boss?"

Mia smiled at Leon, her older brother, and his dumbfounded expression as they rested on her balcony. "She's fifteen, actually. Her birthday just passed. We all got together and threw a block party for her!"

"You know how insane that sounds, right?" Leon turned to her, a bit miffed that she dared to say those words to his face. "She's a kid. Why do you all listen to her?"

Mia shrugged and sipped her beer. "She does good work. Holds her own pretty well, and the kid has connections. Good ones, too. That can be the difference between life and death in Gotham."

Leon rubbed his forehead in frustration. "I just don't get it. How did she end up in this line of work? Do child labor laws even apply here?? Why aren't the Bats doing anything?"

"Don't think about it too much, dipshit." Mia crushed her now-empty beer can in her hand and tucked it into a paper garbage bag hanging off of a hook on the balcony rail. A familiar set of green arrows was printed on the side.

"And now you're recycling?!" Leon realized. "When did you start doing that, Mia??"

The woman shrugged and got up, stretching. "Probably around the time Brambles absolutely reamed out Mrs. Zalinski for littering at the park."

"Wait, who's Brambles?" Leon scrambled upright and followed his sister inside.

Mia laughed. "Brambles is our fifteen-year-old crime boss!"

...

"I can't believe you got a cool name right off the bat," Danny grumbled, flopping onto Sam's bed face-first. Sam smirked and shoved him off with her foot. Danny just squawked and let himself ragdoll to the ground.

"It's your fault for not having a better gimmick." She said to his prone body. "Besides, it could've been worse."

"I think Inviso-Bill is the worst possible nickname for anyone." Danny groaned. "But you got something cool immediately. Who even thought up 'Brambles'? That's such a unique name!"

"Well the kids call you Grim; that's pretty cool."

Danny flopped over, twisting himself much farther than any human was supposed to just so he could glare at her face. "They only call me that cause one of the is obsessed with Harry Potter." He grumbled, pouting.

Sam just rolled her eyes and went back to sorting through piles of papers scattered all across her duvet. Since moving to Gotham several months ago, Sam had taken it upon herself to turn the experience into something useful rather than just moping all the time, as she originally wanted to. That 'something useful' had landed her as the newest crime boss in Gotham, with about a third of the Upper East Side as her current territory.

So many problems had popped up in the last year, and the group had decided that taking it on alone would never work. The GIW had been trying to close Amity's borders, Danny's parents had a scientific breakthrough, tensions in the Realms were high, etc. There was a lot on their plate! Sam's solution was to create a foothold in Gotham City. She would lay the foundations for Jazz to work in Arkham and forge a safer environment for the residents of Amity Park to sneak off to if the GIW went too far. She was essentially weaving a cushion for everyone to fall back on.

Danny, using the power of duplication, was splitting his focus between foiling his parent's plans and resolving issues with his rouges to create a united front. He was the main distraction, and Sam's own heavy hitter when she needed help establishing dominance.

Tucker planned to gather intel with the help of Technus and Jazz. They were trying to gather as much evidence as possible so they'd be in the clear when the whistle blew. The GIW would crash and burn, legally speaking. They were the bugs of the operation, spreading themselves thin and hoarding information like it was candy.

Dani was their wild card, their jester. She was keeping the JLD's attention focused solely on her and all the supernatural hijinks she was stirring up. When the time was right, she'd point them in the direction needed and let them loose. After winding them up so much, the hope was that the Justice League Dark would descend upon the GIW like hellfire.

But those were their future plans. Right now, Sam was in possession of specific files from Arkham Asylum and the GCPD. She was looking for anything to give her an edge in the upcoming meeting with a few other crime bosses. Some annual thing they host to renew Goonion contracts, see who's still alive, and examine how much the territory lines have changed. Stuff like that. Red Hood was supposed to be there, and she knew she needed an ironclad defense against him and his nosy colony of Bats.

Danny untwisted himself all of a sudden, making a weird face. "Sorry, got to go." He apologized. "Vlad just showed up to my house."

Sam waved him off. "Go, I'll be fine for today. Just be on time for the meeting on Friday. And I want you, not a double."

"You got it!" Danny did finger guns at her and promptly melted into a pile of green goo. Right on her bedroom floor!

Sam sighed and got up to throw a towel over the puddle. The ectoplasm would evaporate eventually, returning to the original Danny little by little. But for now, this would keep anyone from asking about it until it was all gone.

Sometimes she really hated living in student dorms. People always felt the need to burst into her room for no reason.

Who even made dorm rooms for high schoolers in the first place??

...

Jason couldn't help but stare at the new recruit.

Well, 'new recruit' wasn't exactly accurate. 'Potential to be the most headache-inducing supervillain' was more like it. Standing at a solid 5'10" with platform boots, Brambles, the newest crime lord who had taken over half of the Upper East Side in under four months, was almost tall enough to look him in the eye straight on. Which she tried to do anyways, tilting her chin up oh-so-slightly (in that stupid way aristocrats do when they want to look down at you) and glaring at him with open hostility.

Brambles was young, way too young to be in this line of business. At the start of the annual underground crime meeting (yes, they couldn't come up with a better name), she had announced that she was fifteen, went by she/her, and would snap the dick off of anyone who looked at her funny. Most everyone laughed at her, thinking it was an empty threat. Brambles proved it wasn't by sucker-punching a younger lieutenant who tried to get handsy with her five minutes into the meeting.

When the lieutenant's boss protested and threatened a gang war, Brambles had snapped her fingers and summoned what could only be a fucking pit demon from the depths of hell to threaten the man back. The creature looked like a teenager, just like Brambles, at first. But it was...off. The longer you looked, the worse it got.

It wore a draping black cloak that covered most of its body, with the ends turning to mist when it reached the floor. It had a pale, young face and white hair. Its eyes glowed just like Brambles', except they were a toxic green that made Jason's heart skip a beat in fear. The creature was snarling, with a fucking muzzle on it to keep its sharp teeth away from wandering fingers.

With a nod from Brambles, the creature bounded forward and knocked the guy to the floor, its arm elbow-deep into the guy's chest. The dude looked terrified, and a little sick "Would you rather lose a lieutenant or your life?" She had snarled, sounding almost a bit demonic herself. The other boss had backed down without another word, writing off his subordinate as dead and gone.

Instead of killing the guy, however, Brambles simply banished her little guard dog to a corner of the warehouse to play with its new toy in peace.

"Is she allowed to do that?" Someone whispered.

"They weren't unionized, so the Goonion won't say anything." Another answered.

It was the most awkward meeting in the history of the criminal underworld. No one even died since they were all focused on the newcomer.

Jason could feel a headache forming as the meeting came to an end. Brambles was still sitting in her chair. The creature had grown bored of its toy and was leaning against her, sprawled out lazily and barely flicking an ear at the onlookers in acknowledgment. A few people were idling around her, mostly women, trying to talk some big game and get on the kid's good side. Brambles was humoring them, taking tight control of the conversation when they got too prying.

Jason sighed. He knew he'd have to go over and have a talk with the kid, even if it was just for Bruce's files. He hauled himself upwards and stalked over. "Pardon me, ladies and gents, but I'm going to borrow the kiddo here for a moment."

The creature hissed at him, tensed at his approach. Brambles kept a tight grip on the back of its muzzle, keeping it grounded. The other criminals scattered like flies. They were the only two (three?) left in the warehouse within minutes.

Bramble rose to glare at him. "What." She spat. "If you're here to convince me not to get involved with anything, I will set Grim on your ass after lighting it on fire."

The creature, Grim, growled in agreement. The sound echoed strangely like he was hearing it from underwater.

"Relax, I'm not here to do any of that." Jason raised his hands in surrender, immediately abandoning that possible line of thought. "I'm just here to talk business. You're young, and while you don't want to admit it, inexperienced."

"Stop the fancy words, Red Hood." Brambles' eyes glowed again, and she released her hold on Grim's muzzle. "If you want to make a deal, say it to my face. If you're here to dig for information, either ask me or hit the road. I prefer honesty over flower talk, so tell me what you want before I take over your area, too."

Jason bristled. His vision was tinted green as he snapped, "What the fuck is your problem, kid?! I just wanted to make sure you were safe and not being forced to do this. I was even going to offer my support and protection if it was too much! I know you aren't going to stop, but that doesn't mean I want a kid to die just because they got into something they shouldn't and they think their fancy guard dog will always be there to protect them!"

Brambles' eyes stopped glowing, and her stare softened a bit. Grim went deadly still, just floating there, staring at Jason. His heart beat like crazy in his chest. What was he saying? It was all true, but he could've been nicer about it. Dick would've found a way to be nicer.

-krrrk- "Ibis, reporting in. I think you can trust him, guys. Even if he's a Bat, his connections and experience would be useful in our plans. Ibis out." -krrrk-

Jason flinched from the sudden noise, looking around to find the source. It sounded like it had come from everywhere, even inside his own helmet. Brambles immediately switched out her hostile look for an annoyed one, tapping an earpiece he hadn't noticed before.

"Ibis, you really have to stop opening up our comm lines to the public." She snapped, but there was no real heat to it. "And I thought I told you to stop eavesdropping!"

-krrrk- "Sorry, can't help it. I'm everywhere now! You shouldn't have given me this power." -krrrk-

Grim hissed.

-krrrk- "Don't hiss at me, young man! You were the one who suggested this!" -krrrk-

"I'm sorry, time out!" Jason made a T with his hands. The green from his vision had completely disappeared now. "What the FUCK is going on now?"

Brambles sighed, rubbing her temples. "You know what? Fine. We'll trust you. My name is Sam. Nice to meet you, Jason Todd."

Jason stepped back, immediately reaching for his gun. Grim darted forward and promptly flew through him, stealing all his weapons in one go. "I'm Danny!" Grim-Danny?-chirped in a human voice, giving him a shit-eating smile. "Sorry for the act, Mr. Hood. And sorry about the name drop, I'm the one that told them."

-krrrk- "I'm Tucker! There are more of us, but they're busy. I have literally so many questions for you, Mr. Hood." -krrrk-

"Now that introductions are over-Danny don't eat his smoke bombs, you're not gonna look like Dorathea-we'd like your help."

Jason squinted at them. "You understand this is all suspicious as fuck, right? And how did a pit demon find out who I am?"

-krrrk- "Yeah, we know. But lives are on the line here, and I think you'd really be a help!" -krrrk-

Brambles-Sam-sighed and pulled out a flash drive. "I was going to use this as leverage, but I guess it'll have to be useful in other ways." She tossed it to Jason, who numbly caught it. "Look over it if you want. If you don't, then just burn it. Do not try to plug it into the Batcomputer. Don't try to send it to the Batcomputer, either. A virus will target that specific IP address as soon as it makes contact. Any other computer is fine."

"Look it over, and we can go from there," Danny added, spinning in midair while chomping on one of Jason's knives. (His good one, too!) "And I'm not a pit demon, but I am dead. That's how I knew about you. Whatever brought you back to life gave the Realms a real headache for a while. It wasn't hard to look you up in the records."

"This is so much information. Lives are on the line? And two, three kids are dealing with it? By becoming crime bosses?"

-krrrk- "Technically, Sam's the only crime boss here. And that was kind of an accident. She was supposed to create a safe foothold in Gotham in case we needed to evacuate our town. But we all got cool nicknames out of it! And you're the only adult we've told this stuff to!" -krrrk-

"I'm what?"

"The only adult." Sam's unwavering gaze seemed to pierce his soul. "There are quite literally no other adults that can help, Red Hood. None that we trust, not really. Any adult intervention needs to be planned carefully so it doesn't backfire on us. We're trusting you here, Jason. Not only are you like us, which technically puts you in danger too, but you have power and connections to support a whole town of people the government wants to eradicate."

Jason looked at the little green flash drive in his hand. He didn't want to ask. "And this...?"

"A fruit basket," Sam said simply. "Originally, it was supposed to be blackmail. But instead, this is a present to show our goodwill and faith. To show you our skills. That drive contains information on other gangs, upcoming rogue attacks, chemical breakdowns of Joker Venom and Fear Gas, unfinished antidote formulas, etc. Tucker and his team scoured the underbelly of Gotham and gathered dirt on every single prominent figurehead. Including Bruce Wayne, should you choose to use it."

"I would never-"

"But you've thought about it." Danny cut in and scratched his neck. Jason's hands shook. "It's not a bad thing. It's just the nature of the dead. Wanting to right the wrongs left over from their time with the living. Even if you walk and breathe now, that doesn't mean desire disappears."

"The point is, we need help. Even if I'm loathe to admit it." Sam rolled her eyes, and suddenly, Jason didn't see a potential supervillain in the making. He saw a teenager trying her best, shouldering the responsibility of hundreds of people, both in Gotham and her hometown. Danny looked the same, no matter how other-worldly he was. What battles were they facing? Why weren't there any adults to turn to? What kind of lives were they leading if they immediately trusted a known crime lord with their lives upon the first meeting?

"I'll think about it." Jason finally said. Danny trilled in excitement, and some tension bled out of Sam's shoulders. "If the situation is bad enough, however, I'm calling in someone else for help."

Danny shrugged. "As long as it ain't Batman! I don't think he'll appreciate us smuggling a town of liminals into his city."

Sam poked Danny's shoulder, prompting him to look at her. "Let's go, before you break his brain with more info-dumping. Bye Red Hood!"

"Uh, yeah. Goodbye!" Jason stuttered. He watched the two kids walk towards the exit door, before shimmering out of sight before they even touched the handle.

What the fuck.

#danny phantom #dpxdc #kinda strayed away from the prompt #and that's why its a separate post not a reblog #long post #not beta read #no beta we die like danny #pondhead writes #this leans into more of a ‘Sam did it on purpose but said it was an accident’ #Tucker read the vibes from all the way in Amity and the other two just roll with it #Tucker: we can trust him #Sam: here’s our entire life story then #Danny: I hope you don’t mind us info-dumping :) #Danny will eat anything #he’s a growing boy! (hopefully) #he wanted to look like Dorathea when she’s a dragon #I cannot stress enough I don’t know shit about dc #so if someone is already in charge of the upper east side #then shut up Sam is their boss now #not continuing please don’t ask I will cry #someone else is free to take over from here #it’s literally just brain vomit to get myself going

[the-firebird69]

Is Tommy Anthony and these girls getting excited to someone's doing something and helping and they like it because they don't like to be disturbed all the time and the like things to be safe. And it is not safe now and these guys going after money it's in California and it came back from Japan and it went to the circus and it went to people who went over there and they have it and it's mixed in and they have to grab it all and sort it and it went on earlier today now it's going on tomorrow cuz tomorrow night it goes to Utah and tomorrow night the jet goes there the airplane goes there tomorrow tomorrow night it goes to Vegas and Saturday it goes to Alabama and then it comes to New Orleans later on it seems late but it's not it's really Sunday when it goes around the other side but it's starting Saturday and it's for 3 days it's going to be huge and the battles are fast they take an hour

Tonight I'm watching the North East corridor and that's where Trump and Tommy F went and we are launching the rest of the middle of the Eastern side of the middle west and more from the upper Midwest and some from the corridor area and it will loaded up again and repeat and we're shipping stuff all the time it's kind of tricky it's coming down and it's not him and he wanted sense of stuff so he's got a list and you want to know who to send it to and we said it's the beef supplier out there and he wouldn't do it and yeah that's wrong guy so tons of coming out and he hates it and we can have a fight

Hera

And Tommy favino says he fatten you up for the thing so he can kidnap you and when we say is you're stupid to Tommy f is a different case and we're going to have to land base you because you're such an idiot. This movie is happening tomorrow and the whole sequence goes as she said and it is right on the day it starts happening in the right around the same time it goes to Cuba and those Cuban cigars are helping and all over the place in Miami and we've got chips on the way and we sent a few today already and they needed more and we sent tons of stuff okay they were very amazed and they figured it out we had extra food so we're sitting huge huge lots and California is buying tons of it and the South up in the north part of it and there's stocking up and they're selling massive amounts to Florida and the stocking up and it's going well and our son says this these guys suck at power down here and the wires are weird I'm not subterranean and they really go off and on all at damn time so he wants us to put in a few codegen plans and use the wood my daddy says okay and it says we can run the plant a little over like owner overseeing and he says okay and make sure that she has don't come in there and we watch it all the time cuz you need to keep the stuff going and we're going to ship generators and we're going to ship those to Miami cuz they're too big and we're moving it out right now and we are prepping to replace those buildings and buildings along the coast with modular ones and we got permission and they're purchasing them it's a huge amount of work and everybody's getting going they have a ton of money so they can afford it and we're charges a little more and our son says if we need the equipment to bring it in and to have them purchase it and we can leave it this is good that's a good idea and a little extra for the service and we got that too

Thor Freya

[the-swedes-knees]

Time in A Bottle (Agent Mobius x Reader)

Summary: Everyone has a guilty pleasure. For Mobius, it's a slice of pie in a very specific slice of time.

Word Count: 1.8k

Located in the middle of Downtown, bordering on the corner of old-time druggies and newly gentrified condos was a moderate sized building with an exorbitant monthly rent. 

It was a theme restaurant, if the theme was 'we opened in 1953 and we'll be damned if we change the decor'- done up in chrome and frosted glass windows that clashed against the surrounding brick and mortar. The neon sign bearing the establishment's name had burnt out years ago, but it wasn't the type of place one would seek out.

Unless you were Mobius, that is.

[09:45:00]

Technically, he shouldn't be here.

His unit was nearly a mile out, or, more accurately, they would be within the hour. Dates like this, where a simple flap of a fat pigeon's wing could ripple into Nexus event after Nexus event had a name. A proper designation in their severity and frequency of necessary resets.

But he just always referred to them as 'a real pickle'.

You glance up at the front door as the brass bell affixed to the frame jingles loudly. The man that enters looks around the place before making eye contact with you and smiles. He points to the empty bar and you nod your head.

Once you finish refilling the other customer's drink, you see that he's made himself comfortable in the middle stool.

"Hey there." You greet from the opposite side of the counter. He offers a sheepish greeting in response as you set a water down in front of him, balancing a plastic straw on the rim of the glass. "Can I start you off with some coffee? Just made a fresh pot."

"That'd be great, thanks."

You place the mug and matching saucer in front of him and pour. For a moment you look up at him, and he's smiling a very genuine smile- something very rare these days.

As soon as it's full to the brim you're reaching under the counter and grabbing a clean glass sugar pourer, placing it right next to his cup.

"How'd you know?"

"Customer service intuition, I guess." He thanks you before unfurling the napkin containing his flatware. Like someone with real proper manners, he drapes the napkin over one of his legs before stirring an ample amount of sugar into his drink.

You can't help but notice just how much he fits in to the whole aesthetic with his well fitted brown suit and slim tie. New York offered a multiplicity of personalities, and you'd become quite numb to anything and everything that would walk through that door.

Yet, someone about this man was intriguing, familiar in a way. Like in the past life he was a PI that you hired to confirm your husband's affair.

Both a confidant, and a stranger.

"Feel free to take your time, but, do you know what you'd like?" You note his closed menu pushed to the side. He raises his eyebrows and nods while mid-sip, and you pull out a notepad and pen from your apron.

"Sure do, could I get two slices?" He points the vintage rotating pie cooler to your left and specifies his selection.

Easy enough. You put two generous slices onto separate plates, and he declines your offer of whipped cream or ice cream on top.

"Good choice, this one's my favorite."

"You don't say." The knowing twinkle in his eye wasn't noticed as you busied yourself with refilling his coffee. He holds his hands up in mock defeat and sighs. "Well, I guess you'll have to join me." The ceramic scraped against the quartz tabletop as he pushed one of the plates across the bar, directly opposite himself.

"I'm on the clock-"

"Don't worry, another customer doesn't come in for-" He pauses to flex his arm, riding his jacket sleeve up just enough to check his wristwatch. "12 minutes and 43 seconds."

[09:52:16]

"Am I supposed to trust you on that?" You raise an eyebrow, and his only response is a slight head tilt and pushing the second slice a nudge closer to you.

It wasn't every day courteous men offered you a break in the form of your favorite desert. Your face screwed up in contemplation as you looked at the only other two patrons in the diner before giving in and grabbing a second set of flatware. "Well, it is slow-"

"For a Friday?" He has another bite before setting down his fork and dabbing at his face with his napkin.

"Is it Friday already?" You sigh, bent over the counter to take a bite of the pie. Delicious as ever. "Hardly feels like it, all the days are melding together."

"I think this one will stand out."

"What is the date, anyway?"

"May 4th." You make a hum of acknowledgement and he gives you a lopsided grin. "2012, incase you forgot the year too."

"I'll mark it in my calendar," You laugh, using your hand to cover your mouth as you continue to chew. "'The Day I Met-'"

"Mobius." He introduces himself, extending his hand over the counter and you shake it. His grip is firm, authoritative. Before you can reply with your own name, he refers to you by it while maintaining perfect eye contact.

You can't explain why, but it feels so right when he says it. Like it was perfectly made to be pronounced in his charming Texan drawl with just the faintest hint of gravel.

While you're fixed in a stunned silence his eyes deliberately dart to the lapel of your uniform. You follow his gaze and laugh at yourself for neglecting that you were indeed wearing a nametag.

"So Mobius... like, from maths?"

"Yeah, like math." He eyes his untouched water and picks up the plastic straw. His fingers move carefully, removing the straw from the perorated paper. You watch with curiosity as the man twists the paper once and pinches the two ends together with his thumb and index finger.

Mobius holds his opposite hand out to you, confident, waiting. With a bemused smile you allow him to guide your hand. His skin is warm, presumably from the way he had cradled his coffee mug, but it's comforting in a way. His rough hand guides you, your finger tracing the geometry of the paper-straw shape.

"A path that twists and turns... but always ends back at the same spot."

"I wasn't very good at math." You admit, and gesture around as if working in a place like this was a testament to that fact. "Why does it matter that it always ends where it began?"

"Well, that all depends on perspective. Maybe it doesn't matter. But to the one who observes it, it makes all the difference." You quirk an eyebrow, silently pressing him to elaborate. "Maybe that point's... where you got your first kiss, the feeling when your favorite football team scores a winning touchdown, a perfect sunset-"

Mobius catches himself trailing off, and looks down at his plate. He puts another bite onto his fork and cheers it to you.

"Or having pie in good company."

You look around the mostly empty diner before bracing your arms against the counter, leaning in as if you were to whisper some great secret.

"Has anyone ever told you you're a bit odd?"

[09:59:06]

"No-" His eyes crinkle as he laughs. "No, that's a new one. But you find it charming." He winked, actually winked, and leaned back in his stool, smirking into his coffee.

Your fork was halfway to your mouth as your just stared at him, frozen. You feel your mouth open and close a few times as you try to think of a somewhat dignified response.

"How would you know that?"

"I just know things." He shrugged.

"Like what?" You challenged.

"How about, Paul- over there." You crane your head to follow his line of eye, your coworker currently bussing a table that had just left. "Worked in this place five years, loves Coke- from the glass bottle, nothing else. Has a girl on the Upper East Side and runs a decent sized internet radio station out of his apartment."

"You're one of his listeners." You narrowed your eyes at him, a perfectly reasonable explanation.

"Oh, no. Hyperpop... not my style."

"Alright, BBC Sherlock-" You countered. You give a subtle head tilt to a woman sitting in a far off booth, papers spread out on the table around her pancake combo. Whoever she was, she definitely wasn't a regular. "How about her?"

"Mrs. Braverman. Youngest of eight siblings, English teacher at the charter school up the avenue. Actually prefers imitation maple syrup to the real thing."

You know very well Mobius could be talking out of his ass. But he's confident, nonchalantly so- like this was a game to him and he was obviously winning.

"What about me?"

"Thought you'd never ask." Your anticipation is palpable as he swallows his final bite, taking the time to wipe his face of crumbs before smiling softly at you.

"You are... a poem of a person. Charming, capable, when you walk into a room people notice- even if you convince yourself that they don't." His gaze is steady, patient, and he's looking at you as if you're the only person in the universe. "You have big dreams, far beyond all... this... and you're gonna make it."

[10:04:59]

The sound of the door chime breaks you out of whatever hypnotic state you had found yourself in. Sucking in a breath and blinking away the very beginnings of tears in your eyes you tell the new customer to sit wherever they like.

Mobius took this chance to check his handheld, sighing at the time and the ever-growing slope of the branch variation.

The reset charge would be set soon, with or without him there.

"Look at that. Duty calls." He stands up and pulls a billfold from his jacket pocket, not even counting as he puts the cash down on the counter.

Mobius turns to leave, but hesitates. He turns back around to face you and places his hands on his hips. Allowing himself to play into the fleeting illusion just a tad longer.

"One more thing I know about you-" Mobius rubbed his chin in careful consideration. "You have a date tonight."

"Ah-" You wag your finger at him and shake your head side to side, "got one wrong."

"Did I? Ah- well... How about we change that?"

You pause. The plates you had been holding found their way back to the counter as you set them down slowly. Once again in a very short time span, he had left you speechless.

"That... was possibly the lamest pickup line I've ever heard." Though you mean it to be snarky, it sounds more like praise coming from your smiling lips. "I get off at 6:30."

"Alright." He looks perfectly pleased with himself as he lightly knocks on the counter with his fist. "It's a date."

Walking out the door, Mobius gave one last look at the diner before reporting to the event site.

He knew would see you again, always at 9:45.

#agent mobius #mobius #mobius m. mobius #agent mobius x reader #mobius x reader #loki series #loki #marvel #marvel x reader #sorry for the interruption from my usual content #but I love time traveling men

[andthatscanon]

I am personally advocating that you make a list of Dair episodes that one can watch in order to watch their love story and pretend that they ended up together.

and im very happy to do so!!

i think the best way i could go about it is just listing all the episodes they have some kind of interaction (that i remember) and highlighting the ones i think you can't miss

SEASON 1

S01E01 - blair sees dan leaving with serena S01E02 - they are properly introduced S01E03 - ivy week S01E04 - one of the best episodes of the whole show, with hits like "she's everything i hate about the upper east side" and the hallway scene S01E05 - knight in shining armor dan coming to the rescue S01E08 - blair's bday and dan is at her party S01E09 - blair meets cedric (thanksgiving ep) S01E10 - dan goes to blair's for tea S01E11 - blair mentions cedric to serena S01E12 - dan goes to blair's for essay writing/partying S01E13 - dan lists blair as one of the reasons why he loves serena S01E15 - exchanging glances after the SATs S01E16 - "just who I hate to admit I was looking for" S01E17 - dan goes to blair's to ask about serena S01E18 - first time properly teaming up

SEASON 2

S02E01 - "the only thing lamer than dating dan humphrey is mourning dan humphrey" S02E02 - hand holding my beloved S02E03 - "a party hosted by blair waldorf, the biggest dan humphrey supporter in all of manhattan" S02E04 - “google ‘revenge’ you get blairwaldorf dot com” S02E05 - "the only person with fewer friends than you is dan humphrey, and at least his lame '90s dad likes him" S02E08 - "you have to decide what's most important to you: keeping your pride and getting nothing or taking a risk and maybe, maybe, having everything" S02E11 - "i tried 😊" S02E13 - bart's funeral + he carried the garment bag (and gives blair an eyeful) S02E15 - blair kicks dan's book S02E16 - handsome dan S02E17 - very sexually charged bathroom scene S02E18 - school play S02E19 - blair tells serena about dan and rachel in the costume closet S02E23 - dan walks in the group discussing gabriel's conning S02E24 - "i just spent ten seconds talking to you, so consider yourself repaid" S02E25 - blair gives dan a whole rant about his life, showing she was paying close attention

SEASON 3

S03E01 - teaming up again to save serena S03E02 - she asks him on a date!!! he takes her headband off!!!! S03E03 - blair finds a half-naked dan humphrey in her dorm room S03E05 - looking cute together during the rufly wedding S03E10- another play! S03E11 - they are sitting side by side during thanksgiving dinner S03E12 - dan tells blair about serena's accident S03E18 - i do think!!!! you deserve to be!!!!! with someone!!!! who makes you happy!!!! + when we open our hearts we can explore a world of love???????? and be pleasantly surprised by the people already in our lives??????? S03E19 - dan brings blair to a party so she can kiss someone S03E21 - another team up! we love to see it S03E22 - so say life is giving you signs!!!! + dan punching chuck

SEASON 4

S04E01 - blair asks serena if she made up her mind between nate and dan S04E02 - blair compares dan to a donut S04E03 - blair recounts serena dating history S04E04 - dan helps blair dig up dirt on eva S04E06 - dan and blair briefly talk while jenny is on her parson's interview S04E07 - dan sabotages blair's bday S04E09 - serena still hasn’t decided between nate and dan so blair gives her some advice S04E10 - another team-up to save serena (third time's the charm) S04E11 - road trip!!!! S04E12 - blair invites herself on a date with dan S04E13 - internship at w my beloved S04E15 - valentine's day is their holiday S04E16 - maybe it's better sometimes to just get what you need!!!! S04E17 - dan and blair individual entities, two proper nouns separated by a conjunction. or a comma, if mentioned in a list. which is rare, since we have nothing in common, and are, in fact, opposites. the kind of opposites who do not attract. most definitely not. no. the world just wasn't ready for a humphrey/waldorf friendship. it's been nice not being friends with you. let's not do it again sometime. S04E18 - kiss aftermath S04E19 - mini dan makeover + second kiss S04E22 - "there's a certain someone that might actually like the way she's painted. and im not talking about serena"

SEASON 5

S05E01 - "lonely boy learning three words, eight letters don't come out right when no one wants to hear them" S05E02 - you'll still have me!!!! 😭😭😭😭 S05E03 - blair turning to dan because she knew he was the only one who'd protect her from her own worst instincts!!!! 😭😭😭😭😭 S05E04 - hot book kiss S05E05 - "you’re the star of dan’s book" S05E08 - dan is in love with blair and even chuck can see it S05E10 - blair, once again, turning to dan. and dan, once again, putting her happiness first S05E11 - fake dairffair ep S05E12 - dan!!! wrote!!!! louis'!!!! vows!!!!! S05E13 - blair runs away with dan S05E14 - dairport! S05E15 - valentine's day is their holiday (pt ii) S05E16 - ANOTHER PLAY!!!!! EVERYBODY CHEERED!!!! S05E17 - I!!! TOLD!!! CHUCK!!!! HE!!! DOESN'T!!!! HAVE!!!! MY!!!! HEART!!!! ANYMORE!!!!! (you could stop watching here) S05E18 - dan and blair have sex all over ny S05E19 - dan makes blair feel like a princess (series finale, stop watching here) S05E20 - just pure domesticity. the married vibes in this episode are through the roof S05E21 - blair sabotages dan's award party thing and he comforts her S05E22 - opening scene my beloved (stop!!!! watching!!!! don't even continue the episode after that scene!!!!) S05E23 - "there is nothing I want more than to spend the summer right by your side" (i!!! told!!! you!!! to!!! stop!!!! watching!!!! - but seriously, stop right after their kiss at the loft, this is your last warning)

SEASON 6

what s6?

#asks #dan x blair #dair #dan humphrey #blair waldorf #gossip girl #sorry for taking so long #it took me a while to compile this list #it was fun tho!

[legends-live-in-memories]

Focus On Me

i want yall to pretend i dont have outstanding wips i need to finish lmao. Have this instead:

Dickinette One-shot 1.9K words

Summary: 

“Dick is pissed as hell after arguing with Bruce.

His solution? Go to an underground fight club to get the shit beaten out of him.”

without further ado

Richard Grayson was many things. He was a professional acrobat. He was a dedicated vigilante. Son of freaking Batman himself. And now? Now he was pissed as hell. The fallout between him and Bruce wasn’t supposed to get this bad. Wasn’t supposed to go on this long. The radio silence was deafening and the cold shoulder burned hotter than any flaming hoop he jumped through as a kid. He knew Bruce had issues about Dick’s decision but that had nothing to do with his capabilities as a vigilante and everything to do with Bruce’s own fears and insecurities. Thinking about it just gets him riled up and he keeps replaying the harsh words they threw at each other before fists started flying too.

He needs to get out of his head for a few hours before he plans what his next move is. No. He needed to get out of his head, yes, but he needs to breathe and maybe punch someone who he doesn’t fear disappointing or someone who hasn’t dumped a ferry’s load of emotional bullshit on him. Planning what comes next can have the decency to at least wait a week. 

Trying to distract himself, he went to an underground boxing club he discovered when he was sixteen. The club was deep in the East End, hidden between the Black Bass Bar and 83rd Street. He’s been sneaking there every now and again when he wanted the time to recenter himself and get grounded before facing the world. It was therapeutic, the bruising knuckles, the blistered lips, the burning sweat in his eyes. It was rough, jaded and unpolished. Everything he wasn’t allowed to be. 

He snuck in through the regular back entrance that was reserved for fighters. The air reeked of tequila and piss and cigarettes. He could already hear the cacophony of roars and jeers from the club’s patrons as a match went on in the center ring. Making his way to the side of the ring to put his name into the bracket, he sees the current fight come to a close with a knockout. The poor guy was lying limply with a twisted ankle and a suspiciously dark bruise forming on his left side. The mat is soiled with blood, spit and what was possibly bile in one corner. Dick swung his gaze over to the fighter left standing. 

His breath feels punched out as he takes in the absolute powerhouse before him. A lean figure clad in simple matching black spandex and sports bra that left nothing to the imagination. Her bare feet were bruised and taped in seemingly random places but Dick recognised an arch to them that was only achieved through professional dancing or gymnastics. She was light on her feet, strong on her toes. Chiseled abs that put Superman to shame were marred by scars on pale skin and a fresh bandage over what could possibly be a recent stab wound resting near her hip. He eyed her wrapped fists that were caked in blood and dirt as she flexed and curled her fingers repeatedly. 

If he was left breathless by her physique then her face left him dead and buried. Bold blue eyes narrowed in concentration with her busted lips curled up in a sneer. Her cheeks were flushed and her entire face was covered in a light sheen of sweat. Her hair is pulled back into a regular ponytail with loose strands framing her face. Her hair, pure black, except for bleached blonde ends, looks greasy and unkept, highlighting her lack of care regarding her appearance. Her shoulders are hiked up to her ears and her muscles twitch and flex with pent up energy. She carries herself like someone who’s addicted to pain and the worst parts of themselves, desperate for a quick fix; the perfect reflection for how he feels right now.  Dick can’t wait to get in the ring.

“I’ll pay you $50 to get me in the ring with her right now.” He turned his neck to the fight coordinator who was counting a wad of cash. The balding man barely looked at him and just held out his hand for the payment. Dick couldn’t get his money out fast enough and before he even confirmed that he was the next fight, he was already taking his shirt off and going between the rope barriers to the floor.

The loser of the last fight was being dragged off with no concern for his well-being, while the victor stood off to the side guzzling some water. She barely side-eyes him, a quick sweep of her eyes without turning to face him, and he already feels himself flushing hot from the attention. He preens and starts stretching out his shoulders, rolling his ankles and warming up his legs at the same time. 

He barely registers the presence of the announcer, ears filled with cotton and eyes narrowing at his opponent. He looks for weaknesses, anything that would get him an edge, as he crouches into a starting position. Her wound is an obvious target and she’s short enough for easy face and neck shots. Hair pulling is also an option if he feels particularly brutish. She mirrors his stance, crouch closer to her feet and legs wider to increase lunging distance, and the full force of her gaze almost bowls him over. His eyes harden into ice shards, not willing to be swayed by twin pools of blue fire. The bell dings. He charges.

He swings an uppercut that just grazes her chin and she recoils, spins back and jabs an elbow in his ribs. He grabs her by the same elbow and twists his wrist. She twinges in pain but the hold doesn’t last long. She follows the rotation of her arm and faces him. He smells faint traces of beer on her lips and his mind swims. Pain erupts in his nose as she smashes her forehead into him. She kicks into his knee and sweeps his other leg out from underneath him. She clasps her fists together and drives them into the protruding knobs of his spine, ramming him into her awaiting knee. She moves to pin him and he uses this to his advantage. He grabs the arm that was about to press into his throat and spins her around on top of him, his chest to her back. He locks one leg around hers and cants his weight to the side, pinning her face first into the disgusting mat; he completely blankets her with his much larger body. This position doesn’t hold for long either. She still has an arm free and she uses it to punch into the side of his head. It’s not a particularly strong hit, but with the pain in his nose, and his brain feeling like it’s underwater, it is enough to disorient him and she pushes him off by her hips. 

Her narrow escape lights a fire under his skin and he reaches to grapple for her again. She slips away, again, and stands. He scurries to stand as well and immediately ducks from a leg swinging for his ribs. 

“What brings you here?” Dick almost gets whiplash from how fast he has to move. He was not expecting her to engage in conversation, much less initiate it. But she doesn’t sound malicious, just curious, and she pauses in her assault in attacks to display how genuine she was.

“Same as everyone else,” he says. He swings right for her head and follows left when she ducks, knocking her in her shoulder. “I want to pretend the rest of the world doesn’t exist and get slapped around for a while. You?”

She snickers at his honesty and drops into a leg sweep. He jumps over the leg but clearly she was expecting it. She rides her momentum into a roundhouse that knocks him flat as he descends. She doesn’t hesitate and charges to pin him again. 

He lets her.

“Why does someone as pretty as you want to risk ruining that nice face of yours?” Her face is close, much closer than this pin requires but he doesn’t want to push her away. But the show must go on so he kicks her in the stomach, digging his toe into her bandaged side to get her off. She recoils like a snake about to spring and regards him with cold resentment. She clearly doesn’t like the reminder of her injuries. 

“I could ask you the same thing, sweetheart. What’s a lovely lady like you doing here getting down and dirty with the local dogs?” She is many things he regards, but lovely is not one of them. ‘Stray cat’ would better describe the scrappy woman before him. The address sets her on edge and he almost regrets describing her as such. Almost. Her next series of punches have him on the defensive and he’s pushed back all the way until he feels the ropes rubbing into the bare skin of his back. The flurry of sensations is exhilarating. Suddenly it’s too much and not enough. He ducks the next punch and grabs both wrists. He made the mistake the first time and knows better now. She won’t escape him unless he lets her. Not one to be outdone, she pulls one more trick out. She doesn’t resist his grip and instead leans up closer to his ear. Her chest is pressed flush against him and he knows she’s tipping just to reach him. Her lips, damp with sweat and cooling blood, brush against his ear and a weight settles at the base of his spine.

“Got a firm grip there?” her voice is soft, almost delicate, and he almost doesn’t register the question. His tongue feels like lead and his mouth has run dry; his brain can’t make the right connections to form words. He tightens his hold on her as an answer instead. She gets it though because she chuckles a swift ‘Good’ before she’s leaping and bracing her feet against his stomach. She leans back and uses her weight to pull them both to the ground, then she lifts her feet and flips him over. His fingers loosen and she slips out of his hold again. She follows the momentum of her roll and sits firmly on his hips, one leg pinning each of his down. She grabs both of his wrists in her small hand and uses the other to tip his chin back, his skull crashing into the mat harshly, blunt nails digging into his skin.

Her face looms over his, again closer than is strictly necessary, and she smirks at him. Her tongue peaks out and swipes at the sweat above her upper lip. He holds his breath, waiting to hear what she has to say next. His patience doesn’t reward him that satisfaction, however. A ding echoes into the room, cutting through the shouts and growls of their captive audience. She won. 

Her victorious smile is a thing of beauty, he can’t really lament his loss. Before he could overthink and get lost in his head he takes a dive headfirst and gives into his impulses.

“I’m Richard Grayson. Call me Dick.” He sounds breathless and rung out. 

“I’m Marinette Dupain-Cheng,” her name is perfect like her. She releases his arms and moves to get off him. She offers a hand to help him up and he takes it. Before he could say something stupid she continues her introduction.

“You can call me Nette. I hope to see you next week.”

She will.

#dickinette #maribat #mlb x dc #oneshot #this is my first time writing dickinette please be gentle #tumblr im fucking watching you

[partlystiles]

Two Birds - Inej Ghafa

Two Birds - Inej Ghafa

Part 2 | Part 3

pairing; Inej Ghafa x gn!reader

summary: Tracking down the conductor was the reader’s hardest job, the easiest bit was to use him to help them cross the fold to the Little Palace where they could see if there really was a Sun Summoner or not. Someone gets in their way.

word count: 1959

warning: fighting, mention of blood, cursing

———————————————————————

It was a dark night, the sun had set over Ketterdam and the streets were empty. Well, apart from the drunken stragglers who were stumbling around aimlessly and oblivious to my stealthy figure perched on the top of a rooftop. They sing drunkenly, laughed with each other as they crossed from one bar to the next, ignoring the loud racket they were making that could be a disturbance to the building complex I was sat opposite if they weren’t complaining, why should I?

The Conductor lived in that building. He was the one man, through lots of research and hard work, that could get me across the Shadow Fold and over to East Ravka where I was determined to find out once and for all if Saints were real and if they were, why hadn’t they watched over me?

If they were real and they proved their power, then they I certainly had a bone to pick with this Sun Summoner that everyone had been raging about recently. Multiple letters had been sent to the palace before I reached out to do anything dastardly but I got no reply, so I asked around and this is where it lead me, to an odd bit of town just past West Stave.

I had been camped out here most of the night, good pulled up around my head and knives secured tightly on my belt. The Conductor’s apartment light had not been turned on for hours and the apartment was the only bit of information I had on him, no idea how he looked and no idea what his actual name was. Just a flicker of hope that a light would turn on seen.

And like a miracle had been performed, at that very moment, the light in the apartment turned on. My breath got caught in my throat very slightly as I saw the silhouette of a man go past his curtains. I stood from my crouching position with mustered up confidence and walked back slightly before turning to face the complex again and taking a running start, flipping off of the building I was previously stationed on and landing skilfully on top of the other one.

It’s tough to have so many talents.

I walked to the edge of the complex I was on now and tied the rope I had hanging on my belt to a rectangular chimney on top of the building. Once I was sure that the knot around the chimney was secure, I grasped the rope and skilfully slid down the side of the complex before stopping beside the Conductors window and using my built-up core strength to open the window slowly whilst still keeping a tight grip on the rope.

The apartment was basically empty, a couple of things cluttered about as well as the basic furniture of an apartment. I didn’t bother to shut the window as I knew it would be unnecessary noise to make, so instead I adjusted my mask again and whipped my knife out of the holster in my belt; I gripped it tight and slowly started to creep towards the rustling around the corner.

I pressed myself against the wall and peeked round as stealthily as possible, seeing the man bending over something and shifting through papers, I took my chance and rushed forward, grabbing him by the back of his blazer jacket and pulling him away from whatever he was doing. He took in a small, surprised intake of breath and I managed to hold him back strongly whilst putting my knife to his throat.

“Tell me how to get across The Fold or I think you know what might happen.”

Before he could reply, another hard force had pushed me away from him and hit me back against the wall. A shiver of shock washed over me as I hit the wall but I quickly recomposed myself and let out a growl-like sound out of anger and charged back at this other person who was now with the Conductor and holding another knife to his throat.

They were knocked back off of their feet as I crashed into them but then they just hit me off of them again, gripping their knife tightly as they slashes it in my direction when standing  up off of the floor. I dodged it before slashing my knife too with a small grunt, they dodged it once more and when they went to push me, I ducked under their arms and whipped my head back around.

With one twirl and throw of a knife, my silver blade flew across the room and cut the other assassin’s cheek slightly. They gasped and raised a hand to their cheek, pulling their fingers back and seeing the crimson liquid before they looked back at me angrily and ran forward, pushing my shoulders until I was pressed into a wall with them in front of me. And suddenly I became aware of who I was fighting and my eyes grew wide.

Inej Ghafa. The girl I met last year when on a long stakeout for my employer at the time, I had been spying on the people I needed to for at least a week when she joined me. I had almost killed her that day, neither of us knew the other would be there but one we got over a small spat like this one, we actually started to get along really well. We talked, we laughed, we shared moments with deep eye contact and we became great friends. I started to love the way she twirled her knives so skilfully in her hands, I started to love the amused smirk she would give when I made a bad joke and I started to love her small laugh and her beautiful dark brown eyes and her beautiful black hair.

Then one night of the stakeout, when Inej and I had fallen asleep next to each other after a long conversation through our different discoveries, I was woken by alarms. Inej had gone and one of the guards I had been studying the shifts of was approaching me and managed to get the upper hand with a gun to my head. I was kidnapped, tortured and the guards said they didn’t find anyone else except for me. She left me to go through all of that pain and it took me three months to escape with barely my life.

With all of that in mind, I pushed her away from me with an angry shout and moved away from her, across the room before pulling my mask down to show her just how angry I was. She froze slightly before pulling her own mask down too, there was just shock compared to my rage.

She said nothing, just stared. I looked at her and the longer I did, the more my anger increased. The Conductor just sat there, glancing in between us and not even trying to run from the crazy assassins who had just intruded on his privacy. My knuckles turned white from under my gloves, I was sure. 

“Two birds with one stone.” I smirked through trembling anger and twirled my knife before charging towards a still shocked Inej but something hit me down to the floor before I could catch her and I fell backwards, groaning.

Sitting up as quickly as possible, I looked up to see two more boys had joined us. One in all black with a cane in his hand, looking down at me with an icy stare and one with slightly more beige colours and a small grin on his face. Inej stood by their side, still with shock.

“Hello.” The one in the beige smirked, reaching into his holster and twirling out a gun, pointing it down at me.

“Jesper, no.” Inej discouraged, pushing the gun down with a frantic look in her eyes as she stared down at me, looking apologetic. If anything it made me more angry and the fluttering feeling I got in my stomach at the sight of her eyes had my mouth twisting into an outraged grimace.

“You know them?” The one in black asked quietly, glancing to Inej as she reprieved from Jesper who holstered his gun back in his belt. 

“Course she does.” I answered him myself, spitting it out with so much fury as all three looked down at me, Jesper smirked slighty, the one in black raised his eyebrows and Inej frowned. “And I know her, the backstabbing bitch.”

She deflated slightly, hurt but I didn’t care. The one in black’s jaw twitched slightly and his grip tightened on the cane he was holding before he lifted it slightly, Inej shook her head and squeezed her way into the middle of the one in black and myself, Jesper had walked over to the Conductor and was making sure he didn’t run at the distraction.

“They’re not a threat, Kaz.” Inej soothed and I scoffed, her head snapping back to face me and the small cut produced a little bit more blood as it trickled slightly down her cheek.

“Tell that to the cut on your cheek.” I told her, shaking slightly as my lip trembled in anger. “And tell that to the people I escaped after months of torture because of you, you traitor. I was in that position because of you and the Saints you told me about...yeah, they didn’t help me.”

“I’m sorry.” She apologised and turned to fully face me, growing tears in those beautiful eyes just as they did in mine. “I’m really sorry, Y/N, I had to. You don’t understand.”

“No, I think I understand perfectly.” I seethed and pushed myself up off of the floor before grabbing my knife that I had dropped. “You found other people to work with, after all the promises...all the conversations...all the-” I cut myself off, I couldn’t bare to say it.

Instead I got up and pushed past Inej roughly, on purpose of course, but I walked my way over to the conductor that Jesper was sat near. I grabbed him by the collar and yanked him towards me as Jesper protested slightly but I already had my knife, coated with a bit of Inej’s blood, against the Conductors neck.

“The Fold.” I repeated firmly. “How do I get over it?”

“If you all need to get across the fold...” The Conductor started to speak rather calmly and Inej faced Kaz in a little bit of shock, he waved her off slightly and looked at the Conductor that I had in my grip again. “I’m going to have to take you all together.”

I snapped my head around to stare angrily at Inej who stared at me back and once again my stomach fluttered at those brown eyes but my eyes were glaring at her. My hand let go of the Conductor and I stepped back as Kaz limped forwards with his cane towards the man, beginning to talk but all I could feel was Inej’s shadow next to mine.

“Y/N.” She said softly and I shook my head, subtly but she definitely saw it. I moved away from her and to the other side of the Conductor, closer to Jesper who glanced betwen us both.

I didn’t want to spend any more time with Inej and her new friends for longer than I had to but I also had to get across the Fold and although I’ll never admit it to anyone, especially not her, I was so determined to go through this journey because it was Inej in the first place that told me about the Saints. She lit the flicker of hope within me and I didn’t want that extinguished just yet.

#inej ghafa imagine #inej ghafa #inej x reader #inej my beloved #shadow and bone #shadow and bone imagine #kaz brekker #jesper fahey #six of crows #the conductor

[fanficbitch]

Aaron Hotchner // Disagreement

Aaron sighs. “You want some coffee?” he whispers in my ear.

“No thanks,” I say, but give his hand a squeeze before he gets up from the table. Given the fact that I have been up for 72 hours straight, I probably should have taken him up on that coffee. But I still have jitters from my last cup which was only an hour ago. 

The whole team sits at the conference room table in the BAU except for Reid who stands at the dry erase board. We have been busting our butts for the last three days trying to figure out where our unsub is hiding. I guess he isn’t really an unsub anymore because we know exactly who it is, Roger Hibbert. He has been kidnapping and killing women that are white, in their thirties with dark hair. No one has directly mentioned it, but that description fits me exactly. Because of that, I have been stuck at the BAU for the last three days while everyone else has gone to look for him.

We discovered who the unsub was because there was video footage of him in an alley kidnapping the latest victim, Kate Wheeler. We know he’s hiding somewhere in the city limits based on his drop sites and pick up locations. 

I sigh then rub the tiredness out of my eyes. There are at least a dozen files out on the table. I just finished looking over one with all the latest pictures of Hibbert. I grab a new one at random and see that it is a list of his belongings. He owns a house in east DC, but we’ve already searched the place and there’s no way he’s there. There are a few things listed on the page, car, motorcycle, the stuff we already knew about. But in back of the file is a page that he recently submitted to the Bank of DC. It’s for a small office space in a bad part of town.

Aaron sits down next to me with his steaming cup of coffee. “Find anything?” he asks me.

“I might have,” I say quietly. “Guys, did you see this office space application that was recently submitted?” I ask everyone.

I pass the file around so everyone can look at it. “Yeah, I remember it,” Morgan says. “We didn’t feel like it was worth checking out because the application was never approved.”

“He could still have access to the space,” I suggest and Morgan shrugs. 

“How?” Rossi asks.

“Maybe the application process was taking so long that the owner and Hibbert just did their work under the table,” I say and half of the team nods. Unfortunately, my boyfriend does not seem to agree. 

“That seems highly unlikely,” Aaron says. “We have no evidence that the owner and Hibbert even knew each other.”

“But that’s because we haven’t even looked into him,” I say as I stand up. “This has to be where he is keeping the victims!”

“Y/L/N, we can’t be jumping to conclusions,” Aaron says. “After all, this is an office building with multiple tenants. Someone would have had to notice.”

I look back at the file and see what I wanted to confirm; the space he rented was in the basement of the office building. “Look,” I say then throw the file at Aaron. “His space is in the basement. The people above him might not have any idea what he’s doing!”

Aaron considers all the information in front of him. But eventually he shakes his head. “No, we can’t raid an office space with at least a hundred people in it. Civilians could get hurt.”

“But this is the best lead we’ve had this whole case! We have to at least-,” I try to say, but Aaron interrupts me.

“I said no,” he says sternly. “I am not risking our lives and the lives of others for this weak of a lead.”

I ball my hands up into fists and let out an even sigh. “Hotch, can I talk to you in your office?”

He gets up as an answer and lets me follow him to his office. Once the door latches shut, I turn to Aaron. “How could you say no to this? It is the only chance to save Kate Wheeler’s life!”

Aaron scoffs. “That is not true. This “lead” you have come up with is weak and lacks evidence.”

“What’s the harm in going to check it out?” I ask.

“Civilians could get hurt in the process. It’s not worth the risk,” Aaron says. “Plus these things take time. We can’t just storm in there. I’ll look into the owner and see if he has a relation to Hibbert.”

“By the time you get that information it’ll be too late to save her!” I shout.

Aaron’s mouth tightens and he steps closer to me so we’re nose to nose. “I said no. You are not allowed to look into this lead and you are forbidden from going to that office space.”

“Forbidden?” I scoff then take a step back. “You aren’t in charge of me,” I say then head to the door.

“As your unit chief I am. And if you go to that office space, I will be forced to punish you for disobeying orders.”

“Oh yeah, like you’d hate that.”

“Y/N!” Aaron yells before I can open the door. “You don’t get special treatment because we are together.”

“I’m not asking for special treatment,” I say. “I’m asking to be treated as a capable agent, not some possible victim.”

With that, I storm out of his office and out of the BAU with one destination on my mind: Hibbert’s office space.

                                                        **********

I parked at least a mile away from Hibbert’s office building, but I have finally reached the place. I don’t know exactly what my plan is. I didn’t really think this far ahead. Usually when I am doing a raid, I have a team behind me. I couldn’t drag anyone else into this. Aaron already said I would be getting in trouble, I didn’t want anyone else getting in trouble because of me. 

I reach the back door of the building and give it a pull and to my surprise, it opens. I am at a staircase which I decide to go down. I hold my gun up as I go down the steps. I reach the basement and see an empty hallway. I go to the right, still holding up my gun. Each doorway I pass is empty. 

Suddenly, I get a chill. Maybe this was a bad idea. I lower my gun and put it back in my holster. As I turn to go back to the steps, I briefly see a man, but then I see darkness.

                                                          **********

I wake up on a cold, hard surface. My eyes slowly open and I see a very open room with another woman sitting across the room from me. I squeeze my eyes as I try to get a better look at her and I think it’s Kate Wheeler, but I can’t be sure. 

I try to focus on sitting up, but my head is pounding so hard that I can’t think straight. My hands are tied behind my back and my gun is missing. I know I should focus on staying awake, but I know Aaron is going to be so mad at me over this.

As I squirm to sit up, someone from behind me yanks me up by my hair which just worsens my headache. The person moved in front of me while still holding my hair and I recognize him as the unsub.

Things are blurry, but I can see that he’s holding my badge. “I expected better from the FBI,” he says then drops my head so it slams on the ground. “I know you didn’t plan on me getting the best of you, but I’m better than I look.”

“Someone will come for me,” I whisper. 

“Doesn’t matter,” he shrugs. “I can work fast and you’re just my type. But I assume you already knew that. I’ll finish her and then I’ll be right with you,” he says with a wink. Hibbert turns and walks towards Kate.

“No!” I croak, but he doesn’t even look at me. He holds a knife to her throat and I squeeze my eyes shut. Suddenly, I hear a loud commotion and open my eyes again. Hibbert is still holding a knife to Kate’s neck, but my team busted into the room and are pointing their guns at him. 

“If I were you, I’d put that knife down,” Morgan says calmly. 

“I don’t think so. I have the upper hand here,” Hibbert says.

“Don’t make me show you that’s not true,” Morgan says. “Now put the knife down.”

Hibbert makes the slightest move, an attempt to cut Kate’s neck, but Morgan puts a bullet right through his head. I sigh. It’s finally over.

My boyfriend rushes over to me while everyone else rushes to Kate. “Y/N, Y/N, stay with me,” he says and cradles my head. “We need a medic!” he yells.

“Aaron?” I ask to confirm it’s him. 

“Yeah baby, I’m right here,” he says. And that is the last thing I remember because everything goes dark again.

                                                         **********

A soft beeping sound wakes me up. I open my eyes slowly to see that I’m in a hospital room. My head is still pounding, but I lift it up enough to look around the room. I see Aaron sitting in a chair next to my bed, scrolling through his phone. “Aaron,” I murmur. His head shoots up and he looks at me. He scoots his chair closer to my bed and he takes my hand. “What happened?”

“Well, we got Hibbert and Kate Wheeler is doing fine. I got to you and you passed out almost immediately,” he says.

“Aaron,” I say softly. “I’m sorry for-,”

“I know you’re not really sorry,” he says and he’s right. I’m not sorry for disobeying his orders, but I guess I am sorry for my execution. “I should’ve followed you. I knew better.”

“I don’t need you to take care of me,” I say.

“But I’m going to. I’m not leaving your side until you are 100% again,” he says.

I give him a small smile. “Are you still going to have to punish me?” I ask.

“We don’t have to talk about that now,” he says. “I just want you to get better.” 

I give him another smile. “You’re too good for me,” I tell him.

“I was going to say the same thing,” he says. Aaron gets up from the chair and places a soft kiss to my lips. He sits back down and gives my hand a kiss as well. This job may sometimes come between us, but nothing could suppress the love I have for this man. 

#Aaron Hotchner #aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotchner imagine #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner imagines #hotchner #hotch #hotch x reader #Criminal Minds #cm #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds imagines #Derek Morgan #Spencer Reid #penelope garcia #david rossi #Emily Prentiss #jj #jennifer jereau

[carelessannie]

lookin for love (in all the wrong places)

chapter five

Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four

In CA:CW Steve kicks Spider-Man in the chest, awakening a soul deep bond and sending Peter into his first heat, before running away to Wakanda.

The soul bond, omegaverse, Spidershield angsty romance everyone needs.

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Peter Parker Chapters: 5/ Chapter word count: 6.5K Fic Rating: E Warnings: mild violence and implied sex trafficking, extreme levels of fluff Read it here on AO3 Title is from this song by Johnny Lee

Steve

The ferry docks in the Åland Islands for a few hours overnight, allowing the two of them to sleep in shifts to be safe. After dinner, they had swept the ship for suspicious persons and bugs, tagging three places around their hallway with ears to keep an eye out for possible threats.

Even with the precautions, Steve feels on edge as they sail in the morning. Neither he nor Natasha get more than a few hours of sleep, and once the sun rises, they decide to spend the rest of the journey on the upper deck. Separating for the duration of the trip, Steve takes the helm while Natasha lounges closer to the stern.

There’s no attack, no threat to be concerned about— so when the ferry docks a few hours later, the two of them are already seated in their car and driving down the off-ramp. Steve takes the wheel first, while Natasha guides him East, following the sun until it sits high in the sky.

They stop at the border to Russia and switch vehicles, easily slipping through as the newly-mated Alpha and Omega couple on their Russian passports.

And if Natasha bats her eyes and gets them a free passage to St. Petersburg, Steve isn’t complaining.

It’s as they’re driving away that Natasha flinches at something one of the border police says under their breath, and Steve raises his eyebrow in question as he steers to merge back onto the highway. If Natasha is showing her reactions, it has to be important.

“They thought…” she pauses, chewing on her lower lip, before starting over, “When they reviewed our documents, they thought you might be my... trophy Alpha.”

“Okay,” Steve says slowly, furrowing his eyebrows, “Is that bad for us?” He doesn’t quite understand what the issue is, or why Natasha might be anxious. The two men— Betas, probably— had given them a suspicious onceover, but otherwise let them travel in peace.

Natasha makes a frustrated noise, “I’m not translating it right. They think you’re my stud— that I brought you in from America or England to… breed.”

Horrified, Steve almost swerves the car off the road. “What— does that happen often?”

“Often enough that they may call it in. It’s not illegal, technically, but if they catch wind of possible trafficking…”

“Oh,” Steve checks the rearview mirror, suddenly all too aware of the surrounding cars and trucks. “What’s our move, Nat? Do you think they’ll actually come after us?”

She shakes her head again, “Best to get to St. Petersburg. We can call Tony from there, and switch out cars. If someone’s on our tail, they’re bound to know where we’re headed anyways. Stark can get us new documents by the time we reach the base.”

“Fine. I assume you know your way around the city?”

“Steve,” Natasha coos, “haven’t I taught you not to ask questions you already know the answer to?”

He shoots her a grin, “Good, then you’re in charge of ditching our ride. I’ll make a few calls.”

“Teamwork makes the dream work,” Natasha murmurs as she reclines in the seat, shifting to give herself a good view of both side mirrors while still seeing clearly out the front windshield. She crosses her feet at the ankle and pulls down the lid of a carefully worn baseball cap. If Steve didn’t know better, he would assume she fell asleep in the passenger seat.

They spend the last two hours of the drive in a tense silence, both of them on high alert. Steve knows from experience that Hydra likes to hide in plain sight— so he scans license plates, calculates distances, and carefully surveys the people in each car, looking for anything out of the ordinary. So far, nothing.

That changes when they enter the city.

Immediately, both of them sit up straighter, scanning the surrounding lanes for a threat.

“Do you—”

“Yes, stay alert,” Natasha hisses. Her hands are digging rapidly through her backpack until they pull out their last international phone. In one swift motion, she destroys it on the dashboard, lowering the window to sprinkle pieces onto the highway, sure to be crushed further by oncoming vehicles.

Steve changes lanes, inching closer to the quickly passing exit ramps. He doesn’t see a suspicious car— no black sedans, no tinted windows— but the feeling of being watched is undeniable.

“Exit here.”

Natasha’s voice is flat, and if Steve wasn’t listening for it, he would have missed the direction. Instead, he steps on the gas and throws the car into the right lane, barely avoiding the traffic cones as he speeds down the single exit ramp.

“Slower,” Natasha is reaching behind him as he merges back into traffic, this time heading West into the heart of the city. “When we get into the city, look for a coffee shop. You’re going to drop me off. Drive around the corner and watch for me— I’ll order you a drink inside and pretend I’m grabbing an item from my car. Instead, you will switch places with me, and sit outdoors drinking what I order. Keep your eyes up, run if you need to. I’ll rendezvous within an hour. Got it?”

“Got it,” Steve confirms, already slowing down as they breach the populated city limits. It isn’t long until he’s pulling up to a small café and Natasha is sauntering down the sidewalk, drawing any nearby attention to herself as he swings the car around back.

Traffic is thick, stifling, and he’s grateful to have the intel portion of this operation. Within five minutes, Natasha is in his rearview mirror, and he steps out of the vehicle to offer her the wheel.

He pulls his own hat lower to shield his face before slipping into the coffee shop, sidestepping immediately and settling into a corner table. There are three other patrons, all scattered throughout the space and engaged in the work in front of them. No threats yet.

“Peter?” a heavily accented voice calls, and Steve has to stop himself from flinching. It’s a common name— he needs to get himself under control. The voice calls out, “Peter?” once more, just as a tall, well-built man strides through the door, walking up the counter and picking up the drink.

The man turns around, “Huh. Didn’t know you were goin’ by Peter these days.”

“Sam,” Steve breathes, meeting his friends’ eyes with a shocked smile. He jumps to his feet and pulls the other man into a hug. It’s shakey— both of them chuckling and holding on tight— but the embrace is warm and feels like home.

“The hell are you doing here?” Steve grabs his arm, steering them both outside and towards the patio. “Not that I’m not grateful to see you, but… how did you find us?”

Sam shoots him a disbelieving look, placing the coffee cup between them before reclining back in his seat, “I got a tip a few days ago— something about Hydra and a base nearby. Stark got me a ride over yesterday and said I could plan on intercepting you here.”

Something in his face turns thoughtful, “You seriously didn’t see Redwing on the way in?”

“Uh,” Steve sorts through the details of their fast paced cut into the city, but can’t remember Sam’s drone being anywhere in sight.

Sam chuckles, “I followed you from the moment you entered the city— c’mon, you can’t tell me you didn’t see him, not with the way you were driving.”

“Dammit, Sam,” Steve curses. “We thought…” and then he laughs, slumping back into the patio chair and scrubbing his face. “You’re an asshole, you know that?”

Sam spreads his arms wide, and gives Steve his widest, most charming smile, “Takes one to know one, Cap.”

There’s a beat of silence as Steve sips his drink— it’s perfect, not that he expected anything less from Natasha. Sam looks good, if not a bit tired. The smile on his face is practiced, and Steve knows it’s more for his sake than anything. They’ve never lied to each other, never had the opportunity to, so if Sam is appearing strained and weary, Steve knows he’s supposed to notice.

“Decide not to take a pardon, then?” Steve hedges, watching as Sam raises an eyebrow in amusement.

“No, Steve,” he looks out into traffic, carefully thoughtful, “it’s been a rough few months since Germany, but Sharon and I have been doing some ground work wherever King T’Challa is willing to send us. There’s a lot of shit going down, and— up until now— the only goal I really had was finding you again.”

A rush of guilt hits Steve in the chest, and he winces, “Look, I’m sorry for leaving you—”

“Hey, no— don’t do that,” Sam dismisses him, waving away the apology with one hand, “I knew you had to go to Wakanda, I had other shit that needed to get done.”

“Still, you deserved a better friend than that.”

Sam laughs, but the sound lacks any real joy, “I think we all deserved better than we got.”

There’s not much to say after, and Steve takes a long pull of his drink, trying discreetly to check his watch. Forty minutes until Natasha returns.

And speaking of, “So where did the Widow herself head off to?” Sam asks, checking his own watch. “Thought I’d catch both of you here.”

“Switching out cars. We assumed Hydra was tracking us into the city,” Steve narrows his eyes across the table, and it makes Sam laugh again.

“Damn, well... can’t say I’m sorry. Stark wanted me to keep a low profile until we crossed paths, and…” Sam sits up taller and leans across the table, forcing Steve to meet his eyes, “he mentioned something about keeping you stable.”

“God dammit—”

“Language.”

“Shut up, Sam,” Steve huffs, scrubbing his face with one hand, “why can’t Tony keep shit to himself.”

“Something I shouldn’t know about?”

Sam’s always been good at coaxing answers out of him, and Steve curses the other Alpha mentally for it. Why does he always attract friends who know him better than he knows himself?

“I found my soulmate, Sam.”

Jerking forward, the other Alpha’s eyes grow wide as his hands come down, hard, on the table. “Shit, Steve. When on earth did you have time—”

“I didn’t, Sam. That’s the thing. Fuck—”

He feels rage flow through his body for the first time in ages, and Steve’s hit with a flash of their bonding moment, marred by fear and devastation from his young Omega. He closes his eyes, remembering the residual pain from each heat. Scared and empty and alone.

There’s a hand on his arm, but Steve shakes it off, “Remember the kid Stark brought to Germany? Spider-man?”

“Sure, Bucky and I fought the kid, and he stuck us to the floor.”

“I fought him, too,” Steve sighs, rolling up the sleeve over his left arm to show the bright red and irritated word etched into his skin, “and I kicked him right in the chest.”

Sam doesn’t reach forward to touch. He barely gives it a glance, reaching over to roll up his own sleeve. Steve has to stop himself from growling in sympathy— the writing is black, smudged and illegible.

“Sam…”

With a sad smile, Sam rolls his shirt back in place, “It was years ago— and we bonded in combat. I got a few years with him on active duty, and then I felt when he was shot out of the sky.”

Sam meets his eyes, “Fucked me up good for a few years.”

“I had no idea.”

“I’m better now, sure. Wouldn’t show you if I wasn’t. Just letting you know, whatever you’re going through with this kid— because obviously you’re not with him now— that you’ve gotta value whatever time you get. In our line of business? I’m grateful I got years instead of moments, you know?”

Something clenches in his chest. Steve feels tears prick his eyes. He has to look away, afraid of the suddenly all too real possibility of crying in public. Quickly, he covers it up with a swig of cooling coffee, letting the emotions wash away alongside the bitter, familiar taste.

“I’ve never even met the kid, Sam. All I know is that he’s an Omega, and he has a strong bond with Tony.” Steve sighs, checking his watch again, “We were supposed to be extracted in Oslo, but got the tip instead. I’ll head home to him after we take care of the threat here.”

He can tell Sam disapproves of this choice, but the other Alpha just shakes his head, nodding to draw Steve’s attention back to the street, “Looks like our ride is here,” he chuckles just as a beat up Jeep swerves across traffic, coming to an abrupt stop in front of them.

The window rolls down, and Natasha makes a show of lowering her sunglasses, “Pickin’ up strays, Rogers?”

Both of them stand and approach the car, and Sam smiles as he takes the backseat, “Good to see you too, Romanoff.”

“I hope you brought your uniform,” she muses, swerving back into traffic once both of them are buckled in, “we’re gonna need all the help we can get.”

---

Peter

I think you’d hate my friends, Alpha. I don’t know, maybe not. I think you’d like that they wanna take care of me, even if they’re both little pieces of shit. I bet a visit from Captain America would shut them up. Or… Are you still Captain America, Steve?

Just as Peter finishes the line, the main cafeteria doors slam open. Both of his friends— MJ and Ned— have their arms in the air, gesturing animatedly.

“There you are!”

It’s as if he summoned them. Damn Spidey-senses, never working when he needs them to.

Peter squirms in his seat, “Hey, guys…” he checks his exits, noting quick escape routes. Sure, he’s never actually needed to run from his friends, but it doesn’t hurt to be prepared. “What’s up?”

Ned scoots into the bench next to him, pressing in close and draping an arm over Peter’s shoulders. MJ takes a seat on Peter’s other side, and both of them give Peter award-winning smiles— terrifying, really. Matching smiles only usually mean one thing.

“Can’t we just hang anymore, Parker?” MJ rolls her eyes, taking a discreet look at the pages in front of Peter on the table.

He quickly closes his notebook, “Sure, sure. I mean, we can hang— we hang all the time,” Peter catches them exchanging a glance, and sighs, “is there something you want? I’m trying to get homework done before practice.”

With a shake to his shoulders, Ned chuckles nervously, “No, no… we’re just looking out— ow!”

Peter looks down. MJ definitely kicked him.

“— I mean, we’re just wondering…”

“You wanna go to a Halloween party, Peter?” MJ cuts in, flicking at Ned’s arm where it’s still draped around his shoulder. Her face is open, fairly honest, and it catches Peter off guard.

“When’s Halloween?” he asks, thankful when Ned pulls his arm back.

The two of them exchange another look, “Uh…” Ned clears his throat, “it’s today, Peter. Today’s Halloween.”

“Oh.” Peter peeks into his folders to check the date on today’s homework, and sure enough, October Thirtyfirst is printed clearly across every page. Huh. He’s usually great at remembering holidays like this. “I wonder why May didn’t say anything…”

“Because,” MJ grabs his backpack, starting to shove notebooks and textbooks back inside, “we asked her to keep it a surprise. And your mom, too. We just didn’t think you were enough of a dumbass to miss the whole holiday.”

“Honestly, Peter, I don’t get how clueless you can be.”

He just nods along, letting the two of them pull him out of the cafeteria and walk towards the carpool lane. Maybe some part of him wanted them to find him today— who knows? Several other, better, hiding spots come to mind, but Peter doesn’t have it in him to protest.

A night off sounds like too much fun.

His mood immediately improves when they step outside. Parked closest to them, dark and intimidating on the curb, is one of Mr. Stark’s cars.

Happy is standing outside, holding the back door open, “Hey, kid. C’mon— haven’t got all day.”

“Oh!” Peter turns to his friends, both of their expressions smug and satisfied, “Please tell me the party’s at the compound? Oh god, I literally have nothing to wear. I have no idea—”

“We’ve got it taken care of,” MJ pushes him from behind, and Ned laughs, motioning for Peter to get in the car first.

“How did you—” Peter slides into the back seat, freezing when he sees who’s waiting for him, “Mama!”

Mr. Stark smiles— wide and genuine— and opens his arms wide. “Hey, kid. Surprise?”

Peter melts into the older Omega’s arms and squirms to get closer, ignoring how his friends laugh and tease him as he does so. Mr. Stark ruffles his hair, and rearranges them as the car starts moving. Ducking under his arm, Peter settles into Mr. Stark’s side and lets his eyes slip shut with the steady movement and noise of chatter in the background.

“You have a good day, Pete?”

He looks up to Mr. Stark and smiles, “It was okay, a lot better now. Did you help plan this?”

“What do you think, bambino? These friends of yours are… passionate.”

The description makes Peter chuckle. He’s fully aware just how passionate his friends can be. They are digging through the amenities stored in hidden compartments, and somehow both end up with a can of soda and several boxes of candy.

Peter ignores them in favor of burying himself into the warmth of Mr. Stark’s scent. There are lazy, calloused fingers in his hair, and he relaxes even more— a pleased purr building effortlessly from his chest.

When they eventually pull up to the compound, Ned and MJ are out in a shot— barreling through the doors and screaming into the empty halls.

Before Peter can leave the car, Mr. Stark grabs his shoulders and turns them to face each other, staring intentionally into his eyes. “If you don’t want to do this, Peter, we don’t have to? I have about fifty people coming over for a costume party, but I can cancel it and we can spend the night just us, if you’d like?”

He takes a moment to actually think it over. His skin is crawling, eyes already heavy with exhaustion. The thought of socializing with more than a few people is turning his stomach, and he looks into Mr. Stark’s eyes with a helpless grimace, “I guess I wouldn’t mind a party…”

“But you’d rather not?” Mr. Stark guesses, giving him a knowing smirk. Peter scrunches up his nose and shakes his head, and gets a chuckle in response, “Alright bambino, let me make a few calls. Why don’t you go inside and coral the animals.”

Peter laughs and leans in to give Mr. Stark a quick peck on the cheek, “Okay, Mama. Don’t work too hard.”

He catches a glimpse of Mr. Stark’s embarrassed flush before hopping out of the car, skipping towards the compound joyfully. Now that the threat of social interaction is out of the way, Peter feels excited about Halloween and the evening ahead of them.

“Ned?” He calls out, “MJ? Where are you guys?”

“Try the Eastern living room, Peter,” Friday’s voice rings out in the hallway, and Peter turns around to race down the corridor in the opposite direction, still calling out their names.

“In here, Pete!” Ned hollers.

When he turns the corner, Peter comes face to face with the classiest Halloween party room he’s ever seen. Every wall is covered in glass decorations, backlit with soft lights in various colors. An entire section of the room has been converted to a wardrobe, and both of his friends are rifling through the options.

Peter gravitates towards them, pushing aside different dresses and masks, “What’s…”

“Look, Pete— I’m you!” MJ has a Spider-man mask pulled down over her face as she laughs, pretending to shoot webs from her wrists, “bet I’d be a kick-ass Spider-man.”

He just shakes his head, “I bet you would, MJ.”

“What about me?”

Both of them turn to look at Ned as he wobbles over, legs and arms shoved haphazardly into the wrong end of a Spider-man onesie. His face is so confident as he stands in the middle of the room, and Peter can’t help the cackle that bursts out of his mouth, bringing tears to his eyes as he keels over in laughter.

“Where did… what did…” he can barely breathe, and looking up again at Ned is just a mistake.

MJ isn’t any better. She tears off the mask and coughs loudly, falling to the floor in a heap, “Ned! Where did you find that?”

“What?” Ned whines, striking a pose that sends them back into a fit of hysterics, “I don’t get how you can fight bad guys in this Peter— I feel too sexy for crime right now.”

“Please!” Peter begs as he wipes away tears, “mercy!”

“What’s all the— oh mother of god,” Mr. Stark’s voice rings out in the room, and it sends all three teenagers back into peels of laughter. He stands at the entrance to the living room with his arms crossed and an indulgent smile stretched across his face, and Peter lets himself roll on the floor and laugh and laugh and laugh.

Peter turns onto his back and lets the tears flow. They drench his cheeks and drip onto the rug, creating small spots on both sides of his head. It feels good— freeing. His next inhale is deep, his mind clears completely, and Peter realizes this is the first time he’s laughed in months. That every time he’s cried in the past few weeks has been full of devastation and sorrow.

Their combined scents slowly fill the room and bind them together as the evening progresses, each of them relaxing further and further into the moment. By the time the sun’s setting, Ms. Potts and Aunt May arrive with delivery, and the small group of them curl up on the couches to watch a Halloween movie.

Mr. Stark and Pepper take the love seat, and— with one last, longing gaze at the small spot in between them— Peter settles into a lump of blankets and pillows on the far end of the longer couch. He keeps a good distance between himself and his friends at the other end, but he can tell that there’s some awkward tension in the room as the movie starts to play.

He tries to ignore it, but Aunt May keeps giving him a look from her seat on a nearby chair.

“What?” he hisses at her, pouting a bit when she smirks.

May points at the loveseat and whispers, “You should sit with them. I know you wanna.”

“Stop!” Peter shakes his head in denial, “I’m not going to—”

“Hey, pup!” Mr. Stark calls from across the room, and Peter flushes. He knows the nickname is aimed at him.

Peter pulls the blankets up around his face, “Yes, Mama?”

There’s a snort from the MJ-Ned-shaped-lump, but it’s ignored. Mr. Stark and Ms. Potts exchange a few hushed words before motioning for him to join them, “Come on over, Peter,” Pepper says with a confident smile, “plenty of room to join us.”

He’s up and out of the seat before he even processes moving.

At different points in his life, Peter has imagined how it might feel to curl up, safe and warm, between his parents. Never, in a million years, did he think he would get to experience that.

But the space between Mr. Stark and Ms. Potts feels like home. Scents like home. It’s sweet and warm in a way Aunt May’s Beta scent has never been. Peter has never scented Ms. Potts up close, but he’s not surprised when her scent has him immediately relaxing, melting back into the couch cushions.

The only Alpha he’s ever been close to is MJ, and her scent is terrifying .

Pepper lifts her arm and gives him a small smile, “You comfortable, Peter?”

Words won’t come, his senses are on overload. He feels a hand on his shoulder as Mr. Stark moves him, turning him bodily to lay across their laps with his feet in Pepper’s lap, head on Mr. Stark’s shoulder.

“Just relax, bambino,” Mr. Stark whispers, scratching at the baby hairs behind Peter’s ear, “we’ve got you.”

He lets his eyes close slowly. Both of them are scent-marking him subtly— squeezing his arms and legs, kissing his hair, and laying a blanket over him sometime later. The movie passes by completely unnoticed, and Peter dozes comfortably.

Why can’t every night be like tonight?

As the thrill of the night is fading away, Peter hears Mr. Stark offer his friends a ride back to the city. The two of them are fading as well, and it doesn’t take much convincing to get them out the door and into a waiting car.

May kisses him on the head before she leaves, “Sure you don’t want me to stay, Pete?”

“M’sure,” he murmurs, blinking up at her lazily, “you have work in the morning, right?”

“Yeah, champ. I do. You okay staying the night here, or do you want to head back with me?”

Peter looks back at Mr. Stark and Ms. Potts with a hopeful smile. Both of them laugh, and Mr. Stark waves his hand dismissively, “You know you’re always wanted here, Pete.”

“By both of us,” Pepper adds, squeezing his leg where her hand is resting.

“Alright, alright, I can take a hint,” May chuckles. She leans in for another kiss and Mr. Stark gets up to walk her out, leaving Peter and Pepper together on the couch.

He looks up at her. Everything about Pepper screams an intimidating mix of composure and warmth. Now that Mr. Stark is gone, he can separate their scents— and something about her distinct Alpha scent has him ducking his head, shy and submissive.

There’s a light touch on his arm, “Don’t hide from me, Peter,” her grin is soft and reassuring, “if you feel uncomfortable with me like this, you don’t have to stay— you know that, right?”

Her eyes are kind and not at all judgemental. He believes her doubtlessly.

“We haven’t spent much time together, have we?” Peter asks, hesitantly.

Pepper shakes her head, strawberry hair sweeping gracefully over her shoulder, “No, I don’t think so. Tony does come home smelling of you often, though.”

“Oh!” Peter sniffs his shirt, grimacing, “sorry about that, he helps me…”

“No, don’t worry, Peter,” she places a hand on his shoulder again, “I just meant that I’m familiar with your scent already. Tony even puts some of your items in our nest— I know he wants me to get used to our scents together.”

“Why… why would he do that?”

“Oh, Peter,” Pepper sighs. She shakes her head and leans back against the cushions, “we’re gone on you Peter. We really want to adopt you… at least informally.”

“She’s right.”

Mr. Stark’s voice is loud in the living room as he makes his way back to the couch. With a little bit of maneuvering, Peter is stuck in between them again, and this time he’s resting against Pepper’s chest. Her arms easily settle next to him on the sofa, aware of his space and cautious not to close him in.

“We have a secret plot to adopt and steal you away, kid,” Mr. Stark smirks and kicks his legs up, sipping on a drink as they settle together. “I just needed to get proper approval beforehand, you know?”

Peter hums, and he knows his own scent has gone sweet in satisfaction. The thought of being adopted— having a mom and dad, Alpha and Omega— is overwhelming.

“You promise?” Peter whispers. Part of him is scared of the possible rejection, even though he knows Mr. Stark rarely lies to him.

“Of course, bambino— whatever you want.”

As they cuddle together on the couch, trading hushed stories and sweet laughter, Peter has a thought.

It’s not the most responsible thought he’s ever had. If Mr. Stark digs too deep, he’ll chalk it up to being a teenager, being emotional, being an Omega.

“Mama?” Peter stares up at Mr. Stark with his best puppy-dog expression, and pouts his bottom lip, “Can I ask a favor?”

“I’m suspicious already, but sure— what is it?”

Pepper chuckles behind him, and Peter reaches down to hold her hand for comfort, “Can you get my letters to Steve?”

With a loud cough, Mr. Stark chokes on his drink and sputters. His hands fly up and wave around frantically, possibly looking for something to anchor him. Peter curls further into the shield of Pepper’s body and lets her deal with the aftermath— patting Mr. Stark’s back and criticizing him for being so dramatic.

“In what—“ Mr. Stark starts, coughing hard, “In what universe would that be a good idea, Peter?”

“I... I didn’t...”

“Actually,” Pepper interrupts, interlacing their fingers together, “I think that might be a good idea.”

Mr. Stark looks betrayed, affronted. Peter turns to smile up at her, “Really? You think so?”

“Once your hormones are stable, why not?” Pepper asks, kicking at Mr. Stark when her Omega makes a disappointed face, “It might be helpful for your Alpha to hear from you.”

“Get his head on straight,” Mr. Stark grumbles. His hands are clenched, and he refuses to look at them.

There’s a beat of silence where Peter just stares at Mr. Stark, hoping for an answer. He knows it’s a big favor to ask— but if anyone can get it done, he knows Tony Stark can.

“Fine.”

---

Hi Steven Grant Rogers, God. Would you make me take your name? I really hate that. Maybe I’ll ask you to take my name instead. Mr. Stark said I could send you one letter every month, and that if you respond, I can have that letter back. I hope you respond. Uh... I’m not sure what else to say. My name is Peter and I’m in high school. I know that makes things hard for you, being old as dirt, but I hope when we meet that it won’t be too awkward. I hope you stay safe. I’m finally on suppressants and doing better than I was before. Your words on my arm barely hurt anymore. Okay. That’s all for now. Yours, Peter Benjamin Parker Oh! PS I’ve sent a little sample of what I scent like. Mama said that you would like that.

Tag list (let me know if you’d like to be added or removed): @purplefreakwolffish @instantsharkskeletonpizza @justslightlycrazy @angelstarker @femmeparker @starkeraddictbaby @starkentrprises @snowstark @sarcastich

#spidershield #lookin for love #lfl #spidershield: lfl #update #fanfic #steve x peter #ao3 fanfic #fluff #found family #no hurt this chapter! yay! #chapter 5 #mcu #rare pair

[nebraska-is-a-myth]

But we can chose to fight - part 12

tw /// lots of mentions of  panic attacks, blood, and death, take care of yourselves please

Masterlist

P.s I'm sorry 

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Blood.

So much Blood.

Blood on his hands.

Blood on his clothes.

Blood pooling onto the concrete.

Pressure.

He needs to put pressure on the wound.

Keep pressure on it.

Stop the blood.

Why is there so much blood.

It won't stop.

Please, why wont it stop.

Pulse.

Check for a pulse.

Apply pressure.

No pulse.

Try again.

No pulse.

Too much blood.

Hands.

Hands all over him.

Hands dragging him away.

No, he needs to keep pressure on it.

He needs to stop the blood.

Hands.

Fists.

Blood.

His blood?

Why is nobody trying to stop the blood.

He needs to get up.

He needs to stop the blood.

Someone's shouting.

Is the ambulance here yet?

He’s covered in blood and,

Oh.

They're shouting at him. 

It’s foggy and he can't think, 

He doesn't know what's happening.

Think.

Blood

Counting

Gunfire

Blood

Oh

“Don't just fucking stand there say something!”

His face hurts, did someone hit him? He feels something run down his upper lip and he tastes the blood seeping into his mouth. The metallic taste makes him gag and he runs a hand through his hair, shit, now his hair is covered in blood.

Blood?

Blood!

Tommy!

“Tommy?”

The name leaves his lips like a whimper, it’s childish and desperate. He doesn't get a response.

“Don't you fucking say his name you monster!”

Something happens around him, something moves and people shout, not at him this time. It’s hard to understand what's happening when he can't pry his eyes away from Tommy's limp body. It looks unnatural for him to be so still, so quiet. Tubbo has his head in his lap, carting his fingers through Tommy's blond and slightly bloodied hair. There is blood everywhere. Dream looks between his hand and the red handprints on Tommy's cheeks and he decides that the marks on his face are because of Dream. He remembers holding Tommy's pale face in his hands. He wouldn't wake up. His back hurts and there are bloodied tracks on the concrete, are they his? He vaguely remembers being dragged away from all of the blood, was it Wilbur? Is that why Wilbur hit him, because he was too close? He was only trying to stop the blood. 

“What have you done.”

I don't know.

“What he should have done fucking months ago?”

George is here?

“So that was the plan was it-?”

Of course George was there, he shot Fundy.

Wait, he shot Fundy?

“ -lure him in when he was vulnerable and the murder him!”

No of course it wasn't, he loved Tommy. 

He loved him.

Loved.

But Tommy’s dead.

Oh my god he’s dead.

Tommys Dead.

He killed him

Tommys dead

Tommys dead

Tommys dead

Tommys dead

Tommys dead

He’s shaking

Why is he shaking

People are staring

Why are they looking

Stop it

Tommys dead

Stop staring

Why are they-

Hands

Hands on his back

He cant breath

Hands

Blood

Shaking

Tears

Stop it

Blood

Breathe

He can breathe

“Thats it Dream, in and out. In.”

Breathe.

“And out.”

Breathe.

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When Dream opens his eyes again he no longer feels like there's cotton wool clogging his ears, the sun is setting and he wants to wretch at the smell of blood coming from everywhere. He is now faintly aware that he is no longer wearing his mask and the beating in his chest pounds against his ribcage louder and louder, but he feels calmer as rhythmic circles are rubbed into his upper back. Dream melts into the touch, he hasn't had much human affection in a while, apart from flying fists and painful sparring sessions. He’s sat on the floor with Fundy crouched in front of him. Fundy? Did Fundy just,   help him? Dream looks up into Fundy’s eyes to find the orange haired man already looking at him, it’s strange having the man so close, but his gaze feels softer than all the other harsh stairs around him. He sees Wilbur come into focus from behind Fundy and looms over the both of them with a terrifying look in his eyes. 

“Fudy what the fuck are you doing.” It’s a half mumble and Dream barely hears it himself, but Fundy takes his gaze away from Dream and removes his touch from the other man. Is it strange that Dream feels colder without it?

“I wasn't exactly going to let him pass out from a panic attack Wilbur, and it’s not like any of them were going to do anything.”

Fundy gestures over to the rest of the Dream team who were still armed to the teeth and quite frankly looked rather bored.

“Dream just needs to stop being such a pussy and get over it. So what the kids dead, plenty more annoying little prats in the sea.” 

George's voice is replaced by shouting and the clacking of metal and Dream needs to stop this before someone else is killed because of him. Dream is in charge, not George. So (with a little help from Fundy) Dream staggers to his feet and crosses the line between l’manburg and Dream smp to meet the brit. He stands there for a moment, letting the confusion settle on George's face, before striking George across the bridge of his nose in one swift movement.

He hopes it hurts.

The maskless man turns from Georges curses and sapnaps confusions and walks towards Wilbur. “I want you to have independence.”

“WHAT THE FUCK.”

Dream ignores George in favor of directing his eyesight to Fundy. The man isn't smiling, but his eyes become a lot wider at the statement. Wilbur looks angry and confused and on the brink of tears. He doesn't blame the older man, the smp had taken so much from them, and all because he couldn't bear to stand against the people who he used to call his friends. He knows that this will never even come close to making up for what he has done to them, but he hopes that it's a start.

“The east side is yours to command Wilbur, you are free from the laws of the smp.”

In rage, Sapnap goes to lunge at dream, but Eret manages to grab one of his arms and pull him to the ground. “ How could you dream, after everything we’ve done.”

Dream turns to face the arsonist, his head is still spinning but his thoughts are clear, clearer than he thinks they've ever been.

“What we’ve done? Sapnap we terrorized these people, killed a child! You really think that's something to be proud of?”

George pinches the bridge of his nose and clambers to his feet, he snarls and spits at dreams feet. “The east side is not yours to give! We made you what you are, that territory is ours!”

“George you Manipulated me! You made me afraid and you put me in an impossible position. I should be dead right now, I wish I were fucking dead right now but I’m not okay. And I’ll be damned if I let you hurt these people any more than you already have. If it’s power your after then take it, take whatever the fuck you want from me, but you leave the east side the fuck alone George.”

Tubbo can hear the others shouting but he stops paying attention after Dreams outburst. It’s sad Dream said those things about himself, he knows how much the older man cared about Tommy. Tommy trusted Dream, and the list of people Tommy trusted was painfully short, but Dream had always been on that list, no matter what. Even after their little fight about Tommys disks, even after they had both almost died, Tommy probably died still trusting dream. Tubbo carts his fingers through Tommys soft hair, flecks of dried blood are stuck to the tips of some of the strands, he tries not to think about all of the blood pooling around them. He focuses on the happy things instead. Tubbo likes to think Tommy is happier up there, wherever he is. Maybe he’s finally in the arms of his mother after all these years alone, he hopes Tommy finally knows he is loved. Tubbo’s other hand is wrapped around his friends wrist, fingers placed firmly on where Tommy's pulse should be thudding with energy. He hasn't felt anything in minutes now, he knows his friend is gone, that no amount of cpr will bring him back, the blood reminds him of that. So Tubbo takes his hand from Tommys pale wrist and slips it into his friend's hand. It's cold and it feels nothing at all like Tommy. Tommy always used to run hot like a furnace, the boy always complained about how warm it was no matter what the weather was doing. It was both a blessing and a curse, yes it meant Tommy complained 24/7, but it also meant that Tubbo could use him as his own personal hot water bottle. Cold after a long day of running round the city on jobs? Go to Tommy. Run down after getting caught in a storm? Go to Tommy. Just need a warm hug? Go to Tommy. Tubbo could really do with one of those hugs right now, but he can't can he? Tommy isn't warm anymore, his paling skin is like ice to the touch, and Tubbo feels like he wants to sob until his tears run out. Will he ever be warm again?

He sits like that for a while, clutching Tommy's hand in a death grip like the boy would sink into the floor at any moment. Still overwhelmed with shock, Tubbo glances up for a second to catch Erets gaze. The older man is staring at them with this look in his eyes that Tubbo can't quite place, although he’s never really been good at reading people. He looks, sad almost, Tubbo thinks it’s regret. One day he thinks he’ll forgive Eret. Not today, he can't. But one day, when the sun rises in just the right way, and the birds call to him with a song that makes his heart pang, he will visit Tommy's grave and feel the breeze caress his tear stained cheeks and tell him that it's okay. It's okay to forgive him. Tubbo will welcome Eret with open arms as gusts of wind tousle both of their hair, rustling their shirts and telling them that Eret is forgiven, and that they can start to heal again. But the skies are clear, there is no breeze on this day, and so Tubbo tears his eyes away from his friend and back to his brother. Because that's what they were, brothers. Together forever until the very end. Although neither of them expected it to come so soon. It’s terrifying, knowing how alone he is in the world. Tommy was his everything, he was the glue that held everyone together, clichés as it may be. But that was the truth, and now that he’s gone, Tubbo can feel himself start to crumble. The Brunette caves in on himself and lets the sobs rack through his body, the grip on Tommy's hand tightens. He can almost hear Tommy nagging at him complaining at how he’s squeezing too hard.

“You're hurting my hand bitch.”

The thought makes him clutch at the cold skin even harder, tears still rolling down his cheeks. That is, until he hears the nagging again, as if this is some cruel game.

“Oi dick’ead that ‘urts.”

Wait?

“Tommy?”

The outburst catches the attention of the other gang members, although none of them quite know what's going on. 

Tubbo is left speechless, he doesn't understand what's happening. It’s almost as if all the blood had soaked back into Tommy's body and he had sprung back to life.

“Tommy you're alive!”

“‘course I am idiot, why wouldn't I be?”

Tommy is more than confused. Tubbo is firing words at his head that just don't even make sense, talking about how he got shot and something stupid like that. It makes Tommy head pound, I mean he’s pretty sure he would remember getting shot right? Although, he doesn't really remember ever being on the floor, or anything after getting punched by George for that matter. The color blind man couldn't have hit him that hard could he? Surely not. I mean come on, it's GeorgeNotFound! Tommy's confusion continues to grow as more an more people crowd round him, Wilbur, Fundy, Eret, sapnap and...

“Tommy?”

Its...he...Dream..

He cant breath

Tommy's head spins, he only gets a few seconds of peace before he feels like he’s being swallowed by the void in his mind. His vision goes dark and he can feel his body start to tremble. It’s terrifying. The blackness around him is hollow and cold and Tommy screams for someone to help him, he screams for Dream, Wilbur, Tubbo, in a desperate attempt he even calls out to Eret in hope of a savior. But nothing screams back. Instead he is taunted by silence and the pressure building in his chest. But as Tommy starts to surface, the distant sounds of Wilbur's deadly counting haunt his empty wasteland.

#Okay but that thing about Tubbo forgiving Eret one day is the best thing ive every written #I almost cried writing it #Tommy death pog #one of these is not like the others #Dream sad times #I love writing dream #fundywastaken #I am so looking forward to writing more of that #tommyinnit #dreamwastaken #wilbur soot #georgenotfound #sapnap #tubbo #fundy #the eret #crime au

[st-just]

Some writing from a game

Because I’m like..60% happy with it and I feel like it should have a potential audience of, like, at least a dozen people. 

(Also, if you look very closely you might be able to see the influence of the last couple things I read)

The palace of the Melquart was as poorly defended as she had been promised – the nephilim garrison were either dead or damned, depending on the rumour you believed, and either way far away in the old capital. The local troops were mostly gone as well, sent to suppress a rebellion among the hill tribes – by the time they realized the reports and requests for aid were forgeries, it would be far too late. Even the guards which remains wouldn’t prove much use, their evening meal having been liberally spiced with sedatives to leave them slow-witted and sluggish. Everything was, in short, exactly how Itireae ir’Naeh had been promised it would been, carefully arranged to ensure the once-princesses homecoming would be as smooth and frictionless as possible. Not that she looked much like a princess anymore, of course – months of exile in the badlands had taken their toll, even before the injections of quicksilver and adamant had left her with monochrome eyes and sickly blue veins pressing against her skin. Still, she would gladly make every sacrifice and compromise over again, if it brought her here. After all, what good was a child who wouldn’t do what was necessary to avenge their father? With her new sight, the iron frame of the palace’s upper windows shone in the pre-dawn light, and it was a simple matter of will pull herself towards them – by now the pulsing, burning pain from her veins was almost a comfort, as she gracefully flew through the night to alight on the windowsill. It hung open in the warm fall air, and it was barely any effort to pull herself inside. She moved fast. Even if she couldn’t see the golden treasures piled high in the Melquart’s bedroom, she knew her way their by heart. She passed five guards on her way, and four four didn’t break her stride – a handful of iron needles pulled from one of the pounces hanging off her belt and pushed with more force then an a longbow towards each made sure they never got up. The last was someone important – a royal bodyguard or captain, sleeping on a bed in the antechamber to the Malequart’s apartments. He she recognized – he had just as happy to have a place of honour at her fathers side, before the giants called down fire from the sky and massacred his entire host. And so she paused and drew her glass daggers, and took the time to make sure he recognized her before she let him die. The Melquart was a Lumor, god-blooded, close to three yards tall, with flowing, braided crimson hair and a matching beard which grew fiery in truth when he was enraged – as he was now, charging through the door of his apartments in nothing but a robe, sacred and deadly bronze axe held in both hands, to find his bodyguard bleeding out before him. Which nicely distracted him as Itireae sent the first barrage of iron needles and blades flying towards him from her perch on the ceiling. His roar as the blades dug into his back and spilled his sacred blood was so loud it was almost painful to hear. But then, she wasn’t the intended audience – and his divine grandfather seemed to understand perfectly. The room filled with a wrathful and ruddy light, and Itireae had to leap to the floor to avoid the blast of divine fire the lumor threw from his hands, letting out a gasp of pain at her awkward landing on the stone floor. The holy runes etched on the Melquart’s axe glowed with an angry red light as he approached her, nothing but pure, deadly rage in his words. “I don’t know what you are, but if you start begging now I’ll just cut you down. Keep fighting, and you’re going to suffer. Burning slow so all the other humans know the penalty for striking the blood of the Sun.” Whatever reaction he expected, Itireae’s unsteady laughter wasn’t it. Her hands trembled as she spoke, grabbing a thankfully unbroken vial off her belt. “Me? I’m no-one, not after tonight. Just one more debt you monsters never bothered to settle.” She poured the vial down her throat, and tried to ignore her body screaming in protest as she started burning its contents before they were metabolized. A thin trail of black, acrid smoke leaked from her mouth, as her veins began to glow an unearthly blue. And the Melquart, axe raised for a killing blow, staggered and gasped in pain. Her fingers were bloody, gripping the seams between stones on the floor to keep from being slammed into his chest – but it worked. His fire went out as the light faded from his eyes, the blades buried in his back pulled through his heart and lungs until they pierced the skin of his chest as well. She made sure, of course – used her glass daggers to cut his throat and put out his eyes, and open every major vein and artery. And then, satisfied, she set to work cleaning up after herself. It was close to noon when she finally limped to their meeting place, lightly scorched from divine flame and throat too raw to speak from rushed alchemy. Still, her patron was waiting for her, wearing the face of the well-fed caravan driver she had travelled here with – though that disguise was beginning to crack, every hair already a pristine white and eyes faintly glowing, color starting to fade from their outfit. Turning to her with a slight smile and a nod, they said “Given the fire at the palace, I trust you have settled your personal affairs?” At her nod she gestured to the horses “Then we should be going. You have a higher purpose now, and the journey will give you time to consider a suitable new name.” They made good time on the trip south, as behind them the last vestige of Phanosine rule in the far east collapsed into succession struggle and anarchy. ----------------------------------------------- Tymon Sol managed to survive in the forest on his own for nearly two weeks. As soon as the strange, massive ships had been sighted and the chief and captains ordered their men to assemble, he’d heard the whispers of ruin and disaster on the wind. By the time the strange, green-coated soldiers had arrived and demanded unconditional surrender, her had already donned his mother’s mask and cloak, and taken everything he could carry. By the time the first cannon fired, he was so far away he could barely hear them. He had found an ancient tree, and made a camp beneath its canopy, hiding it from man and beast, rain and wind, anything the flew or crawled or bit or stung. Since then he had almost never taken off the cloak or mask – hiding him from anything but the spirits, and letting him see their guidance to the food and water he needed. All of which was to say, he had finally begun to feel safe. And so he was not at all prepared when something was waiting for him. It was dressed like an officer of the soldiers who had invaded his village, though its uniform was decorated with gold brocade and some sort of extra decoration. And otherwise totally devoid of color – snow white hair, pale skin, and clothing that remained pristinely and perfectly white even as it stood in the mud and leaned against his tree. Its eyes glowed faintly with a cold light, and when he looked at it he saw all the spirits who had protected his camp had shied away from touching it. It, meanwhile, looked down at a pocketwatch in its hand with apparent fascination. Either unable to perceive Tymon beneath his cloak or unconcerned with his presence as he stared and froze in panic. After a long, terrifying minute the watch let out a chime and it spoke in a soft, pleasant voice. “You are quite difficult to find, ghost-child. Before your spirits gaze I swear not to harm you, but I hope you will not force me through this effort again.” Trying to remain calm, he circled around it, trying to see if there were any other soldiers. Eventually, satisfied to find no footprints or hidden men, he responded, speaking from the mouth of a bird perched above her. “What do you want, then? You’re one of them, aren’t you? The soldiers who destroyed my home?” It sounded genuinely sorrowful as it replied. “That should not have happened. My peer was here as a mercenary, a role which does not agree with them. They were needlessly harsh, in the interests of haste, and the marines followed their example as well as their commands.” “Then, what, you’re here to say you’re sorry? Offer to build me a new house? I swear I won’t accept an-” “Please listen before you speak rashly child. I am not here to offer empty words or simple blood money. Might you here my offer, before you reject it? If you do, then I will accept your answer, should you desire, leave you be.” “...alright, fine. Talk.” “Your family is fascinating. Five generations of power and worth carefully gathered, every action judged, the petty gods of nature whispering in your ear, whatever life you wished to have forgotten under the duty you inherit. It’s a great burden, for someone so young. And it will not grow any easier – the island’s new princes are brutes, liars and cheats. You could resist them, and see your family suffer, or serve them, and forsake every fragment of purpose within you.” “My family? Who do you mean? Have you done anything to them?” It smiled, slightly. “Yes. One hundred thirty-eight potential heirs, although beyond the first dozen they are wholly unprepared and would despoil your inheritance quite quickly. And absolutely nothing, beyond identifying them. I would like to help them, offer them new lives with warm homes, food and medicine, and the assurance that they will never have to worry about being hunted down. But for that, you will have to come with me first. You will do good on a grander scale, and in return none of them will ever want for safety or comfort. Would you not at least consider the deal?” It paused then, waiting for a response. Tymon didn’t have one. After a silent eternity, it closed the pocket watch and gave a slight shrug. “I will return at this time tomorrow. I hope you will be here.” It walked out of the tree’s canopy and stood in the sunlight, took a deep breath and looked directly at the sun. And then it was gone. Tymon spent the next day and night performing every augury who could think of – it had never been a talent of his, truthfully. But the answers were all resoundingly clear. When the soldier in white returned the next day, he was waiting for it. -------------------------------------------------------- Three months latter, and the people who had once been Itireae and Tymon were ready. The ritual was not exactly difficult – it did not take a great deal of power, and could theoretically be performed anywhere. But it was exceedingly intricate and precise. Hira stood before the two kneeling inductees, both dressed in the dull grey robe and bright red fez of a Janissary without official rank. The room they stood in had, minutes before, been almost claustrophobic. But as the seven layers of exactingly drawn circles on the floor began to glow and turn in time with some grand cosmic clockwork, the walls and ceiling faded away. They were outside, and the night sky was bright and full of stars – though the constellations were foreign to them, and the light cold and alien. “Do you forsake inheritance and legacy, kith and kin, family and tribe? Do you forswear all covenants you have made, and revile all those who would demand your loyalty by love or affection?” The two answered at once “I do.” “Do you pledge yourselves to the service of Principle, to the creation of a rational and compassionate world, and the interests of the Esheri Republic, selflessly and without expectation of or right to comfort, safety or power?” “I do.” “Do you accept your role as the agents of history, and that you will be called to use and expend yourselves as necessity requires, without regard for you own selfish wants or particular affections, and will die and be forgotten with no memorial but the world you will help create?” Again they replied “I do”. As they did, the alien starlight seemed to solidly around them, pouring down their throats as they spoke, marking them indelibly. Hira smiled widely, opening her arms in welcome as she spoke “Then rise, Avra and Erem, and join us in engineering paradise.”

#writing #total war #this is theoretically a writing blog

[sixwingedbee]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Kingdom Hearts (Video Games) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Braig & Ienzo (Kingdom Hearts) Characters: Braig (Kingdom Hearts), Ienzo (Kingdom Hearts), Luxu (Kingdom Hearts) Additional Tags: Soft platonic family moments, Fluff, Apprentice family Summary:

Ienzo had a bad habit of sneaking away.

When Ienzo went missing during the day, everyone noticed almost immediately. Almost. Sometimes Even wouldn't notice until an hour later that his charge was no longer sitting quietly within the lab, but he noticed. Dilan and Aeleus would notice when they found the two troublesome teens sneaking in through a new way, knowing they must have seen Ienzo come out of it on the other side.

Ansem noticed when it was brought to his attention after the boy was brought back.

Whether or not Braig ever noticed was never important. He rarely came for the boy. Ienzo always considered that a fortunate thing, Braig was trouble. He always found him right away, always taking the boy by surprise. All the other adults Ienzo could hear coming a mile away. With their grumbling and heavy footsteps. Braig just appeared. Ienzo never heard or saw which direction he came.

He couldn't help but wonder if the man had magic, too.

Even so, daytime was the worst to wander. Daytime was too easy for them to be aware. But it was when Ienzo felt the most trapped. Daytime was full of noise, scratching pencils and loud arguments in the upper labs, and full of people he didn't care for. Strangers that would give a supposed lost boy a second look and try to grab him. And while this world was very beautiful in the shining sun, with its abundance of flowers blooming all over, it had another type of beauty at night. Night time brought quiet. It brought the shining stars in the sky and a calm that Ienzo craved.

When the sky turned dark and the young boy was sure all in the castle were asleep, he'd make his move. Quietly, he made his way out of his room and down the long and much too large halls of the castle. Sometimes Ienzo wondered what lived in here before Ansem the Wise. Before Radiant Garden got its name... It couldn't have been humans. This structure was much too big for them. Maybe giants. That would explain Aeleus thought the boy. The man's stature made him a giant, even among the already too tall residents of the world.

Ienzo would sometimes wonder if he was from this world proper. He felt too small. Too quiet. Too listless.

But that couldn't be possible, he thought as he finally made his way outside, emerging out of a hidden door within the southern garden. Dilan knew of this one, but it was far too obvious to sneak into. Sneaking out of was another story. He looked around for signs of those two boys before he moved again, towards the wall. There was a ladder that reached to the top, an easy way for the guards to move around and do a quick visual sweep of the world outside of the castle. Ienzo looked up at the stars as he climbed. Slowly, rung by rung.

No, he couldn't be from anywhere else. Even if he couldn't remember much before coming here- Even often talked of an injury he had on his right temple- he had to be from this world. They didn't know getting to the other Worlds was possible until recent. That boy had to have come from another world, right?

But, how. How did they get here?

This World had stories, yes, but not the means to make a myth reality.

Ienzo pulled himself up onto the wall, steadying his feet for a moment before he started walking again. From South to East. It was a long walk, but it gave Ienzo a good look at the World they were on. From the sleepy buildings with their blood red roofs, to the tall forest that separated some of the sectors of the town. He could hear the rushing waters of the fountains as he passed by them, just out of reach from the plants that were crawling up the walls and attempting to take over.

On the far east he could sit, out of view from anyone else that could be up at this hour. Ienzo could look out on the calm waters that surrounded this not-quite island. Seeing the floating gardens that welcomed the rare trading boat. Occasionally he'd see a splash as a fish snapped at the bugs that tread the water's surface. While the humans slept, the world continued on as it should. It was a comfort, knowing that when they were all gone, this World would always go on.

It was a thought someone so young shouldn't have. But Ienzo's thoughts often drifted to how fragile he was. How quickly a human life could be snuffed out, with everyone moving on around it. He was proof of that. His parents were presumed dead, and he was placed in the care of someone else. Expected to continue living and grow up without them.

He lost track of how long he sat on that wall, staring at nothing and everything while he thought. The air was cool and he kept his knees pulled close to conserve warmth. Every breath let out a small puff of vapor. Maybe he should have grabbed that too big coat? Far too late now. He took a deep breath, enjoying the way the chilled air filled his lungs. It stung, but it filled his nose with the scents of the night. The air was crisp, and the smell of the water around them was strong. The start of decay in the leaves was on the slight wind, as well as the lingering smoke and ash from nearby chimneys. Autumn was around the corner. Another turn in the wheel.

“Got pretty far this time, didn' ya?”

Ienzo would have jumped if it wasn't for the heavy hand that rested on his shoulder. He looked up at the man that caught him, eyes wide. When did Braig get here? He would have heard him!

Braig didn't look mad. In fact, the man looked more amused than anything. Here was the King's ward, all the way out on a border patrol wall, by himself. The poor thing looked like a scared mouse caught in a trap. But Braig wasn't going to let him go, he knew that Ienzo would run. He was a tiny thing, but he was fast when he wished to be.

“You know you're not suppose to leave the castle unsupervised.” Braig knew he knew he wasn't suppose to  leave at all. Especially at night, when anything could happen. Honestly, they had all hoped that the scare in the courtyard with those creatures would have curbed the boy's urge to run away. Obviously that wasn't the case, as he was getting more bold with his attempts.

The grip on the small boy's shoulder was adjusted slightly as Braig lowered himself to sit down next to him. He wasn't letting go, but he'd be on his level. “It's a nice spot, but not too great for hiding.” But he could see the point wasn't to hide. Not really. If Ienzo wanted to hide and not be found, then he would be in a better spot. Braig and Xehanort had found the boy in the most impossible spots before. Braig knew the boy well, and Xehanort seemed to have a knack for thinking of where an upset child would go.

Ienzo frowned up at him, still not saying a word. Braig chuckled, use to that little pout. He was cranky he was caught. Cranky that it was him and not the big one that found him. Braig knew he wasn't the favorite, and that was fine.

“They're going to worry when they wake up and you're not in your room.”

Ienzo looked away from him, shaking his head. He didn't want to go back, not yet! His little fingers twitched, tapping at the cold stone below him. He could talk, when he wanted. But he did it so rarely that he was finding it difficult to find the words he wanted to say. Why he couldn't-

“It's okay, little dude. We don't have to go back just yet.”

Ienzo blinked, looking back up at him. Did he hear him right?

“Or did you want to go?”

Another head shake and small hands tugging at his jacket. Just a few more minutes. It was so calm.

“Okay, okay.” The hand finally lifted up from his shoulder to the top of Ienzo's head to still him. Maybe ruffle that hair, mess up the part Even tried so hard to keep neat. He stared down at the one bright blue eye that wasn't hidden by his hair. Sometimes it was so familiar. “I get it.”

Braig took a breath, content when he heard Ienzo do the same. Good, he was calming down. He was slowly realizing that he wasn't in trouble. Yet. He watched the boy settle down once more, looking back out at the waters. At the edge of the cliffs that seemed to surround them on all sides. Like they were in a crater.

Braig looked towards the horizon, seeing the deep purples and blues of the night sky start to shift. The sun would be coming up. How long had the boy been out here?

“You're very lucky it was Xehanort that noticed you were gone.” He said, not looking down. He didn't need to look at Ienzo to see the look of surprise and doubt. Why would Xehanort check on him? “He's got a weird tick he has. I'll catch him, walking in the middle of the night. Making sure everyone's breathing. I wonder if it's a habit he doesn't realize he remembers.”

Ienzo looked down. Xehanort also couldn't remember anything from before the castle. Only his name. A habit like that... Did Xehanort have siblings? He adjusted to living with many people fast. He wasn't too old, he couldn't have had kids yet.

“I was getting coffee for my evening round, and he got me,” continued Braig. Why Xehanort didn't wake Even or Ansem was in the back of Ienzo's mind. But if Braig was already awake... Xehanort must have heard him in the kitchens.

Braig could still see that Ienzo's body language was closed off. He was stiff, holding his knees closer so he could be smaller. He knew he couldn't run away, but he could close Braig off completely. That wasn't going to work out. Braig could just easily pick the boy up, but he didn't feel like getting punched by those tiny fists. His face was still sore and healing. His undamaged eye looked from the sky to the boy, then back to the sky again.

“I'll cut you a deal,” he began, knowing Ienzo was listening. “We'll stay out here until the sun rises. Then we go back home-- to the castle.” Braig mentally smacked himself for that one. Calling the castle home always seemed to upset the boy. It was understandable. He was young, and new to life there.

As much as Ansem and Even tried to make him comfortable, to teach him and prepare him for the future they saw for him... Ienzo seemed to resist every step. Ienzo clearly adored the two men, and followed them around like a baby duckling when allowed. But something in his heart made him waver. Braig could see that even now.

“Hey now, I get it.”

There was that phrase again. Ienzo seemed to doubt that Braig understood. But he didn't question it. He'd let the man believe whatever lie he spoke into existence.

Gold and blue looked out again, watching the colors slowly turn. A pale blue appeared at the very bottom edge. Clouds would become more defined as the light of the sun just barely started to peek out.

Ienzo felt himself more at peace as he watched the sun rise. Hearing the birds start to chirp before the light was even visible, feeling a little bit more warmth. Not quite enough to be comfortable, but enough for Ienzo to relax and stop locking himself up.

Braig felt the boy shift beside him, patting his head once more. He never did let go. “Pretty, ain't it?” He asked, keeping his eye on the mix of colors that painted the skies in front of them. On the stars that were slowly fading from view. “No where near as beautiful as the sunrises from my own world, but it's pretty damn close.”

Ienzo looked up at that statement, staring at Braig. This pulled a laugh at the older man, such a serious look!

“Yeah, yeah. Don't go blabbing it to everyone. But I ain't quite from these parts, y'know?” Braig grinned down at the boy, holding a single finger up to his lips. “As if I need to tell you to be quiet, eh?” A little tease where it was earned. Ienzo was a very quiet boy.

But Braig knew how to listen to him without ever hearing a word.

“Where I'm from the sunrises were the most beautiful across the Star Ocean.” He lifted his other hand up, gesturing to the last few stars they could see. “My town was known for it. The beginning of a new day was so special to us. It was proof we were alive. Proof yesterday happened, that tomorrow was a promise.” He let that hand drop to his side, his other moving from Ienzo's head back to his shoulder. He smiled a bit as he felt the boy scoot closer.

If he had to listen to the man talk he might as well steal his warmth. Ienzo let him continue, enjoying the precious minutes he was gaining from letting an old man go down memory lane. Ienzo's quiet was ruined, but he didn't seem to mind just one voice speaking. He was outside, he had space. He seemed content enough.

Braig described a World so similar to Radiant Garden. Ienzo was sure he never actually left Gardens at all. The tweaks were slight and it seemed too perfect, that Braig would leave somewhere just to end up in a land almost identical. But there were some details, that Ienzo couldn't quite focus on, that stood out just enough. How tall was that clock tower again?

Ienzo closed his eye as he listened, letting the image come alive in his mind. The rays of the sun felt different. The smell of the flowers belong to different species that were rare on their world. Slowly, Braig's voice was blending in with the sound of the birds and the waves that lapped at the edge of the world. Of the hums and voices rising in the air as the earliest of risers started to wake. Ienzo could smell fires starting once more. The bakery was getting ready for its day. For a moment he thought he heard kids shouting, but it was far too early for them.

Braig was still talking. What did he say? “Y'know, you remind me of him.” Of who? He couldn't bring himself to listen to the words he was saying. His tiny body was overriding his want to stay awake.

“Maybe one day I'll bring it back and show you.”

It was said so softly, Ienzo wasn't quite sure he heard it at all.

Braig felt Ienzo lean against him and waited for a few seconds. The breathing was slow and steady. He fell asleep. The illusion that had been summoned around them faded into reality. The man let out a slow, shaky breath as he watched a memory dissolve. This kid was trouble, using his magic like that without realizing it.

He looked down at the sleeping boy, gently fussing with the hair in his face. That was the ultimate test if he was asleep or not. As he almost moved it out of the way, he paused. No slap, no flinch or cowering away. He was out like a light. Carefully, he scooped the tyke into his arms, standing up with ease on the wall. Only a few steps to see if anyone could see them where they were before he let the air and space warp around both of them.

He walked right out of the void he summoned, laying Ienzo down into his own bed. He tucked him in, gently ruffling his hair, before stepping back through his own portal to return to the post he should have been at. No one else needed to know he got out of bed or what was said.

He really was getting too soft on the kid.

#ienzo #braig #fanfic #kingdom hearts #kingdom hearts fanfic #vibee write

[dwestfieldblog]

A VERY REMOTE ENGLISH TEACHER

Where meditations, rants, reverie and absent seizures cross over... closer to one gun with one bullet, the rose of ruby and the cross of gold...uff, and MENTACIDE IN THE TIME OF MASQUES. Although I have never suffered from the guilty masochistic torture of ‘pleasure anxiety’, Bacchus hath indeed drowned more men than Neptune.  So I stopped drinking for 18 days to fool myself I was doing something positive and threw away enough things to be minimalist again. Arf. Beauty and/or function uber alles.  

Been treading water for three years and trying not to drown...big round of one hand clapping for the former poet. Meanwhile, in this temporary world and perception I have created of it, I am looking at a very possible exile one way or the other...my ‘plan’...a long phased withdrawal or hasty retreat. My wish is to stay, but once I leave, it might well be very hard to return.  Read as many metaphors as you want into that but in spite of my dislike of the conservatively minded Aristotle’s ‘either/or’ nonsense, there do indeed appear to be only two this time. And appear is the operative word. Appearances can be deceptive and emotions (unless raised and focused) cloud over what should be clear. Pain has a tendency to breed worry and fear too but let’s draw a veil over that for now eh? Suppress, suppress, release comes later...breathe deep and try not to cough, onward we go where the game gets rough...Just like Tom Thumbs Blues 65.  

Remember Roman Protasevich...As Lukasenko himself said...‘Belarus stood at the edge of an abyss and I helped it take a step forward’. Look good on your tombstone that will Al. Fecking outrageous the Indian PM only admitted in May that covid was transmitted in the air. He needs removing... as do two thirds of all the other world leaders East and West. Hello Bollsanaro. People are very easy to manipulate when they’re are scared or angry...and right now the world majority are both. But, ‘there is a crack in everything... that’s how the light gets in’... and ‘things could change’, doesn’t have to be for the worse. It can take decades to realise this as actual truth, but still nice to read and try internalise the following last week.’The odds actually favour the optimists, since dissipate structures are more likely to evolve into more information rich (intelligent?) forms than into primitive or chaotic forms.’ All my friends bar my best one are optimists..Hello you:-)

Ever onward deeper downward with Orban in Hungary and his mission of ‘Christian values’, which involves a familiar routine of arresting, beating and disappearing dissenters in the name of Christ and taking over the universities to replace professors with those who understand on which side their bread is buttered. Decent judges long gone. Nice fascist communism...and ex soldiers in France and the Czech republic warning of civil war...

And now spiraling we go into the black hole vortex of Disaster capitalism, ‘Let the bodies pile high’. There’s gold in them thar ills....ISLAND PARANOIA and PERFIDIOUS ALBION! A country which demands a contract, agrees, signs to it and then refuses to honour it. We look worse than ridiculous, we look deceitful. Gentlemen, your places please. Boris Johnson is a clumsy, inept, disgraceful charlatan, con merchant and LIAR. A blustering master bullshit artist, the only decent thing about his recent secret wedding is that now he legally has one less bastard child.  

Recently I read that British people are displaying signs of Stockholm syndrome...in that they dislike those who hold power over them and make the rules but during the time of pandemic, they are the ones who will release the saviour vaccine and get everything moving again. So rather than rocking the boat and daring to express dissent at the DIABOLICAL handling of the last 18 months, they have mostly kept quiet and voted for the same endlessly failing, corrupt and venal politicians who made a bad situation far worse. (That said, it bears repeating that there are a few million in the UK who didn’t quite understand that that the spread of a highly contagious airborne virus can be slowed by the wearing of masks/applying basic hygiene and even took offence at being told what should have made sense to any adult homo SAPIENS half capable of cogitating for themselves. Morons and scum. Same where you are?

By the way BBC...the colossal dearth of stories about the endless government failures in relation to Covid, death, corruption and the NHS...ever since they blackmailed you with threats of revoking the TV licence fee and got you to change Directors has been noted. Long may Have I Got News For You continue the satire and balance needed in a DEMOCRACY. Obey your public servants? Why, when they do not serve few but themselves? Power OF the people? Which ones...the mob? The same bleating pricks who follow populists?

Four eyed beanpole fop Rees Mogg, with his wonderful line that the benefits of Brexit will be seen ‘over the next fifty years’...well yes, that is why most people vote in democratic elections eh?...So they will be dead or ancient before the change they hoped for comes...and the politicians who lead them now, will have all long moved on to revolving door chairman of the board offshore limited liability company paradise. Bread today jam tomorrow fairytales. What I tell you three times is true.  

O, but the English do so love to be told what to do by dumb posh boys who treat them like dirt. Some are forelock tugging and some are self flagellating middle class upper class wannabes who will never get there but still feel proud they are not street level proles. Doby the house elf alien hamster Michael Gove found guilty of breaking the law. Nothing. Internal inquiries run by those connected to the money changing hands find nothing illegal. Corruption for all to see...and ignore. ‘Well, what can we do?’ The uselessly inept serial failure Dido Harding to be in charge of the National Health Service? (she of the collapsed Woolworths, Talk Talk and the 22 BILLION pound loss of the Covid Track and Trace program where non working consultants/insultants, were paid 1000 pounds a day). American style privatisation is coming where only the wealthy or criminal can afford to be repaired and well. Sick.  

Meanwhile, All our imported nurses out, and all the lobster red fat Spanish costa de la sol criminals back in. Great exchange, fair trade and forward thinking. The Kremlin are manipulating/supporting Scottish independence... I read years ago about their base in Edinburgh for Russia Today (the foul insert in The Daily Telegraph) and they were already encouraging it. Rees Smug has accelerated and supported their freedom with his snobbish utterances on countries in the UK other than England and their ‘foreign languages’. With every patronising, arrogant pronouncement, the Eton trifles fuel the fire in Scotland which has a long bitter history of being tortured, murdered and subjugated by their southern masters. Perhaps the chumocracy in Downing Street believe the Celts to be as easily cowed as the middle and working classes down south. Here’s hoping not. ‘Rebellious Scots to crush’? Not this time pal.

As for the future of Britain? A dystopian open prison where the lower social classes toil only at the pleasure of their masters. The higher caste getting richer and all others cast into a living Hell of debt, crime, and sickness. Serve until you die and be thankful we allow you to exist. Increasing in utter irrelevance to the world, other than as an example of how wrong a former democracy can go. This future started decades ago...its baobab roots truly deep now. Better education and critical thinking for the masses in the UK (or anywhere else) is highly unlikely now. Optimism huh? As long as I am not in England, I will still be able to tap into it, but once enclosed long term in the group mind there...trapped in a grey quagmire. Keep smiling...

Several weeks ago, I watched a video on YT of apparently English protestors running after the police in London, some attacking and throwing things, one pulling off the pandemic mask of an officer and all shouting abuse at the outnumbered cops who had to keep pulling back. As always, to get my caffeine rush of fury going, I read the comments and was surprised to see two or three from Chinese names. Almost all comments were against the government (fair enough) and dumb against the lock down, masks, vaccinations etc. Checking again, I saw the video had been posted by CGTN...a media company owned and run by the communist party in Beijing...and not one author of diatribes had mentioned this, nor speculated with a critical thought as to why such an organisation might enjoy turning people against their own democratically elected government (however mind rippingly foul and corrupt they are).

I copy pasted the Wikipedia paragraph about the company onto the page and hoped someone else would make the connection. I wouldn’t mind so much IF there were a credible and decent alternative other than the diseased populist poison for which the demonstrating goons chant. China really cares about the standard of democracy in Britain eh? Persuade your enemies to weaken themselves. Destroying countries by encouraging their ‘patriots’.

(That was written on the anniversary of Tienanmen Square...a few days later Xi Jinping gave a speech saying ‘...a lovable and respectable’ China must be presented to the world and must ‘expand its circle of friends’. Tell that to your teenage ‘dissidents’, Muslims, Falun Gong and Tibetans being tortured and brainwashed in prisons or being used for organ harvesting. Tell it to Hong Kong and Taiwan.) 

Unholy America...against abortion and the pill, sex education’s not Gods will and in the Name of Christ they kill...if truth be known, we’ve failed the test...but Jesus was a Socialist and Republican conservatives hate them. The founding fathers of America were Very clear about separation of church and state with damn good Reason. Another part time Christian, Mike Pompeo wants to be president. Q Onan deepstorm morons/Kremlin stool pigeons aka POLEZNYYE IDIOTY continue to push for Trump and his Big Lie...He with the brain where ‘In the left, nothing is right and in the right, nothing’s left.’ Arf.

Over the last two decades, the dumb have been finding their voice and are now louder and prouder of their dumbass ignorance. 74 million in the US alone, their egos unable to retreat in the face of endless evidence to the contrary, they all double down. Like children sticking their fingers in their grimy ears sing songing ‘la la la can’t hear you’. 74 million versions of Eric Cartman, loud, proud and wrong. And uuff, Megan Markle,  Majorie Taylor Greene, walking Picasso collage (bad car driver) Caitlin Jenner and Ivana Trump in politics...not exactly holding a proud lantern for women eh? I’d like to buy them for what they are worth and sell them for what they think they are worth. Not very PC?  

That was the point. Could easily been written about all of the men written about here too. Next examples follow...

Tucker Carlson and Alex Jones compete for who can be as mentally ill as trump. The Miami school where the husband and wife directors told teachers not to return if they had HAD their vaccine shots because their proximity to students was interfering with menstrual cycles and uuuufff...The sickness of utter mind buggering stupidity. I had my first shot, now waiting to turn reptilian when the 5G masts triangulate my position. Fnord. Covid appears to be killing more overweight meat eating males than females...perhaps testosterone is not useful for the coming Race of non binary mutant hermaphrodites...and look out for the end of the Y chromosome, coming to a temporary universe near you...in 4.6 million years. Yes, really.  

Glad Netanyahu is out at last, smug corruption is never a good look unless one is a rich criminal. Ha.  The Promised land of Israel...If I was in court for serial murder, breaking, entering and stealing and then defended my actions by saying that God had told me to do it, would the Judge; A. Call for a psychiatric report, B. Disregard the statement as unprovable and pass the appropriate sentence, C, say Ok mate, you’re free to go, good luck to you. ? Moses had a good schtick.

The law is only to punish the poor, do you feel as if you suffer from empathy? Once you know, you no longer need to believe. What does ‘reality’ seem to be? The more certain you are, the stupider you get and belief is the death of intelligence. The machine is running the engineers. What is the definition of rationality...the quality of being based on or in accordance with reason or logic. 

Nothing is, but thinking makes it so. Epicurus.  

EVERYTHING NOT COMPULSORY IS FORBIDDEN.

The glamour illusion of the mass of pointless hot influencers needs a constant renewing of the Banishing Ritual as much as all the pigslop bile coming from Fox News and Sky. Bloody long haired commie liberal faggot they cry against any not identical to them. Some days I have only flamethrowers of hatred for these idiots. Other days...not exactly self doubt, just questions...most of us seem to believe our opinions are more valid when there are emotions connected to them. Including me. Again, this seems like a very weak version of ‘truth’, unless disciplined, channeled and focused to a certain end.

Life appears to exist in order to become via chaos.

Most of us are working only not to be homeless, some because of the joy in our chosen work regardless of finances. Until ‘reality’ kicks in the door...the bondage gets tighter when you struggle. How much hardship is the individual willing to endure these days by choice? Surrounded by a universe of distraction and destruction, Maya mewling for our attention. Five years of Trump, rampant populism and Brexit doing a Hexagram 23 on democracy, compounded by the pandemic...all on top of ‘normal’ daily life. The ego feeds and the immune system breaks down. Hard to ignore without being on a mountain or in a parallel dimension and emotion free other than compassion. But BY GODDESS IT CAN AND WILL BE DONE. Ladies of Life Nin Khursag, Isis, Kali, Aradia...Love one, Love ALL. At very least have respect for thyself but be not thou proud of thine arrogance nor thy suffering.  

Or just Remember where you came from, what you were, seem to be and will become.

Heal, heal, more work to do, more love to give, more love to feel, Heal. Stay in drugs, eat your school and don’t do vegetables. Impose your own reality upon and through yourself, breathe, exhale, repeat, and continue, LOVE UNDER WILL. Experience and absorb but ‘It’s a house of tricks, ignore the world’’.

Stay well, be seeing you:-)

[desperationandgin]

Mood board One Shot!

Rating: General Audiences

Also Read On: AO3

Summary: Jamie and Claire have a conversation while in the thick of World War 1.

A/N: Thank you so much to @enormouseffort for the mood board and to @iamnottrisha & @outlanderlush for putting this together! And thank you to @filledwithlight​, @smashing-teacups​, @happytoobserve​ and @fierceweebadger​ for looking this over for me! Also, it’s midnight east coast time so surprise!!!

The Uncertainty of War

When she comes to him, it’s with a bloodied apron still tied around her neck and curls askew. Someone’s blood streaks her upper arm, smeared into a dried out whorl thanks to a hasty wipe. A glance at her and Jamie knows tension lies between her shoulder blades like a lead weight and that the balls of her feet are aching.

He’s no better off than she is, exhausted to the very marrow of his bones. He’d been ready to close his eyes and welcome sleep until she crept in, but now his only thought is of following through on the warm bath he’d conjured for her in his mind. It takes time to fill, but the moment he helps her into the tub and she sighs, he knows he would do it again, even so late at night. Reaching behind her head, his fingers find the material holding her curls at bay and lets it go, sending them chaotically floating free.

“Close yer eyes, a nighean.”

She does as she’s told and becomes malleable under his hands as they meticulously work to rub her feet under the hot water.

“I haven’t sat since five-thirty this morning.” Her words leave her on a weary sigh; the moon and stars have been out for hours now.

“Ye push yourself too hard, Sassenach. If ye dinna do more to take care of yourself, yer body will decide to slow down for ye,” Jamie chides gently, hands working a calf, delighting in her soft groan.

“Who’s the medical professional, here, Captain?” She cracks one eye open to look at him. “I know you only arrived here a few moments before me, and you were gone when I woke.”

He’s quiet as his hands move back to a foot, pressing his thumbs into the arch gently and rubbing outward. When he replies, his eyes flicker toward her face. “Cannae do reconnaissance in the bright, open daylight, Nurse Beauchamp,” he retorts with her own title. “And the day cannae be done only because I was workin’ early.”

“So, you’re saying that telling me how much sleep to get isn’t hypocritical?”

She’s won when he can’t think of a good retort, and she smiles smugly, proud of herself for outsmarting him there.

“It’s no’ a bad thing to take a break when ye can get it, was my point.” He switches feet, focused on his task.

“Hello, pot. I’m kettle,” she teases, though it’s really quite sweet, his worry for her. It endears him even more to her heart, though he’d done well enough the day they’d met two years ago, buying flowers from her at the park for his young niece.

“We both do too much and we ken it, but—”

“—but we have one another to lean on,” she finishes, smiling as he moves to the head of the tub in order to capture her lips in a kiss. One of his large hands cradles her face and she reciprocates, enjoying the feel of his stubble against her fingertips.

“I missed ye today, mo nighean donn,” he murmurs huskily, ducking his head a little further to press his lips to her neck.

“I thought about you earlier while I was debriding a wound,” Claire informs him, even as her head tilts this way and that to grant better access to skin begging to feel the imprint of his lips.

“That’s no’ a verra pleasant association,” he notes, pulling back as an eyebrow raises, looking at her in faux disgust. “What did I do to deserve it?”

With a light thwack against his arm, Claire leans forward as Jamie moves behind her to begin rubbing her shoulders. Enjoying it for a moment, she closes her eyes and practically purrs as he pauses to pour warm water over her skin. She gets around to answering just as his thumbs gently begin to work against a small knot at the base of her neck.

“I mean, I thought of you when I saw the extent of the man’s injuries.” Her tone softens. “I was more worried about you today than usual. I heard about the impromptu raid.”

There’d been a chance to get close to an enemy camp under the cloak of night, from a direction so heavily wooded the Austrian officers likely wouldn’t have thought to put more than a handful of men on the perimeter. Jamie’s assumption had been right, and within moments it was clearly a fight they could win if he made the call to charge. He did, and they had; the fighting had been done within fifteen minutes, though a victory today couldn’t guarantee the next fight would be won as well.

“By the time ye heard of it, I was likely already plotting our next course of action wi’ the General,” he points out.

“What does that matter?” she asks in confusion. “I’d be lucky if I received word within the month if you—” The phrasing of her statement sits bitterly on her tongue and she pauses to reach up, covering his hand on her shoulder. For a moment, both of them are still until she speaks again. “I see men die every day, Jamie, a countless amount of them. Too many to keep up.”

The hitch in her voice, as subtle as it is, is enough for him to move around in order to see her face. Reaching out, he rubs his thumb over her temple in slow circles in an effort to soothe. “May I tell ye something, Sassenach?”

As he helps her lean back against the tub to relax, she nods. “You can tell me anything.”

Fishing for the washcloth and soap, Jamie lathers it before beginning to wash her body slowly, starting with her closest arm. He’s quiet as the cloth travels up and under her arm, then across her chest to the other side. He’s working his way down a hip by the time he speaks again.

“Before every battle, I think of ye. I think of how I left ye that mornin’, warm in bed and sprawled out right in the middle.” She’s taken to sleeping draped over him, and when he rises for any reason, she curls into the heat he’s left behind. “I think of the way ye look when ye fall apart beneath me, crying out my name, and I remember the way it feels to have yer lips press to mine. When I’ve thought of all that, Sassenach, then I pray for God to protect me, so I can live to feel ye again.”

Claire looks at him with wide, amber eyes that reflect the fire in the small hearth behind him.

“And are you ever afraid?”

“Christ, aye,” he quickly admits. “But no’ of death itself.”

She doesn’t ask the question, but it’s there in her eyes before he raises her hand to his lips to kiss her knuckles.

“I ken what losing another person would do to ye, Claire.” Her father first, then her mother, her uncle, a husband. Everyone who had pieces of her heart has taken them to the grave. “So it terrifies me, the thought of leaving ye.” The ugly truth is that men are dying so quickly there are moments Jamie isn’t sure how anyone will survive to the finish. It could happen any moment, the bullet or bomb that ends it all.

“Then you’d better see to it that nothing happens, soldier,” she commands over a lump in her throat that she knows he can hear.

Done washing, the cloth is lost to the water again as both large hands cradle her face. “I would find ye, Sassenach. If we were ever parted by death, I would find ye. Even if it meant enduring purgatory to pay for my sins, for every lie from my tongue and death by my hands, I would wait and be tortured if it meant being wi’ ye again.”

“We’ve picked a terrible time to be in love, Jamie.” Tears spill over in warm rivers down her cheeks, and Jamie reaches out to wipe them away with a gentle touch.

“Even if I should fall tomorrow, I’ll ken that in my time on this Earth, I was given a rare woman.” His smile is warm, letting his thumb drag across the apple of her cheek. “And when I stand before the Almighty, I’ll be able to tell Him that in the time we had together, I loved her well.”

“Don’t be in a rush to relay that message,” she manages, sniffling even as her tears continue to quietly drip into the bathwater.

Jamie kisses her damp cheeks, shaking his head, murmuring, “The Devil himself would have to drag me away from ye, mo chridhe.”

Quietly, they breathe one another in until the bath is cold and he lifts her out, helping her dry. Donning a thin nightgown, she slides into bed first, and when he’s beside her she scoots against his side with her head resting on his chest. Her mind is still moving too quickly to relax, caught up in what ifs and endless horrific scenarios.

He knows it, can feel it in the way her body stays tensed. She’s dragging her fingers up and down his arm slowly — something she only does when her thoughts are tumultuous. He doesn’t push her to speak; instead, Jamie alternates running his fingers through her hair and massaging the back of her head.

Everything she can think to say she’s said before, but it doesn’t stop her from saying it again.

“I don’t know what I would ever do without you, James Fraser.”

“Dinna think of it, Sassenach,” he urges, brushing his lips across her temple.

“You still have to marry me after this great bloody war,” she points out, raising her head to look at him. “I told you when we started to get serious—”

“Aye, that ye never wanted to marry again. But somehow, I convinced ye then, didn’t I?”

She huffs a little, some of her tension beginning to give way. “You were stubborn.”

“I had to be more stubborn than you.” The last word is said even as he absorbs a light smack for the comment. “Ye only lash out because that’s the truth of it,” he chides with a slight smirk.

The truth of it was, five weeks into their relationship, he’d helped her carry her groceries into her flat, and when she’d tripped on a corner of the rug, he’d caught her effortlessly. It was the sort of thing depicted in frivolous romance novels she claimed she never read; their eyes met, and somehow she’d known he would completely demolish the walls she’d built around herself, brick by brick.

Now, there’s a war raging on with no guarantees, and she burrows closer to him.

“Tell me more about Lallybroch,” she requests, sleepiness creeping into her voice. “Tell me what our lives will be like.”

Once they’re both settled (Claire’s weight a comforting warmth draped across him—except for her cold-as-ice toes against his legs), Jamie’s eyes close, arms wrapped securely around her as he imagines it.

“There are so many rolling green hills it looks as though they go on forever, Sassenach. And the house itself, the moment ye walk through the doorway the love and warmth wraps ye up and lets ye know yer home. I remember my mam, Jenny, Willie, and I waitin’ for my da to arrive home from the fields every evenin’, sitting on the front steps.”

Claire makes a soft hum of acknowledgment, imagining it between drifting thoughts. When she murmurs, her voice already sounds far away.

“And how many children do you envision?” she asks, unaware, for now, of the life growing in her womb.

Jamie smiles to himself, rubbing the back of her head with his fingertips. “Four, at least. A good, even number. I ken ye like my red hair, but that gives me the odds of at least one bairn wi’ your coloring, mo nighean donn.”

“We’ll see. I think even your traits are stubborn.”

He squeezes her with a low chuckle, then goes quiet, the pull of sleep tugging at him, as well. Still, he has room for one more thought, unsure now if in the lapse of conversation she’s fallen asleep.

“We’re going to be alright, Sassenach. We’ll go home, love one another, and no’ ever worry about being apart again. We’ll lose track of all the evenin’s I come home to ye.”

He waits for a response, and when one doesn’t come, he realizes her breathing has evened out in sleep. Raising his head, his lips press softly to her hair, his words coming easily in the Gàidhlig.

May the Almighty protect you and watch over you. Carefully, slowly, one hand moves between them, so awkwardly angled that only his fingertips can brush her stomach.

May He protect you and our children from harm. Now, and always.

With a final kiss to her forehead, he lowers himself back down to the pillow and keeps Claire as close as he can.

Until morning, when the uncertainty of war rages on.

#jamie x claire #outlander #outlander fic #jamie fraser #claire fraser #mood board oneshot #my fic

[wolf-555-writer]

Target On My Back Part 6

You guys still sticking around? ;)

PART 1 | PART 2 | PART 3 | PART 4 | PART 5

Natasha Romanoff/Black Widow x Reader

Summary: Mission after mission goes by, and you’re getting used to working with Agent Romanoff. It feels familiar, as if you’ve done that your whole life, which is technically true. But another feeling gets in the way that you can’t seem to place and handle properly. Are you still able to do your job correctly? Or is it going to get you killed?

Word Count: 4,091

The raw sound of engines revving fills the street as cars accelerate for the green traffic light. Once the road had cleared up, the lively chatter of people sitting outside while having a coffee or a beer emerged again. In the center of the city, surrounded by towering buildings, a mother and her child walk in the opposite direction on the crowded pavement. The kid carefully looks your way, a curious expression on her face. You send her a warm smile in return and kindly receive one back. She must think you’re a lucky person. Concentrating on matching the speed of the woman carelessly strolling next to you. But someone stopping a taxi caught your attention instead, he brutally yanks on the door while muttering some nasty words and hops in. Probably in an undeniable hurry. However, that’s the least of your worries, because there is a more important person to aim your full focus on. Turning your head sideways to the one next to you, left arm around her, holding her close and your eyes meet with a pair of fiery green ones. Sparkling in the glorious sunlight, fixed on you and a lovely grin on her face.

Passing a fancy restaurant on the corner of the block, Natasha continues with the conversation. “So, you are telling me you've been keeping scores? On every SHIELD op?”, the redhead questions, amazed by your determination. “Wh- you haven't?”, you reply, eyebrow raised and sensing her hand slightly shifting over your leather jacket, waist-height. She laughs and reveals, “Well, just like we did in Russia”, and tilts her head to the side, peacefully resting it on your shoulder. You chuckle lightly and say, “Guess I haven’t changed that much then”. 

It was becoming a distraction. A burden. It’s good to learn what kind of person you were before - or still are? But it wasn’t necessary to know every tiny little detail of the past. What good will that do anyway. 

“For the record, mine was higher”, the redhead states with much confidence while she throws you a teasing look. Natasha probably knows. All those small, or huge details. About your parents- pretty sure that you must have had them, or that gruesome Red Room, or the million dollar question: what did Natasha mean to you?

“Don’t push it, Agent Romanoff”, you return with a smile and your eyes stay locked on her. Is she afraid to tell you all of it? Afraid what you’ll think about her, about the person she was - or still is? Everyone deserves a second chance, even her. No matter how messed up it all is. Because admit it. It is. Though, with every memory she tells, you’ll have to take her word for it. Trust that the ex-spy is telling the truth. Deeply, you stare into those hypnotizing green eyes. Do they tell the truth… Or are you a fool to trust that beautiful, innocent look which you’re slowly starting to drown in right now... 

“Having a good time, Agents?”

A voice interrupts. “We’ve got a cover to maintain Coulson”, Natasha answers quick, breaking eye contact with you which takes you straight back to reality. There’s no other choice, you’re forced to trust her. In the field, Agents need to have each other’s back. “I see you’re doing a good job with that”. “Don’t worry Phil, even when you don’t see it, I’m always looking over my shoulder”, you assure him quick-witted. Those words leaving a small, but proud, smile on Natasha's face as she shortly glanced at you. Both stopping on the sidewalk, you let go of her and Natasha turns her head to the left while stating: “I have eyes on target. Still in sight and has stopped on the pavement”, giving a status update to the Agent in charge of this operation. It’s just a cover, you know that, but there’s a tension, you can’t explain it. It has silently been there since the first time you saw her. The first time you laid eyes on her through the scope of a sniper rifle when ordered to take Black Widow out. But did not pull the trigger as an invisible force held you back. What’s this between us? Maybe emotions are stronger than memories... “Thanks. Keep the change”, you politely say to the street vendor, handing Natasha a warm drink that you bought in the meantime. For the sake of not raising suspicion and to blend in of course- well, and these missions make you damn thirsty. “Keep a safe distance until I give permission to engage”, Coulson firmly instructs over comms. Whereas you respond, “Confirmative”, and blow over the hot coffee to cool it down till drinking temperature.

“So… still not on speaking terms with Barton?”, Natasha asks, back turned towards the person you’re tailing and facing you with an intimidating stance. Keeping your eyes trained on the task, looking past her, you avoid the question and grunt. “Barton and I are fine, okay. Coulson, target is talking to what seems to be the buyer”. Not that she’ll believe your words. As much as you enjoy having Agent Romanoff in the field with you, obviously because of her remarkable skillset, it does get on your nerves that she’s right. It’s true, you are a bit mad at Barton. No, actually, you're pissed at him. He knows your shameful service record and previous occupation which you can’t even recall yourself. And the close friendship he has with Natasha, you can’t stand it. Reasonable? Hell yes. A bit jealous? ...No comment.

“Target is about to make the drop”, you affirm, focusing on the reason SHIELD’s here. Can’t get distracted by Natasha’s questions. Or by Natasha. “Remember, we need to catch the suspect red-handed. Stand by until the deal has taken place and are absolutely sure the illegal tech is there”. “Copy that, sir. We’ll make sure it doesn’t fall into the wrong hands”. Slowly nearing, Agent Romanoff continues, “Approaching target. Eyes on the tech, positive it’s inside the backpack, and ready to engage”. Eyeing Natasha to ensure she’s not acting too fast. Patience, Agent Romanoff. Patience is key with these operations. Noticing she moves her hand towards her lower back, underneath her jacket. Precisely where her Glock is. You want to stop her by enfolding your arm around her waist. However, your attention is shifted elsewhere, seeing a small, red laser dot appear on your colleague's chest. That can’t be good... Not long after the alarming discovery, no time to even warn her, a short, loud echoing sound is heard. People start to scream in fear and run away in random directions, frightened as hell. Can't blame them, because a shot had just been fired.

Luckily, you’d managed to pull Natasha down, arm thrown around her shoulder instead, causing the hot coffee to spill all over the concrete tiles. The bullet failed to hit her chest, yet you were too late to make it out unscathed. Immediately taking cover behind a parked car, she scoffs, “I had it under control okay!”. “Sure you did”, you reply with a low, breathy voice. Beating yourself up, how could you have missed that? Preoccupied with your cover? Apparently Natasha too, because she made the same mistake. You’re going to have to find a damn good lie to tell for the mission report afterwards. Later, you think and look at the scrape wound on your upper arm while Romanoff shoots back. “We’ve been made and are under fire”, you inform, slightly groaning from the burning sensation on your left arm. But the aching promptly faded away for your witty remark. “1 point for me, Romanoff”, you tease, sending her a quick wink. “Ha, you wish”, and she concentrates on aiming her weapon on a building across. Aimed at the attacker, who’s not so lucky. 

“Target is on the move”, Agent Romanoff reports to Coulson. Wait- Did she just take down that sniper? Real impressive.

“What happened?! Are you both unharmed?”

“You okay (Y/N)?”, Natasha asks caringly, using a completely different voice than she did seconds ago. “Oh no…”. Resting the back of your head against the cold metal of the car as you close your eyes in desperation. “What? What is it? Is it that bad?”. Also notice she used your first name again, probably out of old habit. Not a lot of people do, only the ones closest to you, like Barton or Coulson. To be honest, it was annoying in the beginning, what rights did she have to use your first name? Guess you now know what Agent Hill must have felt all the times you called her Maria. “There's a fucking hole in my favorite jacket!”. Natasha sighs, “Really?! But are you dying?”, clearly annoyed by your fashion crisis at the moment. “Now is not the time (Y/N)”. Anyways, it grew rather fast on you, probably the reason why you call her by a less professional name too - or also old habit? “Yeah, yeah, it’s just a scratch. I’m fine, Nat”, you answer and pick up the role as a competent SHIELD Agent again. “Coulson, there’s a sniper located on a building's rooftop across the street, East, and, well... already eliminated by Romanoff”.

That raises the question: Why didn't Natasha kill you? It doesn't add up. She is an expert marksman, proven seconds ago. So why did she ‘miss’, shooting you point-blank when ordered to take you out? And how the hell was Coulson able to find you that quick, severely injured in the snowy Russian Mountains? You were told that you had a phone with his number. But did you contact him? Were you even able to- Focus, your mind is wandering off. Save it for later. Better keep your head in the game, and your eyes on your fellow Agent.

“Nat? Wait, what the hell are you doing!”, you yell to the redhead as she sprinted away. “I’m going in pursuit!”. Is it even safe? Are there more snipers active? Questions that are unanswered and kind of important if you don't want to die in the line of duty. You grunt, can't wait any longer, and throw the coffee cup away. Never waste a delicious drink, that’s why it hurts so much to let it go. So painful. But Agent Romanoff is your responsibility in the field, so you accompany her in the chase, whether it’s dangerous or not. 

“Target still in sight,- Move! Get out of the way!”, Romanoff shouts while running past uninvolved bystanders on the pavement. Yelling multiple times in a row at the fugitive -with the valuable backpack- to stop when you start to get out of breath. Why can’t they just listen for once. Although, the one you’re chasing is also getting worn out, because suddenly he decides to hijack a car, brutally yanking the driver out and jumping inside himself. Now what? You can’t possibly manage to keep up on foot. 

“I got an idea”, you suggest to Romanoff who has a deadly angry expression right now, it’s kind of frightening. But this will definitely work. Flashing your fancy badge to a stranger as you intimidatingly state, “Agents of SHIELD, we need to commandeer this vehicle. Now”. No time to waste, and to wait for an answer apparently, you hop on the motorcycle, Agent Romanoff seated behind you. You pop the kickstand and speed away, leaving a trail of smoke behind. “We'll give it back, right”. “Yeah he'll get it back”.  

The current situation makes you nostalgic, thinking about that time you were chasing Black Widow. “I know you enjoyed it”, Natasha implies, as if she can read your mind, but pretend you couldn't hear her. For obvious reasons you won’t admit it. Not to even speak of the daydreams you had. Nearing the stolen vehicle, you quickly glance in the side mirror and notice someone on your tail, approaching fast.

“We have to stop that car. Any ideas Nat?”. “Figure something out, I'm kinda busy at the moment!”, she shouts back. “Wh- and I am not?”. Trying your best to keep up with the suspect who’s driving pretty reckless, evade traffic on the busy road and dodge bullets. Yes, bullets, again. Those people on your tail certainly didn't forget their guns and are shooting in your direction. Perks of the job.

The glass of one side mirror is shattered to pieces. That was a close call… “Coulson, we really could use some backup!”, you request with an urgent tone. “Backup is on its way, hold tight”. Of course they’re late. Illegal-tech-guy was better prepared with his backup. In the meantime, Agent Romanoff is busy firing back. She’d turned her upper body around while still holding on to you to prevent her from falling off. But this is not working. She needs more firepower and a better aim. Natasha doesn’t need to think twice and grabs your gun tucked in the back of your jeans. With two guns, each in one hand, she smoothly maneuvers in between you and the motorcycle you’re driving. She’d wrapped herself around you, sensing her thighs tightly locked round your waist and her upper body pressed against yours, arms stretched out alongside you. Now having perfect aim she shoots back. Benefit of her current position is that you are acting as her human shield, leaving you in the crossfire, as if there's a huge target on your back. Not sure if you are aware of that yourself though.

Damn... Is it getting hot in here or is it just me? Still able to look at the road ahead of you, but it’s getting harder to concentrate, and who's to blame... Your heart is beating faster and faster and breathing frequency is rising. But this is different than the adrenaline rush you’ve become oh-so addicted to and know how to control. A car honking loudly snaps you out of your absent-minded gaze and you sharply turn to the right, sadly losing the other side mirror too. That could have ended differently... Like, literally on the hood of that vehicle. These distractions are no good when on the job. You can't let that happen anymore. Forget about Romanoff. Forget about your emotions. Be a true SHIELD Agent for once. 

Both of the guns click, signaling they’re empty. All out of ammo, now useless. Swearing under her breath, Agent Romanoff has only managed to eliminate three out of four and decides to move herself back to her previous position. But not before you’d taken the opportunity to whisper in her ear: “Nice moves. Just don’t get too comfy”, which resulted in that signature grin on Natasha’s face. Still left with that bullet problem, you alert Romanoff, “Hold on tight okay”, and sense her arms gripping your waist with more force. Hitting the brakes full power and hearing the tires screech on the asphalt, you end up next to the last biker who’s caught off guard by your actions. Just what you needed. With a precise kick from your boot the driver loses control and crashes into a parked car. “See, problem solved”. “Pff, show-off”, Natasha reacts, yet secretly impressed by your stunt.

With the shooters gone, there’s only the original task left to complete. “Get me a little closer (Y/N). Perfect”. The bike positioned right next to the passenger side, Agent Romanoff breaks the car window with the butt of her empty gun - not so useless after all - and gets into position. Feeling the pressure of her hand on your shoulder, she pushes herself off and jumps inside the stolen vehicle smoothly, making it look as easy as hopping on a train. The sound of electricity crackling and Romanoff takes over the steering wheel, pushing the now unconscious target out of the way.

Safely coming to a halt at the side of the road, you noticed backup has arrived. Finally. Courtesy of SHIELD. Coulson gets out of the car and looks satisfied. “Good work, Agents”. “Thank you, sir. It’s all yours now”, you mention as you’ve done your part and totally crushed it. According to you that is. “Could really use a cup of coffee right now”, you utter to Romanoff, letting out a deep, hopeless sigh. “I’ll get you one on the way back, alright”, Natasha promises with a wink and a smile while walking towards a SHIELD SUV and places her hand on your arm. Her touch caused you to flinch and respond in a cold tone, “Okay”, leaving Natasha with a questionable expression due to your unusual, emotionless reaction. “Everything ok-”. “Come on Romanoff, let's go”. Preventing her to finish the sentence, you cut her off and hurry away, giving Natasha no other choice but to follow. Both left the scene when Coulson's expression suddenly changes, “Wait... whose motorcycle is this?”  

“You still owe me one though”. “Yeah, keep dreaming”, Natasha laughs, “And technically you owe me a bike too. So, let’s just call it even”. She flinches faintly due to the alcohol touching her wounds. Broken glass is unfortunately very sharp, which left a few cuts that needed some treatment back at SHIELD HQ after the short debriefing finished. Waiting next to her, not having spoken a word to her on the way back, she looks at you with a piercing gaze, trying to deduce what had gotten into you all of a sudden. Then decides to lift your jacket by moving it away from your shoulder. “Whoa, what are you doing? Stop”. “Shh- (Y/N), just- Have you been shot?”. “Oh this? Nah, it- it’s nothing”. You wave it away, acting tough as hell while definitely feeling the pain. Can’t show any emotions, right? The current expression on Natasha’s face can’t be argued with though, and it quietly made you go get that small metal piece removed from your arm.

Took your torn jacket off and had just sat down when Coulson entered the infirmary. “You lied to me”, he says. Confused, you answer, “Huh? Me?”, looking as if you’ve been caught red handed. “Yes, you”. Now standing in front of you, pointing his finger judgingly. “You said you were unharmed… Clearly not”. He sounds concerned, you being his responsibility. “Oh, no, I’m okay. It was not as bad as this one”, you joke, showing the scar of that particular shot wound on your chest. Yet Coulson is not laughing, which made that smile on your face fade away promptly. “Something wrong, Coulson?”. He inhales sharply. “We were lucky. Lucky we found you or else you wouldn’t be here...”. “Yeah. I’m aware”. You cheated death that day. Of course you’re forever grateful to him. But no need to be so dramatic, he already told you this, remember? 

Or is there more? 

“So, what’s the problem then?”. “It wasn’t all luck. But we’re not sure who helped. Who sent that message. Because we didn’t find the phone on you”. Meaning the burner phone SHIELD gave you to get in contact with your handler. Okay… that he didn’t tell before. Valid question. So, who would send Coulson your location? Better yet, who would have even known the location… Turning your head towards a certain redhead, the wounds she sustained from the successful mission earlier all cared for. She looks at you, sending you a soft smile. Then it hits you. Or you didn’t cheat death that day and it was all intentional. Bound to happen for you to survive. Together with Coulson’s next words, “Whoever that person was saved your life, just as that bullet missing your heart”.

After Coulson had calmed down, being a hundred percent sure that you’re not in a life threatening state anymore - which you weren’t in in the first place, but okay - he eventually leaves. Time to get some answers. All stitched up, you walk towards the person able to give them, hopefully. “Nat, we need to talk”. She looks at you with a worried face, but the tone in your voice is what sparked something. “Um, okay?”. Then Barton storms in. Perfect… “So, you'll be sticking around Romanoff?”, he questions, totally ignoring your presence there. Not that you care, ‘cause it’s kind of a mutual feeling. “Later”, you state to a confused Natasha and turn around to leave before she can properly react. “Yeah, I’ll be sticking around”, she answers Clint, meanwhile staring at you, “It’s pretty... interesting here”.

“There you are. Everything alright? You left in a hurry”. “Yeah, guess I’m alright”, you respond to Natasha who sounds troubled and turn to her. “...Finally”. “Oh. Well, then I’ll leave you to it”. She wants to go again, but you stop her. “Nat, wait”. You reach for her arm, “Stay. Please”. She stares at you for a second, shifting to her wrist with your hand on it and then at you again, trying to decipher what’s on your mind. What has been on your mind. Then decides to join you and both sit down on your favorite spot on the rooftop. It stays silent for a while, both staring at the calming horizon. Yet with a lot of pressing questions on your mind, Natasha is actually the one to break the silence. “Can I see it?”, she asks carefully. “Sure”. Unzipping the SHIELD jacket and moving the collar of your shirt a bit down when the scar appears. Natasha gazes at the damaged skin, speechless. Softly touching it, brushing her fingertips over the physical mark she left on you. She opens her mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. She takes a piece of paper from her pocket and shows it instead. Eyes fixed on the picture, you recognize the people on it, but don’t remember. Both dressed in a uniform, possibly from your time at the KGB, standing next to Natasha - or Natalia - you see yourself looking at her in the photo. That look you have in your eyes… “It’s the only photo I had left of us. The only tangible memory of you. I didn’t want to- I couldn't erase you from my mind...”. Has Natasha carried this picture with her all that time? It must be of immense value to her. She continues, “There’s a lot I didn’t say that I wish I did”. Now gazing into her eyes you softly ask, “Like what?”. With an expression and tone in your voice as if you already know the answer to your own question. Because it all makes sense now. “I was taught to push it all away. Deep down. That it's a weakness”, she breaks eye contact and deflects the question. “I- I regret a lot of things…”, staring down, she takes a pause, eyes becoming slightly watery. A little hesitation at first, but eventually she speaks. Words that had remained unspoken her entire life, until now. Natasha inhales deeply, “... but loving you has never been one of them.”

“And...”, you wait till Natasha’s eyes lock with yours and gaze into her enchanting green ones, “did I love you too?”. Natasha chuckles lightly. “Well, what do you think?”. A small smile appears and you slowly move closer. Pretty confident about your thoughts. Or better yet your emotions, letting them all take over, no holding back. Softly pressing your lips on hers, you kiss her. A warmth ripples through you. It’s as if you’ve waited for this a long, long time, you can feel it. And Natasha feels it too. Hand on her cheek and hers on yours, you eventually pull back and whisper against her lips: “Does this answer it, Agent Romanoff?”.

There's that grin again. The one that’s been imprinted on your mind. The one you can’t get enough of. She’s about to respond, but not with words. Tracing your lips with her fingertips and tilting your chin towards her, as a familiar sound interrupts. “Seriously?! Can’t we ever get a break”, you grunt with clenched teeth. “Showtime. Gotta go to work”, your SHIELD partner states, whereas you answer a bit annoyed, “Yeah, yeah I know… save the world and all that”. You would have rather wished for this moment to go on, uninterrupted. But Agent Hill had to spoil all the fun. Well, guess you can’t have everything, right? Or do you finally have it?

Going inside the building, you think back to today's mission. “Still don’t know how they managed to expose us as Agents. We nailed that cover, didn’t we”. “Who said it was a cover…”, the redhead teases. “Wait- say what now?”. Natasha sends a quick wink your way and laughs,

“You heard me, Agent (Y/L/N)”

PART 7

#natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff imagine #black widow #black widow x reader #black widow imagine #natasha x reader #natasha imagine #Natalia Romanova #natalia romanova x reader #natalia romanova imagine #marvel #marvel imagine #mcu #shield #phil coulson #coulson #agent barton #clint barton #wlw fiction #wlw imagine #fanfiction

[scige]

「madelyn cline & cis female」⇾ beaumont, saige, the senior radcliffe student’s records show that she is a cancer and 22 years old. she is studying linguistics + criminal psychology, living in noland and can be blithe, energetic, evasive & irrational. when i see her i am reminded of the familiar riff of an old song, skinned knees with laughter following, and wishes on eyelashes stuck to your cheekbones. ⇽「james & 21 & est & they/them.」

N HERE IS MY LAST CHILD FR NOW ... both happy n sad ... god ... bites fist. alright. let’s go!

TW CHILD ABUSE, DRUG USE, ALCOHOLISM, ADDICTION, DEATH, HIT & RUN CAR ACCIDENTS, GRIEF, GUILT

aesthetics.

stick n’ pokes at 2am – when your drunk and giggling too much in between purposeful stabs, avoiding the cracks in the sidewalk because they’re bad luck and they’ll break your mother’s back – even if your mother doesn’t love you, because you love her, the familiar riff in an old song – one that’s got you strumming along silently; there is no guitar, only empty air lit by the christmas lights you haven’t taken down. it’s may. swallowing down shots, and by default, swallowing down problems. laughing quick, easily, constantly. skinned knees from skateboarding, despite being rubbish at it. wishes on eyelashes stuck to your cheekbones, glitter sticking, running into the ocean at sunrise; feeling at home. excuses, and the many forms they come in. telling people you love them through hand squeezes and fresh muffins, sideways glances and soft, eager grins.

basic info.

full name: saige alouette beaumont

nickname(s): n/a :/ give her some

b.o.d. - july 7th, cancer

label(s): the hedonist, the icarcian, the reveler, etc.

height: 5′7″

hometown: thibodaux, louisiana

sexuality: bisexual w/ a very slight preference towards masc-presenting folks

pinterest

stats

inspired by: serena van der woodsen (gossip girl), aimee gibbs (sex education), alexis rose (schitt’s creek), elle woods (legally blonde), rapunzel (tangled), clementine (eternal sunshine of a spotless mind), angela montenegro (bones), tinkerbell (peter pan), late 2000 / early 2010s kesha… i don’t know because she’s not actually inspired by anybody i made her when i was like 13 HDSJBKFNGHJLDS

biography.

the fallible daughter of two very infallible people: robert beaumont, US lieutenant general (soon to be US general), and manon lévesque, world renowned fashion designer on levels par with gucci and versace. both cold, calculating, and purposeful.

no matter how much she wants to believe otherwise, saige is sure that she was not created out of love. it was an action with a purpose, intentions to create the perfect child. the hybrid of both military genius and fashion extraordinaire. a proper socialite. a 1% citizen. molded to their will.

born in thibodaux, louisiana (surrounded by her father’s family - a long line of old money southern magnates & moguls with a history of beauty pageant winners in each woman) - it took them no more than six months after her birth for her parents to up and move, thus beginning a cycle of packing and unpacking, flying and driving, state-to-state and country-to-country. the longest saige had ever stayed in one place was two years, until radcliffe. even then - conditioned to never become truly attached to a place, she has the urge to up and run away at any given moment, onto the next adventure.

she was kept on a short leash, home-schooled, and learning skills she had no interest in (from cooking to sewing to ballroom dancing - to fencing and firearm safety and self defense) - more like a pet, a project, than a child. the world moved all around her, but she was bound to what her parents allowed her to see. a bird in a cage of thorns.

it was hard to keep and maintain friends - there one day, gone the next. a ghost you could see, clear as day, but never touch - never fully, at least. even if she tried with all her might.

would run from bodyguards (their version of nannies - robert beaumont is a paranoid man with too many enemies to count) into festival crowds and climb out of windows in the middle of the night to swim in lakes with the locals she’d met only hours earlier - as soon as she realized that there was something wrong with the way she lived.

even if it resulted in punishment, military exercises in the form of her own personal boot camp (she’d been forced to do chin-ups, once, when she ripped an expensive gown at the tender age of seven. not since, however, after she wound up sobbing on the floor - instead they moved on. delicate teacups stacked across her back as she did push-ups, the more she did the more that slipped & broke)

she absorbed as she could, as much as she could get; an intense, undying love for a world she always craved to see.

this was the start of something dangerous - a phase that never seemed to end, rebellion coursing through her veins. a wild child in the making, unknowing of limits. she landed herself in any crowd she could squeeze into - bad crowds, in particular and more often than not - they introduced her, the sheltered girl, into a world she hadn’t quite known existed until then.

ran away briefly at the age of fifteen with a man three years older than her & nearly ended up in a tabloid magazine because of it - if it hadn’t been for her parents’ money. though guilt from her parents’ disappointment weighed on her, the thrill fueled something much worse.

from there on, she’d been labeled as a ‘problem child’ - from public intoxication to vandalism, it was clear their daughter was unraveling and nothing could possibly contain her.

boarding school had been an attempt to stop it, enrolled her freshmen year in hopes that she’d come out a proper woman. but being located in new york with easy access to the upper east side of manhattan - it’d been futile.

there’d only been a few significant events during her time there - the death of a classmate (one of her closest friends’ boyfriends) and a ski trip that nearly resulted in her own death, skiing while drunk on a closed off course, in memory of him and the traditions they’d had. the first time she fell in love, and months of pining - running in circles, fights and hiccups and confessions in the dramatic manner all high school relationships seem to be like. they’d finally gotten together - officially, no more sneaking around or pretending - when her parents paid a surprise visit. a rare occasion, nerve-wracking. dangerous. to keep a story short - she’d accidentally exposed her own drug use in their presence, the simple act of pills falling from a purse - and that’d been it. she was gone the next day, with no word to anybody and hardly a word since.

they told family she needed a change of pace, and rumors in her old school said that she’d been expelled, that she’d been sent to the french countryside to live with her grandmother.

she’d only gone to washington, that was all. france was too good, and she was too undeserving. instead she was enrolled in public school, only a quarter through her junior year. her parents rarely spoke to her - rarely in town, the only eyes kept on her were security cameras and the occasional check-in by family friends (the new word for bodyguards, apparently)

but as always - when left alone, saige scrambled to find somewhere she fit, somewhere to tuck herself away in the comfort of other people. a small group, but a loyal group - harmless minus a few miscellaneous charges that they said every small town kid had, at some point. they were safe, they were family - as close as she could get. at least, she had thought so. had really believed it.

she hadn’t intended to go to university after graduating high school, not yet eighteen - not for another month or two, at least. she wanted to travel, meet new people and learn new languages (she’d learned four, already, but had always been a glutton. craved to know more, as if she unlocked secrets with every phrase she could speak) and just. exist.

maybe she should’ve. should’ve left as quick as possible, and never turn back.

saige mysteriously disappeared from the public eye for an entire year, the entirety of her 18th year on earth, before promptly showing up at radcliffe university, ready to learn.

it’d been a year of legal cases & lawsuits & avoiding prison with expensive lawyers and a lot of money.

the getaway driver for an armed robbery at a bank, an unknowing accomplice until her supposed friend ran out from the building and jumped in her car, screaming for her to drive, drive, drive. it had only supposed to have been a quick stop before a road trip to the coast. nobody was supposed to get hurt. but scared, and high, saige had obeyed - and by doing so, led a police chase and, of course, a hit & run that eventually led to saige crashing the car midst breakdown.

the sole victim survived, thankfully - and the beaumonts have been paying the medical bills since. her friend - the one who started it all - was charged & sentenced. but saige got off relatively scot-free. just a year of community service, a slap on the wrist (and the growing wallets of all involved in handling her case). it would’ve made national news if her parents hadn’t stepped in - favors called, resulting in only local headlines.

they hadn’t spoken to her since then. three years of radio silence. she’d think they were dead if it hadn’t been the steady flow of money in her bank account. their silence only feels like a threat of what’s to come if she fucks up again.

ever since - she’s avoided causing too much trouble, still very much the party girl she’d like to be, but staying out of headlines and tabloids. partially in fear of her parents finally cutting ties, permanently, and partially in fear that she’ll end up costing someone else their life with her own selfishness.

UPDATE: she did not avoid trouble n got disowned after a high speed yacht chase it was. a lot. anyways she’s lying to everyone n pretending she’s still rich while rapidly losing money to lawsuit bills n hospital bills n just <3 a whole lot <3 has had to sell her favorite cars and her favorite bass guitar. sheds the smallest tear. spent the summer couch-hopping bt pretending she wasn’t couch-hopping and being :/ really messy. not a good fun look! sucks ... disappeared fr like a straight week n then popped up like hehe wat’s up :D. sighs sm.

personality.

she is so … bubbly. so fucking bubbly. she’s has so much energy in her. goes running every morning and every night and swims almost every afternoon and she’s never tired, even if she hasn’t slept the last night and even if she’s been dancing for five hours in a club in high heels and nothing but vodka in her system. the personification of a coke bottle shaken up, if the coke bottle in question could laugh and smile at you and make you feel, somehow, at home even though you’d only met her in the bathroom queue.

tries her hardest to be the happy fun friend, the cool friend, the one who can hook you up with whatever you need because she sleeps with her drug dealer and gets discounts, but like, it’s totally okay because they’re also friends.

generally comes off as very confident of herself, and fearless, and reckless but like - fun reckless. the kind of reckless you wouldn’t mind to be around because she takes your worries and acknowledges them and reassures you that it’s fine, that it’s grand, even when it may definitely not be.

takes a lot. so much. could ramble for days, hand gestures and all. never stops talking. never.

if she wants to do something, she’ll do it and there’s not very much you can do to stop her. stubborn, but at the same time easy going? very go go go. mischievous. even if she’s trying to do something stupid you kind of just like … have to let her do it, or otherwise she’ll mope for three hours and pout at you and then you’ll feel questionably guilty, which is admittedly a little manipulative on her end and isn’t the best thing, but i never said she’s the best person ever because she’s most certainly … not.

a vegetarian because meat makes her physically sick, like, she’s got a weird intolerance to it and it’s not quite an allergy because it’s really just red meats but she’ll get a tummy ache.

her vocabulary consists of a lot of ‘likes’ and ‘ums’ and ‘yknows’, y’know? her statements always sound like questions.

99% sure she has adhd but she’s never been diagnosed because her parents simply would not allow her to go to therapy so if she does have any neurological disorders, mental illness, and the likes of those - she doesn’t know and doesn’t know where to even begin to find out. her parents? fucking suck.

like i said, she’s currently not on speaking terms with them. more of their decision than hers. she still loves them, a lot - and there’s a part of her that believes that they still love her, that they have to, because she’s not disowned yet. even though they haven’t said more than ten words to her since she was eighteen - as long as they keep sending her money, they still care - right?

owns four cars … bad idea considering her past, but alas. spending her money is a coping mechanism and she likes to drive because it’s a form of freedom. anyways. all her cars are on campus and she’s probably not allowed to have them all on campus but she does. one’s a sleek sports car, the other is a jacked up pick-up truck that’s decked out in like … LED lights and shit, the third one is the same exact fucking mustang from the princess diaries because she’s obsessed with the movie & usually gets what she wants. the fourth is a mini cooper.

she’s a photographer (for funsies) and the walls of her room in noland are covered in photographs and art and taped-down plants. her room in general is really cluttered. like, it’s super homey. super cozy. but it’s a mess. clothes everywhere, she’s got a pile of instruments and other miscellaneous hobbies that she wanted to do and then either never did, or did for a few days and got bored of and haven’t touched since.

i mentioned earlier that she was taught a bunch of skills when growing up - and like, she doesn’t really utilize any of them? knitting, sewing, cookie, three different forms of ballroom dancing - all gone to waste and she’s pretty rusty on most of it, but it’s there. in her mind. it’s kind of neat and i promise she’s not a mary sue it’s just her upbringing HBSJKDFNLG she’s really nuanced i swear. anyways she can also work a gun and a car engine but hates half of the things she knows how to do because she was forced to learn these things.

she plays bass guitar. loves it, loves her guitar. treasured item. she knows violin & piano too but she fucking hates piano & is mostly indifferent towards violin. she can hold a note in other instruments but it’s like. not great.

got really into languages at a young age due to her constant traveling and started learning them unprompted. her mother is like. literally french. a french citizen. so she grew up learning english & french but from there on she’s gotten fluent in spanish (similar 2 french) and latin (dead languages are fun) and then she’s working on a few others like mandarin and german and scottish gaelic specifically but she mostly just knows a few phrases here and there. like, enough to get her through a city if needed.

like she’s super smart and very talented but she’s also ditzy as hell. big dumbass energy to the point where maybe you don’t realize that she’s actually really good at a lot of things because it’s not like she really flaunts it either?

she’s just very reckless, and very much a party girl. has quite the collection of drugs & uses socially, but also alone and throughout the day. rarely sober.

high functioning alcoholic and at this point she doesn’t really know what she’s like when she’s completely sober? which is really bad but she’s convinced that if she goes sober she’ll just be miserable and horrible because at her very core she believes she’s like. the worst human being alive. like very deep issues of self loathing covered by baileys in her morning coffee and 23 crystal lite packets in her yeti cup that happens to be filled with vodka.

this has been a budding problem that was developed since she was a young teenager. the ehem. situation that happened when she was eighteen only amplified it.

is essentially wearing a mask of confidence and giddiness and flirtatiousness because she doesn’t want people to think she’s not doing well, because she isn’t.

loves so much. loves everything, so much. everything, everybody. falls in love like five times a day but nothing really sticks to her either, for the most part. i hate to say it but she does flock to shitty people / general assholes because that’s just … how she is, that’s what she’s surrounded herself with her entire life. even her high school boyfriend was an asshole - just like, not to her, which made it Okay in her mind. she finds these kind of people like … super interesting which is really questionable but y’know what? we’re fine. it’s fine. i’m fine.

she sleeps around often, to be frank. she hates being alone and she rarely sleeps in her own dorm unless someone is in there sleeping with her. otherwise she’s at different houses. could be a friend’s bed, could be a stranger’s. has slept with the entire baseball team, probably. she’s also the type of person who’ll try and maintain a positive, good friendship with whoever she sleeps with because she hates the idea of having a regrettable encounter and just. refuses.

this is kind of a problem because she blurs the lines between friendship and Something More too often, and with too many people. wants to be loved but it’s never enough. probably ends up hurting people without realizing it because they think they have something super special but she does this with a lot of people and it’s super :/

does stick and pokes a whole bunch. she can’t draw for shit so they’re not great but she thinks they’re fun and she’s been doing it for a while so like, who cares, right? let her give you one :)

gets sent dress prototypes and like. drafts of designs & articles of clothing from her fashion lines that aren’t out yet and won’t be for a while by her very own mother. saige absolutely gives them all away, for the most part. or it sits in her closet, and stays there. her go-to gift for birthday presents, or christmas gifts, or whenever she feels like it. like, feel free to raid her closet?

ok that’s all. love her.

wanted connections.

a best friend… someone who sticks by her side even though she is a certified Mess.

a ride or die… is it the same as a best friend? maybe. but it’s got a fancy name and i want both so :)

close friends… she’s really friendly and the kind of girl to have been really popular in high school but didn’t care for it and talks to everybody like she’s known them her entire life, so. she’d have a good amount of these!

grumpy friend… to balance her happy friend. she’ll fuck them up in a friendship way. with her cheerfulness.

party pals… they don’t talk much outside of parties but they’re practically glued to the hip when they’re at them. hold your hair back kind of close.

frenemies… or fake friends, toxic friends, people who use her for money or like … sex, or whatever? anything? people who barely tolerate her because she gives them stuff sometimes.

bad influences… they just encourage her to do more, be worse, never get better.

good influences… like … YOINK! stop being an idiot! do your homework! idot!

a tutor… because she’s like…smart…but she’s also stupid…super bad at math & science. help her.

hook ups… friends with benefits, a one night stand that is a little? awkward? since then. past & present tenses. :)

exes… she’s noncommittal so they likely wouldn’t have lasted very long but? yolo? she can be a heartbreaker, as marina said, as a treat? whether they dated or were fucking … either works. but i do love angst :)

one-sided hatred… someone who just fucking … despises her. but she doesn’t realize because she’s an idiot and thinks they’re just like. joking around! like they’re best buddies!

annoyance… but she’s the annoyance. she’s the thorn in their side.

ex-best friend… where something happened between them, like, anything, and it ruined their friendship forever. very sad. angst potential, though.

but like. i’ll take anything.

steals your mail… who knows why?

cat escape… he keeps running away and she keeps letting him inside her room even though she’s allergic…

married old couple… the kind of friendship where they always bicker like they’ve been together for fifty years, but it’s purely platonic (or is it? slowburn BAYBEY. DENIAL babyey.)

off and on again… i think that one that’s not good for them because they enable each other & only get like … angry at each other, and it’s like, messy. but it’s super hard to stop. probably reminds her of high school so that’s why she tries so hard to stick around, but alas. it’s not good. it’s toxic. stop it.

the drug dealer… the one she sleeps with… even though she can just pay for it because she’s rich but like. it’s funner this way.

blurred status… like, it’s just really confusing of what they are? are they, aren’t they? the relationship status is just … muddled. she’s a mess and gets involved with too many people without intending to. potential to hurt feelings. :)

please. take her. give me connections.

#ruhqintro #child abuse tw #drug abuse tw #alcoholism tw #addiction tw #death tw #hit and run tw #car accident tw #grief tw

[kimberly-spirits13]

The Conference (Day 1, Pt 1)

Pairing: Damian Wayne x reader

Synopsis: You are the daughter of a famous politician and are attending his conference in New York. After hearing your concerns about not knowing almost anyone in the top 1% that your family was in to whom was your age, he and your mother decide that it is time to meet your father’s friend’s son, Damian Wayne. The only issue? He’s the most arrogant, rude, and maybe handsomest person that you’d ever heard of.

Notes: I’m going to do this story in parts. Does anyone know how the fan fic writers make those master lists???? Also, I just wanna say, I like to make stories and the Y/N thing smart because I hate seeing the Y/N x person where Y/N is either dumb, unambitious, or just average and doesn’t care about school or working for something. It just bothers me.

Warnings: None 

“Father must I attend this conference?” You asked looking out of the window of the large black GMC that your father was driving.

           “Yes, Y/N. You need to have some time off from your work. Plus, you always love these conferences every summer. What’s wrong with this one?” Your father replied looking at you some and then back on the road.

           You sighed, “The issue is that I’m 16, I have goals, ambitions, and drives that I want to achieve, but I would also not mind meeting people my age with the same mind set other than Brooklyn who aren’t some 40 year -old congressmen or businessmen who I could only use later in life to climb to the top.” You tapped your fingers on the leather of the car door interior sitting yourself up more, gazing at the New York skyline coming into view.

           “Y/N, sweetie that makes perfect sense. Your mother and I have talked about this, and we have decided that I should talk to one of my friends about you meeting his son who is your age.” He said, the smallest sign of delight on his face.

           “And who would that be?” You asked impatiently.

           “Well, my friend Bruce Wayne of course.” He answered.    

           “Oh wow, should’ve guessed.” You retorted sarcastically, “And which one of his children will I have the “absolute pleasure and honor” of putting up with?” You rolled your eyes mentally going over the list of reasons why this was a bad idea and why you would rather be home with your precious German Shepherd, Apollo and grey kitten, Pandora.

           “Be nice Y/N.” He scolded, “And you are meeting Damian. He is a perfectly respectable young man, and I’m sure that you will find that he is not what the media would make him out to be.” “Plus, you might find that the two of you are pretty alike, no matter how shocking that might be.”

           “Fine. I will try to be nice. And also, was that an insult?” You asked giving him some major side eye.

           “No, you two are alike in some ways. Whether that is a good thing or not, Bruce and I have yet to know.” He informed you, turning the music back up, probably to keep you from asking anymore questions and bursting his bubble of excitement.

           “Great,” You thought, “the last thing that I need is some rich boy who is apparently extremely handsome and possibly rude and obnoxious getting in my way.” You thought about what had happened the first and last time that you had dated someone, that certain boyfriend ended up cheating on you when you were in the hospital after having a serious breakdown of sorts. That is what led you to make a vow of some kind never to fall into another relationship, because for all that you knew, it would hold you back from your goals in life. Maybe it was irrational, maybe it was just you playing it safe, but for all that you knew, it was working so far, so why change the method?

           The car pulled up to the Plaza Hotel, paparazzi and media everywhere taking pictures of the car when you and your father arrived. See, your father was a famous politician and radio/ tv host. All your life, he had been a well -known person, but it only really blew up when you were 12. You moved into what would be considered a massive new house, maybe an hour outside of New York and suddenly, you were put into a new school, had new fake friends, and were surrounded by the top 1% of the elite. You had made a name for yourself as well. There was something about attending the events, meeting the most important names in the world, and slowly building your own empire that was the sweetest tasting thing in existence. It was terrifying but also, the rush of excitement and new comings that you had desired was welcomed with open arms. Well, at least it was like that for a little while. Now, after 4 years, while you were grateful, sometimes it felt like the hustle and bustle of what you had been shoved into was too much.

           The both of you walked into the hotel, bags in hand before retreating to the front desk to get your room keys as fast as possible. The lady at the front quickly checked the two of you in, seeing the swarm of people outside and recognizing you and your father. The two of you took the back, staff elevators to avoid any guests that could possibly be at the hotel for the conference that your father was holding this week for four nights. No one said a word in the elevator. The only noise was the faint sound of the machine operating and then the ding of the bell when you had come upon the 12th floor. You walked down the hallway behind your father who held the room key up to the scanner before another buzz and then a click could be heard as the door unlocked.

           You smiled upon entering the room. The suite had two bedrooms, the master to the right and the guest to the left. In between that was a foyer and then sitting room. To the left of the sitting room was the tv area and then office. To the right, the dining room and kitchen. There were balconies scattered about the hotel suite along with grand elegant windows overlooking Central Park and the bustling street below. New York was your favorite city. You planned on getting a sky rise penthouse there one day on the Upper East Side when you had the money and were out of college. Another bonus was that one of your best friends, Brooklyn, who was the daughter of a very famous fashion designer lived in New York so you could visit her here.

           “Father, who all is attending the opening dinner tonight?” You asked taking your phone out of your back pocket of your black jeans.

           “The sponsors and a few honored guests of the conference.” He replied, “Then, after that, a few of them are coming back to the hotel room, if you can just stay in your room that would be great.” “Uhh let’s see, a few representatives from Facebook, Instagram, Google, and then a few congressmen are coming. Matt Michael, Tom Dunkin, Brad Thomas, are the congressmen guests of honor at dinner and then Bruce and Damian will be in attendance.”

           “What time?” You asked recognizing the names, “I mean what time must we head downstairs and what time should I keep to my room?”

           “We need to walk down at 6:50 because the dinner starts at 7 and then everyone is coming up at 9 since the dinner should end at 8:30.” He answered.

           “Got it.” You said walking into your bedroom on the left side.

           It was 4:30 know so you figured that you could unpack and then get ready for the night. You flipped the light switch on in your bedroom and opened your suitcase to reveal a nicely organized bag with everything sectioned off in different parts of the bag.

           “If only it would look like this when we leave.” You chuckled to yourself unpacking your clothes and putting them into the dresser and closet.

           You chose what you would be wearing to the dinner that night, it was going to have to be a lovely dark blue dress that came just above your knees with an off the shoulder cut. It had a top half that kind of looked like a piece of armor, but this time with small diamonds on it. You chose black heels to go with the dress, and small diamond earrings to top everything off. After picking the outfit, you headed to the bathroom with your makeup case, shower things, curling iron, and hair drier. You turned on your favorite music and got into the shower quickly washing your hair and shaving your legs.

           After 15 minutes, you had gotten out of the shower and was in a robe that the hotel had left in the room for you in your closet. You started with your hair, and dried it. It took some time because of how long and thick it was, but after that, curling it was a breeze. You didn’t bother putting hairspray in it since you were just going to sleep in a braid that night and didn’t feel like washing the gunk out of your hair after the spray had set.

           After that you took out your makeup. This was your least favorite part, however, it had to be done. You got some primer on and then put on a small bit of foundation before powdering. After that, you put on some plush and mascara and sprayed your face with setting spray. It wasn’t much, however the idea of it wasn’t at all your favorite. Once that was done, you slipped on your dress and put on some perfume and your shoes. Your phone was fully charged, and when you left the bedroom, your father was waiting so that the both of you could go to the dinner.

           “So, have you met Damian before?” You asked as you and your father walked down the hall to the elevator.

           “I have a few times, all when I was meeting with Bruce for a meeting or other social event.” He replied, hitting the button on the elevator to take you guys to the floor with the ballroom.

           “Lovely.” You stated turning your iPhone on silence.

           The both of you walked down a hallway again and rounded the corner to where to sound of people talking and moving around could be heard. You guys were perfectly on time but a few people had come in a bit early. Your father entered the room first and was approached by a few of the men in there. You stood by him, smiling and only talking when you were spoken to which was pretty often considering the name that you had already made in the political and business fields that your father was also a part of. After maybe ten minutes or so of making your way through the crowd, you noted your father’s pace quicken like he saw someone that he knew. You followed him to where a tall man with jet black hair and blue eyes standing text to who you presume to be his son, with darker skin, the same black hair, and emerald green eyes.

           “He’s cute, cute but where’s the food?” You thought as you followed to them making slight eye contact with the boy. This had to be Damian and his father, Mr. Wayne. And for all you knew that this point, your father seemed pretty confident that you two would get along.

#damian wayne x reader #dc x reader #batfam x reader #robin x y/n #Damian Wayne #batboys x reader #red robin x reader #fan fic stuff #fan fic #batfam