#all he’ll see is me dialed to 300%

[abodyfromthebalcony]

In The Future..

Pairing: Hughie Campbell x Reader  Wordcount: 1.1K words Summary: Taking a road trip with the team and you’re left alone with Hughie its very nice <3   A/N: School is exhausting but finally got this done! have another Hughie thing in the works but it is VERY catered to me but hope people will enjoy it anyway

You’ve been on the road with the team for the past 4 hours on the way to some mission location. Members of the team have been regularly switching from driving to sitting in the back of the van. First it was Frenchie driving and Kimiko beside him, currently it's Hughie driving with you riding shotgun. Your last stop was 2 hours ago.

There's music on the radio playing quietly. It's a Simon and Garfunkel song you kind of know the lyrics to, so you half sing along at a quiet volume. Hughie is tapping his finger on the steering wheel to the beat, singing almost all of the words under his breath . The highway is quiet, you only see a car pass by every couple of minutes. 

You and Hughie haven’t talked much in the past couple of hours, Which is fair because both of you are exhausted but also if it was this much silence with anyone else on the team it would be awkward but with Hughie it's okay. It’s a nice comfortable silence that feels alright even if it should be awkward. 

You look behind, to the back of the truck. You see Kimiko and Frenchie cuddled up together, M.M. asleep in the corner and Butcher asleep, snoring with his arms crossed.

“God it’s weird to see butcher asleep, he's like a big weird bear.” You say to Hughie.

In general it’s weird to be with the team and for there to be silence. Most days it’s a lot of shouting and fighting so the quiet is both off putting and refreshing.

“Yeah i'm afraid if i try to wake him up he’ll bite my arm off” both of you chuckle, hoping that Butcher doesn’t suddenly wake up, hear you making fun of him then kill both of you.

 “How far away are we from the next stop? My legs are completely stiff” you say, stretching your arms out.

“I think like 300 miles?” Hughie says, looking at the gps. You let out a deep groan and Hughie laughs. 

You both go quiet again for another 10 or 20 minutes. You look out the window at the sunset, it paints the sky in a beautiful orange and pink. You pass by a billboard of Homelander that says “Drive safe!”. You roll your eyes.

“Do you think homelander can drive?” you say breaking the silence

“What?”

“Like do you think he can actually drive or has he never had to learn?”

“Uh well he can fly so i don't think he would need a car. He probably gets driven around everywhere too right?”

“Yeah that's true…………….. I’m really bored.”

“Yeah I can tell!” Hughie chuckles.

You look back out at the sunset. “The sky is so pretty out here, it almost makes me wish I didn't live in the city..” 

“You’re also-.” hughie cuts himself off mid sentence “Do you think you’ll move out of town when this is all done?” 

“It feels like there's never going to be an end to all of this… but yeah maybe I would if i had someone with me I might. What about you? Do you think you’ll ever leave the city?”

“Same as you, if i had someone with me i would.” 

“It's settled then, we’ll move out of the city together and become farmers.” 

Hughie chuckles in response.

You let out a yawn. 

“Are you gonna go to sleep?” Hughie asks.

“No, no I'm fine.”

“You are definitely going to fall asleep.” 

“Fuck you, im really fine!”

You really are tired though and more than anything you're completely relaxed. The combination of the feeling of the warmth of the light from the sunset and hughie humming to the tune on the radio sends you into a complete state of relaxation. You feel your eyes become heavy and the music on the radio starts to fade out in your mind…

Hughie notices you falling asleep and turns down the volume dial. He turns over to look at you asleep when he can. He thinks you’re so fucking pretty when you’re asleep. 

….

When you wake up it's about 10pm, it's dark outside, the van has stopped outside of a gas station and Hughie is gone but his jacket is laid over you. 

When you get out of the van your legs are completely stiff. You stretch your legs and go looking for Hughie. 

You see Hughie sitting on the curb drinking a red bull.

“Hey!” You call out

He turns around and gives you a wave. He looks pretty tired.

You sit down next to him, as close as your weird pseudo-platonic relationship allows.

 “Never thought of you as a curb sitter.”  

“What does that mean?” 

“Like a rebel or a delinquent… I don't know, I just woke up, I'm not thinking.” 

“Yeah you were out for like a good 3 hours.”

You both look up at the sky. The sky is a lot clearer than in New York, you can see the stars.

“I saw that you put your jacket on me when I was asleep… thank you..” you say coyly..

Hughie shortcuts  “It's uh fine! I thought you might be a bit cold so.” You look at his face illuminated by the lights of the gas station behind you. He’s blushing really heavily. “I won’t do it again if it makes you uncomfortable.”

He keeps rambling and you think fuck it. You kiss him.

It is rushed and not what you expected from a first kiss with hughie but its … it's very nice. Something about kissing him feels very right.

“Sorry, it's just I knew if I didn't kiss you, you might give yourself a panic attack from talking so much-” he cuts you off, pulling you back in for another kiss.  

This time it is more than very nice. It’s perfect. He has one hand holding your face and one holding your hand. He’s got you. 

“I wish I had kissed you sooner.” You say pulling back a little. You rest your head on Hughies shoulder. You feel like a weight has been taken off of you. As if you and Hughie can now have each other's back and you can carry each other's burdens from now on. You feel like you might just fall asleep again. 

“You're also really pretty.” Hughie says out of nowhere

“What?”

“Earlier you said the sky was really pretty and I wanted to say you're also really pretty but I didn't so I said it now..”

You chuckle “Thank you, I appreciate it.” 

You both stay there on the sidewalk until Hughie finishes his red bull, but he takes his time with it so he can stay beside you for as long as possible.

#hughie campbell #hughie campbell x reader #the boys #the boys tv #hughie campbell x you

[ibis-gt]

moooore boxer au, directly following my little drabble from last night. there's good reason boxer cam and boxer laz haven't fought before, cos 6'8 heavyweight cam and 5'6 welterweight laz aren't even close to the same weight class, but laz is confident-leaning-to-arrogant enough that he thinks he can land some solid hits and dodge enough of cam's to at least not suffer a knockout loss in this supposedly-friendly spar.

he is wrong. 3600 words. warnings for a little blood and violence, disclaimer that i literally only know boxing from anime and webcomics so some of this is gonna be Incorrect Terminology

~~~

Laz and Sal step into the gym's arena and see Cam chatting animatedly with a short, curly-haired guy. Cam glances over his shoulder when he hears the door open and somehow lights up even brighter. He waves and calls out to them, then plants a hand on the turnbuckle and vaults over the top rope, easily swinging his 300-some pound bulk in a graceful arc clear. 

Laz's throat tightens and his already racing heart starts working overtime. This guy shouldn't be anywhere near as nimble as all that. He's an aging slugger whose most famous matches involved him sitting still and tanking hits.

He's just showing off, Laz reassures himself. It's an intimidation tactic. Let's see him three rounds into the match when I've given him a couple straights.

"Hey, great to see you!" Cam's voice booms out as he crosses the gym floor. "I'm so glad you took my offer. I've been watching you pretty closely as of late - you've got real skill! But I just had to find out how you are firsthand." He extends his hand for a shake, then pauses as he sees Laz already has his gloves on. Cam laughs, a short, booming sound that seems to shake the room. "Okay, down to business already, huh? That's fine! Let me get changed and I'll join you." 

He settles for slapping Laz on the back, which nearly knocks him over, and offering Sal a fistbump, which Sal returns shakily. Cam ambles off towards a changing room. As he passes by the mat, he holds up a hand, and the curly-haired guy tosses his gloves at him, which he catches deftly. Then he stops on his heel and whirls around, clapping a hand to his forehead.

"Oh! How rude of me. You probably don't know Luther, he's my boyfriend and occasional second.'' 

Luther waves. "That's me! Nice to meet you." Laz nods, and Sal waves back. 

"Lazarus...'' Sal begins, but Laz cuts him off. 

"Don't worry so much. Just a friendly fight, right? That means he'll take it easy, and I'll knock his head off while his guard is down.'' 

Sal can't help but laugh, a high-pitched, almost frantic giggle that explodes out of him without warning. Laz is always so keyed up, like he turned the dial to 11 and snapped it off. He's deadly serious of course, but he’s not bothered by Sal's laughter. He starts to bounce on his toes, swaying side to side a little, then takes a swift step to the left, back to the right, circles an invisible opponent, and - onetwothree, quick jabs in succession that trail down his phantom foe's body, no doubt leaving them stunned.

Cam comes back out of the changing room, now outfitted in a pair of black shorts and classic red gloves. He smacks them against each other a few times and beams at Laz.

They climb up into the ring together. Sal hovers behind one corner, while Luther calls out from the other side.

“We’re goin’ three rounds, one minute between each! Standard ten count, three downs in one round is a TKO. Keep it clean, fellas! And go!” He dings the bell to start the round and leans on the turnbuckle, watching intently.

Laz moves side to side, keeping his eyes on Cam. The larger man has a gentle smile on his face. Well, he’d soon wipe that clear. Laz just needs to wait for an opportunity and slip inside his guard. They’d see how that legendary endurance stacked up against Laz’s counter.

Cam moves forward and closes the distance, leading with a jab. It’s almost offensively lazy, clearly just testing Laz’s reflexes. He dodges around it and lets out a huff. I’m not going in on something that obvious, he thinks to himself. Give me something real, old man, this isn’t kindergarten.

Cam grins as though he can hear Laz’s thoughts. He lets loose with a quick combo, faster than Laz would have expected from a slugger his size. Laz dances around the first hit, blocks the second, and steps in under the third, landing a hit on Cam’s stomach. It’s his first sign that he might be in over his head. It’s like punching a concrete wall. That layer of fat must hide a solid slab of muscle. Cam barely moves, even though Laz put most of his weight behind the blow. Laz dances back out of his reach as quickly as he can, narrowly avoiding a right hook. 

Okay, okay, okay. Your opponent’s bigger and stronger than you, he’s got the longer reach, and he can take what you’re throwing at him. Stay on the defensive, don’t let him get you riled up. Laz tosses his head to get his hair out of his face - how many times had Sal urged him to wear a headband? Well, too late now - and starts circling, trying to get a better angle. Cam turns with him. That smile from earlier has settled in and kicked its feet up now. It’s going to take some doing to wipe it off his face. Laz can feel his temper start to rise. It’s something he’s struggled with his whole life - he just gets so angry sometimes. He’s usually able to channel it into something productive, cool anger instead of burning rage, but something in Cam’s demeanor is starting to set him off. Cam’s guard isn’t fully up. It’s like he’s taunting Laz - you’re so small, your reach is so short, I bet you can’t even hit me up here. Try it. Laz slows his breathing and focuses on Cam’s hands instead of his face. Try and knock his head off and you’ll only prove him right. You’ve got to keep it together now and explode later when it won’t get you clobbered. 

Cam comes at him with a few more jabs, putting on some pressure. Laz slips them each in turn, backing up and watching him whiff. He’s starting to catch on to Cam’s rhythm. It’s pretty simple - two jabs with the left, one with the right. Two left, one right. Two left, one right. Laz is trying to keep the ring in mind and not let himself get backed into a corner, and that’s why Cam’s sudden change in rhythm takes him by surprise. One left, and suddenly a right that catches him just as he’s shifting to anticipate the second left. He blocks it - he’s no rookie, he knows to keep his guard up - but it shudders through his body like a cymbal crash. Jesus - if I'd taken that straight on - but there’s no time to think about the hypotheticals. He’s stuttered in his movements and Cam is closing in on the opening, backing him up against the ropes. Laz ducks left, right, blocks another hit that makes his arms ring with pain, and then ducks right under Cam’s arm and spins around him, dancing away with quick hops. By the time Cam’s turned to face him, Laz is bouncing in the middle of the ring again.

“Good!” Cam calls out, and Laz wants to hit him so bad he could scream. “You’re slippery as all hell. That little trick’s won me a match or two, y’know.”

Laz grits his teeth and resumes his defensive stance.

“More of the strong silent type, huh?” Cam says conversationally. “I like a little chatter myself. Good to touch base every now and then. Anyway!” He makes a sudden lunge forward, winding up for a devastating straight. Laz sees his opening and takes it.

He slips under Cam’s punch, using his short stature to his advantage. Just inside Cam’s guard, he crouches low and explodes upwards, slamming an uppercut into Cam’s chin. Cam stumbles back, head tilted to the ceiling. Laz closes on the opening, landing blow after blow now that his guard is down. He’s about to go for a straight when Cam’s head snaps back up along with his hands. Laz doesn’t have time to slip or dodge, he’s already committed to the punch, and time seems to crawl to a halt as Cam’s right glove speeds towards his face. Red fills his vision and he has time to think: ah, fuck.

He gets up. He does not start swinging just yet, opting to hang back a moment and take stock. Cam looks a little ruffled, a few hairs loose from his immaculate bun, some red marks on his body that will no doubt bloom into bruises later on. He shifts his jaw from side to side and licks his lip, which has split open, letting a trickle of blood down his chin. Laz is much worse for wear in their exchange. Sweat drips down his forehead and nose, and his cheek is throbbing with pain.

Lazarus has been punched in the face many times before; getting your nose broken in practice a few times is how you learn to block your head. Cam’s right couner feels like all those nose-breaking punches joined together Voltron-style to fuck his specific shit up. It connects with his left cheek and eye, which almost immediately begin to swell. Laz staggers backwards, head reeling, trying to keep lucid enough to avoid a follow-up. Cam hangs back and watches, which is almost worse for Laz’s pride than if he’d kept trying to beat Laz into the mat. Cam is breathing hard, though, and clearly he felt some of those blows. Laz leans against the ropes and tries to see through the haze of pain that’s settled over his vision. His head feels like it’s been encased in concrete. God dammit, push through, he growls in his head. You’re not made of glass. Get up and get swinging. Show him why he should take you seriously.

The bell dings. Round one is over.

Cam grins and heads to his corner, where Luther is waiting to give him a kiss and fret over his injuries. Laz slumps back against the ropes again, letting out a heavy sigh. He trudges to his corner, where Sal is biting his thumbnail down to a stub.

“Well, how’m I doing?” Laz asks.

“I’m surprised you’re still standing!” Sal quavers. “It looked like he was going to smash you into dust! I mean, did you see that counter? I could hear the impact from here! And the way you fell back, I thought for sure you were going to hit the canvas. Lazarus, you’ve got to play this safe!”

“Encouraging as always,” Laz grumbles. “I’m not doing that bad, c’mon. He’s only landed the one hit. Y’know, if you don’t count the ones I blocked.”

“Sorry, I just - you know you have the Leeroy match coming up, and he’s no pushover. It’s really important if you’re trying for a shot at the title, and I can’t have you getting injured here. But you’re doing really well at slipping his jabs and you’re clearly the faster and more maneuverable fighter. You just need to know when to quit. I could see him recovering from a mile away, and his core’s really strong. Those gut punches aren’t going to do much good unless you can land a hit on his solar plex, that’ll take anyone out of commission for a moment. The punch to his chin was good, keep an eye out for his slower swings and try to slip inside his guard a few more times. You’re not going to win this by knockout, probably not even by downs, but you can give him something to think about at least.” The longer Sal talked, the calmer he got. The gears had started spinning in his head, grinding the raw anxiety into the grist of innovation. “Frankly, I don’t think you can win this fight,” he said, voice steady and sure now. “I mean, you’re simply outclassed in weight. Best you can do is stall it out and go for a tie. Just as long as you don’t go down, you’ll be fine.”

Laz tilted his head to one side, thinking it over. “Not too optimistic, there.”

“It’s just a friendly,” Sal said weakly. “And he’s several weight classes above you. Don’t take it too seriously? Please?”

“Fine,” Laz sighs, conceding at last. But you mark my words, I’m gonna give him at least one more hit that cleans his clock. He smiles too much.”

“This is exactly what got you in trouble in the Miyata match,” Sal groans.

“No it’s not! It’s nothing like that! And anyway, I’m still proud of that match, I don’t know what you’re talking about, ‘trouble’,” Laz lied. “Look, one more good hit. That’s my goal for this round, and then I back off and play defense til the bell rings.”

Sal doesn’t look convinced, but their minute to talk shop is up. The bell rings for round two, and Cam strides forward, smacking his gloves together with a loud thwack. Laz rises to meet him, jaw set. One more good hit. He’ll wait as long as it takes. That anger is back but it’s cold now, no longer the bubbling cauldron in his gut, rather a cool composure settling over his mind. His objective is clear, his goal is right in front of him, and he’s got all the patience in the world.

That is, he had all the patience in the world, right up to the point when Cam winks at him.

What the fuck is that supposed to mean? Winking? Winking?! Who does he think he is? Who does he think I am? Well, he’ll be winking permanently when I drill him in the eye so hard it closes up for good.

Cam actually laughs as Laz lunges forward, sharp jabs bouncing off of Cam’s raised gloves. But it’s the laughter that clues Laz in. Cam is toying with him, of course he is. He can’t take the bait, he’ll only play right into Cam’s hands. He has to relax. The angry boil is reduced to a simmer as Laz’s calmer analytic mind takes over. He’s no fool and he won’t rise to the bait. He backs off again, dancing out of range. Come and get me, big guy, he thinks, and when your sloppy footwork betrays you, I’ll nail you between the eyes. 

Cam advances, not willing to let him out of range. He seems a little more cautious now, though - he won’t forget that uppercut in a hurry. They trade careful jabs, each blocking or ducking the other’s strikes, and for a moment it seems like they’re both playing it safe. Then Cam goes for a sneaky gut shot that Laz deflects, and Laz slips in under Cam’s guard and lands another shot on his chin. He slips back out as quick as he can, not wanting to get caught committing again, and Cam presses, shaking his head sharply to clear it. Laz notes with satisfaction that Cam is no longer smiling. He doesn’t look upset, though, merely focused. Good. Take me seriously.

Cam starts up his rhythm again. He’s been pressing a little more aggressively than Laz had expected all match. It makes some sense - a swarmer is a good counter to Laz’s more careful fighting style, and having to fend off constant attacks doesn’t leave him much room for mistakes. But Cam is a slugger, used to ending fights quickly with a few punches, and the strain of keeping up this offense is starting to show. He’s just a little slower, and the blows that land are just a little lighter. A bubble of excitement rises in his gut. If Cam keeps trying to overwhelm him, he could potentially wear him down and win this. He’d agreed to stall, but… 

There it is. Just for a moment, Cam’s guard goes down. Laz steps in and drives a straight right at his nose, but Cam gets a hand up and it glances off. Laz bounces back, dodging a wild swipe, and goes for a body shot while Cam’s still in the followthrough. It lands, and Cam grunts. Laz is starting to sport a grin of his own. Finally, a sound out of the big guy that isn’t snark. He skips forward, aiming jabs at Cam’s head. The relentless pace is really taking the wind out of Cam’s sails; he eats punch after punch before he’s finally able to get his hands up and defend again. He staggers back in a defensive position, and Laz presses hard. He’s not about to let Cam get a second to breathe, if he can keep the pressure on and land some good hits he could actually win -

Too late, he realizes Cam’s game. It happens again. He commits to a straight, just in time to see Cam’s right coming for him. He gets his hit in first, the advantage of his proximity and speed closing the gap before Cam can, but a split second later Cam’s glove knocks into his chin enough to lift him off his feet. He feels one brief moment of weightlessness before he sinks into darkness.

~~~

“Ten!” someone shouts.

“Whuh,” Laz says, opening his eyes. For some reason, he’s lying down. And his face hurts really bad. Then it all comes flooding back and he sits up, his vision blacking out in protest. “Fuck.”

“Oooh, just missed the count!” Cam says, walking over and holding out a hand. “Good show, though. For a zippy little pipsqueak, you sure can throw a punch! I was seein' stars for a minute there. How’s your jaw?”

“Fuckin’ hurts,” Laz says. “How’s your ribs?”

“Fuckin’ hurt!” Cam laughs. “C’mon, let’s get some ice on that and talk shop.” Laz takes his hand and tries to pull himself upright, but his legs don’t want to take his weight. Cam takes notice and kneels down, getting Laz’s arm around his shoulder.

“Up we get,” he grunts, straightening up. Then he looks down and sees Laz’s feet dangling a good six inches off the ground and bursts out laughing. “You really are tiny,” he guffaws. “Why the hell’d you agree to fight me?”

“Why the hell’d you offer?” Laz grumbles.

“Well, to tell you the truth,” Cam says, walking the two of them towards the corner, where Luther and Sal have stepped onto the mat. “I hate retirement. I miss the ring. I wanna get back into the game somehow, so I figured I’d see how the up-and-coming competitors are doing. And frankly, kid, you’re not half bad.” He unslings Laz’s arm from his shoulders and guides him over to the little chair set up against the turnbuckle. Sal holds a bag of ice to the swelling on his eye and cheek. Cam sighs as though admitting defeat. “So fine, I’ll do it. I’ll train you.”

Sal and Laz gape at him for a moment. Luther clasps his hands to his chest and sighs dreamily.

“I already have a trainer,” Laz sputters. “And there’s nothing I want to learn from you. No offense or anything, but look, you’re not - “

“You’re in shock,” Cam said, nodding solemnly. “I get it. It’s fine, take a few minutes to really let it sink in. Cam Mersharc, five time world champion, agreeing to train you, I mean, it would throw anyone for a loop.”

“Listen, you deluded old man,” Laz starts to growl, but Sal puts a hand on his shoulder.

“What we mean to say is, of course we’re flattered and thrilled by the offer, but there’s a contract, you see, so it’s really legally out of our hands…”

“Oh, sure, no problem. Luther, honey, you still friends with that lawyer?”

“Sure am,” Luther chirps. “I’ll give her a call, schedule a chat, we’ll have you out of that in no time.”

Sal glances at Laz and shrugs. “Could be useful just to see what he has to offer..?”

Laz scowls and glares up at Cam. “Okay, old man, what’re you thinking?”

“Obviously your footwork’s impeccable and your speed is top notch. You’ve got a brain in there, too, I could see it working the whole time. Your strength is okay for someone your size, and your endurance could use some work. You train with me, I’m gonna round you out. Technically and physically,” he says, playfully tapping Laz’s chest. “Put some meat on those bones, tighten your core, bulk up those arms. Don’t give me that look, you won’t move out of your weight class. Just a little extra padding so when someone gives you one of these - “ His fist stops a half inch from plowing right through Laz’s gut. He’d barely seen Cam’s arm move - had he been holding back in the fight? Or was that head injury messing with his vision? “ - you don’t fold like an omelette. Whaddya say?”

Laz weighs his options. It never hurt to round out a little. It almost sounds like Cam’s offering to shift him towards being a boxer-puncher instead of an out fighter.

“Well… can’t hurt. But if I think you’re full of shit, I’ll tell you to your face. Don’t expect me to start fawning and kissing the ground you walk on just ‘cause you beat me.”

Cam laughs and slaps Laz on the back, nearly knocking him to the mat again.

“Wouldn’t dream of it, pipsqueak! Now, get down and give me twenty.”

“What? Now? I still have my gloves on.”

“Sorry, was I not clear? On the mat. Twenty push-ups. If you’re doing them wrong, I’ll make your friend sit on your back. Go.”

Laz drops to the mat, cursing up a storm. Cam nods as he watches him bob up and down.

“Oh, yes. This is going to be the start of something wonderful.”

#writing #cam and luther #underbelly #boxing au #not gt #size diff tho uwu #writing fight scenes is so hard ;-; #i will improve i promise....

[shuichi-and-kiibo-said-hi]

Kiyotaka, Gundham, and Ryoma S/O Crying/Breakdown Comfort Headcannons

Hey everyone, It’s Mod Kiibo again! I’m really happy to show my first actual post here! I hope you guys like it and feel free to give me feedback, I’m new to this stuff. I hope you all have a fantastic day~!

~Mod Kiibo

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------Kiyotaka:

You and Taka had planned to eat a restaurant, but you weren’t answering your phone

Worried, Taka drove to your house and heard a strange noise

He slowly creeps open your door

“S/O? It’s rude to cancel plans without telling peo-”

He stops dead in his tracks

He sees you, sobbing on your bed

He begins to tear up at the sight

“I-I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings!”

You ran over to him and wrapped your arms around him

Taka does the same

You tell him about how ___ is making you upset

He tries his best to comfort you, but he is freaking out too.

He is NOT calm either

He’ll go easy on you for a few days after and have you relax.

He’d try to learn more about panic attacks to help more in the future.

If it’s a person who is responsible, he gives them a stern lecture

He makes damn sure they won’t upset you again

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------Gundham:

When you and Gundham first started dating, he was cautious with the devas when you were around

Now, he allows you to hold them from time to time

You ask Gundham to hold one of them

Gundham agrees, as he took Maga-Z out of his pocket

You slowly reached you hand out for him to walk on

Maga-Z sniffs you hand, then scurries back into Gundham’s scarf

“Maga-Z?! What is the meaning of this?!”

You look disappointed and slowly tears begin to manifest in your eyes

“S-S/O?! It’s alright! Not every demon is as open to angels as me. I allow light into my corrupted soul and my devilish minions disapprove. I will need to get them used to you..”

Gundham pulled his scarf up and saying that

You saw pink grow on his face

You gave a soft smile through your tears

Gundham tries to cheer you up by telling you about his adventures through the underworld 

You love hearing about his overactive imagination

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------Ryoma:

Ryoma slowly dials your number

“Hey..S/O..? It’s Ryoma..How are you..?”

You start feeling tears roll down your face

“You’re crying. I don’t blame you. You see, S/O..life has its ups and downs. One day we’re holding hands, the next I’m calling you with my monthly 300 minutes of phone calls…”

You continue to cry

Ryoma’s words only made you feel worse

Ryoma blames himself before you plead him to not do so

Ryoma tries to comfort you over the prison phone line

He remains calm and cool throughout the whole issue

He tries to change the subject to your favorite things

As the warden escorts Ryoma back to his cell, he says one last thing to you

“I love you, S/O…”

#danganronpa #danganronpa imagines #danganronpa headcannons #ryoma hoshi #ryoma #ryoma x reader #hoshi #gundham #gundham x reader #gundham kin #danganronpa kiyotaka #dr1 kiyotaka #kiyotaka #taka #kiyotaka ishimaru #ishimaru

[soooup]

𝐥𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐥𝐞𝐦𝐚𝐧, 𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐰𝐞𝐥𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞...

💀  * [ rudy pankow + cis-male + he/him ] —— have you met conner ‘soup’ jonathan morganroth? they are a twenty-one year old junior currently studying archeology. they live at decker house, and word around campus is that this scorpio is convincing + charismatic, as well as easily threatened + uncompromising. i wonder if they’ll make it out alive. maps littered with coffee rings, loose fitting rugby sweaters, ruining a $300 dollar polo with puke, daddy’s lawyer on speed dial, on a comedown at the back of class, pants down in the prof’s office during office hours.  [ ooc: mimi. twenty-2. she/her & ADT. ]

tw: substance abuse

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐫 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐠𝐚𝐧𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐡

fast fax 📠 —

name: conner jonathan morganroth— or morgan-roth, it changes daily

nicknames: soup

age: twenty-1

sexuality: ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

tattoos: ‘faciam ut mei memineris’ ( inner forearm )

born/raised: fairfield, ct / fairfield, ct & geneva, ch

personality 🧍‍♂️—

“rich kid, asshole, paint me as a villain” should be both tattooed on his forehead and his tombstone. Has money; knows it && won’t let you forget it. Has always been the one buying rounds for his friends, over paying for dxxxs, and buying clothes without ever looking at the price tag. If you’re in with him— have fun never paying for anything ever again, and if you’re not...get him drunk enough ( not a hard feat ) and he’ll probably buy you anything too.

the most common question to ask after he flexes wealth to you is, “what exactly do your parents do?” Which warrants the appropriate response of “my dad owns a couple mining operations” but is most often met with “my dad inherited a billion dollar multinational mining corporation that also does illegal digs, and archaeological expeditions.” But you’ll never guess which one Conner prefers.

His dad’s company is one of the major reasons he decided to major in archaeology, that and the fact that Indiana Jones is one cool motherfucker and Jurassic Park is a fantastic movie. If you catch him on a good day, might very well nerd out to you about history and long lost legends of pirates and civilizations hidden in the most isolated regions of the globe.

To say he has a slight s*bstance ab*se problem would be more than understatement, but in his own defence he only takes shit that clears his system in 2 days, and it’s all just for fun. He’ll stop when he feels like it, or if he’s gotta’ face his parents.

romantically his life is a little lacklustre but don’t tell him I said that. There’s something about a man-child with no concept of money, and addictive tendencies that doesn’t really get the people going. Not to mention his sexuality is one big question mark, which he does his best to avoid thinking about. 

overall, if you’ve never spoke to him in your life and you see him strolling around on campus, you’d safely assume the best bet would be to avoid him like the plague. But! if you find yourself in his circle, he’s a big joker and a quite chill guy...not to mention, free shit.

find his stat page here, and his wanted connections here

ooc 🧑🏽‍🎓 —

name: mimi or sab timezone: adt / gmt-3 age: twenty-2 fun fact: i’ve met cody and noel!

hi y’all!! i’m so excited to write with you and see what fun ass storylines unfold, feel free to message me anytime about anything you like! I also tend to write a lot of prose so if I reply to our thread with word vomit no need to match! let’s have sum fun! 🤸‍♂️

#holloway.intro

[eadanga]

Love Triangle Part 6

Author Note: This series is for @mfackenthal one of my winners for my 300 followers giveaway. Hope you enjoy it and thanks for participating

Paring: ChrisxMCxSawyer

MC opened her eyes and saw an unfamiliar field she looked around Where am I? MC looked around and saw no one the she noticed a figure in the distance she walked towards it and saw Chris “Chris…?” She reached out for him and then felt another hand on her shoulder she turned and saw Sawyer “Sawyer what are you …” She looks back and forth at the two guys “What is going on?”

MC wakes with a start and hears her alarm clock ringing. She groggily reaches over to shut it off. She rubs her eyes Ugh what a weird dream She sits up and gets ready. She sat down on the couch and pulled out her phone she sighs No messages no calls she looks at the floor Maybe I’ve shouldn’t have gone out on that date it really hurt Chris but then I didn’t really do anything wrong I mean we did break up. She huffs I can’t believe he’s been drinking I need to take to him about that. She dials his number and it goes straight to voicemail “Chris can you give me a call back when you have the chance”

She sighs “Why does life have to be so complicated?” There’s a knocking on her door Who could that be? If it’s Sawyer I need to tell him I need time to myself. She opens the door and her eyes go wide “What are you doing here?”

Chris stands in the doorway “I needed to talk to you”

MC stands stunned then stands aside to let him in “So what is it?”

“MC I am sorry about what happened between us I should have never let you go”

“Chris…”

“You remember how I said how my last relationship ended” MC nods “Well I guess I still have that fear that it will happen again”

“Chris we could have made it work”

“I know that now”

“But what about the Nightingales?”

“I didn’t give them an answer I was still deciding before you found it”

“Why didn’t you talk to me about it?”

“Because what if you had another offer that took you somewhere else then where would have we’ve been?” He sighs “That fear is still there”

“Chris you should’ve told me about this I thought we can tell each other everything!”

“We can”

“Really? Cause all I’m hearing is all the stuff you haven’t told me”

“MC…”

“Look I need time to process all this how long are you here for?”

“A week”

“Ok you’ll have your answer by then”

“That’s fine by me” Chris gives her a small smile and cups her cheek “I love you MC I’ve always have and I always will”

He walks out the door as MC stands blushing

****

MC heads to the store she walks through the isles till she finds some package meal Maybe some food would clear my head

“I like that one”

MC turns around and sees Sawyer giving her a cheeky grin then she smiles and grabs it “Thanks”

“No problem though I prefer home cooked meals”

“What are you getting at here?”

“You don’t get it? I thought I was dropping hints”

MC laughs “What hints?”

Sawyer chuckles “Ok let me get to the point how about I come over and make you a home cooked dinner?”

MC smiles then sighs “I would love that but now’s not a good time”

“Is something wrong?”

“Well…Chris came to my apartment”

“He did?”

“Yeah and if you’re there it’s just gonna confuse me more”

Sawyer smiles “Hey I understand I told you before I want you in my life even if it means being your friend”

“Thanks”

“I’ll see you later” He walks away and sighs I really hoped he wasn’t gonna show up

****

MC heads back to her apartment and sees Zack waiting for her. He grins “MC!”

“Zack hey wait how did you get in here?”

“I may have picked the lock”

MC rolls her eyes “Of course you did”

Zack laughs “But aren’t you glad to see me?”

“Yeah it’s great to see you”

“So how’s Billings been?”

“It’s been great oh and I got something for you” She hands him a piece of paper

“What’s this?”

“One of Sawyer’s guy friends wanted to give you his number”

“Is he hot?”

MC giggles “I’ll let you be the judge of that” She shows him a picture and Zack screams

“Oh thank you MC!!!!!!” He hugs her tightly

MC laughs “Your welcome now please don’t kill me”

Zack releases her “Sorry about that” He grins “I will definitely be calling him”

MC laughs then sighs “So I assume you came with Chris?”

“Yeah did you guys talk?”

“Yeah…”

“Didn’t go so well?”

“He told me why he acted the way he did I don’t like the fact that he’s been keeping things from me but he’ll have an answer by the end of the week”

“I really hope you two get back together he’s been miserable without you especially since he spent money on that ring”

Zack quickly covers his hands over his mouth as MC spins around and faces him “What ring?”

“Oh I’ve shouldn’t have said that”

“He was bought me a ring?”

Zack sighs “Well since the cats out the bag yeah he did I was there when he bought it”

MC quickly pulls out her phone and dials Chris's number

****

Chris steps out the bathroom and sits on the bed. His phone begins to buzz he immediately answers “Hey MC”

“You were gonna propose?”

Chris’s eyes go wide then he pinches the bridge of his nose as he grumbles “Zack and his big mouth”

“Chris?”

“Yeah I’m here”

“You didn’t answer”

Chris sighs “Yeah I was I had a whole plan on how I was gonna do it”

“Is that the other reason why you didn’t…”

“Want you to go? Yeah…”

“I don’t know what to say Chris I’m in shock right now”

“That’s exactly how I pictured your reaction”

“Chris I…”

“I bet you would have said yes right?”

“Well yeah but…”

He smirks “You would have looked beautiful walking down the isle”

“Chris…”

“I can see us now professing our love before our friends and family” MC smiles as he continues “Then our wedding night us passionately love making in the honeymoon suite”

MC giggles “Chris stop it!”

He chuckles “Hope that gives you some good dreams tonight” He sends her a kiss through the phone and hangs up. He smiles as he lays back down She’s probably as red as a tomato right now that other guy doesn’t stand a chance no one knows MC better than I do

Tags: @indiacater @annekebbphotography @cora-nova @the-soot-sprite @mfackenthal @hopefulmoonobject 

#sawyer oakley #sawyer x mc #the junior #choices tf/ts #choices #chris fanfiction #chris fanfic #choices fan fiction #The Sophmore #the senior #The Freshman #chris x mc #choices the senior

[leopardfang15]

My Charlastor Child Bio

Alright so, I can’t draw, so I’m gonna have to use the art of words to describe my boy. Kinda sucks cuz I always see these cool reference sheets and I’m sitting over here like “aww... I wish I could make those.” But hey, if anyone is interested in drawing one for me as a commission, I’d be interested in talking and working some prices out. Nothing too crazy, just a simple thing. Fair warning though, I’ve never commissioned anything before so... there’s that.

Now, to business.

Name: Dominic

Nickname: Dom. He is well aware of all the sexual jokes that can be made from his nickname, he’s heard them all and to be honest the lack of originality is the most annoying thing at this point.

Appearance: Physically, he’s inherited the blonde hair and pale skin from his mother. In his early teen years he wore it long enough to be in a braid but after awhile he was like ‘fuck it, too much work’ and wears it short as an adult. Dom’s very athletic and is actually a knight in Hell so he has a more muscular build. He’s a tall and red eyed boi like his dad and he gets the dial in his eyes that his dad has when he gets pissed off.

Another thing Dom inherited from his dad was his sense of style. While maybe not as flashy he is dressed formally when he’s not working out. (He’s not about to do push-ups or go at it with a punching bag in a suit you maniacs). Dom typically wears a long coat and works out by himself because he also inherited a fluffy deer tail from his father. Also like his Radio Dad, he does not like having his tail touched by random people.

His most notable feature would be the black, feathered wings on his back. That angel DNA from Charlie’s side has finally appeared. Dom’s got a wingspan of 12 feet and he knows how to use them.

Personality: He’s a fairly laid back joker. Whereas his parents are theatrical as fuck, he’s more of an observer than a performer. Of course his parents have taught him to sing and dance he usually does that alone to entertain himself or with other family members. Dom also enjoys playing small pranks around the hotel. He’s not one for outlandish ‘pretending to be dead’ or tripping someone down the stairs type pranks but more like sticking a deer crossing sign to his dad’s door.

He’s really family oriented and cares a lot about them. I do imagine him having siblings but I don’t have plans to make anymore but there are plenty already out there. #bestbigbrother. Dom is definitely a Mama’s boy. He will run errands for her and allow himself to be pulled into a dance or a song in public for her. Another fact about Dom is he is in fact an adrenaline junkie. His favorite activity is flying and he does things like jump from a 300 foot building for the sake of the rush.

Background

Childhood: Little Dominic was a tiny ball of energy, following both parents around like a puppy. Always asking what they were doing and wanting to help, if he could sit still long enough that is. Some of his favorite memories of his parents was his mother teaching him to dance and roughhousing with his dad. (Hard to imagine the Radio Demon wrestling with a child but he’d let him win and then play dead to see if he’d get an amusing reaction out of Dom. Dom would usually try to get his dad to ‘come back to life’ before he’d smile and say “I guess I get your stuff now” and grab one of his dad’s bow ties or something)

One of his favorite things to do was give his parents a heart attack climb up high places and try to teach himself to fly. Eventually Charlie gets Husk to teach Dom how to fly. He’s not able to do much until his wings fledge because before then he just has these two limbs full of fluffy and useless down. Fledging was a nightmare because because when his feathers came in he was super itchy but couldn’t scratch them without possibly breaking his feathers. He was absolutely miserable for a week before they finally came in. Dom eventually grew in Husk and he started looking forward to the little ankle biter to come running up to him saying, “can we practice flying now, Uncle Husk?”

Teenager: Ah, teenage rebellion. Dom went through that. In an effort to help him deal with all his energy (and keep him from sneaking out) Charlie got Vaggie to teach him to use a sword. But a teenage boy that likes to explore cannot be kenneled. He liked exploring Pentagram City, especially by air and seeing what knew place he could discover.

He eventually found places he could go to if he wanted to avoid his parents. If he wanted to avoid Charlie he’d go to some of the sketchy fight clubs in town and he actually learned how to fight there. If he wanted to avoid Alastor he’d go to some of the clubs that played heavier rock or metal. He typically wanted to avoid his dad more. While Charlie typically scolded him for doing dangerous aerial stunts but Dom could tell that was more about a worry for his safety. With Alastor, Dom felt like he just didn’t quite fit the mold his father expected of him. He saw a lot of differences between his father and himself personality wise. He eventually, more or less convinced himself that he was a disappointment to his dad and distanced himself from him. Alastor, figuring it was mostly just teenaged angst, just let Dom have his space and figured he’d come to him when he was ready.

Adult: Dom has mellowed out by now. He’s calmed down and is more comfortable in his own skin and with himself. He has carried a love of rock and roll and martial arts from his teenaged years into adulthood. Though I’m not sure how exactly yet, he has been knighted by his grandfather Lucifer. If a demon is avoiding a meeting with the Devil himself, Lucifer will pay Dom to find said demon and bring them to him. He’s kind of like his grandfather’s personal bounty hunter but does not take requests from anyone else. When he’s not chasing down demons for Grandpa Luci he works security at his mother’s hotel.

Dom’s relationship with his father is tense and very awkward at this point. He doesn’t hate his dad it just feels like the years of practical separation makes him feel like he has no way to relate to his dad. Interacting with him is usually short conversations like “How was your day?” “Good, how about you?” “Good.” (I got pleanty of ideas for attempts at rekindling their relationship)

Random Facts

His choice of transportation is obviously flying. Not only is it faster than driving but to comfortably fit in a car he has to retract his wings which isn’t very comfortable.

People seem to always want to touch him. His wings, his tail, his biceps and he does not like it. He’s a bit like his dad with his aversion to touch though that only applies to non-family members. If he doesn’t know you, please don’t touch him.

He doesn’t like overly crowded places because of people touching his wings. If he ever decides to go to a bar, or he has some kind of royal gathering he has to go to he has to think about what he’s willing to put up with; strangers touching his wings or the discomfort of hiding them away?

He has a one-handed sword that he can summon in a fight. It’s one of the few bits of more advanced magic he knows. Whereas some demons, like his parents will use magic in a fight, he’ll just punch a guy through a wall.

He can sing, though he doesn’t do it in public. By himself or around his family is fine. He typically sings rock and my Headcanon for his singing voice is Ivan Moody from Five Finger Death Punch.

His wings are a great indicator of his emotions. If he’s feeling anxious or scared he’ll pull them in close to his body and if he’s happy or excited his wings will flap a little. His feathers also change themselves. If he gets angry or he’s ready to fight his feathers will actually harden and sharpen.

He can launch his feathers like projectiles and he can also slice through plates of steel when the feathers on his wings turn to blades.

He has taken up smoking in his later teen years. Per his mother’s request, he doesn’t do it inside the hotel.

When he was eleven his father taught him how to shoot a rifle. As an adult, he sometimes goes down to a shooting range to practice.

He likes to show affection with his wings. Ex: putting a wing around someone for comfort, wrapping his wings around someone when he hugs them or if he’s taking a nap with a sibling he’ll wrap them up in a feathery cacoon.

He usually sleeps on his stomach. If he lays on his back for too long his wings cramp up. He’ll take short naps on a couch in the lobby but if he’s going to be for the night he’ll lay on his stomach.

He knows how to braid hair. His mother taught him because he liked to play with her hair. It’s something he does when they’re just relaxing and he’ll braid his siblings hair if they ask.

He can take passengers when he’s flying. He flies targets to his grandparent’s castle and he’s flown his mother places. It obviously depends on the demon but on average he can take two to three adult demons on a flight with him.

Well, let me know what you think. I’d be willing to role play with Dominic if anyone is interested. If enough people want it, I’ll make a side blog for Dominic and Hazbin Hotel roleplaying specifically.

Also, @the-radio-princess I have two Charlastor fics in the works. One I was working on before you ripped out my heart so it will be in the EverythingsOkay!AU where Charlie ran off to New Orleans with Jaimie. The other one is from one of my ideas from my Charlastor Headcanons post.

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel oc #hazbin charlie #hazbin alastor #charlie x alastor #charlastor #charlastor child #charlastor oc #hazbin husk #hazbin vaggie

[i-am-a-closet-fanfic-fiend]

Stepping Up ~ Bucky x Reader (Part 9/12)

A/n: Hi my lovelies! Happy Friday and Happy Captain Marvel weekend! So I have some more Stepping up for you! :D There will be three more parts and an epilogue. Enjoy! 

Summary: Weddings are never easy. 

Characters/Pairings: Bucky x Reader, Dylan x Penny, Ben x Zoe, Aunt Meg

Rating: K+

Warnings: angst ish not really though

Word count: 1477

Masterlist 

You woke to your phone ringing and a frantic knocking on your door. Bucky shot up next to you, instantly alert.

“I’ll get the phone. You get the door,” you mumbled rubbing your eyes.

He nodded and slid out of bed while you yanked your phone from the charger.

“Hello?”

“You are eligible for a discount on your current auto insurance.”

Growling in annoyance, you hung up the phone and looked over to where Bucky was trying to console a teary-eyed Penny.

“Penny, what’s wrong?”

“Everything is ruined. I knew we should have eloped.”

You scooted off the bed and gave your cousin a tight hug.  

“Penny, I need you to breathe, and tell me exactly what happened.”

Your tone was soothing, but held a hint of your mission voice. It did the trick.

“The venue had a pipe burst. It’s completely flooded. Everything is ruined.”  

“Okay. It’s okay. We can figure something out. The wedding isn’t until tomorrow.”

“But what about the rehearsal dinner?” she sniffed.

“That’s not until tonight. We have plenty of time. We’ll get it sorted out. I promise. First things first. I need to talk to the venue and know exactly what we’re dealing with. We should also call and put a hold on any of the deliveries that were scheduled for today.” You glanced at your alarm clock. “Okay, it’s only six. We should be able to reach everyone before they open. Can you make a list and we’ll all start calling? If we each take a few we’ll be done in no time.”

“Okay. I can do that,” she whispered to herself. “I can do that.”

“Breathe, Penny. I’m going to take care of this. I promise.”                            

“Thank you, y/n.”

“No problem, sweetie.”

She squeezed your hands and hurried back to her room for her planning binder. You shut the door behind her and leaned heavily against it, pinching the bridge of your nose.

Bucky gently rubbed at your arms, soothing you.

“Good morning,” you finally muttered.

“Good morning, doll,” he rumbled wryly, leaning down to plant a chaste but firm kiss on your lips.

You lost yourself in the sensation for a moment before pulling back with a grateful smile.

“Thank you.”

“You never need to thank me for kissing you.”

Rolling your eyes, you bumped your hip against his as you grabbed a pair of jeans and a blouse to change into so you would be ready to dash out at a moment’s notice.

 When you got down to the kitchen, your Aunt Meg, your parents, Dylan’s parents, and Penny were already divvying up the list.

“Where’s Dylan”

“In the living room on the phone with the venue.”

You nodded before leaving to take over that call, fully prepared to use your scary avenger voice. Dylan was more than willing to hand it off to you.

After a lengthy conversation with an admittedly apologetic manager, you hung up with a frustrated sigh.

“So there’s good news and bad news,” you reported finally.

“What’s the bad news?”

“The reception hall at the venue is completely flooded and unusable.”

“How can there possibly be good news?”

“Well for one, they hadn’t set up at all so none of your decorations got destroyed. They were in storage on the second floor. And since you were having your ceremony outside, it’s totally unscathed. So technically we have a wedding venue just not a reception venue. And they will be refunding your full deposit regardless of whether you use their space or not.”

“Did you threaten him?” Penny asked.

“Of course not. I was simply firm.”

Bucky coughed to hide his laugh and you smacked his flesh shoulder for it.

“Sorry, doll.”

“Even if we had the ceremony at the hotel. What would we do for the reception? The whole point was to have it all in one place so people didn’t have to travel.”

“And there’s no other place near here that would be big enough for 250 people,” Dylan pointed out.

It was quiet as everyone considered your options, occasionally tossing out an idea only for it to be shot down. Zoe and Ben leisurely made their way down during your brainstorming session.

“Morning all. What’s with the long faces?”

“My wedding is ruined,” Penny grumbled.

“Oh don’t be dramatic. What? Did someone accidentally drop a petal from your bouquet,” she sneered.

Bucky’s hand on your hip was the only thing that kept you from launching at her.

“Hush, Zoe,” your mother admonished, clearly done with her shit. “We have a real problem here.”

You tuned out the bickering for a moment, and as you stared out the window at the backyard you got an idea.

“What if we have the wedding here?”

“That’s ridiculous,” Zoe scoffed.

“How would that work?” your father asked, ignoring Zoe.

“We can set up the tables like we did for our graduation party. That was easily 300 people. Then we can set up an arch on the hill and the chairs can fan out towards where the swing set used to be.”

“It could work,” Aunt Meg agreed as she pictured it.

“But where will we get all of the tables and chairs?”

“And what about the dance floor?” Dylan asked.

“Call the venue and see if they’ll loan us their tables. It’s not like they’ll be using them today. As for everything else, I know who to call.”

“Yeah, but what’s it going to cost us?” Penny worried. “We’re pretty much maxed out on the budget department.”

“It won’t cost you anything.”

“You are not paying to get us out of this disaster,” she warned.

“It won’t cost me a dime. Scout’s honor. Just some groveling and probably a few months of bathroom duty.”

Bucky snorted as the others stared at you.

You waved your hand dismissively. “Look. I promised you I will take care of it and I will. If you’re okay with it, I will make the call.”

“Do you really think we can pull it off?”

“I will do whatever it takes to make sure it does.”

Penny and Dylan shared a long look, not needing to speak out loud.

“We trust you,” she finally said.

You nodded and left the room, already dialing the number, pointedly ignoring Zoe’s sarcastic “y/n to the rescue”.

You were worried he may not answer, but luckily he picked up after two rings.

“What’s up, buttercup?”

“Hey, Tony.”

You could hear the clinking of his tools in the background stop when you spoke.

“What’s wrong, y/n?”

“We’re in a little bit of a crisis,” you sighed as you sat down on the back of the couch.  

“What do you need?” he asked immediately.

“Some very large tents, a dance floor, and a few generators.”

“I assume you need it today.”

“That would be ideal.”

“Okay. I’ll take care of it.”

You were used to Tony’s generosity, but it usually came with insatiable curiosity.

“You’re not even going to ask what happened?” you asked, unable to hide the surprise in your voice.

“You can tell me later. Right now we need to get your cousin’s wedding back on track. Text me a list. Whatever you need. And the address. Everything will be there by three.”

“Thank you so much. I owe you like a million favors.”

“You don’t owe me anything, y/n. I’m happy to help.”

“You’re the best, Tony.”

“I know,” he assured you. “And if Penny and Dylan want to name their first child after the man who saved their wedding then so be it.”

You scoffed but didn’t comment, and when he continued his voice was soft and serious.

“Your family is my family, y/n. Give Penny and Dylan my best wishes for a long and happy marriage.”

“I will. And I’ll get you the list ASAP. Thank you so much.”

“Sounds good. I’ll call you once I have the details. Oh, by the way. How’d my little project for Barnes work out?”

You’d almost forgotten about the arm covering Bucky had foregone.

“He actually didn’t end up using it. No offense to your tech, but I wanted them to see the real Bucky.”

“I figured as much. Alright. You two have fun. Bye, kiddo.”

“Bye, Tony.”

 “Tony sends his best wishes,” you informed the stressed out couple.

“Tony as in Tony Stark?” Ben asked incredulously.

You ignored him and faced Penny and Dylan.

“We need to make a list of everything we’ll need, and he’ll make sure that it gets here this afternoon.”

“Are you serious?”

“100 percent.”

“How are we ever going to repay him?”

You shook your head.

“Don’t worry about it. He wanted to help.”

“That’s really generous of him.”

“Yeah, y/n, you must have kissed up pretty well for him to like you so much.”

You grit your teeth and ignored her.

“Let’s get started on that list.”

A/N: I hope you enjoyed! Thanks for reading. We’re wrapping up, but there’s still a good amount of story to tell, so stay tuned. 

xoxo Naynay

Tag Lists are Open (Please send an ask) 

Stepping Up Tag List @holycoldcoffee @ek823 @lordemjay @nirvanalovesyoutbh @eleshka-still @bookgirlunicorn @pastelsweaters-and-bubble-t

Bucky/Sebastian Tag List @waywardpumpkin @sadanddeadsoul @captain-maaarvel @caylast @isaxhorror @run-your-cleverboy @ria132love @mbsgr @hereisanapplepie @pierrxt-uta @thejourneyneverendsx @stevieboyharrington @catsandbooksinafarawayplace @mywinterwolf

Marvel Tag List @hdthdthdt​   @sophiatomlinson23 @misty-panther @supermusicallee @scarlettsoldier @acupofhotlatte @slender--spirit @petitesmate

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#Bucky x reader #Stepping Up #Part 9 #Bucky Barnes

[mrswhozeewhatsis]

A Woman of Letters (Getting a Feel for Sam Winchester) - Chapter 10

Summary:  You’ve just opened an occult bookstore in Lebanon, Kansas, when you fall for a tall, handsome customer…literally. You soon find out that there’s more to the world than you ever suspected, including you. Discovering your heritage puts you directly in a witch’s crosshairs, though, so the Winchesters offer to take you in and teach you how to protect yourself. As you discover your own family history with the supernatural and your own hidden talents, you can’t help but wish a certain brother was as excited about your interest as you are.

Total length: 43 chapters, 70,247 words - Read on AO3 - Series masterlist

Chapter word count: 3044 words

Pairing: Sam x Reader

Warnings: Canon-level angst and violence

Sam

Sam woke up alone in Y/N’s bed, reached over to the empty side of the bed, and felt cold sheets. He looked at the clock on the nightstand and realized he had slept later than he usually did. In fact, it was barely still morning. Sitting up, he realized he had slept better than he had in ages. As he went through his morning routine, he tried not to think about how nice it was to have Y/N curled up with him. It had been a long time since he’d shared a bed with a woman, even just for sleep. His mind drifted back… Amelia. Sam shook his head to try to clear those thoughts before they took hold. At least Amelia got out alive. She’s happy with Don, now. That’s better than most of his romantic partners. Sam purposely changed his thoughts since the head shaking had obviously failed.

After Sam was dressed he headed to the kitchen to look for food. He stopped short just inside the door when he saw Dean and Y/N hugging. Sam felt frozen until he saw them break apart, and then he was able to force his feet to move him over to the coffee pot. While he was getting his coffee, he heard Dean say something quietly to Y/N, then Dean’s heavy footfalls as he left the room. Sam sighed.

“I guess he’s still pissed at me, huh?” Sam turned to Y/N, who was leaning against the counter.

“Yeah. It was kind of a low blow, but he’ll get past it. I mean, I’ve only known him a day, but I can already tell he loves you more than he’s mad at you.” Sam felt Y/N’s words strike his heart. It had been a low blow, and he knew it. There weren’t many things Dean couldn’t find a way to joke about, but Lisa was definitely one of them. Dean had forgiven Sam for a lot over the years, though each time had been harder than the last. Sam wondered if maybe this would be the time Dean just didn’t. Sure, this was minor compared to the myriad of ways Sam had let Dean down in the past, but it could be the straw that broke the camel’s back. Sam sighed.

“We’ll see, I guess.” 

Y/N moved towards the door. “We’re going to head to my apartment to grab some things I’ll need. Do you want to come along, or…?” Sam’s eyes flew to Y/N’s.

“Your apartment? Really?” Y/N nodded and shrugged.

“Dean says he’s got a plan. I didn’t ask about it.”

“I’m definitely coming. You’ll need both of us if something’s waiting for you.” Sam followed Y/N to the garage, where Dean was already in the car. Sam got in the back, leaving Y/N in the front. “Dean, what’s the plan? Head over there with hex bags and guns at the ready and shoot anything with red hair?” As Dean pulled the car out of the garage, he shook his head slowly, then pulled out his phone. Sam sighed. Obviously Dean was still pissed. He just hoped Dean got over it if things went pear-shaped.

“Crowley? I heard a rumor your mother’s got the hots for my brother. It must run in the family. I know, I know, after she’s dead we go back to trying to kill each other. Meet us at the bar. See you in ten.” Dean shoved his phone back in his pocket and pulled the Impala out onto the main road. Sam watched Y/N’s face and almost chuckled. The look of incredulity was hilarious.

“Do you have the King of Hell on speed dial?” Although she seemed surprised, there was also a small smile playing at the edges of her mouth. Dean flushed a little pink and then smirked at her. Sam watched the flirtation and wondered why he suddenly wanted to deck his brother.

“How does the song go? ‘I got friends in low places,’ right?” Dean chuckled as Y/N laughed and Sam glowered at the two of them.

“Why does the fact that the King of Hell has a cell phone surprise me? I guess I always figured there’d be magical ways of doing things like that if magic existed.” Sam was still feeling grumpy, so let Dean answer the question.

“There are, but a summoning spell takes time. Demons make phone calls using blood, but really, burner phone is just easier. If you know who you’re calling is going to pick up, it’s not worth the bloodshed, quite frankly.” Y/N shook her head in amazement.

“I have so much to learn.” Sam felt his chest get tight at the thought of Y/N having to learn anything, and sighed. The car pulled into the parking lot of the bar, and the three of them got out and walked in, finding a booth near the back. Sam made sure he sat next to Y/N, keeping her safe on the inside, while Dean went up to the bar and ordered beers for all of them. As Dean was setting down the glasses, Crowley appeared behind him.

“Hello, boys. And girl.” Dean jumped, then turned to Crowley and grimaced. Y/N tried to stifle a giggle, but failed.

“What the hell, Crowley? I thought I was past people popping up behind me like that when Cas lost his wings!” Dean sighed and slid into the booth. Crowley slid in next to him.

“Just trying to keep you on your toes. If you’re going to go up against my mother, I need you sharp. Now, tell me, why is the newest member of your little club joining us for such a high-level discussion?” Crowley turned to Y/N with a charming smile that made Sam gag. “Not that I mind being in the presence of a beautiful woman, mind you, I just know how overprotective Moose and Squirrel can be about their girlfriends.” Sam felt Y/N stiffen and put his hand on her hand to calm her. He turned to Crowley and hoped he was giving him the bitchiest of all bitch faces.

“Never mind her, Crowley. Just tell us what you know about what Rowena’s got planned,” Sam barked. Dean smirked as a waitress brought over a large, fruity drink with about four or five skewered pieces of fruit and a teeny, tiny umbrella sticking out of the top. She set the drink in front of Crowley, and he stared at it for a long moment. Sam heard Y/N work to stifle another giggle.

“I see you remembered, Dean. You make me all warm where my bathing suit goes.” Crowley rolled his eyes and took a sip of the drink from the straw with a shrug. “What I know about Rowena’s plans is very little. I was able to intercede this afternoon because I travel faster than she does. I’ve had demons watching her, but she didn’t show her hand until it was almost too late.” Crowley looked at Y/N with what almost looked like sympathy, but Sam knew better. “I’m sorry about your shop. I do hope you had insurance.” Y/N nodded and smiled at Crowley, which put Sam on edge.

“I want to thank you for saving my life, even if you couldn’t save my shop,” Y/N said, quietly. Crowley’s eyes widened in surprise and he smiled at Y/N.

“Finally! Someone who understands the value of gratitude! Keep her around, boys. She can teach you lunkheads a thing or two.” Sam huffed angrily and glared at Crowley. Crowley kept his eyes coolly on Sam, as if egging him into starting something. Dean waved a hand to interrupt the stare down.

“Back to the matter at hand, you two. If we’re going to try to take Rowena out, we have to know where she’s going to be, and we have to find something that can kill her. Right now, Y/N needs supplies from her place, so we have to figure Rowena’s got her place staked out. As for weapons, we have bullets with witch-killing brew in them for distance shooting and Molotov cocktails of the stuff for close attacks. I say, we try to kill Rowena at Y/N’s apartment. We go in, pack up as much stuff as we can, and when Rowena comes after us, we take her out. If we kill her, then Y/N goes back to her life. If we don’t kill her, then we’ll have everything she’ll need for an extended stay with us while we find something else that can kill her.” Sam listened to Dean’s plan and had to admit it wasn’t all that bad.

Crowley’s eyes nearly bugged out. “You’re going to risk this beautiful young woman’s life by trying to take out Rowena whilst getting supplies? Are you joking?” Sam looked at Y/N and wondered if maybe Crowley was right. He started listing in his head everything she might need, and what other ways there were to obtain them. He felt his face flush at the thought of buying her bras and panties, and found himself shifting in his seat as his mind wandered inappropriately until Dean interrupted his train of thought.

“Look, she needs clothes, she needs personal items, and I’m sure there are other things in her apartment that she’ll want that aren’t replaceable. If what we have works, Rowena’s dead, Y/N gets to go back to her life, and everyone’s happy. If it doesn’t work, then we have a start on finding something that will work, and Y/N has what she needs for an extended stay with us. Two birds with one stone. ” The table got quiet while everyone took a long pull from their respective drinks.

“Look, it’s either this, or she borrows clothes from us,” Sam replied sarcastically. Crowley rolled his eyes and made a disgusted noise.

“If that’s your solution, Moose, it’s no wonder your relationships all end in the cemetery. They’d rather die than put up with you.” Crowley turned to Y/N and gave her a smarmy smile that made Sam cringe. “Darling, if you ever get tired of Tweedle Dumb and Tweedle Dumber here, I’d gladly keep you safe, and in a manner to which a lovely thing like yourself should be accustomed. Just because you have a 300-year old witch on your tail doesn’t mean you need to live in a hole in the ground that barely has indoor plumbing. You deserve satin sheets and chocolates on your pillow.” Sam groaned inwardly, but tried to keep his cool on the outside.

Y/N smiled and squeezed Sam’s hand. “Thank you for the offer, Crowley, but I’m fine where I am.”

Sam admired her ability to hide the nervousness she had to be feeling right now. “Crowley, just tell us. Will you help us or not?” Sam glared at Crowley and realized he was now almost crushing Y/N’s hand. He forced himself to relax his hand while he waited for Crowley’s answer.

“I can get her in and out unnoticed. We pop in, she packs, we pop out, and nobody would be the wiser. Then, once she’s out of the line of fire, you two idiots can go after Rowena on your own time.” Crowley had taken Y/N’s refusal better than Sam expected, still giving her admiring looks and smiling sweetly. Sam stopped himself from squeezing Y/N’s hand any harder.

“If you can pop her in and out, you can pop all of us in and out, Crowley.” Sam glared at the demon in front of him while Dean backed him up.

“Sam’s right. We’re not letting her out of our sight until we’re sure she’s safe. I don’t care if you saved her life yesterday, I still don’t trust you as far as I can throw you. Either we all go, or none of us go,” Dean said. Crowley pretended to be offended by Dean’s remark.

“Dean, you wound me.” Crowley shrugged and nodded his head, though. “But, I see your point. Fine, I’ll pop us in, you three pack whatever you can, and I’ll pop us back out. If we run into interference, though, you idiots better shoot first and ask questions later.” Crowley sighed deeply and overdramatically, then took a long pull from his drink. Sam looked over at Y/N to gauge her reaction to this plan. He never expected what came next.

“Crowley, thank you for everything you’re doing for me. I know you don’t have to, and you’re putting yourself on the line for me, so I want you to know that I appreciate it. And if there’s something I can do in return, let me know, and I’ll do the best I can.” Sam and Dean both jumped and started talking over each other. Crowley waved a hand and both men lost their voices, opening and closing their mouths like guppies. Sam felt panic wash over him, and he clutched at Y/N’s hand.

“What I’m sure you’re overgrown protectors are trying to say is that making such an offer to the King of Hell is never a good idea. Now, I like you, so not asking you to seal that particular agreement with a kiss pains me greatly, but I won’t. Not that it wouldn’t be fun making Moose watch. I appreciate the sentiment, though, and will someday hold you to it. In the meantime, let’s get this show on the road. I have an underworld to run.” Crowley waved his hand again and both Winchesters groaned as their voices returned. “Let’s take this outside, shall we?” Sam took a deep breath, and pushed away his worry over what Crowley might ask Y/N to do in the future. Now was not the time.

On the walk out of the bar to the parking lot, Y/N gave Sam and Dean a quick rundown of her apartment, and where they could find bags they could use for packing. By the time they were outside, they had a plan for getting as much as possible packed up as quickly as possible. When they got to the Impala, Dean handed a big bottle with a rag sticking out of the top to Sam, and then put a similar bottle into an interior pocket of his coat. When he slammed the lid of the trunk shut, Crowley snapped his fingers, and the four of them found themselves inside Y/N’s apartment.

Sam took a quick look around and wished he could spend more time looking over her things. Today was not the day, though. The plan was set in motion, and Sam grabbed bags from closets, handing them to Y/N and Dean, and then following Y/N as she grabbed items and handed them to him to pack. Dean cleaned out the bathroom, then joined them in the bedroom to pack clothes. Sam took a bag and went through the living room, grabbing pictures and photo albums and anything else that looked important. In less than ten minutes, they were done, and as Crowley raised his hand to snap his fingers, the front door banged open and a man with blood dripping down his cheeks growled at them. Crowley snapped his fingers, and he and Y/N disappeared. Sam looked around the room in shock, seeing the same flash of anger and shock on Dean’s face. What the hell?

The cursed man was advancing on the brothers, and Dean quickly shot him in the head. The man’s head flew back while he took a step back, but he didn’t fall. As he straightened out to take another step closer, Sam and Dean both put two more bullets in his brain. After standing there with a dazed look on his face for a long moment, the man finally fell. Sam did some quick math in his head to calculate the number of witch-killing bullets they had left, but didn’t get to finish before he saw Rowena’s wild red hair turning the corner as she entered the apartment. Sam started firing at Rowena while Dean pulled out his witch bomb and lit the fuse. Sam fired one, two, three, four times, and Rowena simply raised a hand, making the bullets stop just in front of her and then fall to the ground. Dean, seeing that throwing something directly at Rowena wouldn’t work, instead threw his bomb at her feet, reciting the incantation as he threw. Rowena was obscured from view by a cloud of flame and smoke. Sam held his breath while the smoke cleared, and then let it out as he saw Rowena still standing there. She looked slightly green, and was taking heaving breaths, but she was still standing. Sam felt fear rising up in his chest as he fully realized he was about to die. Rowena was standing in the doorway of the apartment, and if there was another exit, he wasn’t aware of it. Even if there was a fire escape somewhere, Rowena could throw a curse before they’d get out the window.

Sam watched Rowena raise a hand to him and Dean, and just as she began to speak, he blinked, and he and Dean were standing in the bar’s parking lot next to the Impala, Y/N, and Crowley.

“Is she dead,” Crowley asked with a smug smile on his face while Sam and Dean caught their breath.

Sam huffed, glaring daggers at Crowley. “No. She stopped the bullets before they hit her, and the witch bomb only slowed her down for a moment.” Sam watched as Dean straightened up and his face hardened in anger.

“What the hell was that all about, Crowley? Another second and we would have been witch food!” Dean took a step toward Crowley, and Crowley held up a hand, stopping Dean in his tracks. Sam suddenly saw the family resemblance between Crowley and his mother and frowned deeply.

“I figured you’d want to take a crack at Rowena, but with the lovely Y/N safely far away. I brought her to safety, then got you. Would you rather I left her with you?” Crowley had a subtle smirk on his face while he looked back and forth between the brothers. Sam felt bile rising up in his throat.

“Call me when you figure out how to kill the bitch.” Crowley snapped his fingers one more time and disappeared.

#incoherent babbling by mrswhozeewhatsis #mrswhozeewhatsis writes #WOL - GaFfSW #sam x reader #sam fluff #sam angst #sam smut #sam winchester #sam winchester fan fiction #sam winchester fan fic #sam winchester fanfiction #sam winchester fanfic #fan fiction #fanfiction #spn fan fiction #spn fanfiction #supernatural fan fiction #supernatural fanfiction #spn fanfic #supernatural fanfic

[therandomfics]

Anniversary: FINAL

“And then, I wish you’d seen the look on his face, Sonny. It was priceless! He looked like he had finally been defeated. I mean, I’m worried about Anna but at the same time, I’m not. She’s a big girl. I hope she sees this as a favor done,” you rambled on, excited about having finally gotten one over on Peter. He’d constantly gotten you for so many years that even though it was one small step, you felt like you’d moved a mile. 

“Maybe he’ll finally leave you alone. I hope he does. I’d like to see you back in Manhattan some day,” Sonny replied. You could hear the ticking of his turn signal in the background and the acceleration of his car’s engine. 

“I didn’t know you were driving. I’m sorry! Call me when you’re back at home.” 

“Nah, it’s really okay. I won’t be home for a while,” he explained. More turn signals, a little bit of mumbling beneath his breath. “Are you at home now?” 

“Yeah just walked in about five minutes ago.” A knock at your door startled you and caused you to stand up from your couch. “Hey, I think Anna’s here. I’ll call you in a little bit ok?” 

“Alright. Good luck.” 

You hung up and walked to the door, where the person on the other side had knocked yet again. When you opened the door, you were surprised to see Peter standing there, red faced and angry. 

“Oh no, no, no,” you said quickly and tried to shut the door, but he had already jammed his way in and pushed you back by the time you’d even grabbed for the door. 

“Who do you think you are trying to ruin my life, huh?” he asked as he continued pushing you back into your apartment, kicking the door shut. “I had a good thing with Anna. She never asked any questions and I had a promised bed whenever I wanted it. Now, thanks to your stupid prank, I’ve lost her.” 

When the back of your legs finally hit your bed you folded, sitting down and staring up at him. He always towered over you, but now it was much worse; much more intimidating. “Wh-what exactly was your plan? I would show up and see you and what? Fall in love with you again?” 

“No. Obviously I want nothing to do with you now,” he snapped and stepped back, still looming over you. “And by the way, I know that you and Sonny haven’t fucked yet, so what’s the hold up? Does he find you repulsive, too?” 

Your heart sank a little at that comment, even though it was from someone who didn’t deserve your time or energy, and had always been a problem.. it still hurt. “Did you bug my apartment?” you questioned, grimacing at the idea of Peter having any insight into your personal life. 

“No, I don’t need to. I just need to know where you are. Obviously having your vitals doesn’t hurt either,” he admitted, immediately giving himself away. 

You looked down at your wrist, to the fitness band that you’d been wearing for almost two years now. It had been a gift from Peter and he’d set it up so that you could start using it immediately. Obviously that was how he tracked your movements and your heart rate. “Wow. You’re really something else,” you commented as you unclasped it and tossed it onto the floor. “Why won’t you just leave me alone, Peter? Why can’t you let me go?”

His phone, in his pocket, beeped nearly the moment your band hit the floor. 

“Minute to minute updates?” you questioned, standing up and shoving him backwards. “We are divorced, you stupid piece of shit. You have absolutely no reason to be here, let alone invade my privacy by continuing to monitor my actions via a goddamn FitBit!” 

He grabbed your face and squeezed your jaw tightly with his hand, reducing you to nothing but a whimper. “Watch your pretty little mouth.” 

He was obviously delusional, insane even, for being in your apartment and watching your every move, trying to convince you to meet up with him by pretending to be someone else, along with every other horrible thing he’d done - and that was just since you’d been divorced. 

When you raised your arm up and brought your elbow down onto his forearm, you were able to break away from his grasp and shove him backwards - only a few feet, though. It was enough for you to drop to the floor and grab your Cubs baseball bat, one that Peter had given you, and bring the barrel down against his foot. 

He cried out in pain and tried to kick you, but the years you’d spent learning how to ballroom dance and slide along the floor in a dress made it much easier to slide in jeans. You took the knob of the bat and began jabbing it into his knees until the pain of your hits caused him to hit the floor. 

“Don’t fucking move!” you shouted as you stood up and pointed the bat at his head. “I’ll fucking break it, I swear, and you’ll only have the batting cages yo used to take me to to blame. Don’t get up.” 

You reached into your pocket and pulled your phone out, dialing 911. The bat was steady pointed at Peter’s face, only inches away so that when you swung back it wouldn’t kill him, but it would at least make him have an involuntary nap. The regret on his face was clear as day. He was re-playing his choices of the past few years, you figured, and very few of them seemed to be positive. 

“Thank you. Yes. It’s the top floor, and I’m the only apartment up here,” you explained and then hung up. You shook your head at Peter’s rigid form on the floor and dialed Sonny. “Hey. It wasn’t Anna. It’s Peter. I’m fine - I’m fine - yes. Okay.” 

“Why don’t you just update Facebook too, so everyone else can know?” he asked bitterly from the floor. 

“Jesus Christ, for once would you just...” you sighed and then drew back, hitting the side of his head with just enough force to shut him up for a few minutes. “Be fucking silent.” 

A few minutes later, uniformed officers rushed into your apartment. You explained the situation as it had played out, but Peter’s story didn’t match yours. 

“She invited me here to reconcile,” he was explaining from the hallway outside of your apartment. “I don’t know she just snapped and started hitting me. I don’t know what happened. I really thought we were going to get back together.” 

Sonny walked into your apartment a few minutes later and shut the door. “This could get ugly.” 

“It’s already ugly, Sonny,” you said with a sigh. “Imagine what would have happened if I hadn’t been able to get him off of me for those few seconds? You might have found me at the morgue. Not here.” 

“Don’t talk like that,” he said with a sigh. “I went over to Anna’s and spoke to her. She said she’d be willing to be a character witness for you and she’d also like to explain why Peter was in Sleepy Hollow tonight. You’ve got the messages, too, plus your past restraining order. It’ll be messy for him, is what I meant.” 

You nodded and sat down on your bed, staring blankly at the floor. “I wanna move.” 

“You want to move?” he asked as he sat down beside you. 

“Yeah. Somewhere he isn’t going to be. Maybe.. Seattle.” 

Sonny shrugged gently. “Seattle? They’ve got good coffee so I’ve heard, and I guess I could handle the rain, too. It’s only like 75% of the year right?” 

With a smile, you looked up at Sonny and nudged him softly with your elbow. “Who said you were invited?” 

“Well I just figured since you’re gonna marry me someday it would make sense for us to be together, even if it’s in Seattle,” he explained, a grin tugging at his lips. 

Two officers stepped back into the apartment and you rose to your feet. “I gotta go in,” you explained, though Sonny already knew. 

He nodded and stood up too, a sign that he would go down to the station with you. “Let��s get it over with,” he suggested, and placed his hand on your lower back to guide you forward. “It’s gonna be fine.” 

_________

Peter’s erratic behavior combined with the testimony of Anna, several women you’d never met before, Sonny, and yourself all made for a solid case against him. He wasn’t sentenced, which you figured he wouldn’t be, but he was given no contact orders and was forbidden from being more then 300 feet from you at any given point in time. If he attempted any communications with you, he would be put in jail. If he was found near you or your home, he would be put in jail. You couldn’t have asked for much more when you looked back on his career within the justice system. It probably hurt the judge to do an ADA like that, but you cared a lot less now than you did before. 

Sonny bought you a new FitBit and let you set it up yourself, and though you trusted him with your life, such a meaningful gesture meant more to you than anything else he could have done.. except for one thing. 

Sonny had access to your laptop, and why wouldn’t he? You’d been living together now for a few months and were starting your life together. He’d seen you look at the same house several times, and even start emails but never compose or send them to the realtor who was showing your dream house. 

“I got you something,” he said, giving his best impression of mystery. He handed you an envelope and sat down beside you at the kitchen table. 

When you opened it and realized what was inside, you nearly screamed in excitement: confirmation for two tickets to Seattle, Washington... and a confirmed meeting with the very realtor you’d been so nervous to contact. 

“Pack your bags, babe.” He leaned over and kissed your forehead, letting out a small laugh at the shock and awe your were experiencing. “We leave tonight. We have plenty of time to think about the move, but I want you to know that I’m on board, too.” 

You stared down at the tickets for along moment, before you burst out laughing and wiped the tears from your eyes. “Guess what?”

“What, doll?” 

“Today’s my one year anniversary of being a Zygmunt again.” 

He shook his head with a laugh and pulled you into his arms, planting a kiss on your lips. “Happy Anniversary, Miss.” 

Tag List: @halloup @enthusiastic-french-toast @sasbb23 @inlovewith3 @glimmerglittergirl @cecilyjmorgenstern @braincandyreads @thebeckyjolene @babypink224221 @juliie-isabel

Okay, so I decided to make this the final chapter because I’m legit stoked about my new fic... and also because this is the longest I’ve ever dragged a fic on and I didn’t want to end it unraveling at the seams. 

#Peter Stone #Peter Stone X Reader #Peter Stone Fanfiction #sonny carisi #sonny carisi x reader #sonny carisi fanfiction #SVU Fanfic

[crowned-ladybug]

Evening Light

I had this idea and it was supposed to be like 300 words for a small crappy post but instead it turned into a fic that i really enjoyed writing

(Ps if you weren’t here for that, Marvin has pet names he uses all the time, like boo and babe, and ones he only uses when theres a lot of Meaning behind them, like love or sweetheart, and i feel like knowing that adds a bit more to this fic)

Characters: Marvin, Jackie (mentions of Schneep and Chase)

Setting: Rivals AU

Ship: Marvelsepticeye

Word count: 1.4k

Warnings: one character is sick (but it’s fluff)

“Please be gentle with him, and don’t expect much...or anything, really. I did what I could, but there’s still a lot of foreign magic his system has to clear out on its own, at its own pace. He’s still very disoriented and sleepy, so he can’t talk much and should hopefully fall asleep soon. Call me if his fever goes up.”

That’s all Henrik had said before finally letting Marvin into Jackie’s room. That was over an hour, maybe even two ago. And so far he’s been correct – Jackie hasn’t done much beside sleeping and then waking up for short periods of time, only to mumble something to himself and fall asleep again. At least he did seem to recognise Marvin and be happy to see him, at least judging from how he hummed happily into his pillow.

Marvin has made himself comfortable in the corner of Jackie’s bed, carefully positioned so that he won’t bother him but can still press a leg up against his. The physical contact allows him to read Jackie’s vital signs via his magic, though the feedback he gets now is strangely warped. He can still read it, he still knows it means Jackie is doing okay physically aside from his slowly receding fever, but the signal is muddled by foreign, untempered magic. It’s like listening to the radio with the dial just a bit off the frequency of an active station.

Last time when the two of them were on a scouting mission for demonic activity, Jackie got hit with...some sort of spell. Marvin’s instinct is to call it a curse, but he’s honestly not sure. It didn’t have intent, it didn’t have any sort of malicious goal. It was just a blast of jumbled, mutant magical energy, that initially didn’t seem to do much more than just disorient Jackie. But it clung to him, still without a purpose or direction, but still confusing and shutting down Jackie’s own magic more and more.

Henrik said it reminds him of some virus. Maybe Jackie’s body thinks that’s what it is, too, and that’s why he has a fever now.

Marvin had been an anxious mess while Henrik worked behind the closed door of Jackie’s room. Normally he would have let Marvin help him, but...not this time, he didn’t. Even though they all know that Marvin is their magic expert, and often Henrik’s right hand when his magic can help with healing.

But this time he was left outside, tugging on the hairtie he pulled off from around his wrist until it eventually snapped and Chase sat down next to him so that he could hold his hands. He was worried, but also confused, because he didn’t know how an undirected clump of magic could mess up Jackie so much. Someone who relies on magic a lot, sure, he could see this happening to them, but...Jackie? He’s not exactly the most magically adept person he’s ever met. And his powers, while they might be rooted in magic, aren’t incredibly powerful either. Hell, half the time he can’t even consciously activate them!

So...why?

He still doesn’t know that, even now as he’s sitting on Jackie’s bed, keeping tabs on his vitals and reading.

Jackie stirs again. Marvin puts down his book on his lap, keeping his finger between the pages, and watches. His eyes blink open, or more like half-open, really, and he moves his head, humming something. When he gets no response, he tries again. This time, it sounds more like a word.

“Marv’n?”

Marvin smiles at him, soft and loving. After all that anxiety, hearing his name on Jackie’s lips, even if slurred with exhaustion and fever, is very, very comforting. “Yes, love?”

“Y’re...” Jackie mumbles, his words just short of completely unintelligible, a sleepy smile on his face. “Very pretty.”

Marvin can’t help but laugh, though he makes sure to keep it quiet. Really? The first thing Jackie manages to coherently say when he sees him, and it’s a compliment? It’s typical of him (though Marvin had honestly expected some teasing or joke), but it doesn’t make it any less touching.

Marvin’s usual response to that would be a proud ‘Yeah, I know!’ and a teasing grin, but this time he just hums and says a soft “Thank you.”

Jackie makes a contented noise in response, then adjusts his position a little (well, probably as much as he can right now). Marvin notices with some delay that he’s trying to reach his hand towards him, even more clumsier than usual, barely strong enough to raise his hand. But he finally catches on and scoots closer until he’s sitting next to Jackie’s hip, leaving his book at the end of the bed. He takes ahold of Jackie’s hand, wrapping it in both his hands and pulling them onto his lap. He can feel Jackie’s fingers curling to grasp at his at he starts to draw circles into the back of his hand with his own.

Jackie lets out another contented hum, and Marvin assumes that means he’s going to doze off again. He’s very wrong though, because turns out this time Jackie has lots to say.

“Your hair is so...soft,” he says, words still slurred but maybe, maybe a little bit clearer this time, and he’s still smiling. Marvin can feel his fingers flex against his before they settle again. “Y’r eyes...yeah.”

“If you say so,” Marvin laughs, still quiet and soft and fond. Jackie smiles up at him like he’d just uttered the most perfectly crafted love confession. And it’s not like Marvin doesn’t appreciate it despite its complete lack of eloquence. Being told he’s pretty, by his boyfriend who’s sick and as out of it as it gets, is not the first element on his List of Romantic Things, but as it turns out...it’s up there. “Thank you.”

They sit in silence for a while. Well, mostly silence, aside from Jackie’s occasional hums. Marvin keeps drawing little patterns into the back of Jackie’s hand, and Jackie’s blinks slowly get longer and longer again. It gets to the point where Marvin feels like he’s fighting to stay awake.

“Go to sleep, love. Come on,” he whispers finally, because maybe if he tells Jackie to, he’ll fall asleep sooner. His fever is still there, though it’s been slowly going down over time. Maybe a nap could take care of the rest.

Jackie hums something and obediently wiggles onto his side. Marvin moves his hand in his to be tucked near his pillow instead, and as he lets go he feels Jackie weakly trying to hold on still.

“It’s okay,” Marvin says, barely a whisper, as he leans on one elbow, half sitting and half lying down, to let him get closer to Jackie. He runs a hand down his cheek, and watches as his eyes drift shut. He looks content, and it takes him a while to open his eyes again, but Marvin waits. He leans down to kiss his temple, lingering. “You can sleep now.”

One of Jackie’s hands finds his again, clutching on and pressing it weakly to his face. Marvin brushes his thumb against his cheek. He doesn’t pull his hand away this time.

“I love you,” Jackie mumbles, and half the sounds get lots in his pillow, but Marvin understands anyway and his heart flutters in his chest. Jackie doesn’t resist when he moves their still linked hands to rest on the sheets next to Jackie’s head instead. His eyes drift closed again.

Careful not to pull his now obviously occupied hand away, Marvin adjusts his other arm until he can lie down too. There’s not much space left for him, but he doesn’t mind. He might even doze off himself – he hasn’t had any sleep in what feels like days, even though it’s only been a couple hours more than he usually stays up for, and he’s exhausted.

“I love you too, sweetheart,” he whispers back finally, though Jackie might already be asleep, he’s not sure. He lets his head sink into the very edge of Jackie’s largest pillow, keeping one eye open still. He ignores the unpleasant noise of the foreign magic twisting around in Jackie’s body, and concentrates on his heartbeat instead.

He falls asleep to it too, eventually.

#marvelsepticeye #marvin the magnificent #jackieboy man #fanfiction #writing #rivals au #MORE OF THIS ASSHOLE BEING SOFT #i just. loved writing this #title is still shit and this time refers to the feeling i got from this fic #dimmed rooms and sunset filtering through curtains and sheets warm both in colour and feeling #teeeeeny tiny bit of plot or set up for one if i actually wrote these fics closer together #feel free to poke at it via my askbox tho

[dontcallmecarrie]

So what’s up with Howard in the multi period time travel scenario? You mentioned he’s still alive, but he doesn’t seem to be around in any of the three endings.

For context: in By Myself But Not Alone, the butterfly effect cuts both ways. Also, it’s Tony-centric and I was hammering it out at 3 am [so if there’s stuff I missed, that’s why]. That being said, for something that’s a fic idea and not an official WIP, it’s…kinda growing on me. In this case, the Howard Stark thing. 

Stepping back a bit: Howard Stark is a pretty complex character. We never really see him in the MCU even if his presence is felt long after his death […I’ve done some meta on him before on my take on him, and it’s key to this AU]. While the main plot’s Tony-centric, Howard’s also another case of the butterfly effect kicking in. And not necessarily in a good way.

See, while Howard and Maria’s deaths in canon were tragic, everyone who remembers that universe at least knew what followed afterwards. Everyone knew Obadiah Stane’d step in until Tony turned 21 and inherited his father’s company. Even if they didn’t know Howard personally, they knew his son and thought they could extrapolate from there, thought they could predict his actions. 

…unfortunately, however, people change, and human memory is a fickle thing.

Since Steve Rogers went into the ice, Howard Stark’s had several decades to grow colder, harsher, more bitter. He was part of the Manhattan Project, helped found SHIELD, supplied weapons to the US military throughout various conflicts, from Korea to Vietnam to Operation Desert Storm. He got married, had a wife and kid […both of whom he neglected in his search for Steve, but that’s an issue for another day].

He also picked up vices along the way, with the alcoholism being the most notable one as evidenced by the car accident [an actual one, this time] caused by his drunk driving. The accident that killed his wife, because as it turns out, the safest part of the car’s the driver’s seat. 

Here’s where things diverge, because in this life, Howard survives.

also there’s no serum here because keeping track of the other divergences. thanks to the butterfly effect is a mess and no I’m not going have another WIP at this rate, nope, brain work with me here gdi

So. Howard Stark’s still alive. That’s a good thing, right?

Right?

[under the cut because RIP mobile users otherwise]

Of those who remember a different world, Fury was the one who knew him best, save for Tony, and so he’s the only one who’s unsurprised by what followed. Dismayed, perhaps, but not surprised.

See, this isn’t Steve’s Howard, bright and hopeful and eagerly showing off his flying car prototypes. This is a Howard who’s cold and bitter, who’s seen the war so often it’s the only thing he knows, now. This is a Howard whose motto was “Peace is having a bigger stick than the other guy”, whose son grew up to be the Merchant of Death.  

Natasha had thought the apple hadn’t fallen far from the tree, when she’d met Tony; Steve had wondered how Tony could be so different to his father. Here, however, they both share an incredulous look, when they see the latest interview featuring an unapologetic Howard showing off their latest line, and,  when the question comes up, being almost painfully dismissive of the idea of shifting his company’s focus away from building weapons. 

Well, almost. But first, let’s backtrack a bit, shall we?

See, Maria Stark died during the car crash, back in 1991. When she died, so did any chance of Tony and Howard getting along, because Tony’s relationship with his dad may not have been the best before, but now? He blames Howard for his mom’s death, and has yet to forgive him for it. 

Here, the world knows Howard and Tony don’t get along, knows there’s bad blood. There were rumors of Tony creating his own company a while back, but they petered out fairly fast after the announcement that Tony would be the head of R&D once he turned 21, and that he’d step in as CEO once his father retired. 

Howard, meanwhile, is known the world over for being a war hawk, and he uses it as a badge of pride. Tony, meanwhile, isn’t as brash about it; when it comes up for him, he’ll just smile and say something about keeping their boys safe, making sure they come back home. Doesn’t mean he doesn’t pull his punches, though; here, the Merchant of Death is even more ruthless than canon, thanks to Howard pushing him to greater and greater heights […if only out of spite].

That being said, even with all this going on, their relationship isn’t the greatest. I cannot reiterate this enough, because it’s key for what’s going on later. See, here, Tony’s not an orphan. Here, it’s Howard who controls the Stark fortune, and…um. 

Howard’s not cut out to be a parent, okay? Not the way his wife was, anyway. Add in the complete lack of respect Tony has, and what you get is Howard’s main [only, really] way of attempting to discipline his son is via cutting him off, threatening to disinherit him. Which, granted, may not sound like much, but seeing as how the other option for inherting’s his business partner, Obadiah Stane? 

Obadiah Stane, who, while still nice to Tony, is more of a yes-man than in canon. Obadiah, who Howard trusts because he’s worked with him about as long as he had with Nick Fury. Tonys pretty sure Howard’s bluffing, but…he doesn’t want to risk it. 

So Tony plays ball. And manages to eke out a few concessions, from time to time—such as the creation of the Maria Stark Foundation, looking at Howard in the eye the entire time he was proposing it to the board—thanks in no small part to his being able to work PR with the same mastery his mom had.

 For the most part, though, it’s just example after example of how dysfunctional the Stark family […of two, now] is, with Tony lashing out however he can and Howard’s oscillating between wondering how his wife did it, and threatening to cut him off yet again. [Plus passive-aggression. Lots of passive-aggression.] 

For the most part, it’s a working system: Tony doesn’t speak to his father outside of work-related concerns, Howard mostly keeps out of his business unless Tony’s messing around in the press is getting too much on his nerves and he needs to dial it back, etc. Nobody’s really happy, but then, when’s the last time they were? 

It was a working system, one they were both okay with. 

…then Tony came out as bi. […or pan, in retrospect; whatever, the tabloids got a picture of him kissing a guy, same difference to Howard, okay?]

Which, as it turns out, is something Howard disapproves of. Greatly. 

Only thing is, this is his only son we’re talking about, his heir, who’s his spitting image and just about the only thing he has left of his wife, and while he’s threatened to disinherit him, he’d never meant it, okay? He’s not cut out to be a parent, he’ll be the first to admit it, but…fuck. And it’s not like he can’t do nothing, his son’s basically the face of the company at this point, as well as half the brains, but…

In the end, Howard decides to punish his son for dragging the company’s name through mud by moving him to the dustiest, worst-funded section of Stark Industries, and putting him in charge of it. Who even cares about green energy these days, anyway?

However, this is Tony we’re talking about. Tony, who, in another life, built a suit of armor of the same weapons used against him, almost entirely out spite. Here, Tony sees what he’s got, cracks his knuckles, and sets to work. 

Revenues go up by 300% in roughly two months, and steadily climb from there—right up until Howard noticed how much R&D’s progress had slowed to a crawl, and had him transfer back. 

That spike of progress in regards to green energy, however, didn’t go unnoticed. Oh well, at least it made for good fodder for the press, right alongside the intellicrops. 

…suffice it is to say, almost everyone who remembered a different life is in for quite the nasty shock because Howard is a piece of work.

It doesn’t help that he takes his time in retiring, either. Those who remember know Obadiah’s a traitor, know that he’s using Howard the same way he used Tony, but good luck proving it when accusing the right-hand man of a guy who once co-founded a vague yet menacing government agency. 

All in all, the situation with Howard’s complicated. 

Everyone knows that if Steve were to ask, he’d rain hell on their behalf [just like his son had, in another life], but at the same time…he’s not the type of ally they want to have. He’s very much like Tony, yet could not be more different if he’d tried. 

He’s stalwart and unrelenting, driven to a fault—but where Tony’s been working hard to make the world a better place, Howard’s demons have been haunting him for far too long for him to do the same. And the sticking point: where Tony hadn’t hesitated in stopping the company from making weapons, Howard wouldn’t. [Not even if Steve asked.]

To sum up: in many ways, the effect he has on the timeline isn’t stellar. This is something nobody expected to need to fix, and is part of why everyone’s really looking forward to Tony remembering—Stark Industries is being led by a war hawk, and in no universe is that a good thing. Kinda ironic, really; they’d expected HYDRA would be the biggest hurdle, when instead it was Howard Stark. 

Also, they’re having a hard time deciding whether or not to go and approach him, since he’s a wild card and the timeline’s been twisted enough as is. […let’s just go with Fury being hella secretive about finding Steve, okay? To keep things simple, for now.] 

That being said, I was kind of picturing Howard leaving the picture after his retirement. Partly because I was thinking that since Tony only ever talks to him about work, there’s nothing else he has left to say to the man who got his mom killed, and partly because I was figuring that at his age, he’s at the risk of having a heart attack or something offscreen. [According to the wiki, he’d have been 91 during Afghanistan, for instance.] 

Ending-wise:

Like I said, wouldn’t be surprised if he died after hearing his son was killed in Afghanistan. 

Heart attack, or from grief [and/or combined with alcohol poisioning as he hits the bottle one last time]—because no matter how hardened he’s been, or how bitter, that was his son. His only child, and he’d outlived countless other people over the years, but…this was his son, all that he had left of his wife. His greatest creation, gone from a world that’s passed him by, and he’s so, so tired…

Obadiah’d be gleeful; he’s the only left to inherit, now, after all—right up until JARVIS remembered, anyway. Then it’s only a matter of minutes for him to find every single instance of his double-dealing, and forwarding a file to every branch of law enforcement in the country, as well as the world. [Or Natasha stepped in, or Bucky finds an exception to his ‘no assassinations’ rule, or something.] 

No chance for reconciliation, here,  between father and son—then again, any chance of it died with Maria, back in 1991. 

As for if Tony came back as Iron Man?

He might very well get a heart attack from the surprise, tbh. Or from the rage, because did his son really just make an announcement about Stark Industries not making weapons—

“I saw young Americans killed by the very weapons I created to defend them and protect them—”

Oh. Still. The idea of shutting down the weapons manufacturing is unthinkable to Howard, what was Tony thinking?! 

The more time goes on, the more of a mess it all is, and suddenly Howard’s very glad he’s retired because as is, the discovery that his business partner had been double dealing for years was a bitter pill to swallow. Almost as bitter as the discovery that this was a whole new world, because his son is Iron Man— [and didn’t that dredge up old memories? How was Hank doing these days, anyway?]

The more time goes on, the more it feels like the world’s passed him by, because he’d only ever seen war and yet everyone’s saying his son helped privatize world peace, and…

The more time goes on, the more proud he is of his son, his greatest creation.  

Not that Howard will ever say it out loud, of course; where do you think Tony got his abysmal communication skills and emotional awkwardness from? Tony, in turn, almost never speaks to his father again, and when he does, it’s with an incredibly defensive edge because he’s expecting nothing but disappointment from that corner [as always].

Just…in this one, Howard’s in the back, seeing all this go down, and he’s actually pretty damn proud of his son. Also, there’s several meetings off-camera going on, including Howard meeting Steve at least once and Bucky having an incredibly awkward conversation with the guy over a cup of coffee. 

fun fact: in this AU, when he made press conference he was 100% ready to be disinherited because he knows just how Howard is about the weapons manufacturing thing. Even if he’d been bluffing about it before, Tony was like 95% sure Howard’d actually do it this time, simply because of the nature of the press conference.

Hopefully Howard doesn’t come across as much of an ass here. He’s human, he fucks up, and he dropped the ball big time when it came to his family. 

Off-screen, there’s plenty of guilt over the ‘my drunk driving killed my wife’ thing, and trying to go sober afterwards. [Kinda hard to do it, when self-medicating due to mental health issues a la the shit he’s seen over the years.]

Also, his reaction to Tony’s being not-straight? Bear in mind he’s from a pretty damn conservative era, and isn’t used to the parenting thing. Add in the fact that coming out’s a pretty big deal, and was a way bigger one not too long ago; just check out the reactions to Ellen’s coming out, back in the ‘90s. It was a Very Big Deal, when Tony did it, and to be fair SI had to do a lot of fast talking in the days that followed because of it. Plus, again, Howard’s parenting skills aren’t exactly anything to write home about. 

Dysfunctional families come in all ways, shapes, and forms. Here, the really messed up dynamic + shitty communication skills constitutes the bulk of it, though. Incidentally, that was pretty much Not Cool on Howard’s part, and the main reason I don’t consider it abuse is because it’s not so much a power imbalance thing [both Tony and Howard knew he wasn’t going to go through with it] so much as…well, dysfunctional family stuff in general. 

In this case, their dynamic’s really messed up thanks to Maria’s death, combined with years of Howard’s neglect and alcoholism and Tony’s resentment. 

btw:  if anything looks familiar, it’s because I have several headcanons that tend to be recurring elements in my fics, such as JARVIS’ secretly being closer to Skynet than most would be comfortable with, Howard being a complex character, Maria Carbonell née Stark being awesome, and the list just goes on.

 ..and now the more I think of it the more Howard’s starting to shift from a subplot character to a main one but that’d derail canon even more because of how Tony’d react and brain, no, this is just an AU fic idea not a WIP damn it

#I got an ask! #behind the scenes #By Myself But Not Alone #behind the scenes mini fic #replies #Naught replies

[osmw1]

Dimension Wave   Chapter 5—Recycling

“Phew…”

I slept remarkably well. It’s been years since I’ve felt this good waking up. People have been talking about virtual drugs recently but seeing how well I can sleep in a game, that’s more than enough reason for them to start selling them.

How long was I out for? I opened up the menu to check the in-game clock, which read 10:07 PM. I’ve been asleep for about six hours then. I take a look out the window and see that the sun has already set.

“Let’s go get that Fishing Mastery then.”

Name/ Kizuna†Exceed Race/ Spirit Energy/ 2,820 Mana/ 70 Serin/ 1,850

Skills/ Energy Production III, Mana Production II

Energy Production II → Energy Production III Generates 200 Energy per hour → Generates 400 Energy per hour Costs 50 Mana to upgrade.

Fishing Mastery I All actions with a fishing rod receives a 10% buff. Consumes 100 Energy per hour. Costs 30 Mana to acquire. Unlock requirement: Obtain 10 items or more with a fishing rod. Upgrade requirement: Obtain 100 or more items with a fishing rod.

I acquire Fishing Mastery I. Doing so consumes 100 Energy, leaving me with 2,720. Upgrading it to rank II will cost me 60 Mana. With only 40 left, I don’t have enough for it. In any case, I’ve got Fishing Master I now. I’ve been waiting to see what it can do. Well, still, I don’t think I can catch The Big One so easily though.

“… sure am hungry.”

I feel like I just ate before I went to bed. Thinking about it, that was already six hours ago, so maybe it’s time for another meal. I’ll eat the leftover fish I had grilled for me. I take out the Grilled Herring from my inventory.

“It’s turned cold. This game even has temperature, eh?”

When I had it earlier, it was fresh off the grill and piping hot. In that case, if someone were to make stuff like ice cream, it’d probably melt too. Well, who knows? Maybe there’s dry ice or something like that as well. It’s a bit miserable but if I don’t eat this, it’d be going to waste. I can make do.

“Now that my belly’s full, let’s go catch a fish or two. Where did I leave my clothes again?”

Here they are. I just tossed them over by my shoes. Right after I get dressed, I take out my Wooden Rod +2 and I’m ready to go. I leave the inn. Passing by the front desk cued a “Take care!” from the NPC. I step out to a town of darkness. A soulless scene. Maybe everybody’s hit the sack already or they’re still working hard at leveling up.

“It really is dark. I can barely see where I’m going.”

Of course, there are no streetlights, but there aren’t even torches around. It’s nigh pitch black. I open up the map from the menu and head towards that same bridge I was on yesterday. I even dropped by the general store since I had forgotten to buy more bait. I can’t believe that they’re still open though. If this were a real person running the store, they’d probably wouldn’t be too chipper at this time of hour. Imagine a clerk working in a convenience store or something…

Anyway, I get to the bridge. Unfortunately though, the moon is covered by clouds. I wouldn’t know I’m facing the sea if not for the briny breeze and the gentle crashing of the waves. Perhaps I need a carbide lamp or something of the sort. For now, I’m happy with my big pile of bait as I stick it onto my copper fishhook. I poked my finger three times, causing 10 damage. Then after casting my line into the sea, I feel a weird tug that I’ve never felt before. It’s… rather strong. But this dull bite is just odd. Whatever, though. I power through it and fish it out of the water.

—××× obtained.

Hmm? It’s too dark to read the text. I don’t know exactly what it is, but I put it into my inventory. I’ll know when the sun rises. I bait my hook and cast my rod again.

—××× obtained.

Whoa! I caught something the moment the hook touched the water. They’re really biting. I bought 300 pieces of bait, but now it looks like it might not be enough. Alright! It’s an all-you-can-catch!

—

———

—————

… finally, morning. I keel over with my hands and knees on the ground, exactly like the orz emoticon. As for results though, I caught nearly 200. But if felt more like they were looking for me, rather than me actively trying to catch them.

I take a look at my spoils. 137 Empty Cans 2 Rubber Boots Crystallization (Unidentified) 40 Herrings 25 Sardines 12 Seabasses 4 Common Darkfish 3 Zombiefish

“What?!”

What the hell? I got more Empty Cans than anything. Oh, the disappointment! Gimme back the happiness I had! Why are there even cans in this world in the first place? … but I guess it’s not too surprising after all.

What I intended to do was to find out whether I can catch different fish at night, so I can chalk it up as a success. “How much trash are you guys throwing into the ocean anyway?” is what I want to say, but I don’t wanna be rude. And not to mention that last thing on the list is totally undead. I bet I can get some good materials from trimming it. It better be good. I begin to gut and trim the fish while clinging on to that glimmer of hope. Probably not the cans though.

It took me two hours to finish up. I’m still not getting a gutting skill though. I wonder what the requirement is. Maybe I have to fight with it as a weapon? I plan to keep on fishing though, so I don’t think I’ll go and try that out. But, naturally, the amount of fish I had was proportional to the amount of time needed to trim them. I’m glad I have this convenient gutting knife. It’s just a hunch, but I think I can use it to gut monsters as well. I’ll try it if I ever get the chance to fight monsters.

“Alright, now let’s sell it all.”

I check the clock again to see it read 9:27 AM. I bet someone as diligent as Alto is would be up already. I’ll try and send a chat. What’s his actual name? Altorese, was it? I remember him saying something about Altorese’s Emporium or something. And just like before, a dialing sound effect plays as I wait for Alto to pick up.

“Hi, this is Alto.”

He sounds like he’s full of energy. He’ll be trading all day too, I’d say.

“Yo, it’s me.” “You sound like you’re the girl from yesterday. No, wait, the guy who’s playing as a girl, right?” “Right. Kizuna.” “Is that your name? I don’t think I caught it yesterday.”

Oh, now that he mentions it. I asked him for his name, but I was too embarrassed to let him know “Kizuna†Exceed” is my name. Rather, I think I deliberately didn’t tell him.

“So? What’s up today?” “Ah, I wanted to sell you some items. They’re all fish though, if that’s okay.” “Of course. Where are you now?” “On the map, I’m to the right of the bridge—”

After exchanging our locations, we ended up deciding to rendezvous at the same place as yesterday. I was gonna hurry on over, but Alto was there already.” He has different equipment on compared to yesterday. Looks like he’s doing well for himself.

“Yo, Kizuna. You said you had fish, but how much do you have?” “Oh, this much.”

I hit accept on his trade request. According to Alto, we can just trade it over by hand, but since we’re trading in such large amounts, it’s better to do it this way. I place the scales, bones, meat, heads, teeth, fin, and everything else in the trade window.

“It seems like you’ve prepped all of them for cooking already, but you still have so much. What a shock.” “Prepped for cooking?”

“I didn’t do that though?” was what I was about to say, but Alto continues.

“Yeah, after parting ways yesterday, I found out that if you use a kitchen knife to prep your fish, you get a lot more items that way.” “Huh.” “And so you have the cooking skill, right, Kizuna? If you need any ingredients, I can sell you some.”

No, I don’t have a single cooking skill pop up. But I’ll keep that to myself. Since he has so many connections, he’s gotta know somebody that uses a gutting-type weapon, right?

“Hey, Alto, this is completely unrelated, but what do gutting weapons do?” “Hmm? I’m pretty sure they do extra damage to certain races. But since their base damage is low, not many people use them.” “I see…” “And sometimes, when you kill the right monsters, they drop different items too.”

… don’t tell me I’ve misunderstood my gutting knife this whole time. As far as I know, if I’m being really careful, I can gut and trim fish to get their scales and meat. But it seems like I can use the cooking skill instead. Maybe it’s even more effective that way. In that case, I can probably even earn more money. Naturally, it’ll become common knowledge sooner or later. But before everyone knows about it, maybe I can make tons of money like this. It’s not exactly uncommon for a new game.

“What about gutting weapons anyway?” “Ah, I’m using one right now. So that’s it? A peculiar weapon used against certain races…” “I see. You really like unusual things, don’t you, Kizuna?” “Guess so.” “Anyway, how does a total of 6,000 serin sound?” “That much?”

Alto says it as if it were obvious. If all he had yesterday was 8,000 serin, that means he’s been making lots while I’ve been chilling.

“It takes time to raise your cooking skill, so factor in how much an hour is worth. It’s also quite a lot and then I put it a little below market value.”

Buy low, sell low. That’s how he resells stuff, he mentioned yesterday. That’s fine then. It’s a lot more than what the NPCs will give me anyway. I accept the trade, hit OK, and received 6,000 serin.

“Thank you for your patronage. Let me know if you have anything else to sell.” “Alright, I’ll holler next time.”

I take a look at my inventory to see only empty cans left. Having 137 of them is actually kind of a bother. NPCs will give me either 1 or 5 serin for each. The difference being aluminum and steel. Wait, hold on. Aluminum and steel, huh?

“Hey, Alto? I have another question. How much do Empty Cans sell for?” “Empty Cans? Unfortunately, dirt cheap. You’re better off selling it to a store.” “Is that right? It’s caught my attention that these cans are aluminum and steel though.”

I lower my voice as if I’m letting him onto a secret and his face lights up.

“… I see. With a blast furnace, they might be able to turn into ingots!” “There are blast furnaces, huh?” “Yeah. There are people working on their craft skills who are smelting ores into ingots.” “Then can I get you to take a look whether they can do the same with these cans? Of course, I’ve got a lot more, so if it works.”

We open up our trade windows again and I give him five each of aluminum and steel. It’ll be easy money if I can turn trash into something useful. Even if it doesn’t work out, I can still sell it for some change.

“Thank you, Kizuna! Maybe we’ll make a lot with this!” “Yeah, if it pans out, get me a slice of the action.” “Of course! I’ll hurry and find out then!”

This being right in his element, Alto rushes off while waving goodbye. It probably won’t even take him an hour.

“I’ve got quite a good stack of money now. Maybe I should get some equipment.”

If I can turn cans into steel, then maybe I can get someone to make me a weapon. But since I don’t even have a single combat skill, I think it’d be better to stick to my light clothing. And for shoes… can I wear these rubber boots? I take them out of my inventory, take off my default shoes, and stick my feet into the boots.

“Looks like I really can equip them…”

If I had a raincoat and a yellow umbrella, it’ll complete my little girl getup. Leaving the jokes aside, I should look for an armor shop or a player selling clothes. I take my first steps in my rubber boots.

Let me tell you what happened after. My hunch was dead on. Those Empty Cans really can be turned into aluminum and steel ingots. While keeping it a secret from Alto and the smith, I keep on quietly fishing up empty cans and repeatedly hand them over. The three of us made a killing for about five days until players found a source of iron ore. Of course, the ingots made from cans aren’t all that high quality, so we started losing business. After discussing our strategy with Alto, we decided to put it to an end. In any case, we came in hot with out Empty Can method and made a good chunk of cash. With fate bringing us together, I added Alto to my friends list.

“I’ll be counting on you for another brilliant idea to make money.”

I hope he feels the same way. Furthermore, for some odd reason, I can only catch Empty Cans at night. Afterwards, with iron prices going down, Alto made the information public. In the end, pairing the unprofitable fishing skill with smelting and smithing made for a popular money-making strategy.

previously: /prologue/ /ch001/ /ch002/ /ch003/ /ch004/ /ch005/ /next/

(please support me on Patreon or Paypal)

(check out the other title I’m translating—written by the same author!)

#Dimension Wave #DWV #Average Translations #AvgTL #osm #Yusagi Aneko #Aneko Yusagi #light novels #ln #web novels #wn #VRMMORPG #isekai #ディメンションウェーブ #一般の英訳 #ライトノベル #ラノベ #オンラインノベル #小説家になろう #異世界 #syosetu

[hornyorca]

Of All The Phenomenon’s In The World.

Ragnarssons x Modern!Reader.

I blame FOB for my title length.

This is basically Vikings meets modern times with a little bit of the avengers thrown in. I don’t know what I’m doing with my life and I can’t even apologize for it.

I blame @cryogenik @kirah34 @dani-si​ for this. It’ll get to the fun stuff soon. don’t worry. I plan on there being lots of exploration if yOU KNOW WHAT I MEAN.

mostly @cryogenik​. mostly.

warnings: cursing. i think that’s it.

“I’m sorry, ma’am, but I’m afraid I can’t do that for you.” Flew between your lips for probably the thousandth time in a single hour, the dark circles under your eyes more prominent than when you forced yourself out of bed this morning.

Gladly enough, as your eyes rolled furthering into the back of your skull with each passing moment, you didn’t have a face to match the ungodly voice grinding through the phone, “Well, find me someone who can.”

Whoever was listening up above give you patience, because if you had strength, you might actually burn the entire building to the ground. Curling your hand into a fist, you slowly motioned punching the sleek black receiver on your desk as a punctuation to each word. “Again, he is in a meeting at the moment, and cannot come to the phone. I am not allowed to give out anymore information than that.”

There was a moment of silence, one that seemed blissful and sweet, but did not last long enough. “So, I can call back later then and he’ll be available?”

Your hands met in front of your face, palms together in a praying motion, and you almost hissed: “Yes.”

“Okay then, I’ll just call back later, I guess,” She sneered, and you silently gagged. “It would of been nice had you suggested it earlier instead of wasting my time, you know.”

The dial tone followed and for a moment you simply sat, legs spread improperly wide, forearms supporting yourself against the cold desk, and eyes unfocused on your CEO’s door. Several muted gestures flew from your hands at the phone, ripping your bluetooth off and chucking it in the trash can, and you began a slow breathing method.

“You know, that’s a 300 dollar piece of equipment,” Be damned with formalities, you didn’t even bother to turn your head.

“Mr. Stark  —  “

“Ah-ah, I’m sorry, who are you looking for?”

A little part of you died inside each time he made you do this, and you internally sobbed with both words. “Crimson Dynamo.”

“Continue,” Tony gestured, swiveling his hand around, and you vaguely noticed him tinkering with your Newton’s Cradle.

Inhaling deeply, you were finally frustrated to have enough courage to finally tell your boss exactly how you were feeling about everything you dealt with. “Look, I love being your assistant, I really do — “

“Of course you do.”

Ignoring that comment, you went on, “ — But I’m here to help you take care of business, not help throw turn down your one-night swings for you in the process!” There was no comment, and when you looked at him, his brown eyes were focused on the little contraption, and your fingers twitched. “Mr. Stark!” You pleaded, slamming your hands down on the table.

“Oh, I’m listening,” He assured you, not sparing you a glance, but his finger stopped poking. “Or does it bother you that I’m playing with my balls?”

There was a momentary pause before you leaned forward and swiped away the distraction, and dropping it in the trash. “And now they’re back where they belong.”

“Ouch,” Tony made a thoughtful look, his brown eyes looking sadly into the trash.

Your nails tapped on the desk, one following the other as you glanced down at the fancy watch on your wrist waiting for him to finish mourning his new loss. “How was the meeting that you refused to let me go to?” It was no secret that Tony Stark was Ironman anymore, and that meetings for the Avengers were held right in this tower, and it always crawled under your skin to be so close yet so far away from them.

Of course, you had met a few of them at a passing glance, got introduced, but you were a part of no official business. That didn’t stop a few of them from getting your phone number, much to Tony’s annoyance on how everyone tried to play with his toys.

He was such a child sometimes.

“Boyfriend break up with you?” A nonchalant response, completely irrelevant. You squinted at the screen, fingers pausing on your keyboard as you were slowly booking his next meeting that actually had to do with business you were a part of. “Goldfish die?” Each question made your brows furrow deeper as you slowly turned in your chair, looking at him like he had gone mad.

“What?”

His finger tapped his chin several times, analyzing gaze on you. “There’s got to be a reason you’re so bitter lately.”

Offended, you jerked back a bit. “I am not — “

Tony snapped, slowly pointing both fingers at you in a western gun shoot-out. “When was the last time you had a vacation.”

You could never remember a time in your life that you felt your emotions switch so much than when you were around him, this time suspicion came over you. “When did you become so generous.”

“See! Right there!” He exclaimed, pointing an accusing finger inches from your nose. “You’re going to ruin this company with your negative vibes, and we don’t have that here.”

Glancing around, you openly gestured to the fact it was basically only you and him on the entire floor, because he felt the need to have an entire floor for his office. “We?”

He nodded, suddenly setting a bag on the high-rise of your desk. “Exactly, and that’s why I got you this.” Rolling down the bag, he revealed a little Bonzai.

Slight disappointment came over your features as you looked at the tiny tree, a singular leaf on it’s branch. “Is this my vacation?”

“Close,” Tony began to explain, “It’s a hint that has to do with your vacation.”

“You’re... sending me to China?”

“No,” His finger pointed at the miniature plant, a million dollar grin cracking his face. “Think of what the Bonzai represents.”

“Peace? Serenity?”

“Yes, and yes. That’s your vacation — I mean, peace is what you millennial’s are all about these days, right?”

There was no amusement in your features. “Did you just call me a millennial?”

Stark’s hands drummed on the surface of your desk until he reached the very end. “I don’t wanna see you or hear from you for three weeks, got it? Or at least until positive emotions are seeping from your pores.”

“That’s disgusting to think about.”

“Three weeks!”

Your fingers danced along your steering wheel, eyes jumping around the area as your foot tapped in impatience at your GPS. “Please, turn around.” And you ripped it off your dash, flicking it into the back seat without a care, your car still parked on the side of the road. Giving your face one last rub with your hands, you put your car back in drive and floored it, not bothering to double-check if anyone was coming up behind you.

Of course, getting lost on your way home was a wonderful way to start your vacation. Apparently, your GPS, no matter how much money you had spent on it, didn’t know how to navigate around tons of road construction and unfortunately, that was the only way you knew home. It didn’t help with the rain pouring down either. You only hoped your house wasn’t flooded.

You lived in a little rural area outside of NYC, with the beach practically in your backyard. You’d been there for about two years now, Mr. Stark having moved you out of the motel you had been living in, since, in the time you started working for him your actual apartment was almost an hour away. A year later, he had followed you home one night, claiming it was an experiment on what normal people do after work, and after finding out where you lived, he gifted you with a set of keys the next day. At first, you refused them, until he informed you that the contract was already in your name and rent would be paid to him. The rent eventually came down to nothing, and you took care of everything for yourself.

You couldn’t lie, while your boss got on your nerves at times, that job was a god-sent gift, and you don’t even want to think of where you would be without it, or without him.

Groaning, the rain continued to pour, only coming in thicker waves as time went on, and by the time you arrived at your house, you couldn’t even see the drive way. Sitting for a moment, you looked around your car and slapped the steering wheel, throwing yourself back against the seat and crossing your arms. You honestly have had the worst day, and just wanted to go inside and go to sleep, and you kept telling yourself it could be worse.

It could be worse.

It is worse.

Jolting forward, your head barely brushed the steering wheel as it seemed like an earthquake shook the ground, and immediately the rain quit pouring, calming to a small drizzle. You stayed still, barely breathing as you stared idly out the blurry window. Through the running droplets, you vaguely made out dark colors on your property.

Oh God. Oh God.

So many things had happened in NYC, and yet you were living here, and this would probably be the moment you would regret it. You figured, being mixed up in the business of Tony Stark you would die at a young age, from something he would do, or someone would see you as leverage for a kidnapping. Clenching your eyes tight, you let out air in multiple spurts. 

You thought you’d face a regular fate, like getting stabbed or shot by a mugger, or a crack addict, or being held hostage in a bank robbery. You know, the normal things that happen in big cities. Not have some HYDRA agent hunt down your ass, or some other-worldly mortal enemy of Tony, or god knows who. 

Trying to calm down, you quietly mumbled to yourself, trying to tell yourself: “Maybe it’s just Thor visiting... or Loki... or something.” For some reason, the two Norse Gods had taken a quick liking to you, frequently talking to you and visiting when they had the time. But lately, Loki had not been coming around and Thor did not seem to willing to talk, so you were left to wonder and worry, but were assured he was still alive and well.

Not that you were sure that made you feel any better or worse.

Rubbing furiously at your face, you reached your free hand over to pop open the door, and your foot was immediately calf deep in water. Slight tears of frustration welled up in your eyes, but you shook them away as you didn’t give a damn anymore, climbing out the car. Though, when you looked towards your house, you saw five figures; one laying in the grass coughing and sputtering, another clutching his side as he looked off into the distance, a blonde laying on his back in the grass with his face covered, and the other two were holding onto each other.

Those definitely were not Thor or Loki.

Not to mention the fucking boat in your backyard.

Immediate panic rushed through you, gut dropping at the scene of them dressed up in what looked like ancient armor, axes strapped to their bodies. Wetting your drying lips, you slowly crouched down as none of them noticed you, glancing off down the road where your neighbor lived. Granted, he was the closest one and was about 4 miles down the road, but maybe if you tried hard enough you could get away. You grimaced thinking about escaping on foot, but judging by the risen water-level on the road, you had a feeling you wouldn’t make it far by your vehicle. It looked like you were lucky you made it home.

Wiping sweat from your forehead, you tried to calm your pounding heart and shaking hands that gripped the door of the car as you peaked around it. Though you wished you hadn’t — the figure on the ground aggressively pointed at you, yelling something that you weren’t sure you even wanted to understand, and two bulky figures began stalking towards you.

“Fuck me,” You breathed, taking off towards the flooded road on foot. 

You’d feel better if you died trying to get away rather than not, even if that was an 70 dollar skirt.

#HELP #IM RUINING MYSELF #tony #tony stark is in this yes #tony stark #vikings #mostly vikings #vikings imagine #ivar #ivar the boneless #ivar imagine #modern!vikings #modering!vikings imagine #hvitserk #hvitserk ragnarsson #hvitserk imagine #ubbe ragnarsson #ubbe #sigurd snake in the eye #sigurd imagine #Sigurd #bjorn ironside #bjorn #bjorn imagine

[dotshiiki]

remember that old GA AU?

In honour of the new season of Grey’s (season 14, seriously?), I thought I’d dust it off and continue the ‘episode’ (posted here). 

Like before, surgicalintern!Annabeth, surfer/patient!Percy, and douchebag-attending!Luke--now with a side of intern!Piper, Sally, and cameos from Hazel, Frank, and Will. The total rip-off of the pilot episode of Grey’s Anatomy continues ... (Also, please don’t squint too hard at the medical stuff. I have zero medical training. Everything comes from the show and my adaptations are probably crap.)

(Still rated T for swearing.)

She watches Percy Jackson's surgery from the gallery.

It's a twelve-hour surgery and she has to keep popping in and out because she's on labs today, but she catches enough of it to see that the nerve repair is going well (of course—smug bastard though he is, Dr Castellan is good at what he does) and the prognosis for Percy is good.

Annabeth gets to be the one to tell his family when it's over. She picks out Sally Jackson right away—a brown-haired woman with tired lines and a worried expression on her face, whose tense, unsettled position on the edge of the hospital chair instantly gives her away as a woman whose loved one is under the knife.

Annabeth is willing to bet she spent the night in that chair, worrying over her son.

She recognises the sweet-looking girl with caramel-coloured curls as the third passenger in the car crash, the one who's ostensibly Percy's friend's girl. She has a vague recollection of Piper leading her out of the ER while they treated Percy and Sally … or maybe it was Frank. There's nothing outwardly objectionable about Callie's rosy cheeks, or her pouty mouth, or her button nose that wrinkles in a way that can only be described as cute.

Annabeth dislikes her anyway.

She tells herself it's because girls like that have always been the bane of her existence—all sugary sweet and bursting with the security of being unconditionally and unmistakably loved. She thinks her dad has two new daughters like that (not that Annabeth's bothered to keep in touch with him or the new family he made after he walked out on her and Mom).

But personal feelings have no place in the practice of medicine.

Still, she addresses herself exclusively to Sally Jackson when she explains the surgery and how it went. The woman is Percy's actual relative, after all. (Best-friend's-girlfriend doesn't legally count, whatever crush Percy might nurture for the girl.)

Oh god, is she seriously jealous of Callie? This has to end now.

'He's okay?' Sally looks ready to cry. 'He'll be fine?'

'Yes, ma'am, he's—'

Her pager goes off right then. Percy Jackson, 911.

Oh crap.

She turns and runs without giving Sally or Callie an explanation. She doesn't even bother to wait for the elevators, instead taking the three floors to post-op at a sprint that would make Dr Ramírez-Arellano proud (rule number two, you answer every page at a run!) When she bursts into Percy's room, he's seizing violently, even worse than the one he had when he first came in, a grand mal to end all grand mals. The nurses are struggling to hold him down.

Annabeth freezes—actually freezes, what's wrong with her—at the sight of him flopping around like a dying fish on the bed.

'How do you want to proceed, Dr Chase? Dr Chase?'

'Dr Chase, are you listening to me?'

The nurse that waves her hand in front of Annabeth's face is short and buxom, with a wild Afro. For some reason, Annabeth's eyes sharpen on her nametag—HAZEL LEVESQUE—and it brings her back to her senses.

'Diazepam,' she says, grabbing the chart. 'Give him diazepam.'

Hazel loads him up, but there's no change.

'Try two milligrams Lorazepam. And page Dr Ramírez-Arellano and Dr Castellan!'

'Already have, Dr Chase.'

The machines are all beeping in earnest now. Think, Chase, concentrate!

'Full on Lorazepam, Dr Chase.'

'Phenobarbital,' she says desperately. 'Load him with phenobarbital.'

'Pheno's in.'

'No change.'

Why is she the only doctor in the room? It's only her second day, for crying out loud!

'You paged Dr Ramírez-Arellano and Dr Castellan?'

'I just told you—'

'Well, page them again, stat!'

Percy goes into flatline then and Annabeth's own heart may have just stopped.

'Code blue!' Hazel yells. 'Code blue! Get the crash cart.'

Everything is a blur of voices and swarming green scrubs as the nurses get the crash cart in. Annabeth grabs the paddle, operating on autopilot now. Her mind is screaming as loud as the flatline tone on the heart monitor, but somehow her hands know what to do.

'Clear!'

She presses the paddles to Percy's chest.

'Still v-fib.'

'Charge to 300.'

Someone's counting the seconds since he crashed. Nineteen. Twenty-seven.

'Anything?'

There's still no rhythm.

'Come on, Percy,' Annabeth pleads. She's only got a minute to get a response. 'Charge to 360!'

Still nothing. No, dammit, this can't be it.

'Sixty seconds!'

'Charge again!'

'At sixty seconds you're supposed to—'

'Charge again!'

At the third shock, the deadly dial tone jumps into a beat again.

'Sinus rhythm,' Hazel confirms.

'Blood pressure's coming up,' says another nurse. 'He's back.'

Dr Castellan chooses that moment to show up. 'What the hell happened?'

'He had a seizure and his heart stopped,' Annabeth gasps. 'What did you do to him in surgery? I thought you fixed him?'

'I did! I—' Dr Castellan stops and stares at her. 'Get a hold of yourself, Dr Chase. What the hell's wrong with you?'

The world is sliding in and out of focus—Luke's face, Percy's, the nurses swarming his bed. Annabeth can feel the gorge rising in her throat. She turns and leaves the room, her ears ringing with the beeping of the heart monitor and the sound of the flatline and What the hell's wrong with you? She barely notices Dr Ramírez-Arellano striding up the hallway, yelling, 'You get a 911, you page me immediately!'

It's all she can do not to break into a run. She doesn't stop until she's left the hospital building, walked right out to the carpark, and that's where she lets go, puking her breakfast out into a clump of bushes.

When she finally turns around, Piper McLean is staring at her. She hands Annabeth a tissue.

'If you tell anyone, ever,' Annabeth threatens, though she doesn't know how she's going to follow that up.

She wipes her mouth with Piper's tissue and, not looking at her fellow intern, heads back into the hospital.

OoOoO

'What was that?' Dr Castellan asks her when she reappears on the post-op floor.

'Nothing.'

He grabs her shoulders. 'You were completely overwrought.'

Annabeth shakes herself free. 'It was my first code. And I just told his mom he was fine.'

His eyes narrow at her.

'Look, I'm sorry. I just panicked. I didn't mean to—sorry.'

Dr Castellan crosses his arms. She can tell he doesn't believe her completely, and can she blame him? She's not even being altogether truthful to herself.

There's just something about Percy Jackson that makes her feel a little crazy.

She picks up the chart. 'It won't happen again.'

'Fine,' Dr Castellan says. 'And the surgery was perfect. He's awake and responsive now—and his eyes are fixed.'

'Sorry,' she mutters. 'I didn't mean to suggest you screwed up.'

'I'll let it go this time. Although if it were any other intern …'

'Don't,' she tells him. 'Don't do me any favours.' The last thing she needs is to be accused of sucking up. She flips the chart. Percy's post-op scans are on the second page, and they're clean. In fact, they're hardly different from what the pre-op CT showed, besides the now-fixed optic nerve impingement. 'The seizure wasn't from the accident?'

'Seems like it.'

'Do you think it … caused the accident?'

Dr Castellan shrugs. 'Could be.'

'So what's causing the seizures?'

Dr Castellan sighs. 'I don't know.'

OoOoO

Evidently, the mystery of Percy Jackson's seizures is something Dr Castellan can't figure out, because he calls a meeting that afternoon.

Annabeth sinks into a seat between Piper and Will Solace, who's practically inhaling the coffee cup in his hands.

Silena Beauregard leans over from the row behind them. 'Anyone know why we're here?'

Frank Zhang opens his mouth, but Dr Castellan addresses them before he can offer his speculation.

'Good afternoon.'

There are mutters of 'afternoon' in return. Dr Castellan surveys the room. His eyes linger a bit too long on Annabeth for her comfort. (She sinks lower in her seat, hoping no one's noticed.)

'I'm gonna do something rare for a surgeon,' he says at last. 'I'm gonna ask interns for help.'

He lays out the bare facts of Percy Jackson's case—car accident, head trauma, the optic nerve impingement that he fixed, and the seizures that don't appear to be due to the accident like they assumed. 'He's not responding to meds. Labs are clean, scans are pure, but he keeps having seizures—grand mal seizures with no visible cause. If it goes on like this, he's gonna die.'

He doesn't mention the calloused warmth of Percy's hand, or the light shade of green of his eyes that puts you in mind of waves crashing on a Mediterranean beach. Or the gentle smile with the dimple in one cheek that he bestows when you agree to stay a while. Or the funny story he tells about the time he tried to jump over a dolphin on his surfboard, only to have the dolphin leap at the same time and—'Well, I don't have to tell the rest, do I?’

Of course not. These are things only Annabeth's noticed, and they aren't medically important. She shouldn't even be thinking about them. He's a patient. A case. A number in a file.

'I need you all to play detective, find out why Jackson's having seizures,' Dr Castellan says. He holds up a hand to stop the grumbling before it starts. 'I get it—you're tired, you're busy, you got more work than you can possibly handle. So I'm gonna give you an incentive. Whoever finds the answer rides with me. You solve this, you scrub in on the surgery, on an advanced procedure no intern ever gets the chance to see.'

She can almost feel the excitement as the entire room straightens as one, all weariness forgotten now. Except for her. The tiredness weighs down on her shoulders and the fear drags her lower still.

She desperately wants to solve the case, too, but it's not a surgery with Dr Castellan she's angling for.

Solve the case, Percy survives.

How the hell has a guy she's known for barely two days become this important to her?

OoOoO

Piper finds her in the hospital library, scouring through case files and histories.

'Hey,' she says. 'You wanna work together on the Percy Jackson case? If we find the answer we have a fifty-fifty chance at scrubbing in.'

Annabeth peers at her over the top of the New England Journal of Neurosurgery. Two heads are better than one, she figures. 'I'll work with you,' she says, 'but I don't want in on the surgery.'

Piper's jaw drops. 'Are you kidding? It's the biggest opportunity we'll ever get!'

'It's Castellan's surgery,' Annabeth says crisply. 'I'd rather avoid scrubbing in with him.'

Piper's eyebrows shoot up so high, they nearly disappear under her roughly-cut brown bangs. 'What do you have against Castellan?'

Annabeth winces. It may have been better if she hadn't said anything. 'Look, if we find the answer, the surgery's yours. Do you wanna work together or not?'

Piper whistles through her teeth and begins to pull books off the shelf at random. 'Deal.'

Five hours, nine espressos, and eighty-six case studies later, they're sitting on the floor of the library, leaning against the shelves. Annabeth's eyes are watering from all the text she's read—no mean feat for a girl who grew up dyslexic—and they still haven't found the answer. She could hope that one of the other interns have, but somehow she knows it's still a mystery.

Piper groans and closes another book. 'I can't read any more of this.' She rubs a hand over her face. 'You seriously aren't gonna tell me why you won't work with Castellan?'

'No.' Annabeth traces the spine of the American Journal of Infectious Diseases. 'Infection, maybe?'

'No white count,' Piper reminds her. 'Just tell me.'

Annabeth ignores her and grinds the heels of her palms against her eyes. 'No CT lesions, no fevers, nothing in the spinal tap.'

'Come on,' Piper wheedles. 'I'll just make something up otherwise. It can't be worse than what my imagination can come up with.'

'Wanna bet?' Annabeth mutters.

'I won't tell anyone.'

Annabeth sighs. 'He was my mom's protegé.'

From the way Piper takes this as a matter of course, Annabeth knows the stories about Dr Athena Chase's daughter have already made their rounds. So much for keeping a low profile.

'That doesn't sound so bad.'

'We just—we have a history, okay?'

'Ooh, a history. What, like a you-were-sworn-enemies history, or a you-slept-with-each-other history … oh my god.'

Annabeth buries her face in her knees.

'You slept with him.'

'Say that a bit louder, would you?' she hisses.

Piper opens and closes her mouth a few times, and finally comes up with, 'I guess he is kinda cute. I dig the blond, superman look.' She considers a moment. 'Is he good? I mean, he looks like he'd be good.'

'Kill me now,' Annabeth mutters.

'Oh, come on, so you slept with the guy before, it's not like—oh geez. You haven't stopped, have you?'

'I'm not gonna answer that.'

Piper thinks a moment, then goes back to their earlier conversation. 'What about an aneurysm?'

'No blood on the CT, no headaches,' Annabeth says automatically. She thinks they've covered this already. They're going round in circles—how are they ever going to find an answer? 'What if no one comes up with anything?'

'You mean, if he dies?' Piper kneads her forehead miserably. 'I guess no one gets a surgery.'

'He'll never win the nationals,' Annabeth says, thinking about all the dreams Percy shared with her last night.

'The what?'

'Surf Nationals,' Annabeth explains. 'He's a surfer. He was driving back from the regionals when he—' She freezes as something clicks in her head.

'What? Annabeth, what is it?'

'Get up.' She hauls to her feet. 'Come on.'

OoOoO

Percy's awake when they get to his room, chatting with his mom. Callie is nowhere to be seen at the moment, but Annabeth is, for once, not concerned about the cutesy not-girlfriend.

'Dr Chase!' Percy says when she and Piper burst in. 'And a pretty colleague. Wow, the doctors here sure are hot!'

'You didn't tell me he's such a flirt,' Piper says.

Annabeth ignores both of them. 'At the regionals,' she says to him, 'did you do anything out of the ordinary? Like a bad fall, or taking a hit, or—'

'He crashed into another surfer's board,' Sally Jackson says.

'Mom!' Percy looks mortified. 'I swear I'm not usually such a klutz.'

If Annabeth weren't so thrilled that he's basically confirming her theory, she might appreciate how cute he looks when he's blushing and obviously not wanting her to think he's a crappy surfer.

'Is that what caused this? The other doctor said it was something besides the car crash—'

'We don't know,' she tells Sally. 'But we're gonna find out. Sit tight.'

'You've solved it, haven't you?' Piper asks as they shut the door behind them.

Annabeth nods. 'But you're gonna have to tell Castellan.'

OoOoO

Piper insists on dragging Annabeth along, even when she promises to present their diagnosis. Well, Annabeth's diagnosis, but much as she wants to claim credit, she's not going to this time.

The moment Piper opens with, 'Percy's a surfer,' Annabeth knows she's going to have to step in after all. Luke shares her mom's view on competitive sport—which is to say, it's a waste of time and lands too many idiots in the hospital, wasting doctors' time. (No wonder neither of them went into ortho. Annabeth allows herself a moment to consider the possibility—it'd seriously piss her mom off, which makes it equal parts attractive and terrifying.)

Dr Castellan raises an eyebrow. 'That's a shame, but we have to save his life anyway.'

'Well,' Piper says, looking nonplussed, 'he could have burst an aneurysm.'

'There's no indications,' Dr Castellan says, and Annabeth can tell from his face that he's about to brush them off.

'I know,' Piper says quickly—she's persistent, Annabeth has to give her credit for that, 'but what if he has an aneurysm anyway?'

'You're suspecting an aneurysm on the basis of no medical proof.' Dr Castellan is at his most derisive. Annabeth's always hated this side of him. She wonders why she put up with it for so long.

(Probably because it never seems to show when he's charming the pants off her.)

'He fell,' she says sharply, cutting across Piper's babbled explanations about a botched surf wave. 'Crashed into another surfer. It was minor, he didn't even hit his head, but he did fall.'

Dr Castellan frowns at her. 'You know the chances that a fall could burst an aneurysm? One in a million. Literally.'

She crosses her arms and stares him down.

Dr Castellan sighs. 'Order the repeat CT and an MRI. Let's see if Jackson's one in a million.'

OoOoO

'I'll be damned.'

They're peering at the scans, which clearly show a tiny line of blood leading out into the left ventricle. 'There it is. Minute, but it's there.'

'He's bleeding into his brain,' Piper whispers.

Dr Castellan nods. 'He could have gone his entire life without it ever being a problem. One tap in the right spot—'

'Ka-boom,' Piper finishes.

'That's what comes of competitive sport,' Dr Castellan sneers.

'He could have burst it tripping down the stairs,' Annabeth points out.

Dr Castellan rolls his eyes. 'Well, either way, I have to fix it.' He guides them out of the viewing room. 'I'd better go schedule the surgery. Good job, both of you.'

'Um, Dr Castellan, you said you'd pick someone to scrub in if we helped,' Piper says.

'Oh yes. Right.' He looks at Annabeth. 'Sorry I can't take you both. It'll be a full house. Annabeth, I'll see you in the OR.'

Annabeth s too stunned to even protest. It's not until Piper turns on her heel and stomps away that she realises what just happened.

'Piper—'

Fucking hell.

OoOoO

'So let me get this straight,' says Percy as she runs the razor over his head. 'You're saying that I made it out of the car crash okay, but because I wiped out bad I might die?'

'First of all, I wouldn't call coming out of a car crash practically blind okay, and B, you're not gonna die, because we're fixing your aneurysm.'

He waves his hand in the air, like details. Annabeth buzzes off another chunk of his hair and he makes a face. 'And you have to shave my head for this?'

'Your hair is a bit of an impediment to surgery.'

'Bummer. Although I never tried the skinhead look. Maybe it'll be cool. Can you make it a mohawk? Or will that be an impediment as well?'

She laughs. 'I promise you'll still look cool.'

'Still, huh?' He gives her that saucy smile with the single dimple and she tries to ignore the way her heart is hammering against her chest.

It's because she had to tell Dr Castellan she's opting out of surgery. That's all.

'So, you gonna be in my surgery this time?'

'Uh, well, actually …'

'Ah, don't tell me. They don't let you interns get to cut? How do you guys ever learn? I mean, I'd never have nailed an aerial if I hadn't got out there and tried it.'

'Well, if you screw up, no harm done. If we screw up, people die.'

'Fair point. Not dying sounds good. So the guy operating on me—I think I've met him like a total of once, and I'm not even sure I was lucid at the time. He's good?'

Her hands pause over his head. Percy frowns. 'Should I be worried?'

'No, no, I don't mean to—sorry, just spaced out for a moment. He's good. He's one of the best.'

'Huh.' Percy scratches at his chin. 'You don't like him, though?'

'Where did you get that idea?'

'You sound like I just spat in your coffee.'

'It's—I'm not—' She sighs and puts down the razor. 'I just have to tell him something and I'm not looking forward to it.'

'What's that?'

'That I can't be in a surgery.'

It's Percy's turn to go quiet. Annabeth picks up the razor and continues her work while he tries to work this out.

'But you said you weren't allowed—huh. Huh.'

'What?' Her voice comes out slightly defensive.

'Nothing.'

She doesn't believe for a second that it's nothing, but she really shouldn't continue down this conversational path. She shouldn't even have let it take this direction in the first place.

Dr Castellan shows up at the door just as she's finishing up.

'Hey, doc,' Percy says. 'How's it going?'

Dr Castellan doesn't answer. He just beckons Annabeth to the door.

'Wow, he is a douche,' Percy says softly. 'Hope his operating skills are better than his bedside manner.'

Annabeth gives hi a tight smile and goes to the door.

'We're in OR two,' he says. 'Patient prepped and ready?'

'I'm not scrubbing in,' she says, before she can lose her nerve. 'You should ask Piper. She won the competition, too.'

Dr Castellan looks at her long and hard. Annabeth meets his eyes for only two seconds before she has to stare at her feet.

'This is because of last night, isn't it?' he says.

'Last night, and two nights ago, and—' She grits her teeth. 'The point is, I don't want to get picked for surgery because—because I slept with the boss.'

Dr Castellan holds up his hands. 'Okay, stop there. That's not the reason I picked you, and you know it. I know you, Annabeth. This was your solution, not McLean's.'

She lifts her chin. 'So what if it was?'

'So—' He grits his teeth. 'You know what, I can't deal with your insecurities right now, Annabeth. You're a good doctor, and you know it. Scrub in, don't scrub in—you decide whether you want to be a surgeon or not, okay?' He gives her a little shove back towards the bed. 'Finish prepping him. If you want to give away your shot for some lame reason, you go find McLean and tell her. If not, I'll see you in the OR.'

Percy arches his neck so that he's looking at her upside down. 'The guy's a douche, but he's right. You're a good doctor.'

Annabeth feels her face heat up. 'You heard us?'

'Well, yeah.' Percy drops his head back to a comfortable position. 'And you should scrub in.'

'You know, most people wouldn't want the newbie cutting into their heads.'

'I trust you.'

'You've known me two days!'

Percy shrugs. 'I'm a good judge of character.'

'Well, as long as it's an accurate reflection of my surgical skills …' She sighs. 'It's not about whether I'm good or not. It's—'

'I get it. You don't want to be picked for surgery because you slept with your boss.' He winces as if the thought of it pains him. 'But you were here from the start. I'm your patient. And from what he said, you were the one who solved my case, not the big shot douchebag doctor. You should get the chance to stick with me if you want it.' Percy's face reddens. 'Um, I didn't mean stick with me as in stick with me, I meant—uh, never mind.'

Annabeth smiles. 'I know what you mean.'

'Good. 'Cause you shouldn't let the fact that you had sex with the guy get in the way of you taking your shot.'

'I … didn't think of it that way.'

'And if you're worried about getting picked for the wrong reasons, maybe—' He bites down on his lip so hard, Annabeth can see a tiny drop of blood form.

'What?'

'It's … not really my place. Sorry.'

'No, tell me, what?'

His brow furrows, and she get the irresistible urge to put her fingers on it and smoothen it out. The words spill out of him quickly, almost tripping over one another. 'Maybe sleeping with Dr Douchebag isn't the best idea? Not that I'm judging or anything, and obviously you have your reasons, and you're really great, and … crap, I need to shut up, don't I?'

Annabeth's breath leaves her in a little puff that might be laughter. She can't tell—Percy's honest, bumbling advice is both endearing and a stab in the gut. 'No, you're right. Nothing ever good came of sleeping with your boss.'

'That's not the only reason I'm saying it.'

'It's not?'

He shakes his head. 'It's because you deserve someone better than him.'

The nurses must have been sleeping on the job when they cleaned this room, because the dust is besieging her eyes. And her throat. Goddamnit, she can't even swallow properly because of it.

'Let's get you prepped,' she says.

#grey's anatomy au #grey's/pjo crossover #grey's anatomy #percy jackson fanfic #pjo #annabeth chase #intern!annabeth #attending!luke #patient!percy #percabeth #percabeth fanfic #blatantly ripping off grey's anatomy here #yes that is the grey's dialogue #i still dk what i'm doing with this

[eadanga]

Work, Love, and Desire Part 11

Author note: This series is for @indiacater one of my winners for my 300 followers giveaway Hope you enjoy it and thank you for participating

MC quickly covered herself up as she stared wide eyed at her dad “D-dad what are you…?”

His look of shock turned to rage as his eyes landed on Chris. Before MC could blink her grab Chris by the throat “You son of a bitch!” He punched him hard in the face knocking him to the ground,

MC jumped off the bed and stood in between in them “Dad stop it! Don’t hurt him!”

“Move MC!”

“Not a chance!” He tried to get around her but MC blocks his path “You can’t just barge into my apartment and start beating the shit out of my guest!” She sighs “Just go wait in the living room and I will talk to you”

Gabriel clenches his teeth “Fine” He walks out the room

MC rushes over to Chris “Are you ok?”

“Yeah I have to admit your dad really knows how to hit”

“I’m so sorry I had no idea he was coming”

Chris smiles “It’s alright baby it’s not your fault”

A sleepy Zack strolls in the room “What’s going on? I heard a lot of yelling”

“My dad came in here and saw us”

“Oh geez that must have been awful”

“It was can you sneak Chris out of here while I talk to my dad I don’t want him to flip out again”

“You got it come on Chris”

MC gets dressed and walks out to the living room where here dad waits. She sits down across from him and he raises an eyebrow “Well who is he?”

“He’s my boyfriend dad”

“You have a boyfriend?!”

“Yeah…” MC looks over his shoulder as Zack leads Chris out the door and locks it

“Why didn’t you tell me about him?!”

“Because you do shit like that! You almost killed Zack when I introduced him as my roommate”

“I don’t want to you to get hurt MC”

“By barging into my apartment” MC crosses her arms “Speaking of why are you here?”

“I got a phone call along with pictures that you were seeing someone and I had to know whether or not it was true” He looks up at her “I don’t like this guy MC he’s just using you”

“What? How do you know?”

“I’ve got pictures of him partying with girls take a look” He hand her his phone

MC scrolls through the pictures of the club she scoffs “I know about this dad I was there Chris told me what happened”

“And you just believe him?! Has he brainwashed you?!”

“I’m not being brainwashed Chris has been open and honest with me that’s one of things that made me fall in love with him”

Gabriel’s eyes go wide “What did you say?”

“You heard me I love him dad he means everything to me”

Gabriel stands “You don’t know what your talking about”

“I do know” She stands “I love him and I am going to be with him whether you like it or not”

Gabriel grits his teeth then he checks his phone “I’ve gotta get to a meeting we’ll discuss this later”

He walks out as MC sighs. Zack comes out and places a hand on her shoulder “You ok?”

“Yeah I’m pretty pissed to know someone has been spying on us” She pulls out her phone and dials a number “I’m gonna find out where that phone call and pictures came from”

****

Chris walked into the kitchen washing dishes. His mind shifts back to MC. He worried about what as going on between her and dad. He had hoped it didn’t ruin their relationship he would never want MC to choose to between him and her dad Maybe I should end the relationship I know she loves her dad I don’t want to come in between them. He sighs But how can I? It will hurt her and I don’t wanna hurt her I love her so much.

The doorbell rings and Chris goes to answer it. He smiles when he sees MC “Hey”

“Hey can I come in?”

Chris steps aside and let’s her in. MC sits on the couch and Chris sits next to her. She cups his cheek “Oh no look at that bruise”

“It’s fine I’ve had worse”

“Well at least let me ice it” She gets up and goes to get a pack of ice. She sits next to him and places the ice on his cheek “I’m sorry”

“Don’t worry about it MC how did things go with your dad?”

“Well he wasn’t happy claiming that you were using me but I stood my ground and he left”

Chris sighs “Maybe we shouldn’t see each other anymore. I don’t wanna come between you and your dad”

“Chris my dad will just have to deal with it cause I’m not gonna stop seeing you” She looks into his eyes “And can you honestly look me in the eye and tell me you don’t wanna be with me?”

Chris looks into her eyes they were sparkling. Then he looks at the floor “No…” He wraps her up in his arms “I can’t I love you so much”

“I love you too” She wraps her arms around him and they stay like that enjoying each other’s embrace. She pulls back “Chris someone has been spying on us”

“What?”

“My dad had pictures of you at the club and he got a phone call that you were at my place”

Chris frowns “I don’t like this”

“I don’t either but don’t worry I’ve got a friend who’s looking into it he’ll find out where that phone call came from”

“I’m glad” Chris cups her cheek “I don’t anything to happen to you”

“I’ll be fine Chris” She smirks “I have a big strong man protecting me”

He chuckles “I will always protect my girl” He grabs her wrists and looks deep into her eyes. She drops the ice pack and he pulls her in for a passionate kiss. She wraps her arms around him and he pulls her on top of him. His arms go around her waist as he pulls her closer “You’re gorgeous MC”

MC smiles “So are you”

He chuckles as he continues to kiss her. His phone buzzes and he pulls back “Shit I forgot I had practice today”

MC smiles “Then you better go” Neither of them move MC laughs “I should get off of you” Chris chuckles as she climbs off of him then kisses him on the cheek “I’ll see you later”

“Of course baby”

MC grabs her bag and walks out. Chris smiles then grabs his stuff for practice.

****

Chris heads into the locker room and unpacks his stuff Lucas comes up behind him “Dude what happened to your face?”

“Nothing just had an accident”

“Really?”

Chris sighs “Ok fine her dad found out about us”

“Are you serious and he did that to you?!”

“Yeah I hope none of you blabbed about my relationship with her”

His teammates shake their heads Jack sits next to him “No we thought about it and you look really happy with her and we’re sorry for being so pushy about it”

Chris smiles “Thanks man”

“But are you gonna do now that her dad knows”

“Don’t know hopefully it will all work out”

****

MC sat at the dining table her hands typing so fast she couldn’t stop This is good I’ve never felt so inspired like this Her phones rings and she answers “Hey did you find out anything?”

“Yeah I think I know whose been spying on you”

Tags: @indiacater @hopefulmoonobject @annekebbphotography @the-soot-sprite @furiousherringoperatortoad @cora-nova

#tf/ts/tj/ts #choices tf/ts #The Freshman #choices fan fiction #choices the senior #the senior #The Sophmore #the junior #Chris Powell #Christopher Powell #chris x mc #chris fanfiction

[billboronkay]

Beach Baby

I’ve been fortunate to get hired in some cool places, like Myrtle Beach.  South Carolina has some beautiful areas.  I can respect state pride but some of it may be misplaced.  The names of some of the most popular places have a familiar theme:  Kingston Plantation, North Plantation, Plantation Point.  “Our golf courses are great, sure there was that whole slavery thing, but check our amazing greens.”

Since my job takes place at night, during the day, I go to the beach by myself.  I feel your looks.  The ones that say, “That’s so sad, going to the beach alone.”  After being surrounded by vacationers I realize the only sadder would be going with your family.  I don’t think I’ve ever seen a family that after 20 minutes, one of the parents isn’t threatening to pack up everything and minivan back to the timeshare.  The umbrella’s not even up yet and the family conversation’s already in 4th gear, “Tuna?  On the beach?”  “It’s closer to their natural habitat.”  “97 cents a can, that’s what you get.  I’d rather have turkey too, but I can’t since three times a day I also have to feed you.”  “But there’s sand in it.”  “Because you couldn’t just sit there and eat it before making your stupid sand castle.  You don’t see the pelicans bitching.  Take your sandwich to the water and rinse it off like they do.”  

Sand castles, is there a more overrated beach activity?  Maybe reading on the beach.  Fighting the wind every second, getting interrupted by a poorly thrown nerf football every 3 minutes.  Does anyone know how to throw a football anymore?   It reminds me of all those sports movies where you can tell the actors never played little league.  One of my favorite sports movies of all time is Major League, but Corbin Bernsen’s supposed to be this former all star third baseman.  He fields a grounder, then we’re supposed to believe he throws it to first.  It’s painful, steps are all wrong, the cameras don’t follow the ball because it actually went to right field.  I caught the Bad News Bears on cable the other day.  When they start winning, it’s unwatchable.  How did they find that many kids that never had a father figure?  White kids even. Don’t blame me, they only had one black kid on the team and only 2 hispanic players.  To be fair, it was filmed in1976.

Beaches are so overcrowded I hear all your conversations.  Mom comes from water to 12 yr old son who’s minding his own business, under the umbrella, on his phone.  “You’re going to spend all afternoon on Instagram?  Fine, I’m going to build a sand castle with Ethan.”  He’s 12, of course he’d rather be on Instagram than make horrible sand buildings with his mom and little brother.  He’ll have a great time posting unflattering pics of mom.  Jr’s not worried about proper lighting.  Mom would be wise not to turn her back his droid.  By the way, can we stop with the bitching about the obsession with phones already?  Of course everyone’s obsessed, these things are amazing.  You have an entire computer in your palm.  It’s incredible that my generation ever puts the phone down.  We watched the beginning of computers.  Dealt with dial up.  We were told not to buy laptops because they couldn’t be updated.  Now we get everything with us 24/7.  Access to a world of information, pictures of anything we want to see, videos of people getting hit between the legs in ways we would’ve never imagined.  How big is your ego that you believe your story about going to the grocery store is more interesting?

I’m amazed that any father takes his family to the beach once his daughters hit their teens.  Thinks he’s going to get her away from all the circling neighborhood boys so he takes her to the beach where she’s practically naked.  Good idea dad.  Don’t give me dirty looks.  I’m alone with my towel and all of a sudden, she’s playing volleyball 6 feet from my towel.  You sent her in front of me.  At least I have the decency to wear dark sunglasses.  Enjoying your vacation?

I was minding my own business when a mother daughter stop pretty much in front of my line of site.  The daughter wants to do a handspring while the mom records on her phone.  First try, she doesn’t it, says she slipped.  Second try, lands on her butt.  Third, face plant.  Now I’m interested.  10 minutes later, still going and I’m thinking, damn, mom’s phone has a ton of memory.  Also wondering as a parent, how long do you have to keep being supportive?  At what point can you say, “Cindy, you know those gymnastics classes are $300 a month.  Maybe you reconsider the parallel bars and switch to say, the perpendicular bar.  There’s only one and if you get good enough, it could pay your way through med school.”  Finally, a family vacation that can pay off.

#Road Bill #Myrtle Beach #Vacation #Bill Boronkay