#i am terrified of whats to come 8 hours later

[polarsirens]

(haha no i am not at all terrified for episode 8 ha ha. )

#cw blood #d20 neverafter #pinocchio #i am still thinking about his introduction in ep 1 #which for me is one of the scariest things #even after ep 7 #emily’s amazing at playing twelve year old ylfa #and brennan makes the most believable child npcs #but my god. lou playing this kid #who’s learned to lie despite the consequences #it shatters my heart #fact that he’s introduced as a boy #a *real* boy #d20 spoilers #my art #i am anxiety-drawing #does that even make sense? #i tried returning to other lighter content but i cant concentrate #i am terrified of whats to come 8 hours later #(and i really need sleep)

[english-history-trip]

Ever see a depiction of St. George and the Dragon? It's pretty fair to say if you've seen one, you've seen them all: Georgie on a horse stabbing a flailing dragon creature, princess piously kneeling in the background, vague landscape alluding to the homeland of the artist's patron.

The most varied part is the dragons. No one had a real definition for the thing, it seemed. For your pleasure and entertainment, I have ranked some medieval depictions based on how impressive George's feat seems once you see the dragon.

Paolo Uccello, 1456

This is a terrifying beast. The hell is that. Uccello was one of the first experimenters with perspective, so the thing also looks surreal, like it's taking place on Mars, or a Windows 95 screensaver. I would not want to fight that, I would not want to be tied to that. (Sometimes the princess is tied to the dragon for some reason.) 10/10

Horse thoughts: Maybe if I look at the ground it will be gone when I look up

Unknown artist, c. 1505

This is a rare change of form for the dragon; it's the only one I've seen actually flying (or at least falling with style). It doesn't look particularly deterred by the spear through its throat, either. Also, George looks appropriately nervous. On the other hand, it hasn't got teeth, it seems to be fuzzy rather than having scaly armor, and George is bolstered by his army of Henry VII and his children, most of whom definitely didn't actually die in infancy. Still, wouldn't want to fight it, wouldn't want my pet sheep near it. (Sometimes the princess has a pet sheep for some reason.) 9/10

Horse thoughts: I am so glad I wore my mightiest feather helmet for this

Raphael, 1505

We are coming to Dragons With Problems. This guy looks about comparable in size to George, and does have wings, but doesn't seem to be using these things to his advantage (and has he only got one wing?) And how does he deal with the neck? He does have a comically small head, but holding it up with such a twisty neck seems complicated at best. But most egregiously, he is doing the shitty superheroine pose where he is somehow simultaneously showcasing his chest and his butt, with its unnecessarily defined butthole (more on this later) (regrettably). 8/10 bc it's Raphael

Horse thoughts: AM I THE BESTEST BOI? AM I DOING SUCH A GOOD JOB? WE R DRAGON SLAYING BUDDIEZ

The Beauchamp Hours, c. 1401

We had a spirited debate about this one at work. Again, the dragon has gotten smaller, and this one hasn't got even one wing. He's basically a crocodile. So the debate became: would you want to fight a crocodile if you had a horse and a pointy stick? Would the horse trample the animal, who can't get on its hind legs, or freak out and throw its rider? Would the pointy stick be enough to pierce the croc's thick hide? In this case, George seems to be controlling his horse and putting his pointy stick in the dragon's weak spot, so we can be impressed by his skill and strategy. However, his hat is dumb. 7/10

Horse thoughts: Dehhhh

Book of Hours, c. 1480

Here we have the same kind of croco-dragon, but George's focus on his strategy has gone out the window. He's flailing around, not even looking at his target, he's about to lose his pointy stick, he hasn't got a hand on the reins, and his sword seems to only be poking the invisible dragon over his shoulder. All he's got going for him is that his hat is slightly less dumb. 6/10

Horse thoughts: Yay, new friend! Come play with me, new fr- what is happening

Final dragons put behind this Read More for your safety:

Rogier van der Weyden, c. 1432

I'm thinking this guy is at least semi-aquatic. Webbed feet, wings that seem more like fins, bipedal but top-heavy, jaws that seem more for scooping than biting. Maybe she's crawled up here from the nearby body of water to lay her eggs, and this is all a big misunderstanding. Moreover, George's dagged sleeves seem entirely impractical for the situation. 5/10

Horse thoughts: i got my hed stuk in a jar and now it is this way forever

Unknown artist, c. 15th century

I hate this. I hate everything about it. Why has it got human eyes and teeth. Why is its nose melting. Why has it got a dick on its face and balls under its chin. The fin/wings are back but they look even more useless. Also, George is shifty as hell, schlumped over in his saddle with his bowler hat thing over his eyes. The baby dragon at the bottom eating some hapless would-be rescuer is kind of metal. 4/10 at least the thing is gonna die

Horse thoughts: I Have Smoked So Much Crack

Book of Hours, c. 1450

Remember what I said about the buttholes? First, sorry. Second, yeah, we're back to that. I'll admit this one is less about the danger from the dragon itself than the very specific choices the artist has made. They didn't need to do that. It's a lizard. They don't even have. And it's like they had an orifice budget and they skipped an exit wound for the spear to focus. Elsewhere. It's so detailed. And George had an even dumber hat. 2/10 take it away

Horse thoughts: I Have Smoked So Much Weed

Book of Hours, c. 1415

This is just bullying. There isn't even a princess. That is clearly an infant. Look at that smug look on George's face as he swings his sword that's bigger than the whole little guy. This is the equivalent of when DJT Jr. hunted those sleeping endangered sheep. 1/10

Horse thoughts: ....yikes

And this is the previous one, but now the baby dragon is cute. He's chubby. He's got toe beans. He's Puff the Magic Dragon. His eyes have already gone white, implying that George is just kicking its corpse around for funsies. What's the difference between the dragon and the lamb in the background? That the dragon is dead, like our innocence. This George is truly deserving of the dumbest hat of all. 0/10 plus one more butthole for the road

Horse thoughts: Perhaps it is we who are the buttholes.

#art history #nonsense #hot takes #I am doing a St. George painting and have been wading through reference material #manuscript #fuck me I didn't notice van der Weyden managed to sneak a butthole in his too #the definitive list #when knighthood was in flower

[littlemorsel56]

Spoilers for Poppy Playtime CH3

Poppy Playtime Chapter 3 (Updated)

Here are some of my theories.

We're playing as Richie. He cares about these kids, complaining about the environment of the work, he's a loving man with a good heart, and DogDay called him an angel. Could have been the only person who knows more about Playtime Co. but never about what is actually happening to those kids in Playcare or the fact they were tested. Huggy Wuggy, Mommy Long Legs, they all saw him in the background, but they never knew he was a kind man who cared about kids, only in they're view, they see him as the rest of the Playtime Co. employees who experiment on them. Miss Delight remembers him. Remember him working here and asking how is he alive. Make sense because no one else is alive in the Playtime Co. She even wanted him to leave before CatNap finds him for his own safety. Richie cares about his co-workers, his friends, and the kids, never his job. Not like the other humans. He's not like everybody. In Bijuu Mike's playthrough (I usually just watch randomly if someone finds any secrets or hidden messages in the game), he had one of the audio reversed through the edit. "Why weren't you here. You missed the event. You missed the meeting. You miss the party. You have no right to be here." Honestly, clever idea during the terrifying environment to put that secret message there. It happened, on 8/8/95, August, on a Tuesday, 11:01 Am in the morning, there was a meeting that morning before the Hour of Joy suddenly happened and Rich missed that event. Every employee was possibly there and except one survivor and that's the character we're playing. Rich possibly witnessed something before that day. He discovers the truth and instead of reporting it to the authorities or helping the kids, he stays home, not telling anyone as the guilt haunts him. He didn't know if what he saw was real or not, and probably even quit afterward that day when he found the truth, he stayed silent for 10 years, until the note told him they were still alive, only for it to be a lie. In Project Playtime, Leith Pierre (I'm putting my bet he's the real antagonist of the story who started all of this), sent survivors, or the Resource Extraction Specialists, to make more toys, knowing they were going to die when they stepped foot into that place. He's possibly even alive in that place or escaped there when it happened, continuing the project that has killed everyone, 1006, the Prototype killed everyone, and he's watching through the cameras, studying it from a safe distance. Remember the tap of the audio during the first chapter at the end of the game. "One breakthrough and I'll be back. We must forge onward in the name of science, whether those who are beneath us understand it or not."

Rich is one of those who are lower-end employees and saw something he shouldn't have seen. Rich was about to become a higher-up of the Playtime Co, a replacement that Stu offered him. Rich took it, he saw the truth, ran away, and stayed quiet.

Update Forgot about another person who could be behind this besides Leith Pierre, that would be Harley Sawyer, the doctor. Wants mascots to come alive, Playtime Co is low on money, is also a high-up employee, and could be the actual creator and the mastermind of the Prototype, Not Leith Pierre and the one who escaped (Got ahead of myself with the theories and I'm loving it. I also have several other theories about Elliot Ludwig and will probably post it later on.)

#poppy playtime #poppy playtime chapter 3 #playtime co ex employee #project playtime

[snootlestheangel]

After the events of Las Almas and everything involving Shepherd gets fixed, Task Force 141 and Shadow Company are forced to spend 8 weeks together (minimum) to repair trust and regain their alliance.

These are some Incorrect Quotes from during the 141's stay. (Moose belongs to @cod-dump )

Graves: All right, Shadows! Welcome to Ceremony Day for Shadow Olympics. Unfortunately, this year we have... guests. The military and government, in their infinite wisdom, have decided we need to repair our alliance with some of Britain's forces. In other words, it's a government ordered get-along-shirt with *long pause* Task Force 141. *loud booing from the Shadows* Graves: Yes, Flash? Flash: I am new here, so why do we hate them? *everyone is now suddenly very awkward* *Woody leans over and whispers the answer to Flash* Flash: Nevermind, sir! *sits back down* Graves: This is gonna be awful

*Ghost is watching something with interest on their third day at Shadow Base* Soap: Watcha lookin' at, Lt? Ghost: *wordlessly points* Soap: You're watchin' one of the Shadows... run laps?? Ghost: Yes. For the last twenty minutes. Soap: Oh god... Ghost: I don't think he plans on stopping anytime soon, either. *Flash runs by and waves dramatically before speeding up* Soap and Ghost: What the fuck?

*Soap has found himself in the motor pool* Soap: Damn, this truck is nice! Truck, appearing behind him: It is, but you aren't, so get the fuck out of my shop. Soap: But I've never seen an American HEMTT before!! Truck, skeptical: You know what kind of truck this is? Soap: Hell yeah! *an hour later* Graves: It seems like everyone's getting along okay, so far. Price, scowling: Sure, we'll go with that. It's not at all like your Shadows are terrorizing my men. Graves: That's a bold accusation- What the fuck? *they both look over to see Truck telling Soap all about the HEMTT and Soap is loving every second* Price: Is that an issue? Graves: Truck doesn't like anyone in his shop... Soap, notices them: PRICE LOOK AT THIS FUCKING TRUCK!! IT GOT COMPLETELY DESTROYED AND TRUCK HERE COMPLETELY REDID IT FROM SCRATCH!! ISN'T THAT SO COOL?! CAN WE GET A TRUCK LIKE THIS?? Price: Absolutely not! Graves, doubled over: The world is ending...

*Another day of Ghost watching Flash run cause he's afraid of the power this kid has* Woody, walking with Moose: I don't think Ghost has any ill intentions here, okay? Moose: You don't know that! Woody: Give me one reason to believe Ghost isn't a good guy. Moose, shaking and pointing: He watches Flash run and I don't know why. *Ghost is standing there with his arms crossed and blatantly watching Flash* Woody: Oh, yeah he does. That's... normal, right? I mean we all watched Flash run like this when he was brand new. Moose: But- *can't form words to convey his concern for Flash's safety* Woody: Tell ya what, I'll get Graves to talk to their captain about getting Ghost to stop. In the meantime, just hang out here and keep an eye on the kid if you're so worried. Moose: Uh, okay... Sure, I'll stay here by myself with The Ghost and be the only thing keeping Flash safe. *Woody shakes his head with a laugh and leaves* *Ghost gets the uncomfortable feeling he's being watched* *looks over to see Moose glaring daggers at him* Ghost, thinking: God that guy really hates me, doesn't he? Maybe I should show I'm actually concerned this kid's gonna drop halfway through his laps... yeah, that'll work, right? Shadows are loyal to each other. Moose, thinking: I'm so fucking scared right now, but if he makes one move towards Flash I'll- I'll kill him! Ghost, calling out to Flash: You need a water break! Flash: Oh shit, you right! *runs over to where Ghost is standing to get his water* Moose, terrified so it comes out harsh: Flash sets a timer on his watch for water breaks. Ghost: Oh, right. Just wanted to make sure he's not overworking himself. Flash, oblivious: 'S okay, Moose! My timer was about to go off anyways! Moose: *grunts* Ghost, thinking again as Moose all but glares at him: Well that backfired... Moose, also thinking: He's gonna fucking kill me, oh god, oh shit, Flash run! Flash, sipping his water and looking between them thinking: What am I witnessing? Is this power play? What even is that?

*Gaz and Soap talking while outside during the sunset* Soap: Have you had a conversation with that kid they call Flash, yet? Gaz: YES! Oh my god, I thought you talked. He's really nice but holy shit can he talk. *they look over upon hearing something in the water* *It's Ness crawling out of the pool in his full wetsuit* *Soap and Gaz scream cause they don't recognize him as a person* Ness: What?! Gaz: You're fucking terrifying! Soap: I wanna go home...

[imagination-overreaction]

More tf2 ships lets go

Soldier x Demoman / Boots n Bombs

Starting off with a Demoman ship cause this man does not get enough love I think. These two enable each other's stupidity to an incredible degree. They're both geniuses in the art of reckless stupidity, and with their brains and hearts combined they could be making new inventions like "ultra turbo sticky-nade launcherator" and it flings them 8 miles in the air and they die instantly (but they both cheer and think it's awesome once they're revived and they do it again. Medic doesn't care, but he's getting a bit bored of piecing together the same two bodies over and over again). These two would become masters of destruction. I also can imagine them passed out on the couch on top of each other, or Soldier waking up to do drills at 4 am and Demo telling him to fuck off (Soldier can't help it, his love language is explosives and boot camp </3). I like them a lot.

Scout x Sniper / Speeding Bullet

I will admit, I am a bit of a Scout hater when it comes to ships... Actually I'm just a Scout hater in general. However, I do think the dynamic of "annoying little shit" plus "gruff weird guy" works. Scout is the type to press his partner's buttons for the funnies (although he does this with his friends as well) but given how he was in Expiration Date as well as the Cold Day In Hell comic (if I remember right), then he would be genuinely caring and considerate toward his partner's feelings. Scout would push his buttons, but an hour later he'd be splayed out on top of Sniper and rambling about his day. Sniper is more blunt and to-the-point with affection, I think. He'd bother Scout right back, of course, and he'd just as happily sit there and nod along to whatever the hell Scout is talking about. These two would stay up until 5 am together several nights in a row.

Heavy x Pyro / Bear Grill

Since it's such a rare pair, there's some debate on what the ship name actually is. "Russian Wildfire," and "Heavy Fire" are the alternatives I've seen after scouring the tags. I'd like to toss my own suggestion in with "Firing Squad," although that could probably work for other ships too. I personally really like the hc that Pyro is (maybe aro?)ace, and I think that works well with Heavy (I also hc it/they Pyro but any pronouns work for this lil guy tbh). Heavy would support his little maniac's vested interest in fiery homicide just ignore the fact that he says he's scared of them in Meet The Pyro that's not important right now, and I think Pyro would really like watching Heavy use Sasha (the muzzle flash would be really neat in Pyro Vision). Outside of battle, I can imagine Heavy taking care of his guns while Pyro talks to him and tells a (very muffled) story. Heavy would listen to it when it talks about all the wonderful things it sees during their battles, and Heavy would maybe defend it when the other mercs start talking about how terrifying it is... Maybe. They're still very concerning.

Engineer x Heavy

There is no damn posts about this. "Heavy Metal" is a slightly popular one but "More Gun" has been suggested a lot, as well as "Mechanical Literature." I personally like More Gun(s), and I honestly really like this ship, and I feel like it works really well for the same reason that they both work well with Medic--they're both relatively calm and amicable compared to the rest of the team. I feel like Engie and Heavy would be the parents of the team, telling people to go to bed before 3 am and not to explode things in the house (it doesn't work but they can try) (and Engie probably has been the source of one or two fires but not necessarily on purpose). These two would be sickly together. Engie'd be going "good morning Misha 🥰✨" and tap Heavy's shoulder until he leans down far enough to let Engie kiss him on the cheek, and Heavy would give a quiet happy hum as Engie whistles away and they make me sick. I love them so much.

I also think that Engineer would give Heavy some absolutely monstrous artillery as a gift. They absolutely enable each other's horrific acts of bloodshed. More Gun <3

Part 1 - - Part 3

#tf2 #team fortress 2 #boots n bombs #soldierdemo #speeding bullet #sniperscout #bear grill #heavypyro #pyroheavy #more gun #engieheavy #heavyengie #tf2 ships #tf2 soldier #tf2 demoman #tf2 pyro #tf2 engineer #tf2 heavy #tf2 scout #tf2 sniper #feel free to suggest a tf2 ship i want more things to avoid homework with #i plan on going through all the ships eventually just bc there's so much to think about with them #anyways happy technically still valentine's day as i'm posting this lmao

[dozing-marshmallow]

Hello! I was reading your Nibling reader and chris stuff.

Thought maybe I could request one(if that's okay-)

How about one with Nibling on total drama world tour that's terrified/disturbed by Sierra? (like I am now-shes creepy) like, they will go to the other side of the plan just to get away from her. Even if it means avoiding people they like(even Chris at one point) but then it gets to the point that Reader legit begs Chris to kick her off.

Kinda dark, but now whenever I see how Sierra treats Cody, it upsets me-)

Hope you have a wonderful day/night!^^

I hope you’ve been having wonderful days yourself! I’m so sorry I took a long time with this one my dear, I really hope you enjoy it and that it was worth the wait😵❤️!! 

CHRIS MCLEAN’S NIBLING! READER HEADCANONS (PART 8)

Chris didn’t think through Sierra’s position on the show.

“Hm, Gwen... There’s something I wanted to tell you since I first saw you.” you swift your curious words up to the goth girl.

“Oh? What’s that, (Y/N)?” what did you want to say to her that you couldn’t before?

“Your hair... It looks like Coraline’s, doesn’t it?” the cyan black brushes upon her shoulders,“The colour, the length...”

Her facial features shake in surprise,“No way! You know that film?”

Who doesn’t!?,“Of course I do!”

“Who was your favourite character?” she asked electrified.

“The actors, Miss Spink and Miss Forcible!” you declare,“That scene where they were doing acrobatics had to be one of my favourite moments in the film!” you didn’t need to watch said scene physically for your mind to fly in amazement.

Gwen agreed, smiling with you,“I second that! But Other Father’s song has to take the ultimate cake for me.”

“Fair!” now time for the real question,“Do you think Coraline ever escaped?”

Gwen gives a tiny squeal, the happiest you’ve seen her with you,“I have been waiting to talk about this with someone!” She’s excited to discuss it. So were you.

Until Sierra walks in.

“Gwen, is it fine if we talk down there?” like excitement, your voice lowered, with your hand tugging her sleeve.

“How come?”

“Be...Behind.”

Gwen only had taken half a glance to inhale through her teeth and comply. By nature, shifting down to the other end of the economy class guaranteed no invisibility as Sierra sprinted to you,“OMG! It’s cousin and bridesmaid! Everyone on my blog has been dying to get some more nibling and contestant interactions! And I get to witness it in person, face to face...!” her voice sharpened down to a whisper at the last part, before steaming back up,“What are we talking about??”

“Erm...we weren’t talking about anything.” you couldn’t hold strict concentration on her, you might turn into stone,“I remember Chris said he needed to talk to me about something. Maybe next time.” you whisper to Gwen,“Sorry. We can talk about it later.”

Gwen nods as you hurry to the front of the plane, leaving her with Sierra.

“Uh...” she wasn’t a fan of her company either,“I should probably go check up on Leshawna.”

“Leshawna?” Sierra’s shriek did nothing to stop the goth from walking out,“Wasn’t she eliminated?”

Fast forward to another conversation she ruined.

“Uncle, do you remember the first time you flew on a plane?” you asked him in the middle of the first class section.

“Oh ho ho...” he had himself sat down in one of the golden seats. You know it’s gonna be good,“How could I forget? It was chaos! For a start, your nana lost her purse during security check so we spent an hour helping her find it. We thought we were gonna miss our plane, until they announced it would be delayed for three boring hours. When we did get on, we were seven hours in the air before turning back, because the plane we boarded had a faulty air pressure and there was a hurricane.”

...Wow. You could count on his stories for being wild, but a hurricane on top of a faulty pressure? That sounds like too much stress for one childhood,“That sounds so scary!”

He laughed,“Sure was! Your mom was crying for hours. She thought we were gonna like die.”

Of course!,“Eh? Didn’t you?” If you had been there, you would have responded the same!

“I diiid, but death comes for us all eventually. I’ve had near-death experiences growing up, so the whole thing just felt like missing the school bus. What can I do? I’m walking proof that God has favourites!” your uncle was awesome, but he can be quite a stretch. Still, you get what he’s thinking.

“...Do you think we’ll get any hurricanes?” your naive conscience was now screaming with dystopias of the plane crashing.

“Maybe. If we do, it’ll be one heck of an episode!” if you didn’t know better, you would have thought he wanted it to happen.

From the corner of your eye, you see Sierra finishing with forcing affection around Cody’s cheeks. She was now by herself.

Don’t come here...

Chris noticed first that you were stepping away.

“Something wrong, (Y/N)? Is there a hurricane coming?” it was meant to be a joke, but somehow was applicable.

“Chris... Please.” you gestured him to move with you, to which he responded in facial confusion. Why. Why didn’t he see you wanted to get away from her? Why was he still sitting there?

If keeping distance from your uncle meant you could avoid awful Sierra, so be it!

Speak of the striking devil...

“Aww! Aren’t I soooo lucky to witness my very favourite family bond!” she gushes, hurling her camera out from nowhere,“Can I take a photo of this for the fans?”

“Erm sure...” though you weren’t exactly spending time with Chris anymore.

“Smiiiile!” you don’t. She puts her camera down and gives you a saddening look,“Why so down, cousin? Is it because you don’t have any siblings or other cousins to play with? Oh, cousin! Don’t worry, don’t worry! My mom’ll be sure to give you some!”

“Huh?” what did her mother have to do with it?

Chris knew, by immediately remembering the last time Sierra opened her mouth around you,“That’s enough, Sierra.”

“But it’s true, Chris! You know you wanna marry my mom! We’ll all be one happy family! We’ll never cut ties!” delusion drives her voice as she rubbed her thumb on your palm, staring right into your eyes,“Did he ever tell you how babies are made?”

Okay.

That was a question you frequently thought about.

But with Sierra looking at you with that devious grin...

You lost it.

You took your hand back,“Leave me alone! I don’t want to know! I don’t want you to tell me!” you start crying. Why couldn’t she leave anyone alone?!,“I don’t like you! I don’t like you! I don’t like you!”

For someone who wanted kids, she was terrible with them!,“Now you’ve done it, Sierra...” Chris groaned at the girl whose rare panic tore her face, his arm shielding you,“Couldn’t keep that mouth zipped for a minute, huh?”

You’re brought into Chris’ quarters where he silently grasped you in his arms. You felt like a burden to your uncle, but you knew he would tell you that if it were true.

“Chriiis, I don’t like Sierra...” you sniffle, mouth sandpaper dry,“She keeps thinking we’re cousins and she keeps getting close to me! She never listens to me! Can you kick her off? Please, uncle?”

“I know, (Y/N).” he spoke, unmoved,“But I can only influence how the game plays. I can’t directly do anything, especially when Sierra is a huge attraction for ratings. It’s Team Amazon that makes the call to let her go.”

So... All you need to do is convince the rest of her team to vote for her? That should be a piece of cake, the superfan was unpopular with everyone. You wouldn’t be surprised if they already were voting for her.

“I’ll promise you that the next time we have Team Amazon voting and majority of their votes are for Sierra, I won’t decide to make it a reward challenge last minute.”

“Are you sure, uncle?” he was infamous for breaking his word,“Your fingers aren’t crossed, are they?”

He takes his hands up above you. Not a finger crossed,“Promise.”

You felt a little relieved that Sierra’s fate was partially determined,“Mm... What should I do then?”

“Just wait a little longer... She’ll be gone soon.” his words were a succour, but the sound of his voice makes you think

Will it really be soon...?

#tdi #total drama #chris mclean #tdi x reader #td chris #request #chris mclean x reader #total drama island chris #total drama chris mclean #td chris mclean x reader #uncle chris mclean #chris nibling reader #nibling #nibling reader

[arabellavernierwrites]

i chose you. will graham.

summary : will graham had felt himself slipping away for months. after a particularly grisly nightmare, he finds himself being comforted by his partner who can’t help but reassure him. (can be read as gn!reader)

word count : 944

warnings : nightmares , anxiety , panic attacks , unstable mind , insecurities , fear of hurting others

a/n : hello everyone ! it’s been a while. truthfully , i had been having a bit of a rough time. i apologize for the leave , but i want you all to know that i have received your requests , they are in my ask box and i will be getting around to them ! thank you so much for all of the love and support you all continue to show me. i truly am so appreciative of it and find it motivates me to write even more. that being said , this is my first hannibal fic ! i would love to write more for it , so please let me know if you all would be interested in that. and please send in requests !!! i want to write for you ! i hope you like the story. thank you all again for the support. have an amazing wonderful incredible day ! love you all !

it was a cold, rainy wednesday night.

it wasn’t rare for the weather in virginia to be like this. sprinkles, drizzles, downpour. it was all the same to you.

you glanced at the alarm clock on the bedside table. its electronic glow read 8:53 p.m. it was still early in the night. you and your partner, will, hit the hay early this evening. will had sipped on a small glass of whiskey before declaring himself drowsy enough to go get in bed.

you had followed him up the stairs, a small army of dogs on your heels as you trudged up the wooden steps.

“i think i’m gonna read,” you announced, tossing the sheets aside.

“oh yeah?” will smiled gently, “your new one?”

“yeah, i’ve got just over 60 pages left and i want to get it done before friday,” you adjusted your pillows.

“i’m expecting a review when you finish,” will stepped out of slippers, lying down next to you.

“like i’d ever pass up the opportunity,” you grinned, reaching for your book, “lamp or reading light?”

a timid look settled on will’s face, “lamp. please”.

a few months ago will had started having nightmares. they were grueling, each night a horror film of his most traumatic moments, deepest fears, and haunted past played on a nauseating reel in his mind. since then, will had liked to keep the bedroom lamp on. he found it comforting to awake from his grisly slumber to a well-lit, familiar place.

“lamp it is,”

will sunk into the mattress beneath him, drifting off to his nightmarish dream world, a place his sleeping figure visited far too often. once you heard the soft, steadying of his breath, you propped yourself up under the covers, resting against the wooden headboard as you began finishing your book.

37 pages or so later, here you were, glancing at the clock that read 8:53.

a small shake of the bed startled you. looking down at the man next to you, you swayed again as his body jolted.

his shirt had seemed to change color in the past half hour as his sweat had drenched the cottony fabric. his breathing had become uneven, sharp and jagged, clawing at the oxygen around him, begging for sweet relief from this panicked suffocation that encased his lungs.

spasming, sweat, hyperventilation. you knew what was coming.

you placed your book down beside you, preparing yourself for the storm of will that was brewing beside you.

his wet shirt clung to him as his shaking turned to convulsions. his arms and legs thrashed around, trying to fight off the dreadful scene that played in his mind.

your heart raced, fearful for him as you reached forward, resting a protective hand on his shoulder.

“will,” you shook him carefully.

the hideous sounds that ripped from his chest frightened you.

“will,” you shook harder, terrified that he was actually going to suffocate himself, “will!”

his body lurched forward, a gasp escaping him so loud it seemed to silence the rest of the world.

he looked like he was being pinned down, the way his body uncomfortably pressed into the bed, an attempt to make himself feel grounded.

escaping from his nightmarish state didn’t appear to help to ease his mind at all. his breathing was still frantic and his eyes shot around wildly.

“sweetheart,” you gently wiped a few strands of wet hair from his forehead, cautious as to not spook him.

he placed a desperate hand on the back of yours, a pool of comfort flooding his chest. your tender touch breaking down the icy walls that trapped his harrowing thoughts.

“will,” he was still trembling, his mental battle still not quite over, “look at me”.

you started pulling away, afraid your physical presence might be overwhelming while he was still so raw. will moved to grip your wrist, pressing your palm back to his cheek.

he breathed deeply, bit by bit, the life returning to his eyes.

“how am i ever supposed to save anyone when i can’t even save myself?” he whispered sullenly.

“i wouldn’t say it’s all your own doing,” you stroked the side of his damp face, “there’s a lot of people that put a lot of pressure on you. people that would rather see you drown trying to help them than allow you to swim to shore”.

“what if i can’t save you?” he met your eyes, his gaze timorous.

“that’s not something you have to worry about,” you reassured him.

“well it is,” he pressed.

“you don’t have to save me, will. i’m okay. i’m here, in this moment, in bed with you,” you offered.

you were met with silence.

he gnawed on his bottom lip as thoughts bounced around his brain.

“what if i can’t save you from myself?” he stressed, his real worry coming to light.

“i don’t need to be saved from you. you’re not holding me captive, i choose to be here. i choose to spend my nights with you, reading books and drinking whiskey and caring for dogs because i love you, will,” you brushed the hair from his forehead, “there’s nothing else i would rather do in this world than be here with you”.

for a moment, the air was still. a blanket of calm had quieted everything except for the pattering of the raindrops that hailed from above.

he rolled over, his face falling into your chest as his shoulders quivered.

“i’m afraid,” he choked out.

“i know you are,” you pulled him flush against your body, massaging your fingers through his hair, “but i’m here for you. i’m always here for you”.

#hannibal #hannibal lecter #will graham #will graham hannibal #will graham angst #will graham hurt #will graham hurt comfort #will graham fanfic #will graham fanfiction #will graham reader #will graham x reader #will graham/reader #will graham blurb #will graham drabble #hannibal fanfiction #hannibal fanfic #hannibal blurb #hannibal drabble #will graham comfort

[butterfly-casket]

Sometimes breaking down and crying to your primary care physician....works

I was desperate for answers at the end of 2023. I mean, it's been 3 years and I still don't have answers. I had lost all hope, as I was gaining new symptoms, and still no one had any idea what could be wrong. Until I read about MS, and it fit nearly all of my symptoms. I scheduled the first appointment I could to discuss it with my primary. After scheduling it, I realized I had only scheduled a 20 min appointment, and spent 4 hours getting all of my symptoms typed out with dates of when they started, how long they lasted, when they got worse. I typed out a script to communicate to my doctor all of the most important/relevant information in the most condensed form possible. I was ready to be in and out, spend 5 minutes getting him the information, and the next 15 discussing with him the plan of action.

Instead, my doc was pissed that I was even there. I had only seen his NP up until this point and he was so upset that I, a person with so many issues, had come in to see him personally the Friday before his Christmas break. He made sure to spend the first 5 minutes of the appointment interrupting me to express his frustration, and I started to feel like he wasn't going to help me at all.

I couldn't help it. I couldn't stop myself as I started shaking out of fear, and then the anger-override kicked in. I whipped out my symptom list, and his demeanor immediately changed. I told him as calmly as I could in the moment "THAT is my symptom list. Are you just not going to help me?"

He started saying "Well its just that you're going to try and make this appointment take 3 hours—" I cut him off to say "No, I wanted to make this appointment 20 minutes but you just spent the first 5 putting your problems on me." *cues the flood gates* "I've had doctors, nurse practitioners, specialists all innaccurately record my symptoms, if they ever even recorded them at all. I have to walk with a cane, I haven't been able to work for a year and a half, I have NO income, I am just trying to survive and I've been dismissed and not believed over and over again, to the point that it's effected my medical records. It makes EVERYONE think I'm fucking INSANE. I just want some help. I just need some fucking help. I just need some fucking answers. Please."

He started getting in my chart and got to business. He immediately ordered about 8 retests and 6 new ones. He got me a referral to Neurology, ordered X-rays, a swallow test, and MRIs to check for MS.

I went to the Rheumatology appointment I already had scheduled a few weeks later. I felt like the doctor was actually listening to me for the first time in forever. He made a point to record every one of my symptoms as I listed them. He seemed to care. I just came back from my swallow test today. The person performing the test acted like he read through my whole chart and was asking me a lot of questions about my other issues. He asked me if I had the MRIs yet before the test, and when going over the results he said "If it does turn out to be MS, come back to us. We will help you, figure out what works for you."

I've been terrified of being too direct with my doctors, I wouldn't even tell them the diagnosises that I thought it COULD be out of fear of them going "You've just been looking up things on the internet, I'm giving you a munchausens diagnosis." But I was desperate. It was a real cry for help. And thank fuck he saw that. Even if I still don't find answers, I've brought to their attention the mistreatment and carelessness I've been dealing with and they have decided to change that. Hopefully I will be treated like a normal human being and get my symptoms recorded correctly.

#insane slur #tw insane slur #butterfly-casket #disabled #disability #multiple sclerosis #medical malpractice #medical maltreatment #disabled rights #doctor #doctors #PCP #medical records #chronic fatigue #chronic pain #chronic illness

[oksana-moods]

Queens of Promise - Part 8

Summary: The search for the unknown has proven to be harder than one previously thought, however you had gone too far to back down now. From your search or from Wanda. A/N: Hey guys, sorry to leave you hanging for this part. There were some changes that I wanted to do, and I was also trying to decide on some details. Hope you like it! Thank you for all your love, it means a lot.

Warning: Violence, gore, mentions of blood, mentions of death – you know the drill by now.

Previous parts here

"Have only just begun"

Wolfgang City – Sokovia

The air reeked to smoke and spice as it would in every single closed place in this city. Their wine was one of the finest, even the cheapest ones, but people still prefer to keep their warmth by inhaling the smoke of their thick cigars.

And the spice? Well, everything had spice. Cigars, wine, food, clothes, women. Spice, after all, saved Sokovians banks through their darkest times and they were the paramount seller of the world. If the gold mines ran out of its material, the red and green powder would make the gold come to their hands.

The man you were after stood several feet from you, enjoying the pleasures of life. You and Barton had been doing this dance for weeks now, and you’ve been trying to take him down for a chat for days, but you’re yet to be lucky.

Every day a different commotion gets in the way of your plans, however, tonight, he’d be the commotion.

Soon, the man started to cough and looked at his cigar as if it were the cause of it. He gasped for air and his companions started to run erratically around the brothel while the woman keeping him company dragged him into a room with clear, open windows so he could breathe properly.

The room you were at.

An hour later, the man woke up and, much to his consternation, he was strapped into a chair. He swallowed hard and looked around the room as if trying to remember where he was and how he ended up in this situation. Then, he saw you.

Comfortably seated across the room, there was you, patiently waiting for your time to shine. You saw his eyes assess you and by the wicked smile on his face, he didn’t see the threat on your pose, on your expressions or in your eyes.

‘Men, why do they always underestimate a woman?’  You mused to yourself while closing the distance between you and your prisoner.

His smile never waved, if anything, it grew wider as you approached him. “Never seen you ‘round ‘re, doll.”

You punctuated his sentence by punching him hard in the face. His chair almost toppled over to the side such was the force of your jab. “Don’t be a freak kinky.” You spat at him as he tried to gather his bearings.

“I thought we agreed I’d play the bad guard this time.” Barton’s voice filled the room as he walked out of the shadows, and you looked at him.

“He pushed his luck too early for my taste.” You growled and Clint chuckled at your short fuse.

“Who ‘re ya?” The man asked, eyes darting from the man to the woman standing in front of him. Now visibly concerned about the situation he found himself in.

“I am your friend.” Barton pointed to himself and grabbed a chair so he could take a seat, then pointed at you. “She? Not so much.”

Though, Clint barely gave the man time to sink in what he had just said, for he continued. “You see, we were told that you’d know where Harv Krickitt is.” The man looked at him as if terrified by the name, so he asked. “And would be wise of you to tell us where he is.”

The man grunted and howled in his chains as if he could summon the strength of a god to set himself free, but nothing happened. The gods wouldn’t hear him now.

“I will tell you nothing.” He bravely snarled at Barton, and you rolled your eyes. Soon, his face turned sharply to the side after another punch found his jaw.

“You know, she can do this all day.” Clint said, patronizingly, pretending to be bored already.

However, before he could do or say anything else. The man started to contort again, but this time, only his head. A second too late, Clint realized what he was about to do, but when he reached the prisoner, it was too late.

“Hail Hydra.” Were the man’s last words.

Out of anger, you kicked the chair closest to you and it hit the wall nearby with impressive force, as it shattered on the ground, you shouted. “Again! We’ve been chasing him for days and now he’s dead. Just like the others.”

Lord Barton was more than used to your short temper that seemed to fade shorter with every passing day without answers. After the first lead they received from Romanoff, they started to trail their own way of investigation, but every time they reached another dead end. Literally.

Harv Krickitt was the artist who produced the lion pendant that was used both as target setting and payment for your head three moons ago. Therefore, he was the one who could point them in the direction of who asked for his services about the necklace.

Once they knew who had asked for the jewelry, they’d find the trail of the conspirator and the conspiracy itself. The only problem was the artist had gone missing and his family didn’t see him for a while now, hence the interrogations. Though they always ended with a dramatic hail to hydra.

The only positive prospect of this mess was that someone from the Noble House of Hydra was meddling and working from the shadows to keep things out of the spotlight. The question was why someone from Hydrarr Realm, let alone from such important family, would go so many lengths to interfere with Sokovian politics?

As the night advanced, they got rid of the body and returned to their “house” for this mission. However, as soon as they entered the brothel, something seemed off.

The ladies seemed tense, the men and women attending the house were forcibly enjoying their evening in a way that verged the suspicious. Then, you saw a blade and another. Before you could warn your friend, he was already drawing his sword and attacking the closest person his metal could find.

“Get him, I’m sure he’ll make a nice slave. As for the girl, you may have your way with her, then kill her.” A man with broad shoulders and thick beard spat orders to his goons as he strolled towards Barton, drawing his sword.

‘The nerve of him’ You mused angrily. ‘Do all men in this city underestimate women?’ You attacked the person closest to you, which happened to be a woman, but she never stood the chance. Nor your next opponent who tried to use a double hand sword in a place full of furniture.

Really? This was combat rules 101. Small blades for small places.

One single movement of your sword and the man was no more. You jumped over a sofa when two men tried to strike at the same time, the first lost his arm and the second his life.

From the corner of your eye, you kept track of Barton’s whereabouts, and saw him struggling with two opponents plus the big, bearded guy. The leader of this attack.

“Greygov!” Someone shouted and the bearded man turned just in time to block your attack. He laughed rather maniacally when he parried your sword one more time.

He invested, and with a start, you knew you couldn’t beat him in this sword game. So, you stepped to the side, grabbed his extended arm and climbed through his body using his leg as step and pressed your own legs around his neck in a chokehold.

Two heartbeats later and the man fell. Quickly, you pulled your sword again and rested your blade on his neck, while your hand kept a firm grip on his collar. He knew you had his life at the palm of your hand.

You had Greygov kneeled in front of you, his back pressed against your front, and you were about to slice the life out of him when he spoke. “You didn’t mention you were a weirded, fighter woman.”

“Conversation was short, if I’m not mistaken.” You supplied and he laughed, more like growled, louder than someone in his position should.

“Do it, girl.” He basically asked you to end his life.

What was wrong with these people?

Regardless of your intentions in conceding his wish, a clap of hands filled the room that death had recently claimed, except for you, Barton and Greygov, who was still kneeled.

The source of the sarcastic applause was the one and only Wanda Maximoff, who waltzed into the destroyed saloon with all her glory in a crimson red gown. Her hair cascaded down past her shoulders and framed her face flawlessly and her lips, they had never looked so red before.

She was a walking masterpiece.

For a second, your hand with a death grip on Greygov’s collar faltered. It’s been almost three moons since you last saw her, yet she was still the epitome of perfection. If anything, she seemed almost ethereal to you.

The intensity portrayed by her eyes were like a punch in your stomach, but you held her gaze, nonetheless. This woman did things to you without even trying and she didn’t even know the power she had over you.

Or maybe she did know and did it on purpose.

You wanted to smile but you bit back and remained stoic. Your face would not betray your heart.

“When I heard about two outsiders leaving a trail of corpses, never in my life I’d guess that it was you.” Wanda spoke solely looking at you as if her eyes could devour your soul right then and there.

“And here I thought we were being subtle about it.” You didn’t know whether her comment was coated with sarcasm or not, but yours surely dripped with it. Every single body was a message to the next victim.

“Why are you here?” She demanded but you wouldn’t back down.

“Could you show some manners, Princess? This is our house and these fine gentlemen decided to pay us a visit, though I must say we partied too hard tonight.”

“Enough.” She yelled and you blinked. She was tense and you could see it.

“Romanoff, take Greygov and whoever was left alive. I want answers this time. Remove his teeth if that means he’ll live long enough to share some of his memories with us.” Wanda’s eyes were dark and the man by your feet whimpered lightly when her gaze fell on him.

You couldn’t blame him, though. Few people wouldn’t cower under such scrutiny, for Wanda’s eyes were filled with pure power.

“I already took a few, but one could never be sure.” Your sly smile came to your lips almost involuntarily. You knew this would rile Wanda and the hell if you loved her hatred directed at you. Somehow, she was even more beautiful mad and angry.

If you couldn’t have her, at least you’d have her attention. Because there was something about her that made you desperate for her attention and you knew how short her patience was when it came to you doing or speaking infuriating things.

“You, outsider. Follow me.” Wanda commanded and, though you were about to throw a remark, you realized that she didn’t use your title. She didn’t reveal your true identity. So, you followed her.

On your way out, you saw Bishop already offering some bandages to Clint so your friend could patch up some of his wounds. When you locked eyes, you nodded at him.

Outside the two-store building that you and Clint were residing in for the past weeks, you saw two horses ready and waiting to be mounted. Two other guards were guarding said horses. The night was pitch black and there wasn’t a single soul walking the streets.

Though, one could never be sure, especially in this neighborhood.

You watched as the redhead mounts her horse, and you pick the other. The woman doesn’t even spare you a glance, so you silently follow her. Several minutes later, you’re walking on a different neighborhood, not that you knew which one, but the houses were bigger, fancier.

Then, Wanda drops to her feet and walk towards a specific house. The exterior was imposing, vibrating colors and the riches promised outside were indeed founded when you followed her inside.

The room you were at was rather small but beautifully decorated with paintings and tapestries. The details of the furniture screamed Essos design and, though you didn’t climb to the second floor, you knew the room above would be just as elegant as the one you were in.

The place was warm and inviting, especially after riding a horse in a cold night. For a stance, there isn’t smoke or spice impregnating the place. It was warm without using the common subterfuges.

“What is this place?” You asked, after taking in every single detail you could from the room you’re standing in. “And please, don’t say it’s a house.” You added mocking an annoyed tone.

“This is the type of answer you should expect from someone like you.” Wanda spoke, closing the door after giving some orders to her men. “I’m educated; therefore, I’ll clarify that this house belongs to the crown. Dignitaries or emissaries from other realms stay in places like this if they wish not to stay in the castle.”

“Fancy house.” You reply, still looking around. But this time you do so to avoid the weight of her eyes. There was an energy emanating from Wanda that you couldn’t put your finger on, but it was starting to feel overwhelming. “Does this mean I’m now your prisoner?”

“What?” Wanda tilted her head to side, brows furrowed.

“You took me from the brothel and brought me here. What do you want?” You asked, now looking directly at her.

“What do I want?” She snorted, exasperated. “Are you mad?” It’s possible to see her face turning red with anger.

You knew there were some flags about her stance, but you stood your ground. Wanda Maximoff could be stubborn all she wanted, for you were just the same. “I’m afraid I don’t follow, Princess.”

“What were you thinking?” She shouted, patience waning little by little. Wanda couldn’t, for the life in her, understand how you could be so blind. And stupid. “Coming into Wolfgang! Don’t you see how dangerous this place is for you?”

The northern princess shakes her head, it’s unbelievable how reckless you were. “Want to get yourself killed? To enrage your mother so she can march with the whole south until she’s breaking our necks with her bare hands?”

“Look, you don’t need to get so worked up. Barton and I were keeping a low profile, the corpses were there, but no one really knew that we were the culprits.” You rested your back on a table behind you, but your arms were crossed on your chest as if to protect you from her energy.

“You can’t parade around my city leaving a track of dead people behind. What do you think this is?” Wanda snarls, and it was plain to see that she was annoyed at your actions. But you couldn’t dwell on her wellbeing right now, there was too much at stake.  

“We were investigating, Wanda. Don’t know if you forgot, but last time you and I were in the same room a fucking assassin tried to kill us both. To kill me.” You shouted back, patience long gone. “Someone is playing with us, and I want to know who the fuck is.”

“And you think I’m not aware of this? But someone is bound to learn who’s behind this creepy investigation of yours. You won’t do this anymore, I demand you.” Wanda’s tone was enlaced with an emotion that you couldn’t grasp, her eyes burned but it wasn’t hatred anymore.

“Why not?” You ask simply, ignoring her demand. You wanted to get to the bottom of this, but you couldn’t if the princess kept interfering with your business.

“Don’t you see how dangerous this is?” She repeated, louder this time, frustrated with your lack of perspective. “You pulled off with Greygov’s men because they didn’t know who you really are, but they won’t hesitate in kill you.” Her eyes turned soft for the first time that evening. “And by the gods, if they ever learn who you really are, I don’t even wanna know.”

“What’s the matter?” You shot back. Her worries ignited some sort of fire in you, yet you didn’t have a name for it. The air was impregnated with some sort of tension that could be sliced with a sword; it was suffocating.

“What’s the matter?” She repeated your words, exasperatedly. “Are you insane? Or just can’t see past your reckless ass?” Wanda ran her hands through her hair, now beyond angry.

You smirked, internally, at her choice of words, the Wanda you knew from the past would never use such mundane words. Yet here she was, speaking freely like a commoner as she always claimed she’d never.

“If I get killed is just a win-win for you, isn’t it?” Your eyes were harder than obsidian, death never frightened you. Failure does. “One less lioness to kill. Don’t need to act like you care about-”. You could never finish your sentence, for she cut you off before you could continue your little speech.

“Only I care.” Her voice went from full power to small, devoid of strength, yet it lit the flames in your heart. “I wish I didn’t, but I do care about you.” Her green eyes bored into you with the same force as thousands of horses would.

They were limpid, crystal clear. She meant every single word.

Once more, everything was Wanda.

You lunched your body forward and kissed her fiercely. You poured into a searing kiss every emotion you’ve bottled up inside your chest and oh you saw heaven when she laced her hands behind your shoulders, pulling you closer.

“You’re stupid.” She muttered between kisses, and you smiled at her.

“I know.” You replied right before leaning in for another round of pleasure obtained through her lips. Then, both pulled back a little for air and Wanda rested her forehead on yours, eyes closed in a bliss.

“I’ve missed you.” You whispered, as if afraid of speaking any louder could startle her and she’d flee back to the walls she keeps around her heart. As if any louder could break the moment and you’d realize it’s nothing but a dream. Again.

Apparently, you shouldn’t have spoken at all, for a second later, Wanda pulled back as if your skin was setting hers on fire. You watched as she took few steps back, shaking her head lightly the same way one does when they need to focus.

“This is a mistake.” Her words pierced through your skin sharper than any blade.

“Wanda-” You try but she cuts you again.

“No.” This time, her eyes are sad, and she’s long gone back to the walls she built around herself. “You are the Princess of Taharr, and you’re not supposed to be here or doing what we just did.”

It’s plain to see that she speaks as if trying to convince or remember herself of the situation you were in. You wouldn’t forget your duty but couldn’t deny your feelings towards her either. There should be a way of doing both.

“You don’t believe that.” You tentatively try, heart pounding on your ribcage.

“I- I do!” She asserts, but you caught her light stutter. She’s afraid of something. The same thing that’s been holding her back since Fury Valley and your first kiss. “I hate you.” She vowed.

“You just kissed me.” You snorted, slightly confused at her sudden change of heart. It was easier to follow a whiplash than the woman in front of you.

“So what?” Wanda snorts but you see right through her. Trying to hide something, she derisively retorts. “Who said I can’t kiss someone just because I hate them?” The redhead flashes you a smirk but it’s all for a show.

Squinting your eyes, you ignore her snide remark for the moment and try to see past her words to grasp what was behind it. Her eyes, her stance… everything felt like it was backwards. She wasn’t just fooling around when she kissed you. You felt how she meant it, for her passion still burned your very own tongue.

You take one step towards her and try again. “What are you so afraid of?” Your voice was soft, you had never felt so vulnerable before as you do now.

“You.” It was your turn to be startled by her voice, or by what she had just said. “I- Yo-… I don’t understand the things I feel when I’m around you. Or with you.” Wanda voices, for the first time, out loud, part of all the trouble she’d been guarding inside her heart.

“Well, I do.” You take another step and lock eyes with the goddess standing in front of you. “I know that I never felt this way for no one and whenever you’re gone I just can’t-.” You search your poor brain but there aren’t words to express what you feel. You too don’t quite understand, you’re so new to this.

You’re so new to love, because all this time you’ve been doing war. Up and down. Left and right. Even the one thing that could resemble to love in your life was, in the end, part of a ploy. Politics.

“Can’t?” The Scarlet Knight asked, and her voice brought you out of your head, out of your search. Wanda looked at you curiously, and genuinely waiting for you to explain something that you couldn’t.

“I can’t stop thinking about you.” You said, finally, and you saw the ghost of a smile gracing her lips, only for it to fade back into a thin line.

“You’re my enemy.” She says one more time and were you counting, you’d have surpassed the number of the stars in the sky with how many times she tried to remember herself or you of that little important fact.

“You sound like a broken tune, Maximoff.” A dashing smile comes to your lips as you remember the last time you spoke that exact same sentence to her. It felt like a lifetime ago, but her scent still invaded your nostrils.

Just like now.

Once more, you were one step away from her and you could see her eyes darting from your eyes to your lips. Searching for something that only the gods could know. Yet, you stood there. Waiting.

“You know what I hate the most about you?” Her eyes narrow, but you catch a hint of humor on her rhetorical, what makes your grin go wider. “I hate your perfect teeth.”

Your laugh filled the room entirely. You loved the passion seeping through every single word coming out of her mouth and you knew she meant it. Wanda never lied; she just didn’t understand that hate didn’t fit in it anymore.

“If you really hate me would be so much easier for you, wouldn’t it?” You ask shuffling closer to her, without taking a proper step. Wanda, much like a wild mare, tended to see danger on the slightest of movements. Or words.

“Who said I don’t really hate you?” The redhead dropped her hands to her hips, consternation covering her like a coat. The action made your knees weak, her beauty verges the unholiness.

Boldly, you grabbed her cheeks with your hands as to lock her in place. “If that’s so, look into my eyes and say it.” You defied, there was a confidence present in your words that you didn’t feel it in yourself.

But after so many years practicing to hide your fears and let people see what they expected to see, hide your true feelings was now an easy feature or accessible tool whenever you needed it. Like the exact moment you were in.

Your eyes focused on hers, and this close, they were bigger than the moon. Certainly, they could swallow you inside her pools without sparing you a second to think if you knew how to swim. Right then and there, they invited you to dive in without a promise that you’d ever come back.

As for Wanda, she felt as though her heart was about to jump out of her chest and every inch of her skin burned, a very good and pleasant burn, where your hands touched her. She could feel the softness which you held her despite your calloused hands.

She could see, written in your eyes, just how scary this was for you. It was scary, indeed. All Wanda had come to know was hate, yet she hated how fast her heart beats whenever you flash that smile, whenever your eyes tried to pierce her soul.

She hated how physically gut-wrenching her jealousy was the second she learnt that you were in a brothel, with so many women at your disposal. She hated how, whenever you were around, nothing else mattered to her.

She hated, foremost, how desperately torn she felt when, right after touching your heavenly lips with hers, she thought she’d lose you. Wanda Maximoff was scared that she wasn’t good enough to protect you. From the world. From herself.

“I- I-.” She tried, but again, the words faltered. Wanda closed her eyes, suddenly, too tired to keep trying to fight back the emotions hidden, buried in her chest.

“I hate that I adore you.” The statement seemed to resonate on the walls and lingered.

The redhead felt a pair of oh so soft lips touching her forehead tenderly, then your hands leaving her face. She had to physically stop herself from whining at the loss of contact, but soon your hands were back, this time picking her up bridal style.

She let her head fall on to your shoulder as you climbed the stairs. The bedroom was even more beautiful than you expected, but you didn’t have eyes for anything else other than the beauty resting in your arms.

Carefully, you lowered her and laid Wanda on the bed. You could see how tense and how tired she was. She deserved to rest. You brushed few strands of her silky hair out of her face just so you could engrave her perfection on to your mind, then, kissed her one more time and left.

Though, you couldn’t have gone so far but the door until her voice echoed throughout the room again and stopped you in your tracks.

“Where are you going?” She asked, already climbing off the bed.

“You’re tired.” You reply matter-of-factly as if this could explain your absence when the real reason was that now it was your turn to be scared. The things you felt for Wanda went beyond your imagination, but you knew you didn’t want to mess things up and treat her any less than she should be treated.

“Don’t leave.” Wanda asked, now closer to you. So much so that goosebumps shot up and down your spine. “Please.” A hand – her hand reaches, tentatively, for yours and it’s so tender and so warm that it hurts.

She makes you turn to look at her and, once you do, her eyes sparkled in the poor light coming from the fireplace in a way that was utterly unfair with your heart. She slips one hand over your cheek, and you lean into her touch as if touch-starved for centuries.

The thump of your heart was so loud in your ears that you thought she’d be able to hear it too. However, she rested her other hand over your chest, and she did feel the thundering going on beneath her soft palm. Her eyes trailed from her hand to your eyes in that inquisitorial way without saying any word and by the gods, you were metaphorically on your knees for Princess Wanda Maximoff of Sokovia.

Smut Part Part 9

Taglist: @californianwhiterabbit

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda x fem!reader #queens of promise #princess wanda #princess reader #medieval au #wanda maximoff #wanda x you #wanda x reader #wanda maximoff x female reader #wanda maximoff x you #wanda maximoff x fem! reader #wanda x female reader #enemies to lovers #angst #marvel series #marvel angst

[diorleclerc]

𝐢𝐜𝐞 𝐬𝐤𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 + 𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐥𝐥

lance was horrified when he found out you didn’t know how to ice skate.

“what do you mean you don’t know how to ice skate?” he asks and you just shrug. “i just never learned,” you explain.

“did you never go as a kid?” he asks. “i did. but i never really learned how to do it. i always used those things for little kids,” you shrug again.

“okay we need to change this. i’m teaching you how to ice skate,” lance says. “it’s not that big of a deal,” you laugh. “it’s a huge deal. who doesn’t know how to ice skate?” he exclaims.

“uh, i don’t,” you remind him. “after i give you some lessons you will,” he says.

—

you didn’t think lance was serious about the ice skating lessons but the next morning, he woke you up early.

“it’s 8 in the morning lance, i am not going ice skating at this hour,” you mutter, trying to pull the covers back over yourself but he doesn’t let you. “oh no, sweets. get up. i need the entire day to make sure you’re a pro,” he says and pulls the covers off, making you groan.

he holds his hands out for you to help you sit up but you end up pulling him down onto the bed.

“five more minutes,” you whisper, wrapping your arms around him. “fine,” he says, giving in and cuddling with you a bit longer.

you finally get out of bed twenty minutes later and get ready for the day. lance drives you over to the ice skating rink and when you walk in, you see that its completely empty.

“are you sure they’re open? maybe they’re closed. we can come back another time,” you start to turn to walk right back out but lance stops you. “they’re open, don’t worry. i rented the entire place out for us,” he says casually.

“i’m sorry you did what?” you ask and he just shrugs. “i thought it’d be better to have the whole place to ourselves so i can give you a private lesson,” he starts. “and so you won’t be embarrassed when you fall on your ass,” he adds, smacking your ass. “hey! rude!” you yell and he just laughs.

you wait for lance to go get your skates and while you’re waiting, you start to get nervous.

“do we really have to do this?” you ask as he laces up your skates for you. “nervous?” he jokes but when he looks up at your face, he realizes that you actually are.

“sweets, you’re going to be fine. i’ll be with you the entire time,” lance says. “okay but what if i slip and fall and slice my hand open with the ice skate?” you ask and he just stares at you for a couple seconds before bursting out into laughter.

“you have quite the imagination, sweetheart. but i promise that’s not going to happen and i definitely won’t let it,” lance says.

he finally manages to convince you to come out onto the ice with him, taking things slowly.

you’re holding onto him tightly the entire time, terrified that if you let go you’re gonna fall down.

“baby, i’ve got you,” lance chuckles but your grip on his hands doesn’t loosen up.

he skates backwards slowly, guiding you along with him.

“see? you got this,” lance says. “i feel like i’m gonna fall on my face any second now,” you say even though you’re starting to get the hang of it

“i’m not gonna let that happen, sweetheart,” he tells you. “but i am gonna let go of your hands now,” he says and starts to drop your hands.

“lance don’t you dare–”

“you got this, baby. come on, you’ve got the hang of it already,” lance says. “and i promise i’ll stay close and i won’t let you fall,” he adds.

you reluctantly agree and let go of his hands. you slowly skate over to him and from the way lance hypes you up, you’d think you just won an ice skating contest.

“okay fine, this is kinda fun,” you admit after a bit more skating around. “see? i told you so,” he grins.

#ls #lance stroll fluff #diorleclerc drabbles

[justaboot]

Ahh, tagged by @hueberryshortcake (thanks! also this was the thing someone tagged me in and lost weeks ago so bless <3)

how many fics do you have on ao3?

omg 8, what even are they.

what's your total ao3 word count?

174,260 oh my GOd

what fandoms do you write for?

- I've only posted for DT but I've got a 10th Doctor/River fic in my drafts

what are your top five fics by kudos?

And a Sixpence in Your Shoe

In Situ

I've Got Time

Everyone Loves a Reunion (A come from behind win?)

Gentle as it Goes

do you respond to comments? why or why not?

- I try so hard to reply to everybody, but I've got weapons grade anxiety so sometimes I'm worried people will think I'm self-important. I've actually found I'm less likely to respond to tumblr mutuals? More anxiety? Unclear but I'm smashing my face into my hands at every comment.

what's the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

I can't handle ending on angst. Gentle as it Goes, definitely, but I hate it, I cannot handle splitting the party.

what's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Sixpence definitely has the most Disney Fairytale Everything Works Out ending, but writing I've Got Time's button fixed something in me I think.

do you get hate on your fics?

The first comment I ever got ever was DellaHate gbless, thanks AO3 User DellaDuckShouldDie for your insightful comment of "Della Duck should be destroyed."

do you write smut?

I've written it for other things, I'm not shook by it and its a great storytelling tool just like everything else, but not cartoon characters. I...I have one explicitly human DT fic that. I. Well. We'll see. Its a genre test run for something original and they're pointedly human, but I guess I'll cop to that one?

do you write crossovers? what's the craziest one you've ever written?

I hate crossovers stay away from me I cant wrap my head around it

have you ever had a fic stolen?

Nah. Where would you go with it, we're all in the same room.

have you ever had a fic translated?

No but that'd be so cool!

have you ever cowritten a fic before?

girlfriend and I made an absolute banger of a spn fic together on a 12 hour roadtrip. Its not written down but we've got it beat for beat.

what's your all time favorite ship?

The Doctor and River will never fail to make me lay down they're them I dont even know what to say

what's a wip you want to finish, but doubt you ever will?

-I've got 1/3rd of an OG3 prequel episode fic written, but it has to be part of a series and that's just...not gonna happen.

what are your writing strengths?

oh god i dont know don't look at me dialogue? I get a lot of comments about in-character dialogue/behavior lets go with that.

what are your writing weaknesses?

I have "I'll finish it later, let me start this new one real quick" disease.

thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic?

I haven't done so, I'm fine with French but I'm terrified across the board of The Comment From A Native Speaker.

first fandom you wrote for?

Let me tell you about Tid, my halfling OC based on my Lord of the Rings Online character who played very little of the actual game and just ran laps around the shire. Elementary school core.

favorite fic you've ever written?

I am putting Sixpence on the award shelf for having finished something so big and I've Got Time was me getting a good grade in therapy. Right now I'm actually really proud of Dear Fellow Traveller? They're just lil kids and omg they're swimming in the Little Lake watering hole in the sierras I did that how did the author know

Tagging.... @writebackatya and @shychick-52

[sebsxphia]

Rhett and his girl are at the rodeo both competing. They’ve been there for two days and yesterday was full of victories for both. Rhett was the last to ride and got a rough start on his second ride but lasted the 8 seconds he needed to win and set a new record. After getting up from the dirt his eyes locked with yours that sparkled with love and immense proudness for him. He kissed walked over and kissed you deeply, the crowd cheering as he celebrated his victory. His heart swelling with pride and love and pure happiness. If he could’ve he would’ve asked you to marry him again right then and there under the stadium lights. Not two hours later, he felt his chest tighten and world start spinning. Your horse had got spooked by a stray sound coming from the bleachers and took off in the wrong direction from the barrels you had so expertly maneuvering around two seconds earlier. You lost your footing and when the mare bucked and kicked, you were tossed off landing in the dirt with a thud. 1 second, 3 seconds, 5 seconds, 30 seconds, 45 seconds and you still hadn’t moved and Rhett blood ran cold and he hurdled over the railings to you. His brand new buckle forgotten. Forever marked the day at the rodeo that the cowboy and his very own cowgirl struck gold and fortune ran out. (She is not dead fyi. I refuse to do that to Rhett.)

-🥊 (don’t ask me where this came from. I cannot answer. Lmao I think 5:30am or pm is a high activity brain hour. I hope you enjoy this lil blurb love and doing okay! Mwah!! )

ouch ouch ouch!!!!!

i absolutely love this lil burb my dear anon thank you so much!! i’m doing all okay too, i hope you’re all okay too! 🥹💖

i know what you mean about the brain activity, during the day it’s just a dead zone.

i kinda ran away with this, this touched me so bad! i hope you enjoy! mwah! 💌

Rhett didn’t leave your side for the rest of the night. He stayed with you when the medic on sight checked you over, when you were both sat under the bright lights of the hospital and when he carried you up the stairs and placed you gently down on your bed at 4 AM. He was terrified he would break you any further, like you were this pretty porcelain doll.

Checking you over and brushing your hair softly out of your eyes, he turned on his heel to fetch your painkillers. “Don’t.” He heard you weakly call out after him, your arms out stretched as far as they could. “Please, don’t leave me. I need you. I want to feel close to you again.”

Rhett being by your side the whole night was a comfort, but you needed to feel like you were home again.

He cradled you gently in his lap, calloused hands reaching around to rest carefully on your back, helping you move up and down on his hips. There was only hot and fragile moans falling from your lips, occasionally hearing his name being called out softly.

“Marry me.” It’s not a question, he knows he doesn’t have to ask. “I can’t risk loosing you like that again, and if I do, I want it to be with a ring on your finger.”

“Yes… yes. God, yes.”

He saw the way the corner of your mouth twitched up into that little smile he’d come to love so much and the same twinkle in your eye you had, when looking at him across the stadium all those hours ago.

#💌you’ve got mail #rhett abbott fanfiction #rhett abbott fic #rhett abbott x female reader #rhett abbott x you #rhett abbott x reader #rhett abbott #rhett abbott smut #🥊 anon

[yamatossideboob]

ONE PIECE 1114 SPOILERS!

This week's deductions:

YAMATOOOOOOOOOOOO 👍👍👍👍👍

lmao the Marines are bricking it. I wonder how much Akainu knows about the impending flood...

I'm loving the little location cameos, microdosing nostalgia

Doflamingo what are YOU doing here!

Hi Magellan! still shitting for 8 hours a day?

how much does Doffy know.... more than Magellan thats for sure lol

I love the earthquake detail, we needed a way for this global audience to know Vegapunk isn't just bullshitting and this does the job nicely. Terrifying!

LONG RING LONG LAND!!!!!!!!!!

This big panel of the Mother Flame finally revealed is so chilling... the image of a single flame, suspended in liquid and still burning, in a gigantic mechanical vat is so ominous to me. What on earth was the ancient kingdom cooking...?

WAIT FUCK THE ANCIENT ROBO IS DOING SOMETHING?? UGHHHHHHH WTF ODA GIVE US ANSWERR

I know we won't see his visage yet but I want to see Imu seething over Vegapunk dropping lore SO badly lmfao. See him kicking a table over or something.

Do the CDs actually *know* what the Void Century was about? Or are they just manky over VP knowing what they're not allowed to lmao. Also hi Celestial Dragon Woman being set up to be relevant later.

JAGUAR D. SAUL YOU SONNOVABITCH (clasps his hand in friendship). I'm loving this, our lad is chilling in Elbaf, loling at auld Vegapunk fucking WG shit up by dropping the no-no history. I wonder who his companion is...

ORANGE TOWN??!!! BOODLE??!!! FUCKING CHOUCHOU????!!!!! we really are in the final saga lads christ alive

Tiny Amazon Lily panel,ty for the morsel

I hope that pertinent Robin panel is hinting that SHE'LL be the one to actually tell us properly about the Void Century and the ancient kingdom and the rest, but i am increasingly doubtful :/ Vegapunk DOES say later he knows barely anything about the VC, but unfortunately this is Nico Robin we're talking about, and few are more underserved than she...

Edison you champion, ty for your sacrifice

So yeah we're REALLY gearing up to gtfo of Egghead now aren't we

I just. fucking love the juxtaposing of the Joyboy namedrop, coupled with the new knowledge that he was the First Pirate, this incredibly significant piece of informaiton, with Luffy being a Nika doofus lmfaooooooooooooooooooo

I've already seen people spec that we're getting a massive flashback next chp, and that doesn't feel wrong, but I just want Robin to be the one to share all that... cop that Nika namedrop too, I wonder if people watching who've met Luffy are going to make that connection? fufufu

but yes, another 2 week break, earned but godddddd I cannot wait for whats coming next. until next time! 💪✖️

#live from ohara #op spoilers

[dondon-patapon]

Observation Log 8: 1/23 10:34 PM

Temp: 36 deg.

Weather: Comfortably cool

Obs: More fireflies in the air tonight.

You’d be hard-pressed to call the weather tonight ‘warm’, but in comparison to the past week or so the difference is quite noticeable. It seems to have brought out more of these fireflies that I first spotted last night. More of them, and more active too. Flitting about, dancing and bobbing here and there. A massive flood of stars crowding around my lighthouse, blotting out the night. 

With the strange occurrence of last night out of my mind, I could finally look on them with a note of curiosity. Perfectly natural insects, from what I can tell. An unusual gathering in a place like this, perhaps, but for once my mind could wander without imminent threat.

I missed the gentle chirp of insects in the warm night sky. Staring up at the moon and the stars far above, crying out to something unknown - or just simply conversing with each other. Fireflies flitting about amidst the grass casually. The sky itself, crystal clear. Moon bright. Stars shining down, to the point the night sky took on a faint blue hue. A night filled to the brim with warmth, with life. And she’d be there. We’d be there, together, sharing that simple joy.

I always loved camping, even when my family refused to come with me. It was always with friends I learned to survive and thrive outdoors - we’d just pack up and leave town for a weekend, find a place and set up camp. And just talk for hours on end. Just living our best lives together. My escape from who my parents wanted me to be. This little slice of myself, of what I wanted. 

I wanted to see the world, to travel and meet new people, see them grow and struggle and thrive amidst it all. As many times as I’ve wondered how it all went wrong, my mind always comes back to Tsuki. Even when my friends started going their own ways, she still came with camping. She told me later on that it terrified her the first few times, that she wasn’t always fully into it. But she kept coming because she knew how much it mattered to me, and grew to love it just as much. To think she wondered why I fell in love with her.

I didn’t want to be the stuffy, closed-off diplomat my parents had penciled me in as. I wanted to travel the world with her together. To start a life just for us, and anyone else who crossed into our orbit. Where I am now, I wanted to think I was still holding onto that bit of rebellion. But who am I now anymore? A hermit by herself in a near-empty corner of the universe?

Perhaps I’ll step outside for a moment to clear my head and take in this nostalgic night view.

#the lighthouse at the edge of the universe #ttrpg #indie ttrpg #dondon-lighthouse

[darsynia]

Trust Fall | Ch 16b

ARC image by Eury Escodero | gif by 'visnja' found on pinterest (no account sry)

Story Masterlist | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Summary: Tony/OC, ‘terrorists made us fall in love;’ IM1 timeline. In this chapter, Tony makes Fury's day miserable, and Clint and Natasha do their best to get Emory the things she needs at SHIELD.

Length: 2,845

Taglist: @starryeyes2000 @raith-way @arrthurpendragon @themaradaniels @starksbf @chickensarentcheap @tiny-anne

Excerpt:

"Janice over in research wanted to know if field ops’ landlines were tied up too, but I told her I wasn’t up there.” Clint seems like he’s just immune to the oppressive, fondant-thick tension wrapped around all of them, but it seems more like his behavior is the icing on Fury’s anger cake.

“All of them are,” Fury says, jerking his arm forward to reveal that he’d been pulling a suitcase.

...Emory recognizes it. It’s hers, the one she’d taken to Afghanistan. She shoots a begging, terrified glance toward Natasha. The other woman’s expression softens as she nods; it’s almost too subtle to notice, unless you’re a frightened, demoralized kidnapping victim in desperate need of both reassurance and clean clothing.

Emory takes a deep breath to fortify herself for the task of pulling focus, but Clint’s phone rings again. Instead of the default ringtone this time, though, it’s a custom one. Bon Jovi’s Shot Through the Heart.

Everyone looks at him.

“I need to take this,” Clint says, grinning.

Chapter Sixteen: 5:44 AM to 8:27 AM in Washington, D.C.

A half hour after his call cut out so abruptly, Tony’s in one of his cars on the way to Stark Industries. He’s called back multiple times, only to be fobbed off with increasingly desperate and insulting excuses. The problem with shadowy government agencies is that they’re designed to obscure the difference between a genuine lack of information and utter fucking incompetence.

Emory is probably okay, but that doesn’t help much. The things she asked him to say right before losing the connection had been both cruel and effective. Tony needs to tell her he loves her and he’d only said them because she’d asked him to. She’d screamed that it needed to sound real, and, well, Tony’s an overachiever.  

The bitch on the phone at SHIELD probably isn’t making enough money for her spectacular talent at giving zero information in the most neutral tone of voice possible-- and now they’ve stopped even picking up. The thing is, it’s nearly seven in the morning. Tony has all day to use his not inconsiderable influence to find out what the fuck is going on. He’s going to tie up every single available phone line at the company, for starters.

When the phone company opens for business, Tony will personally call their marketing department and find out how many lines he can rent for the day. If SHIELD wants to waste time blocking thousands of California numbers, they’re welcome to. If they sic the law on him, Tony can blame the kidnapping for his criminal harassment, offer to pay for a full ride for a hundred children disadvantaged by terrorist acts or kidnapping or telephone mishaps. Whatever is necessary.

Tony parks in his designated spot, lets himself in the building, and jitters his way through the elevator ride. Ten minutes later, every single external line at SHIELD headquarters is busy with long-distance calls, and the two remaining fax machines that are still hooked up start printing.

They get surprisingly far before they’re challenged.

To Emory, it seems like whoever Natasha is, she’s got the kind of seniority that is both earned and granted from on high. The person who finally does stop them from reaching the front doors of the building is a young security guard whose Adam’s apple is bobbing so quickly it could inspire a techno beat.

“Pardon, I mean, excuse me, Agent Romanoff. You’re, you’re not authorized to leave the build-- the premises.”

“You want to back that up with some kind of proof?” Natasha says, crossing her arms.

“Come on, Nat, you know what he means.” Clint saunters up from behind the large metal statue that serves to break up the vastness of the large entry area. “You’re welcome to leave. By yourself.”

“I don’t see how taking her with me will be much different. She’s got no training, has no knowledge of the mission-- she doesn’t even have any clothes or personal belongings. She’s a nobody. A ghost.”

“Nice to meet you too,” Emory mutters under her breath.

“Unless she can dematerialize, she’s going to need authorization. Unless…” Clint grins and winks at Emory, still directing his words at his partner. “Did you know Howard Stark was one of the founders of SHIELD?”

Emory’s heart leaps at the last name, only to crash like a lead weight through the rest of her organs, leaving bile and pain in its wake. A cruel voice in her head taunts her. ‘Tony wasn't lying about not wanting to be around you. He's probably grateful that you're not in California!’ Stop. Stop! she tries to tell herself, mentally struggling to slam the storm doors shut. Clint is still talking, and she refocuses on what he’s saying.

“--embedded a clause in the code of conduct. Trial by combat. So, you want to leave with her? Kick my ass.”

“The floor here is marble, Barton. I have no specific desire to make an omelet out of your head, I actually like working with you,” Natasha says, sounding supremely irritated.

“You won’t get that far,” Clint shrugs.

Natasha’s shoulders slump for a moment in seeming defeat before she leans over and rips the sock off of her foot. Clint’s expression is initially baffled, but he performs an impressive dodging spin backwards to avoid Natasha’s sudden leaping kick. That slight delay is enough for her to connect, grazing him with the toe of her boot. She drops to a fighting stance so fluidly that Emory despairs of ever being helpful to either of these people. 

What follows is the kind of fight sequence that people pay millions to choreograph, light, film, and edit. A small crowd gathers, cheering each hit no matter who connects. Rather than being a liability, Natasha’s bare foot is an asset, allowing her increased traction on the smooth marble as she steals lightning-fast jabs at her partner. For his part, Clint seems to know everything about Natasha’s outfit, enough to flick open two separate pockets that cause objects to fall out while they fight. She kicks both of them away, but the distraction is powerful both times.

Their battle is clearly a joy rather than a dispute. Both are smiling, and when Clint gets a phone call, the two back away from each other so he can answer it.

“Am I supposed to use this as a diversion?” Emory hisses over to Natasha.

The redhead smiles enigmatically. “No, it’s for--”

“What in the Sam Hill is going on?”

Director Fury’s voice booms in the wide open lobby space. 

“--him.”

A few suited agents scatter to reveal a frowning, trenchcoated figure stalking towards them from the glass doors.

“You going to make me repeat myself?” he demands.

“Phone call,” Clint says lightly, holding up his smartphone and actually wiggling it back and forth to reveal the ‘call ended’ screen. Behind the words is an image of purple flames.

“Does hell want you back? Because I’d be happy to oblige,” Fury says ominously.

“Nah, Janice over in research wanted to know if field ops’ landlines were tied up too, but I told her I wasn’t up there.” Clint seems like he’s just immune to the oppressive, fondant-thick tension wrapped around all of them, but it seems more like his behavior is the icing on Fury’s anger cake.

“All of them are,” Fury says, jerking his arm forward to reveal that he’d been pulling a suitcase.

...Emory recognizes it. It’s hers, the one she’d taken to Afghanistan. She shoots a begging, terrified glance toward Natasha. The other woman’s expression softens as she nods; it’s almost too subtle to notice, unless you’re a frightened, demoralized kidnapping victim in desperate need of both reassurance and clean clothing.

Emory takes a deep breath to fortify herself for the task of pulling focus, but Clint’s phone rings again. Instead of the default ringtone this time, though, it’s a custom one. Bon Jovi’s Shot Through the Heart.

Everyone looks at him.

“I need to take this,” Clint says, grinning.

“Get the fuck out of here. All except you and you,” Fury growls, pointing at Natasha and Emory. In less than ninety seconds, they are the only three in the lobby. He turns to Natasha. “Do not make me repeat myself.”

“Sir, you pulled me off of a mission halfway across the world so I could start training her three days early. That extraction definitely cost more than a pair of shoes, so I’d say ‘what in the Sam Hill is going on’ is an excellent question,” Natasha notes.

Emory has spent years knowing how to watch Rory Fall’s body language for signs that she was anxious, at her emotional limit, or fronting, and for the first time, Emory has that sense about Natasha. There’s a twist in the angle of her hips, like she’s planting her foot not to show her seriousness but in preparation to dash away to safety. Unlike Clint, whose blithe unconcern had seemed both manic and strangely self-assured given the circumstances, Natasha is uncertain.

She’s sticking her neck out for Emory, even though Natasha’s probably spent more time reading her file than talking to her.

“Money isn’t the problem. Policy is. Her belongings were recovered from the attack site, but once the platoon was informed of her--” Fury’s expression twists into disdain. “--‘release,’ military guidelines allow the owner seventy-two hours to claim their items before they can be destroyed.”

“What if I had spent that whole time unconscious?” Emory asks, aghast. Fury turns the rolling suitcase so he can push it toward her. When she rests her hand on the handle, its warmth is somehow comforting. “They didn’t inform us about that. I would have thought that Rory--” 

She breaks off, grief surging unchecked upwards through the chasm her sinking heart had created. Rory had left the country without her, without anything that belonged to her, and she’d probably done it in an angry huff, too. She would have seen Emory’s absence as a betrayal.

A surge of guilt now chases the grief. There isn’t much point in asking if there have been messages left for her, because after years of working with Rory, Emory has pulled back from everyone. Even her parents have been trained to accept minimal contact, and isn’t that one of the most awful silver linings one could come up with for a long-term kidnapping?

The mental suitcase she’s been shoving inconvenient truths into is going to burst open pretty soon, if she keeps this up.

Natasha has stepped closer to Fury and is now speaking quietly to him. Emory doesn’t blame them; she’s overwhelmed and overstimulated and basically useless, right now. Even standing in the lobby area with its huge expanse in either direction and high ceilings is making her feel nervous. She almost wants to ask if there’s a chance they can just forget everything and send her back to her room for another sandwich. Not for the first time, Emory wonders what the fuck she’s doing here. At least I’ve been too confused and upset to generate power, she thinks to herself. Natasha’s spare sock is nearby, and impulsively Emory grabs it, turning her suitcase sideways to sit on it and take off the agent’s boot, replacing it with the sock.

“Agreed,” Fury says to Natasha, his voice raised loud enough for Emory to hear it. “Emory?”

“Present,” she calls out, channelling Tony, but she gets up, holding the boot out for Natasha to take.

“Agent Romanoff would like to take you out for breakfast and to speak to you about the mission,” Fury says sourly. Emory gets the impression that this had been a compromise.

“I’d like that, but… can I talk to Tony first?”

“No you may not,” Fury snaps. She steps back, stung, and he holds up a hand. The gesture is part frustration, part consolation. “I don’t care what tricks he picked up in Afghanistan, I don’t negotiate with terrorists. Stark’s shut down every single phone line in the building, and access to you is the only leverage I’ve got.”

“You could ask her for advice about that,” Natasha suggests, her face hidden as she zips her boot.

“It’s too early for this shit,” the director mutters. “You two: go eat, get caught up. I’ve got a threatening email to compose.”

“Does Stark Industries make cell phones?” Emory asks, right as Fury starts to walk away. She can feel a tiny buzzing hum at the fact that Tony didn’t just give up trying to reach her. It could barely blow out a match, but it’s something.

Fury stops, but he doesn’t turn.

“I guess bribing him to stop is more like a reward for bad behavior,” Emory realizes aloud, blushing.

“If your boyfriend hasn’t shut down our internet, you can order some shoes when you come back. Maybe that’ll prevent you from putting your foot in your mouth.”

With that, Fury stomps off.

“Welcome to SHIELD,” Natasha says with an elegant shrug. “If it helps, my orientation was worse.”

When Tony finally does get through on one of his 492 rented phone lines, it’s ninety infuriating minutes later and he’s bought and canceled three different cross-country flights on two separate airlines, having waffled between the in-person brute force approach and a remote one.

“Stark, I am not a relationship counselor,” Nick Fury says in exasperation. The speakers in Tony’s office really do capture a lot of nuance in tone.

“You don’t like that job? Put her back on the phone.”

“I don’t care if you buy up the entire telephone network, Stark. I said once a day, I meant once a day! You’ll be down to once a week if I get one more goddamned call--”

Tony makes a cut-off gesture, but even JARVIS can’t prevent an already-ringing phone from continuing to ring.

“Well, look at that, a call from Stark Industries.”

“That was initiated ten seconds ago, Director Fury. Sir,” Tony tries, but Fury is having none of it.

“You heard me. Once a week.”

“It was already ringing!” Tony explodes.

“All those phone lines, and what did it get you?” With that, Fury hangs up. 

Exactly thirty seconds later, Tony gets an email with a weekly fucking schedule of times for their calls, all set to occur at 6 AM EST. There’s also an admonition that SHIELD will be monitoring his travel and will adjust the attached schedule should Tony take a plane (or train, or bus, or motorcycle, or, or, or) to Washington.

“Keep calling, JARVIS,” Tony grits out. “All day. If anyone answers, blast them with something really annoying.” He snaps his fingers a couple of times, trying to remember the song Captain America sold war bonds with. His dad had always said that hearing it a few times in a row was enough to drive a person crazy. “The one about Captain America and his…” Tony makes a gesture that’s unintelligible, even for him, as he searches for the right word. It’s right on the tip of his-- “Bling,” he finally says.

“Could it be ‘The Star-Spangled Man,’ sir?”

“Yes! That’s it. Every time they answer, blast ‘em. No one gets to use the phone at SHIELD today.”

“I’ll add criminal harassment to the list, then.”

He doesn’t tell JARVIS he’d already planned on that one. There isn’t much point.

Tony drops into his chair and stares at all three monitors. As he watches, the status bars showing the call progress blink on and off as they attempt to connect. Vindictively, he wants to add other SHIELD offices to the list, maybe even shut down the entire agency, but there’s a kernel of value in what Emory said about stopping that scientist.

He blows out a frustrated sigh and spins the chair sideways so he isn’t looking at the evidence of his tantrum. When the consequences are a value dip in his stock, that’s something he can bear. It’ll go back up. When he loses a business deal because they’re too uptight to deal with his arrogance, that’s fine. He’ll make a better one with someone else. None of the people he really cares about, none of the people he loves have been at risk like this before.

Tony can almost hear Rhodey’s chuckle. “I thought you liked learning new things?” he’d probably say.

He doesn’t want to learn new things anymore. He wants to enjoy the new thing he’s already learned, how to love someone and want the best for them. He wants to learn how to be better at doing that. Taking something he is already pleased with and improving it is one of the things he truly enjoys.

He has never tried to do that with a relationship before.

That thought brings up a different one. According to the email from Director Nick Fury of the Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement, and Logistics Division, Tony Stark is being told not to use airplanes, trains, busses, cars, motorcycles, horses, or mules to travel to Washington to see Emory Autumn. If Fury had simply written that Tony was to stay out of the city, that would be one thing. But the man had gotten cute.

Tony can get cute, too.

“JARVIS, clear this stuff off my monitors, it’s time to reconstruct the tool I used to escape that cave, see if I can’t enhance its flight capabilities for the Mark II version.”

“As you wish, sir.”

“Why does that feel like snark to me?” Tony asks, stretching his arms out and twisting his wrists to limber them up for the schematic-drawing he’s about to engage in.

“I can’t imagine where I might have picked up that trait. You wrote me to be a model of respect and decorum.”

“Just for that, do an analysis of any and all footage of Agent Phil Coulson. Figure out his shoe, shirt, and suit size. Even if I get this thing built within a week and get out there, that’s still a week of not knowing what’s going on with Emory. I need to sweet-talk that information out of somebody, and it’s not going to be Nick Fury.”

Next chapter, Tony has a talk with Pepper, and Emory has a talk with Natasha.

#tony stark x oc #tony stark fanfiction #tony stark x original character #tony stark imagine #iron man fanfiction #iron man #iron man x oc #iron man x original character #mcu #mcu fanfiction #mcu fanfic #marvel #marvel fanfic #tony stark #series: autonomy #ocfairygodmother #fyeahsuperverseocs

[ollieofthebeholder]

Because I feel like inflicting this on as many people as possible: This was my weekend.

I went to a wedding this weekend, and as a summary of what I'm about to tell you, at one point I turned to my mother and said, "I love you, and because I want to continue loving you, if I ever decide to get married, I am eloping."

This was a Nightmare Before Christmas-themed wedding at a beach house in Corolla put together almost entirely by the bride's mother. Wedding was set for 1:30pm on Sunday, with the bridal party arriving at the beach house on Saturday to set up and rehearse. Starting Saturday morning:

Mom and I were several hours later getting on the road than we initially wanted because Mom had to finish sewing her bridesmaid's dress

We arrived to find we couldn't get up the driveway because someone (who later turned out to be the father of the groom) couldn't be arsed to pull his car all the way into the circular driveway and nobody could get past him

 Beach house is three stories high and the front door is on the second floor

 The main living spaces (kitchen, living room, balcony, etc.) are on the third floor

Wedding was also being held on the balcony on the third floor

We arrived in the middle of the maid of honor and the Strapping Young Men staying at the house hauling the chairs rented for the wedding from the porch to the third floor

 Rehearsal dinner was supposed to be at 6:30pm

 We did not get started on time

House rapidly filled up with a bazillion people

I knew five of them (not counting my mother) and liked three of them so you can imagine what my anxiety was doing

 Pretty much everyone except the groom, the small children, and me had alcohol

 WE ATE FIRST

"Rehearsal" turned out to just be all of us standing there while the pastor read off the order of service

Everyone not staying at the house left and the rest of us got pressed into service to start setting up for the wedding

It's about 9pm at this point

Mother of the bride is snapping about how she's doing all this herself and everyone that's let her down so far

Father of the groom comes up with a bottle of beer in his hand and starts loudly announcing about a political topic that reveals to me I am probably the only liberal in this house

At this point I manage to escape and go to bed

Sunday is supposed to start at 7am

I go upstairs to find the mother of the bride shunting things around in the kitchen and the setup mostly complete

Someone says there are going to be 65 people at this wedding

 Me, internally, "Bunny, how the fuck do you think you're going to fit 65 people in this living room?!"

I politely ask what I can do to help

MotB informs me she needs my mother to move her car so she can go get the chicken from the Publix

She says this very quietly

I realize that MotB is one of those people who gets quieter and quieter the angrier she is and I am McFreaking Terrified™️

I go downstairs and wake up my mother

Mom comes back in from moving the car and goes back to sleep

I go back upstairs in the hopes that someone sane will be there to give orders and start helping the Maid of Honor with the charcuterie board

Bride has requested MoH recreate that picture floating around the internet of a charcuterie board shaped like a skeleton so I am recruited to wrap a plastic skull in proscuitto

It is 8:30am and this is the calmest it is going to be all day

Once the charcuterie board is together I go out onto the balcony to help the groom set up the wedding arch, which is three pieces of PVC pipe hammered together

We are going to attach the lattice studded with pumpkins to this arch when MotB shoves a box out the door and informs us the arch is supposed to be draped with fabric

Groom and father of the groom and I have to take the entire arch apart and put it back together with the fabric

It's probably worth mentioning at this point that a) we are doing all of this with the bride and groom's two-year-old developmentally-delayed not-yet-fully-walking son crawling around underfoot and b) the groom only has one leg.

I go downstairs to wake my mother up and change into the outfit I am planning to wear

I come back upstairs to set up my little corner of the balcony where I will be playing my flute

I go back inside to find out where the bride's phone is so that I can play the music she wants recordings of played

MotB is slamming things around in the kitchen

MotB had informed my mother and me (i.e. ranted at us) the night before of All The Trouble She Had getting the bride's dress, groom's suit, and their son's suit back from the cleaners and how she had to literally chase them down all over the region before managing to get them just that morning

This is important to what comes next.

Me: *opens my mouth to ask where the bride's phone is and if she has the music queued up* MotB: *in a near-whisper* "[Groom]'s suit didn't come back from the cleaners. And he has no clean clothes."

Look

I had already chatted with the groom and confirmed that we weighed the same

but he's about a foot taller than I am even if I have a foot on him (<-- this is a terrible, tasteless pun and I'm not sorry for it)

so it's not like I can loan him a shirt or anything

Groom and father of the groom end up going on an emergency shopping run to buy him Something To Get Married In

Groom apparently has a meltdown for which he will later apologize profusely and repeatedly (general attitude: "I THINK that's a bit justified!")

Guests and those members of the wedding party smart enough to stay elsewhere begin arriving

Now we get to the family shenanigans so buckle up 'cause this gets good

(Comment from friend when I told this story the first time: “Gets good? Good Lord.”)

MotB and Father of the Bride are divorced and FotB was not around much while Bride was growing up

Everybody, including FotB, expected Bride would want her godfather (MotB's brother) to walk her down the aisle

Bride's attitude was "HELL no it's MY wedding and I love my uncle [Godfather] but I want my dad to walk me down the aisle"

MotB is not happy about this but it is one of three things Bride has insisted on and she's been pushing her to make decisions so she concedes but has been grumpy about it for weeks

Groom's parents are also divorced but FotG has remarried

Groom does not refer to FotG's new wife as "stepmother", just "mother", so both Birth Mom and Stepmom are being referred to as "Mother of the Groom"

BM is pissed about this and makes several loud remarks about "Excuse me, I'm the Mother of the Groom, the real Mother of the Groom" every chance she gets

(It's probably worth mentioning here that referring to both as "Mother of the Groom" is a concession to BM and not SM)

BM also makes quite a number of snide remarks about SM and FotG periodically throughout the afternoon/evening - SM tries to avoid her but BM seeks her out specifically to be a bitch

(At one point BM makes an unkind remark about FotG's shirt and demands to know "where he got that ugly thing" and SM has the pleasure of looking at her and saying "You bought that for him, twenty years ago!")

MotG mentions later that her brother (not Bride's godfather, her other brother - apparently) has been married three times and all his ex-wives are at this wedding, but apparently the three of them just got drunk and laughed and had a good time together

Other than Groom's parents and stepmother, literally every other person at this wedding seems to be for Bride

Wedding FINALLY starts about twenty minutes late

Groom is wearing brown shirt, darker brown pants, and a string tie and looks like he's a hat and tin star away from having a Halloween costume as a Wild West Sheriff sorted out

Bride has requested a recording of an Ed Sheeran song (”Visiting Hours”, for those wondering) as a "prelude" that comes AFTER the preacher's opening remarks because someone doesn't understand the meaning of the word "prelude"

I am supposed to play the Imperial March from Star Wars on my flute as Groom escorts the Mothers to their seats - Groom starts escorting them in during the Ed Sheeran song

I am not upset about this because this is the song for this wedding I am least confident of being able to play

I am supposed to play "You'll Be In My Heart" on my flute as bridesmaid/MoH/flower girl/"ring bearer" (Bride & Groom's son, whose walker is decorated with leaves and a Jack Skellington doll and who is not actually carrying the rings - FotB has them) come in

Someone tells my mom "the music's started! Go in!" before I can pause the recording

I am still feeling bad about this because those two songs are LITERALLY the only two things Groom specifically requested for this wedding

I am at least able to play “A Thousand Years” as performed by the Piano Guys on the phone when Bride comes out so there’s that going for us

Bride & Groom are supposed to recite the words from the finale/reprise at the end of Nightmare Before Christmas after the opening remarks while I play

Both of them have forgotten the words

Time comes for vows to be recited

Pastor tells everyone Bride & Groom have written their own vows

Groom delivers his in a choked-up, very sincere, heartfelt voice

Bride announces that she's "winging it" and has no idea what to say

Thankfully manages (with some prompting) to say SOMETHING

Remainder of wedding goes off without complications (thankfully)

Bride wants "The Monster Mash" played while she and Groom come into reception

Which is being held in living room directly off balcony where wedding was held

Groom has not left living room because he is trying to corral son

At least a third of the guests leave as soon as the wedding is over

Musicians hired for reception come through with keyboard to get set up in the middle of everything

Both of them give me the fakest, most poisonous smiles imaginable as they pass me because they had wanted to be hired to play for the wedding too and MotB told them they'd already asked me

(For those wondering: No, I did not get paid for this, it was my gift to the couple)

Bride eventually gives up on the idea of a formal entrance and just yells for everyone to go eat

Small child (one of Bride's cousins) has been planning to sing "My Heart Will Go On" during the reception at some point

Small child comes up to me before wedding to ask me to give him the words

Wedding musicians are contracted for three sets of ten songs

Wedding musicians play extremely abbreviated versions of these songs (as in one verse + chorus of any given song) and go straight into the next set, so what you would think would be three 40-minute sessions with breaks in between essentially turns out to be about 30 minutes of continuous music

Wedding musicians also let Small Child sing half the songs

MotB comes out to tell them it's time for the toast

Musicians pack their stuff and leave

Toast is happening now (30-45 minutes into reception) because BM has to leave

Toast does not actually happen

Bride and Groom are photographed feeding each other traditional First Piece of (Cup)Cake

BM leaves and everyone immediately sighs in relief

Small Child drags microphone and stereo inside and shouts for everyone's attention so he can sing

Small Child does actually have a very good voice and everyone applauds

Small Child proceeds to spend the rest of the reception demanding everyone's attention while he sings (mostly Justin Bieber songs)

I spend most of the rest of the afternoon hiding on the balcony with the flower girl

Or trying to

Eventually everyone comes back out for further pictures

I spend half the time hiding in a corner trying to stay out of the pictures and the rest trying to distract Bride and Groom's toddler so he doesn't crawl into the pictures

The last of the people not staying at the beach house finally leave at around 5pm

Half the people staying at the beach house immediately go to their rooms to take naps

The other half go to find places to watch the moonrise

(I have pictures of the moon over the ocean btw and the view almost made it worth it)

I go back to the house and am immediately recruited to help break down tables and chairs because MotB has to return them by midnight

Bride and Groom (along with three of their friends) are in the hot tub

Toddler is crawling around underfoot

SM trips over Toddler and almost slams into a column trying not to fall, then sits on the floor to gather him in a hug because he starts crying (both of them were more surprised than hurt)

I pick Toddler up to keep him out of the way

Toddler (who is not yet fully verbal) indicates he wants to go outside

I take Toddler onto balcony

Toddler indicates he wants to go back inside

Toddler gets increasingly distressed while I try to figure out what he wants

Bride and Groom come upstairs at this point

I inform them that I think what Toddler wants is to go to bed

Bride takes Toddler to put him down

Toddler is apparently asleep before his head hits the pillow

Score one for the preschool teacher

I manage to make my own escape about twenty minutes later and collapse into bed

Thankfully, Monday morning was substantially less chaotic, mostly because MotB actually got a few hours of sleep (I...forgot to mention somewhere in there that MotB never went to bed at all between 6am on Saturday and at least 11pm on Sunday), but also because MotB and Bride left (temporarily) fairly early because Bride had an outpatient procedure scheduled for that morning, and Mom and I managed to get everything packed and get out the door before they got back...

And then I had to drive home because Mom was tired and had an upset stomach. (I didn't mind the driving part so much, honestly.)

#long post #ceaseless watcher turn your gaze upon whatever the fuck this is #tumblr stories #you can't make this shit up