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lydias--stiles · 3 years

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THE MANY CRUSHES OF LUKE PATTERSON... AND THE ONE THAT STUCK

💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌

1982

Luke Patterson's first crush ever was Haley Martin. He adored the colour of her hair — like the clementines his mom bought — and the way she finger-painted, enough for his four year old eyes to stare at her in awe.

He watched her make mud pies in the sandbox from the monkey bars, only to ruin them to get a rise out of her. He couldn't understand why she didn't like him the way he did, so he nagged his mom to explain.

"Teasing girls should be fun for them too, sweetheart," she soothed. "This Haley clearly didn't like it."

He blinked. "Huh?"

Her smile stayed warm, similar to hot chocolate and whenever grandpa conjured candies from behind his ear. "Why don't you share your grapes with her tomorrow? I'm sure she'll like that."

His nose scrunched up. "Why?"

"Because it's sweet, Luke."

"I don't get that," he shrugged. "But I'll try."

The next day, he sat beside her during storybook time and that seemed to help a little already. By the time it was lunch, her mood was lifted, which excited him too, and urged him to offer the grapes.

It earned him a featherlight kiss on the cheek.

Luke squeaked in surprise, flushing a firetruck red, to which she giggled and plopped another grape in her mouth.

Three days later, his crush was gone from his mind and he began sharing his grapes with his new friend Reginald instead.

1986

"Can you ask Jessica what she thinks of me?" Luke hurriedly whispered, eyes flickering between Reggie and the girl from across the courtyard.

Normally, Luke Patterson exuded confidence. The resident class clown, always opening his jaw to react to the teacher without raising his hand, catching fights with stupid classmates, sneaking into dad's stationwagon to create mixtapes.

Fearlessness was his freaking middle name. (It was actually Beck, but whatever. He wished it was something cool like Duran Duran though.)

But when it came to girls... he got so nervous. Because they were girls! He didn't understand them! They hated rambunctious boys and only listened to stupid pop music and blabbered about how they stole makeup from their sisters.

Jessica, however, somehow made his heart flutter and his stomach twist up. She just looked cool in her dungarees and she had a pretty smile and she didn't wear that overwhelming, sugary perfume that was now popular.

Reggie snickered, in the way only eight year old boys could. "You liiiiiiike her!"

"No!" He scowled. "I–I'm just curious."

"Sure," he drawled, but then shrugged in agreement, the oversized leather jacket rustling on his shoulders. He stole it from his older brother after he saw him kissing (!!!) some girl and figured it held some magic to impress the ladies with.

"Just do it!"

With a dramatic flourish, the boy left their hiding spot, Luke lurking around the corner of the alcove to watch. Jessica looked up from her hard work of creating friendship bracelets and smiled at Reggie.

Oh, gosh. She was pretty.

A minute later, a sheepish Reg slowly crawled back to him, cheeks red and fiddling with the zipper of his jacket.

Luke grabbed his shoulders, urgent. "What did she say?"

"Uh... well..."

"C'mon, dude!"

Reggie sighed. "She... likes me, buddy. Sorry."

His hopeful face crashed into one of devestation, quickly covering it up with a laugh and a squeeze of the shoulder. Oh, man, what would Steven Tyler do?

"That– that's dope!"

In the end, Reggie and Jessica were boyfriend and girlfriend for a week while he wrote an angry poem about how stupid dungarees were.

Huh... it was surprisingly good.

1988

"Hey, Luke," Gwenn greeted, shy, tucking her hands in her Camp Wacky Rocka hoodie. "I really liked that song you made about your guitar."

Jumping from the tree branch to the ground, Luke dazzled her with an appreciative smile. From above, Reggie and their new friend Alex watched on curiously.

"Thanks!"

Who would've thought that summer camp would be the first time he made a real, girl friend! Gwenn was super cool and she played the saxophone and she liked Joan Jett and her hair was all curly and big and it reminded him of pretty clouds.

Looking over her shoulder, he noticed a gaggle of girls staring at them. Like they were waiting.

Gwenn stared at him. "Can you close your eyes?"

He frowned. "Why?"

"Just 'cause."

Whatever. Maybe she wanted to show him something cool and would stick it in his hand. Complying, he closed his eyes and impatiently waited, bouncing on his heels.

"So?"

Suddenly, he felt a light, warm touch on his mouth and — oh! She was kissing him!

Luke staggered back in surprise, gawking at a blushing Gwenn as she squeaked a sorry and ran back to the now giggling and screeching girls. They ran away like a flock of birds.

It was a dare! His first kiss, stolen by a dare!

His boys jumped down beside him, awed.

Reggie hollered. "You kissed Gwenn!"

"I don't get it," Alex muttered.

Luke's face twisted up in a sour expression. Camp Wacky Rocka should be all about the music and becoming legends and Gwenn ruined it!

He stuck his tongue out. "Whatever. Let's go to the mess hall!"

1989

When Luke turned eleven, he kissed someone for real.

His birthday party was at the arcade, loud chatter and robotic sounds clashing together in an amazing cacophony. His parents hated the place, which is why Luke loved it.

Of the twenty guests, Yasmine clapped the loudest after he finished his song with the boys — Math Is For Losers! — and grabbed his hand as they walked to a duel game.

Luke felt fuckin' giddy the entire time. (Freakin' in front of his parents, fuckin' with friends.) The swoop in his stomach, his cheeks stretched into a wide beam.

Freshly eleven and the king of the arcade, he boldly asked if he could kiss her.

She smiled, her purple headband glittering in the neon lights, and nodded.

It was short and warm and her lips tasted like pink lemonade and sour gummies and it gave him an entirely new buzz. It was exciting.

He kissed her a couple more times the days after, eager and curious, until she claimed she was now only interested in twelve year old boys.

Since Luke now held the record of most kisses between him, Alex and Reggie, he wasn't too bothered by it. They shook hands, complimented each other on the kissing, and that was that.

1992

"Are you or are you not my boyfriend?" Olivia bit, crossing her arms.

Luke sighed, lazy gaze drifting from her to his band waiting by their bikes. Damn, he thought having a girlfriend would be way easier. Why was she so tense?

"I am," he said. "Why do you think I'm not?"

"Because you ignore me, like, all the time!" Pouting, she fiddled with the hem of her tartan skirt. "And now you're going to be with your band!"

He shrugged. "You can come with us and listen, if you want."

Luke met Olivia this year as deskmates in French class. Her raven hair was long and thick and her lips were all shiny from lip gloss and maybe he got a little cocky, thinking he could be dating the hottest girl of freshman year, so he naturally asked her out.

Maybe he should've considered beforehand whether they had anything in common, but he'd always been the overzealous type. And besides... she was a good kisser.

She scoffed. "That's not any better. Whatever. I'll just hang with Tina and Priscilla then. Laters!"

Plopping a kiss on his lips, she turned around and stalked to her whispering friends. Luke puffed, adjusted the beanie and made his way to the boys.

Girls were confusing.

"I bet dating boys is easier," Alex mused. "Like, equally terrifying, but also... easier. I think. Maybe."

Bobby laughed. "How's the girlfriend, Luke?"

"Ha ha," he deadpanned. "Let's go. I got this new song, Crooked Teeth, and it's a fucking banger!"

Olivia broke up with him after Sunset Curve's first, official gig at the arcade with the explanation that he loved music more than her. He never loved her to begin with, so maybe that was the problem.

She made out with Bobby that same night.

Holy shit, man. He supposed that bitter feeling at the sight of them tasted like rock 'n roll, the one thing he actually craved.

What a funny, funny feeling. (He wrote a hell of a lot of songs about it after. He never quite looked at Bobby the same way either.)

1995

"Hey, Maisie." Leaning against the locker beside the girl, he shot her a million dollar smile. "You comin' to our gig tonight? It's at The Orpheum."

Maisie was fucking awesome. Always in short, flowery dresses and fishnet tights and thick eyeliner like a rockstar, always listening to something new on her walkman. She came from a rich family, but that didn't hinder them from becoming friends.

Her jaw fell slack in awe, him instantly gaining more confidence. Ducking his head to meet her eye, he leaned a little closer. He knew damn well what he was doing, and he got a thrill every time it worked.

"Really?" She gasped. "That's awesome! I'll so be there!"

"Sweet," he grinned. "And stay after too."

A brow quirked up, intrigued. "Why?"

He shrugged. "Just 'cause."

"Right," she drawled. "Nothing is 'just because' with you, Luke."

"And that's why you gotta stay," he teased, nudging her shoe with his. "To find out."

If they rocked that gig and he felt like a fucking legend, he hoped it would end with the two of them hooking up. He wasn't interested in dating — having learned his lesson after Olivia — and he knew she wasn't either, but she was fun.

And that was the most important to him: to have fucking fun. Luke Patterson was here for a good time, not a long time.

And if nothing happened between him and Maisie, then he'd still feel like a legend. In a couple of hours, he was going to play at The Orpheum! How gnarly was that?!

2022

Twenty-seven years later, Luke was still seventeen years old. While he preferred to not question the science behind ghostly activities — he flunked physics anyway — he was happy that he froze at this age.

Because Julie was seventeen, too.

And, man. He was madly in love with her.

He loved everything, from the babyhairs curling around her ears, to her voice and compassionate soul, to her beautiful smile, all the way to her cute, doodled sneakers.

Her epic music taste, her snark, the way she always found his gaze, the way she finished his lyrics, the way she always knew what to say to make him feel better.

His heart melted to a flickering candle whenever she hugged him, a raging wildfire erupting between every kiss. He was a fool for her.

"Stop moving," she giggled, one hand coming up to hold his chin.

He grinned, "Sorry, Jules."

Shifting closer, she dabbled more glitter on his cheeks. They were playing at a black-light club tonight, so Julie and Flynn bought all the glow in the dark makeup available at the store for the occasion.

They looked ridiculous in daylight, Julie's weirdly pink lipstick claiming all his attention, but he knew they'd look fucking cool once the lights went down.

"You want to watch a movie after the gig?" she whispered.

Luke rolled his eyes, playful. "You're gonna fall asleep."

"Yeah." With a bashful tilt of the shoulder, she leaned in closer. "But then you'll be with me."

"Julie! How scandalous," he teased, though his chest swelled at the thought of having some alone time, some cuddle time, with Julie.

"So?"

Murmuring a yes, he closed the little distance to kiss her, sealing the deal, only for her to chase after him — an attempt to wipe the lipstick stain off his lips.

"Nah, keep it." A smirk grew. "So the people know."

She tsked. "Idiot."

"You like it."

"I'm still taking it off though, seeing as you're supposed to be a hologram," she pointed out. "But... you can kiss my lipstick away after the show."

He sighed, dreamy. "I love you."

Finishing his glitter and removing the stain, she dazzled him with a satisfied smile. "Love you too."

She rose up from the couch and went to search for Reggie, the boy likely with Carlos. For a moment, Luke was alone in the studio, allowing himself to sink into that warm, fuzzy feeling.

No matter how many blunders he went through with girls — Haley, Jessica, Gwenn, Yasmine, Olivia, Maisie — they all prepared him, in one way or the other, for Julie.

To not only recognise when an awesome girl was standing right in front of him, but also how to treat her — because Julie Molina deserved the fucking world.

Even if that world now included the supernatural.

Whatever. They were all a little crazy.

💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌

@bluefirewrites @blush-and-books @pink-flame @ourstarscollided @constantly-singing @unsaid-emily @willexx

#juke #jatp fanfiction #julie and the phantoms

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dannys-phantoms · 3 years

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Two Rings on her Finger

Everlasting Trio (Sam X Danny X Tucker) fic wherein Sam remembers how she got her promise rings. Also available here on ao3.

The first ring on her finger was thin and black, with a row of three small, understated purple gems. Danny had never specified what kind they were, so she was almost certain they were just glass. It didn’t matter to her, not in the slightest – she’d had enough money thrown at her already to last a lifetime, and it had never meant as much to her as this ring did.

He’d given her it right after they graduated Casper High. She’d still been looking at the sky, a stupid grin on her face (that totally messed with her goth girl image) watching the graduation caps tangle in the air and fall down. She’d followed her own along with her eyes until it crashed back into her arms, to see Danny kneeling down on one knee in front of her.

It wasn’t a proposal or anything like that, but the ring was a promise that just because high school had ended didn’t mean they had to. Tucker had noticed before she had, and was screaming through the two hands over his mouth, eyes wider than ever and feet tapping gleefully on the floor, like a crow tempting up worms. She was nodding her head yes before Danny even had to ask anything, then she pulled him up by the front of his gown and kissed him in a way that she’d have rathered her parents hadn’t seen.

She got Danny a ring to match a few days later, not one too much like her own but instead a band of white-gold, one blue diamond inlaid in it that matched the icy cool of his eyes and, she insisted, wasn’t too girly at all. It was from a thrift store, rather than a real jewellers; found and paid for with love rather than riches. Her mother had just rolled her eyes when she found out, but her next visit to the Fenton’s had found her in a bone crushing hug with not only Jack and Maddie, but Jazz too. They’d always been more like her family than the Manson’s, and this was just one step closer to making it official.

Not much changed after that, not really. They had mountains of work to do between job applications and ghost hunting, the former of which found her, Danny and Tucker sprawled on one of their bedroom floors and the latter meaning they were chasing each other through the streets, bad guys on all sides. There wasn’t much time for a proper date, not really, until a few months later when she and Danny had decided to finally try that new pop-up vegan restaurant before it was gone for good.

She let Danny order, because she already knew she’d love everything on the menu, and she liked to see him confused about something normal for a change. He ordered her a meat-free bolognaise and wound up with something spicy and chickpea-based for himself, which she could tell he was surprised to actually enjoy.

He’d entwined their ankles under the table, sending a ripple of goosepimples up her shin, but even so her mind began to wander. She was thinking about Tucker, at home on his own, and what he would make of this place. He’d probably be hating how good this ‘fake food’ actually was, and using all of his willpower not to admit it. Danny had a faraway look in his eye too. She knew they were both feeling the same. That’s why, after they’d paid and thanked the staff, they’d guiltily made their way over to the Foley residence to play a few rounds of Doomed. Tucker’s face lit up when he was talking about video games, and despite how much she rolled her eyes and snarked back at him when the things he was saying were so, so wrong, it was the first time all day when she’d truly felt comfortable enough to relax.

Danny’s unnatural chill seeped through her left side and Tucker’s burning fire warmed up her right, and wedged between the two she felt the perfect temperature. When the sun went down and the computer had entered rest mode, they stayed where they were, laying on each others limbs in a clump on the floor. Her boyfriend was whispering constellations in her ear, and their best friend was running his hands through their hair, until eventually it was morning and they realised they’d all fallen asleep.

Sam’s second ring came a few months later, when the facts had become just too obvious to run from any further. There was no relationship, no living or loving, without Tucker there. He was the light to her darkness, the jokes and laughter to Danny’s doom and gloom. The three of them would walk down the street all hand in hand, crossing over if someone was coming the other way rather than breaking apart to make room. Time apart from Tucker felt like being locked out of her own house, knowing that the keys were just inside the porch but stuck anyway in the biting wind.

She told Danny first, fully prepared for him to say the relationship was over. He’d sat on her bed, teeth worrying his lip, as she wore down her carpet walking circles in her room, even more nervous than she’d been before her first ever slam poetry recital. She couldn’t bear the thought of Danny being hurt, but she hated to think of hurting Tucker either, so she just had to come out and say it.

“I think I’m a little bit in love with Tuck.”

Danny blinked twice, three times, as though he’d just discovered the meaning of life written in the pattern of the carpet. “Huh. You know what? Me too.”

They cuddled in close, laughing at how they could have possibly been so stupid not to have seen it. He kissed each of her knuckles one by one, and when she asked what it all meant for them, he had a simple answer. They’d have to ask Tucker.

Predictably, Tuck was a mess. Yes, maybe they should have waited until morning before knocking on his front door, and yes, maybe they could have confessed to him with a little more grace, but standing in the Foley’s kitchen at 2am seemed like as good a time and place as any.

Her hands were shaking, but so were Danny’s, and knowing they were both scared made it easier to speak.

“Tucker, when me and Danny are together, we...”

Danny squeezed her hand. “We miss you, Tuck.”

“Oh,” Tucker said, scratching the back of his head, dressed in robot-print pyjamas but still looking naked without his hat. “Well, you know where I am.”

Sam sighed. “That’s not the point.”

She cupped his face in her hands and planted a kiss on his cheek, the skin burning up beneath her touch.

Tucker glanced between his friends, his mouth opening and closing as he considered what to say, until Danny stepped forward and kissed him too.

The tips of Tucker’s ears were red and Danny’s knees were shaking, and Sam quickly grabbed the back of his pants when they became intangible and started to fall down. She could tell he’d been wanting to do this for a long time, and so had Tucker, who was pulling him back in for a proper kiss on the lips.

“As I was saying,” Sam smiled, “we’ve missed you, Tuck.”

After another few minutes of talking it out, and a heck of a lot more kissing, Tucker ran up the stairs and came back down with two silver-looking springs.

“They’re from my ruined PDA’s,” he explained, and Sam pulled one onto her finger above the ring from Danny.

It was perfect. Danny followed suit, and now they both had two rings, from the ones they loved the most, but Tucker had none. They each grabbed one of his hands and kissed a cheek, like a Tucker sandwich.

As soon as the shops opened again they would go out and find him something, but it was still the middle of the night and they were practically swaying on their feet.

If Angela Foley was surprised to find her son and his two best friends all piled into the same single bed the next morning, she never let on.

#danny phantom #everlasting trio #danny fenton #sam manson #tucker foley #fic #mine

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ilkkawhat · 3 years

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"How long have you had this planned?" "Since the moment I fell in love with you."

(For MacDalton)

[two things: one, this is like the first time I've written them in over three months so I apologize if I'm a bit rusty and two: I just straight up invented a new music venue for the sake of plot. I hope you enjoy Nade!!!]

If there’s one thing Jack’s learned in all of his years of knowing Angus Macgyver, it’s that for certain anniversaries; be it birthdays, deathdays, randomly constituted holidays mostly created on Jack’s behalf such as Bruce Willis’ birthday or the day Die Hard premiered in theaters, it’s that Mac is very...picky when it comes to his sentiments.

He loves a good party, sure, but doesn’t necessarily enjoy birthdays—at least his own, because he still always puts forth effort for others’ to ensure they have a good time.

He believes in Santa Claus, with what he thinks is irrefutable scientific proof, but doesn't believe in the other innocent childish entities such as the Tooth Fairy or the Easter Bunny, agreeing with Jack that the Tooth Fairy is nothing more than a unwanted home invader in the form of a lying parent and the Easter Bunny is just downright made to terrify children with mall photos.

Hell, he at times even downplays the importance of Cairo Day, willing to work instead of lazing around the deck with a six pack and bags of takeout delivered by Jack himself—and while there really was an emergency this time around that left both of them bruised and battered and shaken with the sight of a gutshot Bozer, it ended up being the perfectly bided time for something he’s had planned for, well...for a long while, now.

That, and he’ll be able to kill two birds with one stone, embarking on a road trip to find a long lost father that he already knew Jack would join him on before he even said a single word, and in turn take Jack on a trip he never quite expected to have. One without any hiccups, not even an improvisation. Perfectly planned and tailored to the man he both owes his life to, and wants to devote his life to.

He asks Jack to take a pit stop on their cross-country road trip—immediately dispelling Jack’s insistence of hitting up the casinos in Vegas with teasing argument that he’d lose all of their money for food and gas no matter how many times Jack explains that he knows the “system,” but once their banter fades back into the comfortable silence, he directs Jack past the state of Nevada and into the southerner’s own home state—the Lonestar state.

“Texas? You really think Daddy Mac might be hiding in a hole in Texas?”

Mac shrugs coyly and Jack grins.

“Don’t matter anyhow, been wantin’ to take you back down here anyway. Mama’s missed having a scrawny kid to cook for,” Jack teases with a wink.

“Well good, cause we gotta swing by your casa and pick somethin’ up real quick,” Mac puts on a faithful imitation of the Texan’s accent, and Jack beams.

“Going native, huh, hoss? What do we gotta pick up?”

“Your guitar.”

“My guitar?” Jack’s eyes narrow behind the large yellow lens of his aviators and gives up trying to ask why because Mac keeps his lips sealed.

They just keep driving instead, down a long country road with the appropriate tunes to accompany this feeling; Mac’s hair flowing in the wind, Jack casually driving with one hand on the wheel and the other on Mac’s knee, a wide grin on both of their faces as they watch the sun set and the beautiful unseen stars in the sky rise out to greet them.

And a robot in the backseat, but he’s smart enough to know when to stay quiet and just enjoy the moment.

They make it to Jack’s home, an intended short visit turns into almost an entire day and while Mac is never the one to make excuses to leave, he tries to come up with as many as he can to make it to their destination on time.

Fortunately, he also got Mama Dalton and Jack’s sister in on it too, which does make it just a little easier and Mac promises that they’ll come back on the way home after nearly having to drag Jack out of the beloved ranch home.

He won’t be so grumpy once he sees what I got planned, Mac has to remind himself, because his light layer of deception does hurt him as much as it hurts Jack.

Another reason he wasn’t a fan of the “surprise” element of having a birthday. There’s an almost malicious level of teasing to making sure the birthday boy or girl doesn’t suspect a thing.

But he knows Jack, and knows he has to be suspecting something, evident by his sudden bitterness in their usually laid back banter.

“You’re just getting tired of driving is all,” Mac tries to reason with him.

“Me? I ain’t tired. You’re the one who’s tired, want me to tuck you in the back?” Jack sneers.

“How am I supposed to give you directions then?”

“I got Spanky back there—”

“Sparky.”

“Whatever. And where is it that we’re going anyway, Mac?”

“Up there,” Mac smiles when he sees the building in the distance, the GPS on his phone indicating they’re only mere minutes away.

“Wuh—No. No!” Jack gapes and Mac burst out in glee. “What are we doing at the Armadillo II?”

The Armadillo II, being a freshly renovated bar and music hall was built as an homage to the Amradillo World Headquarters, which Jack often talked about having gone to as a young kid, wishing it had lasted longer before being turned into an office building—something he often compared to the transition of childhood to adulthood itself.

“Beer and music, what else would you do?”

“Yeah, but I mean, how does this relate to…”

“It doesn’t. It’s just for you. For us,” Mac grips Jack’s hand and gently kisses him on the cheek. “Making up for Cairo Day.”

“Aw, gee, Mac,” Jack’s eyes are glistening, his teeth shining under the bright moonlight in the brightest smile. “You shouldn’t have!”

They’re greeted by a bouncer who holds up a hand to Jack’s chest as he was ready to strut his way in.

“Tickets,” the bouncer grunts.

“Ah, damn, don’t have ‘em on me, but I know the owner—” Jack starts to ramble, ready to sneak their way in but surprisingly, Mac has two ticket stubs.

“Where’d you get those?”

“From my pocket,” Mac says simply and pushes Jack into the building.

“Ladies and gentlemen, the concert will begin in fifteen minutes, please fill you drinks and take your seats!”

“Concert, what concert?” Jack shouts as he takes in the room, taking the chair closest to the door at the table that Mac directs them to.

“See that banner?” Mac nods up to the stage.

Willie Nelson.

Jack knew of course, that Willie Nelson would occasionally come out for a concert or two, usually to fundraise for his acts of activism—and even if he couldn’t attend he’d always try to send some money for the cause, but never, and he really means never in his right mind did he ever think this would happen.

“I love you, Mac,” Jack breathes, and the concert begins.

A few songs in, Willie slows down to a gentle strum on his guitar, and the lights dim to match an intimate, romantic atmosphere.

“Now, this next song is called ‘A Song for You,’ although, it is my honor to make a slight alteration to the title for one of our country’s greatest unsung heroes. A guy with a name that sounds like it’d be on the menu at Carl’s Junior came up to me on the street the other day—”

The crowd laughs at the name joke, and so does Mac but Jack’s jaw is hung open, no sound coming out which makes Mac laugh even harder because he knows it’s all coming together.

“He told me his story, their story and well, now it’s my turn to tell y’all that story too. This here is a song for you, Jack Dalton.”

“No. Fucking. Way!” Jack breathlessly gasps, his fingers shaking, his eyes watery and red. Mac puts his hand on Jack’s knee, and Jack sandwiches it with his own. It’s not until the song is over that he’s able to speak again, wiping the tears from his eyes as the crowd applauds.

“When the hell didja manage to talk to Willie Nelson?”

“On my way back from Siberia. Made a pit stop.”

“And now, it’s my greatest pleasure to welcome onto the stage, the man himself—”

“Mac…” Jack starts slapping, clawing at Mac is if to bring him back to life because this sure as hell feels like he’s died and gone to heaven—though he knows, and Mac knows, that will never happen.

Jack Dalton will never die.

And even if he did, he’d never go into that light without Mac by his side, and because of that, because they’re alive, they both feel unstoppable, almost youthfully immortal in that sense—if they were going to die, they would have kicked the bucket by now, surely.

“Come on up here, Jack!” Willie calls and Jack just cannot believe it, especially not when that same bouncer comes up behind him holding his own guitar that he had stashed away in the back of his GTO.

“How long have you been planning this?” Jack asks wildly as he rises from his seat.

“Since the moment I fell in love with you,” Mac replies, and rises with him, sending him to the stage after a good luck kiss. “Which was basically when you played Willie Nelson every day in the Sandbox.”

#nade2308 #macdalton #macgyver fic #angus macgyver #jack dalton #mk.fic #i even went and rewatched some bits to make sure i got their voices right #i miss jack so much #mk.op #i also never thought i'd write mac fic again so this was a pleasant surprise for me too

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my-naughty-writings-and-musings · 3 years

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Whirl/Reader

Time to crack in this new naughty blog and write all the self indulgent stuff I've been longing for... Short and sweet, but I'm always open to continuing should the good people request it.

Whirl is a sub because I want him to be one.

"You know, I think my audial receptors may have glitched last time, you mind repeating what made you want to do this tonight?"

You'd have lightly slapped the big bot, playfully of course, but it would have hurt your hand no matter how lightly you attempted it. Not to mention it would probably just get him more riled up. For the sake of your sanity, you settled for sticking your tongue out at him from atop his cockpit, crossing your legs as if cheekily sitting atop a throne. The rare opportunity to look down at him helped you feel far more cocky than usual. Even being naked, completely, didn't diminish the sense of authority. Still, you were far from regal as you chastised him. "Same reason as always; because I like you, dumbass. Stop trying to make me reconsider."

Pouting with surprising efficiency, he gave you his most pitiful look from below, aided by his admittedly adorable position sprawled out beneath you in all his gangly glory. It didn't hurt that the two of you had the added intimacy of being equally naked. Without your clothes you gained dominance, but with his spark and spike exposed... The resilience of anyone would have been tested as he pleaded. Because damn it all, he looked cute.

"Nooo, I mean; say the part where you describe exactly what you find most irresistible about me!"

There was a shifting beneath you after he finished speaking, and you realized much too late that he was purposefully curling up to look even cuter. That single yellow optic went straight into your soul as he finished his setup, claws gently supporting you as he begged with the closest thing a giant robot could get to a puppy dog stare.

"Please?"

Sitting down heavily on his protruding chest, you deflated with a sigh, playing the part of annoyed partner despite your boundless love for his antics. It was a little obnoxious how he always won, but you just adored him too much to care in depth. "Oh, fine..." you said at last, earning one of the smiles he did purely with his optics. Unable to help smiling back, you held your chin thoughtfully in your hand and looked him over. The big bot was plenty handsome by your standards, but you knew he was sensitive, and thus you had to be careful. His body carried plenty of features for him to be wary about. "If we're going by pure physical attraction-"

"Of course."

"I really like your shoulders." you said, gesturing to the area you were too small to reach. "Particularly how they accentuate your chest."

Whirl whined in the way only he could make endearing, wiggling needily beneath you once again. "Say it how you did before!"

"Seriously?" Came your slightly indignant response. As much as you wanted to please him, you were a tad impatient for some fun here, and didn't want to constantly start and stop the evening for his demands. Not that you'd ever needed to, but everyone had a limit...

"Pleeeaaassseee?"

Once more, you were broken, but this time you made a point to set a boundary. "Fine. But if you stop me again I'm just gonna use a vibrator and call it a night."

At that he looked quite pleased with himself, and the mood returned to one you could work with. Taking a breather, you tried to get your head into the space it had been in earlier, when you'd so gracefully sung his praises and gotten him as riled up as he was tonight. With both of you naked and in his berth, the inspiration came easier than you would have ever expected. In fairness, you had a lot to admire.

"One thing I find very attractive about you is how strong you are; not just in raw muscle power, but how your whole frame is solid. It starts up top." you purred, settling down from a dominant seated position into something that allowed actual movement. On your stomach, you slid slowly to his face, crawling carefully over his armor and hoping your careful pace would be read as sexy instead of cautious. Judging by the fact his optic was as wide as a sun, you were having fantastic success. Allowing your body to rest against his powerful chassis, you slid your fingers along the warm armor as you spoke. "Big, tough shoulders on a broad, handsome chest. I bet you could punch a bot to pieces."

"You know I have." he replied, voice rumbling beneath you as he managed to purr with only the tiniest bit of a whimper.

Eager to take him further, you say up and spread your legs, straddling him so he could feel the heat of your own arousal. The gentle hum of his internals sent a shudder up your spine. "Then, under this brilliant spark there's some powerful weaponry... I've seen you shred bad guys with these, and it's never anything but thrilling."

"All for you, babe." he whispered, optic lidding in lust filled adoration. A tender claw stroked your hair back, and for a moment he looked lost in a total daze. It was only when you gently took hold of the tip that his mind snapped back to the present. "Uh, what else?"

"Down low..." Getting right back to your flirting after his response, you once more began to work downwards. Past the protruding chest and the barrels of his guns, you knew he couldn't see you as well, so you focused on narrating every careful motion. The expanse of his corset like waist stretched out before you like a banquet. Grinning at the proud but needy mast of his erection, you tempered your own enthusiasm for his sake. It was growing increasingly apparent he was trembling despite his best efforts, and you wanted to coax more of that out of him. "You have lean, lovely, shapely hips." you said eagerly. Inching your way down to the eager parting of his thighs, you felt your mouth begin to water as you traced the beautiful and streamlined armor that accentuated the plentiful length awaiting your arrival. "Perfectly sculpted to guide me exactly where I want to be."

A soft moan marked the beginning of his total submission, as well as your arrival to his spike. Head going fuzzy with want, you decided to show your appreciation more through actions than words, if only to satisfy some of your own desire. Given that he was over three feet long, you had plenty to sample. Experience led you to embrace the heated erection as you got comfortable between his legs, the soft and smooth mesh like heaven against your skin as he trembled hard enough to rattle his armor.

Curling up just enough to look down at you, his optic crests over his chest just as you wrap your hands over the swollen tip. Love and lust overflow from his expression while he moans openly and helplessly. Your prior talk had clearly wound him up something fierce. Truthfully, you were fairly certain he had a praise kink, and playing dumb was the only way he could think to satisfy it, because Primus forbid he just ask... Now wasn't the time for such thoughts, however. You wanted to please him as he deserved.

"I can keep talking, or I can use my mouth for other things."

Whimpering shamelessly, he spread his legs and arched into the attention, all of him yours for the taking.

#transformers #more than meets the eye #mtmte #lost light #lostlight #ll #idw #tf #my writing #lemon #valveplug #robot x human relations #human reader #self insert #whirl #whirl x reader #gender neutral reader

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itmighthavebeenintentional · 3 years

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Shadows And Pills - 1

Summary: Some people come away from the Battle of New York with scars and broken bones. Some come away with nightmares and years of therapy ahead of them. Some don’t come away at all. Alexa comes away with a shadow.

18+ ONLY, MINORS DO NOT PROCEED

Warnings: RAPE, Torture, Abuse, Self Harm, Negative Images of Psychological Services/Mental Health Professionals, Hallucinations, Stalking, Supernatural Horror, Prescription Drug Use and Eventual Abuse, Mental Illness, PTSD, Flashbacks of Violence, Flashbacks of Tragedy, Starving Oneself, Isolation, Physical and Mental Exhaustion, Denial, Self Neglect, Gaslighting, Mental Spiraling, Mental and Emotional Abuse

18+ ONLY, MINORS DO NOT PROCEED

Author’s Note: This is not a happy story in any sense, at any point. I could only write this at my lowest places, emotionally and mentally speaking, and I had a hard time coming back from it. This is dark, and it does not at any point get lighter. I relied heavily on my own experiences with mental struggles and took a few pieces here and there from my own experiences with mental health professionals. MY EXPERIENCES ARE MY OWN AND ARE NOT TYPICAL, NOT EVEN FOR ME. If you need mental help of any kind, please DO NOT HESITATE TO REACH OUT TO GET IT. This story was an exercise in mental exorcism, in a sense.

For all the Loki lovers out there, I do not shine him anything like a good or redeeming light here. He is evil incarnate, more or less. I love Loki, I love good Loki and redeemed Loki and misunderstood Loki and just about every incarnation thereof. I needed a villain, and he fit the story.

Above all, please be kind. This was one of the most difficult things I’ve ever written, and it took me years to work up the courage to post it. If you have any questions, please feel free to message me or send me an ask.

Thank you to @thoughtslikeaminefield and @glassjacket . I would not have made it through this story and would honestly not be here today with the two of you. I will never be able to tell you how much you mean to me.

18+ ONLY, MINORS DO NOT PROCEED

Word Count: 1 - 3785; 2 - 3513; 3 - 1068

In Case You Missed It: ItMightHaveBeenIntentional’s Masterlist

...

Shadows and Pills

Some people come away from the Battle of New York with scars and broken bones. Some come away with nightmares and years of therapy ahead of them. Some don’t come away at all.

Alexa comes away with a shadow.

In the weeks following the disaster, the public equally lauds and decries the Avengers, but while their opinions are divided over the heroes, the villain is universally denounced as nothing short of Satan himself, and the city throws an actual celebration the day Thor takes Loki back to Asgard to face the justice of their people.

Alexa, having not turned on her television since the day she got home from the hospital, ignores the boisterous celebrants and goes about her shopping, earbuds firmly in place, frown lines now permanently etched between her eyes and around her pinched lips.

“Routine will help you through some of the worst days,” her therapist tells her during one session. “Something familiar and safe to retreat to when the flashbacks are the worst. Just give it a try,” he adds at her disbelieving grimace.

And so she sets a routine.

Morning Routine: wake up. Ignore alarm, lie in bed an extra thirty minutes or so. Shower. Pretend to eat breakfast. Take meds (this one she never skips or shirks). Find something to wear. Stare at it for another ten minutes. Eventually get dressed. Contemplate keys for another fifteen minutes. Leave the goddamned apartment already.

Her routine has varying results, although she does admit to her therapist that life is marginally more bearable with the routine than without.

“It’s nice to have something to look forward to for the next day.”

Her therapist can’t quite hide his grimace at her flat, deadened tone, but she’s not being sarcastic or rude. She finds that going to bed at night is a trifle easier when she knows what’s going to happen the next day.

“So, who are we up to today?” the doctor asks, switching the subject with awkward abruptness. It’s been six weeks since Hell came to New York, and during their twice-weekly meetings, her therapist suggests going through each of the people she saw die in front of her that day, to get closure...or say goodbye...or something.

Sometimes Alexa wonders whether he just wants to hear the details for his own perverse pleasure.

“Brenda.”

Alexa robotically begins to list the personal details she knows...knew...about her floor manager. Unlike the mail room intern she discussed at their last meeting, the list for Brenda goes on for a while. She’s worked with Brenda since she started at the company, learning most of what she knows about her current job from the woman.

Brenda was kind, sharply intelligent, and mothering to everyone under her supervision, and yet she did it in a way that didn’t make anyone uncomfortable. She balanced work and a family long and well enough to both receive regular promotions within the company and also, very recently, become a new grandmother.

The backs of Alexa’s eyes sting as she remembers the photo Brenda showed her not twenty minutes before part of the building collapsed on top of half the department. Her jaw locks as the scene plays before her eyes again, the explosions and shrieks of metal drowning out the shrieks of the people only five feet away.

She closes her eyes, but there’s no pause button to freeze the scene, no power button to shut the images off as she turns in her memory and runs, making it to the stairwell and slamming the door open, turning back and screaming for Brenda, straining her eyes through the smoke and dust and mountains of falling debris. Brenda is running, reaching for Alexa even though she seems miles away, and then one of the file cabinets is thrown over, propelled faster and harder than should be possible, and...and…

And then Brenda isn’t running anymore. Her outstretched hand, the only part of her that wasn't crushed by office furniture, spasms against the ruined carpet, as if it thinks it’s reached its destination and is grasping at its savior.

Alexa’s hand tingles, and her fingers lock into her palm, nails fitting easily into the little grooves she dug there weeks ago. No blood, she only dug that deep once, but the furrows remain as permanently etched there as the frown lines on her face.

Alexa struggles to take in a labored breath as her therapist watches her with the appropriate amount of professional, clinical sympathy and detachment.

“Do your counting,” he reminds her.

How could she forget? She counts to three once, letting a breath out at the end. She repeats the process twice more, ignoring her therapist’s brief flash of annoyance at her departure from his “system.” But, for once, he doesn’t ask her why she has to deviate from the standard one-to-ten method and just lets her do the goddamned counting in peace.

Small blessings.

“Have you had any flashbacks since our last session?”

She stares at him, letting her gaze rest heavy and disbelieving as she turns his question over. She’s been averaging about five flashbacks a day, triggered by everything from accidentally brushing a stranger on the sidewalk (Jim knocking past her to get down the stairs just as the door on the stairwell behind her explodes inward; more shrieking, then falling, then dark) to lifting a carton of cold milk from the shelf at the grocery (that impossibly cold hand grasping hers, pulling her up from the rubble, bringing her face to face with...something...something in the...shadows, it was so dark there, and…).

“Yeah. I’ve had some flashbacks since our last session.”

“What sort of coping strategies did you use?”

He’s not even meeting her eyes now, just getting notes down on that damned pad. The scratching of his pen grates into her bones, and Alexa grits her teeth as she glares.

One, two, three.

Breathe.

One, two, three.

Breathe.

One, two, three.

Breathe.

She slowly recites the list of strategies he suggested during a previous session, none of which have proven particularly effective at lessening the frequency of the episodes, but most of which she grudgingly admits provide some slight relief afterwards and allow her to refocus her mind on the present rather than dwelling in the memory.

“And the shadows?”

How can he get this wrong every time when he’s taking all those fucking notes?

“Still just the one.”

“Has it manifested in any other way? Asked you to do anything? Do you feel different in any way when you notice it?”

There’s a distasteful eagerness to his words that always turns Alexa’s stomach, and she has to physically bite into her tongue to keep from asking what kind of bonus he gets for each symptom she shows of different mental illnesses.

“It’s just there sometimes. I..” She hesitates, feeling vaguely nauseated from his questions, but she has to be honest, right? Because, ultimately, it’s his job to help her, and she’s never going to get through this by hiding symptoms. He can’t help fix her if he doesn’t know what’s broken, and he did suggest the routine, so, okay, he gets a pass for this one.

“I still mostly only see it before I’m falling asleep. I’ve started seeing it in the late afternoon, as well, not often, but sometimes. Always in shadows that are already there. It doesn’t talk or anything, doesn’t really have any face or form except for vaguely person-shaped, but it...it watches me. And it’s...denser than it was last week. More...it’s thicker than it was, like when you see wispy clouds kind of...gather and turn into storm clouds?”

He nods, his pen whizzing over the legal pad he records their session notes on. “So, you feel threatened by the shadow? Like it’s storm clouds gathering to...what? It feels menacing?”

But, like most of the questions Alexa fences in this office, this one isn’t easily answered.

“It feels like it’s watching me, waiting for something. I don’t know what. I don’t...I don’t know if it’s menacing, exactly. Like, it feels potentially dangerous, but I can’t tell if it’s for me. I don’t know. It’s just...darker and more there this week, but it doesn’t do anything, and I don’t feel different, and it doesn’t speak to me. I. Don’t. Hear. Voices.”

She clips off each word at the end of her rant separately and precisely, repeating her counting in her head, and she forces her breathing to even out. The doctor is just doing his job, he’s just trying to help, he’s supposed to ask these questions, it’s how he helps-

“Hmm. I’ll have to consider that between now and our next meeting. In the meantime, go ahead and move up to the next dosage step with your meds, keep it on the escalating schedule we set.”

You set, she thinks mutinously for a moment before internally shaking her head. She nods, biting her tongue once more. She’s going to have a permanent indentation there as well, at this rate.

“Any side effects? Itching, swelling, difficulty breathing? Any unreasonable lethargy or detachment?”

“I mean...I don’t really have anything to attach to at this point, so…”

He frowns at her again, and she wonders if he’s going to crank up her dosage two notches instead of one.

“Are you having what you feel are typical emotional responses to everyday stimuli? Have you laughed or smiled at anything yet? How long has it been since you emotionally felt anything besides the frustration and panic?”

And, somehow, this question is difficult, too. She struggles through, trying to find a balance between honesty and not making herself look like a complete failure who can't function in life. She doesn’t help her case when she admits she hasn’t followed many of his suggestions beyond establishing a routine.

“Not even exercising?” he asks, his disappointment palpable.

When she silently shakes her head, her lips pinched tight against his disapproval, he shakes his head with a sigh that sings of ultimate betrayal. Instead of berating her as usual, the doctor frowns and looks down at his notes, considering them silently. He clicks his tongue against his teeth for a moment before switching over to end-session mode, robotically delivering his closing remarks, his typical reminders to keep her meds on a strict schedule at the exact time every day, to avoid all alcohol and unprescribed drugs, to keep her diet as clean and unprocessed as possible, and to get plenty of exercise. Even this last bit is delivered with a sharply clinical detachment, as if she has driven him to the brink of her own psychoses by stubbornly refusing to accept his help.

There is a short, silent moment between them where they refuse to look at each other, the doctor perusing his notes once more while Alexa examines the wrinkles creased into her jeans from lack of folding. The doctor flips pages over in his legal pad and slaps the cover shut sharply, breaking the standoff with one last, dismissive comment.

“Routine, Alexa. Stick to the routine. If it’s what brings you comfort, if that's the one thing you’re taking away from these sessions that actually helps, then stick with it. I’ll see you Thursday afternoon.”

….

Her afternoons vary, according to her therapy schedule. Her sessions take roughly an hour and a half, so that’s one block of time she doesn’t have to try and fill. On the days she isn’t having her skull cracked open, she can sometimes force herself to work on the files her company sends her way. Grunt work, brainless stuff that any first-year intern could do, but it keeps her on the payroll and covered by health insurance until the doctor clears her to return to the office.

Not that there’s an office to return to yet.

Grocery shopping for food she’ll pretend to eat later, making excuses to stay out of the apartment a little longer each day, watching the shadows of the buildings grow darker and longer until the sunlight disappears from the streets.

And the other shadow, the darkest of all, thick and solid against the brick and stone, pacing her, keeping track as she wanders through the broken city blocks. Sometimes she walks a little faster, pretends to not notice the black spot. Sometimes she pretends it’s keeping her company. With the most conversation she’s had in weeks taking place in her therapy sessions, she occasionally finds the imaginary company of her shadow stalker to be more pleasant than menacing.

Occasionally.

Eventually, though, she and her chimerical companion head back to the silent, encroaching walls of her apartment to begin the night routine.

…

Night Routine: laundry. Pretend to eat dinner. Shower. Finish laundry. Clean already clean kitchen. Another shower (on the bad days, the ash and debris won’t wash off). Rearrange already arranged closet. Braid hair. Take meds, do not skip, no matter how much they screw up her sleep, because they help. They do. Settle into bed. Stare at the wall. Adjust pillows. Re-settle. Stare at the shadow. Start to drift off, slide into a flashback, scream back to full consciousness. Watch the shadow. Doze. Awaken from a fucked up nightmare she can only partially remember. Repeat ad nauseum.

Really, if Alexa could just skip the nights and go straight into morning, that’d be great. Mornings are tedious but tolerable. Afternoons are blurry and tense, especially therapy days, but nights…

Nights just won't shut down.

The drugs are partially responsible, the doctor has told her multiple times. The medicine can either make sleeping more difficult, or it can act like a sedative, dragging and holding her down. Honestly, she’s getting kind of mixed results. It’s difficult to stay awake, easy to slip under, but then she can’t stay asleep for very long, jerking back to consciousness in something close to full panic, unable to figure out if it’s the drugs or the dreams that’s pushing her to the edge.

Because the fucked up dreams...well, that’s all on her and her broken brain. She stopped bringing up the dreams in therapy after the first couple of weeks of sessions. The doctor seemed hell bent on steering Alexa towards the possibility that she was experiencing waking hallucinations, but there’s no way she could possibly be awake for all this shit. Maybe some of the flashbacks, but not…

Not…

Her brain isn’t that broken.

No. No, she can tell from the way she jerks to consciousness afterwards, she knows she’s asleep. Yeah, she’s unstable and has flashbacks, but she’s not delusional. They’re dreams.

Every night.

About…

Something.

Okay, sometimes she can remember. Sometimes the meds dull her down so much she forgets what day it is, but sometimes she can hold on to a detail or two. Cold, slender fingers, impossibly strong. A flash of bright blue that sends nausea racing through her entire body (who knew your toes could feel nauseated?) or a glimpse of bottle green that, conversely, thrills her to her soul. A smooth, velvet voice that penetrates every layer of her being, down to the deepest recesses. Darkness descending...a sense of dreadful awe…

And sometimes she can remember every unhinged detail with a terrifying clarity that she will never even consider mentioning to the therapist. Not if she likes her jacket sleeves to fit properly.

There’s honesty, and then there’s idiocy.

The shadow is larger tonight. Taller, a little broader, definitely denser. She would say looming, even, but it’s not quite that large.

Not quite.

She stares at it openly, no longer trying to avoid acknowledging its presence. What's the point? The doctor knows about it, and it’s not like she’s talking to it. She’s not that far gone yet. And she hasn't lied to the doctor, either. The shadow does watch her, like it’s waiting, gathering. Convalescing. But it hasn't ever talked to her.

She does not hear voices.

She yawns and rolls her shoulders, left then right, sliding a little lower in bed, searching for a cooler place between the sheets. Movement catches her eye, and she looks up as the shadow shifts, leaning left then right, and seems to…

Grow?

No, it’s never moved before. She’s pretty sure she’s never seen it move, but now it pulses and raises up, stretching-

No. No. Sourceless shadows don’t move. They don’t grow, they don’t shift, they don’t-

The shadow stretches upwards abruptly, definitely looming now, and Alexa hits the wall behind the bed, scrambling backwards in a blind panic as she realizes the shadow isn’t growing.

It’s coming closer.

Her breathing speeds up, but her limbs are heavy and dull with narcotic stupor. The foot of her bed darkens as the shadow creeps even closer, and she opens her mouth to protest, to scream, to say something, but her tongue is numb and stupid with the acrid, coppery tang of fear and pharmaceuticals, and she hates, hates this kind of dream where she can’t speak, can't move and she can barely breathe, and...and…

The shadow reaches out, stretches over her foot and slides up her calf in a clammy, viscous caress that tightens on her knee and pulls her several inches down the bed as her throat closes.

Do not shrink from Me. It is not your fear I crave, but your adoration. Come to Me, allow yourself to move past the fear and embrace what I wish to grant you.

Horror, deep and instinctual, floods her veins. Alexa feels the voice more than hears it, and it awakens an ancient fear that finally, though futilely, awakens her drugged limbs. She claws at her sheets uselessly as the shadow moves over her, a freezing oil slick that oozes against her skin as if her blankets and clothes weren’t even there, sending shivers to the very marrow of her bones as her gorge rises, and she chokes on the bile that singes the back of her throat. She can’t fight, can’t move against this intangible force, but neither will her terror let her sink past the fear to blissful unawareness.

Give over. Let go of your stubborn fear that tethers you to this useless reality. Allow Me entrance, and I will grant you the relief you seek. Release your grip on the world that cares nothing for you, and I shall bestow upon you the peace you so desperately crave.

Her skin raises in gooseflesh everywhere the shadow crosses, and her stomach turns as it squeezes its way up her torso, her chest, her throat, slipping over her lips in a sick parody of a lover’s caress. She opens her mouth - to scream, to breathe, to do something - and the shadow plunges inwards, invading her mouth, her throat, coating her inside and out with a thick, glutinous sensation that leaves her mouth hanging obscenely open, tongue thrashing, while her mind screams useless denials.

Submit to Me what you see I can easily take, give Me My due. Give over, drown in Me, and I will save you from this miserable existence.

And she is drowning, the air pressed from her lungs as a dark heaviness settles solidly over her. Her arms are forced over her head, and she is strung out on her twisted sheets, writhing under the weight of the shadow as it presses over every surface, against every entrance. No matter how she strains, her legs are gradually forced apart. The darkness’s lack of speed is affected, some barely functioning bit of her brain whispers to her; it could take her as swiftly as it cares to and is only moving slowly because it wants her to suffer, wants to taste her anguish. She has no chance against the shadow, she can’t even touch it, really she could just save herself the anxiety and fear and just-

NO.

She twists as hard as she can, but the shadow simply moves with her, flows over her, waits until she takes another breath, and then surges between her thighs, driving her torso off the bed with the force of its thrust. Every cell in her body locks, not in pain, but in complete revulsion. And then again, and again, cruel in the thoroughness of its violation, covering and saturating every crevice of her being, coating and tainting everything it touches.

Wrong, can't...stop, stop, stop, wrong, can’t...God, please…

You cannot rely on yourself, on your own mind for proper guidance. Let Me protect you. Let Me save you from yourself.

How long...minutes...hours...years...just stop, please…please-

The alarm clock shrieks right in her goddamned ear, and she can breathe and move and scream and goddammit, she fucking hates those dreams that send her careening onto the floor, scrambling for cover when she can’t even remember what she's running from.

Her morning routine is already in shambles. There’s no ignoring the alarm clock today. A morning shower maybe, to wash off the sticky aftermath of night sweats, definitely, but no lying about, staring at the walls in a sleep-daze. Definitely washing the sheets tonight, too.

She surveys what she can see of her bed from her crumpled position on the floor in front of the closet and sighs. Must’ve been a hell of a nightmare to tear up the covers that badly. She thinks for a moment of trying a little harder to remember, to recall some piece of the dream, but then her stomach flips over, and she summarily rejects that idea in favor of caffeination and medication.

She allows herself another few minutes on the floor, waiting until her respiratory and heart rates return to a less alarming pace before climbing to her quivering knees. The shadow darkens the far corner of the room, as innocuous as always. Though she doesn’t know why, she can’t help an involuntary flinch when she first sees it. It’s not normally present in the morning, at least, she doesn’t think so...well, she can't remember the shadow being so dark in the mornings, at least. But...

She clears her throat against the thickness that seems to coat it suddenly, and readjusts her plan to include a glass of water before she starts in on the coffee. She realizes after another long moment of staring that her hands are trembling along with her legs. Her jaw clenches, and she knows she’s being ridiculous. It’s a damned shadow. It just sits there. It’s a minor manifestation of a mild psychosis secondary to major psychological trauma. It’s just a damned dark spot; it doesn’t change, doesn't want her to do anything, and it definitely doesn’t fucking talk to her.

She. Does. Not. Hear. Voices.

…

Up Now: 2

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knightofameris · 4 years

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hot chai tea — kita shinsuke

𝚐𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛: neutral 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚊𝚒𝚗𝚜: reader has a Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚍 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚝: 1.3𝚔 𝚊𝚖𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚜' 𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚎𝚜: okay I was trying to not include any notes for these but I had to for this! After writing (well, partially into writing it) this I found that I enjoyed it enough that I wanted to submit it for @agaassi‘s 4k celebration 🥺 It’s not a cafe AU, but I call it the “cafe au but make it boba” I’ll include a bit more of some notes at the end so uhmmm catch ya in a bit!

𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚘𝚛𝚍𝚎𝚛𝚎𝚍: hot chai tea 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚖 ChaTime 𝚎𝚗𝚓𝚘𝚢 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚍𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚔!

⇽ 𝚋𝚊𝚌𝚔 𝚝𝚘 ◜𝚊𝚖𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚜' 𝚋𝚘𝚋𝚊 𝚜𝚑𝚘𝚙 𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚞◞

Everything that could go wrong, went wrong.

First you woke up late, you didn’t even have time to eat, the campus bus left you as you were running towards it which made you late to your last 8AM (with an attendance policy) class of the semester. Then, you realized you brought the wrong notebook for your 8AM class for the review session since finals was next week and you forgot your laptop so you resorted to taking notes on your goddamn phone. Ah, but then your phone died and you forgot to bring a charger and a portable. Because of that, you lost track of time while studying that you were late to work.

You only made it into work 10 minutes late but it was in the midst of a rush and you messed up the first three orders terribly. So badly that your coworkers and manager just put you in the back to sort some things instead.

That’s how you found yourself scowling as you carried boxes back and forth, organizing cups and food items in the fridge. This is it, this was your villain origin story. Forced to the back after a shitty day and—

A strict, yet soft, voice called out to you.

You felt a shiver run down your spine, stopping you in your tracks, and slowly turned towards the voice of your manager.

Kita Shinsuke.

Honestly, you weren’t usually scared of him. He’s a nice guy, kinda robotic at times, but he has an aura that commandeers respect. He says it like it is, but he cares a lot. Always on time, always working efficiently, always able to handle the Miya twins when needed.

It’s just that... He’s never had a reason to use that voice on you.

“Ah, Kita-san, what’s up?” You asked, trying to put on a smile.

His intense eyes stared straight into yours and you immediately looked away, feeling a bit too vulnerable under his gaze.

“Is there some reason why you’re not performing like you usually do?”

Right, Kita was always someone who could do his job no matter what happens. Performing anxiety was nonexistent to him. Or any anxiety for that matter.

“I, uh,” you debated between telling him a lie but you had a feeling he’d read right through you. Maybe being honest was the better choice here. “Just had a bad day.”

Kita doesn’t say anything. Instead, choosing to wait. So you set down the box with a sigh and began explaining everything that happened. And he listens, fully and wholeheartedly. He doesn’t say anything, nor is he thinking of what to say until you finish. By the time you’re done going over the events that transpired that eventful day you find that you’re choking back tears.

“I want you to take a deep breath,” he instructed. He walked up to you as you did so and set his hands on your shoulders. “With finals next week, you should go home and rest so it doesn’t impact your exams. Your immune system is weakest when you’re stressed and you should take care of your body-”

“Wait, Kita-san—” It’s already too late, he had you turned around and began pushing you towards the exit in the back.

“-Eat some dinner and sleep early tonight. Then make sure to get plenty of breaks as you study.”

“Wait, but Kita, I need to work,” you pleaded, dropping the honorific. Although, that caused you more of a fright than himself as you scampered to try to fix your mistake but Kita just holds up a hand. He didn’t really mind the fact that you dropped it.

“Do you need the money?”

You blinked then stare down at your feet with a soft murmur of ‘yes’ and begin to explain, “I work the exact hour of shifts needed to pay for rent before the end of the month. Financial aid only covers tuition and just enough for groceries so...”

Kita’s quiet for a few moments before he lets out a sigh, “You should still go home.”

“Wha-? But-!”

“If you need to work an extra shift, I can work one in for you. After finals which is before the end of the month and before your next paycheck.” You frown, weighing your options and as you do so, Kita leaves to go towards the front. Which was confusing as you’re left standing there in the back. You were surprised that none of your coworkers came by but you suppose it’s because they didn’t want to fall under Kita’s wrath with poor word choices.

It wasn’t until a few moments later that his figure comes into view and in his hand was the standard ChaTime cup that always held warm drinks. Kita holds out the drink towards you and you hesitantly grabbed it.

“It’s chai tea, not too caffeinated so you’ll be able to rest easy tonight but just enough energy to get you back home,” he told you. You can’t help the few tears that escape your eyes but Kita’s face doesn’t change, no pity and no anger. Just a softness you couldn’t place. It makes your cheeks heat up. You hope you can blame it on you crying, even if it wasn’t much.

“Thank you, Kita-san,” you hesitantly take the cup out of his hands after wiping away the stray tears. “I’ll be sure to rest up tonight.”

He gives you a curt nod and you’re already on your way to clock out and on the train back to your apartment. You finish the drink by the time you get back to your apartment and do everything that would make Kita proud. Eat dinner, drink water, and rest for the rest of the night. Maybe do a little face mask and watch a bit of Sailor Moon.

For the first time that day, you were content.

***

The next time you walk into work is long after finals week finished. There was a bit of a dance in each step you had as you strolled through the boba shop for the morning shift. But that soon came to a halt when you heard someone clear their voice.

“Oh, Kita-san,” you laughed sheepishly. You could’ve sworn there was a slight smile on his face but that was the least of your worries once you noticed he had two cups in his hand.

“Here, I hope your finals went well,” he handed you the warm drink and you immediately knew it was chai tea.

You stared at Kita as he drank his own drink, maneuvering through the shop. You noticed that for this shift, it was just the two of you working. You also noticed that Kita must have been here for a while, the floors were mopped, the teas and toppings were all prepped and ready, monitors had all the drinks, and he prepped both of you a drink.

He must have gone out of his way to make your shift a little easier. As you drank your tea, the corners of your lips turned upwards ever so slightly. Kita may definitely seem cold at times, blunt even, but he truly looked out for others.

“Hey, Kita-san,” you called out, walking towards the front where he was standing. He looked up, staring at you as he waited. “You wouldn’t happen to know why my landlord said I could pay my rent late with no fees, would you?”

Kita hummed, returning his gaze out the window where people were walking and took a sip of his drink.

“No,” he replied. An uncharastic smirk made its way onto his face that you barely noticed as he took another sip.

You chuckled, shaking your head. Staring down at the cup in your hands, your fingers playing with the cup sleeve, you struggled to find the right words only to resort for something simple.

“Thank you.”

Kita’s brown eyes glanced towards your figure, happy that you seem more well rested. He takes another sip from his cup before speaking up.

“You’re welcome.”

𝚝𝚑𝚊��𝚔𝚜 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚙𝚙𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚋𝚢, 𝚎𝚗𝚓𝚘𝚢 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚍𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚔 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚑𝚘𝚙𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚊𝚐𝚊𝚒𝚗!

𝚊𝚖𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚜' 𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚎𝚜: okay hi again lmao. I guess this kinda exposes which anon i am and which college i go to WHOOPS LOL and iykyk lol (to anyone else reading that’s not ae ra). I was going to submit my atsumu one for the 4k writing challenge but I’ve gotta admit, I do not have a plot for his fic yet (as of the moment I’m writing this). And like I said before, I really enjoyed writing Kita’s sm that I wanted to use this one to submit for the writing challenge plus as i started i already had begun to write this in mind for the challenge. (i was also debating submitting Akaashi’s but then I realized I had posted that one already askdhkjf) 🥺🥺 though, this was definitely me being a bit more “risky” (?) since this is the first i’ve written for kita so I’m still trying to understand his character hnng. but i hope you enjoyed reading it! 👉👈

I haven’t been able to write many things that are over like 3k lately so hopefully this short little fic suffices 🥺🥺 And I’ve only recently been motivated/inspired to write these boba fics, otherwise I would’ve done something else entirely! But it’s been a hot minute since I’ve done a writing challenge and I wanted to celebrate yours and i love love love writing challenges.

Anywyayyayay, I’ve always enjoyed your writing but I really hope you’re taking your time to take care of yourself! Remember to write for you, get your sleep, eat and drink water (please don’t drink just milk tea omg), study hard, and uhhhhhhhhh make sure to relax!!

#kita shinsuke x reader #kita shinsuke x male!reader #kita shinsuke x neutral!reader #kita shinsuke x you #kita shinsuke x y/n #kita shinsuke imagines #male!reader #neutral!reader #haikyuu x reader #kita shinsuke fluff #haikyuu fluff #ameris' boba shop #agaasi 4k wp #a.writes #a.bobashop #💜.kita

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firefly464 · 4 years

Text

The Real World - Chapter 11

Ok so this ones a bit more of a slightly slower chapter and kinda does a bit more world building sooooo yeah. BUT ALSO THERES SOME WHOLESOME FRIENDSHIP MOMENTS SO THATS GOOD

Made in collaboration with @i-have-this-now Thank you to @rivys for beta reading and editing!

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~~~

Silence. Complete and total silence fell over the call as both Tubbo and Wilbur tried to process what Tommy was saying. The moment was tense, and loaded with unanswered questions.

“Fuck…” Wilbur muttered. He didn’t know what else to say. He was in a state of shock. What was he supposed to do? He had just learned that two of his friends were trapped in another dimension, and that said dimension was going to be destroyed because he couldn’t keep his mouth shut.

“Yeah. I feel like that sums it up pretty well.” Tommy had no idea what he was supposed to be doing, or even feeling. There were so many emotions raging through his mind. Anger at Wilbur for talking to Dream. Relief that Tubbo and Wilbur weren’t screaming at him. Fear that his home was going to be destroyed.

God, he was sick of being afraid. He had felt nothing but fear and terror for a week straight, and thought that he had grown numb to it. He had thought wrong. The raw terror that coursed through his veins in that moment was nothing like he had ever felt before. It was cold and numbing. It made him want to just crawl into his bed and lay there. He felt completely and unbelievably hopeless. At least during the war there had been a small sliver of hope. A tiny beacon of light in all the darkness. It had been what kept him going. Now, there was nothing. He had no way of fighting back. No way of even contacting his friends and seeing if they were safe. He hated it.

“So. What’s the plan?” Tubbo’s voice shook Tommy from his intrusive thoughts. He couldn’t help but feel grateful for Tubbo’s optimism, despite the fact that he knew it was hopeless. “How are we gonna stop him?”

“What do you mean?” he asked, his voice quiet.

“We’re not just going to let him kill all those people, right? There's gotta be something we can do. Some way that we can stop him.”

“Tubbo, I-” “No, he’s right.” Will interjected. “We aren’t just going to sit around and do nothing. Besides, if what you said is true, then our Tommy and Dream are stuck there as well. We’re not just going to let them die.”

“You guys don’t get it, do you…?” Tommy muttered. He knew his friends were trying their best, but the hopelessness of the situation was suffocating. It was like he was standing in a pool of quicksand, slowly being dragged down. Each time he struggled and tried to resist, he was only dragged down farther. He was tired of fighting it. “You can’t stop him. We don’t even know where he is.” Tubbo was silent for a moment. “What if we switched you guys back? We could figure out the command that swapped you in the first place and just run it again.”

“I mean, you can try. But wouldn’t you need Dream’s computer?”

A sly grin spread across Tubbo’s face. “Who says I need access to his computer to access the server? Just give me a few minutes.” The sound of typing echoed through Tommy’s headphones.

He frowned, confused as to what was going on. “What are you doing?”

“Trying to access the server.” He didn’t offer any more information.

“While he’s doing that, maybe you could tell us more about what happened to you. How did you even end up involved with Dream? From the sounds of it, he's fucking terrifying,” Wilbur asked. He figured that the more they knew about what was going on, the easier it would be to try and solve their issue.

“I… He used to disappear for really long periods of time. Eventually I got curious. I saw him leaving and tried to follow. He caught me pretty quickly. He… he said that he would kill everyone in L’Manberg if I didn’t go with him and do what he said.”

Wilbur’s eyes narrowed. That didn’t make any sense. Why on earth would Dream force Tommy to go with him if he hadn’t gone far? Something wasn’t adding up. “What-”

“I’M IN!” Tubbo yelled out, cutting off Will’s question.

“You’re in?” Tommy asked.

“I have access to the server.” Tubbo explained. “Maybe I can try and contact them.”

“Wait, what do you mean you have access to the server?” Wilbur said.

“I have the console open, wait- here.” Tubbo started sharing his screen on Discord.

A black background filled with white text that neither Wilbur nor Tommy could understand appeared on the screen. It was filled with coordinates and commands that were constantly being updated every couple of seconds. A waterfall of white text was filling Tubbo’s screen. He could see a grayed out command that read ‘/msg TommyInnit hello?’.

“Hey, wait a second,” Wilbur said. “Tubbo’s commands aren’t working.”

“Do you think it could be some sort of activation key?” Tommy asked, but it sounded more like a statement.

“...Exactly. How did you know?” Tubbo asked.

“I think I may know where that is.”

~~~

“What the fuck?” Tommy held the wooden bow in his hands, staring at the blinking light. “Have either of you ever seen this kinda thing before?”

“Why the hell would I know anything? I’ve been here as long as you have,” Dream remarked as he took another drink from the glass bottle.

“I dunno, maybe because you’re the server owner?”

“Just because I’m the server owner doesn’t mean I know what's happening.”

“Well, maybe you should.”

Dream only rolled his eyes. Tubbo squirmed a bit. Seeing Dream acting so casual was… unnerving. The lack of a mask only made it ten times worse. Until an hour ago, he had never even seen the man’s face. It was always just the blank mask, cold and emotionless. Seeing the raw emotions on his face was somehow scarier than not seeing them at all. A shudder ran down his spine.

“Tubbo? Any ideas?”

Tubbo jumped slightly, caught off guard by the sudden question. “Huh? O-oh! No, I don’t know. Sorry man, I’ve never seen anything like this before.”

A sigh escaped him as he ran a hand over the leather wrapped grip. The blinking light stared up at him, almost taunting him in a way. That was when he felt it. A small raised section of the grip, right where his finger would sit if he were holding it normally. He frowned. “what the fuck?”

“What? What is it?” Dream asked quickly.

“I dunno. It’s just a weird bump…”

“Oh. That's it? It's probably just from the other Tommy making his bow wrong or something.”

Tubbo shook his head, quick to defend his best friend. “No… Tommy was really good at making weapons. He wouldn’t have done something like that. It’s not like him.”

Tommy’s brow furrowed as he ran his finger over the strange button. On a whim, he pressed down.

A scream was torn from his throat as a robotic voice played in his ears. “Hello?” it said.

“What the fuck?!”

“Tommy?! Tommy are you ok?! What happened?!” Tubbo was instantly on his feet, trying to check on his friend. His instincts kicked in. Everything that had kept him and his friends alive during the war came rushing back to him as he frantically checked Tommy for any wounds or injuries. Nothing. No visible cuts or bruises. Maybe it was mental? Or a type of potion. Or maybe even-

“Tubbo, Tubbo! I’m fine! I promise. Just a bit startled.” Tommy’s voice brought his train of thought to an abrupt halt. Tubbo sat back down, his face burning with shame.

Dream stared at them in concern. “What happened?”

“Did you not hear it?” he furrowed his brow, trying to put the pieces together.

“Hear what?”

“That weird voice thingy. I pressed the little button and the robot lady started talking.”

“You’re hearing voices now? Are you alright?”

“Yes, Dream! I’m fine!” he cried out in exasperation. The blinking light on the grip of the bow had gone dark, leaving nothing but a regular wooden bow.

~~~

“How do you even know that they’re in your world?” Wilbur asked. Tubbo had already set the command in the server, and now the three of them were just waiting for some sort of results. Now, they were all just sitting around, trying to get more answers out of Tommy. “I mean, for all we know they could be floating out in the empty void of nothing.”

“No, I’m sure that your Tommy and Dream are in my world. Dream seemed really confident about it. He said something about it already being tested or whatever.

“Tested? Tested on what?”

“I don’t know. He never told me. All he said was that the test had worked.”

“Alright, I’m just gonna be the one to say it, thats sketchy as fuck.” Tommy couldn’t help but jump. Tubbo had been so quiet while they were talking, he had forgotten that he was even there. “I mean, I get that he’s a sketchy guy, but that's just weird.”

Tommy took a deep breath to try and calm his racing heart. “Yeah… It really is. I learned pretty quickly not to question him though. He was fucking terifying whenever he got asked too many questions.” A shudder ran down his spine as he remembered the blank, emotionless mask. God, he hated that fucking mask. Every night, he was plagued with nightmares about it.

“Tubbo, I think your command went through” Wilbur said, his voice cutting through the fog that was starting to build in Tommy’s mind. He looked at the screen. Sure enough, the grayed out text was now gone, replaced with a blank text box.

“Someone must have found the trigger. Hopefully it was your Tommy and Dream. I’m not sure what would happen if someone else managed to get their hands on it.”

“Either way, it should have only sent the message to Tommy, right?” Tubbo asked.

“I don’t fucking know. I wasn’t allowed anywhere near the console.”

“Probably because you’re a little gremlin child.” Will couldn’t help but make the snide comment. Maybe he just wanted to pretend, if only for a moment that nothing had changed. Maybe he was searching for a way to lighten the mood. He wasn’t sure.

Either way, the comment earned him a cry of protest. “The fuck is that supposed to mean?!”

“It means that you are a little gremlin boy. What else would it mean?” Despite his best attempts, he couldn’t quite keep the smile out of his voice.

“Alright, you son of a bitch, you listen here. I could beat your fucking ass in a fight, no questions asked.” Despite the harsh words, Tommy couldn’t help but grin. The friendly banter was familiar to him, and he couldn’t help but be thankful for it. In a world where everything was strange and foreign, it felt nice to have something that stayed consistent.

“Oh yeah? Prove it”

“Alright. Next time I see you, how about we 1v1? Me versus you.” “Uh, I don’t think that's a really good idea,” Tubbo interjected.

“What? Why not? I’ve beaten him before, I’ll do it again.” Tommy’s voice was dripping with confidence. He may not have been nearly as strong here as he was back in his home world, but he still knew how to fight. Not to mention, he had spent most of the past week trying to get his strength back.

“I don’t doubt it, it’s just that fighting someone is generally considered not good here”

“Are you serious? That's so lame! Back at home we used to spar all the time!”

“Yeah, not here. Unless you’re in a fighting style sport, sparring just isn’t something that you do here”

“Ughhhh, that’s so dumb.” he grumbled.

“So, uh, what’s the plan now?” Tubbo asked. On the screen, another /msg command was pulled up, ready to be sent. The message section itself was blank, but it was clear that Tubbo was itching to try and communicate with his best friend.

“We just input the command, right? We swap you back, you guys could go home, and we get our Tommy and Dream back. Boom, problem solved.” Wilbur couldn’t help but feel slightly confused. Hadn’t that been the plan from the start?

“I uh… I don’t know the command that he used,” Tommy admitted.

“Fuck.” The three sat in silence, trying to figure out what to do. Tommy couldn’t help but feel like hopelessness starting to drag him down again, pulling him down into the pit of quicksand.

“What if we brought them to the console? That way they could actually respond and we might be able to come up with some sort of plan?” Tubbo suggested.

He weighed his options. On one hand, it was the best bet they had. Hell, he was about 99 percent sure that Dream would have left some sort of clue as to what the command was, if only because he enjoyed the thrill of the danger. On the other, who knew what kind of trap Dream had set up. Knowing him, he would have expected them to do exactly this. No. No he couldn’t think like that. This was their one chance. It was his only chance at saving his home, at saving his friends.

Swallowing his fear, he nodded. “Yeah. Alright, that sounds good.”

~~~

“What the fuck?! Why is it blinking again?!” The small red light was back, blinking up at the blonde teenager annoyingly.

“Press the button again?” Dream offered helpfully.

“What? No! I’m not pressing that fucking button again! You press it if you’re so curious!” he tossed the bow onto the table carelessly, the loud noise making Tubbo flinch.

Dream grabbed the weapon and looked over it. “Alright, maybe I will. Where did you say it was?”

“On the grip, right next to the little light. It's really small though, you have to feel it.”

“Got it!” with a soft click, Dream pressed down on the button.

Instantly, the robotic voice echoed through Tommy’s mind once more. The voice was cold and metallic, with no emotion whatsoever. It reminded Tommy of pretty much every computer generated voice he had ever heard, only this time, it echoed through his skull. He could feel his teeth vibrating from the sheer volume of it. His eyes shook, causing the world to vibrate and jitter. It reminded him of when the bell had been rung, only this time he was the only one could hear it.

“Hey Tommy, it's Tubbo. This other Tommy just told me and Wilbur everything that’s been going on. Don’t worry, we’re gonna get you out of there, alright? Apparently the other Dream is going to really fuck everything up if we don’t stop him. And by that I mean he’s going to delete the server and most likely kill all of you and I really don’t want that to happen. So we’re gonna stop it!”

The voice continued for a bit, explaining what the plan was and where he and Dream needed to go, and Tommy did his best to keep track of Tubbo’s directions. “... Anyways, we really miss you man. I swear, we’re gonna figure something out and get you guys home. Yours truly, big T.” The voice stopped, and Tommy blinked. Tears pricked at his eyes.

He didn’t really understand what was going on, but he did understand one thing: there was hope. He might be able to go home. Tubbo and Wilbur were going to bring them home.

~~~

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#if you cant tell i wrote this over two days #and i forgot what i wrote #so theres a bit of repetition #but whatever its fine #its still fun #wilbur soot #wilbursoot #tubbo_#Tubbolive #dreamwastaken #mcyt #mcyt au #The Real World #The Real World AU #my writing #dream team #dream smp #fanfiction #tommyinnit

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norathecobbler · 2 years

Text

Of Sirens and Mechromancers - Fall

Sanctuary’s fast travel station flashes and the Vault Hunters digistruct out. The entire group is bloodied and bruised, and Krieg is holding a massive power core.

Gaige rolls her arm and starts to limp away from the group, “You guys give Roland the rundown. Krieg and I are going to install the new power core.”

“The bubble shall be renewed!” Krieg beams.

They make their way to Lieutenant Davis at the shield generator. When they get to the generator, Davis is leaning on the rail. He quickly stands and fumbles to get his weapon in his hand.

“Roland told me you were going to bring a fancy new core. As much as I hate using Hyperion tech, the core you guys brought us earlier is almost burnt out.”

Gaige salutes and kneels down beside the core. She quickly unfastens the old core and shoves it out. Krieg sets the new core into place and Gaige makes quick work connecting it. Most power cores like this are just the same hardware with a different coat of paint, so installation is a breeze.

She stands and wipes her hands on her skirt, “We should be in bus-”

The core starts glowing yellow. The shield projectors start to glow the same Hyperion yellow.

“What the hell?”

Angel’s face appears on a monitor and Gaige’s eyes widen. Her mind starts to connect the dots as Handsome Jack broadcasts to all of Sanctuary.

“You know what? I think it’s time to let you in on that little secret.”

“No…”

“Angel’s working for me.”

Gaige pulls out her shotgun and aims at the power core.”

“Lowering Sanctuary’s shields, Jack. Executing phase shift.

The power core fizzles out and the shields around Sanctuary lower.

Davis turns and puts his finger to his communicator, “Raiders, the core was a trap. The shields are down! I repeat, the shields-”

A mortar falls right on top of Davis, sending Gaige and Krieg flying off the platform. Gaige’s ears ring and her vision blurs. She slowly climbs to her knees and pulls out her ECHO.

“Angel? Angel, please answer.”

Gaige suddenly feels something stab her arm and feels her body start to knit itself back together. She looks up and sees Krieg holding an empty syringe.

“We ride together, little Leprechaun,” he says, holding out his hand.

Gaige grabs his hand and hauls herself up. She looks at her ECHO and keeps talking into it.

“Angel? Come on Angel…”

Jack calls the Vault Hunters, “Wow, still trying to call Angel? Man, you are friggin dense. You all only survived our little train ride because I wanted you to. Five years ago, Roland and his friends only opened the Vault because Angel and I tricked them into doing it. Everything you Vault Hunters have done, everything Angel helped you do… it was all part of MY plan. I am such a rock star! And Gaige, who do you think gave me the idea to give you the job offer?”

“LIAR!”

Jack starts to laugh, “Holding out hope that Angel actually liked you bandits? She was always working for the good guys. Hold on, I’ve got something for you.”

Angel’s voice plays over the ECHO. It sounds somewhat different than normal. Differently pitched, like it was recorded in the same room as a person.

“Building her trust would allow me to turn her easier. That robot that fires the lasers was built in a shed. Imagine what she could do with Hyperion’s resources.”

Gaige stares at her ECHO as the realization entirely sinks in. Every time Angel gave them information, every door she opened. Was every conversation they had a lie? She poured out her soul… to someone who just wanted to use her.

Maya’s voice comes over the ECHO, “Gaige, Krieg, the city’s taking off! Get to a fast travel station!”

Gaige turns and sees Sanctuary begin flying into the air. It suddenly disappears, like with Lilith’s powers.

“Let’s go,” Krieg softly growls.

Krieg starts marching to the nearest Catch-A-Ride, with Gaige numbly following. As they start driving to the Three-Horns fast travel, Angel appears in Gaige’s view.

“I know you’re angry with me right now, but we don’t have a lot of time…”

“No shit I’m angry! You told us to grab that power core! You took down Sanctuary’s shields. I told you about my life.” Tears start streaming down Gaige’s face. “I actually CARE about you, and you tell Jack to offer me a job!”

“That wasn’t my-”

“Stop! I just… I don’t want to talk with you right now.”

Angel disappears for a few moments, then comes back.

“We’re not friends anymore, are we?”

“Were we ever friends?”

#borderlands #borderlands 2 #of sirens and mechromancers #gaigel #fanfic #Gaige the Mechromancer #angel the siren #handsome jack

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marinsawakening · 3 years

Text

Late Enough to Rest

Fandom: Princess Tutu

Wordcount: 2153

Summary: Alternate Universe. Superhero Ahiru finds supervillain Rue on her doorstep in the middle of the night, hurt, holding an unconscious Mytho and asking for help.

Notes: Written for @ahirueweek day 2: superpower. Relationship can be platonic or pre-romantic, depending on your interpretation. Read here on AO3

///

The last thing she expected to find on her doorstep at 3 AM was - well, anything, it was 3 AM, the only reason Ahiru herself hadn't gone to bed yet was because she apparently made terrible life choices. But definitely the very last thing she expected to find on her doorstep was Rue.

But there she was, leaning heavily against the wall, sopping wet locks of hair clinging to her forehead, her clothes so tattered that Ahiru couldn't even guess whether they used to be her Princess Kreahe costume or not. And hanging in her arms was Mytho, eerily still.

"Please -" she started, but Ahiru was quicker.

"Rue!" she yelled, throwing the door open as wide as possible. "You - Mytho - are you hurt? Is Mytho alright?"

"We need to come in," Rue said, her voice tense. Her fingers dug into Mytho's side. "Quickly, before anyone sees us."

Despite this, when Ahiru stepped aside, Rue just stared at her.

"Come in," Ahiru urged, and finally, Rue moved inside, out of the rain. It was only then that Ahiru noticed the trail of blood she left behind.

"You are hurt," she accused. "Sit down, I'll get the bandages -"

"It's nothing," Rue cut her off. She lay Mytho on the couch and sagged next to him on the floor. Inside, Ahiru could get a better look at her. Blood gushed from wounds all over her body; thankfully, most of them were probably just shallow scrapes, but there was a large gash in her thigh that might need stitches, and from the way she was holding her chest, there was a good chance something wrong with her ribs as well. "Listen -"

"Don't move," Ahiru ordered, running to the kitchen. She pulled the med kit from under the sink and ran back. Rue startled as she knelt next to her.

"Clothes off."

"I'm sorry, what?" Rue asked, incredulous.

"I need to reach your wounds." From up close, it was clear that she was wearing civilian clothes, a black shirt and pants, tactical, good for running.

"It doesn't matter," Rue snapped. "Listen, I have information -"

"I'm not listening to anything until we've taken care of your wounds."

Rue groaned. "Ahiru, we don't have time for this -"

"Is anyone going to die within an hour?"

"No, but -"

"Two hours?"

"I don't see how that -"

"Then we have time to disinfect, stitch, and bandage some gashes."

"Who even cares!"

"I do!"

Rue glared at her. Ahiru crossed her arms and didn't move an inch.

Finally, Rue sighed and gingerly pulled off the leftovers of her shirt. "You're still as stubborn as ever, aren't you?"

"Yup," Ahiru said, in a cheerful tone that quickly morphed into a horrified gasp.

Bruises climbed up Rue's torso like vines, covering her side and ribs, sneaking up into her sports bra and down to her thigh. Without thinking, Ahiru reached out a hand to touch, before remembering why that would be a terrible, awful, no good idea, and snatching it away.

"Are your ribs..."

"They're fine."

Ahiru stared at Rue until she turned her head.

"They're not broken," she said, reluctantly. "They don't hurt enough for that. Bruised, probably. Maybe fractured."

Ahiru took a deep breath. "Alright," she said. "We're taking you to the hospital for an x-ray tomorrow."

"No hospitals," Rue snapped.

"I can't just let you walk around with fractured ribs!"

"No. Hospitals." When Ahiru opened her mouth to protest, Rue cut her off. "My - the Raven knows I'm hurt. He'll be keeping an eye on them. The risk is too great."

That's - fine.

"Okay," Ahiru agreed reluctantly, "no hospitals. But promise me you'll take it easy, at least for a while, alright?"

Which was a normal question! But Rue stared at her like she'd just announced she was marrying the Raven."Why do you even care?"

Ahiru blinked. " 'Cause you're my friend, of course."

Rue just kept staring at her. "I've been trying to kill you for the past three months."

She shrugged. "Friends make bad choices, sometimes. Doesn't mean they're not your friends anymore. Now take your pants off, I need to reach your thighs."

For a solid few seconds, Rue didn't move. Then, she burst out laughing.

"You're one of a kind, aren't you?" she muttered, and it seemed almost bitter.

Ahiru didn't know how to respond to that, so she didn't, setting out to clean her wounds instead. Luckily, she'd been right, and most of them were shallow. Only the one on her thigh required stitches.

"There!" She clapped her hands together, triumphantly. "All done. I'll get some ice for your ribs. Lay down on my bed in the meantime."

Rue sputtered. "I can't just - I can't just take your bed!"

Ahiru waved her off. "It's fine, it's fine. I can sleep on the floor no problem."

"It's indecent!" she protested, and it would've been beyond weird, a supervillain on her floor protesting that taking the bed would be impolite, but it was Rue. Rue was just like that.

"You're the one who's hurt," Ahiru reasoned. "Please, Rue. Take the bed."

Rue blinked owlishly at her, before slowly getting up and walking to the bed. With a sigh of relief, Ahiru ducked out of the room.

Problem: there was no ice left. Fakir had even written a nice little reminder on the fridge door: buy ice, right there beneath the rest of her groceries. The whiteboard has been his idea too, actually; she'd forget less if she wrote down whatever she needed right after she ran out. It'd been a huge help, except for the fact that she still forgot to go to the store on a regular basis. Whoops.

Underneath the ice, there were more supplies in Fakir's handwriting; iodine, gauze, medical alcohol. The last fight had been rough, and Fakir had spent a good half hour just bandaging her wounds. It'd been worth it, though; Mytho had actually shown some awareness, right before he slashed her the third time, and the sword had only grazed her. He'd even opened his mouth to say something, before it turned into an ugly sneer again. Stuff like that was getting rarer and rarer, and even Fakir couldn't bring himself to lecture her too much, after she told him.

And now Mytho was on her couch, offline, and Rue seemed like she'd split off from the Raven and - and she needed ice for her bruised-or-fractured ribs that they couldn't take to the hospital because the Raven would be watching them.

Ahiru took a deep breath, and managed to unearth some frozen peas from the back of her freezer.

Rue had settled in on her bed, in the same way a stray kitten would settle into a dog pound. Aside from her fingers playing with a stray piece of fabric from her leftover-pants, she lay completely still, stiff as a board and with her arms tucked in as close to her body as possible. She and Mr. Fuzzles seemed engaged in a staring contest, and it didn't look like Rue was winning.

"Mr. Fuzzles doesn't bite, you know," she said, plopping the peas down onto Rue's chest. Thankfully, Rue didn't protest the treatment anymore, and simply moved them down towards her bruises.

"I know that," she snapped. "Why do you have a stuffed animal? You're seventeen."

"What, don't you have any?" She moved Mr. Fuzzles so that his head rested in Rue's armpit. "They're fuzzy!"

"Father would never have allowed me to cling to such childish nonsense," she sniffed haughtily. But even though she glared at the teddybear, she made no move to throw him off. Maybe because that would throw the peas off too.

"Well, your father is a supervillain, so I think that might just be part of all the evil."

Rue opened her mouth, then snapped it close again. "I... suppose it is soft."

"Exactly!" Ahiru grabbed a chair. "I'll get you one too, later."

"You really don't have to do that."

"But I want to."

"Ahiru, if we don't deal with Drosselmeyer, there might not be a later." Rue hit her fist against the bed. It couldn't hide the shaking in her hands.

"Drosselmeyer?" Without even thinking about it, she touched her pendant. "Shouldn't we be taking down the Raven?"

Rue started taking a deep breath, before letting it out again with a painful wheeze. "How much do you know about Drosselmeyer?"

"I - I've only met him a few times." She remember him appearing above her lake, hovering over the water like a ghost, gifting her the pendant, a chance at humanity. A chance to help Mytho.

Rue's head snapped towards her. "You've met him?"

"Only a few times! Can count them on one hand, really." His smile was creepy, and his ability to stop time even more so, and he seemed to delight in other people's misery just a bit too much, but even so, he didn't seem - well, Raven-level capital 'E' Evil.

"That - makes things easier, I suppose." Rue blew out a breath. It seemed exhaling was easier than inhaling. "Drosselmeyer is the writer of the story."

"The Prince and the Raven, right? Where Mytho's from?"

She remembered him, that day on the lake, smiling down at her with a grin too wide for his face.

"So you love that boy, huh?" he'd asked her. She could only nod. She'd been just a duck, after all.

"Would you still love him if I told you he wasn't human?"

"It was one of the many plays he wrote, although the only one he left unfinished," Rue confirmed. "It seems he wants to finish it, now."

"Would you still love him if he was just a robot, made to perform?"

"Mytho tore his own heart apart to keep the story from continuing; with him defective, the Raven couldn't properly fight him. But when you started to rebuild his heart -"

"Do you love him enough to search for his heart, so that he may feel again?"

"The story continued," Ahiru finished. Her nails were digging into her arms. "Then - this fight. It's my fault."

"If it hadn't been you, it would've been someone else," Rue said, but Ahiru barely listened.

"He said that only I would accept being Princess Tutu. That I'm the only one who -"

"And the Raven told me I was an android built by him," Rue interrupted. Ahiru startled.

"What? But you bleed."

"Exactly." Rue's hand was clenched and white-knuckled. White-knuckled from a lack of blood, which androids didn't have. "He lied. Men like him and Drosselmeyer will say whatever they need to, in order to get you to do what they want."

And Ahiru - Ahiru was still shaking, but she took a deep breath, and suppressed her fear. For Rue. Rue needed her to be calm. "I'm sorry."

"I told you, it's not your fault -"

"I'm sorry about the Raven," she clarified. "That's the reason you were helping him, right? I'm sorry. He shouldn't have treated you that way."

And Rue just... stared. She just stared, until tears started to stream across her face.

"Rue..." Ahiru reached out a hand, but Rue was faster, wiping away the tears as quickly as they appeared.

"I'm sorry," she said, and she sounded choked up. "I don't - I don't know what came over me."

"It's okay." Hesitantly, she laid her hand on Rue's head, and when Rue didn't try to stop her, she stroked her fingers through her hair. Her hands were still shaking, a little bit, but as she continued, they stilled. As Princess Tutu, she'd done this dozens of times before, for dozens of people, and there was something comforting about the familiar movements.

"I don't know exactly what you've been through," she started, and without even noticing, she slipped into the familiar Princess Tutu cadence. "But it must've been horrible, having the Raven as a father, doing everything you could for him, even hurting Mytho, and finding out he never loved you to begin with. You've been through a lot, and you can cry about it."

"We don't - we don't have the time -" Rue choked out, but the tears kept coming faster than she could wipe them away.

Ahiru kept carding her fingers through Rue's hair, carefully working through the knots in her hair. Even as Rue's sobs increased, her whole body shaking, a certain tension slipped from her body underneath Ahiru's fingers. "It's okay," she repeated. "If nobody's going to do die in a few hours, we have the time."

And at that, Rue unraveled. It was like all the tears she'd kept in for weeks, months, maybe even years came spilling out in one giant storm. She wailed into her pillow, and all Ahiru could do was continue to stroke her head, the practiced motions just as much for Rue's sake as for her own.

A story was moving, the plot wrapping up, but even so, they could take a few sentences to rest.

#princess tutu #ahirue #ahirue week 2021 #ahirue week #ahiru #rue #my writing #my posts #TECHNICALLY i gave this one last editing pass!!#i still really don't like this at all but it's definitely better than the first draft and I'm proud of the improvements

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qwertyfingers · 3 years

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we know that bobby only watched ds9 and dean watched the tos movies for sure which implies he's seen tos as well (plus he calls jack spock). so what do you think everyone's favorite trek is? sam is without a doubt a tng fan first and foremost. i think out of all tos movies cas prefers the wrath of khan because he Feels Things when kirk and spock do the ta'al through the glass. charlie has definitely seen some trek (we've seen her llap), do you think she's into tos first and foremost? anyway let's talk about star trek nights in the bunker.

OKAY SO I HAVE. MANY MANY THOUGHTS ABOUT THIS. SORRY THIS IS SO LONG.

like. like of COURSE bobby only likes ds9 of course he does i could have told you this without the show becuase like. bobby is That Bitch. i think rufus will have watched TOS at least because leonard nimoy worked hard on linking jewish faith and practices into the vulcan lore and i think that would mean something to him. bobby will catch rufus smiling at him sometimes while they’re watching ds9 and ask him what all gruffly and rufus will smirk at him and say something about sisko with jake and bobby with dean and bobby will just cough and take a swig of whiskey and rufus will raise his eyebrows but let it slide. rufus definitely makes a comment once about dean&cas being like jake&nog that totally flies over dean’s head but bobby is all knowing eyebrow raise about.

i think cas and jack would really like discovery. while it has some issues with inconsistency, pacing, being a little dark, it also does better than the other TV treks at utilising the nature of film as a medium to instill a sense of wonder, at space and the world, and that’s something they’d really appreciate. i have my own issues with disco, but an obol for charon is as close to the central core of trek that disco ever gets. cas and jack also like that one in particular because they like listening to all the different languages being spoken. they all love michael (everyone loves michael). cas’ faves are stamets and reno because they’re mean and gay, jack’s fave is tilly because she’s excitable and bright and he latches onto that. dean likes reno because she’s got spunk. sam’s fave is airiam and he will never forgive them for killing her off. sam, cas and dean all feel an uncomfortable kinship with both ash and culber - they’ve both been the one with monster teeming under the surface, controleld by something not themself, but they’ve also all spent that time in hell/purgatory, separated from everyone they love.

thinking about episodes that would really get to them all, darmok is. THE ONE. i have a whole unfinished essay about darmok as the platonic ideal of star trek; the perfect distillation of everything trek is SUPPOSED to be about. it doens’t always get there but by god it tries! that speech michael gives in the disco s2 finale - “There's a whole galaxy of people out there who will reach for you. You have to let them. Find that person who seems farthest from you and reach for them.” - that’s what darmok is about!!! it’s all about a situation where real communication seems impossible, where everything we know about talking and learning has broken down. and picard says, okay, i will find another way. i can’t relate to you, you can’t relate to me, but by god i’m going to try. we all meet people we have trouble communicating with in our lives, and often, those people will not care about changing their own ways to accommodate us. for people with autism, adhd, psychosis, the list goes on, this is a very common occurrence. it’s exhausting and frustrating and alienating. darmok is all about crossing that barrier. about reaching for someone through a world of difficulty and learning how to talk. learning how to share something with someone who seems out of our reach. it’s beautiful, it’s heartwrenching, it means more to me than i can easily put into words!

anyway i think the bunker fam would experience a lot of emotions watching it together. there’s defintiely a lot of hugging eachother, sam cries a lot and won’t look at anyone until after the episode ends. jack just asks a lot of questions and talks about his progress learning sign language with cas. dean snakes his hand into cas’ halfway through and doesn’t let go. doesn’t show the emotion on his face, but he clutches harder at the emotional beats. cas runs his fingers through jack’s hair and thinks a lot, and decides not to say anything unless dean talks first. its just a Lot for everyone.

dean def makes them marathon all the TOS and TNG movies. it’s an experience everyone needs at least once. i think you’re right about cas and TWOK with the ta’al through the glass, but also ‘this simple feeling’ and the hand hold would make him feel crazy. bones being the one that spock entrusts with his katra DEF makes dean feel some type of way because as much as destiel is kirkspock-coded, dean IS bones, and seeing spock trust bones so completely despite how at odds they were when they first knew eachother would dig deep into dean’s psyche and make him more than a little bit nutso. the movies are way too long for jack so he mostly sits and plays animal crossing while they watch and looks at the screen when everyone else gasps or when something exciting is happening that holds his attention for a while. sam’s fave is nemesis precisely because it’s terrible and he loves how camp it is.

dean has definitely seen all of trek. i refuse to believe someone who watches as much tv and films as dean wouldn’t sit and watch the whole shebang. i think he’s probably seen TOS and the TOS movies more than the others because its easier than sitting through 7 seasons, but i think rather than that being his favourite he’d just have really strong opinions about the best episodes of each one? like if you asked him what his favourite is he’d say you can’t answer that because they’re all so different from eachother

VOY - bride of chaotica, non seqitur, macrocosm for the favourite episodes. seven, janeway and tuvok would be his favourite characters. he think toms a bit of a knob but also feels a kinship with him for the similar brand of bab dad-ism but he wouldn’t be able to put that into words. he’s also a fierce defender of threshold being a good episode (he’s right for that)

DS9 - our man bashir it’s our man bashir. he doesn’t dislike ds9 but its very plot heavy and he didn’t care for it when he was younger. rewatching it after living through multiple supernatural wars he’d probably appreciate it more. i know for a fact he cries every time there’s an episode about sisko being a good dad. jadzia and garak are his faves

TNG - he LOVES q. he also absolutely will not be caught dead referencing how much loves q after cas comes into his life because sam will do the little brotherly knowing eyebrow raise at him and he will die of embarrassment. he regularly references ‘there are four lights’ because he’s a fucking nerd. he has made cas watch elementary my dear data and fistful of datas a half dozen times each at LEAST. cas KNEW how dean was going to be about the cowboy hat he’s defintiely got into full cowboy getup at home just for watching movies and in cas’ head star trek is fully to blame.

TOS - oh there are so many good TOS eps to choose from. obv he loves most of the series becuase TOS has MANY banger eps, his favourites are probably like. mirror mirror, amok time (baby dean defintiely had some kind of crisis watching it for the first time; i know the rituals are intricate). i know deep in my bones that dean watched the conscience of the king (introduction of the tarsus iv massacre) once and then spent his entire teenage years writing fic about that in his head, whether he posted it or not. dean related too much to those experiences of shared hunger. city on the edge of forever is one of everyone’s faves for a reason (and i’m STILL mad we never got a closer take on that episode in spn it could have been so fun).

ENT - he definitely thinks enterprise is stupid and he’s not wrong but he has also definitely watched it and been very repressed about the whole thing. mans was like oh i feel a kinship with malcolm reed the obviously repressed queer man. i will never examine this feeling ever again thank you <3 he also makes fun of archer for being obsessed with, of all sports, water polo. shran is his favourite character because he’s a little shit and makes him laugh, and t’pol, because t’pol is a badass and he’d appreciate that. i can’t remember the title of a single episode off the top of my head though lol.

i can see what you’re saying about sam being a TNG stan. i’m conflicted though, I feel like TNG’s generally the favourite of 1) obnoxious nerds who think knowing trivia facts makes them smart, 2) men desperately trying to seem masculine and 3) people who’ve watched it three times and have extremely complex thoughts on the personhood and rights of robots. i could see sam fitting into the third group, but people who are in it for the robot feelings are a coin flip between voyager and tng being the fave, and i just have a feeling that voyager would be his favourite. i know kid sam is getting gender envy watching voyager in shitty motels while dad and dean are out, trying to find the words for it. his first semester at stanford he talks a friend into giving him the janeway haircut and rides that high for months. sam’s favourite characters are seven and EMH.

sam and dean have definitely had dozens of long drawn out debates about philosophical topics in star trek. do the holograms deserve rights and if so which ones. are the romulans and vulcans still meaningfully the same people. was spock right for trying to foment reunification by going undercover on romulus. can the borg be redeemed. etc etc.

i haven’t seen any of picard at all so i can’t comment. i also think sam and dean probably read a lot of the trek books? they’re pretty common to find in secondhand bookstores and cheap, would have been even cheaper back in the day. sam probably doesn’t care for them much, dean has a few solid faves though. i’ve only read the disco books so i can’t comment anything specifically (besides the fact that i think dean read dead endless and cried like a baby), but some of the TOS and DS9 books are gay as hell and i know dean was eyes emoji-ing that shit.

#spn #spn fic #tfw 2.0 #treknatural

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nickkkdoesstuff · 3 years

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general 24 w/ lewvithur maybe? :0c

Prompt list.

“I haven’t seen (her/him/them) smile in months.”

I’m not really used to write about lewvithur (or ot3 in general) and I apologize if this is a little odd or off character <: i’m trying

Summary: None of them had genuinely smiled since their lives had torn apart. Arthur finds his old keyboard and plays an awful familiar song.

Song: “Slow Dance” by Saint Motel

Vivi licked the melted marshmallow off her fingers with as much enthusiasm she had. Definitely the idea of taking her boyfriends out in the woods for a nice little evening soiree, technically they were on a mission hunting down a werewolf but it wouldn’t hurt if they stopped for a second, and the night above them was lovely-

The blue leader couldn’t avoid the dark sky filled with stars and lights of distant cities, she had told them to rest for a while, they all deserved it anyway. Arthur had brought the idea of building a fire when the sun started to set behind them and Lewis suggested s'mores because “it wasn’t a real campfire if it didn’t had s’mores”, the ghost couldn’t eat anymore but who were they to deny such a delicacy.

So there they were, their faces red because of the heat and a little sweaty too. The van’s radio had gone off a few minutes ago and they had run out of conversation topics. The three of them sat on a fallen log, pressed together like a human sandwich one next to another, a little awkward if you asked, but way more comfortable than try to get a real conversation out of anyone.

Vivi sighed tired. “Looks like we ran out of cookies.” she stood up. “I’m going to see if there are some more in the van.”

Arthur nodded and Lewis just didn’t mind at all.

She jumped on the back of their van, a lamp on her mouth to leave free her hands. She brushed with her eyes the tall, metallic shelves that held many of her supernatural artifacts that she assured held properties and could be handy on one of their jobs, she had never used them, true, but you never knew when a spirit could strike, so she kept them to collect dust on tagged cardboard boxes like forgotten items, one of those boxes should have the food supplies, she was sure, but after Lewis died, nobody had reorganized the shelves, and nor she or Arthur cared enough to do it, so now the “food supplies” were strange books Vivi didn’t remember collecting and a few shiny rocks Arthur probably picked up during their trips.

The blue haired girl emptied all the van and couldn’t find those damned cookies- she had looked everywhere except for the higher level of the shelves, “They must be there”, she thought. “I swear for the love of fuck, Arthur, that if you ate them I’m starting a war”.

She picked the box but it slipped out of her hands and landed on top of her hair.

“Ow” she patted herself. Many other things fell along with her, Lewis wasn’t going to be happy with the mess she made. The girl kicked some stuff out of her way until a strange one came across her path, she didn’t recall having that one when 99% of the stuff stocked there was hers. It was a black square bag, it was dusty and a little heavy but the lazo on one of its sides made it easier to carry around.

“Arthur, sweety,” she called, popping her head out of the van. “what 's this?”

Half asleep Arthur turned to her. “Oh.”

He moved to inspect the bag and put it on the floor, his slim hands slid open the zipper to reveal an old keyboard piano.

“I have been looking for this for ages!” Arthur kneel before it and ran his fingers through the white and black tiles. “I haven’t pla- played this since- since… well…”

The hurt look on his eyes said it all. The boy turned it on, wondering if it still worked after a year of abandonment. To his surprise, it did, the screen came back to life and lights shone brighter than before. A small smile crept upon his lips, shy as himself.

“C’mon, Artie.” Vivi hurried to sit down next to the ghost, right in front of Arthur like they were a crowd. “Delight us, please.”

Arthur looked at her hesitantly, and then to the keyboard, unsure if he even knew how to play it anymore. “I don’t- I don’t know, Vi, it’s been a- a while…”

“Pweaseeeee.” Vivi wore puppy eyes. Oh no, please don’t, he thought, not the eyes.

“Fi- fineeee. I guess I can play something.”

The blond man ran through his memories, he should remember how to play any song, literally any song was good…

“This is one that everyone knows.” And then he played the first chord.

“I'm waitin' for that slow dance.”

Vivi gasped.

“So I can feel your arms around me.”

Oh, she definitely knew that song.

“Wait ‘till the music turns to romance.”

Arthur laughed a little at his girlfriend’s reaction.

“Go tell that Dj that he owes me.”

With a hand on her hip, she stood up, smiling brighter than she had ever done it. Vivi fixed her messy blue hair, tied her scarf tighter and tucked under her skirt her oversized sweater. Offering a hand to the ghost, she invited him to dance. A funny expression broke the specter’s skull and took her hand in acceptance. They pretended the dirt under their feet was a fancy dance floor and the moon a disco ball.

“Well, they don’t know that much about it.”

They began to move around to the beat of the song.

“Been waiting every single day.”

Vivi spinned around, holding her boy’s hand as he catched up with her.

“I could be your best friend, I could be your centerpiece, I could be your soulmate, I could be your everything.”

She planted a kiss on his forehead.

“Thunderbolts and lighting queuing up the symphony.”

He carried her bridal style and leaned her to the floor, taking a laugher out of her.

“You know I’m waiting for that slow dance.”

Vivi escaped from his grip with a jump and rolled a little on the dirt.

“So I can feel your arms around me. Wait ‘till the music turns to romance. Go tell that Dj that he owes me.”

They both danced a silly dance, no longer making sense.

“Hand on my back, panic attack. Pull it together, don't overreact! Keepin' her close, don't step on her toes. Leave enough room for the holy ghost.”

Now Mystery had joined them.

“Romance”

Arthur grinned at the sight.

“Too slow but this is how you showed me.”

For a moment, Arthur was no longer in the woods but the Kingsmen’s mechanics garage. He was a small boy once again.

“We could talk for forty hours.”

He was sitting outside, watching the sunset over the mountains, time didn’t matter, he was simply staring at the beautiful magentas and lilacs the sky had painted.

“We’d end up right back at the start.”

It reminded him of Vivi and Lewis, and he couldn’t take his eyes away from it. He thought it was beautiful. It was the night of the prom, he knew he should be sunking his problems on punch and dancing cheesy songs with his friends, but nobody had asked him out, Lewis and Vivi should be there, enjoying their night.

“I could be your best friend, I could be your centerpiece, I could be your soulmate, I could be your everything.”

They made a nice couple after all.

“Thunderbolts and lighting queuing up the symphony.”

He was lost on himself until both of them showed up with bright smiles at him and asked him out.

Arthur had never been so glad to say yes.

“You know I’m waiting for that slow dance.”

Suddenly, without a warning, a cold hand pulled him. It was Vivi.

“So I can feel your arms around me.”

“Oh, no no no no, I’m- I’m not a good dancer.”

“Wait ‘till the music turns to romance.”

His girlfriend laughed. “Who cares?”

“Go tell that Dj that he owes me.”

She gently took both of his hands -flesh and metallic- and dragged him along with her where Lewis awaited.

“Vivi- wait, no-!”

“There’s no doubt about it.”

She kissed his cheek to make him shut up, it worked indeed. Flustered, Arthur surrendered.

“It’s something magical.”

She never lost her grip on his hands, and, as if they were little kids, Vivi spun around slowly.

“Feeling our surroundings.”

The world around him moved fast, the couple stayed still, or that was what Arthur felt when he could only stare at her beautiful blue gaze.

“And time is slowing down for us.”

Arthur sank in the moment. Looking at her toothy smile directed at him, Arthur welcomed that warm gesture in his heart and let the feeling of being all right washed over him.

Vivi slowed down and when they weren’t that nauseous she quickly grabbed him in a suffocating but nice and fitting hug, right when he was about to return it, he was pushed towards a black suit.

“You know I’m waiting for that slow dance.”

“¿Me concedes esta pieza?” Lewis said in fluent spanish, Arthur looked up to meet not a terrifying skull but a human face with a gentle smile on him.

“So I can feel your arms around me.”

“Huh?” Arthur didn’t even pay attention when Lewis talked with that accent.

“Wait ‘till the music turns to romance.”

“Would you grant me this piece?” He laughed and Arthur just limited himself to nod as his blush warmed all his face.

“Go tell that Dj that he owes me.”

A hand went to his back and another one lifted his robotic arm, the blond boy followed him, taken back a little, was he really dancing with Lewis-?

It didn’t feel real, but he loved it.

“Hand on my back, panic attack.”

Arthur rested his head on his boyfriend’s big chest just like a pillow.

“Pull it together, don’t over react!”

How long had it been since he had been this happy?

“Keepin’ her close, don’t step on her toes.”

He hadn’t seen any of them smile, a true smile, one that didn’t lie.

“Leave enough room for the holy ghost.”

A smile that could warm your soul for decades.

“Romance.”

No, he hadn’t seen one.

“Too slow but this is how you showed me.”

The music ended and Lewis didn’t pull away his boyfriend, instead he kept him close and placed his lips on top of his tall hair. Vivi came to finish the hug, her short arms doing their best to hold them together until she was tucked under both of her boys.

No, Arthur hadn’t seen them smile in months.

He opened his eyes to snitch on them, beautiful smiles decorated the moment, he couldn’t help but think that things were going to be alright.

#doodleanswers #nemesis-is-my-middle-name #lewvithur #msa #mystery skulls animated #i'm editing this later :>

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jbbarnesnnoble · 4 years

Text

Hazy Horizons (Part Four)

Summary: In the wake of their lives being turned upside down and losing their son, Andy and Laurie Barber move to Maine, in search of starting over and starting a new family, by any means necessary

Features/Warnings: Dark!Fic; Dubcon/Noncon; Drugging; Manipulation; Smut; Breeding Kink; mentions of Lacatation Kink; Pregnancy Kink; Gaslighting

Series Warnings: Dubcon/Noncon; Manipulation; Breeding Kink; Drugging; Gaslighting

Pairing: Dark!Andy Barber/Reader/Dark!Laurie Barber

Notes: A visit to the doctor’s office and a moment alone with Laurie find you questioning everything.

Shorter part this time, but it felt like a good place to end this chapter. Please heed the new warning because the Barbers are upping their manipulation game this part. This is more of a Laurie focused chapter.

Please bear in mind that this is/will be a dark fic. You’re responsible for the content you choose to read.

Word Count: 2097

You didn’t even look at Laurie when you got into the car. It had been just over a week since you found out. A week since you saw everything crash down around you. You didn’t know it was possible for them to become worse, more possessive, more overbearing. Laurie was making you lunch to bring to work daily. It was nothing new, but what she gave you was. Healthier, removing anything that might be harmful to the baby.

She’d watch you take the prenatal vitamins in the morning. You hadn’t even been to the doctor yet. No, that was coming that afternoon. Andy was taking off early to be there. Laurie had taken you to have blood drawn earlier in the week. Today would be confirmation of what you already knew.

“Andy’s meeting us there. He’s already waiting. He’s so excited. We both are,” Laurie said. You didn’t respond. You watched as the snow fell outside the car window. You saw a young woman and her boyfriend, throwing snowballs at each other. Your heart ached at the sight. Would you ever get to experience that kind of love again? The early days of being carefree, of just enjoying being with one another.

It didn’t take long to arrive at Dr. Schroder’s office. Laurie pulled in next to where Andy was parked. You had barely unbuckled your seatbelt when Andy opened your door, leaving no room for you to argue as he offered you his arm as he helped you out of the car. He made it hard to hate him, when you knew that’s the only way you should feel toward him, toward both of them.

The three of you made your way into the office. You had a Barber on either side of you. Laurie went to check you in as Andy guided you to a chair. You were jittery. You hoped that somehow the test you’d taken at home was wrong. You were called back sooner than you thought, the first thing the nurse had you do was give a urine sample. Even with the blood test, you knew they wanted to have multiple avenues of confirmation.

When you came back into the room, you sat back up on the table after changing into the gown provided. You hid behind the little curtain, refusing to let them see you after they refused to leave the room to let you change. Coming out from behind the curtain, you sat up on the table, waiting for the return of the nurse.

“Hello Barber family, I’m Angie and I’ll be your nurse today,” the peppy redhead said, shifting her focus to you. You caught a glimpse of the name on the paper and tried not to let your shock show. Your first name was there, but your last name most certainly was not. Your paperwork had already been on file with Dr. Schroder’s office from when you moved to town. You looked over at Andy and Laurie. Did they have your name legally changed? You remembered signing the deed papers the previous week. How you thought they’d sneak a marriage license in if it was legal. Could they have slipped in papers to orchestrate a legal name change? You felt your heart rate quicken at the thought.

“Before I check your vitals, I have a few questions,” Angie said. You answered them almost robotically. Any family history of high blood pressure? Heart disease? Any surgeries? Have you ever been pregnant?

“And last few questions. Have you ever been diagnosed with depression or anxiety?” she asked. You were quiet for a moment.

“She’s been having panic attacks recently. Not frequently, though,” Laurie said.

“I was diagnosed with anxiety a few years ago. I have medication, but I only take it as needed,” you said, looking anywhere but at anyone in the room. You zoned out a little bit as the nurse spoke. You heard what she said but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. Your movements were almost robotic when she had you lay back. You wished you were anywhere but in that room. Angie left the room shortly after.

“You’re doing so well baby,” Andy said, taking your hand in his, rubbing circles on the back of it. You hated that you liked it. You hated everything about this situation.

Dr. Schroder entered the room, her blonde hair pulled back into a tight ponytail. She was older, probably in her early fifties. You’d been to see her once before. She gave you a warm smile and offered her congratulations.

The exam was straight forward, if a little uncomfortable. Your bloodwork showed you were healthy. She called the ultrasound technician into the room, the final part of the appointment.

“Now, because it’s so early, we’ll be doing a transvaginal ultrasound. It might feel a bit uncomfortable, but you’ll get to see the baby for the first time,” Dr. Schroder explained.

You weren’t sure what you were expecting to feel emotionally. But as the image appeared on screen, you couldn’t help the emotions you felt, the tears stinging at your eyes. For the first time, you weren’t entirely sure they were out of frustration or sadness.

“And here’s the heartbeat,” the technician said as you heard the steady thud of the baby’s heart.

“It looks like you’re about eight weeks on the nose. An early fall baby,” Dr. Schroder explained as she pointed to the screen.

You didn’t speak after getting dressed and leaving the office. Laurie had made your next appointment. You could practically feel the giddiness radiating off both Barbers. You kept a small smile on your face, playing the role they expected you to. But you weren’t so sure you were playing anymore as you looked down, your hand over your stomach. You weren’t showing yet, wouldn’t for weeks yet. But knowing there was something there, it pulled at you.

In another life, you’d be wanting to shout from the rooftops, alongside someone you loved. But you were starting to resign yourself to the idea that that was not what you were going to get to have. Not now. Not ever.

The drive home was quiet, with only the sound of the radio and Laurie humming along to whatever song was playing. You went to change into pajamas as soon as you were in the door, Laurie close behind you.

“Why don’t I get the bathtub set for you? You can take a nice relaxing bath and unwind a bit,” Laurie said, coming up behind you and wrapping her arms around you. You nodded, not wanting to fight. Like it or not, it had been a long day between work and your appointment. You were tired and the morning sickness that had started to set in hadn’t helped matters.

You finished undressing, throwing your clothing in the hamper, before heading into the bathroom. It was one of the few things you had come to enjoy since the madness began. The bathtub in the remodeled bathroom was huge. You didn’t resist as Laurie helped you in, joining you in the bath. You allowed her to wash you, running a washcloth along your arms, up to your shoulders and down your back in slow, deliberate movements.

It wasn’t long before she was finished with it, choosing then to begin to massage your shoulders gently, placing light kisses here and there. You tensed for moment when you felt her lips against your skin.

“Relax,” Laurie murmured. Her hands moved to cup your breasts as she pulled you close to her chest.

“These are going to start growing. We’re hoping mine will too. We’re a family now,” she whispered as she massaged each breast, before focusing her attention on your nipples. They were sore but you couldn’t help the jolt of pleasure you felt. One of her hands drifted down until it was between your legs. You mentally berated yourself as your legs spread wider, without you even thinking about it. They had worn you down, that much was evident.

“That’s it sweetheart, let me take care of you,” Laurie said as her fingers began to gently move around your sensitive clit. This was intimate. It was intense in a way you couldn’t describe, almost like you were at a point of no return. You gasped as she increased her pace, before a soft moan escaped.

“That’s it. It’s so much easier when you accept it, honey. So much easier when you know your place, isn’t that right?” she asked. When you didn’t answer she began to pull away. You surprised yourself with the whine that left your mouth.

“Answer me,” she commanded, as her fingers trailed around where you needed them most.

“Yes,” you said, desperate for the contact. She maneuvered you to pull you into a demanding kiss.

“Now let’s try again, hm?” she asked, bringing her fingers back up to your clit. Her pace was faster, and you let out a high pitched moan.

“You know your place is here, don’t you sweetheart?” she asked. You nodded.

“Y-yes, oh! Yes, Laurie,” you cried out. You felt her smirk from where her lips pressed against your skin. There was one line you never crossed. You never said their names during sex. Ever.

“Good girl,” she said after a moment. You moaned as she increased the pressure. You were close.

“Please, please can I cum? Laurie,” you whined.

“Oh, you’re asking so nicely. Good girls get rewarded. Go ahead sweetheart. Cum for me,” Laurie said. It didn’t take much for her to push you over the edge.

By the time you were getting out of the tub, the water had cooled. Laurie wrapped a fluffy towel around you, before wrapped one around herself. You were still relaxed from her actions, but shame was bubbling up. How easily you had given in, how easily you had lost sight of what she was. You were losing yourself in your thoughts as the high from the pleasure she brought wore off. You were trapped. That much was obvious. It might not have seemed so from the outside looking in, but you knew better.

A gilded cage was still a cage. You never attempted escape. How could you with how well connected they were, even as the newest residents in town? Who would believe you when you weren’t kept locked in a room? They afforded you freedoms for your cooperation. Manipulated the situation into one where any attempts from you would make you look like the crazy one. You willingly gave into them more and more. How could it be anything but consensual? You felt the tears begin to fall as the reality truly set in. And what about the name change? Had it been legal or did they somehow get it changed with your doctor?

“Honey? What’s wrong? Talk to me,” Laurie said, coming to sit beside you on the bed. When had you sat down? You knew one wrong step would have her angry, would mean punishment. But they were never cruel. No. You could handle it then.

“My name...my name at the doctor’s office. They called the Barbers back. My name wasn’t right on the paper,” you said, choosing to go that route instead, trying to gather information.

“We wanted to tell you tonight, over dinner. Andy’s picking it up now. Your name change went through. It’s the closest thing we can have to making our family official,” she said. You felt the blood drain from your face. Your fear was confirmed.

“My...my name change?” you asked.

“We talked about this sweetheart. You signed the papers, don’t you remember? We talked about this when we combined the deeds to the house,” she explained. You knew there had been no discussion.

“No...no we didn’t,” you said. She looked at you with concern.

“We did. We celebrated this new beginning. You know, it’s probably brain fog. It happens with pregnancy. It’s okay if you forgot, honey. We’ll still celebrate tonight. We won’t tell Andy you forgot about this,” she said, as she straddled your lap. You were confused. You were starting to question if the events happened like she said. You knew you wouldn’t have been celebrating, but had they told you about it? Had you forced yourself to forget?

“We should get dressed. Andy will be back soon and we still need to set the table,” she said, pulling you up. You both dressed in more comfortable clothing, you opted for sweatpants and an oversized t-shirt. Heading downstairs, you felt more lost than you had since it all began.

#defending jacob fic #andy barber #laurie barber #andy barber fic #dark!andy barber #andy barber/reader/laurie barber #dark!fic #dark!laurie barber #dark!defending jacob #andy barber/reader #laurie barber/reader #andy barber x reader x laurie barber #dark fic

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not-close-to-straight · 4 years

Text

Lost and Found (Two)

Welcome back to the story! We officially meet James in this chapter and I don’t think any TW apply but since he is sort of WS!Bucky he is sort of... creepy. Robotic. I love him. I’ve never really written post WS!Bucky without Steve there to help with healing so this was interesting to try.

Enjoy!

MASTERLIST HERE

*************

It was bright outside the diner and James blinked once, twice to let his eyes adjust before following the stranger-- Tony-- out onto the sidewalk.

It was bright and James clocked six people wearing sunglasses as they hurried from place to place and one wearing sunglasses on top their head so they wouldn’t disrupt a professionally done hairstyle. One woman on the phone wearing blue jeans, pink shirt, teal purse, cheap jewelry and layered on make up. One man in a suit that had seen better days, worn patches at the elbows but a new tie. A couple fresh out of an argument, the boy walked hostile and the girl walked afraid.

The subway roaring in the background, the stench of traffic, the smell of soup--white bean and sausage. James knew because they’d served the same thing at the shelter last night which meant the person with hunched shoulders and furtive eyes had also been at the shelter and click click click James’s mind snapped to the third bed from the wall last night, the one with a faded backpack and brand new key chains and a woman named--

“I lost you for a minute there, didn’t I? What were you looking at?”

The stranger-- Tony-- Tony’s voice broke into his thoughts and James switched gears immediately, blinked out of the habit of surveillance mode and down into dark eyes, mentally backtracking to remember the question.

“You saw everything, didn’t you?” Tony almost sounded amused as he glanced between James and the busy street. “I do that too. Notice everything about everyone in a half second and try to remember it all? I mean, I don’t do it in the intense broody way you do, but it’s a lot right?”

Tony made a motion at his temple. “It’s a lot to process. I get it. Need another minute?”

Yes.

No.

It wouldn’t do any good to explain how he knew to watch everything and precisely catalogue what he saw, it didn’t matter to anyone but James that he couldn’t even inhale without the instinct to hold his breath and clear his mind before pulling a trigger.

James didn’t remember ever pulling a trigger in his life, but the instinct to freeze was still there and it won out now, his breath catching and mind specifically blanking before he answered, “I’m fine.”

He wasn’t fine, though.

It was bright outside, bright and busy and when James had come to the diner for a cup of coffee it had been dark and empty. He remembered choosing a corner booth-- always a corner booth-- and nursing one-two-three cups of coffee as the sun rose and he remembered watching every customer that came through the door including the one Tony who had shown up and offered to change his life right alongside a smile that did funny things to James’s heart.

He remembered all that but he didn’t remember it getting bright outside.

How long was I in the diner this time?

Usually a waitress would come by the table and remind him that it was lunch or that he’d been there since lunch and now it was dinner but today they hadn’t said anything, or maybe James had been so lost he just hadn’t heard them.

...how long?

Time escaped James these days. He saw everything and everyone but time was always just out of his reach. Had it been hours or half a day since he’d sat down for a cup of coffee? Weeks or months that he’d been staying off and on at the shelter and sweeping floors in exchange for a bed? A year since he’d come to beneath that bridge with no recollection of what had happened to his arm? Two years? Three?

…. Seconds or minutes since Tony had asked him another question and James had faded out into the confusion of time and feeling stuck while the entire world moved around him.

How long was I in the diner this time?

“Malibu or New York?” Tony was asking conversationally, easily, no sign of irritation or stress in his eyes or posture so it must not have been too long between questions while James was thinking. “Do you want sky scrapers or the beach cos I can do either. I have a better set up in Malibu if you’re okay with plane ride,s, but we could just drive to Manhattan and my facility there. What do you think?”

Breathe in, clear your mind, pull the trigger speak.

“I think I’m okay with planes.” James said slowly, clearly. “Feel like I don’t love trains all that much though.”

“I don’t love trains much either.” Tony pulled out the fanciest phone James had ever seen and tapped at the screen a few times before putting it to his ear. “Malibu it is, you’ll love the-- Pepper. Hey. Yeah I’m fine. Nope, don’t do that. Pep-- Pep--”

Tony stepped away so James wouldn’t have to overhear what was apparently an argument, and James exhaled and watched, breathed and cataloged and filed away everything he saw.

Fancy suit, fancy shoes, fancy accessories, messy hair. Straight posture, well groomed, assured and self confident. Fast talking, quick thinking, lying through his teeth.

Tony was lying, smile forced and forehead creasing even though he kept assuring the person on the other end that everything was fine. He rubbed at his chest, then played with his tie as a distraction. Scuffed his shoes into the dirt and didn’t blink, but scowled down at a still red pin prick at the tip of his finger.

“I said I’m fine.” Lying through his teeth. “The car is already on its way. No, I didn’t do anything drastic. Well, not drastic for me.”

Tony was hiding from the woman on the phone, hiding whatever at his chest was hurting him and James didn’t like that. Red flag. People were always one thing or another-- benign or a threat. Honest or lying. Harmful or harmless. Target or collateral damage. Mission or neutral. Asleep or activated.

Activated made his head hurt, brought on the same swift migraine it always did and James blinked once, twice, breathed and forced himself not to react to the sudden pain.

Hiding. Blank. Lost.

“Sorry about that.” Tony was back, and his smile for James was more real than his smile at the phone had been. “Car should be here in a minute. Do you have any belongings we need to get? An apartment to clear out or anything like that? Job to quit?”

James thought about the extra set of clothing he kept in the locker at the shelter, the box of cleaning and maintenance supplies with his name on it, and the few blankets he had rolled up beneath his semi-permanent bed.

“No.” he decided. There were others around that could use the clothes and blankets more than he could at this point. “No. I don’t have anything I need to get.”

“Oh.” Tony’s mouth opened, then closed again, curiosity and something almost like grief flickering in his eyes. “Got it. We’ll get back to my hotel so I can get my stuff, if you want to shower you can shower and I’ll get you some clothes ordered and then we can leave. Do you know your size right off the top of your head?”

James lowered his brows negatively and Tony nodded that he understood. “Never mind, I can take care of that too. Here’s the car, are you ready?”

Ready, soldier?

“I’m ready.”

A sleek black car pulled to the curb and Tony opened the door for James, motioning him inside and onto the leather seats. “Do you have any preference for what you want to wear? Jeans? Not jeans? Are you more of a long sleeve guy or do you prefer short sleeves so they are easier to--” Tony’s gaze dropped to the empty sleeve. “-- pin up.”

“I’ve got money to buy my own clothes.” James settled onto the plush seat and muffled a groan. Sleeping on a cot at the shelter hadn’t bothered him but now that he was on something actually soft, James realized he was sore clear down to his bones. “Thanks all the same.”

“I’m not saying you don’t have money, I’m saying I have more money.” Tony was tapping at his phone again, but paused and grimaced apologetically. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to come across as an asshole there.”

James only shrugged, too focused on ignoring the sharpening migraine and quietly loving the seats to worry how someone sounded and whether or not there was anything remotely normal about this interaction.

Time had passed him by. He had ingrained habits and instincts that lent credence to some sort of horrifying past. There were nightmares he didn’t understand filled with red stars and freezing cold and losing his arm. Days stretched endless and when dark fell sometimes James didn’t know if he wanted to try and see another sunrise.

But Tony’s entire attitude towards him was both understanding and somehow hopeful, the underlying pain in the dark eyes overshadowed by wonder when James said yes to his proposition and even now as Tony got back on the phone and lied to Pepper about how he was just fine and everything was under control, the smile he sent James was brilliant and honest and beautiful.

Tony might be lying to everyone about whatever was going on, but he wasn’t lying to James.

That was enough for right now.

And if it wasn’t, James didn’t have anything to lose anyway.

******************

“Yeah hey, I need some clothes sent up.” Tony was still on the phone when they arrived at the hotel, switching from one call to the other as he herded James into the elevator and sent it rocketing towards the penthouse suite. “No not a suit, I think it’s too early for that. Jeans and some basic shirts, maybe a jacket.”

The concierge on the other end chattered on for a minute and Tony looked James over faux seriously. “Ummm size? Beefy. Beefy sized.”

James looked away and tried not to smile, but Tony elbowed him lightly and winked in the mirrored walls. “Intimate apparel? Yes…?” he hesitated and James gave a short nod. “Yes. Size? Well he’s bigger than me, that’s for damn sure. Am I nosy enough to ask? You know what, it turns out I am.”

Tony put a hand over the speaker and pointed to James’s waist. “What size is your belt?”

“Dunno.” James shrugged and Tony flinched in sympathy when the left shoulder barely moved. “Just fits, I guess.”

“Can I check?” Tony took a step away from James before asking to get close, one hand held up peacefully so the soldier wouldn’t shy away. “Just the tag?”

He never used to ask about this sort of thing. Most people touched him without pausing to check in first. Doctors were the worst, but so were politicians and anyone else who wanted a chance for a photo op with Tony Stark. Paparazzi who needed a picture, fans who ranged from wanting to smell his cologne to actually trying to steal his clothes. Pepper who just grabbed his hand and directed him places, Rhodey who had more than once slung a too drunk Tony over his shoulder and carried him away.

People just touched Tony and in turn, Tony had learned to just touch people. Who needed to ask for permission when everyone wanted a piece of him?

...but then Obadiah had paralyzed him, rendered him completely helpless and loomed over the couch horrifying and big, tore Tony’s heart out right from his chest and smiled about it and now-- now the thought of being touched without permission made Tony sick to his stomach.

So he paused to ask, “Can I check?” and James went oddly still for a split second, thinking.

And oh Tony recognized that look, that look that wondered ‘am I allowed to say no’ and he was already backing up another step before James answered, already planning on just dropping it and guessing at beefy sizes but then James muttered, “Sure.” and motioned him back in.

“Yeah?” Tony checked again, just one more time and once James nodded, he tugged at the back of the belt to read the number. “Thank you.”

And back on the phone-- “Waist size thirty four, seventy two or three inches tall, and probably twice as wide as me in the shoulders. Yeah, we need some extra give there. Nothing uh-- nothing that wrinkles. Easy movement, no buttons. Colors?”

He glanced over at James, who shook his head. “Shades of blue and give me something in dark red.”

“Blue and dark red, huh?” James asked as the elevator slowed. “Why those colors?”

“Cos I think you’d look good in--” Tony stopped before he blurted out something awkward. “Cos everyone feels comfortable in blue and obnoxious shades of red are my go to color of choice.”

“Seems fair.” the edge of Russian to James’s words made them sound clipped, almost disapproving. “Nice room.”

“It’s um--” Tony looked around the over sized suite, at the floor to ceiling windows and overly plush furniture, the double doors that led to one of the two bedrooms and private bathrooms, then back at the almost definitely homeless soldier. “It’s unnecessary and pretentious.” he finally finished. “And I didn’t realize how over the top it was till just now.”

The corner of James’s mouth tipped up in a knowing smile and Tony relaxed again. No judgment there. “You can use my shower since I think Pepper wouldn’t understand a strange man in her bathroom.” he pointed towards the far bedroom. “Take your time and use whatever soap or shampoo or random toiletries they got in there. I got charged enough for this room, someone should use all the included in price stuff. Oh and you can…”

Tony tilted his head and narrowed his eyes when he saw just how slowly James reached for the bedroom doorknob. “It’s screwed on pretty tight, James. Pretty sure you aren’t going to break it.”

“I know.” James said almost shortly. “Just being careful anyway.”

“Ooookay.” Tony watched for another few seconds as James carefully carefully opened the door, then seemed to breathe a sigh of relief once it opened without any damage. Interesting. “Anyway. Take your time. I should have some extra clothes for you by the time you get out.”

“Thank you.” James’s eyes widened briefly when he saw the massive bed taking up most of the bedroom. “Be out soon.”

“Sure.” Tony waited until the door clicked shut, then waited longer to make sure the shower had started before getting back on his phone and accessing his mainframe back in Malibu.

“Yes sir?” JARVIS intoned. “Aren’t you supposed to be in a senate hearing at this very moment?”

“Yeah, I stopped for lunch.” Tony could almost feel the disapproval from his AI right through the phone. “Send out a ‘to do’ list for the housekeeper, I need one of the guest rooms opened up and aired out, I’m bringing someone home with me.”

“An overnight guest, sir? Should I enact the usual Taking Out The Trash Protocol?”

“Not this time, but I’m going to tell Pepper you named that protocol after how she treats my hook ups and you’re going to be in trouble.”

“I wish you wouldn’t, sir.”

“Too late, done and done.” Tony looked over his shoulder at the closed bathroom door. “Order in double our usual amount of groceries and prep a diagnostic program in the lab. I want up to date specs on that arm piece I abandoned a couple weeks ago and a generic run of the first steps to convert it into something less Iron Man and more normal man.”

“You want to turn your multi million dollar piece of Iron Man armor tech into a prosthesis, sir?”

“That’s right.”

“Very well, anything else?”

“How is our facial recognition software?”

“Still better than the governments, sir.”

“Eh, that doesn’t mean much. Beef it up for me, please. I’ll need it right away when I get home.”

“Yes sir.”

“See you soon, J.”

Tony disconnected the call and kicked off his shoes, opened the door to Pepper’s bedroom and climbed right onto her bed to bury his face in strawberry shampoo scented pillows.

He was exhausted. Nineteen percent and Senate hearing bull shit and the surprisingly emotional toll of meeting James had left him exhausted. He just needed to sleep and maybe Pepper wouldn’t mind if he just drifted off for a little bit…

...just a little bit...

***********

The first time James had snapped a doorknob off in his hand, he chalked it up to a shitty installation and sub par construction in a less than ideal part of town.

But then he’d turned the water on and ripped the faucet apart, stumbled back into a wall and fell right through when the over hard mass of his left shoulder broke the plaster and sent it crumbling.

James had over corrected and fallen again, smacked his nose on the twist of pipes and spilled blood everywhere— blood that stopped dripping from a fully healed nose in a matter of seconds.

He’d obsessed about it for a while afterwards. Broken his knuckles just to see them heal. Tore a door off its hinges with nothing more than a shift of his weight and a quick jerk. Took off running through the back streets and alleys and stopped after six hours because he was bored, not winded. Went to a bar to get drunk and never managed even tipsy, joined a brawl just to test his reflexes and caught a bottle coming from behind his back with out even looking.

James had obsessed about it, tapped his limited memory over and over trying to find a hint, a clue, just a tiny piece of anything to explain something about himself but all he accomplished was nose bleeding migraines and nightmares that grew increasingly violent night after restless, anxious night.

He didn’t sleep-- couldn’t sleep-- and after weeks had gone by and the days bled together and James couldn’t face another night without rest, he had given up looking for answers and settled for just breathing.

In and out. Measured breaths. Careful with his strength. Focused and slow with his reflexes. Purposeful movements and deliberate words. In and out. Breathe.

Breathe.

The hotel shower was too hot on James’s skin, almost scalding as he shook his tangled hair free of the tie back and let it loose along his shoulders. It was uncomfortably long these days but a hair cut wasn’t an option. Barber chairs with arm rests and foot bars made him anxious for some reason, buzzers too close to his temple made him want to scream, and the first time James had forced himself to sit still through the panic attack, he’d nearly broken the hair stylists hand as he tried to escape.

No haircuts. Lots of shampoo instead. James emptied the complimentary shampoo bottle washing his hair twice, used every drop of conditioner and the entire thing of body wash, tore the plastic cover off a new toothbrush and used most of the travel sized toothpaste as well.

The shower was too hot but James stayed under the spray until his skin went red and the lather had washed away and only then did he reluctantly step out of the basin and onto the soft rug, grabbing at the thickest towel he’d ever seen to pat himself dry.

It was a nice shower and a nice room and a far cry from a cot and communal locker room at the shelter, a far cry from the misery James had called life for a year-- had it really only been a year?-- now.

“Tony?” Clothes were nowhere to be found in the bedroom and James had a fleeting, panicked second of not knowing how much time had passed again before he tightened the towel around his waist and went looking for answers. “Tony? Are you still here?”

“Hey, still here.” Tony emerged from the other bedroom rubbing sleep from his eyes, hair hilariously rumpled and suit wrinkled beyond repair. “Hey how was your….shower…”

The words trailed off to nothing, Tony’s head tipped far to the side and his mouth a little slack, eyes going wide. “How was your shower?”

James instinctively took a step away from the stare, tried to angle his body sideways to hide the mass of scars and mottled skin at his left shoulder, grimaced and curled in a little so Tony wouldn’t see the empty where his arm used to be.

He hated this, hated when people looked at him on the street or at the shelter. Those people never even wanted to see him, they didn’t want to see homeless and they didn’t want to see hurt but they looked and they stared and they gawked at his injury and it bothered James more than he expected to have Tony looking and staring and gawking too.

“The shower was fine.” he said shortly, brusquely. “Where are my clothes?”

“Clothes… right… that’s a thing.” Tony kept looking and just when James was ready to shout about it--

--Tony blinked, then blinked again and wet his lips and oh.

Oh, well that was different then.

People didn’t want to see homeless or hurt but they had stared at James because he was different and damaged. But Tony was looking like he liked what he saw, biting at his lip and eyes glazing over and then it was a whole other set of instincts that had James straightening up and tipping his chin, rolling his shoulders and clearing his throat so Tony would know he knew.

He knew what that look meant but before James could wonder why he knew or whether he’d used those particular instincts before or not the door to the suite banged open and the moment was broken in spectacular fashion.

“Anthony Edward Stark! You have got some explaining to do!” The stranger was tall and gorgeous in the way all powerful women were and James knew just looking at her that this dame got what she wanted and wouldn’t hear argument over it.

He was proved right when the newcomer spun around on incredibly high heels and pointed a finger right at his chest, neither put off by his lack of clothing nor intimidated by his size. “And you! I don’t know who you are, but you are not leaving this room until I’ve vetted you properly, so stay put.”

“I don’t know what the hell this is.” she was practically hissing yet Tony looked like maybe he was going to laugh any second. “And I know you know I’m fine with-- with--” a vague motion over James’s near nakedness. “-- but you cannot just take a strange man up to the hotel room without informing me first! You said you were fine and hadn’t done anything drastic, Tony!”

“Oh come on.” Tony rolled his eyes. “Even if this was what you think it is-- and by the way, it isn’t? Even if it was, be honest. This isn’t even close to the worst thing you’ve caught me doing.”

“Tony.” Pepper pinched at the bridge of her nose and visibly grappled for calm."I just had to field half a dozen calls from various gossip rags wondering who the rent boy was accompanying you to your suite! Honestly, Tony! Just a little discretion! Just a tiny bit!”

“Pepper.” Tony really did have a beautiful smile even when it was strained around the edges, and James kept one eye on the volatile redhead and one eye on the way Tony’s dark eyes dimmed in sadness even as his smile stretched bigger. “Give me a little credit. I’d sneak rent boys through the back elevator.”

“Ohhhh my god, I need a drink.” Pepper marched towards the bar and started rummaging around for a glass. “You know, It’s bad enough you were so terrible at the hearings today. But then to just bolt out of the car in the middle of traffic--”

“--aspirin.” Tony tossed her a bottle and she caught it one handed. “And I was hungry.”

“--and I had no idea where you were for hours. Only to find out you’ve been yukking it up--”

“--yukking it up? Seriously?”

“--with admittedly the hottest guy I’ve seen in ages.” Pepper tossed back a handful of headache medication and downed it with a measure of scotch. “Couldn’t you have called me? A text. Just one. One where you actually used real words to say what was going on, not meaningless platitudes and your ‘everything is fine’ bull shit. Just tell me truth so I know you aren’t off doing something incredibly dangerous like taking the suit--”

She paused, narrowed her eyes back at James. “--suitcase out and making a scene.”

“I wasn’t doing anything with the suit case.” Tony stole one more look at James. “And I wasn’t doing anything with James either, except getting him some new clothes and seeing how the new prosthesis I have in Malibu will fit on his shoulder.”

“New prosthesis, is that what you’re calling it?” Pepper’s attitude shifted only minutely, but James picked up on it immediately. Prosthesis and suitcase-- they were talking about something else all together, something he wasn’t allowed to know yet. “I see. How… interesting.”

Yeah, this was interesting alright.

“You’ll have to forgive me.” Pepper was suddenly calm smiles and professional demeanor, a light switch change that told James she’d gone from stressed out to in front of cameras plenty of times. “I was so worried about Tony I forgot this sort of scene can be awkward for newcomers.”

“What Pepper means is, ignore my crazy and her Smother Henning, all things considered this isn’t even a very weird Tuesday for us.” Tony’s smile was a little more forced than it had been just a few minutes ago. “Uh Pep, this is James. I met him in the diner and decided he would be an excellent recipient for the prosthesis I’ve been working on. James this is Pepper Potts, my executive assistant and doer of all things--” he waved his hand vaguely. “--necessary.”

“Don’t let Tony full you, he would utterly fall to pieces without me there to keep him upright.” Pepper extended a slim hand and benign smile towards James. “Fortunately we love each other dearly so Smother Henning or not--” Tony snorted a laugh. “-- and despite what you just witnessed, we usually work very well together.”

“So long as I’m not scandalizing the press and making the company look bad, right Pep?” Tony was clearly only half joking, and Pepper was clearly half sad when she murmured, “There’s more important things than scandalizing the press, Tony. I’m just trying to make sure you’re okay.”

“Everything’s fine.” Tony was lying, but James didn’t say anything about it. “Hows the plane coming?”

“I’ll call ahead and let them know to expect another passenger.” There was a knock at the door and Pepper went to answer it, calling over her shoulder, “But we have to leave soon, Tony! If you aren’t staying for the hearings tomorrow we have meetings in Malibu to attend!”

“Sure we do.” Tony turned back to James with an apologetic smile. “Sorry about all that. Pepper really is my everything. She answers the phones and fields weird questions and keeps the press off my back. It’s only because of her the tabloids don’t know how bad I am.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means I’m at least three times as reckless and twice as obnoxious as they think.” Tony took a bag of clothes from Pepper when she returned, blew her a kiss as she hurried away again, then pushed the bag into James’s hand. “Pepper makes me look good, which makes her a bonafide miracle worker. Don’t let the high heels and terrifying power suits scare you, she’s about as sweet as they come.”

“Huh.” James peeked into the bag, then back up at Tony. “You love her.”

“I--” Tony blinked in surprise. “Well. Yes. I adore her.”

“Huh.” James said again, and left it at that, keeping his other observations to himself. “Guess I’ll go get dressed.”

“You do that.” There was none of that look in Tony’s eyes this time as he turned away, none of the blatant interest or lingering lust that had sparked so bright before Pepper had interrupted. “When was the last time you were on a plane? Ever been on a jet?”

“Not that I remember.” James went back to the bedroom to change again. “Is that a problem?”

“Nope.” Tony’s voice was muffled behind the door. “Not a problem at all. We’ll figure it out.”

**************

The jet was over the top just like the hotel room had been, stuffed plush chairs and thick carpet, a full size couch and a fully stocked bar, stewardesses in matching uniforms with a Stark logo emblazoned on their lapel. One asked James if he was ready for a drink before he’d even gotten buckled in, another came by with a hot towel for some reason and a third slipped a menu into his hand in case he was hungry.

Pepper ignored everything except for the drink and settled in at one of the chairs closest to the front of the plane with a pile of paperwork and her phone. Tony ignored even the drinks and sat down across from James as the plane readied for take off, gazed out the window at the disappearing runway with a grim expression and a hand over his heart like he didn’t even realize he was doing it.

James tried to watch out the window too but the height made his stomach swoop, so he went back to checking out the interior cabin, noting the different stewardesses and how each acted around Pepper and around Tony, watching Pepper’s brow wrinkle in thought as she typed at her phone and finally, inevitably, watching Tony watching the clouds outside.

“You’re staring.” Time had gotten away from James again and he jumped when Tony spoke, had no idea how long he’d been zoned out.

“What?” he refocused, recalibrated, drew his concentration in tight until he could hear every word. “What did you say?”

“You’re staring.” Tony repeated, no censure in the words but no smile either. “What did I do, sprout two heads or something?”

“Nah, sugar, you’re real good looking.” The words came easy, too easy for how foreign they were on his tongue, too easy for the way Tony’s eyes flew open wide and up ahead of them Pepper choked on her drink and coughed over loud.

When did he learn how to flirt?

And for a moment James thought he’d said the wrong thing. He’d sure as hell said something unintended but it had slipped out without thinking, had been almost natural especially after the way Tony had looked at him in the hotel room.

But then again, James could have read the look wrong, could be Tony hadn’t been thinking what James thought he’d been thinking and if that was the case then they probably were crossing signals all over the place and that probably meant Malibu wasn't a good idea--.

--“Well, you’re real good looking too.” Tony finally said, eyes soft and sort of surprised, his posture uncertain and the way he pressed over his heart anxious.

But his smile was real, hopeful and even a little shy so maybe-- maybe James hadn’t read that look wrong after all.

Maybe Malibu would be better than he thought.

...maybe this would be the first step towards James not being so lost anymore.

***********

SAY SOMETHING ABOUT THE CHAPTER!

PS: I tagged everyone who reblogged Chapter One but if you’d like to be added to the list ASK HERE

***********

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#ncts fics #winteriron #tony stark #bucky barnes #pepper potts

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