#on a more real note that does sound annoying and inconvenient

[bookwyrminspiration]

While we are on this food topic, I have to drink two glasses of milk, one when I wake up, one in the afternoon, or else I feel sick all day. But if I have three glasses of milk, then for the next few days I eat hardly anything cause I'd feel sick otherwise. Wtf digestive system

everyone be quiet please we need to get nonsie under a microscope immediately.

this is. this is fascinating. this is like a biological equivalent of having to hold the charger cable at the right angle to make it work. how do you even discover this. i'm.

can we put you in a test tube please?

[fortunxa]

streamer!Jinx (x reader) / modern AU (duh)

H E A D C A N O N S

—INCLUDES!

➤ x (fem!)reader

➤ x streamer!reader

contents: like one or two suggestive mentions, mentions of doxxing

author's note: chat!! @myrruwrites has officially motivated me to finish this draft, so PLEASE go check out their streamer!Jinx posts (more hcs here and fic here)!!! or really any post in general :P

── ⟢ streamer!Jinx in general

⭑.ᐟ streamer!Jinx who started streaming just for fun, not thinking much of it, and gets overwhelmed when her account starts gaining traction. She still doesn’t know if she likes it or not. Some days, she feels on top of the world; on others, it just makes her feel awkward.

⭑.ᐟ She mostly streams in her pajamas or other comfy clothes. On rare occasions, she’s wearing her rave outfit (smudged makeup, body paint, and all) because she didn’t change when she got back home and impulsively decided to stream. (rave girl!Jinx when?)

⭑.ᐟ streamer!Jinx who’s canceled every other week. She has no filter, nor does she care. She continues streaming, groaning loudly in annoyance if the chat brings up her latest controversy one too many times.

⭑.ᐟ Constantly arguing with kids if they annoy her. It was so over the moment Roblox added the mic feature. Her account almost got banned. She still does not care.

⭑.ᐟ streamer!Jinx who gets hilariously pouty at hate comments. She’s offended and does a bad job at hiding it.

– “Okay, so like… what IS wrong with my pants? Just out of curiosity, not that I care or whatever.”

⭑.ᐟ streamer!Jinx who knows she’s pretty but gets annoyed if someone comments on her appearance. It weirds her out. On the other hand, she’s also oblivious to how attractive she looks doing mundane things. (*cough* manspreading *cough*)

⭑.ᐟ She bans people on the spot for causing her the smallest of inconveniences. She’s on a power trip.

– “This is MY kingdom.”

⭑.ᐟ Her monitors are surrounded by post-it notes with random doodles, unfinished cryptic to-do lists, and stream ideas she quickly jotted down.

find a duck. real 1 this time

paint the thing spray paint purple 1st

buy more spray paint (green, pink, PURPLE)

get snacks (for her + me) + wires bolts

scope out the alley

test run #3

finish gift hehe

don’t forget to

⭑.ᐟ Contrary to popular belief, Jinx is a Redbull kind of girl, and her desk is proof of that. She used to be a Monster Energy fan, but she drank so much of it throughout the years that it made her sick.

⭑.ᐟ She constantly “improves” or “upgrades” her streaming gear with scraps from old tech. Some of it will be homemade, too.

⭑.ᐟ Her webcam is cracked, which makes the quality so shit that it brings a tear to her viewers’ eyes, so they beg her to get a proper one. She finally relents.

– “Here, damn. You guys are so spoiled. Now pay up since y’all wanted it so bad.”

‘omg the world is healing’

‘feels like getting new glasses’

‘this is a moment in history’

⭑.ᐟ Her mic quality fluctuates. Sometimes, it’s crisp; sometimes, it picks up loud static due to her “improvements.” It also completely cuts off if she screams too loud.

⭑.ᐟ Any gear she buys will be automatically customized the Jinx way: doodles upon doodles and paint splatters.

⭑.ᐟ She has a soundboard that features sound effects like classic explosions, the vine boom sound, the Among Us role reveal, the FNAF hallway sound, “YIPPEEE!”, the snoring man, a laughing track, clown circus music, and the Samsung “Morning flower” alarm (cursed version) amongst many others.

⭑.ᐟ Her webcam is tilted at weird angles half the time because she keeps bumping it while moving around.

⭑.ᐟ streamer!Jinx whose wifi cuts out way too often, and she blames it on “the government trying to stop her chaos”.

⭑.ᐟ Her streams never start on time. She either doesn’t acknowledge it or gives an over-the-top excuse. Viewers think she’s lying when she says she had to diffuse the toaster (she’s not).

⭑.ᐟ streamer!Jinx who loves clickbait titles. Plot twist: no one knows if it’s actual clickbait or if she’s serious when she writes “strapping fireworks to my chair :D”.

⭑.ᐟ She either streams with every. single. one. of her neon lights on (flashbanging new viewers in the process) or have no light at all, with her monitor illuminating ONLY her face in a way that makes it look like a dark web livestream.

⭑.ᐟ She’s so inconsistent with her streaming that her viewers never know when and if she’ll stream again. She randomly stops updating on her socials, too.

‘guys i think this might be it for her’

‘ho is u dead???’

<livestream notification> “SURPRISE, LOSERS—I’m (a)live! Didn’t see that coming, huh?”

‘omg she’s back’

‘diva is alive!!!’

– “You doubted me? You DOUBTED ME?!”

⭑.ᐟ streamer!Jinx who jumps between topics, games, and rants with no warning, leaving her viewers dizzy but entertained. Fans with ADHD love her.

⭑.ᐟ IF (by miracle) she runs out of things to talk about or gets bored with a game, she turns to her viewers.

– “Entertain me, jesters.”

⭑.ᐟ Her streams (suddenly) switch from hyperactive fun, where she’s practically bouncing in her chair, to intense focus, where she just glares at her screen with determination.

⭑.ᐟ streamer!Jinx who pranks her chat constantly. She’ll cut the video feed to show a jumpscare, laughing in the background while her viewers are freaking out.

⭑.ᐟ streamer!Jinx who pranks other streamers by sending her viewers over for a raid.

– “You just got jinxed!”

⭑.ᐟ Occasionally refers to her chat as the “Boom Crew” or “Jinxlings”.

⭑.ᐟ She reads the chat at lightning speed (most of the time she’ll misread it, too), responds to every third comment, and gets distracted mid-sentence.

⭑.ᐟ Her community is riddled with inside jokes like “press F for Sharky”. Sharky being her shark plushie, of course.

⭑.ᐟ Her mods barely keep up with the chaos in her chat. Occasionally, Jinx disables moderation completely and declares “anarchy hours.”

⭑.ᐟ She creates characters to embody on stream. “Sergeant Boom”, a gruff explosives expert, or “Miss Mayhem”, a villain plotting world domination. She commits to the bit so hard that she confuses new viewers.

⭑.ᐟ streamer!Jinx who’s a sore loser, and it doesn’t help when the chat is roasting the shit out of her after. 10000% rage quits and/or slams her keyboard. But she’s not above cheating to win, either—will call other cheaters out, though, genuinely crashing out.

– “Chat, what the FUCK, that’s not fair! It totally lagged!”

– “I’m literally never playing this shit again.” (spoiler: she plays this shit again).

⭑.ᐟ Her IRL streams would be infamous for their unpredictability. One moment, she’s exploring back alleys, and the next, she’s setting off fireworks in a parking lot. Don’t ask if it’s empty.

“Popular streamer arrested for destruction of property.”

⭑.ᐟ She once took her viewers to one of her graffiti sessions and encouraged the audience to vote on the designs.

“Popular streamer arrested for spray painting ‘obscene’ graffiti.”

⭑.ᐟ streamer!Jinx who disappears for a week after that, only to come back all pissy.

– “Chat, I’m on probation… I guess.”

⭑.ᐟ She has the most cursed keybinds imaginable. But hey, they work for her.

⭑.ᐟ “Jinx’s workshop”: a recurring segment where she tinkers with random gadgets on stream.

⭑.ᐟ streamer!Jinx who sets off confetti after each bit/donation.

⭑.ᐟ She disappears mid-stream and comes back in a shark onesie. She doesn’t acknowledge it.

⭑.ᐟ streamer!Jinx who puts her shark plushie in the middle of her chair if she has to take a break, leaving her headset on it.

– “Alright, Sharky’s taking over.” Sharky’s head is barely peeking out from under the desk, but he’s chill.

⭑.ᐟ For a girl as agile as her, she trips over her setup or falls off her chair a little too often. Yes, there is a compilation. Yes, she does react to it on stream and laughs so hard she tips her chair again.

⭑.ᐟ streamer!Jinx who, every now and then, drops her chaotic persona to thank her viewers for their support only to laugh it off right after. Or she’ll surprise them with genuine insight/advice.

⭑.ᐟ streamer!Jinx who starts venting in the middle of her stream. Sometimes, it’s pure angry nonsense; sometimes, she gets so emotional that she just suddenly ends the stream. She comes back some time later, acting like nothing happened and gaslighting her viewers into thinking it was part of a skit.

⭑.ᐟ streamer!Jinx who announces every game dramatically. (yes, like that one scene with the monkey mic)

⭑.ᐟ streamer!Jinx who occasionally plays bootleg versions of popular games just to make her viewers suffer through them with her.

⭑.ᐟ She absolutely, 100%, modded her sims game. She also locked up sims in the basement and/or took the ladder from the pool.

⭑.ᐟ She plays Among Us just to leave the server if she doesn’t get impostor.

⭑.ᐟ Fortnite and Minecraft are her holy grail. Also enjoys Call of Duty, Overwatch, Apex Legends, Fall Guys, Garry’s Mod, and she’s an absolute menace in GTA V. Definitely a FNAF girl.

⭑.ᐟ Roblox?? Oh, she’s ON. Put her in the horror games. She’s screaming and laughing, bouncing on her chair (her energy’s infectious).

⭑.ᐟ She enjoys watching the fatalities in Mortal Kombat a little too much.

⭑.ᐟ She tried VR a few times and nearly took out her entire setup with how much she was flailing around.

⭑.ᐟ Don’t ask her to play choice-based games. She will intentionally choose the worst option possible just to watch it all burn.

⭑.ᐟ Absolutely hates narrative games (with few exceptions). She can’t keep up with the story (because she skips dialogues and cutscenes) and quits if the plot takes too long to develop. She never remembers the characters�� names either, so she’ll just rename them.

– “Blah, blah, blah… Boooooring. Next!” She then dramatically presses the skip button. “Wait, guys, who’s the dude again? I swear he looks sooo familiar.”

‘that’s the mc’s dad’

‘just put the fries in the bag…’

⭑.ᐟ streamer!Jinx who, despite the fact that she’s creative, has no official merch—only fan-made one with slogans like “I survived Jinx’s stream”.

⭑.ᐟ streamer!Jinx who ends her streams by shooting finger guns at her webcam. The feed cuts off right after the “pew”.

BONUS: just gamer!Jinx who owns a Nintendo Switch and a Nintendo DS which she decorated with cute little stickers and charms. They’re her babies—she carries one or the other at all times.

── ⟢ streamer!Jinx x (fem!)reader

⭑.ᐟ streamer!Jinx who tried to keep your relationship private at first, but she just couldn’t contain her excitement. She wanted to show you off. She introduced you as her “partner in crime” and then corrected herself to “partner in love” (because she’s cheesy like that).

⭑.ᐟ She loves dragging you into her streams. It doesn’t matter what she’s doing. Bonus: the viewers adore your dynamic.

– “I’m just happier when she’s here.”

⭑.ᐟ streamer!Jinx whose chat spams “SUMMON THE GF”. Sometimes it works.

⭑.ᐟ The viewers asked her about you so much the first time you didn’t appear on stream with her that she ended up jokingly saying, “I got dumped.” They rioted, and you walked in to smack her upside the head.

⭑.ᐟ You try to warn her against some of her ideas. Most of the time, she goes through with them anyway and is 100% surprised when they backfire.

‘JINX NO’

‘LISTEN TO HER’

‘JINX DON’T DO THAT’

⭑.ᐟ streamer!Jinx who genuinely starts tweaking if you get any hate comments (to the point of wanting to dox people) (she did dox people).

⭑.ᐟ You mute her mic mid-sentence if you feel like she’s about to say something controversial that will inevitably get her in trouble.

⭑.ᐟ streamer!Jinx who gets a second webcam just to capture your reactions. This also becomes a compilation, and she keeps rewatching it, giggling to herself (kicking her feet).

⭑.ᐟ She also randomly giggles at something off-camera—chat instantly assumes it’s because of you.

⭑.ᐟ She constantly talks/brags about you even when you’re not there, and she visibly lights up when she does. She makes chat say thank you for every act of service.

– “She made me pancakes before the stream. Chocolate chip ones. Take that, losers.”

– “She’s keeping me hydrated like a little plant. Say thank you, Jinxlings.”

– “She’s making me dinner after this stream. Wifey or what?”

⭑.ᐟ She also “complains” when you care about her health. She says you’re bullying her into it.

– “She told me to actually sleep last night. Can you believe that?”

– “She cut me some fruits. Even the grapes, for fuck’s sake! What am I, a toddler?” ….. “They’re good… I guess…”

⭑.ᐟ Going back to her having a soundboard, she uses the “YIPPEEE!” sound effect whenever you enter the room.

⭑.ᐟ streamer!Jinx who gets easily distracted when you’re doing something off-camera.

– “Chat, did you see that? She’s so perfect, ugh.”

– “I literally just made the bed.”

‘she’s down bad’

‘u guys make me sick’

⭑.ᐟ streamer!Jinx who notices that you fell asleep off-camera, so she shushes her chat and tries to whisper for the rest of the stream. Cue her raging/cheering silently, biting her fist so she won’t scream.

⭑.ᐟ She casually flirts with you on stream.

– “Who needs a win streak when I already won at life, huh?”

– “How am I supposed to focus when you’re sitting there looking like that?”

‘ew’

‘get a room’

– “We have one. Guess what happens in it,” she just replies with a smug grin.

⭑.ᐟ No shame, no filter 2.0.

– “Stream’s late ‘cause I was in pound town.”

– “JINX!”

– “What? They’re the ones all up in our business.”

⭑.ᐟ Physical affection also doesn’t end when she’s streaming. If anything, it makes it even better for her when people are watching. She has you in her lap whenever she can, and she melts at every little peck you give her.

⭑.ᐟ She claims that you’re her stream mascot (other than Sharky, of course).

⭑.ᐟ She calls you her lucky charm and demands a good luck kiss before each match or boss fight. If you don’t give it to her (why would you do that? give the pretty girl a kiss), she will (jokingly) blame you if she loses.

⭑.ᐟ You will sometimes pick out fun outfits to wear on stream together, like themed costumes, matching accessories, or cosplays (and Jinx refuses to break character the entirety of the stream). You once dressed up as each other.

⭑.ᐟ streamer!Jinx who tries to do a cute “heart hands” moment, but she gets distracted and ends up making a weird shape instead.

⭑.ᐟ streamer!Jinx who constantly forgets to unmute herself after ranting to you off-camera.

‘ho is u muted’

‘UNMUTE’

‘is she muted or just broke her mic fr this time’

⭑.ᐟ streamer!Jinx who tries to impress you with ridiculous in-game stunts.

– “Babe, watch this!” She then proceeds to set off some explosives, blowing up her character in the process. “…That wasn’t supposed to happen.”

⭑.ᐟ She immediately turns to you for comfort when she rage quits.

⭑.ᐟ You step in to calm her down during an intense or frustrating gameplay, usually by playing with her hair or tracing patterns on her back.

– “Alright, chaos queen, deep breath. You got this.”

⭑.ᐟ You once changed Jinx’s sub alert to say, “SUBSCRIBE SO JINX CAN AFFORD A FUNCTIONING BRAIN.”

⭑.ᐟ streamer!Jinx who made you one of her mods for a day. You nearly lost your mind. Safe to say you quit.

– “Babe, as much as I love you, this feels like running a daycare… if the daycare was on fire… and the kids had guns. Matter of fact, forget the daycare. This feels like the purge.”

⭑.ᐟ streamer!Jinx who, instead of upgrading her setup, spends the money she gains on her projects or on spoiling you. She got you a Nintendo that matches hers with games like Animal Crossing for you to unwind.

⭑.ᐟ She texts you updates like “broke my keyboard again. love you!!!!!!!!!! :p”

⭑.ᐟ She takes pride in teaching you how to play some of her favorite games. It’s even better when she sees you making actual progress and gaining skills.

⭑.ᐟ Sometimes, you both forget obvious things in the game, resulting in chat calling you “dumb and dumber”.

‘birds of a feather flock together’

‘one brain cell between them’

‘i think they lost said brain cell’

⭑.ᐟ She loves it when you play competitive games together, but if you think she’s going easy on you, you’d be dead wrong. She will throw the blue shell at you in Mario Kart with no remorse.

⭑.ᐟ SOMETIMES, she lets you win but in the worst possible way (like jumping off the map dramatically).

⭑.ᐟ Playing It Takes Two together, and it’s an absolute shitshow (but at least it’s funny).

⭑.ᐟ You create in-game versions of each other in customization games, and she’s definitely made you both in The Sims. She even gave you cats.

⭑.ᐟ steamer!Jinx who once started a stream, forgetting you were in the other room waiting for her. You came in to get her, pouting.

‘L+ratio+forgotten gf’

‘jinx you’re a dick’

⭑.ᐟ Co-op cooking streams where Jinx inevitably burns something.

⭑.ᐟ Crafting stream!!! But Jinx accidentally glued her hand to something, so now you have to help her.

⭑.ᐟ Doing each other’s nails/makeup on stream or simply painting (on) one another.

⭑.ᐟ Chill streams (and by that I mean just sitting around and talking) are a rarity, and they only happen if you’re around. She dislikes personal questions during Q&A’s but absolutely loves answering those concerning your relationship (doesn’t necessarily answer truthfully, though. She loves making up crazy stories about how you both met; the audience is still unsure which version is true).

BONUS: the “do my hair and Q&A” hc by @myrruwrites lives in my head rent free. I repeat: go check out their post.

⭑.ᐟ She livestreams some of your road trips.

– “This is totally our couple adventure arc.”

⭑.ᐟ She once streamed her planning a surprise for you. You weren’t home when you got the stream notification, and you joined it, curious to see what she was up to. She was so lost in her own world that she didn’t notice you until the surprise was spoiled.

– “Hey, who snitched? Y’all suck.”

⭑.ᐟ streamer!Jinx who wakes you up in the middle of the night to share her stream content ideas.

⭑.ᐟ Or she wakes you up by playing too loudly, and you have to physically drag her to bed.

⭑.ᐟ She just lays across you like a cat on off-days while watching dumb videos.

⭑.ᐟ You both rewatch her funniest stream moments together before bed, laughing at all the dumb things she said and cheering loudly at her clutch wins.

⭑.ᐟ streamer!Jinx who signs off streams with a sly grin, saying, “Alright, I’m off to bother my girlfriend now”.

── ⟢ streamer!Jinx x streamer!reader

⭑.ᐟ Everyone knows you’re dating (no matter how much you tried to hide it at first), so you have a shared fanbase.

⭑.ᐟ Your streaming room is divided. It may seem like a bad idea considering the chaotic energy she brings to her streams, but she enjoys having you close by. You’re used to the noise anyway.

⭑.ᐟ Matching setups!!!!

⭑.ᐟ You make sure that Jinx has everything she needs before her stream, while she hypes you up before yours.

⭑.ᐟ Her crashing out in the background of your streams is such a recurring thing that it ends up becoming a meme.

⭑.ᐟ She once got caught humming softly to herself in the background of your stream which made the chat go absolutely wild.

‘JINX SOFT ARC’

‘i cannot believe my ears’

‘wait so she’s normal?’

⭑.ᐟ She frequently sends her viewers over to raid your stream with a message that says, “TELL HER I LOVE HER”.

⭑.ᐟ She takes over your stream when you take a bathroom break, or she’ll just lean into the mic and whisper, “Chat, she’s like SO pretty” before running away like a gremlin.

⭑.ᐟ Jinx once hacked into your stream settings just to change the title to something cursed or extra cheesy.

⭑.ᐟ She crashes your stream if she’s bored with hers.

⭑.ᐟ Reacting to fanfics together. It starts sickeningly sweet, only to crash and burn once Jinx starts picking the wilder ones.

⭑.ᐟ Sometimes you manage to have a chill, rainy-day stream together where you play cozy games.

⭑.ᐟ Jinx “accidentally” friendly fires you in shooters and then apologizes dramatically.

⭑.ᐟ She also “accidentally” finds you in online games. She swears she’s not stream-sniping, but no one believes her.

⭑.ᐟ She leaves heart-shaped patterns in Minecraft or Fortnite for you to find.

⭑.ᐟ Automatically teaming up against everyone else in multiplayer lobbies.

⭑.ᐟ You get assigned to opposite teams? It’s either cutthroat and tests your relationship, or you’re helping each other out (much to your teammates’ dismay).

⭑.ᐟ Although she’s known for streaming late herself, she whines if you do the same, claiming she can’t sleep without you (half-true).

⭑.ᐟ She wraps her arms around you from behind or drapes herself over your lap whenever she needs closeness or attention, watching you play.

⭑.ᐟ Or she’ll just unceremoniously end your stream to steal you away.

💙 art bonus by @ne0nspr1te !! + part 2 💙

entering Jinx’s stream:

[hinge]

Hinge presents an anthology of love stories almost never told. Read more on https://no-ordinary-love.co

[itsmarsss]

Scandalous (Blitzø x Fem!Succubus!Reader x Stolas) [Helluva Boss] pt. 8 - Catharsis

How the mighty do fall. (Getting into a weird three-way situation with an imp and a succubus isn't exactly considered classy, Stolas)

Do you ever think about anyone’s feelings other than your own? 

pt. 1 | pt. 2 | pt. 3 | pt. 4 | pt. 5 | 1st bonus | pt. 6 | pt. 7 | pt. 8 | pt. 9 | 2nd bonus | pt. 10

Word count: 4,900

Warnings: self-deprecating thoughts, thoughts of death, heavy drinking, use of alcohol and sexual behavior as coping mechanisms. you know it's what you can expect from a blitzo-centered chapter. this happens right after the ozzie's chapter.

dividers by @cafekitsune | art (you’ll see) by @sweetadonisbutbetter <3

Blitzø is going to die alone. 

He’s going to die alone and no one will attend his funeral or even visit his grave other than to spit on it and his gravestone will read ‘Here Lies Blitzo Buckzo’ and nothing more because no one will be there to tell them to cross out the O and he most certainly won’t be a beloved anything. He'll just stay Blitzo Buckzo, forever.

And Blitzo Buckzo fucking sucks. 

Sometimes he wishes he was able to think before he spoke. He never does much of that and he’s aware he’d probably have refrained from hurting half the people he’s hurt if he could just keep his damn mouth shut. He didn’t think about this all that much… except for when he did. 

Do you ever think about anyone’s feelings other than your own? 

Her voice rings in his head non-stop, like one of those annoying fucking church bells he’d come across once in the living world that ring every single hour, making it unable for its existence to be forgotten.

Do you ever think about anyone’s feelings other than your own? 

It rings over and over again, stubborn, and it just won’t fucking go away.

Do you ever think about anyone’s feelings other than your own? 

Blitzø drives home on his own, but not in silence. He turns the radio on and the volume up until he figures it must be loud enough that he’ll have trouble hearing his own thoughts. It doesn’t work. The shit thing about thoughts is that they’re not something you can just turn off when you get sick of them. They follow you everywhere, all the time, inconvenient and impossible to get rid of. He proceeds to ignore the songs that come on in favor of mumbling incoherent things under his breath in a desperate attempt to reassure himself that he’s not bothered by everything that just happened.  Things like I can think about people’s fuckin’ feelings and think you’re so much better than me, well fuck you and rich fuckin’ asshole thinks he’s hot shit and probably suckin’ face right now. 

You know, things that prove he doesn’t care one bit. 

Whatever.

He parks the van without a care, still too busy mumbling to himself, leaving it askew, taking up almost half of the parking spot next to his own. The old lady from 22 is gonna be pissed at the inconvenience. Well fuck her too. He doesn’t spare another thought on that. 

He dreads the walk up the stairs to the apartment, wishing he lived somewhere with an elevator, or in a house, or in a super sick fancy mansion where he used money as toilet paper when he took a shit because he was just that rich. Actually, scratch that, that sounds uncomfortable. At least his shitty apartment with limited hot water and four flights of stairs before it had real toilet paper, and it was the nice kind even, he always made sure of it even if it was a little more expensive. 

His little luxuries start to sound stupid when he’s been spending so much time around Stolas and all his fancy stuff.

When he opens the door and enters the apartment, his first immediate thought is to knock on Loona’s door. He groans once as he walks towards it and then once again when he spots the note she left taped to it. ‘Tex invited me to a party. Don’t wait up.’ Yeah of course he fucking did.

Do you ever think about anyone’s feelings other than your own? 

Does he? 

He does. He thinks he does, at least. Maybe not all the time, but why else would he have said those things to her other than to protect her feelings? It’s not his fault if she was setting herself up for heartbreak. She needed to kill those feelings and if she wouldn’t then he would, fuck being the bad guy. In fact, fuck her too! He could so think about other people’s feelings.

He groans a third time at the thought of spending the night all alone, because he already knows what being alone makes out of him, and he doesn't like it one bit. If he could, he’d never be alone, not even for a single second, ever. Maybe that way he wouldn’t be so pathetic and so sad, because that’s what being alone made of him: pathetic and sad. 

It’s why Blitzø used to hate weekends. 

Satan, he fucking hated them. Why couldn’t every day be a work day? Why would they need a break? If it were up to him, there would be no such thing as a weekend. Because on weekends he had nothing to distract him from the ever-growing nothing in the pit of his chest and that wasn’t much fun at all.

Until Y/N accepted the job at I.M.P.

Before that, they used to speak almost exclusively through text, extremely inconsistently. He’s never really been the greatest at texting, but he could spam her with stupid memes and pictures of him doing random things throughout his day and horse doodles that she didn’t seem mad about receiving. They spent a whole year like that, only meeting in person a few times here and there.

When he offered her the job he promised himself not to have any expectations because, well shit, why would she trade in an obviously well-paying job, with her best friend as her boss, where she’d been working for years on end without having to hurt or kill anybody, for whatever it was he was asking her to do? 

But then she said yes.

It wasn’t long until he figured out they weren’t all that different from each other. Apparently, as much as she liked to complain about needing a break, just to annoy him, she dreaded weekends too. Not that she’d just admit that point-blank, but they did go out on on a Friday night after work and she did drink one too many and she sighed and complained about having to go home and it was all so much like him. ‘I don’t wanna be alone, Blitz,’ she’d told him. 

He didn't wanna be alone either.

And so he took her back home and he slept on her couch and he stayed there the next day, keeping her company and, honestly, enjoying hers. 

That’s how their tradition started. Almost every single weekend, the two will find themselves in either of their apartments, in the ugliest clothes they own, to cook or order something extremely greasy and unhealthy and marathon a shit-ton of movies, staying in on Saturday after going out somewhere on Friday. Loona would routinely call it ‘patheticville’ and ‘loser day’ and things like that. 

He doesn't hate weekends anymore. 

Do you ever think about anyone’s feelings other than your own? 

And now he’d fucking gone and done this. 

He still wanted to fight, then. To argue, to scream, to yell. He wanted them to do it too. To get down and dirty and scream back at him. He wanted a reason to react.

Blitzø has always been very good at reacting. 

Do you ever think about anyone’s feelings other than you own?

But how was he supposed to react to that? The thought of grabbing his phone and texting her something along the lines of ‘fuck you and your pet bird too’ crosses his mind for a moment and, shit, maybe he is a prick, and he was gonna die alone wasn’t he? He was sure to if he kept doing this kind of thing. 

And maybe he fucking deserves it. 

Sometimes he wonders just how he’s going to die. Will it be peaceful? He hopes not. He sure as shit does not deserve peaceful. Maybe it could at least be cool. Maybe he could go down in a super badass shootout in the human world or a cool-as-fuck sword fight or something. Or maybe he’ll die in some dumbass way like tripping on the sidewalk and cracking his head open on the pavement. Maybe it’ll be in one of those days when he’ll be climbing up Stolas’ balcony and then he’ll slip and fall and break all his bones only to be found dead on the grass surrounded by ball gags and anal plugs. A stupid send-off for a stupid motherfucker. 

He throws himself on the couch instead and curls up into a ball, wishing he had a big royal-size bed with soft sheets and like three or four fluffy pillows, or even a simple twin-sized one, or at least that the couch was a pull-out. 

He grabs his phone and inevitably goes where he always goes when he feels like this- his ‘people I care about’ folder. He swipes through the various pictures. The ones of himself with I.M.P. in the living world, the one he made Moxxie pose with him for with them pointing their guns at each other, the one with Millie when she still had her long hair. The one from the day of Loona’s adoption, the one he took of Stolas sleeping next to him. The selfie with Verosika, the one he secretly took of Y/N watching the screen when he first showed ‘Spirit’ to her. 

And then he lands on the one. The one with Barbie and his mom. 

Blitzø is a 35 years old single father who kills people for a living. He’s been handling his own shit for almost two decades now. But in this moment… he just wants his mama.

Do you ever think about anyone’s feelings other than your own? 

What would she have thought of that?

Yeah, he should have known it would be a ‘cry himself to sleep’ kind of night.

Blitzø doesn’t know for how long he’s been passed out when he wakes up disoriented. He doesn’t remember falling asleep, and that probably explains why his body ached so much with how uncomfortable the position he’d slept in was. He wakes up with the barking sounds of Loona’s special ringtone and scrambles to pick it up. 

“Loonie baby? You alright? Did something happen to you, are you hurt?”

“No, Blitz. I just- can you just come pick me up?” She sounds like she’s been crying. Fuck, no, his baby needs him. No time to be sad.

He’s up in a second. “On my way. Send me the address.” He hangs up, searching for his car keys (which he found between the couch seats) and running down the stairs.

Loona went two rings down to Gluttony for this party. It makes sense, he supposes. He’s more of a Lust Ring party kind of guy himself, but he’s heard Gluttony parties got crazy. He accelerates as fast as the shitty van will let him and gets there pretty quickly, only to find her outside, still crying.

He rolls down the window before he even stops the car completely. “Hey, Loonie. How ya doin’, you alright?”

She wipes a tear with the back of her hand and enters the car with a huff, crossing her arms over her chest. “Yeah, I’m fine! I just wanna go.” She sounds anything but fine.

He’s about to ask her what happened when some fuckface he definitely doesn’t remember calls him by name. The wrong one. “Hey! That sounds like Blitzo!”

“The ‘O’ is silent, asshole!”

“Hey, I knew it was you! Fuck, man, where you been? You here for the party?”

“No, I’m just here picking up my daughter.”

The guy walks up to Loona’s window, and she hides her face from him with her hands, embarrassed. “Oh, shit, you have a daughter now?”

“Adopted!” She yells out, and it stings a bit, regardless of being objectively true. 

“Oh, man, you’re already leaving? Things just got started! Come in and show us all up again.”

Blitzø groans, annoyed by the insistence. “No, no, thank you, but I think Loonie wants to head back now.” 

Some other weirdo approaches the van, leaning on the passenger’s window. “Huh, the hottie wants to leave?” Come on, right in front of him? 

He instinctively starts to growl. “Watch it.”

“I mean, we could stay a little longer,” Loona tells him.

He sighs. He’s not normally one to turn down a party, especially one with free booze, but he feels that’s probably what he should do.. “I think we need to go, ‘kay? I think it’s been a long night.”

“Well, these people seem to know you. Come on! I think I wanna give this another try. Pleeeeaaase?” She gives him the goddamn puppy dog eyes and she knows he can already hardly resist fulfilling her requests.

Well, if she insists. He could definitely use a drink…

“Okay, fine. Maybe one drink.”

… Or a good old night of drinking to forget.

Blitzø downs two tequila shots before he’s even made it into the house. He downs four beers at rapid speed as soon as he does manage to get inside, crushing the cans and cheering loudly when he was done, and then suddenly he finds himself saying yes to a keg stand. It’s so easy he can do it in his sleep. Fuck being too old for this, he’d never be too old to have fun. And he can handle so much more than a keg stand. “Ha-ha! That was nothing, bitch! Give me a real challenge!”

Beelzebub herself appears in front of him, seemingly materializing out of nowhere (or maybe he’s just drunk), all cheers and neon colors and psychedelic paraphernalia floating around her, and she does challenge him. “Oh yeah? Wanna fucks with the big bitch, imp boy? I got a challenge for ya.” 

Someone somewhere murmurs “He’s gonna die.”

Now that sounds like a challenge he can get behind.

Vortex walks up to them, carrying two huge gallons of something and placing them on the floor between him and the Sin. “Aaaaight, let’s do this! From Bee’s personal supply, the hardest shit there is.” He crouches down to Blitzø’s height. “You ready, my man?” 

Fuck, this better fucking kill him alright. “Bring it, barky! I will drink you under this fucking table, you have no idea what kind of night I’ve had.” He struggles trying to pry the gallon open, and Bee uses her magic or whatever to make them levitate, extending a straw from it. Of course she’d flaunt her magical powers and her easy fucking life to him.

“Alright, shit-talker, but there hasn’t been a soul yet who can beat me at my own game, so you better bring the fire, baby!.” 

“Ohh, is Queen Bee too scawed to lose to a widdle imp like me?” He bets she is. And he bets she’ll be embarrassed when she loses to him (because she is going to lose). Fucking big names like her always are. 

“Oh, okay. Let’s get it on, you little bastard!”

Vortex signs for them to begin and it takes about two seconds for Blitzø to have downed about a fourth of it already, but why stop there? He pulls the straw out and pours the drink straight into his mouth, downing the entirety of it at light speed. He’s so quick Beelzebub even stops chugging her own, amused… Concerned? Noo, no way. Amused. 

He climbs on top of the huge gallon to be at face level with her and properly rub it on her face, high on the adrenaline of it all (and perhaps a little bit on the buzz from the extremely strong drink too). “Yeah, who’s the queen now?”

Loona cheers for him loudly, and it fills him with joy when she proudly yells out “yeah! That’s my dad!” Yeah. That’s damn right. 

Bee lets her own unfinished gallon fall down to the floor and crosses her arms over her chest. Yeah, definitely impressed. “Well, fuck me. That’s a first. I haven’t had a first in a while. That was magical, seriously. Impressive. I tip my crown to you, imp boy. Respect.” Fuck her still calling him imp boy, but she’s actually admitting his victory and shes bowing to him, as she fucking should. 

She howls, every hellhound around following suit, and Blitzø feels on top of the world. 

Why does the world start spinning when you get yourself on top of it? 

He almost falls to the ground, but then he’s getting held up by a bunch of strangers like a cool-as-fuck goddamn rockstar and, shit, why had he stopped getting wasted and doing this kind of thing every night again?

He doesn’t exactly remember when people started doing body shots off of him but he does remember getting freaky with a few of them, which did very little to make him feel good and honestly felt a little gross with the amounts of drinks getting spilled all over and making things rather… sticky, but it was doing wonders to his thought problem. 

Who would have known having four strangers’ tongues inside of you at once could be a great way to muffle the unsolicited thoughts in his head?

The second those people fuck off somewhere else the thoughts come in again, though. Stolas hiding his face in shame behind the menu. Do you ever think about anyone’s feelings other than your own? Y/n unable to look him in the eye. Are you worried someday I may have enough of it as well? Fizz is gonna hate him forever. You’re not my real dad! Verosika will always regret him. We could just… talk. Or… watch a movie? Or maybe… cuddle? Y/n’s crying face, Stolas’ disappointed one. Oh, they both had such fuckable faces didn’t they? Which reminded him: he really wanted to fuck someone.

He’s making out with a guy whose name he doesn’t know and whose face he doesn’t even remember when Loona pulls him off of him. “Oh, piss on a dick! What the fuck are you doing, Blitz?”

“This guy,” he grins, pointing to the unnamed man, who now stands still behind him. Wasn’t it obvious?

“It looks like you’re in the middle of a goddamn orgy. Stop!” Oh shit. Loona saw all that? An orgy does sound like some real fucking fun right now. Wait, focus, Loona. Fuck.

“Look, I didn’t expect you to come here and see any of this, Loonie, I’m so sorry, but it’s a party! I’m just having fun with uh… uh…” he turns back around to the man Loona pulled him off of. “The fuck is your name again?”

“Dennis.”

Ew. “Christ on a stick, you would be a Dennis. Get the fuck away from me! I’m not fucking a Dennis tonight. I need a Monica or an Alejandro here, stat.” He’s genuinely surprised that works when some hunky dude pulls him into his huuuge chest. Fuck yeah. “Better.”

Loona punches his Alejandro in the face, and he sincerely doesn’t give a fuck about it, because the world is spinning again, which is weird because this time he does not feel like he’s on top of it at all. In fact, it feels like the world is the meanest dom top ever and he’s a whiny, whiny bottom just sore all over from getting spanked ‘till his ass hurt. Not in a good way.

He falls back on Loona, and she catches him. “You don’t need anyone else sucking your face, freaky weirdo.” She throws him over her shoulder. “You need to drink something other than beelzejuice.”

She pulls him into the van, and she doesn’t rush to get home, because, according to her, she can see he’s already about to throw up. No he’s not, no sir! Ma’am. Loonie. 

Whatever. 

His mind clears a little as they make their way back home, and he pulls out his phone from his back pocket. Thankfully it’s still there.

“The fuck are you doing, dumbass? That’s gonna make you dizzy.”

“Gotta… gotta draw a thing.”

“You gotta draw a thing?”

“Yeah,” he affirms, as if that was enough information for everything to be self-explanatory, even nodding his head yes for emphasis. He surprisingly manages to take his time and put real effort into doodling it, showing it to Loona before sending it.

“Does it look like I did it drunk?” He slurs, letting out an unintentional burp.

“It actually looks pretty good, Blitz.”

“Okay.” 

“So. Who’d you call stupid?”

“Don’t wanna talk about it.”

“Okay.”

“Can you call me dad again?”

“Nope.”

“Okay.”

He presses send and clicks on Stolas’ contact next, only to see there’s an unread message in their chat.

Stols:  I’m sorry if anything I said or did offended you tonight. 

Ha. Bet you really fucking are. 

Still, he’s not Stolas’ fucking boyfriend. What was there to expect from him? Why would he expect anything? 

Blitzy: ITZ WUTEVS

To Blitzø’s surprise, Stolas begins typing immediately, as if he’d been waiting obsessively for his reply.

Stols: Next time you come over, maybe we can talk about what happened at Ozzie’s?

Talk about it? What was there to talk about? Blitzø wanted nothing more than to bury the memories of tonight the deepest under the ground he possibly could. But of course Stolas would want to talk about it.

He always wants to fucking talk about shit.

Blitzy: Y?

Stolas types for what feels like forever, and it must have been, seen that they’re now only one street from the apartment complex, before he sends in a huge-ass paragraph. 

Stols: I’m sorry! Nevermind, it’s not a big deal. I was just worried about you. You seemed very upset and you took off so fast. I’m sure things will be fine with Y/N, she likes you very much, I can see it. Maybe I read too much into everything, though. Not everything is about me, haha. I’m  glad that’s not the case. I wasn’t upset either I just wanted to make sure you weren’t and obviously you can handle a stupid joke a clown can make. Asmodeus can be very invasive in his humor, and Y/N says she’ll talk to him about it, but I thought it was funny myself. What he said about me at least. I enjoy being the subject of jest. Maybe you can say mean things to me too next time you come over. 

Now that is too much to fucking deal with right now. Which means he won’t. 

Blitzy: SHUR.

He clicks out of Stolas’ chat, taking one last glance at Y/N’s before turning his phone off. She hasn’t seen what he sent yet, and that’s actually okay. 

Loona parks the van messily, doing the same thing he’d done earlier and letting the car occupy some space from the neighbour’s spot. He doesn’t even think before asking her to fix it.  “Sweetie, could you just park it a little more to the right?”

“Why?”

Yeah, Blitzø, why do you even care? “Well I don’t want that freaky cat lady to be up my ass about it tomorrow.” Yeah, that. Sure.

She doesn’t seem to find it in her to argue or even as much as groan, simply readjusting the car. She has to carry him over her shoulder again and all he wishes on the way up this time around is that he were a little more sober. She plops him down on the couch and he curls into himself once again while she grabs him a glass of water. 

Nothing to distract him from his thoughts now. 

“I had a really shitty day,” he tells her.

“Oh, yeah? Is that why you drank like five gallons of who-knows-what?”

“I don’t want her to hate me.”

“The person you called stupid?” 

He nods, hiding his face from her when the tears start coming in. “Fuck, Fizz was right. I’m gonna die alone, aren’t I? Just a wrinkly, old, withered waste. Will you be there, Loonie?” Blitzø feels whatever consciousness he’d gained back slipping away again by the second, this time from the need to sleep rather than the alcohol. At what point did he get so tired?

“Be where?” Loona asks, and he’s too out of it to respond properly, only mumbling half-coherent things like lonely and die alone over and over. “I’ll be there, dad," she tells him anyway, and covers him with a blanket, the softest one they own. “Now go the fuck to sleep,” she orders, and he does hear it, he just doesn’t have the strength to say anything in response as he feels himself drifting off to sleep, his last thoughts being that at least he can’t think about anything while asleep and that… 

He vomits all over the living room floor. 

“Oh, fuck, I did need to throw up.”

[. . .]

You feel stupid when it’s Fizzarolli who finds you crying in Ozzie’s waiting area. He skips his way to the room, humming along to some song you can’t quite make out, and he almost doesn’t see you on his way into the office. He hears you sniffling, though, and turns to face you. It takes him a couple seconds to process that it’s you.

“Y/N? What are you doing here? Um. You okay there?”

You look up at him, but it doesn’t feel like you can say anything yet. 

“I-” He motions behind him with his thumb. “I’m gonna- I’m gonna get Ozzie. Stay here, yeah?”

You don’t even know why exactly you’d asked Stolas to send you here when you were still mad at Ozzie. Or maybe not mad. Just… sad about everything that spiraled out of what he did. 

Then again, did you even have anywhere else to go? You could absolutely not make the night worse for Millie and Moxxie by showing up at their place, thinking of Blitzø made you sad and Stolas was not an option. You had Ozzie, though. And you know you always will, despite whatever stupid shit one of you might do. 

And it honestly beats going home to a big pile of nothing. 

Ozzie appears shortly, Fizz having done as promised and fetched him. Fizz doesn’t come back, though, letting you and Ozzie have a moment to talk on your own, which is nice of him.  

“Hey, pretty babe. Fizz said you were here.” He looks you up and down, worried. “Are you crying?”

“Why did you do that?” 

“What?”

“Why did you fucking sing about all that, why did you- it was so humiliating, Oz, fuck!”

“Oh. I am so sorry. I didn’t know. I didn’t know. It got out of control. I didn’t even know you would be here tonight. You didn’t call me.”

“I didn’t know I was coming either.”

“You wanna tell me what that means?”

“It’s stupid.”

“Alright. That’s okay. I am sorry, though. We took the joke too far and I realized too late that it wasn’t funny.”

“Yeah. It wasn’t. So please don’t fucking do that again. It’s humiliating enough to… fuck... and everybody saw it, and- I…” You groan in frustration, struggling to get your words out. 

“No more about Stolas or any of you. Okay? Promise.” He sits down next to you on the fancy couch and he lets you lean on him. “Did something happen between you?”

You hesitate before speaking. “I didn’t- I don’t know what I was thinking. Maybe I am stupid. Of course he’s ashamed to be seen with us.”

“Stolas?”

You nod. 

“Did he… tell you that?”

“Well he didn’t deny it.”

“Okay." He takes a deep breath, probably trying to think of how to handle the situation. "You’ll have time to think about all of this. Alright? Now you’re coming with me, you’re taking a bath and you’re sleeping over, and we’ll talk about everything tomorrow. There’s no need to hurt yourself more thinking about it right now.”

He stands up and turns to leave the room, but looks back when he doesn’t hear you do the same. You’re still sat sit still on the couch.

You look up at him. “Oz?”

“Hm?”

“Do you think I’m stupid?”

“What?”

“Do you think I’m stupid?” You repeat yourself.

“What- of course not. Did somebody say that to you?”

You don’t reply. 

He purses his lips together, thinking. “Are they worth feeling stupid for?”

“What do you mean?”

“You’ve gone through this before.”

“It’s different, you know that.”

“Yeah, it’s worse. They’re not hurting you back this time around, they’re just hurting you.”

You decide he was right. You don't want to talk about this right now. “Can we please not talk about it?”

He hesitates before nodding in agreement. “Yeah. ‘Course, babe.” He grabs your hands and pulls you up. “Come on.”

All the crying makes you so tired you’re almost passed out the second you lie down on the soft, silky bedsheets of Ozzie's guest room bed. Taking a look through your texts before you let yourself fall asleep, you click on Stolas’ contact once you see a notification for an unread text. 

Stolas: I am truly sorry if I did something to hurt you or make you uncomfortable with me tonight. It’s not your obligation to talk Asmodeus  out of doing anything and I did not feel embarrassed because of you or Blitz. If you need space from me I will understand, but I want you to know that is not how I feel. And, for the record, I don’t care what that Verosika person said about you. I hope you’re alright. 

It is way too late and you are way too tired to process or deal with all of that, and honestly? You still do feel stupid, and don’t want to further that feeling by replying to him immediately. That feels too pathetic- it feels like proving Blitzø right.

You’ll reply tomorrow.

You click on Blitzø’s contact next, which also had a notification signaling an unseen message, and you brace yourself for a 'fuck you’ text or something of the sorts. 

You can't keep yourself from smiling when you open the text, turning the phone off and just waiting for sleep come to you, and things feel a lot less shitty than just a second before.

Having friends is pretty fucking okay.

A/N: everybody say thank you Adonis for the cutest doodle ever and also wish them a happy birthday!! the adorable little doodle blitzo drew is theirs and they did it especially so i could put it in this chapter which is so nice of them and so fucking cool!!

[shurisneakers]

harmless (i)

Summary: Bucky volunteers to go stop a small time villain, but nothing can prepare him for what exactly he has to deal with. (Bucky x villain!reader)

Warnings: cursing, nonsense writing

Word count: 1.5k 

A/N: listen i just needed something to keep my mind busy and a perry the platypus!bucky and dr. doofenshmirtz!reader was the only thing i could think of. dont have any high expectations from this series, you will be sorely disappointed.

If you have any ideas for this series, lemme know!! it’d be cute to write!!

here’s my ko-fi if you’d like to support my writing <333

Series Masterlist

Bucky Barnes, for all intents and purposes, is edgy. 

His SHIELD salary is definitely enough to afford him a simple beanie, gloves even if he’s that eager. His long hair, though a spectacle in itself, isn’t as good at keeping away the cold as he claims it to be. 

It’s a personal choice, a fashion statement even, to be roaming the streets in a long flimsy t-shirt that does nothing to accentuate his broad shoulders, and tactical pants that look a little too comfortable. 

It’s cold. He says he likes it, to appease his blond haired best friend who insisted that he wear a cardigan at least. He won’t like it in a while, but he would never admit it.

The bike ride to the other side of town for a minor mission takes longer than he expected. The wind rushing by gets his adrenaline racing. 

Official missions are long and gruelling, and oftentimes not fun. But it gives him a purpose.

It’s easy, therefore, to find him brooding when he’s not on one. 

No one wants their room to be on the receiving end of Bucky’s stress-cleaning sessions. His baking is more appreciated.

So when there’s news of a small time villain creating havoc again, it made sense that he volunteered to go sort it out. No one else wanted the job. They’d all been at it before. 

SHIELD didn’t seem particularly bothered either. 

“It’s not that serious, Barnes.”

“I’m going.”

“Just stop her from doing whatever dumb plan she has today. She seems to have a new one every week.”

“Can I-”

“This is not an assassination mission.”

“Fine. Can I-”

“No.”

“Fine.”

He didn’t know what to expect. He had an idea of how they should be. Smaller villains tended to be more aggressive, vicious to prove their point. They were here to stay.

He wears his regular gear. Enough knives to make a butcher look away in shame, and guns including, but not limited to, his biceps.

He finally pulls the bike to a stop a few metres away, leaving it out of reach in case things got too out of hand. He didn’t want to have to walk back to the Tower, and his friends, as much as they loved him, would never go out of their way to pick him up. Little shits. 

The address is a dingy, plain concrete house near an old construction site. It was flat and felt more like an afterthought than an actual building. It looked more like an abandoned Walmart than an actual villain lair. 

The only entrance is the door in the front. He counts to three, lifting his leg to kick it down.

It falls down ungracefully, loud and creaky like it was bound to the doorframe by rust. 

The only light source inside is a green light. All the way at the other end on an elevated platform is a desk and a chair facing away from him. He can’t see much other than that.

Someone’s laughter comes back loud and booming. He raises his gun, feet apart in a defensive stance. 

“I’ve been expecti-” the voice pauses mid-sentence- “Did you just kick down my door?”

He looks behind him to where the wooden piece is on the floor. He certainly did.

He can finally see you as you stand up, green light illuminating your face. You reach over to the side, pressing a few switches. 

He squints when all the lights turn on, pulling the both of you from darkness. 

“Dude!” you cry out, face twisting into what only could be described as a mix of horror and disdain. “What’d you do that for?”

He doesn’t say anything but he doesn’t lower his gun either.

“You’re an Avenger, just fuckin’ pick the lock or something. This is expensive!” 

He only watches as you whine, looking beyond him at your now demolished entrance. You take a few steps closer, jumping down from the elevated platform.

“Insurance isn’t going to cover this.” You drag your palm across your fist before extending it towards him. “Pay up.”

He wasn’t sure if he heard you right.

“What?” he finally asked, voice gruff.

“All you superheroes go around, destroying walls and cars in the name of world peace like you own the damn thing. Not today, bitch boy. Pay up.”

He doesn’t have his wallet with him. He didn’t expect to need it.

“I’m supposed to be stopping you.” 

“You can do that once you pay for my door.” 

You sound resolute, unshaken. A little annoyed. There’s what appears to be a gun in your hand, although it’s unlike any weapon he’s seen before.

“What’s your plan?” Bucky looks at your hand. Your stare follows his. You lift the thing up and he tenses.

“I was going to freeze some jerk but now my plan is to get you cancelled on Twitter.” 

“Why?” his eyebrows knit together in confusion.

“Local superhero destroys property of tax paying citizen for no good reason.”

“I mean-” he shakes his head, discarding what you’re saying, “-why were you going to freeze someone?”

“Because I wanted to. But you’ve ruined the mood now, so that won’t happen.”

He blinks, lowering his weapon when he realises you weren’t making any attempt to move. “What’s your ulterior motive?”

“Nothing! I just wanted to mildly inconvenience that stupid fuck for being such a prick.”

He doesn’t know what to say. 

“Is that the freeze ray?” Bucky asks instead, raising his gun when he realises there’s a very real chance he could end up like his best friend. 

“You got a problem with it?” You hold it up carelessly. 

“I can’t let you use that.”

“That’s all you’re going to do?” you huff, “Is this what you call an intervention? This is so boring.”

“Give me the freeze ray and no one has to get hurt.” 

“No one was going to get hurt in the first place, genius. All this does is slow him down for 5 minutes so he misses the subway.”

There’s nothing technically that evil about what you’re doing. He doesn’t even know how you ended up on SHIELD’s radar. He gets why no one was particularly driven to take this seriously.

“And for fuck’s sake put that gun away. You’re not scaring me.” 

He doesn’t oblige, even though something tugs at him, telling him that you’re speaking the truth. 

“Here, take the stupid thing.” You don’t bother waiting for his response, bending over and sliding the gun towards his feet. “I’ll find another way to get back at that dickhead.”

It hits his boot with a small thud. He looks down. Its design is ridiculously comical, like you ripped it straight out of a kid’s TV show. 

“Next time, bring some drama. Wear a cape or something.” You wave him off. “Now get out of my lair. I need to fix the door.”

“You don’t have another one of these lying around, do you?”

“Why, do your friends want one too?” The glare you give him is dangerous. He doesn’t react to it. “No, it’s limited edition. I don’t build the same thing twice.”

“You have others?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know, weather boy?” A smile grows on your face, dropping as quickly as it arrives. “SHIELD will tell you if I do. Now leave.”

Bucky looks at the freeze ray in his hand. He supposes his job is done. He was told to stop you, but you didn’t seem to have any inclination to go on with your plan.

“You can ask them if you want, they know about me.” You roll your eyes. “Go ahead, call them.”

He doesn’t want to take a chance. As odd as the situation is, it’s still novel and he isn’t quite sure how to deal with it.

He tucks your weapon under his arm, pressing his phone to his ear.

“Yes, Sergeant Barnes?” Maria’s voice is crisp as ever.

“I confiscated a... freeze ray.” He feels ridiculous even saying it. “But I’m going to bring her in to SHIELD headquarter-”

“That won’t be necessary.”

“But we can’t trust-”

“We’ve been keeping tabs on her for a while. She’s more or less harmless. You can take the rest of the night off, Sergeant.”

He cuts the call, not entirely at ease with the smug, expectant look on your face. 

Still, he couldn’t disobey direct orders.

“I’m gonna... go.” He mentions towards the gaping hole in the wall.

“That would be ideal, yes.” You nod, crossing your arm over your chest.

“Okay.” He hesitates, but finally takes a step backwards. He peeks over his shoulder as he leaves, but finds you swivelled away from him again. 

He steps back outside. The cold greets him again like an old friend. The weight of his weapons feels stupidly embarrassing now. 

It’s a long drive back to the Tower. He keeps replaying the entire story in his mind. He’s unsure of whether he made the right call, but no one else really seemed to care. 

He had seen weirder things. It came with the gig.

He leaves it at that.

“How’d it go?” Steve asks him when he walks into the living room.

“T’was fine,” he answers, toying with the stupid device he took from you. Maybe he would test it on Clint. He had been getting annoying lately. Breathing too much in Bucky’s general direction.

A part of him feels guilty for his carelessness towards your building. The other part is just bewildered. 

That night he looks up the cost it takes to replace a door, making a mental note to draw some money from the ATM soon.

Next part

[nyx3927]

I see a lot of deaf Bakugō or deaf Present Mic headcanons floating around and I figured that y’all could use some more technical information on it instead of just “can’t hear” and “learns sign language”.

This is going under a cut since it is a lot but it is all information that would help with writing/developing a good Deaf character and not just focusing on what inconveniences/fascinates hearing people.

It covers assistive devices and fittings, audiograms, medical stuff, and the Deaf community.

Please note that this is not an exhaustive covering of all the technical aspects and is based mainly off of what I’ve experienced/have seen happen/have asked professionals about. I might come back and add more as more comes to me.

1) Types of assistive devices that can be used to help reach the needed level of hearing

The devices depend on the severity of the hearing loss. That is determined by an audiogram which tests the quietest noise at a frequency you can hear which is discussed later.

If you have a mild hearing loss, the chances of you needing an assistive device is low, almost nonexistent. That is because you can still hear the speech of most people which is what an assistive device helps with.

The two assistive devices used are a hearing aid and a cochlear implant.

A cochlear is only for profound or total deafness. You can only hear really loud things, and sometimes not even that. The basics of how it works is you have a sound processor that converts noises to electrical impulses which go to the physical cochlear. It requires surgery to install and you can get that at 12 months at the youngest.

A hearing aid has 6 different appearances which depend on what your needs are and what you want.

a)iitc-invisible in the canal. People can’t see it but it’s better for less severe hearing losses because it’s smaller and can’t process as much

b)cic-completely in the canal. Pretty much the same as an iitc just a bit bigger and more visible.

c)itc-in the canal. Again, same as above, but it does have more ability to help with more severe hearing loss.

d)ite-in the ear. Visible, and can help with moderate hearing loss.

Most in the canal designs are made for less severe hearing loss and better. They’re small and discreet, especially if you get skin-colored ones. They also can have smaller batteries which can be an issue for dexterity.

e)ric- reciever in canal. The power bank is behind the ear while the reciever that makes the noise is in the canal

f)bte-behind the ear. Most visible

The ones that go behind the ear are best for connecting with additional assistive devices because you can fit Bluetooth in or connect a receiver to it. These are also good for children who lose things and are a bit sturdier.

2) What an audiogram is and how you get one

[Image ID: A graph with the left axis labeled “Loudness-measured in decibels(dB)” going from 0-120, the right axis labeled “degree of hearing loss”, normal in 0-25 decibels, mild in 25-40 decibels, moderate in 40-70 decibels, severe in 70-90 decibels, and profound in 90-120 decibels. The top is labeled “pitch (or frequency)-measured in cycles per second(Hz)” and goes from 125-5000. Pictures of different things that make noise are over the graph with a yellow banana-shape in the middle of the graph. End ID]

This is an audiogram with the “speech banana”(the yellow banana shape) which is where you have to be to hear and understand speech without any devices and it is how you find out if you have a hearing loss.

To get one, you have to go to an audiologist and take quite a few tests that take forever and suck. Keep in mind, these tests can go in any order but as kids are a handful they tend to go in this order from experience.

Test one: You go into a little sound dampening booth so you can’t hear outside of it and the doctor puts what is basically wired earbuds in your ear. They leave and sit at a table full of controls and start pressing buttons. You’re told to repeat whatever words you hear through the earbuds and you do it. It goes on for a while, lots of boring words and struggling to make one out, it is done in a single ear and both ears. It can be done by the doctor saying words but that’s not as common in professional settings.

Test two: You stay in the little booth with the earbuds. Now you have to listen to sounds and confirm that you heard the sounds. This can be done verbally, by raising your hand, or by pressing a clicker that tells the doc you heard it. The sounds are piped in through one ear at a time, this is to determine if one ear has a more severe hearing loss

Test three: The doc comes back in and removes the earbuds. Next, they put a special band on your head that looks like a headband but has a cold hard bit on the end that goes right on the bone behind your ear. It hurts and is very uncomfortable. Then repeat the same stuff as test two with the doc coming in to put the headband on the other side of the head so both sides hurt from the bit on the end.

3) Hearing aid fitting

First step, you go and get any big lumps of earwax in your ears cleaned out. Too much earwax means they can’t make a mold of your ear. Second, the doc shoves mini sponges with a string attached into your ear to make sure that you don’t get anything down the canal and it doesn’t get lost. Third, they open up a package with a syringe and some sort of molding stuff, I don’t know what it’s called, but it’s often blue or pink or a mixture. The molding stuff gets put in the syringe which is then used to fill up your ear. The stuff is cold and feels weird while it’s drying which takes ~5 mins, and while it is in there you cannot hear a single thing from that ear. Then the doc pulls the dried thing out of your ear using the string and you have an ear mold for the hearing aid. Repeat for other ear if needed.

Couple weeks later, you go back and the doctor has your completed hearing aid with everything preset to compensate for your level of hearing loss and a perfect fit in your ears. Then you fiddle with the settings a bit so that you’re comfy and trim the wire if it’s a bte to make it sit better. It’ll feel weird for a bit as you adjust to it, but it’ll feel comfy after a week or two.

4) Deaf community and sign language

First, sign is a real language which has its own dialect, slang, jokes, and grammar. Go away if you disagree.

Second, one sign language isn’t the same as another. ASL is not the same as BSL which is different from JSL which has little in common with SSL. There are similarities but they are very different from each other. I can’t interpret for a deaf British person because I don’t know BSL

Third, yes staring at someone who is signing is rude and annoying. If you know it, it’s like you’re eavesdropping on them. If you don’t know it, it’s like staring at someone speaking a language you don’t know just because you don’t understand them.

Fourth, sign names are given by a Deaf person. If you’re hearing and learning sign, you can’t give yourself a sign name, that’s disrespectful.

Fifth, most Deaf adults don’t support getting cochlears when a kid is still a toddler or younger because it implies that deafness is something that needs to be fixed and the kid has no real say in the matter.

Sixth, Deaf person and deaf person are two different things. It’s similar to identity first vs person first language, but not the exact same.

Seventh, the Deaf community is fairly welcoming to everyone. Someone who’s just going deaf is just as welcome as someone who’s been deaf all their life. A hearing person learning sign is welcomed in as long as they’re polite and don’t expect the community to shift to make them more comfortable. A parent of a deaf kid is welcomed and given information that the kid needs.

5) Medical Stuff

Technically, speaking if you have any sort of hearing loss, you should wear a medical alert bracelet. It’d have your name, a phone number, if you wear a hearing aid, cochlear, and/or use ASL, and says that you might not respond to vocal prompts. Most of us don’t wear them, it’s just kinda a hassle to do.

Since both cochlears and hearing aids do have metal, you have to be careful about MRIs because if they are removed, they can get ripped out and injure you further. That mainly a concern for cochlears since they’re surgically installed under the skin and not visible unless the outer piece is on

Using hearing aids does cause earwax buildup, so you need to get that cleaned out regularly or it’s make your hearing worse.

Audiograms are typically redone every 5-ish years to update the cochlear/hearing aid ability and to make sure you’re getting what you need.

Anyone can get hearing loss, and it’s almost impossible to not get it as you age. The severity of the hearing loss is dependent on what you do and where you live. The chances of a single accident wiping out all of your hearing and rendering you completely deaf is fairly low, but not impossible.

[capricioussun]

More for the blorbo!

Does he have a favorite genre of music or a favorite band? Is he right handed, left handed, ambidextrous, or cross-dominant? Does he play any musical instruments, either underground or topside? Do you HC him with claws or just like really sharp "nails" that can be filed down? How does he deal with those?

And of course, you can always save these for when you have time!

Taking a break from attack work so I will answer these!!

His music taste is…eclectic. The thing is, he’s kind of…weird? About music? It’s super hard to gauge what he will or won’t like because he will determine his opinion on a song with completely unknowable metrics. He might like a song sheerly because of the impressive number of brass instruments. He might hate a song because of the number of times they use a specific chord progression. This song is about lunar cycles? Ugh, tacky. This song accurately references a Greek parable others usually get wrong? 12/10 great song (please note the song could actually sound like virtually almost anything). Though he’s also not really a hater, so he’s pretty relaxed about most music, as long as it isn’t too…uh, extreme? (He’d probably hate stuff like msi) Though he does admittedly have a slight soft spot for classic rock, folk, and proper classic music because of the few cassettes and Walkman he had to fix he found at the dump a long time ago… He would like My Chem if for no other reason than the Aesthetic (he can respect commitment to the bit. He might also even genuinely like a few of their songs)

He is ambidextrous! This is a hc I share with all Papyri! It was simply a matter of needing to be able to use both hands with the same level of efficiency, which actually ties in well with the next question!

It’s also part of why he learned piano! To help with hand eye coordination and dexterity! So Edge can play the piano, but…he doesn’t anymore, or at least very very rarely…

He actually has claws!! And he hates them! /hj but to explain, Edge’s claws are very real and very annoying. Due to the genetic experimentation, they are incredibly sharp, and he actually has very mild regenerative abilities. What this essentially means is that his claws are virtually untrimmable. They grow back almost instantly, he’d have to pretty much declaw himself like a cat (surgically removing the entire last phalanx of each finger) to get rid of them, and that’s way more of an inconvenience than the claws themselves are. However when they first started getting that sharp (around the age of 11), they were a big problem, and it wasn’t long before Sans had to call in a favor with Alphys to help him make Special gloves for Edge that were pretty close to untearable, since they were catching on everything. Edge couldn’t even change his clothes or bathe himself properly without winding up covered in hairline scratches and ruining the fabric.

They’ve thankfully rugged-ed out a little with age, so they’re not still that crazy sharp, but they are still sharp enough he continues wearing the gloves all the time lest he risk nicking himself or destroying clothes. He could alternatively use claw caps to prevent unwanted cutting and tearing, but he also has sensory issues, and his hands especially can be super sensitive, so the gloves are very good for that, too (a headcanon I share for UT Papyrus as well!)

At least they come in handy with looking intimidating! (Pun intended)

[angryinternetduck]

Lucky

hello hello and welcome to halloween !!!! in august!!!! i know it's weird haha but here's about 6.7k words of harry styles x reader during halloween. featuring a "haunted house" and a cute cat with two names. also caramel apples. enjoy!

masterlist | ask

The house was haunted.

You were sure of it.

And yeah, you thought, looking up at the ginormous mansion looming above you, you were incredibly grateful that the house had fallen to you, but the whole thing was starting to feel like the beginning of a bad horror movie.

Some old relative had died - you weren’t close with them at all, and you felt a bit bad that the only feelings associated with their death were happiness at getting their property - and left you their estates. You’d moved in a few weeks ago, and now you were hearing things.

Things like scratching in the vents, and howling in the wind, and glasses mysteriously crashing to the floor of their own accord in other rooms. The floors always creaked at night, and so did the doors, which randomly swung open and closed.

You hadn’t really wanted to tell anybody about all of this or your suspicions, fearing you’d come off as a bit crazy. Of course, the few people you had told had just laughed and given you the It’s an old house - it’s settling bullshit.

Which you didn’t believe. At all.

What did that even mean, “the house is settling”? Settling for what? Settling down, like it was some middle aged guy who was about to have kids with his wife in the fifties? Or maybe it was settling down like it was angry, and had had a tantrum, and was just settling down into a calmer state. Not that that was any more comforting.

Now, as you struggled to get your key to turn in the lock, you wondered if you could sell the house or something. Everybody you’d asked for advice had told you to wait and fix it up, that you’d regret giving it up when you had four kids and a husband and needed space.

They’d also said it looked like shit so you’d get a crappy deal unless you fixed it up.

Then again, those were the same it’s settling people, so what did they know?

You sighed, finally getting the key to turn, and shoved your shoulder into the door. Making a mental note to oil the door - again - as it creaked, you shut it behind you with your foot before stepping into the living room and collapsing onto the couch.

The couch matched the house: gray, run down, and creaky. There were patches sewn in every so often, and it smelled like old lady perfume. It did the job, though, which was very convenient in the moment but didn’t exactly motivate you to buy a new one very quickly.

You’d turn on the TV, but there wasn’t one. Instead, you stared at the empty, ashy fireplace while you gathered the gumption to get up and off the couch. After a few seconds, you heard something - a little skittering sound in the walls - and frowned, pulling yourself up and towards the stairs.

It was probably just mice, but accompanied with everything else, you weren’t about to take any chances. The stairs, like every other part of the house, creaked as you walked upstairs. You’d almost gotten used to the floorboards around the corner creaking before you got to them, but it still spooked you a bit. When you glanced around the wall and there wasn’t anyone there, as usual, you got changed into comfortable clothes as quickly as you could.

Then you collapsed into the bed. After washing the sheets a few (ten) times, you’d gotten rid of the musty smell, and the huge victorian frame and feathery mattress had become your safe haven. The whole room had become your safe place, really - you’d cleaned and swept until it had somewhat resembled a nice bedroom and not a dusty old crypt.

Once you were there, safe in your room with your headphones on, the house didn’t seem all that bad. A huge window covered the wall right next to your bed, looking out onto rolling grassy fields like something out of a Jane Austen novel.

So you listened to music, imagining a dashing stranger saving you from a twisted angle.

Soon, you were asleep.

***

“Nobody will deliver this far!” you exclaimed, talking into your cell phone as you rooted through the drawers in front of you. “I’ve tried, like, six different places, and they all said it’s too far!” Your friend on the line sighed, and you heard her slurp noodles from the Chinese take out she was eating.

“Well,” she said, “that sucks.”

“Oh, gee, helpful,” you deadpanned.

“Listen, there has got to be someplace you can go,” she told you matter of factly. You frowned, digging through a cabinet. “Yeah, well” - you gasped, jumping a foot into the air as something brushed against your leg - “shit!”

You whipped around, brandishing the pan you’d just grabbed as a weapon. “What the -”

A cat.

There was a black cat, with the brightest green eyes you’d ever seen, looking up at you innocently. It meowed loudly, looping through your legs, and you sighed. “It’s a cat,” you explained to your friend.

“You got a cat?”

You scoffed, looking at it as it jumped up onto the counter. “No!” you replied. “No, I - Jesus, of course I didn’t get a fucking cat, I just… I just moved in!” There was a beat of silence, and then your friend said, “So… there’s a strange cat… in your house.”

“Yeah,” you murmured, hesitantly reaching out. It leaned into you, purring loudly, and you couldn’t help but smile. “Yeah,” you said again, laughing a bit. “Listen, listen,” you added, and you put the phone up to the cat.

“That’s cute,” your friend said when you brought the phone back to your ear, sounding a bit worried, “but, uh… does it have a tag, or something?” You shook your head, even though she couldn’t see you, and felt around the cat’s neck. Just fur. “Nope,” you replied.

“Are you gonna… keep it?”

You grinned, scratching its ears, and shrugged. “I dunno.”

***

You wanted to name the cat Lucky.

That night, as the crisp October wind howled outside, you didn’t hear any creaks. The house was practically silent, and you slept like a baby with the little creature curled at your feet. Plus, she - as you’d determined earlier - was black, and with the whole Unlucky Black Cats thing, “Lucky” seemed like a nice little joke.

She was gone the next morning, but you figured she was just somewhere around the house, so you went around calling, “Lucky!” as if she’d respond. It was almost two hours before you gave up, and convinced yourself it was just a fluke and you’d never see her again.

“She’s gone,” you said mournfully by way of greeting your friend as you made breakfast.

“Who?”

“Lucky!”

“Who?”

“The cat,” you sighed. “She’s gone. Wasn’t here this morning.”

“Oh,” your friend replied. “Well, maybe she found her owner!”

You pouted, sliding butter around your pan. “I thought I was her owner…”

“You cannot possibly be so attached to that thing after one night.”

“She’s lucky, though! I swear, the ghosts are afraid of her or something - I didn’t hear a single sound all night!” You could practically hear your friend roll her eyes. “A fluke. Or maybe - yeah, maybe luck. I’m sure you’ll be alright without her.”

“Maybe I should get a cat,” you mused.

Your friend sighed. “Oh, boy.”

***

She was lucky.

Lucky was lucky.

One hundred percent.

There was no doubt about it.

The floors creaked like crazy that night. After hearing it for the first time, peering fearfully into the pitch black hallway, you shut the door tight and huddled underneath the blankets. A terrifying cry accompanied the wind, one that gave you nightmares of women in long white dresses stumbling over the moor, and you woke up in a panic in the middle of the night when you heard something shatter downstairs.

It wasn’t exactly your proudest moment, but you stayed in bed, watching the clock and keeping under the covers and deciding you’d deal with it in the morning. It took forever for you to fall asleep, but once you did, thankfully, you were out until the morning.

Half asleep, you stumbled down the stairs at almost noon.

And there, Lucky was waiting for you.

She meowed at you indignantly, as if you were late, and you gasped, crouching down and scrunching her face between your hands. “Lucky!” you exclaimed. She meowed, and wiggled out of your grasp, and walked in circles around you, keeping her tail against your leg.

You were so relieved that you only got partially annoyed when she made you trip over yourself every two seconds while you cleaned up the broken mug and made breakfast. She was very talented at getting in the way, sitting in the perfect position to be as inconvenient as possible.

She wandered around when you started work, getting bored after twenty minutes of jumping onto your laptop and being pushed off, only to do it again, and again, and again. You lost sight of her but somehow weren’t too worried - if she came back the first time, she’d probably come back again, you reasoned.

Which she did!

Sometimes.

She became your companion as the weeks went on, coming every so often to bother you as adorably as possible before disappearing for a few hours again. Sometimes she’d come during the day, but you were always relieved when she came at night because, for some inexplicable reason, she really made the house quiet and let you sleep.

Sometimes you’d give her a little bit of milk, or whatever you had on you (after properly researching what was okay for cats, of course), but she never seemed very hungry, so you’d never really thought about buying actual cat food for her.

You thought about getting her a collar every so often, but between working on the house, normal work, and just… life, you never really got around to it. Plus, she always seemed to come back, so you didn’t think it was super necessary.

So Lucky hung around, and you got some work done, and everything was good.

***

You’d heard creaking. Lots of creaking. And the occasional mysteriously shattered glass. And the howling in the wind, and skittering in the walls, and the weird drafts, and the unexplained cat - all sorts of weird things.

But this was the first time you heard a voice.

A real, live, human voice.

Well, maybe not live.

You’d been cooking when you first heard it, and, in a panic, you’d grabbed a frying pan. Maybe frying pans were lucky, too; after all, one had been your “weapon” when Lucky had sneaked up on you. She was notably absent, Lucky, by the way, and you wished you had your good luck charm with you as you made your way to the basement, feeling only slightly like an idiot.

Maybe a very scared idiot.

The voice was coming from the basement, which you hadn’t exactly ventured into yet. The whole house had a bit of a creepy-basement vibe, so you weren’t quite enthusiastic to go into the actual basement, where you’d imagine the creepiness would be increased exponentially.

The voice sounded male. And British.

You pictured a British ghost - something old and ancient, judging by the rasp of the voice, although it did sound on the younger side… Maybe it had some sort of paranormal ancient youth. Maybe a sailor, who lived in the house hundreds of years ago, and died at sea… And now, he was back, to haunt you, because you’d… offended him… with your… redecorating?

The stairs were actually pretty quiet, you realized, creeping down them as quietly as you could with your frying pan and marveling at the lack of creaks. You stepped onto the floor, peering around the corner, and realized the ghost - or whatever - must have been outside since the back door was slightly ajar, blowing cool air onto your legs.

If you were being honest, you hadn’t even known that that door existed. A mini lightbulb went off in your head as you realized that was probably where Lucky had been getting in, and you wondered absently if you should get a lock or something for it.

Then your brows furrowed as you got closer and the voice became coherent.

“... you been? ‘ve been looking all over for you… Think you’re so clever, don’t you? Disturbing our nice neighbor like this… Got them to talk to you, did you? Oh, I’m sure, you charmer…” You heaved a breath, kicking open the door -

You brandished the frying pan, yelling, “Who -?!”

“Bloody hell!”

So, you realized then, it was a guy.

And not a ghost.

Very decidedly a guy, actually, from the way the pan hadn’t gone right through him but had rather clanged against his forearm as he threw it up to defend himself. His other hand, it should be noted, was holding a cat.

Specifically, Lucky.

You gasped, lowering your pan. “Oh, my god,” you breathed. “Oh, my god, I am so sorry - I thought you were -” You stopped as Lucky slipped out of the guy’s arms and weaved around your legs, purring louder than a motorboat.

“Hello, there,” the guy said, incredibly pleasant for someone who’d just gotten attacked with a frying pan. “Um - hi,” you replied hesitantly, holding the pan behind your back as if he’d forget about the whole thing if he couldn’t see it. “Hi, I’m - um, I’m sorry.”

“Hi, Sorry,” the guy joked, holding out his non-injured hand, “I’m Harry Styles. Your neighbor.”

Heat crept up your cheeks, shaking his hand as you corrected him with your name.

He repeated your name, smiling as it rolled off his tongue, and despite yourself, you felt a shiver running down your spine. He was good looking, this Harry guy. His eyes rivaled Lucky’s, bright green as he grinned at you. His hair looked a bit grown out, chestnut brown and curling slightly at his temples.

And he had dimples.

Very cute dimples.

And muscles, and -

There was a beat of silence, and you realized you were not so subtly checking him out, and even though you kind of realized he was doing the same to you, you felt your cheeks heat again. Harry cleared his throat, crouching down to pet Lucky as he said, “So, erm - I haven’t seen you around a lot.”

“Yeah,” you replied, laughing a bit sheepishly. “I’ve been… busy.”

Harry nodded, his gaze drifting around you to the messy basement. “I’m sure,” he said. “This place seems like a lot of work.” You shrugged, following his eyes and inspecting the dust and various junk cluttered throughout the room.

“Well, I have time…”

“But not for neighbors, hm?” Harry asked, a teasing smile on his lips.

“I’m… sorry,” you said again, putting your head in your hands for a second before looking back up. “I hadn’t even thought… I can’t even see your… Do you live, uh - close?” Harry nodded, gesturing vaguely out the back door. “Relatively, I suppose, although - you’re right, you can’t quite… see it… from here.”

“You’ll have to show me sometime,” you said impulsively, and Harry glanced at you, dimpling again. “Yeah,” he agreed, “reckon I will.” You smiled, suddenly unable to keep eye contact, and then let your gaze dart away after a second.

“And the, erm - the market,” Harry went on. “Haven’t seen you around there. Have you been?”

You shook your head, murmuring, “No,” and Harry tsked, shaking his head back at you, oozing disappointment. “Right, well, that’s just not right,” he said. “That we’ll have to go to sometime. ‘specially now that it’s autumn.” You nodded, and he stood up, dusting off his hands as Lucky came over to you for cuddles.

You expected him to say he was going to go, that he had work to do, or something, but instead, he asked, “Doing anything now?” and grinned, glancing down at the pan, still in your hand. “Besides attacking perfect strangers, of course.”

“I am… so sorry about that,” you said, again, laughing sheepishly, again.

“I’d say it’s fine,” Harry replied, “but, erm… It’s not.”

You felt your eyes widen. “What?”

“I think you’ll have to make it up to me, love,” he told you. You just raised a brow, and he grinned. “Maybe I’ll forgive you if you give me a ride to the market,” he said, and then you smiled. “Easy enough,” you replied, grabbing your keys from your pocket.

Harry dimpled and looked down at Lucky. “Right, then, Dee, let’s go, shall we?”

You frowned. “Dee?”

“Oh, right!” Harry exclaimed, bending down to scoop Lucky into his arms. “I think you’ve met, but this here is Demon. Dee for short.” You scoffed a laugh, shaking your head. “Demon?” you echoed incredulously.

Harry nodded, grinning ear to ear. “Yeah, look at this menace! What else would we call her?”

“You’re her owner?”

“Yup. Found her a few months ago, and she just… stuck.”

“Good at that, isn’t she?” you murmured, reaching out to scratch behind her ear.

“Has she bothered you?” Harry asked, looking sympathetic, and you nodded. “Oh, yes, all the time. In the most pleasant way possible, though, so I’m not too mad.” Harry laughed, letting her slip out of his arms and onto the ground.

She ambled out of the basement and into the grass, and, after exchanging a glance with Harry, you both followed her. “I’ve been calling her Lucky,” you told him, closing the door behind you. Harry glanced at you, hands in his pockets, and smiled. “Lucky?”

“Yeah. See, the house is -” You stopped, and Harry raised an eyebrow. “The house is what?” You laughed, a bit embarrassed, and then mumbled, “I think it’s haunted.” Harry nodded, understanding on his face. “Oh, yeah, it definitely is,” he agreed.

You laughed again. “That sure of it, are you?”

Harry rolled his eyes, a smile tugging on his lips, and nodded at Lucky. “That’s your ghost.”

“Lucky? How -?”

“She’s the one howling, and walking everywhere to make the floors creak, and knocking glasses off the tables,” Harry explained, and your jaw dropped, just a bit. “Oh, my god,” you said, as it all clicked into place. “That’s why - Well, see, I called her Lucky because the” - you put up air quotes - “‘ghost’ never seemed to be around when she was with me. Which I guess makes sense, since if she was with me, she wasn’t… anywhere else…”

“Yup.”

You frowned, glancing over at him. “So, wait - how did you know?”

“Same thing happened to me,” he replied with a shrug. “Was right convinced the place was haunted when I first moved in - was about to sell and everything. Couldn’t take replacing half the cupboard every two weeks. Then I caught her shattering one of my mugs. Then, I got a night light, and saw her lurking around and making a ruckus with the floorboards.”

“A night light,” you repeated, lightly smacking your forehead. “Why didn’t I think of that?”

“Took me a few weeks, too,” Harry laughed. “You’d’ve gotten there eventually, don’t worry.”

“Sure hope so,” you murmured, smiling as Lucky jumped up onto your car and started to stretch out on the hood. You opened the driver’s side door and leaned against it as Harry gave Lucky a scratch behind her ears.

“Pesky little thing, she is,” Harry said. “Always does the same on my car, and I’m always tempted to just drive with her on top and see what happens.” You scoffed, shaking your head. “How could you?” Harry shrugged, grinning at you. “I’m sure she’d land on her feet.”

“Yeah, well, let’s not test that now,” you replied, gently scooping Lucky up and placing her on the grass, where she started to daintily lick a paw. Harry got into the passenger seat, and you asked him, “Where’s this market of yours?”

“Up the road,” Harry said vaguely.

You raised a brow, but he didn’t offer any more information.

So you just drove.

***

“Halloween,” Harry said, “is not fun.”

You gasped, scandalized, and exclaimed, “What?”

“It’s too stressful!” Harry groaned. “I never know what to wear! Especially to parties, bloody hell! Like, do you go for it? Full makeup, tons of tulle, a wig? Or don’t go for it? And if it’s really go for it, and you don’t go for it, it’s like, oh, well, too bad. Or if it’s a party, and you’re invited, like, the day of, and everybody’s going for it, and you’re like, oh, I can’t, can’t go, because I don’t have time to plan it, and -” He stopped, sighing, and shook his head. “It’s a whole ordeal.”

“Yeah, clearly,” you replied, biting back a grin.

You were pulling into a parking lot, and you could already see the hustle and bustle of the market. There were booths set up all along the street and around a little courtyard. People talked and chattered, exchanging money and trinkets and smiles and waves.

You both got out of the car and met at the front, taking a moment to admire the view.

“The caramel apples are the best,” Harry told you with a smile.

“Guess we’ll have to go there first.”

Harry nodded, and you started walking. You shoved your hands in your pockets, a bit cold in the autumn wind, as a comfortable silence fell over the two of you. It was only a few seconds before you were stopped, though, when an old man behind a table covered in small wooden carvings called, “Harry!”

“George!” Harry exclaimed, wrapping him in a hug.

“It’s good to see you,” George said cheerily, his gaze darting to you and back to Harry inquisitively. Harry smiled, introducing you as his neighbor. George grinned, shaking your hand. “Pleasure to meet you,” he said.

“Likewise,” you replied.

“You must be pretty special,” George said. “Don’t think I’ve ever met any other neighbors.”

“We share a cat,” Harry explained, and George’s brow raised.

Harry glanced at you, dimpling, and then said, “Nice talking with you, George. We should catch up later - we’re headed for Mara.” George nodded. “Good boy. You know what they say! The way to a woman’s heart is her stomach, eh?”

“Alrighty, then,” Harry said, gently leading you away. “Bye, George!”

“Bye, Harry! And nice to meet you, neighbor!”

You smiled, waving at him over your shoulder. “You too, George!”

“Swear he’s been running that booth since about 1804,” Harry murmured as you walked away. “‘ve known him all my life, and he’s always looked the same. Beginning to think he’s a vampire.” You grinned, nudging his shoulder. “He seems nice.”

“He is!” Harry agreed. “He is. Like a second father. Hey, here’s Mara.”

You came up to a cluster of booths that steamed and bubbled and swirled together to smell of a blend of spices, sugar, and caramel. One of the booths proudly proclaimed Mara’s Caramel Apples, and shiny golden apples dotted the table.

The woman behind the table - Mara, presumably - lit up when she caught sight of Harry. “Harry, darling!” she cooed, coming around her table to press kisses against each of Harry’s cheeks. “Hullo, Mara,” Harry replied.

“It’s so good to see you!” Mara exclaimed, pinching his cheeks. “You should come around more often, love, you need some meat on these bones of yours.” Harry nodded, gingerly pulling her hand off of him. “I’ll work on that,” he replied, glancing at you and looking amused, if not a bit embarrassed.

“You do that, Harry,” Mara said, stealing one more pinch and making Harry wince before she turned to you. “And who is this, then?” Mara tutted, shaking her head. “Haven’t forgotten your manners, have you?”

“Never, Mara,” Harry assured her, and introduced you.

“Lovely to meet you!” Mara said cheerfully, wrapping you in a hug.

“You too,” you responded.

“How long have you been together, then?” Mara asked, making your face heat as she walked back around the table and started stirring a pot of caramel. “Haven’t seen you around, dear.” Harry coughed, shaking his head, looking as embarrassed as you felt. “Nope, no, we’re not together,” he corrected her. “Just - erm, we’re neighbors.”

“Ah, neighbors,” Mara hummed.

Harry nodded. “Yeah, she moved in where the Carlsons were.”

“Oh, the Carlsons!” Mara said. “A tricky bunch, they were - I’m glad you’re there now.”

“Yeah, me too,” you replied, smiling slightly at Harry.

Mara wiped her hands off on a cloth and tucked it on a rack before carefully grabbing two pristine caramel apples. “Well,” she said, handing you both a stick, “here you are, dears. Enjoy, now! And come back soon, the both of you!”

Harry pulled out cash, but Mara waved him off. “Oh, nonsense, Harry, you know better than that,” Mara told him. “I’ll give you the family discount, as long as you both promise to come back on your next date.”

“Not a date, Mara,” Harry mumbled, flushing red, and Mara grinned. “Of course. My mistake. Your first date, then.” Your face felt about on fire, and Harry’s was red as a beet as he said, “Right, then, nice talking to you, Mara! Bye, now.” He walked away as she waved cheerily, and you followed him.

Harry looked at you apologetically. “She’s a bit, erm - concerned, as it were,” he said sheepishly. “Haven’t exactly…” He cleared his throat. “She thinks I’m a bit lacking in the romance department.” You raised a brow, and he somehow managed to get even redder.

“I mean! I mean, I’m - I’m not,” he added hurriedly, “I’m really not, ‘f course - but, erm - she thinks…” He sighed, stopping, and shrugged at you helplessly. “So you’re not?” you said, and Harry’s brows furrowed, confused.

“You’re not lacking in the romance department?” you clarified.

Harry frowned. “... No?”

“So… Girlfriend? Boyfriend?”

A bit of the red faded from his cheeks. “Oh,” he said. “Well, then, yes. I suppose I’m lacking in the romance department right now. ‘s unusual, though, I’ll have you know. But, erm - how about you?” You shook your head, glancing away from him and around the fair. “Single as a Pringle,” you told him, and you liked to imagine seeing the hint of a smile on his face out of the corner of your eye.

“Gotcha,” Harry hummed. “Right, well, how’s the apple, then?”

You took a bite, savoring it as you crunched on it, and then nodded your approval. “Superb,” you said, and Harry grinned brightly. “Wonderful,” he replied. “‘m glad you like it. Might’ve been a deal breaker if not.”

“That important, huh?”

“Oh, the most important,” Harry said seriously.

You grinned, and Harry dimpled back.

There was a beat of silence, and then he said, “Right, then. Tell me something about yourself.”

“Like what?”

He shrugged, licking caramel off his lips. “Anything. Hopes, dreams, fears, favorite color…”

You hummed as you thought, and then told him the first thing that came to mind. He listened as you talked, looking genuinely interested in what you were saying. Butterflies erupted in your stomach every time you made him laugh, and when you flipped the spotlight to him, you found yourself completely lost in his words.

Something about his voice, and his humor, and the way he giggled everytime he made a stupid joke, made the butterflies linger. It was pleasant, though. It wasn’t alarming, or nerve wracking, or even remotely uncomfortable. You weren’t self conscious, or scared to mess up, or worried you’d say the wrong thing.

You were just… happy.

The fair, you realized, wasn’t nearly big enough.

You’d walk the whole world just to keep talking with him.

***

“That was a date,” your friend declared as soon as you finished telling her what had happened. You balanced your phone between your ear and shoulder and blew softly on your hot tea. “No,” you replied, “it wasn’t.”

“Yes, it was!” she squealed. “I can’t believe he didn’t kiss you!” She huffed. “I can’t believe you didn’t kiss him!” You rolled your eyes, amused despite yourself, and insisted, “It really wasn’t a date. I was just… making up for slamming a metal pan into his arm.”

You heard her wince. “Yikes.”

You sighed, again, and took a sip of your tea. “He probably has a bruise.”

“Yeah, probably,” she snickered.

“Hey!”

She laughed, sounding way too amused at your misery. “Talk about a meet cute!”

“You are not helping,” you groaned, feeling yourself starting to laugh too anyway.

“Don’t worry,” she giggled, “he’ll think of you everytime he accidently puts pressure on it and screams in pain.” You scoffed indignantly and argued, “He will not scream in pain - it wasn’t that bad.” Your friend hummed skeptically. “I dunno about that… It was a pan, right?”

You took a sip of your tea, sighing heavily. “A tiny pan,” you mumbled into the lip of your mug, and then laughed when your friend started cracking up. “You gotta text me a picture of the bruise,” she gasped through her laughter.

“Okay, there’s no bruise.”

“Dude, it was a pan.”

“A tiny pan!”

That just set off another round of giggles, before finally, your friend relented. “Fine,” she said, “send me a picture of him, and the bruise will just be a bonus.” You agreed, and then said goodnight, and fell asleep with a smile on your face.

***

Your fingers did a dance over the screen of your phone, your lip between your teeth as you debated whether or not to send the text. Harry had given you his number the other day at the market, but you were getting a bit anxious about what to send.

The door really did need to be fixed, you told yourself, glancing down at your flirtatious-if-you-squinted text asking if he’d help you fix your basement door. Especially now, since it wouldn’t stay closed at all; you’d had to put a brick behind it to keep it shut, and even that kept sliding around. It was where Lucky had kept slipping in, you’d figured, and even though she was a pleasant enough intruder, you didn’t really want other less adorable trespassers coming through.

Finally, you took a breath, and sent it.

You stared at your screen for a few seconds as if he’d reply within the minute, and then threw your phone across your bed. Heaving a sigh, you pulled yourself away from your bed and towards the window, fidgeting with your fingers.

You lasted about ten seconds, and then grabbed your phone, and checked.

Nothing, of course, because you sent the text thirty seconds ago.

You groaned and belly flopped onto your bed.

***

Lucky came first.

She jumped up onto your bed and butted against you until you sat up and started petting her.

You pouted at her, smoothing your hand over her head. “Maybe I should’ve waited a few more days,” you murmured to her. “Maybe I made it obvious how desp- or, like, made it seem like I was too desperate.” You raised a brow, gazing down at her. “What about you, huh? Are you too desperate?”

Lucky purred and rolled over, stretching languidly.

“Oh, yeah, sure,” you laughed, sliding off your bed and heading for the kitchen.

You paused when you heard the doorbell ring, glancing at Lucky inquisitively like she’d tell you who it was. She gave you a slow blink, and then jumped up, and stretched, and meandered down the hallway. You followed her, almost tripping over her when she stopped suddenly in the middle of the staircase to lick a paw, and opened the door.

“So I sort of forgot any tools,” Harry greeted you. “Hope that’s not a problem.”

Your brows jumped. “I - of course it’s not a - I just thought -” You stopped, glancing down at your phone, which showed no new notifications, and no new texts. “Sorry,” you said, “I wasn’t expecting you so, um - soon.”

Harry laughed, a bit sheepishly, and ran a hand through his hair. “Right. Sorry. I was… on the way. I mean, not on the way here, but, like - driving past. Well, not driving past, but sort of - you know, in, erm - in the area. Sort of. Sorry.”

“It’s fine,” you assured him, feeling yourself smile. “I’m glad you’re here.” You stepped back to let him in. “I think it’s open right now, the door - there’s kind of a draft,” you lied. Harry nodded, glancing around the house. “Place looks nice,” he said, and you smiled again, following his gaze.

“Yeah,” you replied. “Yeah, I think so, too.”

“Was a bit dreary before,” Harry said softly, letting his hand lightly skim the bright throw blanket you’d put on the sofa as he passed. “Downright dull,” you agreed, and he glanced at you, a smile tugging up the corners of his lips. “Where’s this door, then?”

“Downstairs,” you answered, stepping forward to lead him around the corner and down the steps. “The basement’s a bit creepy,” you warned him, tugging on the light. “Haven’t quite gotten down here yet.”

“Noted,” Harry murmured.

“It’s back here,” you said, weaving around a few cardboard boxes to get to the door.

It was, in fact, open, which was purely coincidental but pretty convenient. “Cold,” you said simply, shrugging at him. “Yeah,” Harry replied, “cold.” You smiled, not sure why, and then stepped outside, inspecting it without a real purpose in mind.

He stepped out too, and you gently pushed the door shut.

The lock clicked, a beat of silence, and then it swung open with a creak.

“Might be the lock,” Harry said, bending down to look at the little bit of metal against the side.

Lucky appeared as he fiddled with the mechanism, weaving through his legs, and he gave her scritches as he pushed the lock in and out a few times. “Looks fine,” he started, and then stopped when Lucky plopped down on top of his foot.

“Don’t know how she expects us to do any work like this,” Harry said with a grin, and you laughed, crouching next to him to pet her too. “She’s moral support,” you replied, and Harry raised a brow. “The most bothersome moral support ever.”

You shrugged. “The cutest most bothersome moral support ever.”

“If you say so,” Harry said, gently sliding her off his foot. He slid his hand over the door to its other side, where the hinges were, and then his face lit up. “Right, I have an idea.” He turned to you, looking excited, and asked, “Have a hammer?”

“Uhhh… probably?” You looked around the basement, then pushed open a closet door where a tool box poked out, and handed him a hammer. He nodded, glancing at the hinge again. “Er - how about a screwdriver?”

You gave it to him, and then watched over his shoulder as he gently tapped the pin out of the hinge in the middle of the door. He put it on the floor, raising the hammer over it, and you raised a brow at him. He looked up at you, grinning, and you couldn’t find it in you to tell him to stop. “I have a plan,” he told you.

“Sure, Styles.”

He scoffed, sitting back on his heels. “You know, your lack of faith is a bit disheartening.”

“I think you’re just stalling because you have no idea what you’re doing.”

He smiled, a challenge in his eyes, and then sat forward and hammered the pin, right in the middle. It bent, just slightly, and then he held it up, looking satisfied. He slid it back into the hinge, tapped it down, and worked on getting the other one out.

Once he’d gotten a curve in that one, he put it back and got the next. You watched in skeptical silence as he put that one back… and then stood up and dusted off his hands. “There you have it,” he announced.

“There’s no way that’s gonna work,” you said.

Harry just stepped back and pushed the door shut.

The lock clicked, a beat of silence, and then -

It stuck.

“Oh!” you exclaimed, pulling it out to close it again. It stuck, again, and you looked up at him happily. “Oh, wow, I can’t believe that worked! How did you even know how to do that?” Harry shrugged, fiddling with the door. “These old houses are practically identical. My bedroom door had the same problem.”

“Well, lucky me.”

He glanced at you, and held your gaze, just for a second, with a smile on his lips, and then his cheeks dusted pink. You felt heat rise on your own cheeks, realizing in the back of your mind that the whole door endeavor took a lot less time than you’d expected and now he’d probably leave.

He walked inside, making a grand gesture of holding the door open for you. “C��mon, then,” he said as you walked through and wracked your brain for ideas on how to keep him with you, “I need a tour.” You grinned, wondering if he could read your mind, and then nodded. You paused at the edge of the basement door and turned around.

“So,” you said, “this is the basement.”

“Enlightening.”

“The land of boxes,” you told him, and he smiled before following you out and up the steps to the living room. This was where you’d done the most work, clearing out the old grey furniture and replacing it with bright new pieces.

You put your arm out, gesturing widely to the room and spinning around. “And here’s the living room.” Harry followed you, making a slow circle and inspecting it. “I like the art,” he said, his eyes on the paintings you’d put on the wall.

“Thanks,” you said. “Me too.”

“Have you seen the gallery in town?” Harry asked as he followed you towards the kitchen. You shook your head, leaning against the counter. “No, I haven’t,” you answered, giving him a smile. “You’ll have to take me.”

Then, ignoring the butterflies his returning smile gave you, you went on, “And here’s the kitchen.” Lucky jumped up onto the counter next to you, and you grinned, petting her. “It’s her favorite room in the house.”

“I’m sure,” Harry laughed. He scratched her behind her ears, then walked around the room, his fingers tracing lightly on the white wooden table you’d chosen for the center of the room. “I like this better,” he said. “The Carlsons’ made the room look a lot smaller than it was.”

You nodded. “Yeah, I agree… Was too big. Made it cramped.” Harry’s gaze went out the back windows, which were floor to ceiling and looked out on the small woods in the backyard. There was a beat of silence, and then you walked over to stand next to him. “Were you… in here a lot?”

Harry shook his head. “Not really. I think they invited me when I first moved in… but that’s sort of it.” You hummed in response, and then asked, “Were you close with, uh - with the Carlsons?” Harry shrugged. “Eh. Not really. Y’know. Neighbor stuff.”

You bit your lip, smiling slightly. “Didja take them to the fair?” Your smile widened as Harry glanced at you, dimpling, and shook his head. “Nah,” he said. “But we didn’t share a cat, so I think the rules are a bit different.”

“Oh, really?”

“Mhm,” Harry hummed, looking back outside. “Yeah, there’s a bit more…” He tilted his head back and forth, searching for the right word. “Intimacy,” he finally seemed to decide, giving you a smile that tugged his lips into an almost-smirk. “We’re co-parenting a little one, after all. There’s got to be some… dinners involved.”

“Ah, yes, dinners,” you echoed solemnly. “To discuss parenting techniques.”

Harry nodded. “You get it.”

“She’s a bit spoiled, you know,” you said, watching her jump from the counter onto the table and sprawl out on the wood. “So we should probably get on those dinners.” Harry grinned. “Oh, yeah?” he asked, and you nodded. “Yeah. Definitely. Like, as soon as possible.”

His face lit up. “As soon as possible? As in, tonight?”

“Yeah,” you replied, a slow smile growing on your face. “As in tonight.”

Harry grinned back at you. “It’s a date.”

***

okay i KNOW this is weird sldkfj but it'll all make sense soon <333 hope you enjoyed !!!!!

and if you're liking this whole wrong-season-for-the-holiday thing, have no fear because there's a christmas fic coming soon!!!

masterlist | ask

[twinklelilstarkey]

Revenge - Matthew Tkachuk

Words: 3.1k+

Type: Smut

Warnings: Female!Reader. 18+. Cursing. Fingering. Oral sex (mentions of male receiving, but it’s mainly female receiving). Online classes. Semi-public sex (while in zoom class). 

If you’re a minor, please, for the love of God, do not read this!!

Studying and working from home hasn’t been all that stressful for you. 

At least for now. 

All your professors of your college have, honestly, been the only pain in the ass, since they care so much about participation during classes or with doing essays, ‘so it compensates your lack of physical presence in classes’. In other words, always having your camera on, unless you want to be kicked from the zoom call. Oh and yeah, have to hear their whining (if they’re that type of professors) if they see you talking to someone off screen and looking down at your phone.

As annoying as that sounds, the fact that your boyfriend and you get to have and spend more time together - over not having to stay in campus to study or in the rink to work - it, honestly, makes you feel better.

And you being you and Matthew being Matthew, teasing is in the nature of your relationship. And just the fact that you both get to have the possibility to tease each other during inconvenient times just to get under each other’s skin, it’s fucking gold.

Yes, whenever you are in classes, Matthew is in zoom meetings, but there are days where he has longer meetings than you. And god, you do use those times to your advantage.

Your type of teasing can go one of two ways. It can be to just annoy the shit out of each other until someone laughs or just tackles the other off screen - yes, it has happened - or the sexual type of teasing.

The second one is more rare, and of course, more risky. You two obviously only do anything in days that, for an example, Matthew isn’t in meetings with his coach or you aren’t in online tests, or with certain teachers. But, of course, there’re exceptions.

One of the most important problem of living with each other is that both you and Matthew have grown to be extremely comfortable with each other. I repeat, extremely comfortable. 

Just imagine how your first day of online classes went when your very naked boyfriend walked right across your background while your professor presented himself. 

You thankfully saw it before anyone could and your shoulders hid everything except for his chest, but it was still a very close call.

Nothing a pen thrown at his head couldn’t fix.

It never happened again but the lack of clothing is still very real under your roof. Matthew puts on boxers and, in meetings, a shirt, and you... well, you only wear a t-shirt.

Yesterday was your day off and let’s just say that boredom got the best of you. Matthew was stuck in a delayed zoom meeting with just his teammates, which meant that whatever you two had planned had just been delayed as well. Resulting, of course, in your boredom.

You leaned against the doorway while looking at him for the first minutes, then against walls and only after the first 20 minutes, you sat next to him on the extra chair, hoping that maybe your glare would be enough to speed up whatever they were talking about.

Didn’t work. 

Whenever Matthew would look at you, he would just laugh at the small pout, and, later, the scowl that grew on your face. 

The meeting continued for another 40 minutes and you were pissed. You whispered many times to Matthew just to ask if you could at least go to the bedroom, but he always answered ‘I’m almost done, babe, just a few more minutes’.

A few minutes your ass. As it reached the whole hour and a half, you were furious. Matthew was sitting on the normal desk chair, legs under the desk, leaning back as if nothing in the world could bother him. Ah, he was more than wrong.

You knew for a fact that the conversation between the guys is not even work related anymore. You couldn’t hear anything over Matthew having headphones but from all the laughing from his part and his friends on his screen, you had a good idea of the truth. So... 

You did it.

You didn’t think twice or even hesitate, you just did it. 

You went under the table, while gaining a look from your boyfriend, who didn’t say anything at first, and just pulled down his boxers. He was in shock, to say the least, for the first minute or so, but he didn’t stop you.

He hissed super loud as soon as your hand held his cock in your hands and he swears that he never moved so fast to mute himself on the call. 

His friends were too distracted to notice anything about him on his camera, or even hear him over the other guys’ voices, so everything came unnoticed.

The boys lost him as soon as you pulled him into your mouth. He didn’t hear a thing nor did he say a word. He was completely lost in the total bliss of the warmth and smoothness of your mouth. He threw his head back on the chair and brought his hands to your face, helplessly grabbing it as you took him inch by inch into your mouth, bobbing your head up and down as your eyes stayed on his.

Did it work? Sure did. He never left a meeting so quick in his life. And as soon as his laptop was closed, he snatched you from under the desk and took you right there on the ground, on top of the carpet.

Twenty four hours later and you think you’re still sore, but you don’t regret it one bit.

Matthew, today, has nothing to do for work, while you’re in your last class of the evening. He’s sitting next to you by the desk, back turned to your computer as he faces the tv and plays some video game.

As you continue to take notes silently of what your professor is explaining, your phone vibrates with a random notification and your eyes drift over to it. You eye it quickly and slide to the side to delete it, leaving you to stare at the photo on your background.

Matthew hates that picture with everything in him, while you love it with your whole heart.

It’s a picture of him a year ago. A night that he was just bat shit drunk, smiling widely to the camera with his eyes closed because of the flash of your phone. He looked adorable, and that is exactly why he hates it.

“Y/N Y/L/N, please pay attention to class”

You lift your head to look at the screen and the teacher already moved on with class. 

How in the hell does he notice you every time?

Matthew looks over at you as you sigh loudly and looks at your screen. You look slightly stressed, maybe also frustrated, with whatever just happened, but with just his eyes, he can’t tell what that was.

As a student’s face appears in your screen when making a question, Matthew rests his hand over your naked thigh, grabbing your attention.

“What’s wrong?” He asks, and you lean back on your chair.

“Caught me looking at my phone” You whisper and he smiles.

You look back at the screen as your teacher starts to talk again and try your best to go into your robot mode. No emotions, just take notes.

Matthew looks away, back to his TV, but lets his hand rest on your leg as he quietly changes games. He had grown bored after dying so many times at online servers. Nothing a calmer game can’t fix.

You write down whatever your teacher says, not really caring if it makes sense or not when written down, and your phone vibrates against the table again.

“If you’ll excuse me, I’ll just go grab that book right now” Your teacher excuses himself and you swear that you see everyone sigh in relief at his announcement of everyone’s seconds of peace.

Matt leans his head on his chair as he’s stuck on a loading screen and you look over your shoulder curious to see what game he’s playing. You turn in your chair, pen still in your hand, and sit over one of your legs to stare at the TV.

You stare at the black screen, waiting for the lobby of the game to reappear, and out of nowhere, you feel Matt’s hand squeeze the inside of your thigh, high up your thigh.

“Stop” You warn him.

“Didn’t do anything” He answers back.

You shake your head at him and him, being the little shit that he is, decides to move his hand more up. Tingles run down your body at how close he really is to notice your usual lack of underwear, but you just send him a glare in return.

“Aren’t you in class?” He asks, acting as if he’s still not moving his hand up excruciatingly slow.

“Yeah, but my-”

Right as you’re about to explain, the sound of your teacher’s mic moving around makes you look back at the screen.

“Here it is.” Your professor says as he holds his book up at the camera.

“Never mind” You tell Matt, turning back for your class, sitting straight in front of your camera.

Your teacher starts talking about the book, also about the author, and quickly you’re back to your emotionless self, paying attention to everything he is saying, making sure to know if you actually need to read that book or if it’s just optional.

Everyone nods at the teacher to make him know that everyone is listening and you’re rudely pulled away from your moment of concentration as Matthew’s hand finally reaches you.

“Matthew, I’m in class” You say through your teeth, not wanting your teacher to call you out again. This time, for talking to someone.

You grab his wrist and as you’re about to pull him away, his middle finger traces your slit, easily sliding in between your lips.

He smiles as your hold on his wrist loosens and as you lean slightly back on your chair. He steals a glance from your screen and finds your teacher talking, still holding the book up to the camera.

You gasp as his finger touches your clit and look over at him with an annoyed look as soon as it starts circling it.

“My class ends in 15. Can’t this wait?... Please?” You ask, trying to fight the urge to close your eyes.

His slow circles around your little bud speed up slightly and you sigh.

“My meeting from yesterday was almost ending as well. That didn’t stop you, did it?” He asks in a low tone.

You let out a small whimper as he presses his finger more onto you as he continues his circles and you lay your head back, trying to make it seem for the camera that you are just leaning back.

“I only need you all to read from page...” Your teacher continues and you curse out loud, hand grasping your pen tightly.

You hold your head back up, leaning forward on the chair, and try your best to ignore Matt’s hand. You stare at yourself in the camera for a little as you hear the numbers of the pages, but your brain seems to have stopped functioning completely.

Please just write that down, please just write that- hold on.

Matt takes his finger off your clit and soon you feel it reach your entrance, gathering some of your juices onto his fingertips. You lean forward on your chair and he takes that moment to push his finger in.

You bring one of your hands to your forehead as you lower your head down and you let out a small moan as Matt’s ring finger slides in as well, working at the perfect rhythm.

“Does anyone have any questions?” The teacher asks.

You sigh as Matt starts working his thumb around your clit, and the voice of a girl fills your ears as she starts making her question. Matt’s fingers are not even going at a fast pace, but you’re sensitive enough to already let small moans escape your mouth. All because of yesterday.

Matthew bites his bottom lip as you let moans softly escape your mouth, completely hiding your face from the camera. God, he hopes your class is ending early.

He speeds up the movements of his fingers, letting them start to quicken as they slide up and down from your slick walls, wetting his fingers with your juices up to his knuckles, and he smiles as you respond instantly by closing your eyes and covering your mouth with your other hand.

“Ah yes, those pages are quite difficult to understand at first...”

Matthew, completely ignoring the fact that you’re still trying to listen to your teacher, speeds up his movements even more in the same minute, scissoring his fingers, and the sound you let out is just purely pornographic. 

As he feels you lean in closer to his hand, an idea flashes in his mind, making him smile evilly, even though you’re not looking at him at all.

Matthew pulls his hand away and you whine as he does it.

You open your eyes to look over his way and he swears that in his years of being a very annoying player in the NHL, nobody has ever looked at him with so much anger.

You continue to glare at him as he brings his hand to his lips, and you bite down a gasp as he starts licking his fingers clean. You’re breathing hard, almost panting, heart beating against your chest almost as if you were hitting a wave of complete adrenaline.

He smiles as he looks down at you and you don’t smile back, absolutely pissed off at him.

You, being angry as all hell, take your eyes off him and lean back on your chair, arms crossing over your chest as you stare at your teacher on your screen.

Matthew, pleased with himself, brings his hands to the chair you’re sitting on and pulls it away from the desk. You, even though confused, let him do whatever the hell he wants.

He stands from his chair beside you and, in a quick movement, crouches, and away from the camera of your laptop, moves to under the desk.

The look you give him as you look down is as unbothered as you wanted it to be.

As you bring your eyes back to laptop screen, you take notes of some of the number the pages that you missed over being ‘occupied’, and at the same time, Matthew grabs your legs by the back of your knees, pulling you closer the end of the chair, closer to him.

You breathe in deeply as you feel his breath against your inner thigh.

Matt spreads your legs even more and leans in, making you feel his head rest against your stomach.

Carefully, you adjust your laptop, just so nobody sees anything down your shoulders, like Matthew’s head, and bring your hands back down to your sides.

Matt’s hands spread both of your lips apart and you almost let out a cry as you feel his wet and hot tongue against you. You bite your bottom lip to contain your sounds as he licks down to your entrance and you take your hand to rest it on top of his curls.

“I almost forgot,” Your teacher says, “I have another book with some pages that could help you understand that chapter better...”

He disappears again from the screen and right on the same minute, Matt’s lips wrap around your clit.

“Shit” You curse under your breath.

He sucks it and you grip onto his hair. You bite down on your bottom lip to hold back any possible expressions that could give you away to your classmates and as your teacher takes a bit more to come back, you do the same as some people do, and turn off your camera.

Your name appears on your small grey rectangle and you sigh in relief.

You throw your head back in the bliss of the moment and Matt moves his mouth away from your clit. His tongue moves down and teases your entrance as you look down at him.

He smiles against you and you move your oversized t-shirt up to your waist, letting you take a better look at everything. He pushes his tongue inside of you and you moan out loud.

His nose grazes your clit and you’re a complete mess right there and then. His hands hold you by the hips so you don’t move away but that honestly is the least of his worries.

“Fuck, Matty” You sob in pleasure.

You drag your eyes to your screen and the message of your mic being muted appears, something you’re very grateful that exists.

Matt moves his mouth back to your clit as your teacher reappears and you take a look at the clock, still 5 minutes left.

“Here we are,” He says with another, larger, book on his hands.

He takes a look at the screen and a message appears on your screen. This god damn man is trying to turn everyone’s cameras back on.

You refuse the request at first and as you’re about to turn it on, scared of being kicked of the class, you feel Matt’s teeth touching your clit.

You cry out loud and he sucks your clit harder, moving his head from side to side as you cling to his hair for your dear life.

“Y/N Y/L/N, ... and... Please turn your cameras back on” Your teacher requests.

You sigh and try to do as told but the pleasure is starting to take every ounce of strength from your body. The familiar bubbling of pleasure sets at the end of your tummy and you moan loudly at Matthew’s tongue and lips.

“Don’t stop, please” You plead your boyfriend.

Matthew, taking your words to heart, does exactly what you ask him to. When releasing your clit from his lips, he starts working his tongue on it. Moving from side to side at the perfect speed, bringing you closer and closer to the edge.

You throw your head back, again, not controlling anything that you’re saying anymore. Pleasure consumes your brain entirely, almost driving you to, what seems like, complete insanity.

Your fingers tug on Matthew’s hair more and he leans more into you, resting his forehead against your stomach, nose against your pelvic bone, hands gripping the sides of your thighs, pulling them close to his shoulders to get a better angle on you.

You continue to let all types of sounds escape your lips, from moans to little whimpers that are not doing anything else but blessing Matthew’s ears. 

One last quick movement of his tongue and you reach your high. You bring your hand up to your mouth, unconsciously, covering it to not let your final screams bounce off the walls of the large apartment.

Matt carries you down your high and you are completely lost in the world for a minute or two.

You’re breathing heavily and your heart is jumping out of your chest, and only when you feel it calm down, your eyes fall back on the screen of your laptop.

Your teacher had carried on, surprisingly letting you and another girl have the cameras off, probably thinking that you’re not even behind them. 

You let go of Matthew’s hair as he starts laying kisses on your inner legs and you look down at him. A cheeky smile appears on his face and he pulls your chair back.

As he stands on his knees, you lean in quickly and kiss him right on the lips as your way to thank him. He smiles against your lips in the kiss and rests his hands on the top of your thighs, caressing them back and forth with his palms.

Your tongues touch each other into the kiss and he leans in closer, roughing up the kiss as you taste yourself on his tongue and on his soft lips.

“So, I guess we can end our class here” Your teacher says and you pull your lips away from Matthew. “Does anyone have any more questions?”

Silence.

“Alright, so, I guess I’ll see you next week.”

Right in the same minute, everyone turns on their mics to say a quick goodbye, a thank you or a quick wish of a good weekend and you, on the other hand, just lean in to click on the red button to leave the meeting.

You close the app as Matthew stands back on his feet. As you’re taking your air pods out and closing the laptop, he picks you right up from the chair, making you squeak in surprise, and throws you over his shoulder.

He’s definitely not done with you, but who are you to complain?

Again, I wrote this in between classes and I’m still very new to writing smut. If you have any tips, please, send them!

*Happy Valentine’s Weekend*

[bluejayblueskies]

for prompt 1 of jontim week: rumors, introduction

cw for bullying/nasty rumors/talking about someone behind their back. tim is influenced by these rumors but he doesn’t contribute to or agree with them. all rude/insensitive comments happen in the past/off-screen.

.

The first thing Tim thinks when he meets Jonathan Sims is he’s shorter than I expected.

Though Tim doesn’t know what he expected, really. He’s not usually one to put much stock in rumors, but after the tenth time he’d heard the name Sims whispered in the break room or in the hallway in passing or in the area behind the Institute marked off for smoking, he got curious. Maybe it was because of just how different all of the rumors were.

 He’s just so standoffish, don’t you think? I tried to say hello once, you know, just to be polite, and I don’t even think he looked at me. It’s a bit rude, don’t you think? I was just being nice.

 I had to take a whole week off when my sister died—funeral arrangements and such—and he offered to take on my workload for the week. And you know, I really think he was sincere when he gave his condolences. He’s rather kind, when you give him a chance.

 I swear, I left for lunch, and when I came back it didn’t look like he’d left at all. I invited him once, just to the canteen, and he got this look on his face and said no, thank you. It was polite, but—I don’t know, like being polite was an inconvenience?

 Elodie—you know, she volunteers at that animal shelter in Brixton—said she saw him there one weekend, just- just staring at the cats. When she asked him if he was interested in any of them, he said his flat didn’t allow pets. Apparently, he sounded so heartbroken about the fact she nearly offered to write a note to his landlord to appeal for special consideration. God, can you believe it? Jonathan Sims, getting all teary-eyed over some kittens.

 Despite his efforts against it, Tim had built up quite an image of Jonathan Sims, who he’d somehow managed to avoid actually meeting until his second week working at the Institute. Elias Bouchard’s week-long training program was boring, tedious, and way too invasive for a job that barely provides a living wage, and it kept him from doing any actual work (and from having access to the library, which apparently he couldn’t access until he was properly trained). By the time he finally got assigned a desk in the research department, he was tired and annoyed and itching to finally get some real work done.

 He meets Jonathan Sims in front of the section of the library regarding circuses, the nametag clipped onto the lapel of his suit jacket just barely visible beneath the impressive stack of books he’s carrying. (He’s one of the only people who actually wears that stupid ID they give us, his mind supplies in the voice of Mark from the filing department.) After short, Tim registers in quick succession grey-streaked hair cropped close to his ears and thin rectangular glasses and dark purple chipped nail polish. (And, unhelpfully, the fact that none of the rumors had mentioned the fact that he’s hot, in that kind of bookish, professorial way.)

 Then, Jonathan seems to notice that Tim’s there, and he takes a small step back from the shelves. “I’m sorry, am I in your way?”

 His voice is deep, and Tim’s too busy thinking about that voice cooing at kittens to properly register his words at first. The pause is just shy of embarrassing when Tim finally says, “No, you- you’re good.” He eyes the stack of books in Jon’s arm with curiosity. “A little late-night reading material?”

 Jonathan opens his mouth, then pauses and seems to shrink back into himself ever so slightly. “They’re for a case,” he says flatly, holding the books a bit closer to his chest.

 (Don’t think he has much of a social life outside of this place, to be honest. I mean, heh, I really don’t either, but at least I go home at a reasonable hour.)

 “You know,” Tim says brightly, “I think I have a few more I could recommend to you. I don’t know if they already have them in the library, but I could get you a list? Oh, or I could just let you borrow one? I have a few back at my place—I can bring them in for you if you’d like?”

 Jonathan gives Tim a wary look. “That would be… very helpful, thank you.”

 “Great!” Tim makes a mental note to stop by a bookshop (or ten) after work. “Oh, I’m Tim, by the way. I just started—I work in research.”

 Jonathan seems to brighten at this, if only slightly, and Tim counts that as a win. “I suppose we’ll be seeing more of each other, then. I’m Jonath—er. Jon. You can call me Jon.”

 Jon. Tim neatly disposes of every whispered rumor and false image attached to the name Jonathan Sims and replaces it with Jon. It fits more comfortably in his mind, fits better with the man standing in front of him who’s now smiling, if a bit tentatively.

 “I don’t suppose they’ve assigned you a case yet?” he says, shifting his grip on the books as he does so. “If you’d like, I… I could request that you be added to this one. As you can see, it’ll be quite a bit of work, and I could use your expertise. Or even just a second pair of eyes at this point.”

 (Not much of a team player, in my opinion. Tried to work a case with him last year and he wouldn’t even let me touch the files. Now, I don’t even try.)

 “You’re in luck! As it happens, my schedule is completely open.”

 Jon seems a bit surprised to have such ready agreement. “Right. I- I’ll get that arranged then.” He hesitates a moment, then says, “Would… would you like to take some of…?”

 (Doesn’t ask for help. Thinks he has to do this job all on his own.)

 Tim’s starting to get the feeling that he hasn’t heard a single completely true thing about Jon before now. (Well. Maybe except for the kittens. Tim really, really hopes except for the kittens.)

 Tim takes half of the books and brings them back to Jon’s desk. The research is just as long and arduous as Jon said it would be, but it’s exactly what Tim’s been looking for—evil clowns and all. So he stays late that day, and then the next, and then the next after that.

 Tim makes mistakes, and Jon is blunt when he corrects them, but not cruel or snappish. Tim suggests they stop for dinner and doesn’t push when Jon says (with unnecessary guilt) that it’ll interrupt his workflow. (Though Tim does begin to bring leftovers; enough for two.) Tim mentions offhand that he enjoys rock climbing, and Jon spends the next ten minutes asking Tim about his setup and where he likes to go and how much training he has to do, eyes wide and curious.

 They finish the case. And when Jon hesitantly asks if Tim wants to work the next one with him as well, saying yes is as easy as breathing.

[tonystarktogo]

Could I pretty pretty please get some more on the time travel crack au? Maybe when it gets out that Steve, Bruce, andThor are technically from the future?

As much as I’d love to jump to that part, I think it’s funnier necessary to cover a few other tidbits first. For example:

Tony misses whatever discussion follows Thor’s -- hah, got it right in one, he hasn’t lost his touch completely yet -- arrival before the god carries his brother off towards a containment cell with the sort of cheer that causes Tony to carefully keep at least two people between himself and Thor, lest the asshole tries to hug him again.

Not that it can be that big a loss considering they all -- sans Loki -- end up back in the command center of the helicarrier, where Fury glares balefully at the most recent invader of his precious aircraft that clearly isn’t meant to stand in the way of gods.

A glare Thor aggressively doesn’t notice. Likely because he’s too busy partaking in the on-going discussion on what to do next.

And by ‘what to do next’ Tony doesn’t mean the expected we-were-invaded-by-a-mindcontrolled-alien-nutbag-and-there’s-probably-more-out-there-seems-like-the-kind-of-oh-shit-situation-we-should-plan-for. No. That would be reasonable and expected and Tony’s spent all of three hours in the company of the esteemed Captain America and already he can tell you that Rogers is none of that.

[Which, not cool, Capsicle. Dazzling and befuddling people with crazily brilliant ideas is his job.]

[continues under the cut]

So far, Tony’s been paying attention for ten minutes. In that time, Rogers and Thor have gotten into an argument over how to handle Loki -- which holy shit, that went from a calm, rational discussion to a battle to the death between two superhumans on a sugar high in zero point four seconds -- that Tony is so not gonna touch. [Nope. Let some other fool [i.e. Rogers] throw himself head-first into norse god family drama, Tony’s own feelings concerning his family are complicated enough.] That conversation devolved into a not-openly-fighting-while-totally-fighting stand-off between Rogers and Banner over a way too bitter comment from the latter [something about ‘you’d know all about choosing one brother over the other, wouldn’t you’ which what?], which in turn gets derailed by Banner needling Thor about the merits of beheading over stabbing.

Romanoff had the good sense to disappear -- probably to interrogate Loki while his apparently protective big brother is distracted, now that Tony thinks about it. 

Unfortunately that still leaves Tony stuck here, having to play the role of the mature adult because no one else fucking will. Tony hates being responsible. It’s like being back in high school and being left to do all the work on your own in group project.

[Tony failed that project. Got a straight up zero on purpose because spite is a wonderful motivator. Which, now that Tony thinks about it, doesn’t say anything promising about the current situation.]

Tony leans even further back in his seat, only balancing on the backlegs of the chair, to give Fury a very sharp, very judgemental look.

These are the people you’re betting Earth’s survival on, that look says.

Fury’s already pissed off expression darkens further, which brightens Tony mood substantially. That one of the suit’s sensors flashes green twice in quick succession less than a minute later really just makes for a delicious cherry on the top. Or more precisely a good excuse to ditch this trainwreck of a match-making attempt.

“Whoops,” Tony says, clearly audible but not too loud to draw real attention from the three [still arguing-while-pretending-not-to] stooges on the other end of the room. “Looks like I gotta take this call.”

He jiggles his fingers at Fury. The guy rolls his eyes -- probably jealous that he doesn’t have an excuse himself, that bitch face doesn’t fool Tony -- but no one tries to stop him.

“Alright, J, what do you have for me?”

*

Tony pretends not to notice the shuffling footsteps. Glances at the disturbingly normal clock on the wall that is so not up-to-date with the rest of the technology in the room, it must be an inside joke. Tony would love to meet the SHIELD agent behind it -- it can’t be easy, being the only person with a sense of humor in an entire agency.

30 minutes.

Well. That’s longer than Tony thought he’d get. JARVIS still hasn’t cracked the last layer on SHIELD’s really fucked up dirt -- and given what he’s already found, that says a lot -- but it’s only a matter of time now. Besides, Tony’s got a job to do.

“To- Stark.”

“Rogers.”

Tony doesn’t turn. Neither does he stop typing.

“What are you doing?”

Tony scoffs. He’s not in the mood to pander to inferior minds -- not when they’re so fucking frustrating, don’t make any sense and worst of all make him do all the work. 

“He’s tracking the Tesseract, using the scepter as a point of reference,” Banner says after taking one look at the screen over Tony’s shoulder.

Tony raises his eyebrows, impressed despite himself. Banner’s credentials clearly don’t do him justice -- and they were pretty damn good to begin with.

“Huh,” says Rogers.

Thanks for playing. Now buckle down and make yourself useful or fuck off, Tony wants to snipe but doesn’t get the chance to because the gods -- this god at least -- just aren’t on his side.

“Even without my brother’s help, a weapon of the tesseract’s might should not be underestimated,” Thor speaks up. “Should we not make haste and collect it?”

"Great idea.” Tony’s voice is dryer than the sand dune he crash-landed in back during his fun little trip to Afghanistan. “If only I’d thought of that instead of inventing fifteen new algorithms to try and get a read on SHIELD’s precious magic eight ball while you were busy defending your brother’s honor. Speaking of, I’m pretty sure Romanoff is a greater danger to his virtue than Captain Shockfreeze over there, so why are you still here?”

Okay, maybe poking the hornet nest that is godly family isn’t his smartest move [didn’t he just say he wasn’t gonna touch that?!] but damn if Tony isn’t curious. And also too annoyed to care about unimportant, subjective things like good manners and tact.

He sort of regrets his cavalier attitute a little when Thor sobers. At least there are no tears in sight. Tony is the last person on Earth who should be left unsupervised around crying people. It just never ends well.

“Ah.” Thor sighs heavily, stems his body against an unfortunate table that creaks dangerously. "I’m afraid I can’t afford to see my brother right now.”

It’s the way he says those words, the weight they carry more than anything that tells Tony he needs to drop this issue right now. Talk about one huge trigger button.

Must be inconvenient to have siblings. Tony totally can’t relate.

“Well, in that case, unless you have a magic trick with which you can pull the Tesseract’s position out of your sleeve, how about you sit as far away from these delicate instruments as possible and don’t touch anything while I work my magic, hm?”

Tony doesn’t let his gaze linger on the crushed edge of the table. Thor hasn’t even seemed to notice. He’s too busy lighting up at Tony’s snappish response. Which is surprising. Tony’s aware he’s a bit of an asshole right now. In his defence, he’s an asshole most of the time.

Rogers leaps across the room -- almost crashing into the previously mentioned delicate sensors as he does so -- to slap his palm over Thor’s mouth.

Tony stares. [How quickly can you develop a new habit again? Because this starts to feel like a new habit.]

“That sounds like a great plan!” Rogers beams at him, so wide and fake it must be physically painful for the epitome of all that is good and holy. At least Tony hopes it is. The supersoldier his father worshipped is still clinging to their resident god of thunder’s face.

It’s.

Tony resolutely turns his back on both of them because their madness doesn’t seem to come with a refund-ticket and if Tony doesn’t finish this program, no one will.

Not even Banner -- whom Tony had been kind of hoping for. Speaking of, the man’s been awfully quiet for a while now.

“You alright there, Brucie-Bear?” Tony turns around -- a little because it’s polite to face people when you talk with them and mostly to have an excuse not to watch the ongoing doomed wrestle-match between Blonde 1 and Blonde 2. His awesome nicknaming skill doesn’t get so much as a twitch.

To be fair, Banner is so busy staring straight ahead with the most epic rendition of the World’s Most Thoughtful Expression™ Tony has seen in a while that it doesn’t seem like the man heard him. At all.

Until he suddenly speaks up.

“I think we’ve forgotten something.” Behind Tony the impromptu wrestling comes to a sudden halt.

Probably something negligible like how to focus on a mission, the sarcastic voice in the back of Tony’s mind drawls. Though it should be noted that Tony’s consciousness only comes in sarcastic or not at all. Sorry, everyone, all the other flavors are out.

Banner’s frown deepens. “Something- Something important.”

Right on cue an explosion rocks the aircraft.

*

There’s a bit more tension in this part than the previous ones. On Tony’s side it’s because he’s smart enough to pick up on Something Is Seriously Wrong, both consciously and subconsciously and also because he feels the pressure what with everyone else apparently not taking this whole thing very seriously.

[Excluding Natasha who, believe me, takes Clint’s fate very serious indeed.]

On our time travellers’ side, they experience the frustration of being unable to talk openly, surrounded by people they don’t trust, trying to play along to the script of a movie they watched like 12 years ago and never revisited. Needless to say they’re failing horrenduously.

[snarkwrites]

ssw | embry call ; let me take care of you.

NOTES:

As I said yesterday... I’m going to break down the list of prompts I originally intended to use for just one one-shot into a few different ones for this because I just felt like the first one flowed so well using only the one... This is the second part to the one shot I posted yesterday. And there will be at least a few more parts after this. I can’t say when they’ll be coming, but I can say they will be coming eventually.

Again, same as yesterday.. I am not a medical professional. Nor have I ever had amnesia of any kind. I’m trying my best with this, so apologies if it doesn’t seem realistic or whatever...If it matters/bothers anyone, that is.

Question though.. Would anyone be interested in at least one part of this being written in his point of view? Because I feel like it’d be interesting to write that way... It’d be third person..

PROMPTS:

Taken from [ here ] or [ here ]. The prompt used for inspiration here was obviously, Let me take care of you.

FANDOM / CHARACTER:

Twilight / Embry Call x Imprint!OFC, Merisa.

OTHER WORKS EMBRY & MERISA ARE FOUND IN:

[ he looks down. she looks up. ] 

WARNINGS:

amnesia tw, vague injuries mentioned tw, just gonna say her current soon to be ex boyfriend is an actual piece of garbage so.. yeah.. Sexual tension. Beyond all these, there’s not really anything else I can think of.

TAGGING:

@kyleoreillysknee​  is the only one currently on my Twilight taglist. If you see this and you’d like to be tagged also, add yourself to the doc below or lmk. It’ll make me super happy.

OTHER STUFF:

[ faq | request rules | sfw masterlist | tag list doc ]

The phone rang, shattering the silence and my train of thought. Okay, so it wasn’t a train of thought because I was more or less staring out the window of my grandmother’s living room and watching Embry Call work on my grandmother’s old car out in the driveway, but.. The phone was a distraction I didn’t want.

I grumbled when it didn’t go quiet. And after a few more seconds I’d had all I could take of the high pitched sound in all it’s annoying glory. I sprang up from the couch gingerly, grabbing up the remote to pause the true crime documentary I’d been engrossed in about Richard Ramirez and I hobbled into the kitchen, wincing every step of the way.

A scowl filled my face and I tensed up just as soon as I picked up and I heard Greg on the other end of the line. Upon hearing his voice, all sorts of unpleasant memories came rushing back. It was too much. 

“Merisa?”

“What, Greg?” I snapped. Impatient. Peering out my grandma’s living room window. Biting my bottom lip as I watched Embry tug the stained tank top he was wearing up over his head and wipe at sweat on his forehead with it before tossing it on the concrete slab next to his open toolbox.

“I asked you a question.” Greg cleared his throat expectantly.

Is it bad that I was so caught up in watching Embry do mechanic things outside that I didn’t even attempt to make an effort to listen to a damn word Greg said? Because this is exactly what happened.

“I wasn’t listening.”

Greg gave an annoyed huff at my honest answer and I rolled my eyes. Grumbling. The crackle of static over the phone line breaking through for a second or two. Whether I asked for him to repeat himself or not didn’t matter at all because Greg went on and asked his question again anyway.

“I said don’t you think you should be planning to return to Seattle soon? You were only supposed to be gone for a few days. It’s been nearly four weeks.” Greg stated. Pausing for a minute to grumble to himself about how this was typical of me, telling him one thing and then doing something entirely different.

And I snapped.

“Does the fact that I nearly died three and a half weeks ago just not mean anything to you at all or..?” I snarled, going quiet for a second or two. Determined to stay calm. But exploding felt so damn satisfying. It was hard to resist. I got the feeling that I spent 90 percent of my time around Greg biting my tongue and that had me wondering why. What did this guy have that kept me with him? The more I wondered about it, the harder it was to come up with any real sort of answer.

“Sorry. I should know better than to ask questions I already know the answer to.” I apologized. In my own petty way, of course.

Greg took my apology as sincerity and he sighed. Disappointed, obviously because I wasn’t there to tend to his every stupid whim. “I’m sorry too, it’s just.. I told you we had plans. You know how important this weekend is to me and the fact that you’re not even trying to come back… I’m just disappointed, sweetheart. That’s all.”

,, well excuse the fuck out of me for grieving. excuse me for loving my mother enough to want to go to her funeral. Excuse me for nearly dying and needing to heal and getting in the way of your precious plans,asshole.” I wanted to say it so badly that I had to bite the insides of my cheeks and ball my hands into fists just to keep it in. I sighed. “Instead of making this harder than it has to be, you could actually be a caring boyfriend and come to make sure I’m okay… I mean.. I am dealing with memory loss and injuries...”

Surprise, surprise. He suddenly had a thousand excuses as to why he couldn’t -and wouldn’t, just do that. And my stomach churned. Did he even give a shit? Why was I still wasting my time? Why had I even bothered answering the phone in the first place this time?

I made up my mind right then. As soon as I got off the phone with him, I was going to block him on all socials. I was going to block his number on my cell phone. And if I saw his name on my grandmother’s caller ID when the phone rang, I was just going to walk out of the room.

“I’ve gotta go.” I muttered. Before Greg could say anything else,  I hung up the phone angrily. Slamming it down on it’s cradle.

From the doorway, Embry cleared his throat and stepped into the living room. “Trouble in paradise?”

“If that’s what paradise is I’d hate to imagine hell.” I flopped back on the couch dramatically. Wincing when yes, it still hurts to move certain ways. Or too much at once. 

Embry sat down in my grandmother’s recliner. Staring intently at the television which was paused on the clubhouse scene from Dirty Dancing.

I grabbed my cell phone from the end table and did exactly what I made up my mind to do. Blocking Greg on every single one of my socials. And out of pettiness, I changed my relationship status on Instagram to single.

He’d never even bothered to change his, if memory serves. Why had I changed mine?

There was still so much I had left to fill in as far as my memory gaps, but it was coming back in leaps and bounds. Something told me that the last thing I needed to have done was return to Seattle. Otherwise, I might not have ever remembered or  even realized to begin with, what kind of man I was involved with because I’m pretty sure that Greg wouldn’t have started to really show his true self.

He’d done a pretty fair job of hiding just how controlling and easily irritated by the slightest inconvenience he really was so far, I mean, I hadn’t dropped his ass.

I smirked in satisfaction as I put down my phone. 

I happened to glance over at Embry to find him staring at me. Like he wanted to say something or he was lost in thought. Before I could help myself, I was staring right back. Getting pulled into the depths of his eyes. Eventually dropping my gaze down. Lingering on his mouth when he licked his lips.

I couldn’t stop staring. This was starting to become habit whenever he was around. Especially if he wasn’t paying attention so I knew I could stare to my hearts content and get away with it.

I stood and cleared my throat. “I’m gonna go get myself some lemonade. Do you want anything?” I asked as I walked over to the doorway leading into the kitchen.

“If there are any more bottled waters?” Embry asked hopefully. I smiled and gave him a thumbs up. And as soon as I was in the kitchen, I leaned against the fridge. Fanning myself with one of my grandmother’s magazines that happened to be sitting on the counter.

After I managed to pull myself together just a little bit, I grabbed a bottled water for Embry and I poured myself a glass of lemonade. And when I turned to walk back into the living room, I found myself body to body with Embry as he stepped into the doorway between the two rooms.

My thighs clenched just a little at the way it felt to be pressed against him. Hard muscles against my own softness. For a second, when I opened my mouth to tell him I’d gotten his water like he asked for, the words hung in my throat.

Finally, I managed to get it out. “Your water, sir.” I held out the water bottle to him and after holding it against the back of his neck for a few seconds, he uncapped it, practically swallowing down half the bottle in one gulp.

Eyes locked on me the entire time. I know this because I’ll be damned if I could stop staring at him either. I tried. And failed.

He cleared his throat.

“Oh, right.. You probably wanted to wash your hands…” I stepped out of the doorway, pouting to myself a little because the second physical contact was broken, I missed the feel of his body against mine.

He walked over to the sink. Turning it on. Washing his hands. And I happened to notice he had a few busted knuckles.

“You need those sanitized. C’mere.” I nodded to the stool on the other side of the counter. Embry shrugged. Muttered that it wasn’t a big deal.

“It’s called infection setting in. And it can happen.” I insisted, nodding to the stool again. When he shook his head and took another sip of water and calmly insisted that he was fine, I shook my head and hobbled over. Grabbing hold of the hand that wasn’t injured. Leading him to the stool. “Sit.”

“Okay, alright. You know, you’re a lot bossier than I remember.” Embry muttered, gazing down at me. Even sitting down he was still taller. Bigger.

I stuck out my tongue at him. “If it keeps you from getting a nasty infection in your hand, I’ll take it.” I muttered. My gaze settling on him. Instantly getting sucked right back into those deep brown eyes and lost.

After a second or two of both of us staring at each other yet again, I cleared my throat. “I should go find the first aid kit.”

“It’s under the sink.” Embry answered quietly. I bit my lip. Nodding as I muttered mostly to myself, “Under the sink.” and turned away to get it.

“You don’t have to do this. I’m telling you, it’s fine. I deal with this all the time. Kind of happens when you work at a garage, Merisa…” Embry trailed off as I glanced back at him and stated in a firmer tone, “Let me take care of you, okay?”

I grabbed the bottle of peroxide and a rag. Sitting on the stool adjacent to his. Grabbing hold of his hand and placing it in my lap.

“You have tiny hands.” Embry muttered, almost sounding dazed. I glanced up at him through a curtain of hair as it fell right into my face because I bent my head just a little to see his hand better. I swallowed hard. Trying not to think of how good it felt to have his hand in mine. Or on my body.

When I exhaled, it was shaky.

That had me raising a brow.

If this man had one tenth of a clue just what he stirred up in me, I swear to God…

He jumped as the peroxide made contact with the open wounds, bubbling and fizzing as it cleaned the wounds out. 

A memory came back to me… I was younger. Probably around five. My grandmother sat on the stool Embry currently sat on and I sat on the stool I was currently sitting on. My leg was in her lap and she was dabbing some red liquid on it that burned like the fire of ten thousand hells. I was crying and trying to jerk my leg away, but my grandma just held onto it. And when she finished, she leaned in… Blowing gently on my injured knee. 

As the bubbling started to slow down, I raised Embry’s hand, leaning down. Blowing on the knuckles a little. Glancing up at him and teasing playfully, “That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

“I’ve felt worse.” he finally mumbled after we’d been locked in a quiet staredown for what felt like minutes instead of seconds. 

It sank in that I was still holding onto his hand. And he wasn’t making an effort to pull his hand away, either.

My grandmother cleared her throat from the doorway and smirked at the two of us playfully as she came in, sitting groceries on the counter. “Am I interrupting something, Merisa?”

“No, not at all.” I answered. Smiling. Letting go of Embry’s hand as my cheeks burned. I felt like a teenager just walked in on by her parents.

Embry slid off the stool and brushed his hands over his jeans. “I need to get back to it.” he muttered. Hurrying out of the house. As soon as the screen door banged shut behind him, I let out a ragged breath. Fanning myself with the magazine again.

Trying to ignore the look I was getting from my grandmother.

When she couldn’t resist any longer, she spoke up. “He’s single.. If you’re wondering.”

“Grandma!” I laughed out, shaking my head. My gaze lingering on the window. Fixed on him.

My grandmother spoke up again. “It’s been so nice having you here, Mermaid… It’ll be a shame to see you go.”

Before I really stopped to think about it, I replied “ Honestly? I’m tempted to stay.”

My grandmother pulled me into a tight hug. Smiling at me as the hug broke. “I won’t stop you. The decision is yours.”

I nodded. Waiting until she was in the other room with one of her soap operas going full blast before I wandered back over to the window that faced where Embry currently was outside. Staring out at him with my fingertips pressed against the glass.

I thought he’d caught me one time because he stopped what he was doing beneath the hood of the car to glance around the yard. I moved away from the window quickly, shaking my head and laughing at myself about it.

I’ll repeat. If Embry Call had one tenth of a clue the effect he had on me...

[elephart-hi]

The Mortal Maiden: Witch!Jude

Chapter 2: A Secret Sealed with a Kiss

set during The Cruel Prince.

(another sneek peek at my wip for this fic)

summary: Oh, he was making a show of himself for her she realized noting the way the light caught on the definition of his stomach. He wanted her to look at him. His lidded eyes seemed to say ‘aren’t I lovely’ and damn it if he wasn’t.

Rating: Mature but not explicitly till later chapters!

AN: I contemplated having this chapter be Cardan reading harry potter and Jude just spoiling the whole series and telling him everyone who dies just to spite him.... sighhhhh i had to make the hard decision and actually write the plot

also no beta for this chapter tee hee

Ao3 Chapter 1 you are at chapter 2 chapter 3

Cardan blinked at the vision before him. Once, twice. Then glanced at the goblet in his hand with a perplexed look on his face. He wasn't sure if he had accidentally poured himself the bottle he had mixed with his hallucinogenic powders. There was no way Jude Duerte would be standing in his room mid-day. She would be asleep in her chambers at the general’s stronghold.

He looked back at the vision in front of him and rubbed his eyes. Then he heard a scoff and saw her sneer at him with fathomless hate burning in her amber eyes. Now that seemed very real. He glanced at her hands and saw that the ring finger of her left hand was missing a digit. He started.

“You’re being rude.”

Cardan wiped his head in the direction of the door as he heard Darnal, the knocker laugh at her from the other side. Her nose crinkled and her brows pinched at the sound. She was cute when she was angry. And she was also definitely in his bedroom. Cardan tried to not let his mind wander to the many inappropriate fantasies he has had of this very scene but he was on his fourth bottle of wine and he was having a hard time reeling it in. He looked her up and down slowly, hoping it would make her mad enough to distract her while he grabbed his damned tail. He needed to get it under control before it made a fool of him.

“Aren’t you going to say something”

“I supposed I should, shouldn’t I?” he didn’t know what to say. He had no idea what she was doing here. He felt a smirk tug at his lips as his nerves continued to spiral out of control. His hand reached behind his back and grappled for his tail “Why are you in my room?”

“Why does your door know my name?” she gritted back, her lips curled into a snarl. She was clearly very annoyed, for what reason Cardan didn’t know. She was the one in his room after all… in the middle of the day no less. Shouldn’t he be the annoyed one? There she was barging in on him when he could have been sleeping for all she knew.

“Care for a glass of wine Jude?” he asked ignoring her question. He stood from his bed and poured more into his goblet; his tail secured within his pants. He had a feeling that he didn’t want to be sober for this conversation, although he had already become a distant stranger to sobriety since classes let out hours before, “You seem wound up, perhaps a drink will help you pull the stick out of your ass. Or, if this isn’t a friendly visit, I could call the guards for you. Though I’m afraid you will find them far less hospitable.”

He has a glass filled for her by the time he finishes talking. She looks more pissed than before, her amber eyes seemed to crackle like embers. She doesn't move to grab the glass from him so he tries a different approach.

“You’re the one who came to my room, Jude, claiming you didn’t want to interrupt me and that you could come back another time. Well let me assure you, you haven’t interrupted anything important, the book will still be there tomorrow to intrigue me, but you are only here right this moment. And I wouldn't want to inconvenience you with having to sneak back in again. So… what can I do for you?”

They seem to be having a staring contest because Jude’s gaze continues to bore into his own. She grinds her teeth refusing to reply, neither one of them willing to break first. She was impossibly cute with her face scrunched up in anger like that. His arm begins to tire from holding a glass out to her for so long. He heaves a sigh and starts lowering his arm when she speaks at last.

“Tell me why your door knows my name. That’s what I’ve come calling about.”

Cardan sighed heavily, his head falling back, annoyance prickling but altogether muddled by the wine. Muddled along with every other emotion he liked to drown in the drink. He takes another long swig from his own goblet, which escalates to him guzzling it down to the dregs. He sighs when he finishes and sets the empty cup on his tray of food. Then he finally goes to address her once more, the alcohol giving him the patience he needs,

“Oh my nightmare nemesis,” his words slurred a bit. He swayed briefly, then collected himself before continuing. “For you to have heard my door use your name, you would’ve had to already be at Hollow Hall, since he is bound to this manor. Yes? So tell me again, without any lies from your mortal tongue, what you brought you to my residence--”

He is interrupted by the ruckus made by the guards outside.

“Any sign of the thief?”

“No! She couldn’t have gotten far!”

Cardan snapped his gaze back to Jude, her face suspiciously neutral. Cardan called out to his door, tilting his head in its direction but keeping his eyes locked on her.

“Darnallll,” the knocker appeared on his door, silently waiting for a command, “find out what the appearance of the thief was from the guards, will you.”

“No need sire, I can tell you right away. The thief was a fairy of short stature, with horns, and yellow eyes. The woman had hair, not unlike your guest here, and was wearing a gown of the same color,” the knocker’s eyes glanced toward Jude, who kept her face decidedly cool. Cardan knows Jude is crafty, she may not be a fairy but she matched the description minus the horns, eyes, and ears. There was a possibility.

Jude pushed her hair behind her ears showing off the round curve of them while opening her eyes comically wide.

“All clear here, though I do envy their horns. It seems like I’m not the only one who snuck into the Manor today,” she nodded towards the door, “some guard he is.”

Darnal laughed at that, mischief glinting on his brass features, and said, “I found her lurking in a stairwell listening against the door trying to see if there was anyone on the other side. She said she was looking for trouble---”

“You asked if I was looking for trouble,” Jude interrupted, her brows pinched together, “I decided to amuse you, Darnallll, so said I was. I wanted to see where it would lead me.”

She had drawled the door’s name out and turned up her chin. That pride of her unwavering. She turned back to Cardan to finish telling him how it happened, “So he led me to your room telling me I could find trouble here… So there, now you know how I met your door and why I’m in your room.”

She came over to him and at last, grabbed the wine from his hand and raised it to him, “To trouble and friendly, although unexpected, visits,” she finished her small toast and took a deep drink.

“But it doesn't explain why you were already in the manor nor how you already knew that this was Cardan’s chamber,” the doorknocker added.

“I seem to recall you saying this would be the fun, kind of trouble, I would hardly call an interrogation fun,” Jude bit back at the door.

“And yet when you announced yourself you immediately began interrogating my prince.”

Cardan watched the two bicker as he poured himself yet another glass. He brought his free hand up and rubbed his temple feeling a headache coming on.

“Enough!” the glamour rippled in waves from his throat, amplified by the amount of fairy wine in his system. It hadn’t taken long for him to discover that fairy wine (and fruit) amplified the strength of his glamour, not with the copious amounts that he consumed each day.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Jude and the door stopped bickering at the sound of his glamour. His voice was low and rumbly, it radiated with power. Jude’s heart was racing in her chest. She knew she was doomed. She didn’t see any way to get out of this. Her knees felt weak. Cardan was going to turn her in. Then, he and Balekin would have a field day torturing her together as they tried to carve secrets from her flesh that they would never get. They would keep on carving her up, waiting for her to cave but the geas would render her unable to, even when the pain would make her desperate. Jude drank deeply from the wine he gave her, finishing the glass. If she was to be tortured then she would at least have the wine to dull the pain. She hummed as she felt her head start to swim and laughed to herself; at least she would appear to be able to withstand torture. Oh, trouble indeed.

She held her glass out to him for more wine. His eyebrow quirked at her but he complied instructing her to say when. She had him fill it to the brim.

“Well Jude, how did you know that these were my chambers?” Cardan asked her as she took another drink, his own words still slurring.

Jude laughed the wine making her lightheaded. She turned to look at the annoying door that doomed her and answered truthfully.

“Alice in Wonderland,” she said with her most annoying smile. If she was going to die anyway she might as well piss Cardan off one last time. Her last joy before she went to join her parents.

“I borrowed it from you, hope you don’t mind. It was one of the books my mother read to my sisters and me before we were whisked away to a wonderland of our own. However, Elfhame brings more terror than wonder truthfully,” the alcohol gave her loose lips but her head was light and she didn’t care. Perhaps this is why Cardan drank so much, she did feel quite relaxed. She spared him a glance and laughed.

Cardan had the most peculiar look on his face his mouth hung open and he had one finger poised in the air as if he wanted to say something but didn’t know what to say. Jude decided she wouldn't give him a chance to.

“Darnal, you quite remind me of the talking door from the book. Although I find you more infuriating, perhaps it’s because you are trying to get me killed. I would like it if you were to stop that, I would very much hate to die.”

The door laughed at her words then spoke to Cardan, “looks like the wine did pull the stick out of her ass after all.”

“Oh hush you, don’t make me come over there,” to that the door magicked its face to another door in Cardan’s chambers and waggled his eyes at her as if to say come get me. Jude laughed again, it was such a nice thing to do. She turned to Cardan who still looked bewildered.

“Are you alright you look like you’ve seen a ghost. Are ghosts even real?” she rambled to him, a smile on her face. She would enjoy confusing him before he killed her. Her head was spinning from the wine, she took another sip as she waited for his response.

“I was wondering where that went,” his words came out quiet.

Jude scrunched her brows wondering what he meant and then realized he was talking about the book.

“Oh yes! Oak rather likes it,” she takes another sip, “So now you know why I knew it was your room... now you must tell me why your door knows my name. Also, there was a piece of paper with my name scribbled on it over and over again stuffed in the book. I don’t like you much either but my word! I’ve never furiously written out your name till I ripped the paper. That’s a bit much don’t ya think,” she hiccuped out the last word as Cardan’s face turned pink with rage.

“I think you’ve found more than enough trouble tonight, mortal, perhaps you shoul--”

Darnel starts laughing up a storm interrupting Cardan. Cardan turns and grabs the bottle of wine, drinking from the spout.

“Oh I don’t think she found nearly enough trouble,” Darnel said as Cardan guzzled the contents down, “Lady Jude, my prince sighs out your name day after day and scribbles it on parchment in an attempt to rid you of his mind--” Cardan spits the drink out choking on it, the wine ruining his shirt even more.

“Why you!” Cardan snarls out, anger showing on his face; Darnel pays him no mind and plows on.

“It’s why I referred to you as his maiden as well!” the door is laughing as he talks, “I wonder if he fanci----”

“I command you to leave at once!” Cardan’s glamour radiates the room. Immediately Darnel the door knocker vanishes from the room leaving them in silence. All Jude can do is stare as she watches his chest heave up and down.

Then she starts to laugh. Really truly laugh. A bellyaching, body-shaking laugh. She can't help herself. The idea is absolutely ridiculous and the wine makes it that much more fun. Jude bends over holding her stomach as she lets loose a snort. A SNORT! She forgot she even did that when she laughed hard. She hasn’t laughed like this since she was in the mortal world. It was when her dad had snorted up cheese at a Mexican restaurant; a comedian told a particularly funny joke. It had all been so funny that Jude laughed herself silly, till her abs were sore---

The memory sobered her up quickly as her laughs turned to little sobs and then… nothing. Armor locking around her heart once more. She coldly patted away the tears on her face and looked to Cardan who seem miserable and mildly concerned. He was leaning against his bed shifting on his feet, looking anywhere in the room but her. Perhaps his face went pink from embarrassment earlier rather than anger. Perhaps he does fancy her after all. A scheme took form in Jude’s mind.

“I suppose it makes sense… You had your goons strip me to my underwear and ask me who I wanted to kiss the most. Then you ordered me to tell you how much I admired you while I kissed your feet,” Jude referenced the incident with the fairy fruit. His head snapped to her at once.

“I did not tell Valerian to drug you, nor did I tell Niccassia to strip you! They did that of their own volition,” he urged her, eyes flashing with anger at her accusation.

“But you did ask me to kiss your feet and tell you how much I admired you.”

He averted his eyes again, ears drooping and cheeks flushed as he refused to meet her gaze. At least he had the decency to look ashamed.

“I have a deal for you Cardan,” he looked up at her, “I’ll give you a kiss if you promise to never tell anyone that you saw me tonight.”

“Only if you swear to tell no one of the note with your name on it or of anything you heard or saw in this room,” his response had a bite to it, he was angry. Jude supposed it was easier to be angry than embarrassed.

“Then we can both swear to secrecy instead. Forego the kiss altogether,” Jude countered, she put a bite into her own words. She saw something flash across his face that was gone an instant later. Disappointment?

“Aww unless you still want a kiss poor princeling,” she mocked him, the fading alcohol making her bold. He deserved it. ‘Boys are mean to girls they like’ was a stupid saying from the mortal world, if he liked her he should have been kind to her. She would mock him for this until they struck their bargain of secrecy. She would hold this over him. She would shame him for it.

“I didn’t say anything Jude, you’re the one who sounds like you want a kiss now, offering me not once but twice,” his infuriating smirk returned to his lips. She couldn’t stand him.

“Don’t be ridiculous! You are the one who fancies me, Cardan,” she seethed.

“Did you ever consider that I want to revenge Locke?” Cardan sneered, “the door was the one who implied I fancied you. I said no such thing.”

That did make more sense to Jude. Locke had stolen Cardan’s lover and now he wants to do the same to Locke.

“Then what good would swearing to secrecy do. He will never know that you revenged him.”

“I will. I would know of the revenge and you would know of it, and that’s fine by me. He isn’t worth the effort of rubbing it in his face. He can go about thinking he has bested me. I will know that he hasn’t and that he is the one who looks a fool.”

Cardan moved from his spot as he spoke and pulled his wine ruined sleep shirt from his body. He moved to a basin in the corner of the room and dipped a rag into the water, wiping the wine that still stuck to his body. His scars were in clear view of her from where she stood. She couldn’t help the gasp that escaped her lips.

“Once we strike our bargain it won’t matter that you’ve seen them,” he said in reference to his scars, “don’t bother asking.”

Jude didn’t know what to say, the memories of her last mission haunting her. She wondered what he would do if he knew she already knows how he got them. She went to sip her wine but her glass was already empty. She moved to the bed and placed her glass on his tray. When she turned around, she found Cardan an arm’s length away from her, using a new cloth to pat dry his chest. He didn’t look at her as he sat on the bed. He wasn't muscular persay, fairies don’t put on muscles the way mortals do. Even Madoc looked small next to a mortal bodybuilder. Cardan was skinny like all fairies were, but he had muscle Jude thought, eyeing the v-shape that trailed beneath his pants.

“You’re staring.”

Jude felt her face warm and she took a few steps back from the bed, putting space between them. She leered at him.

“Balekin makes me run drills with his guard since I’m so pitiful with a sword. Says I need to at least stay in shape. I hated it at first but then I started gaining even more attention from lovers, so I tolerate it now,” there was a grin pulling at his lips. Oh, he thought she was admiring him, that wouldn’t do.

“I was actually thinking of how you would look like a twig next to a mortal man, even I have more muscle than you do,” Jude said with a smirk.

His face fell into a scowl and she huffed a laugh at it. He probably hated that she just implied a mortal could be more attractive than him. Sure a mortal could be more muscular easily, but Cardan truly was handsome beyond reason, he made her head spin when she looked at him. Maybe it was the wine--- ughh she wished she could say it was the wine.

“Why would I want help you revenge Locke?” she said returning them to their previous conversation. Cardan huffs a laugh at her. His grin lighting up his beautiful face. How he was so perfect she didn’t know. He stretched his arms above his head, Jude tried not to notice the lean muscles there either, and then he leaned his back flat on the bed, his knees bent, feet still on the floor.

“Because he still lies with Niccasia, and he is to be wed to yet another lover. Locke is stringing you along Jude. So why not revenge him? Kiss the person you hate more than any other over him. Do it just because he is so foul and because he will never know that you did it to spite him. Just like you would have never known about either of his lovers till he broke your heart.”

His words stung. Jude didn’t love Locke but it still hurt. He was to be married. And he was still with Niccasia. She felt anger bubble up within her. Easier to feel anger than it was to feel hurt. Jude stood and she walked toward Cardan until she stood between his legs. He leaned up partway on the bed, resting on his forearms. Oh, he was making a show of himself for her she realized noting the way the light caught on the definition of his stomach. He wanted her to look at him. His lidded eyes seemed to say ‘aren’t I lovely’ and damn it if he wasn’t.

“Cardan,” she starts, his midnight eyes gleamed in the fairy light, “I swear to tell no one of your note with my name on it nor of anything I heard or saw in this room tonight if you swear to tell no one you saw or spoke to me,” her voice an arctic whisper as she held her hand out to him. He leaned forward to grasp her hand in his larger one.

“I swear it, Jude,” she could smell the magic as surged bounding him to his vow. She had magic to ensure he was faithful to his promise, but he had to trust her on good faith alone. Her head was spinning but she knew it wasn't because of the wine; it was from what she was about to do. Jude took a deep breath before the magic took its final hold and spoke.

“Then seal it with a kiss”

Next Chapter

[our-wargame]

when you say nothing at all

Summary: Dazai isn't called a genius for nothing. No one can self-sabotage better than he can.

Relationships: Dazai Osamu/Oda Sakunosuke (Bungou Stray Dogs) Characters: Dazai Osamu (Bungou Stray Dogs), Oda Sakunosuke (Bungou Stray Dogs), Minor Characters, Sakaguchi Ango (Bungou Stray Dogs) Rating: M (to be safe. In reality it’s T except for the swearing and references to sexual stuff but there’s no actual sexual content) Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Additional Tags: Dazai Osamu is a Mess (Bungou Stray Dogs), Developing Relationship, Trust Issues, Slice of Life, Friends With Benefits, Light Angst, Self-Worth Issues, References of Sexual Content, As in 0 sex happening, although not for lack of trying on Dazai's part, That's Also His Biggest Mistake, I HATE THAT TAG BUT THAT IS THE FIC, Dazai's pretty trash but his greatest accomplishment, was getting Odasaku to love him Word Count: 2500 Notes:

co-written with SwordintheThrone (they have some ridiculously good shit, check em out.).

can be read on ao3

reblogs are appreciated ty

---

It's a shame that he has commitment issues, Dazai muses to himself. Because Odasaku isn't just the best fuck of his life, Odasaku is good to him.

Too good to him.

That's most of the problem. Odasaku will look at him, expression so gentle, so brilliantly sweet and patient and trusting, as if he doesn't think Dazai will rip him apart at the first sign he sees that as necessary. (Still, sometimes Dazai can stand it. Sometimes he even gives into it and the peace that comes with it hurts like a hell he could learn to adore.)

Is this self-sabotage? He doesn't know. And he's still fucking trash for pushing the issue away and ignoring it as he sends Odasaku a text to ask him if he's still not busy tonight.

Odasaku replies within the hour. I'm not, he confirms. Can I come over?

Dazai tries not to laugh, self-deprecatingly amused rather than annoyed at Odasaku's attempt to save him face. He's not that proud, he really isn't. 

He imagines if Odasaku were here, he'd tell Dazai that it has nothing to do with that. That Odasaku really does just want to spend time with him, and that's why during their last encounter, Odasaku casually, lightly mentioned the fact that he was free for the next week. Should they want to do anything. 

It is self-sabotage, Dazai comes to decide. Because no matter what Odasaku's intents were, Odasaku is going to end up in Dazai's bed, because Dazai desires it. And then Dazai won't be able to fool himself into either deciding the reason for this outcome is because Odasaku thinks Dazai knows himself well enough to make the right decision, or that Odasaku wants to give Dazai the choice to make bad ones.

Both options are better than thinking Odasaku just wants to fuck him. If he minded, which he doesn't, it'd be his own fault too. Everyone knows that you start texts with can we talk and not are you busy unless you want to bang.

Dazai closes his eyes, already tired of himself, even without having to pretend around Odasaku. He thinks about calling it off but that's rude and it'd make him look weak and it's all a lot more troublesome than going through with what he has so far. It's freezing but somehow, the heater is the one thing he doesn't have the energy to bother with as heg gets off his ass to fix up the apartment. He turns the TV on, keeps the volume nice and low on that channel that only replays old movies. Neither of them are wine people but that's what you're supposed to have for these kinds of occasions, aren't you? So he leaves a half empty bottle of sake on the coffee table. Lounges on the couch as he sips from his glass.

How classy is he.

A knock at the door. Odasaku knows it's already open and only does it to alert Dazai. But he still waits outside until Dazai calls, "Come in." It's so unnecessarily considerate of him, Dazai shivers. And hates Odasaku a little bit, even as he thinks about pushing Odasaku against the door and kissing the gentleman right out of him.

"Hey," Odasaku says as he closes the door behind him gently. He smells like takeout. Looks as rugged and handsome as ever. Dazai wants him so badly.

He moves his eyes to the TV as he puts down his glass so he can refill it. His hands are shaking, fuck. "Day go okay?"

"Yeah." Dazai listens for the sound of fabric shifting, Odasaku hanging his coat up on the hat rack. Soft steps signal Odasaku having taken off his shoes and switched them for slippers, walking light out of habit so they don't clack against the tiled floor. "And yours?" 

Dazai's half-distracted with trying to remember the last time they had sex for fun instead of thinking he needed Oda's body to make his own shut up. "It went okay," he replies to Odasaku, and it's a miracle he doesn't add, 'it's about to get better, I think.'

That would just be tacky.

He shifts on the couch, still a little chilly, but trying to signal Odasaku should come closer. 

"I brought you curry. And soup in case it's too spicy. Can I put it in the microwave?" 

Dazai blinks. His mouth starts curving up. "Odasaku, has anyone told you you're too polite."

"You probably haven't eaten." Odasaku easily ignores his teasing jab, placing the takeout on the kitchen counter but not quite walking behind it. "It's crab soup."

He hasn't eaten and yeah, he's a little hungry, and of course Odasaku knows all of this and brought him his favorite. But he doesn't like to eat before sex. It just makes him feel bloated and a little repulsed by himself.

Crab doesn't go with sake, he could try, only it does. He could try 'not in the mood for curry or crab', only Odasaku will probably ask him if it's okay to take a look at his fridge and make him something.

"I'm not hungry." He sips at his glass again. Isn't alcohol supposed to make you feel warmer? "Can I have a kiss?" He wants Oda's tongue burning up his mouth, wants Oda pinning him down and chasing the darkness out of him. It's a stupid thought. He humors it and waits for a reaction from underneath his lashes.

Odasaku's surprise is practically audible in the silence. Dazai starts to move over so the length of his gangly body stretches across the couch, then puts his elbows on the armrest and props his head up to watch Odasaku. Please?

Odasaku closes in slowly, but Dazai finds himself holding his breath, nervous anyways. He can feel his heart in his throat, feels it pulse when Odasaku bends down, warm hand sliding up Dazai's face, cupping his chin. Dazai tilts it up as his eyes fall closed.

And then his breath catches, when Odasaku kisses his forehead instead.

He blinks and Odasaku's already straightening. Retreating to give Dazai space.

"Odasaku...." That's not what he wanted, but-

Odasaku prods his elbow and Dazai takes the cue, pulling his limbs back and sitting up straight. Odasaku takes a seat besides him, their shoulders a couple of inches from touching. Looks at the TV as he says, "Can I hold you for a bit?"

He has to think about this one. Says, "okay," even as he thinks about how he doesn't really want to be touched, at least not if it isn't Odasaku pushing Dazai onto his back.

Odasaku shifts his weight forwards so he's sitting on the edge of the couch and able to comfortably reach for the coffee table. He pushes Dazai's  glass inwards- farther from Dazai- and then picks up the remote. When he readjusts his sitting position again, he's still sitting a few meaningful inches away from Dazai. And now he's left his arm stretching over the top of the couch.

It's such a date move, except it's them. Odasaku is doing this for Dazai.

He hates Odasaku a little more in the moment. He hates feeling inconvenient, because it's a reminder he cares about what Odasaku thinks. The desperation of his attachment- he's so fucking weak, it's pathetic. God, he disgusts himself. 

"Are you getting enough sleep?" Odasaku asks. Dazai is still leaning away from his arm, but he's not breathing as hard and so he supposes, this is good.

"No." He hasn't. Before they started their arrangement, Dazai would have answered that with a smirk, an 'is Odasaku coming on to me or am I still daydreaming?' 

The stunt actors throwing themselves across the TV screen are alright. If this were also back then, Dazai would poke Odasaku, tease and bet that he could do it better. Oda would consider it in his seriousness and Ango would scold them both into the next year. Everything's different now and he's not sure if he likes it or loathes it, even though having to ask himself which one it is, is pretty determining. 

Five minutes is how long it takes for him to finally calm down, enough to shift and holds himself against Odasaku's side. Odasaku radiates warmth. The rise and fall of his chest is steady. Dazai tries to ignore it. His neck prickles.

Some more minutes trickle by before Odasaku murmurs, "Can I take you to bed?"

"No," Dazai blurts out immediately, because he understands what Oda is saying, but the answer is no because it'd stress him out, be even worse than the little fiasco going on right now. He'd have to try and force himself to sleep around someone who should be a source of comfort and failing that would just be gloriously useless of him-

"Okay." Odasaku says, gentle. "No worries." A pause. "Would it help to invite Ango over?"

Dazai breathes. It would. He can put on a front if it's for people, if it's for friends. It's harder to put on a show if it's for individual people; he has to make sure their gears mesh together but they're so damn complicated. Odasaku more so, than most. 

"We should drag him out of the house a little more."

Dazai opens his mouth. It's not you, he wants to say, urgent, needy for someone else to know what he does. Odasaku, you're not the one making me uncomfortable, it's me.

"Maybe you can teach us how to make hot pot?" 

Dazai wants to yell. Fall apart out loud for a change. They're monsters, not shadow puppets on the wall, and they don't go away when the sun comes up or what their parents say it's bedtime, for real this time. Oda's trying too hard, and it aggravates him. 

Odasaku can't wrap his arms around him and make him okay. That's never going to be him. He's afraid that Odasaku still doesn't know that, and he doesn't know what Odasaku will do when he really, really understands this. Even if Odasaku doesn't leave, Dazai can't stand the thought of Odasaku suddenly thinking less of him. It'll be just like losing him.

"Dazai?"

He shakes himself out of it. "Yeah. Call him." He pauses. "Can I have the crab soup after all?" He's still not completely ready to hug it out with the idea of eating, but it'll give him something to do.

Oda rises. Dazai stares at the grace, the strength in the lovely curve of his back. He feels cold all over again.

Oda glances over and holds his hand out. Dazai stares at it for a second before he lets Oda lead them away, carrying the two empty glasses with him in his free hand. Dazai pulls away to work on transferring the takeout into bowls to send them off to the microwave while Oda runs the glasses under tap water, swishing the residue round and round before drinking it down and then washing them clean.

The smell of reheated curry overpowers the room. Oda watches Dazai drop into a chair and then watches Dazai plop spoonfuls of curry rice into his soup, stirring this way and that.

"Did you know," Odasaku says, and Dazai looks up at him. "You have happy-cat face."

Dazai sputters. "I'm sorry, I have what?"

"Happy-cat face."

"Odasaku," He purses his lips, but he can't stop his shoulders from shaking. "Odasaku, that's not a thing."

Odasaku keeps his gaze, the slightest rise of his eyebrow explaining yes it is because you have it.

"You're so silly. Did you know that?"

Odasaku hums. When he dials Ango, he places his phone on the dinner table. Dazai's eyes gleam as he shouts like he's from the next city over.

"Oh my god," Ango's voice is very grumbly. "Odasaku-san, please remove me, I think he broke my ear."

Oda turns off loudspeaker and brings the phone against his ear. "So when are you coming over?"

"Ugh, give a man twenty-minutes. I still have work to do."

Dazai throws himself into Oda's side, squashing his face against Oda's other cheek as he chirps, "Tell him all work and no play makes Ango grouchy. And that he has old-man energy."

"Tell Dazai-kun, I think his Brat Card should have an expiration date."

"Tell Ango, there isn't an expiration date on fun~"

"Tell Dazai-kun-"

Oda disentangles himself from his executive, passing him the phone and letting them go at it. Dazai sits back down, adjusting himself so he can bring his knees up to his chest and leave his feet on the chair seat. Even as he chatters away, he keeps his eyes on Oda, who moves to wash out the takeout containers. He reuses everything because he's an environmental dork. Dazai would be more of one if he wasn't interested in dying before the planet. Still, watching Oda so patient, quietly determined to withstand the overpowering...it makes Dazai soften.

"Hey, is Odasaku-san still there?"

"Nope." Dazai says, popping the p. "Odasaku is busy. Being perfect."

"Yeah, yeah. Why don't you two just get married already? Make it official and everything."

He doesn't recover as quickly as he'd have liked. "Ango, weddings are not good places to pick-up women. They're all crazy. And non-sober. And crazy. We'll find you your little lady elsewhere, don't you worry." He watches Odasaku shake off the excess water into the sink, wiping the counter dry and putting the containers to the side. Then he dries his hands, he drifts over to the living room and picks up the remote.

"Ha. Not that I wouldn't reject your delightful request to be your best-man, but are two groomsmen allowed to be each other's best man? I think so." 

"Has anyone ever tell you not to drink on the job, Ango?"

"Speaking of which, you'll have alcohol waiting for me, right? I had to train a new accountant today. If it was there, you would have fainted from the painfulness."

"Delightful. So. How much longer?" He'd really like for there to be someone other than Odasaku around him.

"That depends. I don't want to walk in on you two fucking."

Dazai sighs into the receiver. "It's not my fault. Odasaku has a really nice dick."

He can practically hear Ango roll his eyes. "Don't expect me anytime soon then."

"So. Fifteen minutes?"

"Yeah, alright. See you dumbasses then."

There's no immediate beep! Ango is waiting, letting him end the call. Dazai shakes his head. His friends are really something.

Odasaku keeps flicking through the TV channels, only looking up when Dazai leans over the couch from behind, gently resting his chin on the top of Odasaku's head.

"Hi."

"Odasaku's hair is really soft."

"Thank you."

"Odasaku smells very nice. Like mango-watermelon. And curry."

"Thank you." Oda sits very still so he can hand Dazai the remote without jolting him. "What do you want to watch?" 

Dazai breathes. In, out. "Anything is fine."

[carromeaway]

Dazai is a Sociopath

Dazai is a Sociopath

A Persuasive Essay About Why Dazai is a Sociopath

By @carromeaway

Dedicated to @/bsdthoughts on Twitter

Created to annoy said user

Also, I thought this would be a good way to practice how to write arguments

This may contain spoilers! Read at your own risk.

Also trigger warning! Mentions of suicide and self-harm!

Oh, also here’s a PDF version if you don’t wanna read it here: https://drive.google.com/file/d/1aNYWMTb8wNEaoZGb9277_UcsUzNQjoHP/view

The definition of a sociopath, stated by the Oxford English Dictionary, is “a person with a personality disorder manifesting itself in extreme antisocial attitudes and behavior and a lack of conscience.” In this essay, I will be explaining the personality disorder and how it correlates to Dazai Osamu’s character in Bungou Stray Dogs. I will be focusing on four key points for my argument; how Dazai fits the attributes of a sociopath, why I do not consider him a psychopath, how it affects his relationship with others, and how it may explain his past and his actions. Keep in mind that this is only a theory and I will be including both assumptions and speculations to support my argument. 

Let us begin with the point how Dazai fits the attributes of a sociopath. Common signs of a person with sociopathy, or an antisocial personality disorder, include lying or deceiving others for a goal, being charismatic and manipulative, criminal behavior, lack of empathy and/or remorse, struggles with forming good relationships, recklessness for his and others’ safety, and irresponsibility among other things. Dazai has exhibited behavior with all of these symptoms. I could give a variety of examples where Dazai has lied or manipulated someone for the sake of achieving his objective. For the sake of keeping this shorter, I’ll provide only a couple of situations.

    Dazai had been caught by the Port Mafia, albeit on purpose, and came across his old partner from his days in the mafia, Nakahara Chuuya. This happens in the tenth episode of the anime and the tenth chapter of the manga. During his interaction with Chuuya, Dazai manipulates Chuuya by blackmailing him using the fact that Chuuya was the one who released Dazai from his chains. He also blackmails the mafia by sending them a threatening letter containing a simple statement, warning the mafia that if he were to die, then all their secrets would be exposed. Another example of his manipulative behaviour would be when it is insinuated that Dazai deflates Sakaguchi Ango’s airbag in his car so he would sustain multiple injuries when another car rammed into theirs. This was to force Ango, a government agent, to cover up the 35 murders that Izumi Kyouka, an Armed Detective Agency member, had committed. This takes place in episode 19 (episode 7 of season 2) of the anime and chapter 26 and 33 of the manga.

    Dazai has also displayed recklessness, irresponsibility, and a lack of empathy and remorse. Using the same example as before, Dazai showed no remorse for Ango when he was severely injured by the car accident. Dazai is often irresponsible, pushing his work on to others and lazing about when he should have been productive. This is a repeated pattern throughout the entirety of the manga and anime, so I’m sure if you’re reading this, you have no need for any examples. Additionally, Dazai has always been very reckless with his actions, his plans often include someone being thrown to the sharks. You can see this in episode 21 (episode 9 of season 2) in the anime and chapters 30-31 in the manga when Chuuya is forced to use Corruption to defeat H.P. Lovecraft as planned by Dazai. 

    I could go on for a while about Dazai’s sociopathic traits, but that is not the focus of this essay, so let us move on to my second point. Dazai is not a psychopath. Psychopaths and sociopaths have many similar symptoms. Every trait I listed previously are ones that both types of people share. So, why would I not consider Dazai a psychopath? There is a very simple reason for that. One of the biggest differences between a psychopath and a sociopath is the ability to be attached to others. While psychopaths may be able to fake a relationship, whether it’s platonic or romantic, they are completely unable to form real bonds with other people. On the other hand, while it may be difficult for them, sociopaths can have genuine relationships with others. 

    My biggest piece of evidence for this section is the bond between Oda Sakunosuke and Dazai. Dazai in the Dark Era, when he is in the Port Mafia, and Dazai when he joins the Armed Detective Agency are two very different parts of the same whole. Dazai in the Port Mafia is quite a bit more serious and emotionless, while Dazai in the ADA is much more lighthearted compared to his former self. There is a huge fact to point out, though. Dazai with Odasaku was strikingly dissimilar to how he acted without Odasaku there. Dazai acted a lot more childish with Odasaku around, exhibiting their comfortability around each other. They had a close bond and Dazai was a lot more vulnerable around Odasaku than around anyone else. That was the reason Odasaku was able to understand Dazai better than anyone else.  

    In chapter 4 of the light novel, Dazai Osamu and the Dark Era, and in episode 16 (episode 4 of season 2) of the anime, Odasaku talked about Dazai during his fight with Mimic’s leader, André Gide. He stated, “I still have one unfinished matter. I didn’t say goodbye to my friend.” He later goes on to explain the difference between Gide and Dazai, who were both actively seeking death. This displays their closeness, and it is canon that only Odasaku was able to get that far into Dazai’s mind. Dazai also showed sorrow when Odasaku passed away, which is an emotion that is difficult for sociopaths to feel unless they have a bond with someone. As a side note, I would also like to point out that while there is no certain proof, Dazai does seem to feel a little remorse for some of his harmful actions. That is another trait unique to sociopaths in comparison to psychopaths.

    My third point is how Dazai’s possible antisocial personality disorder may affect his relationships with other people. While you may argue that Dazai can feel sympathy for others, especially when he is the one who saved Nakajima Atsushi from starvation, I believe that that was only for Odasaku. In episode 16 (episode 4 of season 2), Odasaku explicitly tells Dazai to “protect the weak and save the orphans.” It would make sense if Dazai only saved Atsushi because he felt as if he had to carry out his friend’s orders. 

I would also like to point out his relationship with Nakahara Chuuya. Before I begin explaining, I feel the need to mention that this is mainly speculation and is very likely to be proven wrong. Dazai and Chuuya seem to have a deep hatred for each other, as you can tell by the multiple times they have stated that they despise each other. An example would be episode 21 (episode 9 of season 2) in the anime and chapters 30-31 in the manga. While I do not want to put words into their mouths, I would like to point out that their actions contradict their statements. In the same episode, Chuuya expressed worry for Dazai when he is thrown into the tree and nearly loses his arm. In another scene, Dazai cleans up the blood on Chuuya’s face and neatly folds his clothes after Chuuya passes out from exhaustion as he had been using Corruption (or Tainted, whatever you prefer). While he does abandon him, it goes to show that Dazai has, at least, a little bit of a conscience. 

This may be a long shot and you are free to argue (respectfully) with me about this, but I believe that Dazai does not really hate Chuuya. There are three emotions that are the easiest for sociopaths to feel. Hatred, anger, and fear. I think Dazai has some conflicting feelings about Chuuya (I swear I’m not insinuating anything), but he resorts to hatred to define those feelings because it was simply the easiest emotion to feel. On a similar note, Dazai doesn’t really have any good relationships with the people he interacts with, like his coworkers at the ADA. While they may care about him and vice versa, the relationship with his coworkers doesn’t seem to go deeper than mutual respect and common decency. 

My fourth and final point in this essay is how Dazai’s sociopathy correlates with his actions and his past. Now, I warn you, there isn’t a lot of evidence for this theory, but I hope you can still hear me out about it. I think Dazai understands that he is a sociopath. You could argue with me that Dazai isn’t a sociopath, that he feels sympathy for the innocent people who get caught up in their business, but I don’t buy that. While this sounds quite harsh, I don’t believe that Dazai has a sense of empathy, especially when Dazai continues to inconvenience others despite knowing what he’s doing. But if Dazai knows he’s a sociopath, why doesn’t he change? Well, that’s simple. He can’t. There’s no way he can force himself to feel empathy and adjust his actions. His brain doesn’t work that way. He can pretend to be sympathetic, but what’s the point in that? 

Now, how does Dazai’s acknowledgement of his sociopathic tendencies affect him? Let’s begin with Dazai’s past and build from there. In episode 26 (episode one of season three) and in the light novel, Fifteen Years Old, when Dazai is asked why he wants to die, he replies, “Let me ask you, then. Do you think there is any value in the act of living?” Throughout this light novel and the light novel, Dazai Osamu and the Dark Era, Dazai continues to show a pattern of hopelessness. All he longs for is to view the world differently than he already does, but if he cannot achieve that, he would rather die. But I think, as he grows, Dazai’s mindset changes. His desperation for death becomes a joke, something he doesn’t take as seriously anymore. I believe Dazai realized his sociopathy, and while he couldn’t change how he experiences his emotions, he began to think differently. What if Dazai believes that he doesn’t deserve to live, that no one would want him around because of his sociopathic tendencies? But he wants to live. After Odasaku’s death and after he’s experienced the light, he begins to realize that there is something worth living for. He just doesn’t believe he deserves it. I do not have any solid evidence to prove this theory, but it was something interesting that I would want others to consider.

For anyone who has gotten this far, I congratulate you. It must have been difficult to read my scatter-brained thoughts. Before we end this, I would like to clarify something. I am not a medical professional. I do not have a degree in psychology, but I am studying it. Please take that into consideration if you decide to debate my theory with me. For anyone who didn’t feel like reading through this, I won’t even bother with a summary. Trust me, it’s not worth your time. Thank you for reading and thank you to my friend who has put up with my dumb theories. You can message me on Instagram @carromeaway if you would like to discuss my theory or the show in general. Also, ask me any questions in the comments, whether it’s to clarify something or to ask me to analyze another character or to even elaborate further on Dazai’s character. I could talk about this for hours.

Citations:

Antisocial personality disorder. (2019, December 10). Retrieved November 29, 2020, from https://www.mayoclinic.org/diseases-conditions/antisocial-personality-disorder/symptoms-causes/syc-20353928

Bungo Stray Dogs Wiki. (2020, December 03). Retrieved November 29, 2020, from https://bungostraydogs.fandom.com/wiki/Bungo_Stray_Dogs_Wiki

Duignan, B. (n.d.). What's the Difference Between a Psychopath and a Sociopath? And How Do Both Differ from Narcissists? Retrieved November 29, 2020, from https://www.britannica.com/story/whats-the-difference-between-a-psychopath-and-a-sociopath-and-how-do-both-differ-from-narcissists

Grohol, J. (2020, May 20). Differences Between a Psychopath vs Sociopath. Retrieved November 29, 2020, from https://psychcentral.com/blog/differences-between-a-psychopath-vs-sociopath/

Robinson, K. (2014, August 24). What's the Difference Between a Sociopath and a Psychopath? Retrieved November 29, 2020, from https://www.webmd.com/mental-health/features/sociopath-psychopath-difference

[falcor-thee-luck-dragon]

Diego Hargreeves x reader - A Small Inconvenience

Masterlist

Walking down the sidewalk with a warm bag of Chinese takeout securely in your arm, the scent of it wafting into your nostrils putting a smile upon your face as you trail your eyes down the street. You’d been tasked with hunting down the best food in town for yourself and Diego this evening, who’s patiently awaiting your arrival in your apartment. Well in all honesty, you’d actually lost to Rock Paper Scissors and were promptly sent out into the cool autumn air as your man cheered for his victory before he quickly made up for it with a kiss.

Just enough for you to brave the city streets, and the grumbling in your stomach.

So with a pinch to his cute firm bum did you say your goodbyes and walk out the door in search of something delicious for the evening. You’re hunt had taken you down a couple blocks and past some drug deal near an alleyway entrance before your eyes found the best Chinese restaurant in town.

It practically glows golden and red, a big beautiful dragon smiling at its front door welcoming everyone who enters. Wasting no more time, you make your way through the doors and up to the counter. You know the usual order by heart and the workers there are quick and efficient as they quickly bring your meal to the front counter.

You pay and happily walk out the glass doors with a delicious bag of yours and Diego’s favorite. You’re able to make it halfway to your apartment before you spot Klaus chatting up the hotdog guy from across the street. The man looks rather bored of Klaus as he attempts to make a hotdog for a customer. Shaking your head you quickly duck under a blue mailbox to avoid catching his eye.

No sooner do you hide does the tell tale sounds of Klaus’ shuffling reach your ears as he jogs across the street to find you. You let out a sigh as you stand up from your once crouched position, coming face to face with a beaming Klaus.

“So what brings you round these parts Y/N?” Wonders your childhood friend as he leans casually against the mailbox.

Handing him a half smile you clutch your takeout closer, “Oh you know, food n’such.”

He raises a brow, his green irises glancing down to your precious takeout, “And uh...where are you going with that delicious bag of goodies?” You purse your lips together, knowing exactly what Klaus is after.

“Not tonight Klaus.” You deadpan, trying to assert that you’re not interested in having a movie night with two Hargreeves.

He taps his fingers against the hood of the mailbox, “Ah come on Y/N/N, my tum tums a grumbling and.” He shakes your shoulders, “we could have such a fun time! It’d be like a party, we could lock Diego out of the gym and drink to our hearts content as we make fun of shitty romcoms....come on Y/N it’d be so fun.” Whines Klaus as you gently remove his arms away from your shoulders with your free hand.

Taking a short step back you squint your eyes at him suspiciously, “You’re not getting my teriyaki chicken strips.” His face falls as you firmly state your business, “Don’t even try to take it out of my hands you know you can’t outrun me.”

Klaus pouts, “Yeah, well you’re being a real butt right now. And to think you were my favorite, despicable.” He says with a disapproving shake of his head.

You simply chuckle at his childishness, “Maybe next time Klaus.” 

You smile as a second later does he lunge at you, an unknown force slapping your bag of Chinese food right out of your grasp as Klaus quickly grabs it, another invisible force pushing the back of your knees forward. With a surprised yelp do you quickly fall to the concrete, an annoyed huff of air leaving your lips as you watch Klaus book it past you as he races down the street cackling like a maniac.

“Fuck you Ben.” You whisper with a roll of your eyes, a smile breaking out upon your face as your nerves prick in excitement for your new hunt.

 Klaus.

 And your Chinese takeout of course.

But before you’re able to even take a step does your phone buzz in your hand, fumbling to take it out of your coat pocket you look down to see it’s Diego calling. Pressing on accept you bring the device to your ear, “What’s up babe.”

“You’ve been gone a while, just making sure you’re okay.” Worries your sweet Diego, an adoring smile finds its way onto your lips.

“I’m fine. I’ve just run into a little problem is all.”

“What’s wrong Y/N.” He asks, his voice laced with concern.

You let out a small laugh, “Nothing terrible really, D. I was just robbed but I’ll be fine seriously don’t even worry oka...”

“What?! Where’d they go, I’ll stop them.”

“Diego take a breath.”

“Who was it? Anyone I know? What’d they look like?”

“It was Klaus.” You deadpan, the other line goes silent for a few long seconds as you wait for him to respond.

“Klaus. Is he far?”

Looking down the street you catch the last glimpse of Klaus’ pink scarf as it flows wildly in the wind, “Not really, okay uh....I’m gonna go get our food. I’ll see ya at home. Love you D.”

“Alright I’ll be here, love you.” Replies Diego, confusion clear in his voice as he leaves you to save the day.

Stuffing your phone back into your pocket you let out a quiet “fuck” as someone gives you an odd look, flashing them a nervous smile you nod before booking it down the sidewalk like a mad woman on the run. Wind pushing your hair back as your feet pound against the sidewalk with each rushed step. You can practically smell your delicious takeout as it wafts into your nostrils while you’re on the chase.

In no time do you finally turn a corner to catch a pink flash of cloth as it hides behind an alleyway corner, huffing in frustration do you race forward and grasp the bricks as your feet slide into the opposite wall. When you look down the opening do you find the back of Klaus as he desperately races over the cracked cement. Rolling your eyes do you look down to fortunately find a discarded shoe next to the trash.

Perfect.

With a smile upon your face do you pick up the old smelly thing before chucking it in the direction of his messy brown hair as he cackles in the wind. You watch in delight as the worn out leather smacks him right in the back of his head with a thwack. Instantly does he fall to the ground as you race to save your food in a hasty blur. Luckily catching it before a mess is had on the dirty concrete, you turn to look down at Klaus who’s laying on his back in defeat.

He sticks his tongue out at you, “You have no right being that fast Y\N!” Grumbles Klaus as you chuckle.

“And you have no right to let Ben trip me.” You add with a raise of your brow.

Klaus simply rolls his green eyes, “He dared me to take it! And I’m not a bitch so of course I accepted.”

Reaching your hand out for him to take, he takes your offer and just like that do you pull him from the ground, “I haven’t seen you run that fast since you robbed that convenience store a month ago.”

“You didn’t even try and help me escape.” Remarks Klaus as he stands next to you, a hand upon his slender hip.

“Oh right, but if I remember correctly you told me and I quote Y/N watch me rob this store and flip off the cops inside as I make off with the donuts. Then you told me not to help you cause you’re not a little bitch. So I didn’t.”

Pursing his lips together, he nods, “Yeah well. Can I have a twenty?”

You scoff, “Drugs or food?”

“Food. Obviously.” Answers Klaus more quickly then you’d believe.

Nodding you fumble around in your pocket, “Fine. But if you steal my delicious sweet teriyaki chicken I will break your arm next time.” He smiles as you hand him the twenty.

“Noted.” Winks Klaus as he pockets the single bill excitedly. You say your goodbyes before turning around and making your way to the gym where Diego patiently awaits you and your food.

The walk there takes about three minutes, giving you time to settle your once pounding heartbeat from Klaus’ little adventure through the streets of the city. At long last does your eyes find the glass doors of the closed boxing gym, when you wander closer does Diego finally spot you. A smile comes to his face as he quickly opens up the door, his face turning to amusement as he takes in your disheveled appearance.

Walking through the door do you mock glare at him as he chuckles, “I’d ask, but I’m not sure if I want to know.” He says as you walk quickly to your shared apartment.

“Your brother just gave me a run for my money, literally and figuratively.” You muse before opening up your apartment door, swinging it back with a whoosh. He laughs as he shuts the door behind him, jogging down the small row of stairs as you sit down with a huff.

Diego smirks as he sets himself across from you, “Well I hope our food is still warm. Jeesh Y/N I give you one job and then you get robbed, thought you were a superhero or something.” Teases your man as he takes out his box of the usual favorite, opening it up with ease.

“You’re fucking hilarious.” You quip, no venom in your words as you fight back a smile.

He slurps up a noodle, “It’s warm so you’re off the hook.”

Swallowing your chicken you raise an eyebrow at him, “Oh really now. And what would you have done to me if it wasn’t and Klaus took all the goods, huh?” You challenge with a smirk before biting into another crunchy piece of chicken.

He simply shrugs, “Guess you wouldn’t get any of these goods.” Muses Diego as he implies something very intriguing yet not what you’d like to think about while stuffing yourself of chicken and steamed vegetables.

Slowly blinking at him you point a chopstick in his direction, “Don’t make it weird.” He breaks out into a huge smile as a laugh escapes him.

“You started it.” Replies Diego with a wink.

Leaning in closer to him you smirk, “And I’ll end it if you don’t shut that pretty mouth of yours.” Your add with a dark glare, he instantly shuts up at your words, an excited thrill coursing through him as you seductively sit back and chew your food.

[doctors-star]

“Yeah, I can see how hiding behind a rock is a much better strategy.” for Cowboys??

Sometimes, Ainsel feels that they and Edelweiss are coming to some kind of understanding. That, perhaps, Edelweiss is the type of horse with whom it was possible to have some kind of normal relationship, and generally not the sort of creature to possess too-clever eyes and be prone to depositing Ainsel without memories somewhere they shouldn’t be.

These times are infrequent, and they do not ever last.

Rarely, though, has Ainsel taken quite so strongly against the concept of horses altogether, Edelweiss or otherwise. Normally, their lack of particular equine affinity is not an issue, given that they never need to travel that fast, but in consequence they never did learn how to sit or stand when Edelweiss’ legs are really pumping, apparently delighted at this taste of freedom and the wind in her mane; Ainsel is being galloped across the desert like a bag of jumbled bones with their head tucked in behind Edelweiss’ ear and their fingers wrapped white around the pommel, clinging on for dear life. The sand is kicking up on the wind and spitting against any exposed skin, so their eyes are more like slits and are streaming wildly and all they can really see of the desert and sky is a blur of orange and blue.

The jolting is going to shake their kneecaps right out of their legs. Their spine will be compressed by six inches by the time they get off. Ainsel hates horses, just now.

And then, without any input from Ainsel, Edelweiss is slowing to a gentle trot and then a lazy stop. Ainsel puts their head up a little to push the horse on further, because they have someone to urgently find and no delay can be had - but then they blink, and their sandblasted, watery vision coalesces into the very face of the man they had ridden out to find. When the ringing in their ears from being so thoroughly shaken dissipates too, they can hear Will murmuring to Edelweiss and petting her nose as he casts worried glances at her rider. Ainsel winces; what a clattering they must have made, to pull Will unprompted from his observations.

Ainsel unpeels their fingers from the pommel and attempts to straighten up. The pain is immediate and terrible, lancing up and down their shaken spine, and they list worryingly to one side; they slide into a pair of wiry arms, so they assume Will is rescuing them, but it’s hard to tell, what with the white-out of pain. They end up on the floor, Will being altogether too small to lift anyone over the age of eight, with Williams crouched near their head and looking worried. “Howdy,” Ainsel grits out politely. Will’s frown worsens.

“Alright, who’s done what now,” he says, eyes tracking the length of them as they stretch slowly and awkwardly to catalogue the points of greatest pain. For all that Will Williams is not a doctor, he certainly is getting better at doctoring. He’s less agitated every time: last time Finn had sliced his leg open on a splintered fence, Will had been more annoyed than worried; and these days, he even wraps aching joints and teaches folks how to clean cuts and sores and he went out to see Noel’s husband - God rest him - whenever she asked, even though he couldn’t do anything, until he let her down gently a few weeks before the end. Ainsel is abruptly reminded, with new urgency, of how much they appreciate having not-a-doctor Will Williams around to doctor them all.

“It’s good to have you around,” Ainsel wheezes, their brain-to-mouth filter shaken about a bit by relentless horse riding; Will looks slightly horrified.

“Oh lord,” he says, “are you dyin’?”

Ainsel shakes their head and sits up on their elbows. Will’s palm slides behind the ball of his shoulder to support the motion, warm and steady. “Naw - no-one’s in trouble, promise.”

“Uh huh,” Will says, sounding deeply unconvinced. “And this bat out of hell impression you’ve got going, what’s that in aid of?”

Ainsel makes a face, which Will picks up on immediately. It had been too much to hope that he wouldn’t, of course, and this is all the point anyhow: Ainsel is here to tell Will as early as possible something he may not want to hear, but will eventually find out regardless. He may as well hear it on his own terms.

They had been walking Noel to the hotel for an hour of coffee and polite conversation, for the duration of which they may both pretend that they only know similarly polite and calm individuals. It is...therapeutic. They sometimes bring Will, who can be relied upon for good behaviour, but he’d usually rather be out by the creek or in the prairie grass or in the shade of a cactus pretending he doesn’t know any humans at all; it is, therefore, a surprise to see him standing with his back to them in an expensive pine-green suit at the front desk. Ainsel notes all these details only in hindsight: the broader shoulders, the bowler hat, the set of his stance which is not quite right - like Will, only a good bit older, mirrored and two steps to the left. At the time, though, they had simply seen Will, and not thought a thing of it that Noel should raise the hand not tucked into Ainsel’s elbow and say “Mister Williams! Will you come sit with - oh, I do apologise; I thought you were an acquaintance of ours.”

The man smiles with disproportionate pleasure at being misidentified, leaning forward on his toes in his road-dusty brogues. There is a suitcase at his feet and he is holding his hat to his chest deferentially, but he is still standing in the hotel with a confidence and appearance of belonging that Will has never possessed - possibly ever, but certainly not in a genteel environment like this one. He wears a day’s stubble well, flecked with slightly premature grey, on a jaw which is squarer than Will’s, but just as fine-boned and angular; his voice, when he speaks, sounds like Will when he’s at his most anxious - all old-money, old-country, cold and tall and prickly like the pines in whose snow-capped shadows Will grew up.

“Not at all; perhaps you can help me. You see, I am indeed a Mister Williams - Thomas Williams, ma’am, at your service - and I am seeking a relative of mine who may just be this acquaintance of yours.” Noel makes the appropriate interested noises, but Ainsel goes abruptly cold as though they had broken and tumbled through the surface of a frozen lake, instantaneous and gasping for air. They have this sense of déja vu when looking at Thomas Williams, more than the ordinary familiarity of seeing Will in him - and then they remember. They have seen Will’s big brother before, in the card that had shown them Will’s youth; they barely need to glance at their palm to know that the cards have found their way into their free hand once more, and that the top card is the card that might be the Tower, and might be the Queen of Spades.

“Has something happened?” Ainsel says, interrupting the polite and non-committal conversation Noel is maintaining with the stranger about the quality of the road into Danser Town and the inconvenience of not having a railway out here yet, at every opportunity steering him away from asking her any question about Will’s presence or existence that she might actually have to answer.

Thomas Williams blinks, wrongfooted, but rallies quickly. “I’m afraid my mother has recently died,” he says, and Noel murmurs condolences; Ainsel just watches him. “She and my - cousin were never as close as one might like, but…” Williams casts about, looking away with a shadow over his brow, and Ainsel realises his grief is real and painful - though whether it is for the lost parent, or the lost opportunity to reconcile, they cannot say.

Ainsel nods and tucks the cards back into their pocket, turning solicitously to Noel. “I’m afraid I gotta go; will you be alright-?”

Noel pats their elbow and releases them, message received. Of course Noel will be alright; Ainsel has no idea if she knows what they know about Will’s relation to this stranger, but she sure has gathered that Ainsel is not eagerly bringing one party to the other. “You go, then. I’m sure this fine gentleman will keep me in good company,” she says, fluttering her eyelashes and turning her charm upon Mister Williams like a beam. He blinks in the face of it, and finds himself abandoning his luggage to offer her his arm and lead her to a table almost without noticing.

He certainly had been stunned enough to ignore Ainsel turning on a dime and taking off through the doors at a dead run.

Which leaves them here: lying on the dusty earth in the shadow of a rocky desert outcrop with Will Williams crouched by their head, and wishing that they had sent Tommy or Finn or Johnny out instead - how those bastards make galloping look easy, Ainsel may never know.

Ainsel takes a deep breath, fixes their gaze on Will, and says it firm and simple. “Your brother is here in Danser, and he’s the absolute fuckin’ spit of you, so I don’t reckon you can get away with him not knowing you’re here.”

Will, in an action which is either a credit to his propensity for forethought or reminiscent of a small furry prey animal, does not move for a good five seconds. Then he drops Ainsel’s shoulder and stands abruptly, marching six paces away and staring at the dirt. Ainsel watches in silence as Will chews the inside of his cheek intently. They can’t think what to say that might help: he seems nice is true, but seems is a big word that hides a multitude of sins; he said you were his cousin doesn’t quite accurately convey, the way Ainsel wants it to, that Thomas Williams doesn’t seem to know who he’s looking for at all (sister, brother, neither, both) but is keen to find that person nevertheless; I’m a little concerned that if we leave them alone too long, Noel will have married him for your inheritance by the time we get back doesn’t seem remotely useful, for all that it is honest.

“Did he say why?” Will says eventually, after a good minute of silence in which Ainsel regains their breath and manages to sit up properly and look around Will’s little camp. He usually comes back to town overnight, unless he’s seeking something nocturnal, but he always takes a bedroll and cookpot just in case he gets distracted and forgets to come home; he’s got it all, still packed, in a pile near his horse, and has only brought out a leather-bound notebook, a pencil and some charcoals which he has left on a flat rock pointing southwest where some animals, presumably, are being interesting. In rampant defiance of the gun safety and maintenance talks Finn has repeatedly given him, Will has left his rifle broken over a rock far out of reach with cartridges spilling out over the floor, where any young man with spurs on or sturdy horse in iron shoes might step on or near them and give everyone a terrible shock. Will can be so childlike about animals, sometimes - so focussed upon them and nothing else - that Ainsel reckons he needs protecting. So he shuffles over and puts the cartridges in a box, and carefully mulls over how to answer the question.

“He did,” Ainsel says eventually, voice taut and unwilling. Will sniffs, face twitching with it, but says nothing and doesn’t look his way. They sigh, and turn the box awkwardly between their fingers. “It’s your ma,” they settle on. “I’m afraid she’s, uh, passed. Recently.”

Will doesn’t move an inch. He tells them, sometimes, when he’s drunk on two whiskeys and tired of Danser Town’s shit, about his home country in the northeast; the great lakes in their vast and cosmic stillness, the endless plains of undisturbed snow, the deep dark woods of solemn, unmoving pines stretching out past the point of vanishing. He used to sit out for hours in the summer watching herons stand proudly on the banks of the lakes, being plagued by mosquitos but never minding it, for if he waited long enough a herd of deer might drink by his side, or a great, ageless moose, or perhaps even a bear seeking fish before his winter sleep. Will would sit, ever so still, and wait for the world to unfurl its shy beauty before him like a gift. Ainsel wonders if it’s something they all know to do in the north: if the mountains and lakes and forests impose a certain quiet stillness upon all its inhabitants like austere, frowning schoolmarms, or if this is something Will learned on his own on those occasions he could escape the family home in town.

In the winter, Will says, the trees shiver and pop. Water gets in them, see, and then it freezes, and the sap too; when it expands, it breaks down the pines’ firm, fibrous defenses and the trees start to explode.

“I’m sorry,” Ainsel offers.

Will nods, short and sharp, like he’s decided something. And then, without looking at Ainsel at all, he goes back to his notebook and squints at the horizon.

“...you ain’t gonna come back an’ see him?” Ainsel says cautiously.

“Thank you for telling me,” Will says, sounding more cool and moneyed than he ever has - the difference takes Ainsel aback a moment, for all that it is rather familiar. Will had sounded like that fresh off the train into town, and it hadn’t really occurred to them before how much his accent had mellowed into something more gentle, casual, and local to Danser. The switch back is a little like being struck. “You may go, now.”

Ainsel is not quick to anger. They have long accepted the vagaries of the universe, and others within it; their follies and irritations are something to which Ainsel is quite resigned. A thing has to be pretty damn offensive to rile them into anger.

So there is no small amount of alarm on Will’s face when Ainsel hauls themself off the floor, marches across the small clearing between the great desert rocks, fists their hand in Will’s shirtfront and presses him against the rock with a snarl. “Listen here, you sonuvabitch,” Ainsel says sternly, “I rode across the desert so fast all my damn bones are broke so’s you could know your brother was here on your own terms, and not ‘cause some helpful bastard in town’s brought him straight to ya. I ain’t askin’ for nothing from you, Will Williams, but I reckon I deserve some of your goddamn respect.” Will looks rather contrite. Ainsel thinks of the card vision, and the gentle man within who so cared for the child, and how eager Thomas Williams had been at the hotel to find someone who looked like him, and presses their advantage. “What’s more, I reckon you oughtta come speak to your brother, who’s grievin’ and who came out all this way lookin’ for you-”

Will’s dark eyes flash abruptly flinty, and Ainsel knows that they have misstepped. It’s still not enough warning: Will makes a fist and punches the soft inside of Ainsel’s elbow with his sharp knuckles, breaking the hold Ainsel has on his shirt, and while Ainsel is gasping with the shock of it he plants his hands flat on Ainsel’s chest and shoves hard enough to move them a good few paces. “You have no idea who he came out looking for,” Will hisses, pointing accusingly and stalking forward into Ainsel’s space, “but it sure as hell wasn’t me. He may be my brother, but I’m not his.”

“I reckon you are!” Ainsel blurts out, too busy thinking about how Thomas Williams had leaned forward on his toes to get nearer those people that might know Will to mind themself.

“The devil do you know about it all?” Will cries, throwing his hands in the air, and Ainsel recoils, wounded. “I don’t see how you can tell me what to do, as though you’ve no secrets you don’t want to address. You don’t - you don’t know me. None of you do. You-” this with a look of disdainful, injured pride and a dismissive gesture in their direction “-don’t even know yourself. So get out.”

Ainsel, for a moment, cannot breathe for the terrible hurt of it all. They have to shift one foot behind them a little to avoid stumbling backwards and folding like a broken chair to the floor. Will turns away to fuss with his drawing materials, and Ainsel works their jaw until sound comes out. “So that’s it, huh. You’re skipping town because you’re too fuckin’ yellow to see your own brother.”

Will shakes his head without turning around. “No,” he says, cool and measured, “I am going to stay here until he leaves and then return once he’s moved on, because he won’t search Danser twice and because I am-” he tilts his head thoughtfully, like a mockingbird “-too fucking yellow to see my own brother.”

“Yeah,” Ainsel mutters, turning back to Edelweiss and hauling their battered frame back into the saddle. “I can see how hiding behind a rock is a much better strategy.”

Will turns, glare spitting with fury, but Ainsel is already pulling Edelweiss around and nudging her into a steady trot back towards Danser. Edelweiss, having enjoyed her taste of speed and freedom, wants to run wild and joyous across the desert dust, to loop around the town into the prairie where the ranches are and cascade over the hill past the fenced-in stock animals and whinny her mocking laugh at them all, for she is free, free, wild and free - but Ainsel does not. They keep her reined tight until she snorts and huffs and tosses her great head and shows her tombstone teeth, but they allow her nothing. Ainsel is tired of runners, anyway.