#things are getting dire in the wip

[rig-a-rendal]

[dietmimo]

draw in perspective. it will be fun they said.

[cuppajj]

(OLD) Beast Ancients AU FAQ

I’ve seen a lot of asks in my inbox that are identical to each other, so I decided to put em all in one post and then some. This’ll be updated the more I develop the AU and the more info we get.

As a disclaimer, I am very new to CRK (as of December 2023) and I haven’t gotten to all the game or story modes yet (notably odyssey), so things are definitely bound to change + be elaborated on more! Anyway without further ado:

General

What are the Beast Ancients’ themes?

Vanilla is Penance, Lily is Sovereignty, Dragonberry is Pride, Cacao is Solitude, and Cheese is Conquest. I tried to keep them within the realm of their original meanings

Essentially my philosophy is: Penance is the acknowledgment (truth) that sins such as deceit exist in the world and must be cleansed. Sovereignty is an extreme form of freedom where one can have all the agency they wish, but can be just as silent about their presence/power as well. Pride is a byproduct of passion or sloth, boiling down to the adamancy of the subject. Solitude is a choice made with both resolution and apathy in various degrees, and lastly Conquest promises an abundant future at the cost of untold destruction.

If the ancients are bad, are the beasts good?

No, the old Beasts are still a threat. With a total of ten beasts to worry about, the situation on Earthbread is very dire. However, there is still hope left, and hope can go a long way.

Is there a new set of ancient heroes with soul jams?

No, and there likely won’t be. The Neo Beasts and first Beasts still have their respective soul jam halves, and both want each other’s.

Where’s Gingerbrave and his party?

Likely the Crème Republic, which becomes a refuge for many cookies after the rise of the neo beasts. They’re at the front of the resistance movement, working with Clotted Cream Cookie to plan how the beasts will be taken down.

What do the Neo Beasts think of their past selves?

Generally they see themselves as improved or improving. The only one who doesn’t feel that way is Frigid Cacao, who doesn’t reflect on himself that often.

Did they all corrupt at the same time?

Still working on that part. The timeline for beast ancients is a WIP, but for now, it’s likely that while they didn’t corrupt at once, they corrupted pretty close to one another. Cheese was likely first, followed by Lily. Vanilla was among the last to fall and evidently had it the worst.

Do the Neo Beasts still have kingdoms? How is life like there?

Answered here

What are the cookies of darkness doing?

As of writing (5/31/24) we don’t have a lot of info on the cookies of darkness in beast yeast, but at the very least I can say Dark Enchantress cookie may or may not know about Midnight Lily’s plan to destroy her.

How would legendaries react?

I admittedly don’t know everything about the legendaries to say yet, but they’re all alarmed to some degree. I can flesh them out the more I learn about them

Individual Neo Beast questions under cut!

Saint Vanilla Cookie

How do his powers work?

Answered here

Does he know he’s killing cookies?

Nope, he doesn’t see it as that and it would pain him to. He sees purification as a form of transition or ascension in itself, to put it simply; he might even envy those he turns to stardust, knowing his own tainted soul will be so much harder to liberate.

Why is he constantly crying?

He’s just like that. He’s just that big of an empath.

Has his relationship with Lily changed?

Saint Vanilla still cares very much about Lily, and may even be more open about his feelings towards her; but he admits the only reason why she’s still alive is because she convinced him to leave her for last. Lily very well knows that Vanilla, in his mind, wants to purify her more than anyone else. Vanilla often pities her choice to stew in her tainted soul, but he respects her decision… at least the alternative is that they’ll someday be the only two cookies on Earthbread.

What happened to Black Raisin?

As the very first to witness his rise, she inadvertently became his very first martyr.

Where’s Custard Cookie III?

With his relatives in the Crème Republic, alongside the rest of Gingerbrave’s party. The kid has a hard time wrapping his head around what happened to Pure Vanilla, and it may be a blessing that he’s been largely focused on worrying about the well being of his uncle, Clotted Cream Cookie. As the head of the resistance, he’s been working tirelessly… is this what a king goes through too?

Shadow Milk’s opinion on Saint?

To put it simply, he starts out thinking that a confused Vanilla will be easy to manipulate, but he soon finds out that Saint Vanilla is way smarter and more aware than made out to be. He knows Shadow Milk is with him, and he wants to purge him from his soul; but that is a process that may be harder than anything else. So in the meantime, Shadow Milk can watch as he continues on his path of Penance towards ascension, fighting back the resistance he creates before it can truly harm him. Essentially, Saint Vanilla isn’t trapped with Shadow Milk, Shadow Milk is trapped with Saint Vanilla.

Dragonberry Cookie

Is the skull on her head real?

Yes! It comes from a nondescript monster.

If Pitaya is imprisoned, where is Snapdragon?

With Tarte Tatin and/or Royal Margarine. Dragon City likely got taken over by Dragonberry’s kingdom, but they noped out of there as it happened. The two of them might’ve been the first few to recognize Hollyberry’s spiral into corruption and where it was headed

How is her family doing?

Alright for the most part, but they can feel Dragonberry’s influence in every aspect of their life now. While Royal and Jungleberry are technically still the king and queen, it’s only a figurehead role as Dragonberry is the true ruler. She still cares about her family very much, but she’s controlling and good at keeping them under her thumb. Dragonberry’s granddaughter Princess Cookie is the only one who objects this new way of life, and runs away from the palace.

How would the other dragons react?

The other dragons aren’t canon to CRK so they’re not canon to the au by extension, but just for this question, they’d be different levels of alarmed or concerned save for maybe Longan. I could see Ananas wanting a word with Dragonberry in particular esp since they’re both prideful cookies

Frigid Cacao Cookie

Does he ever go outside?

Very rarely, but it’s usually to observe the licorice sea or meet with the few denizens he has left.

Where is Dark Choco?

Still working on this part (waiting for Apathy pt 2 to come out so I have a better idea), but he’s likely alone by himself. He heard wind of his father’s corruption though and took it less well than he thought he would. Perhaps he’ll run into someone who feels the same?

Is his permafrost truly permanent or can the frozen citizens be thawed?

Technically yes, the permafrost can be thawed, but it’s a meticulous process since Cacao’s ice isn’t normal ice. It’s a cure that Crunchy Chip is looking for to save Caramel Arrow.

How does the licorice sea work for him and how did he come to tame it?

I can’t say how yet outside of the fact that it was a definitely cool and heroic thing for Dark Cacao to do, on the scale of taming the Black and White dragons. The sea, arguably a sentient monster in itself, and all of the creatures within it came to follow Cacao and Cacao only. Now it almost acts like an extension of himself: the beast can make the sea do whatever he wants, like acting as his shield, arms, or barrier, and the licorice horrors will vehemently defend him. There are tons of monsters roaming his frozen kingdom now.

Mystic Flour’s opinion on Cacao?

Working on it, but to some degree she knows Cacao is much stronger than he looks. She might see his apparent apathy for his frozen kingdom with fondness though.

Celestial Cheese Cookie

Is the Golden City still running or did she leave it to die?

It may still be running but in a scaled-down beta form. Cheese learned to accept the fact that what she’d built was entirely fake, but she didn’t move on from regaining what was lost. Her virtual Golden City serves as a blueprint for the kingdom she wants on Earthbread, and then some; with nothing in the barren desert to grow her kingdom, her brightened eyes turn elsewhere towards civilizations that could be brought into the fold. Such is the beginning of the Beast of Conquest’s terror.

She does sometimes visit her golden city, only sometimes. It doesn’t look the same; it’s not a paradise for her to escape to, but it is a promise of what she will have someday. This time, it will be no mirage, and there will be no one to threaten its destruction ever again.

Midnight Lily Cookie

What is her opinion on dark enchantress cookie?

DE is the source of insecurity for Lily, who regards herself as the weakest among all the beasts. Because she’s half of a complete whole, who was already half of another whole, she is passionate about reuniting her souls. While she is focused on expanding the influence of the faerie kingdom, her true goal is to track down Dark Enchantress Cookie and destroy her; but she knows she will need more help than just herself, and has considered asking for help from other vengeful allies.

Does she still guard the silver tree?

Yes, she still fiercely honors Elder Faerie’s wishes.

Have her relationships with the other neo beasts changed?

Ish, most notably her and Celestial Cheese are a little more on speaking terms; but they’re connecting through their potential partnership as Lily hopes she can help her take down Dark Enchantress. In return, she might help her expand her kingdom and take down Burning Spice.

If more FAQs come up, I will make a part two. Thank you for your interest!

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Pent Up 1

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, virginity loss, age gap, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: you seek validation through online correspondence with incarcerated men, only for one to lock you down in turn.

Characters: convict/excon!Thor (silverfox)

Note: It's an addiction now.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

'I never thought I'd be writing to someone like you, but you've shown me a different side of things. I hope that my emails give you comfort and can help you through. Even on the other side, they get me through my day. I'm always excited to read when there's a ding in my inbox.

I hope you also enjoy the little bit I could put in your commissary. If I lived closer, maybe I could bring you something homemade. At the moment, bus fare is a bit too much for my pockets.

Anyway, signing off.

Yours,

Diamond'

You add a whole line of heart emojis to the email then hit send. You giggle and click on the next. You don't have the heart to copy and paste so you add a bit of variety to the next.

This one is... Thor? That's his name. He's a funny one. Considering he's in the pen, you're surprised by that. The others are so dire; pushy too.

You hit reply on his last email. Something about a fight and apologising for not replying earlier. He says he was in solitary for a whole week. That sounds miserable. The thought is enough to scare you straight. It's why you've never done anything wrong in your whole life. Until now.

It's not really wrong. It's allowed. It's legal. You're just sending messages. If anything, it's a community service. These men don't have much more contact than each other and that's a recipe for chaos.

You won't admit that other reason aloud. That tickly feeling in your stomach. When they compliment you, when they say they missed you. You can't help but smile, even giggle sometimes. It's nice to be appreciated, even if it's all a fantasy.

You'll never meet these men. That's the fun part. You don't have to worry about any of this. Maybe that helps. Maybe you think too much when you're face-to-face. That explains why every cute guy you talk to sees past you.

'I forgive you, sweetie. It must have been so hard in there. The important thing is you replied. I got so worried! I hope that after all that, my email can bring a bit of comfort. I have to be honest, I never thought I'd be chatting with someone like you. That I could find this type of connection. Please, take care and email soon.'

Another parade of emojis follows and you send it off happily. Now you just have to wait and see who gets back to you first. If it's Ernie, you're not sure you'll respond. He's been fixated on his cell mate and his emails are getting a bit scary. That's the other great part. You can always just delete and block.

The response comes an hour later. You're sleepy and ready to pass out. You read it anyway.

'You are so kind, my queen.' You giggle. Yeah, he calls you that sometimes. If only he knew you were sitting in bed with an ice cream sandwich wrapper and your cell phone. Definitely not queenly behaviour. 'I got through it by thinking of you, of dreaming of the day when we can talk face-to-face. Wouldn't that be lovely? For all my mistakes, I think they will mean something if you and me can be together.'

You make a face. He's so cheesy. You can't help but laugh again. You're not trying to be cruel, you do empathise with his situation, you can't imagine being in prison, but like anyone else, he earned his time. There's one last light.

'If it isn't too much trouble, would you kindly send a picture so I have a face to admire in my lonelier moments? I've attached my own. Forgive me as it dates a few years back.'

You're not smiling anymore. You haven't sent any of the men pictures. They haven't offered theirs but you can look up their mug shots easily. You hate to ruin the fantasy but curiosity has you tapping the attachment.

Oh. You're surprised. He's older than you in this picture and by his own confession, is more so now. But he isn't repugnant. Anything but. Tall, blond, thick! You don't know if you've ever seen a man that size.

Even in a suit, it's obvious that his arms are bulging and his chest is ripe to burst out as the jacket button clings for dear life. The photo is cropped so that whoever he took it with is out of frame. His blue eyes sparkle above a defined smile. Has prison worn down all that?

You squirm. Guilt needles in your chest. You could close out and worry about it in the morning. You shouldn't be that sympathetic. He's still a criminal. You can say no. Easily. What's he going to do about it?

What could it hurt? If he saw your face. It's not like anyone would know. That anyone would recognise you or that he could find you anywhere else. You keep your social media anonymous. You aren't like the influencers who get attention just for being pretty.

It's that that gives you pause. You aren't anything but average. It's easier to pretend you're some pretty thing as you message these faceless men. Well, maybe that's a good thing. Maybe once he sees you, you won't have to worry about all that other stuff. He'll cut you off at the pass.

The thrill of it overwhelms your reluctance. It's like gambling, it could go either way.

You start a new message. More meaningly rewording of previous sentiments. Nothing new. Then you scroll through your photo roll. You take a breath and press down on a photo you think isn't half bad. It's from market day you went to with your aunt. Not exactly cutting edge but fun. She snuck in the shot as you smiled down at your gooey cinnamon roll. The impromptu snap is better than most of your posed ones.

You send and quickly lock the phone. You shove it under your pillow and swipe up the wrapper beside you. You leave it on your night stand and sink down, your insides swimming with anxiety. You're going to regret this in the morning.

🎀

'Will you call me?'

The question makes you sweat. You don't know why you feel bad. You've said no before. To him. To all of them. You draw a thick line between your secret little hobby and your real life. You shouldn't have ever sent that photo.

Despite your regret, you smile. His response was more than you could expect. The praise! You don't know that anyone ever even called you cute but he as good as wrote you a poem about your beauty. You have to remind yourself, given his circumstance, he's starved. He'd probably think your nan is sexy.

Still, you're having a hard time typing those two letter; N-O. Thor is so nice. And he asked so sweetly. But you can't do that. What if someone found out?

This whole thing is starting to feel like a big mistake, but it's so much fun. When in your life will men ever be this into you? When have they ever?

'I could call' you type without thinking. What are you doing? 'Let me know how to do that and we can set a time maybe.'

Don't hit send. Don't hit send.

Email sent.

Shit. Oh gosh. Why did you do that?

You close your laptop and leave it on your desk. You need to get ready for work. You can't be worrying about a man you'll never meet. It's all virtual, it's not real. You'll be okay.

You get yourself together and brace yourself for work. You don't really like your job. You work the counter at a tech repair shop. Independent so it's small and slow. Your boss is a bit strange too.

The only benefit is it's close and it pays a few bucks more than the alternative. You're even allowed to work on your online courses at the service desk. Really, it's perfect. You guess you're just not happy with things being boring.

You blow over the lid of your Sailor Moon travel mug and knock on the door. Jensen lets you in with a grin and stifles a yawn in his elbow. You step past him with a sheepish smile.

"If it isn't the champion of justice," he greets smugly and locks the door. You won't open for another half hour.

"Huh?" You go to the counter and slide your bag onto the shelf underneath.

"Your cup," he crosses the shop. “I am Sailor Moon, the champion of justice. In the name of the moon, I will right wrong and triumph over evil… and that means you!”

"Oh, right," you snort at his cheesiness. "You have espresso or something?"

"Red bull," he admits guiltily.

"This early?"

"Early? I never went to sleep," he comes around and goes back to typing on his glowing gaming computer. "Couldn't let my crew down."

You could roll your eyes. All he does is play Fortnite or Halo. He looks like he does too. Yet, he's in here moping after every rare stunner that walks through the door. That's why you'er there. He gets all tongue-tied with women. Well, all of them but you.

"You should join the party," he suggests.

"Well, I don't really play anymore," you shrug. "It was only for fun. My siblings... like it."

"Oh yeah, how's the family?"

"Good, I guess. They don't really call."

Your mom's too busy rebuilding her life with your step-dad. Rather, building the perfect life she never had. You sigh and open up your laptop. You grab your coffee and sip. You're tired of being forgotten.

"Jake," you say, he winces at the use of his first name, "Jensen," you glance at him, "you're a dude."

"Yeah, I am" he answers uncertainly.

"Well, you might know more than I do. You know anyone in prison? Any guys?"

"What?" He exclaims. "Where did that come from?"

"Mm... I was watching a documentary last night," you lie. "About prison or whatever."

"Oh?"

"Yeah, and about you know," you sway and look at your laptop. You're terrible at lying. "The women who like write to them or whatever."

"Ew, like the Ted Bundy weirdos?" He scoffs.

"Not exactly. I mean, none of them were murderers. I think," you shrug. "But... like, if you were in prison, you'd need that, right? I mean, it's just to get you through."

"I don't know. It'd be lonely, yeah, but like... what about after?" He scratches his neck. "I got a buddy who was in for a while but he's a good dude. He was only selling... stuff."

"Really?" You perk up, "he went to prison?"

"Well, he doesn't like to talk about it," Jensen says. "Why are you talking about this?"

"Making conversation. I was just thinking about the show," you sign into your laptop. "Just thinking... I mean, how do you even end up there?"

"Bad things. I learned my lesson when I was sixteen. I broke into the high school on a dare and the cops put me in cuffs for two hours. They let me go once I cried... I mean, I was a kid so..."

You nod and try not to show any judgment. That sounds about right. A notification pops up in the corner as Jensen goes back to the fluttering over his keyboard. You click on the email.

'I've been granted call-time at noon. You can call the number below and request by my inmate number...'

You quickly minimize and hide behind your cup as you slurp. Shoot. You didn't think he'd be so fast. A call at noon? You can't say no. Not now that he got approved.

Well, this is the only time it's happening.

[elixirfromthestars]

On Days Like This

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Reader (established relationship)

Summary: The comforts of sick days with your boyfriend Matt.

Word Count: 1.1k

Warning(s): fluff / descriptions of mild sickness / sick + comfort

requested by anonymous

a/n: hello! i'm jumping between wips and i was able to finish this bingo request 💖 originally it was just going to be the first part, but then I got carried away 🤭✨ as always feedback is appreciated! and my writing challenge is still on going 💗

birthday bingo masterlist ♡ // main masterlist ♡

When He's Sick

“ Matt, don’t even think about it,” you warn as he reaches for the armrest of the couch. You know what he’s about to do and you refuse to let him do it. You’re not letting him move a muscle while he’s sick. 

“ I got it,” you add, rushing to the front door and answering the knock that rang throughout his apartment seconds earlier. Matt grumbles something under his breath as he sinks back onto the couch—a resigned sigh leaving his lips. 

Your boyfriend gets a little grumpy when he’s sick. He relies on his senses to see and it’s hard to do that when he can’t breathe out of his nose and has a constant ringing in his ears. The delirium of his ongoing fever further muddied his brain. The clouding of his senses was overwhelming to say the least and you were trying your best to help remedy that. 

You open the door and grab the items you instacarted to make him some homemade chicken noodle soup. You make your way back to the kitchen where you take the items out and start preparing the meal.

You peak out into the living room. Your boyfriend resembles a child all snuggled up into the blue cotton blanket you draped over him earlier. The slight hum of the television in the background casting a light glow onto him. 

He won’t admit it now, but he secretly loves being taken care of. Its not a feeling he’s used to, but when it comes to you he welcomes it. 

When you’re done preparing the ingredients, you pour them all into a pot to simmer. You wash your hands thoroughly and then make your way over to your boyfriend. Its time to take his temperature again.

“ Hey, how are you feeling?” You ask, your tone filled with a gentle worry. You lower to your knees to be eye level with him.

“ Like my head’s going to explode,” he groans quietly. You give him a weary smile, pressing the back of your hand to his forehead. You’ve done this so many times you can’t tell if his fevers gone down or not. 

“ Open up,” you request as you inch the tip of the thermometer to his lips. He does as told and you take his temperature. 

“ One hundred and two. Looks like that medicine is starting to kick in. You were at one o’three earlier,” you say, slightly optimistic. This does nothing to cheer your boyfriend up as he’s still in his sickly haze.

You kiss your fingers and then press it onto his lips,“ Soup will be ready soon. I promise it’ll make you feel better,” your voice brings him a comfort he direly needs. Coupled that with the indirect kiss and the way you’re brushing away the strands of sweaty hair from his face—he’s in heaven. 

“ Thanks, baby,” he manages to croak out. You brush another strand from his face and he leans into your touch. “ No need to thank me. I’m here for you,” you reply with a soft sincerity. 

Damn the medicine and the soup. All he needs is you. 

After about another forty minutes the soup is done and served in a bowl. You let it cool down a bit before heading over to the couch, setting the bowl down on the coffee table. Matt can faintly pick up the savory aroma in the air and he gently sits up. He intends to reach out to grab the bowl until you swat his hands away lightly. 

“ No. I got it. You focus on getting better. I’ll do the rest,” there’s a slight pout on his lips as you say this. You’re tempted to kiss it away, but you stop yourself. The last thing either of you needed was for you to get sick too.

You blow on the soup a bit before serving him the first spoonful. The warmth spreads throughout his body blanketing him better than anything else did. 

You were right. The soup did make him feel better.

When You're Sick

A content sigh escapes you as Matt massages the lavender scented shampoo into your scalp. His fingers are delicate, but working with purpose as he lathers every strand. Your body was already melting into the bath, but with the way his hands were working—you’d soon melt into him. 

There wasn’t a strand of hair left untouched by him. He gave every bit of it his full attention. Wanting to make sure he was doing things right. He had never done this for anyone before. 

The bath was Matt’s idea and his doing. When you came down with the flu and complained about your achy muscles and congested sinuses—he knew just what to do. 

Well, more like the internet told him what to do and what products to buy.

His every touch was gentle and soothing. The scent of lavender was calming to your senses so he left it in your hair to settle for just a bit while he worked on lathering a rosemary scented body wash into your skin. His fingers work in slow circular motions, applying just the right amount of pressure to pacify the ache. 

“ How’s that?” he asks, fingers gliding over your back as his circular motions continue.

Now you were completely melting into his touch, “ Perfect. That seriously helps so much,” you reply a little breathless, your eyes closing to focus on the feeling. 

Matt grinned, pleased that he was able to help you. He loves taking care of you as much as you take care of him. Being the one you can lean on, on days like this, means everything to him.

When You're Both Sick

“ Come here,” Matt’s quiet voice rings out in his dark bedroom. The slightest sliver of moonlight coming from his window. His arms are outstretched in your direction as you make your way into the covers. 

You sniffle briefly as you snuggle into his side, his arms enveloping you immediately. You clear your throat to hold back a nasty cough that is trying to fight its way out of you. 

Your bodies tangle under the blanket, trying to calm the chills that run through both of you. Matt’s head rests delicately on your head as your face nestles into the crook of his neck. 

The cold medicine starts to take effect as your eyelids get heavier. Matt’s breathing has relaxed signaling to you he’s on the verge of falling asleep too. 

“ Goodnight,” you whisper, tilting your head to plant a soft kiss to his jaw. 

“ Goodnight,” he whispers back, planting a loving kiss to the top of your head, pulling you impossibly closer to him. 

You fall asleep just like that.

[theseinfernalangels]

Push My Luck - Sawyer Henrick

Synopsis: Before Threshing, you make a promise to Sawyer that he doesn’t really believe. With a little encouragement from your newly-bonded dragon, you work up the nerve to make do.

A/N: Also self-indulgent, and I’m really just trying to clear out my drafts of my many Sawyer WIPs. This one actually has a plot, though, so that’s an upgrade.

Includes: Flight after Threshing, slight angst, Cridhe basically being a surrogate dad/therapist, first kisses for my favorite couple, Ridoc being a menace (affectionate). Takes place during Fourth Wing.

“When we get to Threshing and you bond, which I know you will, I’m marching right over to you and kissing you straight on the mouth, Henrick.”

Spit through gritted teeth in the alcove where you liked to meet. A promise. A threat? Maybe both. You weren’t one for threats, but in the heat of the moment, an argument that had been a long time coming, you couldn’t stop the words from leaving your mouth.

Now, you’ve got two options: Completely forget about what you said and keep pining after Sawyer (unfavorable but easier), or make due and drag his lips down to yours (favorable but difficult).

“Ah, to have the problems of a hatchling.” The deep, rumbling voice of your dragon, Cridhe, echoes through your mind. “To debate between pursuing a mate and watching them from the shadows. You’ve brought me back decades, child.”

“I’m not a hatchling,” you retort quietly, brushing your hands along his sage green scales whilst he sailed through the sky. “And he’s not my mate.”

“But you wish he was, correct?” Cridhe prods. “There’s no reason to be ashamed of it. I find it refreshing that you have this issue at all. Better than, say, a murder plot.” 

You snort, shaking your head as his invisible bands of magic tighten against your form. “I’m the wrong cadet to search for if you’re looking for murderousness,” you reply. “The fact that this is your first impression of me is a little embarrassing, is all.”

“Firstly, you are a rider now. Wrong rider,” he corrects you as he makes a sharp left turn. ��Secondly, my first impression of you was you saving that injured girl from a slow, painful death. I am not looking for murderousness, child. I was looking for your compassion.”

The dragon’s words are reassuring enough to quell your underlying doubts of yourself — a small, small part of you still thought that no dragon would want you when you could barely speak to people without your heart beating out of your chest — but do nothing for the more pressing matter.

“I would argue that your flickering self-esteem is a more dire issue than that of romance, but this also seems to weigh heavily on your mind. Why is that?”

You sigh, closing your eyes against the raging wind Cridhe darts through. “We…had an argument yesterday.”

“Enchanting,” he responds. “And?”

You fight a smile. “Why do you want to know? Isn’t dumb human drama the least of your concerns?”

He snorts out a laugh. “Dumb human drama, perhaps. But you, child, are now my first priority, and this is wounding you more than you’re admitting to me. I’d like to know the reason.”

So, your dragon likes to eavesdrop on people. Good to know.

“Well…” You struggle to come up with a good answer. In retrospect, this must seem so stupid to the majestic green being who’s carrying you through the air.

“We both have…issues,” you finally say slowly. “He deals with a lot of self-doubt because he’s a repeat, and I think he thinks I wouldn’t want him because of it.”

“I see his point.” Cridhe nods sagely. “Perhaps it is a male thing, to want to be impressive to someone he’s interested in.”

“But that’s the thing,” you huff. “I like him, and he likes me, and we both know it, but he won’t let anything happen because he doesn’t think he’s good enough. This is the one thing I’ve been able to control entirely, for the first time in my life. Gods, why is he so stubborn?”

“Another male thing,” Cridhe chuffs dryly. “And what did you say to that?”

You think of the argument and flush a little when you recall your words, emboldened with passion and pure frustration.

“I, uh…” You hesitate. “I told him that when we both bonded after Threshing, I’d find him and kiss him. And then walked away. I haven’t talked to him since.”

“Smooth,” your dragon deadpans, beginning to tuck his wings a little. “Hold on a little tighter. First landings can make you dizzy.”

You obey, leaning closer to Cridhe’s spine and pressing your forehead to his pretty scales. You quietly thank whichever god decided to bless you with a gentler dragon, one who actually cared for your feelings and listened to the things that weighed on you. Cridhe was probably the only dragon who’d ever have the patience for you — even amongst the well-tempered greens.

“Not that you asked for my input,” he continues carefully, “but I say go for it. If you do not follow through with your words, I can only imagine that the two of you will be hovering awkwardly until something catastrophic happens. Believe me, it happens every year.”

You can’t help but laugh, raising your head back up. “Do dragons eavesdrop on human relationship problems this often?”

Cridhe swings his head around to look at you, his giant blue eyes meeting yours and gleaming with something teasing. 

“Sometimes,” he replies, winking. “When you are unbonded, there is not much else to do.”

Well, you have a male wine-aunt that gives solid relationship advice for a bonded dragon. Not that you’re complaining.

Cridhe settles the two of you in a little patch of land away from all the other riders and dragons (Amari bless his heart) and extends a long leg for you to climb down from. You shoot him a small smile of appreciation as your boots hit the grass, and you stumble a little as he lightly nudges you with his snout. You turn, staring at his unblinking eyes questioningly.

“Go on,” he prods. “Go to your mate, and then the roll keeper.” He tilts his head. “Cridheteòm, with a slight accent on the r. Just Cridhe, for convenience.” 

With shaking hands, you nod and take a deep breath in, trying to calm your racing heart. “Thank you.” You exhale. “Okay. Okay. I…Fuck, I hate this. This is literally the worst. Okay. I’ve got this…I think—“

Cridhe huffs and nudges you again. A scowl stretches your lips, but it doesn’t meet your eyes as you search the field for that familiar head of strawberry blond. You have absolutely no idea what kind of dragon he could attract, and for a second, you have a mini heart attack when you don’t see him. Just as you’re about to turn back to Cridhe in disappointment, you see a ruby-red dragon across the grounds shift to the side, and your breath catches a little when you see a familiar figure stride out from behind it: Sawyer, with his head held high and eyes glinting with that confidence you so rarely get to see. With a nod of encouragement from Cridhe, you take off sprinting across the grass, dodging and weaving through the throng of riders.

A shout of his name has him pausing in his tracks, and his eyes widen and then go soft when you all but throw yourself into him, clinging onto him tightly.

“I fucking knew it!” You exclaim, pulling him into you. “I told you, Henrick.”

He winds his arms around your waist and lets out a slightly shocked laugh, burying his face into your hair.

“That, you did,” he concedes quietly, squeezing you lightly. “And I told you that you’d be fine. We’re even now, I believe.”

You bite your lip, Cridhe’s words echoing through your brain. I say go for it.

You take a deep, calming breath and tilt your head up, meeting Sawyer’s eyes daringly. “You do remember what happens next, right?”

His brow furrows a little in confusion, and his mouth parts as if to ask what you could be meaning. You don’t give him the chance to speak, though — not now that you have some newfound confidence. You balance yourself on your toes and tug on his neck, sealing your mouth to his in one fell swoop.

Sawyer’s breath catches a little, his eyelashes fluttering as if he didn’t expect this, as if you didn’t tell him you would do this, but his lips twitching against yours in a smirk tells you that he’s finally remembered your parting words from the night prior. His lips are cool, slightly chapped from his unconscious biting habit, but they move against your own softly, maybe even methodically. His tongue swipes carefully against your mouth, but the both of you are broken apart when you hear a familiar voice whoop.

“Fuck yeah, Sawyer! Make your move!”

The two of you jerk away from each other. Sawyer shoots a sharp glare at Ridoc’s gleeful form, his freckled cheeks flushed pink. He pulls both middle fingers up and yells back to him, “Can you shut the hell up, man? I’m kind of busy here, if you couldn’t fucking tell.”

Ridoc’s signature grin spreads wider as he gives the older boy a mock salute. “Aye, O Romancing One!” He flounces off in the direction of a lean brown dragon, who’s staring at the two of you with a twinkle in his eye similar to that of Ridoc’s. The two of them will probably be a pair of troublemakers, you can already tell.

You giggle and press your forehead to Sawyer’s. He beats you to your words. “I know, I know. You told me so, again. Funnily enough, I didn’t think you’d actually kiss me.” He dips his head and presses a chaste peck to your cheeks.

You shyly glance back at Cridhe, who still lingers across the field with a prideful little gleam in his eye as he watches the two of you. “Yeah? Well…You could say I had some encouragement.”

His eyes follow yours to your dragon, who lifts his head to stare directly at Sawyer. His eyes narrow into slits, as if he was speaking to Sawyer directly. Whatever he silently communicated, the boy seemed to catch on, his grip on you tightening as he nods back firmly.

You poke him in the shoulder. “What’s that about?”

His eyes flit back to yours, his mouth parting in a sheepish smile. “It’s kind of a guy thing.”

He bursts into laughter as you groan dramatically, burying your face in your hands. “Of fucking course it is.”

[tgmsunmontue]

You look like a bad idea... 1/? WIP

Explicit Hangster - based on this idea here. Bradley is not a naval aviator. Canon deaths (it starts at Ice's funeral). Addiction and alcoholism (and recovery) mentions.

PART ONE

                Jake watches the proceedings with a sense of polite disinterest. He didn’t know Admiral Kazansky personally, is here because it’s expected of him. He’d rather be flying, training, suspects he’s not the only one. They’re on a time crunch. However, he also knows that without Maverick there to push them that extra little bit then there likely not much point. So here they all are.

                The only thing that’s breaking up the boredom is watching the… son? of Admiral Kazansky. He’s an attractive man, looks at ease in his finely tailored suit and Jake wonders what his story is. He’s listed under children of Admiral Kazansky, but doesn’t have the same last name; then again neither did either of the daughters. Blended family is what Jake would put money on. A first marriage or child out of wedlock wasn’t mentioned in the eulogy at all, but he supposes that probably would have been bad taste.

                So Jake is enjoying watching him. He’s interesting to watch, accepting condolences from the brass and other funeral attendees. He seems to know most people here and again Jake wonders what his story is. Then the guy’s eyes fall on Phoenix and they light-up, a brief moment of sunshine in his otherwise sombre expression and Jake supposes it is his dad’s funeral.

                However, making a play for someone seems a little… crass. And if Trace is his type, then Jake definitely isn’t going to make a play. But holy shit. Trace is smiling back. Putting her plate down and just… He always knew Trace had balls, but watching her now, sauntering over to the guy like she… oh. Going in for a hug. Which he’s returning.

                Right.

                Okay then.

                So they clearly know each other, heads bent toward each other and talking quietly, now equally sad expressions on their faces. Then Trace is hugging Admiral Kazansky’s wife even harder. Rather than answering any of his questions it throws up a dozen more. The guy, Bradley, catches him watching and Jake simply nods his head in acknowledgement, not sure what else he can do. He lets his eyes slip away, makes small talk with some of the other squadron members, passes his condolences on to Maverick who grips him in a tight hug.

                Weird.

                Maverick gives each of the other Dagger Squadron members the same treatment and he’s not sure if that makes it more or less weird. Regardless, Trace is rejoining them, and Maverick has a few more words to say to her and they’re too quiet for Jake to hear, but she’s nodding and he’s even more intrigued now, and she accepts the hug from Maverick with more grace than the rest of them.

                “Phoenix…”

                “Hangman…”

                “You know the family?”

                The way her lips twist tells him she definitely does and is trying to figure out what to share with him. Jake waits, knows people love to fill silences and spill their secrets.

                “Sarah is my aunt. My mother’s sister.”

                “So… Admiral Kazansky was your uncle.”

                “Yes.”

                “I’m sorry for your loss…”

                She looks surprised at his words and Jake keeps his expression carefully blank, because do people really think he’s that much of an asshole he’d make light of someone dying? Or not care? Maybe he needs to dial down his attitude just a little. At least with the people he likes. Or can tolerate. He’s never been one to suffer fools, but hell, this is getting dire.

                “Thanks… he was…”

                “Sick. Yeah. Doesn’t make it any easier. All it does is give you time to say goodbye…” Jake says, and his jaw tenses, hopes like hell she doesn’t start asking if he’s got experience. Doesn’t want to ever answer those types of questions. “What’s his story? Your cousin, right? Bradley?”

                She glances to where he’s looking, where Bradley is standing talking to yet another Admiral, looking perfectly at ease. Jake supposes he probably grew up around them.

                “Don’t even think about it. He’s… I love him. But he’s a fucking mess in everything but his professional life. Just… stay away if you know what’s good for you.”

                Hmm.

                Hell.

                It’s like she doesn’t know him at all.

PART TWO

[abarbaricyalp]

AJ Wilson and the Case of the Disappearing Beard and the Stranger on the Couch

I finished the WIP I've been affectionately, but perhaps exaggeratedly, calling AJ and the Winter Soldier. This fic follows a Sam-Finds-Bucky pre-Civil War canon divergence, in which Bucky meets the Wilsons a whole decade earlier than he actually does. Ignore the timeline. I hate the mcu timeline This was supposed to be a ficlet 🙃 AO3 Link

Sam didn't mean to bring the Winter Soldier home to meet his family. But the situation was dire and the Winter Soldier was really mostly Bucky Barnes by now, so he figured where needs must.

The needs at the moment being the wanted fugitive who had shown up at Sam’s back door three weeks ago, soaking wet in the rain, and so pathetic looking he couldn’t be scary, who had come inside when Sam opened the door, went straight to the bathroom to change and dry off, then had gone to the couch and fallen asleep. Sam had been adopted by a stray cat once, while he was taking classes at LSU. It let him pet it and feed it and talk to it while he got his mail. It came into his apartment a few times to look around, then left again. Sam wondered if the Winter Soldier was also a shapeshifter.

The needs at the moment being that Sarah was only seven months postpartum and Cassius’s cancer had come back with a vengeance that his doctors couldn’t explain. That little Cass was scared of hospitals. That AJ, the baby, definitely couldn’t spend so much time somewhere where illness walked where it liked. That Sam’s family needed him and he needed them.

That his new shadow had looked at him with big, bright eyes and started to say, “Can I–” before he stopped himself and went to grab the single backpack of things he owned.

That Sam had sighed and snagged it before he could, and said something stupid like, “We can split the drive.”

It had been a relatively uneventful trip. Sarah had shouted at him about the uninvited guest, but she couldn't be mad the whole time he was there. Besides, he'd come specifically to babysit the boys. Uncle Sam to the rescue, right?

With his freshly adopted assassin with him.

Okay, so maybe Sarah could be a little mad at him. But she had also decided to go spend the time with Cash, so she wasn't that mad. And Sam figured he was more than making up his apology. It's not like he was letting Barnes wander around unobserved. Not like Barnes really seemed to want to be out of Sam's line of sight. He hadn’t wanted that the whole time he’d been at Sam’s place in DC. If Sam went running, he went running. (He was a much better running partner than Steve) If Sam went for take-out, he came back to find Bucky pacing the living room. If Sam stayed up late, Bucky sat with him.

There’d been some rumblings that the Winter Soldier might’ve died. Something about a HYDRA base explosion and a body with a metal arm. When Sam had looked at him, unimpressed, Bucky had just shrugged and gotten back to cooking whatever red-sauce coated thing he was making that night. It bought him some time and space, but it did mean his freedom had condensed down to the places where security cameras didn’t watch every twitch.

Louisiana wasn’t so bad for that.

It was the third day when Sam looked over from doing the dishes and found Barnes holding the baby under the arms out in front of him. Close enough that AJ could still reach out and snare his impossibly strong little fingers in Bucky's beard but far enough away that they weren't going crosseyed to look at each other.

Bucky was staring at him intently and AJ was giving as good as he got.

"What in the world are you doing?" Sam asked.

"I read that babies start learning faces as early as 2 months old. If he knows my face, maybe he'll like me."

"He's a baby," Sam snorted. "Keep giving him his bottle and avoiding bath time and he'll like you just fine."

"That's not true. They said babies form opinions and it's hard to break them. The toddler did."

"Cass is shy. He just needs to get to know you. He sat next to you at lunch today."

"I gave him extra french fries," Bucky admitted. He pushed air into his cheeks and the baby cackled, smacking little hands against Bucky's beard delightedly. And then Bucky grinned too. Full faced and bright, nose scrunching up, eyes crinkling. Sam dropped a dish into the sink in his distraction.

It was the kind of smile Sam had gotten familiar with on his family's faces in the past handful of years. The kind where a baby smiled at you and you had no choice but to grin back and maybe make a silly face at them. For a moment, he wondered how long it had been since Bucky had gotten to smile like that, off the cuff and big and completely free. It made him look decades younger. For just a split second, he was seventeen and staring at a grainy black and white photo in his history book again.

"Hi there!" Bucky said for the umpteenth time this week. It seemed to be his go-to any time either of the boys looked at him. "I'm Bucky, remember?"

"You've completely held him hostage for three days," Sam said drily, forcing himself to look away from the entirely too endearing scene in front of him. "It'll be a miracle if he remembers the rest of us exist after you leave."

"Bucky," Bucky repeated.

AJ smacked his hands against Bucky's cheeks again. "Ba-ba-ba," he babbled.

"Nuh-uh!" Sam interjected quickly before Bucky could get excited. "He's been 'ba-ba-ba-'ing for weeks. I think he plays with that little sheep mobile too much."

AJ looked over at his uncle, smiling despite the distance between them. He kept curling his fingers in Bucky's beard and tugging on it hard. But Bucky didn't seem phased in the slightest.

"Is he hungry?" Sam asked, coming over to the back of the couch. He held out his hands and grinned goofily.

Bucky, for his part, did lift AJ up to pass him over. "Wanna go see your Uncle Sam?" he asked. "He wants to see you."

And then AJ's happy little smile fell and his cute little face puckered and Sam quickly stepped back. "Nope, take him back," he said just as the first sob erupted.

Bucky brought him back down to cradle in his arm and AJ settled down as soon as he could see Bucky's face again.

Alright, so maybe he had a point about the ways babies learned faces.

"Whatever," Sam sulked, not at all betrayed. "You let me know when he's feeling more sociable."

"What was that about bottles and bath time?" Bucky called back, even sounding younger now. The laugh he let out when Sam threw a peanut at him was practically unrecognizable.

Read the rest on AO3

[ladykailitha]

The Caged Bird Still Sings Part 8

Hello! Thanks to WIP Wednesday I managed to finish a chapter of each of the stories so things are moving right a long with this story and the others. With any luck, I'll have Secret Tunnel (game show AU) finished by the time the weekend is over with. Fingers crossed.

In this Steve goes on a bit of a roller coaster of emotion. Also a bit of naughtiness in the middle, so 18+

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7

~

Steve put together the package he had be planning after he ate his burger. It was no chili burger from Benny’s but it was really good. It had caramelized onions with a thousand island dressing on the bun which was some kind of fancy bread.

Now the fries, that was something to rave about. They were seasoned and deep fried. He had eaten almost all of them before he even touched the burger.

Then once he was done with the package, he went down to the front desk for them to mail it off. Now he was at loose ends again. He could go back up to his room, but he really didn’t want to.

It had only been three days since he got kicked out and he was bored. So he looked around the lobby for inspiration. Then he spotted a discarded newspaper. Probably someone who wanted to read the financial stuff and found their stocks had tanked.

That was what his dad did every day. He didn’t understand it anyway. You were paying for nothing. Even when things were really good, you didn’t want to sell your shares because things might get better. But if the stock drops than you’ve lost money. It was gambling in the worst sort of way.

But he picked it up and began flipping through the pages, looking for the movie listings. When he found them he looked through the ads to see if there was anything good. Which there wasn’t.

With a sigh, Steve put the paper down. He chewed on his nails for a moment or two. Then he snapped his fingers. He’ll call Dustin. See if the kids wanted to go to the arcade. He had money to burn, so why not let the kids go nuts for a couple of hours.

He looked at his watch and then winced. Oops! Maybe that would be better for tomorrow as it was way later than he thought. But he could call Eddie.

That brought an instant smile to face and he dashed back upstairs. He walked into the room just as the phone began ringing. His smile turned into a grin as he walked across the room. He picked up the phone and said, “Hello!”

“You sound happy, little Canary,” Eddie purred. “You have a good day?”

Steve laughed and kicked his feet. “Much better now that I’m talking to you. I sent off your surprise and it should get to you by the time you get to LA.”

“Aww, baby,” Eddie said. “I can’t wait.” He paused for a moment. “I wanted to apologize to you about Chrissy. She was fucking rude to you and I chewed her out for it.”

Steve blinked for a moment. What now? He was used to people being rude and dismissive to him. No one ever apologized for that. “You did?”

“Yeah, Stevie,” Eddie said sternly. “I did. She thought that this little arrangement of ours was going to be temporary, but when I told her I had paid for the room for six months, she was very upset. She told me I couldn’t just throw money around like that. That’s when I told her about my little presents for you. Then she really hit the fan.”

“Oh,” he murmured. “I don’t want to cause you trouble with your management, but I–I don’t have anywhere else to go. My dad is still out there trying to make my life difficult.” His bottom lip began to shake.

“But don’t worry a thing, pretty bird,” Eddie cooed. “I got her sorted out and now she understands how important this is for me and somehow my impassioned speech managed to sway my bandmates too. I don’t think they knew how bad things had gotten for you.”

“What–what did you tell them?” Steve asked softly, his voice beginning to break.

“Nothing that they didn’t already know,” Eddie soothed. “I just made it as dire as possible so that they got the message loud and clear.”

Steve’s shoulders sagged in relief. That–that he could handle. Because as much as he wanted to shrug this off and pretend he didn’t need or want help, the truth was that he did need Eddie’s help and if getting that help meant getting all of Corroded Coffin on board and their manager, too then that’s what Steve would have to accept that.

“I really appreciate this,” he murmured. “I knew my dad was going to make trouble. I just didn’t think he’d go this far. To make sure I didn’t have anything but my car and my clothes.”

“I know, little Canary,” Eddie said, “just put your trust in me and I’ll take care of you. Okay?”

“Okay, Eddie,” Steve breathed. “I owe you so much and I don’t know how I can pay you back.”

“You don’t owe me anything, I’m just happy to be able to help you.”

Steve let out a shuddering breath. He closed his eyes as tears began to well. He was just so overwhelmed from the kindness of a stranger that he was about to start bawling right there on the phone. A hiccuping sob escaped his lips and then it was like the floodgates had opened. He just sobbed and sobbed. No one had ever been this kind to him before.

“Oh, sweetheart,” Eddie cooed. “I wish I could be there to hold you. So this will just have to do.” And then he started singing softly. It was gentle and slow and spoke of having a safe place to land.

Slowly his sobs slackened and he gave a final hiccup. “That was beautiful. Did you write it?”

“Sure did,” Eddie said proudly. “First song I ever wrote in fact. Wrote it the night the court awarded permanent custody of me to my Uncle Wayne. I knew from that moment on that my dad couldn’t come back and hurt me again.”

Steve rolled over onto his belly with a sigh. “That must have felt so good. Having someone you trusted to step up and take care of you.”

“He’s a good man,” Eddie agreed warmly. “And this is me paying that kindness forward to you, little Canary.”

Steve let out a small shuddering breath, letting the knot in his chest loosen. “So tell me about your concert tonight,” he said. “Where were you playing again?”

Eddie made a small huff of laughter. “We were in Texas tonight...”

Steve let Eddie’s warm voice wash over him.

“You feeling sleepy, my little Canary?” Eddie murmured after awhile.

He let out a little sleepy snuffle. “No.”

Eddie chuckled. “If you say so sweetheart.” And he continued to talk until the snuffles became a soft sonorous snore.

“Good night, Stevie.”

~

Steve woke up to the dial tone in his ear again. He moaned as he rolled over on his back and ran his fingers through his hair.

He needed to stop falling asleep to the musician’s voice. It was really becoming a problem. It always made him wake up hard as a fucking rock. He picked up the phone and put back in its cradle. He flopped back on the bed. He lifted the covered to glare at his aching erection.

He palmed his cock in an attempt to get it go to down. But instead it made it worse. He pushed down harder, but his own roughness made him moan. He could feel the outline of cock as it throbbed against his hip.

He hadn’t gone this long without at least rubbing himself off since he was a stupid freshman. He knew he should wait until he was in the shower, but the walk would be so fucking painful. Steve threw off the covers and then shoved the front of his shorts down to free his cock. He then slowly unbuttoned his sleep shirt. Rubbing his nipples and stroking his chest to get himself really riled up.

If he was going to this, he was going to wring out as pleasure out of this as he possibly could. He lifted his hips and slid the shorts off as slow as he could.

He brought his hands back up his legs, his thighs spreading as his palms cupped his cock. It was leaking at the tip and he dragged his thumb over his slit, smearing it across the glans. He moaned again. This time louder. That felt so good. He did it again, going the other direction. Slow and rough.

He imagined Eddie watching him. Directing his every move. How hard he should pull. How rough he should get.

The way he came hard and long was a testament to Eddie’s raw sexual power, and Steve’s vivid imagination. He grabbed a couple of tissues from the tissue box next to the bed and cleaned himself up the best he could.

Then he shucked off the top and waddled into the shower, tossing the tissues on his way.

~

It was a little bit before noon by the time Steve got to call Dustin.

“Steve!” Dustin greeted warmly. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”

“What are you dorks up to today?” he asked bluntly.

“I don’t know,” Dustin whined. “I don’t think we really have any plans. At least not together.”

“Call up the goon squad and find out,” Steve said. “And then call me back.”

Steve could feel the kid’s skepticism through the phoneline as he thought about it. “Yeah. Fine. I’ll call you back.”

Just before he hung up, Dustin bit out. “We call ourselves The Party, Steve. Not the goon squad.”

“You call yourselves the party Steve?” he murmured. “That’s so sweet of you–”

There was a click and a dial tone. Steve grinned at the receiver before putting it down on the cradle. He threw open his wardrobe and started shifting through his new clothes. He was going somewhere with a lot of kids and soda and greasy pizza, so nothing too fancy.

Not finding anything fit the bill, he went through his drawers. He decided on a nice pair of jeans and a dark blue tanktop with a black short sleeved button up over the top. He fixed his hair in the mirror and then pulled on his old sneakers. He didn’t want to get any of his new shoes sticky.

He had run his fingers through his hair one more time when the phone rang.

“Hello!” he greeted.

“Well, hello to you too little Canary,” the warm velvet voice sounded through phone. “You sound happy today.”

Steve’s gut felt like warm chocolate had pooled there. “Hi-ya, Eddie.”

“I was just calling to tell you that I’ll be out of rang cell phone wise and so you won’t be able to call me until I get to Arizona tomorrow.”

“Awww...” Steve huffed. “Way to make me sad.”

“I know, sweetheart,” Eddie purred. “I just wanted to make sure you knew, so that I didn’t think I was avoiding you.”

A soft smile tugged at his lips. “Thanks for that.”

“Have a good day, okay?” Eddie said.

“I’ll try!” Steve chirped back.

He barely hung up the phone before it rang again, his hand never leaving the receiver. “Hey.”

“Steve!” Dustin cried. “I tried to call you but your line was busy!”

Steve let out a long slow sigh. “Other people do call me, Dusty. Like the guy who’s paying for all this?”

Dustin huffed. “Well if you would just tell me who he is, maybe I would be more forgiving...”

“Ain’t gonna happen, Dusty,” Steve bit out. “I don’t want it getting back to my dad who it is. And before you tell me you’ll never tell. You’ll say something when you think no one is around and someone will hear you. Until my dad gives up his little Crusade, I ain’t tell you shit.”

“Come on, Steve...” Dustin begged.

“I was going to take everyone to the arcade today but if you’re going to keep hounding me about it, maybe I won’t.”

The line went silent.

“I’m sorry, Steve,” Dustin murmured. “I just want to make sure he’s a good guy and not taking advantage you.”

Steve let out a breath through his nostrils and closed his eyes tightly. “He isn’t even in Hawkins right now and I don’t know when he’ll be back, okay?” He pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Okay.”

Then he held the phone away from his ear.

Wait for it.

Wait…for…it.

“You want to take everyone to the arcade?!” Dustin screamed.

“Sure do, bud,” Steve said once it was safe to do so.

“I can’t wait to tell everyone!” Dustin screeched. “When? What time are you come over? Details please!”

Steve worked out all the details and sorted out rides. When they finally hang up, Steve positively beaming.

Eddie was paying forward the kindness his uncle gave to him to Steve. And Steve was paying it forward to his kids. And that left a warm feeling in his chest like nothing else could.

~

Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17 Part 18 Part 19 Part 20 Part 21 Part 22 Part 23 Part 24

Tag List: CLOSED

1- @rozzieroos @itsall-taken @redfreckledwolf @zerokrox-blog @beelze-the-bubkiss

2- @gregre369 ​@a-little-unsteddie @chaosgremlinmunson @messrs-weasley @cryptid-system

3- @maya-custodios-dionach @goodolefashionedloverboi @val-from-lawrence @carlyv @wonderland-girl143-blog

4- @justforthedead89 @irregular-child @bookbinderbitch @bookworm0690 @forgottenkanji

5- @anne-bennett-cosplayer @yikes-a-bee @awkwardgravity1 @littlewildflowerkitten @genderless-spoon

6- @dragonmama76 @ellietheasexylibrarian @thedragonsaunt @useless-nb-bisexual @disrespectedgoatman

7- @counting-dollars-counting-stars @tinyplanet95 @ravenfrog @swimmingbirdrunningrock @lingeringmirth

8- @gutterflower77 @a-lovely-craziness @just-a-tiny-void @w1ll0wtr33 @sticknpokelightningbolt

9- @scoops-aboy86 @kurofuckingshi16 @watermelonmite @eyehartart @dreamercec

10- @little-birch-boy @yearningagain @micheledawn1975 @blondie1006 @sadisticaltarts

[fic-dumpster]

The road so far

Summary: Have you ever wondered what goes through a writer’s mind while she’s trying to complete the stories you like so much? Well! Wonder no more! Here’s a first look into a writer’s unstable mind!

Characters: Bonten against Omi (no x because it’s war)

Word count: 1K

Content Warnings: fighting, slight breaking of the fourth wall, sitcoms, crackfic, it’s a joke. Yes, it can be read as x reader… just pretend. Hostility, a meme, DIH references, other fandoms mentioned.

A.N: TAKEOMI IS NOT OMI. I am Omi. I wrote this in 15 so it’s very rushed. idk… this is me trying to portray my internal struggles while I write. I just worked joke of 1000 words… and yes, characters never listen to what we want.

“If you think we’re gonna cooperate with you after leaving us for almost three years, you’re delusional,” Kokonoi crossed his legs once he sat down in front of Omi.

Omi had called a meeting with Bonten in hopes of coming to an agreement. She needed to work on her WIPs but her characters weren’t cooperating.

“As a matter of fact, I am delusional,” Omi answered, sipping from her water bottle, “anyway, I just need to finish the rest of the meetings and we’re done! Swear!”

Around her, the rest of Bonten sat with serious faces. Nobody was happy to be there. After her disappearance a few years ago, things weren’t quite as peaceful between them as they used to be.

“Yeah, yeah. I see how you are. Use us and drop us.” Sanzu sounded bitter and angry. He didn’t take the vanishing so well. He had bonded with her and she just left him. That wasn’t right in his book.

“Ugh, women…” With a sigh, Rindou stretched his long limbs, showing how tired and stressed he was.

“What do you mean ‘ugh? Women?’” Omi harshly questioned Rindou with a frown on her face.

“Nothing…” he replied nonchalantly, sitting up straight once again.

“Forget that! You clearly have preferences for certain members.” As she heard that voice her skin began to crawl. Hair standing on end, Omi slowly turned towards the source— once she saw his obnoxious face, only irritation was left behind.

“Oh, shut up, Ran! I wrote your story with your brother first! Why are you complaining?” She quickly replied, raising her hand in protest.

“Because he’s one of those,” added Mochi in a whisper.

So much of a whisper that was… half the men present burst out laughing which caused Ran to sigh in frustration. He was done. So many years and he still didn’t know what the hell that meant.

“We can't just hop back in,” Takeomi’s voice raised above the hysterical laughter of his peers.

Omi deflated at his words. She dreaded the worst… Was this how things were going to end?

“Please, I’ll do anything! I can’t leave the story like that!” Her eyes began to water as desperation crept in.

“Well, too bad! You left!” Sanzu’s bitterness didn’t falter, not even at the sight of unshed tears in her eyes.

“I said I was sorry! And I was busy with life, you know?”

“Yeah? Life? Then who are those guys? Rhysand? Sylus? Jinshi?” Sanzu spoke each name with disdain.

“Yeah! Who’s Umemiya? And some dude named Hoshina?” Rindou backed him up.

“More? I only heard about Sanji—” Kakucho suddenly intervened but was cut off by Omi.

“Okay! Stop! Oh my gosh!! Stoop!” Omi’s face had changed three different types of red in the last few seconds, “That… has nothing to—“

“Bullshit! I call bullshit! You created a different blog for the Stylus guy!” Sanzu was not dropping the subject.

“Oh my gosh! Let it go! And his name is Sylus!”

“AHAA!” Pink hairs wildly flew everywhere as Sanzu stood up and pointed an accusatory finger at Omi.

“Just… just help me write the few chapters I’m missing and the end. That’s all I’m asking… I lost the WIPs and I can’t by myself…” she pleaded. Internally praying they understood her dire situation.

“What do we get in return?” Mikey finally spoke after observing the back and forth between his men and Omi.

That sentence perked her up. A ray of hope finally came in between the stormy clouds.

“What-what would you want?” She asked with bright eyes and a new determination ignited.

“We can discuss that later,” Mikey waved his hand dismissively.

Omi nodded eagerly in return. Finally! Some progress. “Okay, fine… that’s good…”

After Mikey’s short exchange of words, they decided to end the meeting. It was time to move forward and begin working. Everyone stood up and began to leave the room.

They saw Omi move to the side with Takeomi and they started to talk amicably, with smiles and very friendly hand gestures. It was like time had never passed for them. She didn’t treat him differently and Takeomi seemed comfortable with her.

“Why does she like the old man…” Kakucho wondered out loud.

“It’s the daddy issues, I bet,” Sanzu was seething as he kept watching the scene play in front of him.

“What did you say?!” You turned your head like the exorcist once you heard those words leave Sanzu’s lips.

“Does she have superhuman hearing? How the hell did she hear you?” Ran said with a bit of panic in his voice.

And it began. Omi had been chasing the pink-haired man for a while now…

“I DON'T NEED YOU, SANZU! I CAN FINISH DIH WITHOUT YOU!” But before she could catch him, a pair of hands caught her first, “UGH! KAKUCHO LET ME GO! HE’S DEAD!”

Meanwhile a bit further away from the commotion.

“We have agreed to help her. Was it really necessary to do all the drama?” Questioned Takeomi to Mikey and Mochi. The three men watched the rest battling it out.

“We voted and the majority chose to make drama before agreeing,” Mikey said as his eyes followed Sanzu speeding away from Omi,

“Even Koko?” Mochi was surprised by that information.

“Even Koko.” Mumbled the short man.

“RAN, YOU TOO! BOTH YOU AND SANZU ARE DEAD!” Omi yelled, still being held by Kakucho who was trying to help diffuse the situation.

“What did I do?”

“YOU’RE ONE OF THOSE!” She kicked her feet in an attempt to be let loose, “I SHOULD HAVE KEPT WRITING FOR HAIKYUU! They wouldn’t treat me like this!”

“Yeah? Well, go and play ball with your sporty boys!” Ran screamed back.

“You’re insufferable!” Omi screamed as she tackled Ran to the ground.

“She became way more violent in the years we didn’t see her,” Mikey commented and the rest of his executive nodded in agreement. Everyone just watched Omi and Ran scuffling on the floor.

Bonus:

Omi: and then you do as it says here *points to the script*

Kakucho: that’s too mean. I don’t want to do that.

Omi: you’re a criminal! How is it mean to push her face down and—

Kakucho: shhh no please *blushing*

Omi: I’m working with amateurs… *throws her stack of paper into the trash*

[inquisimer]

wip wednesday

...on a wednesday, even! Now that Arlathan eXchange is wrapped up, I've had a bit of time to work on things that can be shared publicly again, and I'm indulging myself by sharing two little snippets today (:

tags for @shivunin | @flowersforthemachines | @larkinna | @ttrevelyan | @tulipathy | @greypetrel and you 🫵 if you have something to share!

first, a bit from the post-canon rookanis-teiago-divorce-crow-civil-war-vanthi/teia fic (dear GOD I need a shorter name for this) that I've finally moved from just rotating to actually writing! I am so intimidated by scope and politics but I am doing it 😤

She’s familiar with the former First Talon’s language, the euphemisms she uses to dance around the parts of her grandson that she views as unsavory. It is one of the many points on which they disagreed: you cannot know a thing, cannot balance it or resolve it, unless you call it as it is. But even Caterina struggles to paint a pretty coat over this report. Which Vanthi probably could have surmised; things must be dire for her to admit to needing the assistance of anyone outside of the Crows. She can parse the message: Lucanis is spiraling. Stress, or grief, or self-flagellation—the cause matters less to Caterina than the result. Spite takes control more often. Their tenuous harmony, shattered without Vanthi there to smooth the rough edges their joining still digs into them both. His wings, just a shade to the left of Treviso’s purple lanterns, glitter in the sky at all hours of the night, a reminder to every Crow that, while the immediate danger has passed, all is not right with their First Talon. Fix him, Caterina writes, and Vanthi’s teeth click together, the thick parchment bending beneath her ire. Or at least watch. Ensure he does no greater harm. “She does not want a Watcher,” Vanthi grumbles. “She wants a leash.” “Most people do,” Myrna agrees. “Is it not our job to ensure they get what they need, rather than what they think they want?”

(divider credit) And below the cut, a bit of Lucanis & Illario silliness from a new AU (:

some unnecessary context: I was watching food network reruns last night, and one of the competitors said "two days before I opened my restaurant, a woman walked in off the street looking for a job. 10 years later, she's my wife." And my brain, like a predictable, overexcited puppy, went Rookanis AU? Rookanis AU???

So here's a snip of what I wrote of that, on a whim (:

Perhaps, Illario thinks, the news sheets wouldn't assign his cousin half as much mystique if they saw him now. Folding napkins. And unfolding them, and refolding them in a different way. For the third time so far this morning. "Cousin," he tries again. "Surely there's something else to be working on besides the place settings?" "No." Lucanis tucks a corner of the rich fabric beneath itself, holding an elaborate twist in place. "The menu is set, walk-in and bar are stocked, reservations organized. Fiddling with any of that will do more harm than good." "But the matter of napkin folding requires your personal attention?" Lucanis sets the new configuration atop the plate and tilts his head, considering. Then he picks it up, shakes it out, and begins again. "You do not have to stay. I told you there would be nothing for you here—you are the one who insisted." "This is perhaps the final night you will have free, cousin," Illario cajoles. "Would it kill you to spend it on something fun? You remember fun, don't you? That thing we used to have?"

[drchenquill]

✨ Writerblr intro ✨

[Because my old one was crusty and in dire need of a revamp]

Hello lovely person who stumbled upon this blog! I'm glad to have you and I welcome you to my writeblr! Let's start with a little writer introduction, shall we?

About me~

✨ 21+

✨ she/her

✨ You can call me anything you want! I don't have preferences in names!

✨ Animal lover! (proud owner of three dogs and four cats!)

✨ English is NOT my first language. Motherlanguages are Italian-German.

✨ I only write in German so everything you see here got translated.

✨ You can go check out my Pinterest where you can find boards of some of my OCs!

About my writing~

My favorite genres to write in are fantasy and romance (I dabble in other genres, but those are my main ones). I just love the fluff, the angst, the magic, everything to do with those genres.

I have a lot of WIPs, and I won't bore you by listing them all (because, let's be honest, the number can change at any moment.) But I do have some stories I've finished and translated that I can list!

Who's to judge?

"Humans, vampires. They always existed, they always fought for a place in this vast world. Some succeed, some lose themself in the journey to freedom. Thana was different. She never fought, she never stepped out of line. Thana gave up. She had nothing to fight for, nothing to hold onto.

But what would happen if one accident forces her out of her comfort zone? What would happen if she had to fight for something she had long forgotten? Fight for people she thought meant nothing to her?"

Crime/Mystery/Thriller/Vampires

The Monster's Pearl

"There was once a castle. It was huge and dark, not a soul dared to go near it. It was called "The Gate of the Underworld" because a lonely man lived there. Rumor had it that he was a demon who had crawled out of hell.

There was once a simple family. They had a healthy boy. He had black curls. They were so dark that even the night was afraid to get lost in them. His eyes were so bright that even the sun had to look away to avoid being blinded. His voice silenced the birds so that they could listen to him.

The little boy grew up healthy, unaware of the background to his birth. On his eighteenth birthday, he received two suitcases and a letter that would change his whole life.

Will he be able to adjust to his new life, or will he throw it all away?"

Romance/Drama/Fantasy/LGBTQ+

The Shadow of Her Dreams

"Molly Potts is an ordinary young woman who lives with her family in a small village in the middle of nowhere. Despite her peaceful life, she feels a great need to leave, to go somewhere where she can experience something instead of dying of boredom. But her monotonous life is quickly thrown off course when she and her brother discover something that will shake up their entire lives. And who is this woman who keeps appearing in her dreams?"

Fantasy/Adventure/Romance/Greek Mythology insipired

Short Stories

"As the title already explains, this is a collection of short stories that are too short to become a book, but still wanted to be told."

a lot of different genres

Foliè

"No one knew when it had begun. No one knew when the world had decided to destroy itself. But everyone knew that it was no longer safe. She thought she was safe, she thought the madness couldn't touch her, but all it took was a faint whisper, a tender promise, to drag her into damnation. Will she be able to free herself? Or will she discover things she is not up to?"

Dystopian, Mystery, Drama

WIPs

There are some WIPs I mentioned here and there, so I will make a little introduction for those~

Him and Me - Bound by Fate

"Leon Martens. A young art teacher ready to start a new life. He has a new job, a new apartment and maybe a change for peace. Sure, he struggles with human interactions and he'd rather not meet any humans in general, but he's happy with what he has. But since fate was something Leon couldn't prevent, he was thrown into a whirlwind of situations that made him question reality and, more than once, his own mental stability."

Fantasy/Mystery/Romance/LGBTQ+

Daisy

"Daisy ran, she ran as fast as her legs could carry her. She fled from a fate that was being forced upon her. She fled from her pack, or rather, from her alpha. The young Daisy was an omega. Ever since she was born, she knew that being born an omega was a curse. Her alpha believed that she belonged to him, that he could mark her, but Daisy wouldn't let that happen. Daisy wanted freedom, but what if her freedom led her into another pack? Will they be the same? And who is this nameless alpha that is considered as monster but manages to make her forget her fear?"

Werewolves/Romance/Drama

The Memories of The Future

"Sophie is an easily excitable, cheerful young girl. She lives with her aunt after her parents tragically passed away. Unfortunately, she doesn't remember much about them since she was just a baby. Her aunt and her border collie, Pepper, are the only ones Sophie has in her heart, and she'll spend the rest of her life with them. The only problem with her idyllic life is that little old Sophie has the attention span of a squirrel and it's hyperactivity. She misplaces, forgets, runs around, misplaces again, and those silly dreams and sudden flashes don't help. Also, who is this tall man who suddenly appears and claims that Sophie has visions? No, those are not visions, she just has a very vivid imagination, right?"

Fantasy/Adventure/Comedy

Adelaide

"Adelaide Blackmore, the gossip of all Povington. Growing up as the youngest of four children, with three full-grown and well-behaved sons, she was the worst thing that could have happened to her parents. Wild red hair that the maid had to style every day in vain. Her chemise dresses always had to be dark in color, as she didn't feel the need to avoid puddles or stay out of mud. The look in her dark eyes was penetrating, never receding. She grew up with three brothers, her whole childhood was spent fighting with the boys, so her noble mother couldn't expect her to grow up as a lady, not when she had to assert herself on a daily basis.

But Adelaide must be married, or her poor mother may never rest in peace. Enter Mr. Duncan Gilingham. A young man in his early 30s, he has just moved to Povington with his dear mother to find peace in the country. How nice, he was not married yet! But… oh dear, no wonder he is not married, the poor man was blind. How will Adelaide deal with this? Will she have pity on him, or is not even his blindness safe from her sharp tongue? How will she react when she finds in him a match for her rude nature, a man she thought incapable of taking care of himself?"

Romance/Drama

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

I am not a big rambler because I don't want to annoy anyone but I'm always open to questions or any sort of interactions. Also, i'm very tag game friendly!

Thank you for reading this far, I appreciate it! You are an amazing human being, don't let anyone tell you otherwise!

[kirbsmakemesmile]

Hey what’s up hello

Dude I’ve been rewatching KRBAY with my bestie bud @dirtyshoes15 and it’s like actually so sad so I’m gonna ramble a bit

In the episode with Kit Cosmos, he thinks Kirby is a monster right and he’s like, “Hah! Guess nightmare never taught this monster guerilla war tactics heh!😂😂” and it actually killed me NIGHTMARE USES GUERILLA WARFARE TACTICS THAT IS REALLY SCARY

The cappies are very ignorant and they have little to no education about their own history. They only have one historian who makes up “theories” but they’re never based on fact and are easily disproven (ep 8). Before episode 8 they said cappies migrated to dreamland, but in episode 8 curio said there were “ancient cappy artifacts” but both can’t happen? Sure there’s stuff from when they migrated but they wouldn’t be ancient?? Again in episode 24 curio completely lies about what the ninja scrolls mean and says they’re to teach ninjas how to do awesome tricks, but the scroll turns out to be some kids report card?? So it just shows how unreliable this guy is and how ignorant and misinformed these people are.

And lastly I wanted to talk about Wolfwrath. So in episode 26 it’s all about Mk, sword, blade, and Wolfwrath. They talk about how they met and yeah, but there’s an interesting shot during the flashbacks. There’s a scene showing the star warriors dead like all over and it’s really sad, and then it pans to Mk running away. Now when Mk later gets hit by wolfwrath and loses consciousness, he doesn’t die, he’s just paralyzed. But he only regains consciousness after Wolfwrath is dead. All the star warriors that were “dead” in that shot were not dead, they were all alive but paralyzed, they died like that dude it’s actually so sad. Nightmare is actually so evil it’s not funny. And so when Mk says that Kirby is their only hope, it’s because he couldn’t defeat Wolfwrath and neither could sword or blade, so that makes the situation super dire and puts all the pressure on Kirby. Not to mention, Kirby doesn’t really understand things yet he’s like a baby so he actually thinks Mk is dead

This is so sad dude if you freaking watch this show and look into it it’s really really sad I’m crying

Anyways I hope you liked my talking I will talk more if I remember other stuff BYE

Here’s a wip for reading

[emmg]

wip yeah yeah whatever it's never wednesday

I've been tagged by a few folks and I'm having trouble remembering because I've had a shitty ass day but I love you. And I miss you. And I need you.

So I'm tagging all my usual boos back. K thanksss. @aldisobey @heylittleriotact @thepalehorsevictoria @caffeinatedmunchkin @xxnashiraxx @jainydoe

I honestly don't really have anything in particular cooking, so this is just something from the next chapter of Aftertaste, the stupid sugar daddy AU I can't stop having fun with. It's one of the most cursed things I've written lmao

****

She tousles her hair. Bites her lips raw, like some tragic heroine wasting away in a garret. Paces the apartment for the most flattering light—nature’s filter, since she has standards—and extends one arm to the heavens, the other tugging at the neckline of her shirt. Nothing too obscene; wouldn’t want to inconvenience some tragically repressed colleague of his with a crisis of conscience. Then again—why not? 

Let them suffer. Let them swallow around the dryness in their throat, let them grip their pens a little tighter. A whisper of lace, just enough to suggest that yes, she owns lingerie, and no, it is not because she enjoys spending $80 on machine-washable disappointments. 

Let him imagine her breasts—imagine that they exist, that they could, theoretically, be his to touch, that perhaps, if he’s really exceptionally well-behaved, he might even get to slide his cock between them. Not that there’s much to work with—more symbolism than substance, more spiritual journey than actual grip—but hey, she suspects he’s the kind of man who would whimper at the mere suggestion of friction. The type to shudder through it, clutch at her shoulders afterward like she’s just guided him through some kind of sacred, transcendent experience—one that leaves him dazed, vulnerable, and in dire need of a therapist with very strong professional boundaries.

Maybe, just maybe, if fate is kind and the gods of dignity finally decide to smile upon him, next time he spills onto her face or neck, it will be on purpose. A deliberate choice rather than an unfortunate trajectory issue. Perhaps even with a plan this time, some semblance of aim, a fraction of control. And afterward, he’ll do the gentlemanly thing: wipe the tear tracks from his face, mumble something about how he’s never felt this way before (bless his heart), and take out his wallet to buy her a pearl necklace—the kind that actually comes in a box, not the kind she has to scrub off in the shower.

It wouldn’t be a hardship. She finds, to her mild surprise, that she actually likes the man. At least as a human being, which is more than she can say for most. 

Click. Send. 

She knows he sees it because he is the kind of technologically inept buffoon who never figured out how to disable his read receipts. A man living in blissful ignorance of his own transparency. How cute. 

A pause. 

Dot. Dot. Dot. 

Nothing. 

Dot. Dot. Dot. 

A great, yawning chasm of nothing. 

She sighs and plops her ass on the bed. 

Dot. Dot. Dot. 

Perhaps he has died.

Perhaps the mere implication of cleavage has sent him into full cardiac arrest, right there at his desk. Emmrich Volkarin, well into his fifth-or-whatever decade, struck down—not by time, not by fate, but by the revolutionary concept of boobs. Maybe he hit his head on a stack of his own pretentious books—some dusty, 800-page discourse on moral decay—and perished instantly, a martyr to propriety. Mr. Professor, defeated by décolletage. Tragic. 

Ah. Something. 

A ha-ha reaction, skittish and accidental, yanked back almost immediately, and replaced with the trembling penitence of a heart.

And still. No. Words. 

She rolls her eyes, sends him a photo of the most aesthetically offensive thing in her apartment. 

That’s my monstera

This time, a response. Still criminally slow, but at least they've moved past Morse code levels of hesitation. 

Emmrich, miracle of miracles, finally sends a photo back. 

It’s a dog. Poorly cropped. Enthusiastically blurry. A dog in spirit, certainly, but in form? A vague collection of fur and misplaced limbs. The man takes photos like a cryptid spotter. But hey, at least the pup looks happy. 

This is my Manfred.

Manfred. 

What an absolute catastrophe of a name for a dog. 

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Collision

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, blood, injury, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: you find yourself in the hands of unexpected saviours after an accident.

Characters: Bucky Barnes, Helmut Zemo

Note: Ugh, here we go.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

A loud bang awakes you.

You're not in your bed. Not sleeping. That cloudy feeling in your head combines with the haze of dust across your vision. The same ash coats your skin, suffocating as you writhe beneath the weight that pins you.

You moan and cough, dizzy and dazed as your mind turns slowly. You reach up instinctively to drag yourself free of whatever is on you. The effort does little more than pull more scraps of plaster towards you.

You fall flat and wheeze. What the heck happened? You blink and try to wipe the grime from your face.

It comes in patches. The big building, the interview, your borrowed heels. The desperation that's now turned dire as you stare at the singed ceiling.

"Dammit," a voice snarls as there's a clatter. Some metal thumps and there's a hiss. "You goddamn--" the man stops himself. "I said no bombs."

"You said you wanted a way in, soldat," the lilted slither returns.

"Don't call me that. I'll break your jaw," the deeper voice warns. "I doubt that thing you're wearing will protect you. You look stupid."

"Well, forgive me for having taste," the other man snickers. "You got what you needed--"

"I don't need all this. Do you have any idea the kinda shit that's gonna rain down on me. You're lucky this place was as shell--"

Your throat clogs with ash and you cough again. You try to wet your lips but even your tongue is pasty with the stuff. Their voices silence. You listen but only hear one pair of steps.

A shadow appears on the other side of the lumber and metal that traps you. Another from your other side you don't hear. You raise your palm helplessly to shield yourself. Blood covers your fingers, one of them bent to the side. You whimper and choke again.

"Shit, I told you--" The bare-faced man snarls at the one in the strange purple mask.

"She was not in my calculations," the other rebuffs.

"Not in your--" the other huffs and stops himself. He drops to one knee over you. "Miss, miss, can you hear me?"

You try to answer and your voice comes out like a fizzle. He shakes his head and turns to sneer at the other man. He stands and lifts the thick pillar from over you, clearing away the rest of the mess.

"Little help," he snips at the other.

"I think you got it," the other pulls a thin thread free of his glove.

"Miss," the other man kneels again, feeling around his belt. He frees a canteen and searches his pockets. He shrugs and pours the water over your face. He wipes the dust away with his hand then put the neck above your lips. "Don't swallow, you gotta rinse this stuff out."

He fills your mouth and you gag. He hurriedly sits you up and you hack out the liquid with a rattle. Your arms hangs at your left side and you grunt at the pang in your bones.

"Zemo! You just gonna watch."

"Yes," the other man answers smugly. "What are we going to do with the creature?"

"You're serious?"

"I am... on the lamb, as you say," the other shrugs.

"Get the car," the man holding you up growls.

"Wh-what..." you can barely speak for the pain. Your head droops as the room tilts in your vision and you stare down at the red stain across your pressed blouse. Blood. Your blood.

"Go!" The man yells.

The footsteps of the other scamper off beneath his grumble. The man lifts you as you put your head back and scream in horror. You feel the blood draining out of you.

"Shh, stop," he hisses as he walks over the piles of rubble. "Don't do that, alright? You gotta calm down."

"B-b-but..." you babble and put your hands to your side, feeling the warm stickiness.

"That's it, doll, put pressure on it." He girds as he nears the blown-out wall.

You whine and quake as you obey him. You tuck your chin down and focus on containing the flow. An engine whirs up and he angles you around to open the door. He slides you into the backset and follows you.

"Go," he orders the driver.

"Oh, Barnes," the man he called Zemo tuts. "Not such a cold heart after all."

"Be quiet," he snips. Barnes?

He slides something free of the pocket in the door and opens the small chest. He takes out gauze and folds it in layers.

"Let me get a look," he touches your hand with his. His fingers are forged in metal. Huh?

Your hand slips and he wipes with the gauze. He hums as he leans in, parting the torn fabric around the gash.

"Not awful," her mutters.

"Dying," you murmur.

"No," he insists. "Zemo, what are you doing? Taking in the sights?"

"Be calm. It wouldn't do to draw attention," he insists.

The other man growls again but keeps tending to you. He tugs your shirt up above your chest and wraps your middle, padding around the cut with a thick layer of cotton. He knots it tight then puts his fingers to your neck.

"Pulse is strong," he says then feels along your arm. You cry out as he touches left. "Can you move it?"

You try and shriek again.

"Dear man, her screams are rather distracting."

"Shut up." Barnes' lips thin. "Alright, uh," he unzips his jacket and slips his hand under, fishing around. "Just relax, doll. I got something will help you until we get you fixed up."

He slides out a metal tube. You squint, your lashes still covered in dust. A sharp point pops out the end. Before you can react, he jabs it into your upper arm. A coolness spreads through your vein and tingles over you, washing out the agony.

"Zemo..." Barnes hisses as your eyes drift upward into the sockets. "... you goddamn idiot."

💞

Swaths of black and grey fold into each other in the abstraction of your subconscious. You forget the ruin, the blood, the fear. You forget yourself as you sink into the pit.

A glimmer of light breaks the void. A thin line between your eyelids. Your skull pulses and you feel as if you're moving. You open your eyes completely. You're still. Laying on your back, propped up slightly, in a king bed.

Where are you? The world around you is unfamiliar. The tall posts of the bed frame, the canopy pinned back behind them, the silky duvet and sheets. For all the comfort, you are entirely uncomfortable.

Your shoulder hurts, your ribs and side too, your face is thrumming, and your finger is on fire. You look down at your right hand. Your pink is wrapped and splinted. Your left shoulder is achy, your arm bent into a sling. The blankets are folded right beneath your elbow, hiding the rest of your injuries.

You remember the earth shaking, the dust, the voices. Those men...

You peer around as slowly the edges of your vision sharpen. There's a large painting showing a scene of ribaldry, men and women from another era sloshing wine without modesty. The furniture is antique and polished, well-kept, the wall-paper vintage but not gauche.

Next to you is a folded paper standing like a pyramid. Next to it, a golden bell. The card reads; ring me.

You whimper at just the thought of moving. You don't even try your left arm. You reach and grab the handle, your pinky kept straight in the splint. You tinkle the bell and the noise rattles in your head. You put it down to quiet the sharp noise.

You wait. You don't hear anything. Nothing changes.

You close your eyes and ease against the pillows. You hurt so bad. You wish you could just go back to sleep but the pain keeps you restless.

There's a creak. You look out from beneath your lashes as the door opens. A man enters. Brown hair, browner eyes, and a permanent smirk written into his thin lips.

"Darling, you are alive!" He raises his glass of dark liquid and slurps bawdily. "Cheers to you."

You blink. You know that voice. The buzzing in your ears clears.

"Zemo?"

"You remember!" He winks triumphantly. "Ah, but you must be miserable. Scotch?"

He comes closer and offers the glass. He wears a silken robe that gives a peek at his fluffy chest hair. You frown and shake your head, grimacing at the ripples of pain.

"I do recommend it. In your state, especially."

"Zemo," his voice rolls like silt in the air. He backs away and turns to watch the other man enter. The one with the metal arm.

"Barnes," you croak.

He stops short and looks at Zemo. "Bucky," he corrects you.

You can only nod. Just once before you moan and quiver against the pillows.

"It must be wearing off," he shakes his head and approaches. He opens the drawer of the nightstand. He takes out another metal tube. "Half-dose this time. Don't wanna make a habit."

He pokes your arm again. Too quick for you to react. You sigh as the soothing floe overrides your pain.

"You do like them sedated, eh?" The other man teases.

"Why are you in here?" Bucky spins on his cohort. "Hm? And why aren't you dressed?"

"You should be praising me. I was quick to respond for her call for help. I did not even fully draw my bath. I came at once."

"With scotch?"

"Well, forgive me for enjoying the finer things."

"You are unbelievable."

"Me? You are the one who absconded with a casualty."

"I did not--"

"You should've taken her to hospital."

"You said--"

"You don't usually listen to me," Zemo counters coyly. Your eyelids droop as their argument turns to low drones in your itchy ears.

"Doll," Bucky startles you as suddenly he's beside you, sat on the edge of the bed with a glowing glass of water. "You need to drink some. Eat too."

You gurgle senselessly. He leans the brim on your lips and slowly tips it into your mouth. He gentle rubs your throat to make your swallow. It's almost soothing.

"We're just gonna get you back to new then..." he trails off into a sigh. "Wasn't supposed to happen." He trades the glass for a bowl. "Soup."

He offers the spoon. You bat your lashes and open your mouth numbly. He feeds you the warm broth. You close your mouth and gulp with effort.

"Sorry, ya know? It's not-- not what I'm doing-- I thought--" he shakes his head. "Does it matter what I say? Look at you."

You don't say anything. You can't. He feeds you another bite and you shakily move your right hand towards him. You touch the hem of his shirt. He looks down in confusion.

"What?" He furrows his brow, blue eyes swimming like water sparkling over the coast.

"Know... you." You utter as your brain flickers.

He shrugs and scoops up more soup. As he hovers it before you, you groan and lift your hand to touch his. You brush the metal plates of the heel cradling the bowl.

"Hero." You say as the thoughts slowly piece together.

He sighs and looks down. His jaw clenches and his nose flares. He glances over his shoulder.

"Trying," he utters.

You keep your hand up, shifting it to look at your pinky. You frown. He does too. He rests the spoon in the bowl and gently guides your hand down.

"Tried to fix you up," he spoons up more soup. "Gonna be a bit."

You take another bite. It's better the more you eat. Not as stringent. Your stomach slowly adjusts.

You watch him as you eat. That seems to make him nervous. You remember him from pictures and videos. On the news. In history books.

"Bucky," you say.

"Just like I said, doll," he affirms.

You nod and open your mouth again. He puts the spoon in and you suck it clean. Now he watches you.

"Sorry about my... about Zemo."

You shake your head and wave weakly. You push your hand on the bed and try to sit up. His eyes flash.

"Woah, don't-- you gotta take it easy."

You fall back and whine. He sets the bowl down and turns to help you, sitting you up higher as he adjusts the pillows. He draws back, his hands brushing your sides and he sits again.

"Doll, you need anything, you say so." He eyes you with concern. "Already did enough damage."

[missgrom]

WIP Wednesday

Tagged by @reggiesfilthylittlesecret (thank you)! Snippet of a WIP of a Superbat fanfic that will eventually get posted in full on Ao3 (Working title "Kent saved by the Bat"):

Alfred needed to be patient while he waited for what felt like an eternity for Clark Kent to wake up from his surgery. Even if the former military had managed to remove the larger pieces of green kryptonite, Superman would have to take care of the remaining fragments himself. It was as if a bullet from a shotgun had splintered within him, thus making it impossible to surgically remove every trace of the lethal substance - at least with the equipment currently available in the Batcave. Alfred could only hope that his effort had been enough, yet he waited in distress as time went by with the Kryptonian unconscious and his future uncertain. 

Ultimately, he could exhale in relief as his patient woke up. What had felt like an excruciating amount of time, had considering every aspect of the injury really been a healing speed remarkably quick. Not of this world.

A soft groan escaped Superman as he started to look around, reaching with one hand for his chest which still felt a bit sore. "Wh-what happened..?" Still in a haze, he wasn't even quite sure where he was. But Alfred Pennyworth's face was a familiar ally. "Alfred..?" It didn't take long to put one and one together. "How did I get here? How could Bruce..?" Sitting up, he felt the strain on his body and grunted. Not a hundred percent fit for fight yet, but was the threat taken care of? Worry arose in the Kryptonian as he stood up on wobbly feet. 

"Mr Kent. I advise you to stay and gather your strengths for a minute or two. We almost lost you, sir."

"Please, you know you can just call me Clark. And I..." Looking around, taking a moment to gain balance, he took the scene in. Clean but indeed a place that had seen blood recently. His own blood. "You saved me. I'm grateful, Alfred."

"Well, I can't take the full credit, Mist- Clark..." The butler bowed gently with his head to acknowledge the other's reminder of what to call him.

"Where is he?" A hint of worry grew within Clark as he already made up a thousand scenarios in his head, speculating about where the owner of this cave could be. Last thing he remembered was them being in the middle of a fight against a number of otherworldly enemies. They'd been trapped and isolated, not even J'onn had seemed to sense their location nor their dire situation.

"After a lot of nagging, I managed to send him off to his bedroom where he's at least supposed to be resting now. I patched him up after I was done with you, but he was stubborn as always, wanting to stay here until you would awake."

A subtle smile found its way to Clark's face.

"For what it's worth, I'm glad to not see him here then." If it meant Bruce had finally gone to have some well deserved sleep in order to recover from his own injuries.

"I assume you're just as stubborn when it comes to not taking it easy?"

Clark put a gentle hand on the other's shoulder, straightening his back as he was getting more stable by the second. "I'm okay, really. Thanks to you." A soft smile showed his genuine gratitude. 

"Yeah, I've heard that one before..." Alfred muttered, though still finding relief in Superman's relatively quick recovery.

"I'm sure you have," Clark admitted, thinking of how the Bat would always ignore his health in favour of working. "I'll go check up on him."

~ Since I'm a total noob on tumblr, I don't really have people to tag that didn't tag me or was already tagged with me for this. So leaving it open for anyone to take up the WIP Wednesday "challenge" and hoping I did this the right way!