#Hi Tag list! I'm going to be posting a bunch over the next hour or so this will be your one and only tag. I don't wanna overwhelm you!

[typically-untypical]

Super Secret Crushes

AU: Superheros

CW: None that I can think of

WC: 1,217

Date: 12/5/2023 (or at least it was supposed to be 🤣)

"Fuck, Remus, stop shoving," Virgil muttered as he stepped out of the way of his teammate, best friend, and boyfriend. There were three of them in the group; Janus who had a manipulative power that allowed him to gather intel and information; Remus who had a shadow power that was rather creepy when he let loose; and Virgil whose super power was anxiety, not literally, but he was up most nights working on tech that would help him out in any of the thousands of situations that might happen when his two boy friends were reckless idiots who liked to fight injustice, not crime, but injustice. Virgil also suspected he had healing powers, though he couldn't prove it. It wasn't anything miraculous like people being instantly healed but Janus and Remus both seemed to heal faster when he was around. Virgil wrote it off for the first few years, but he was beginning to get suspicious. 

They had gotten together in college, high on booze and emotions as they all realized they had a bone to pick with the way their society was set up. They had formed a team and the three of them tried to fix what they believed was wrong in the world. Though, Virgil was mostly just trying to keep them all together. It had been amazing thus far, terrifying but amazing. When Janus got caught in a building on fire, that's when Virgil started to believe he had healing powers. Janus shouldn't have healed as quickly as he did, but somehow, he had made it through all right. 

Maybe that was Virgil's excuse for trying to stick close to the super-ordinary Patton. The soft little baker was a shining light in the world of shadows they had chosen. Virgil, Janus, and Remus couldn't call a lot of attention to themselves, which meant few friends in their non-costumed lives. Patton, however, wasn't a friend. He was a business owner that the three of them just so happened to get close to.

"He's just so fucking cute, I can't help but look at him!"

"Shhut up," Janus hissed as he strolled through the hallway, grabbing both of them by the ear and pulling them away. "Look, he knows us as the three idiots who go on dates at his bakery. He doesn't know who we really are and he doesn't need to, understood?"

Virgil and Remus looked at each other before rolling their eyes.

"Of course not," Virgil muttered. "We just never see him out of the bakery. Both of us are just trying to get a good look." It wasn't just that, they all knew it wasn't just that. Patton had been working his charm on all three of them, with his cinnamon sweet smile and his chocolate eyes, Patton was the definition of adorable.

"And what happens when he sneaks up on either of you?" Janus hissed before feeling a warm hand on his shoulder.

"Um... Janus? Not that I'm not happy to see you all, but why am I here?" Patton's sweet voice made all of them jump a bit, thankfully none of Remus' shadows came out and they were all able to stand there floundering for words rather than floundering to control their powers. Remus and Virgil looked to Janus. He was the one who took charge normally and they were looking for him to take charge now.

"Apologies, Patton, you were caught in a villain fight," He caught his wind, sliding into the smoothness of his usual routine. Only Virgil and Remus noticed the shake of his hands. "Do you remember the event? I believe the three of us panicked and took you here to make sure you were okay. A hospital probably would have been a better route but sometimes in the moment these two can be frantic." Certainly not him. Virgil rolled his eyes.

"I..." Patton paused, putting a hand to his head. "I think I remember. It was at the bakery, right?" He asked and the three nodded in unison. "And Virgil threw himself over me."

Virgil blushed at that. He had created a short term force field. It was enough to keep either of them from being crushed too quickly, and he might have jumped into danger to protect Patton. So what, it wasn't like he was a hero. Patton was just really good looking. Janus and Remus were eyeing him suggestively and hiding slightly behind Janus so Patton wouldn't see, Virgil flipped Remus off. He then proceeded to grab his hood and pull it over his head.

"I just didn't want you to get hurt P, you make such good snacks."

"Oh, kiddo." Patton smiled, maneuvering around Janus to give Virgil a small kiss on the cheek. Virgil's entire face went red and Remus began laughing maniacally. "Don't think you're getting out of affection," Patton smiled up at Remus. "You were the one who called for help, right? I'm not sure how you maneuvered through the rubble but I'm sure we wouldn't have gotten help nearly as quickly without you!" Patton leaned over and gave Remus a kiss on the cheek as well. However, this time he wasn't able to pull away fully as Remus grabbed his hands, eyes sparkling.

"Stay with us!" He said, the excitement showing in every part of his body.

"I think that is a very bad idea," Janus hissed. "Patton already has a home that he needs to return to, and he has his bakery." At that Janus turned to him, "Though we are happy to help clean up the bakery. A lot of heroes’ associations don't stick around for after the destruction, and if your bakery is in need of any repair we'd love to help."

"Are you just upset because you didn't get a cheek kiss Mister?" Patton asked Janus but his smile was faltering a bit. Janus could tell this whole thing had been a bit too much for the other man. He slowly reached out, pulling Patton into a gentle hug.

"Yes, that's exactly what's wrong, and not at all that I don't want these two to overwhelm you." Patton clung tighter to Janus than he had been expecting, but he continued just to hold the other man closely without saying a word. Virgil and Remus at least knew when to back off, so they quietly slipped away, already knowing they had a mission to help get Patton's bakery back up and running.

 "Would y'all go back with me? Make sure it's structurally sound, and if not maybe I could stay with you for a few days? I don't want to be an inconvenience but I would love the help."

"I'm sure the two of them wouldn't mind in the slightest. However, it seems they've both run off. Why don't you help me make dinner? I'm sure those two will be back before we're done, then we can all check on your place together." 

Patton nodded. "Thanks!"

Janus wasn't sure how he was going to keep their identities a secret, especially when Remus was the antonym for stealth. Still, he already knew there was no turning back. The other two were smitten, and though he might lie to others, Janus rarely lied to himself.

He might be a little taken with the baker as well.

Tag List: @simplestoryteller @fantasticfangirl21 @joylessnightsky @glacierruler @tsspromptmonth

[bella-rose29]

the jockwood universe (college au)

basically jockwood is a thing now, and these are the generic world building hc's of this au :)

essentially what's going to happen is a bunch of x reader fics set within this universe, all probably slightly different but every one of them set with this same background to them, so... yeah!

(also a special thank you to the multiverse of George for helping answer my pestering questions)

Lockwood is on the football team/part of the university football society

Also the fencing society

George and Lockwood are friends from high school but are in separate circles in college

George is also on the ice hockey team 

Kipps is on the football team too

When they were like… preteens or something Kipps and Lockwood had a friendly football match where they were on opposing teams

Lockwood’s team beat Kipps’ by… a lot (and Kipps totally isn’t bitter about it)

Holly is a student rep

Lucy is in debate club and fencing

Skull is a campus cat who hisses and scratches everyone but Lucy

He’s called Skull bc he’s got a weird patch on his head that looks a bit like a skull

And also Lucy seems to always know what Skull wants?? It’s like she can actually talk to him or something 👀

Barnes is a very tired senior lecturer who is the academic advisor to the trio + Holly and Kipps, and he wishes they would stop hogging his office hours

The Winkmans are a family who live in town and sit on their porch every morning shouting abuse at people who walk past

Bobby!!! On the football team and also in band (plays the clarinet probably)

Kate and Ned as well - both on the football team and hang out with Kipps obviously, along with Bobby

Rotwells College is in the same town/city and often competes against the Fittes university (that Penelope is head of)

Flo goes to Rotwells’ and is in their fencing society, but she sneaks onto the Fittes campus all the time to feed the ducks and throw frozen peas at passing students

Visitors - there’s a lot of local folklore and haunted buildings, and Lockwood and Co go and investigate because they’re Like That

Technology is modern, and as such they have phones

And group chats

Obviously Lockwood and Co is the name of Lockwood, Lucy, George, and Holly’s group chat

Lockwood is surprisingly old-fashioned when it comes to technology though? Like he has a record player and cassette tapes in his room that he just whips out every now and then

People’s courses/degrees!

Lockwood’s course is chemical engineering with fine art/art history

George - chemistry

Lucy - English (language and literature)

Holly - English literature + publishing

Kipps - Architecture (but he’s a dick about it)

Ned - Spanish/Spanish + international development

Kat - chemical engineering

Bobby - history

Flo - classical and archaeological studies

tag list:

@no-morning-glories, @t2sh0, @informedimagining, @strawberryloveyyy, @chameleon021, @demigoddess-of-ghosts, @genderfluid-anime-goth, @cottagecore-babe, @ahead-fullofdreams, @light-23, @locknco, @briar-rose23, @mischivana, @ell0ra-br3kk3r, @superpositvecloudshipper, @mrsyixingunicorn10, @mitskiswift99, @anathemaloren, @ran23sblog, @taygrls, @dangelnleif, @el-de-phi, @augustisintheair, @wordsarelife, @tournesol77, @novelizt, @anthonylockwoodandco111, @curseofhecate, @karensirkobabes, @mrsklockwood, @whenselenefallsinlove, @zoom1374, @a-taken-url

and the multiverse of George (of course): @avdiobliss, @neewtmas, @oblivious-idiot, @bobbys-not-that-small, @lewkwoodnco, @uku-lelevillain, and @maraschinomerry 💕

I'm aware that there are a lot of people and if I've forgotten you then I am so so sorry (my tag lists are all over the place whoops), so if there is anybody who wants to be added to my lockwood tag list, then please go here!

I am aware that it has been a while, but from now on I will be checking this post every time I write a new fic to see who is there, so head on over to give a comment or a like and I'll pop you on for next time! <3

[yawnzzznnn]

Kisses for Seungheon

Requested by @dinozuha

⋆｡ ﾟ☁︎｡ ⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡ ⋆A/N⋆｡ ﾟ☁︎｡ ⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡ ⋆⋆

Ngl your lucky I'm in a really good mood (and I need comfort because my period is kicking my ass) or I wouldn't have posted twice in one day anyway enjoy it's also quite short-

Oh btw if anyone wants to be added to my 8Turn tag list (or any other) please send me an ask or DM me thank you

⋆｡ ﾟ☁︎｡ ⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡ ⋆A/N⋆｡ ﾟ☁︎｡ ⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡ ⋆⋆

TW: kissing : mind numbing fluff : cute Seungheon :

⋆｡ ﾟ☁︎｡ ⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡ ⋆⋆｡ ﾟ☁︎｡ ⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡ ⋆⋆｡ ﾟ

It was around 12am when Seungheon woke you up "pst yn" he said quietly although you weren't actually asleep since he wouldn't leave you alone before hand anyway

You sighed before speaking "what Seungheon?" You said causing him to smile at you then he started making a kiss sound causing you open your eyes "what-" you asked and he made the noise again "kiss me I want a kiss" he said making the kissing noise louder

Causing you to sigh even louder pretending to be mad fighting back to smile that grew on your face you rolled over and faced away from him making him gasp "rude!" He said and rolled you back over "I just want to love you but your so mean..." He said pretending to be sad "I don't know what you mean I'm literally the best boyfriend who's ever lived on earth" you said fake flipping your hair

"Then kiss me it takes two seconds" he said giving you puppy dog eyes you rolled your eyes before leaning closer waiting for him to meet you half way after a second he realized what you meant and met you in the middle the second after your lips touched you pulled away and rolled over "that's not a kiss!" He said climbing over you to get to your face

He held your face and forced you to give him a proper kiss after what felt like hours he pulled away and keaned back in and placed a peck on your lips before crawling back over you to his spot and backed hugged you

The next morning you both woke up with a bunch of camera flashes going off and the members giggling like school girls

363 𝕎𝕠𝕣𝕕

6-4-23

[storiesofsvu]

Hello, 1,4 and 7 for the deep fic asks please?

Ps. I started reading Brazen Qualities after it came up on my dash 👌 I'm absolutely hooked and had to stop so I could be a responsible adult and go to bed at a decent hour. Your an amazing writer and I'm sure I'll annoy you with questions and comments 💛

hi!!

1- what's the fic you're most proud of?

Serendipitous Secrets & Surprises, without a doubt!! It's the first fic that I sat down with a more detailed outline and made sure that I had a few chapters written before I started posting to stay ahead of things. It also fits into canon perfectly and fills a bunch of extra little holes that are missing in canon. I also just spent a lot of time working through an actual case which I don't normally do in fics, i usually glaze over the police work or pull stuff from the show. it's one that I wish would find its way into the writers room and be made canon.

4. what fic of your own do you read for comfort?

Usually any of the soft fluffy one shots, especially the ones where someone's taking care of yn on her period. those get re-read monthly as I'm dying with no one doting on me LOL.

7. how does receiving/not receiving feedback/support impact you?

tbh I depend on it! Lol. like, if yeah I definitely do the whole "write for yourself, not anyone else" kinda thing, but even doing so i like to hear what people think. i like to theorize on fics, what people think is gonna happen next, what their thoughts were while they were reading, anything. It helps me know what people like, what i can improve on, and sometimes if i don't know where a fic is going, it can help me figure things out! it's also one of the most annoying things when someone specifically asks to be on a specific tag list and then doesn't interact with the fic at ALL. like, i get that i can/do push a lot of content out and not everyone has the time to catch up, but even just a quick little message/comment "i've got to catch up on this!" or "marking for later" kinda thing would be nice. It's how I edit my taglists. if someone's on there and i never see their name in my notifications, they're getting bumped for someone who will actually interact.

bahahaha!!! tbh I forgot how much i liked Brazen Qualities! i re-read it as i was re-posting and it's super enjoyable to see Heather with someone who's on her level like, age, professionally, education wise. I'd gotten so used to writing her as the mega domme (which she kinda still is) but i like the equal playing field they have in BQ and definitely need to write more with that kind of dynamic!

[mermaidxatxheart]

Better Together Chapter 4

Okay, y'all. I'm posting this just before I go on vacation. If you want to be added to my tag lists, send an ask. My work is not to be reposted anywhere. A big thank you to those who have proof-read this for me. I don't know what I would do without you.

Pairing: Poe Dameron x Reader

Word Count: 2.7k

Warnings: language, violence, angst. This is where it gets rough.

Chapter 3

Chapter Four

You sit up violently with a scream, clutching at your chest, but it’s not really your chest you’re worried about. You scramble for your friend, but he’s not at the edge of the cave, it’s still dark outside. You’ve probably been asleep for an hour, no more than two.

“Poe!” You call frantically. “Dameron!”

He skids back into the entrance, back into your blessed view, buckle undone on his trousers. “Hey, I’m right here. What happened?” He asks, reaching for your arms.

Your hands press shakily against his chest, desperate to feel his solid heartbeat. “I—“ you stutter.

It was just a dream.

“You’re freezing.” He comments, rubbing your arms to get you warm.

“Wh-what were you doing outside?” You ask, teeth starting to chatter as the shivering hits you.

“Taking a leak. I was just outside.” He leads you back over to the fire and drapes his jacket around your shoulders. “Here, sit in front of the fire, sweetheart. Let’s get you warm.” He builds the fire back up, and while the heat of it dances across your skin, it never goes any deeper.

He starts to stand up but you grab his wrist pleadingly. “Don’t leave me?” You whisper. He seems taken aback by the sheer desperation in your voice, so he nods and settles behind you.

“Close your eyes. I’m right here.” He says softly and you pull his arm around you, needing him close. He presses his forehead to the back of yours and you can feel his breath on your neck. You can feel your hands trembling as you clutch at his and he holds you tighter.

“Do you think,” he starts, lifting his head to speak softly into your ear. You start at the noise and turn to listen better. “Do you think Leia is sobbing uncontrollably right now because of how much she misses me?” He asks quietly and your lips pull up at the corners against your will.

“I’m sure she’s managing somehow. It’s difficult, but I think she can hold on.” You reply, shifting to lay your head back down.

“I hope so. I’d hate to be the reason she suffers so.” He says dramatically and you snort loudly before you can stop yourself. “Bless you.” He adds, his voice dripping with a grin.

“You definitely cause her to suffer.” You mutter and he squeezes your side, exactly where you hate. You squeal and squirm, trying to get away, but he grabs you and presses you flush against him.

“You’re so mean to me.” He sighs, dropping his head against your shoulder, but his nonsense worked, you feel a little better as he holds you so you can sleep.

***

Poe Dameron is…. confusing. And soft. Big giant Ewok. Ever since you woke up this morning, he’s been gentle. Cracking jokes to get you to smile, walking next to you instead of in front of you, taking your hand more often.

About mid morning, you stop for a break. Your legs don’t feel any better and you almost wish you had taken Poe up on his offer to massage them. You ease down onto a log and he hands you some food from his pack.

You close your eyes against the light, sweat trickling down the back of your neck. No matter how many times you wipe it away, more takes its place. You can see Poe in your mind’s eye, leaning against the trunk of the tree across from you, legs crossed at the ankles. You can hear him chewing on the snack he noisily unwrapped.

You can hear a strange noise, almost like a whooshing, or a whistling as something big moves through the air. You try to open your eyes to look around, but your lids won’t cooperate. You feel something swing past your ear, rustling your hair into your face. A big spiked log heading straight for Poe. You scream his name, trying to move to get to him. The spiked log flattens against the tree and you see his legs go slack. You scream, the sound ripping from your throat in anguish as you struggle against whatever is holding you in place.

“Y/N! Y/N!!” Poe’s voice reaches you. He’s shaking you roughly as you fight against his hands. It takes you a minute to realize he’s the one holding you, and another to pry your eyes open and look at him. He’s blurry, confusingly so, until you realize you’re crying. “Hey, you’re okay. I’m right here.” He says, forcing you to look up at him. “I’m right here.” The tears spill over and he brushes them away with his thumbs, searching your face. “You fell asleep on me.” He says, half a smile on his face. It doesn’t reach his eyes.

“I don’t like it here.” You whisper, throat sore from the scream. “I don’t like it.” You shake your head, dropping it against his chest. His big hand cradles the back of your head, stroking your hair softly.

“I know. Just a couple more days and then we’ll go tell Leia that this planet won’t work.” He promises.

“Except it’s almost perfect.” You groan.

“Not if it’s doing this to you. Hey, look at me.” He says gently, guiding your head back. “Wanna leave? We’ll go back right now.”

You want to. You want to take him up on it so badly. Your hands twitch towards his, but you force them to stay still. “No. We have a mission to complete.” You mumble and he sighs.

“Alright. Just say the word, sweetheart, and we’re gone.” He assures you and you nod.

***

“Know what I would kill for right now?” He huffs, lifting you over a log.

“A more capable partner?” You mutter dully.

“Ice cream. Cold, sweet, melty, chocolate, beebleberry, denta bean.” He hums, wiping his face. “Mmm. Denta bean.” He licks his lips and your eyes are suddenly drawn to them. He’s hot. His face is flushed from sweating and so much hiking. He needs to take a break.

“Hey, hey. Poe.” You grab his arm and he spins into you abruptly. “Sit. You need water.” You tell him, pushing him down onto the ground. He pulls you into his lap with him and you can’t stop the smile that cracks through.

“Are you okay?” He asks, tucking hair behind your ear as you fumble for his canteen.

“I’m fine. I promise I won’t fall asleep this time.” You say.

“You can sleep on me any time.” He huffs. You pick up his canteen and frown.

“Drink.” You insist, holding the skein to his soft lips.

He parts them, allowing the cool liquid to flow in. His dark eyes never leave you as he drinks. After a few seconds, he captures your wrist and lowers it.

“We either need to find a safe water source, or head back to the ship.” You say after a minute. “We’re almost out of water.”

“You’re the boss.” He cracks a smile, adjusting his head against the rough bark.

“Technically, you’re the commander on this mission.” You remind him.

“Oh yeah? Well, technically, you’re smarter.” He admits shamelessly and you roll your eyes.

“Ever have fried ice cream from Corellia?” You ask, shifting to sit back next to him.

“No. Is it delicious? It sounds pointless. Wouldn’t it melt?”

“Nope. They do this thing to it that super freezes it so it only gets a little soft in its crispy shell.” The taste of it, salty and sweet ghosts across your tongue and you clamp down on the sound wanting to escape. “After this is over, we’ll go and I’ll buy you some.” You promise.

“It’s a date.” He says, dropping his hand onto your thigh in the absolute most friendly way possible, but your stomach still flip-flops in your midsection.

“You know, this is the dumbest mission ever. We’ve been sent to a planet that’s never been explored and we’re wandering around aimlessly trying to map it in just a couple days.” You groan.

“Know what I think?” He says, turning his handsome face to look at you.

“That Leia must have been desperate to get you out of her perfect hair? I just don’t see why she had to drag me down with you.” You sigh and he drops his head forward, chuckling.

“You’re so funny.” He says and then lunges, capturing you around your waist and rolling you both into the ground as you shriek. You cling to his shoulders as you land on your back, his hands cradling your head to protect it from the hard ground.

“Jerk.” You huff. Then you blink, seeming to realize just how close his face is to yours. His soft brown eyes are searching yours, his charming smile slowly fading.

Bryce’s smiling face flashes in your mind’s eye and you twist your face away with a groan. He blinks in confusion.

“You weigh a ton.” You protest and a soft chuckle skates across your cheek.

“All muscle, sweetheart.”

“Sure. If muscle here means bantha burgers.” You tease, but it’s fake. Regret settles low in your belly and you’re absolutely not sure if it’s regret at not kissing Poe, or letting it go so far. Unfortunately, Poe Dameron is literally the easiest person in the galaxy to be around.

“Maker, you’re mean when you’re—“ he cuts off and pushes himself off you.

“When I’m what?” You prompt.

“...camping.” He says finally and you know that’s not even close to what he was gonna say.

“We should keep moving. Find some water.” You mumble, pushing yourself up and gathering your things.

“Yeah. ‘Course.” He joins you once more, but this time in silence.

***

His shoulders are tense. Pulled almost all the way up to his ears. His shirt catches at his spine, bunching at the gap at his neck and sticking to the rest of him. He hasn’t spoken in over an hour and you’re terrified that he’s mad at you.

You follow dutifully behind him now, no longer next to him as you were this morning. A dozen times, you’ve opened your mouth to call his name. But then you shrink back, hiding in your own cowardice.

The image of that knife plunging into his chest slams into you full force and you squeak, mouth opening, his name on your lips before you can catch it this time.

“Sh, you hear that?” He asks, holding up his hand to stop you in your tracks.

Bubbling, the sound of a river flowing swiftly. Water. He turns to glance at you before his hand latches tightly onto yours and then he’s pulling. He drags you along, hardly able to keep up. You round the base of a tree and there it is, crystal clear, blue, fast enough to be safe. You quickly mark it on your holopad, noting the direction it’s flowing in. Poe steps forward, but you pull him back, fear twisting you.

“Let me test it first.” You say quietly, avoiding his eyes. You dig into your bag and pull out your kit, dipping it into the water at the bank’s edge. You fill a small vial and dump the tester chemicals into it. You swirl it around as they change colors and you hold it up for him.

“Is blue good?” He asks warily.

“Blue is good.” You confirm and he drops his bag, giving a loud, echoing whoop that disturbs a butterfly resting nearby. He scoops you up in his arms, pulling your bag off and swinging you around as he walks you into the freezingwater.

You shriek, holding onto him as it stings your legs. “Poe!” You protest and he laughs, sinking down to his waist, and Maker, it’s even fucking colder.

“Fuck, it feels so good.” He moans loudly, sinking in up to his shoulders. After the initial shock, you do have to admit that the cool water is lowering your body temperature considerably. You duck under the surface, holding your breath and getting your sweaty hair wet.

You come back to the surface to see him watching you. “Better than ice cream?” You ask and he tips his head back, laughing jubilantly.

“A million times better.” He agrees.

“We should refill.” You say, thinking again. You head for the shore, grabbing both of your canteens and holding them under the water. They fill to the very brim and you screw the lids back on, enjoying the heavy feel of them once again.

“Are you done?” He asks from directly behind you and you jump.

“How do you move so quietly in fucking water?” You ask, turning to face him.

“Special skill.” He says shortly, a toss away answer.

“Poe,” you start. You want to apologize for this morning, the abrupt shut out.

“Sh.” He says, applying just a little pressure to your shoulders until you sink to your knees, shivering in the frigid water. He moves behind you, tipping your head back gently until your neck is stretched as far as it’ll go.

“I’m sorry,” you start again.

“Sh.” He hushes you again, his big hands fill with water and he lets it flood your hair. The cool water instantly dispels the heat in your scalp and it feels so good. Your eyes flutter shut as he keeps doing it. He guides you to lean forward slightly as he pulls your hair out of the way. More scoops of water splash over your burning neck, sending chills down your spine.

You stare at your rippling reflection in the water, Poe behind you, taking care of you. Always fucking taking care of you.

Oh.

Oh.

Maker, you’re blind.

You blink the tears away, choosing to pretend that it’s the river water. You grab his hand awkwardly from behind you to stop him and you stand up, turning to face him.

Your best friend, probably the only person you’ve ever cared about more than yourself.

“Poe,” you breathe, your fingers curling into the front of his soaked shirt.

Why fight it?

“Y/N?”

You tug, just hard enough to let him know what you want. He moves forward, closing the distance and then your lips are on his. They’re soft, and currently immobile under yours as the shock settles in. But that’s okay. Your hands slide up to hold his face, curling around his ears. You shift, lips moving against his, and he snaps out of it, opening his mouth for you. His hands blaze a trail down to your waist as he pulls you closer, pressing you against his chest. You lick into his mouth as he moans, fingers twisting into your shirt. He kisses you harder, more urgently than you’ve ever been kissed by anyonebefore. Your fingers card through his hair, holding him as close as you can. Your heart is slamming against your ribs at the taste of him.

“Well, what do we have here? Two resistance rats.” A voice says and you jump apart, your heart coming to a dead stop in your chest.

Three StormTroopers stand on either side of the bank, blasters aimed directly at you. Poe reaches for his own blaster, but a laser pointer trained right over your heart stops him.

“Try it. Please. I’m begging you. I haven’t been so bored in ages. A little target practice would be great.” One of them snarks.

“You could probably use it, too.” Poe says before he can stop himself.

“Out.” Another one orders, waving his gun and gesturing.

Poe hesitates. He wants to fight, it’s what he does. There’s only three of them, after all. But then, you’re there, in harm’s way. You think back to your comment this morning about him getting a more capable partner. You’ve never wished for anything harder.

One of the troopers pulls the hammer back, leveling the blaster at you. Poe looks at you, gritting his teeth together before trudging to the edge of the water. You follow, hating that he’s giving up because of you, because you’re so weak. You hate that you got him caught, because you distracted him with a kiss.

And then guilt floods you as your hands are handcuffed behind your back roughly. The kiss. You wonder if it even matters now, you probably won’t make it home to tell Bryce the truth anyway.

But that doesn’t stop the guilt from filling you. You wish you had taken Poe up on his offer to leave this morning. Now you’ve gotten him caught. They nudge you in the direction of the river, downstream and Poe glances over his shoulder at you, his usually warm eyes cold.

You’re a terrible friend.

Chapter 5

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[buckysgirls-stuff]

6. The Actual War

Authors note: a bunch of short moments that are important for the next chapter

Word counting: 1.300-ish

WARNING: just like in catfa, main character dies, you all know who

Series Masterlist

Masterlist

I was trying so hard to be accepted, they said that the post-process of removing a dead baby from my body made everything slower and that I had to be more patient. I told Bucky. I knew he wasn't going to like the idea... but I was so decided to make it happen, to go to war and help, that I didn't care. It was my choice... but he didn't reply. Was he mad? Busy? The last letter I got from him he said that he was going to Italy, to do something big with the whole team, and that he would like to take me there once the war was over... I knew about the team they had with Steve and others, but he didn't give me much detail, it was confidential after all. I was so happy to know they were together... I wanted to see my boys so bad.

...

They gave me excuse after excuse to not let me go to fight. I had to wait for days, and they were longer considering the fact that Bucky wasn't answering my letters; the last time he did that was because he got captured... and that thought made me want to throw up.

After all, I got accepted and started my training journey at Jersey. There is where I heard the worst news I could ever hear... Captain's America best friend died.  And my world fell right in front of me... I called his family, they told me that they couldn't find me... but it was true. Bucky, my Bucky, died on combat.

...

Weeks after it was hard to stay in there. I couldn't find any more motivation to go. Bucky was gone. Really gone... what was the point? My Buck... my James... I couldn't leave, there was no way... I got my orders. I wanted to die there.

...

Months passed. War was a bitch. Every soldier was trying to impress each other saying inappropriate things to me. It didn't bother me... I had been through worst. It made me stronger.

...

The only time I cried was when I found out Steve was gone too... the rumors went everywhere, everyone was talking about it. He crashed a plane with bombs on it. He saved thousands of people; my Steve was gone too... my boys died as heroes... trying to finish this damn war. And I was going to keep trying to finish it. It didn't matter if it killed me... I was doing it for them.

...

It didn't kill me... the war was over. We won. I killed as much Nazis as I could, and I did it for what they did to Bucky, to Steve.

I was back to New York, my hometown, I contacted my friend, Maddie, and she told me that I could stay as long as I wanted, I didn't had a job, only the savings from before I got enlisted; enough for food and supplies, not enough for a rent, and I accepted as long as she allowed me to buy everything we needed.

...

Time passed, I figured out I wasn't the same person I was before the war. Nothing was the same... and I hated to bring Maddie into it. Every night, I woke her up because of the nightmares I had. Nothing good came out of the war.

...

Four months later I was having dinner at an automat, I wasn't feeling like cooking, when I saw her... I have read about her a lot, and I know the role she had in the war... and how close she was to the Howling commandos...

"Is that..." I told to the waitress, Angie, who I speak with every time I come here "Peggy-"

"Peggy Carter? Yeah," she answered "we are kinda friends, but I don't recommend you to... hey! T/n!" I knew what she was going to say, but I didn't care. I had to talk to her...

I went to her table, "excuse me, may I?" I pointed at the seat in front of her

She was surprised "of course," her face became full with confusion, she tried to say something, but I did first

"You are Peggy Carter..." you dumb ass... what a great way to start a conversation

"Yes, I am" she gave me a half smile "and you are..." she said with her British accent

"I- I am... y/n y/l/n" I offered my hand, she took it, still confused "you were close to Captain America..." you know, sometimes I hate being me, she was surprised, more like shock "I mean... to Captain Rogers"

"Miss y/l/n, I'm sorry but-" her voice went down, took a big breath and continued "but I can't say anything about Captain Rogers, if you would like to know about him I'm sure there is books and-"

"I know, I'm sorry, I didn't mean it like that... shit... sorry.. okay" get your shit together for God's sake. I took a big breath "I knew Steve too..." Her face changed, like if I was making a joke to her with something she felt uncomfortable with... shit "we were friends before he left... I.. um... I am.. I mean, I was... shit, I'm James Barnes' fiancé..." now she was shocked, her mouth opened, but rapidly she closed it, like she took control of her body reactions again

"I'm so sorry to hear that, dear..." her face expressions softened, and it took me a moment to realize that I was because tears were flowing down my face "Sargent Barnes was a good man, I'm pretty sure he is taking care of you up there" she took my hand and caressed it slowly "and about Steve- about Captain Rogers... I cannot say much without crying the hell out of me... I understand you, dear... let me get you something"

"No, it's fine... I'm good. I just needed someone to talk about it..." I wiped my tears with a napkin that she offered me

"Then you are lucky I have plenty of time to hear you..."

And she did. She listened every single word that came out of my mouth. I told her about my friendship with Steve, about my relationship with Bucky, I told her about the proposal and about the baby. I told her how much her words inspired me to enlist and the bad timing of my time on the battlefield. She listened and nodded... she seemed impressed.

"I know how man can be when they get alone with you... even animals behave better, they try to make you feel bad so they can feel better about themselves... they don't notice your strength but most importantly, they don't want to see it. They don't want to feel smaller than you, and that's the reality. Not all of them, of course, but most of them do..."

We talked until Angie told us she had to close the place. We agreed to meet tomorrow at the same place, same hour, so we could talk about her experiences in war.

Since that day, we became so close to each other... I could barely believe it.

...

"What is it, y/n?"

"What's what?" I knew what she was talking about, the last few days I wasn't the same, she noticed, she always noticed.

"Your spirits are on the floor, darling"

"You know, sometimes I wish you couldn't read me like that..." I said with a half smile on my face

"It's okay if you don't wanna talk about it, but if you do... you know I'm here to listen" she took a sip of her tea

"It's not that, Peg..." I sighted "I just- I miss him so much... I miss them so much..." I took a deep breath "tomorrow is Bucky's birthday..."

"Oh, dear..." she stood up and hugged me tightly "I miss them too"

_________________________________________

I'm not used to write 2.000+ chapters, I feel like people would get bored... even when I really enjoy reading enormous amounts of words...

Tag list: @mariswritingforfun @buckysbabe34 @tenderlybarnes @abrilkatz123 @softiebucky @slave4ubarnes @gelos @this-kitten-is-smitten @nova3312

[pbandjesse]

It is my dad's birthday and my parents wedding anniversary and it's a full moon and it's Friday the 13th and it's the anniversary of Scooby-Doo. There's so much good and powerful energy today. Specifically I want to say happy birthday to my dad though because I love him so much and he's gone through so much in the last couple years but he is always attacked the day with kindness just like I tell everyone else to do. I hope you have a very good birthday and I love you and thank you for being my dad.

But on my end for the most part today was not my day. I just felt really sad. Frustrated. I just wanted to come home. And it wasn't even like a real reason just everything was wrong.

I woke up this morning and I felt fine. James had to leave early because he had to go to the dentist. But he made me a sandwich before he left because he's the best. And then I got ready and left it at the bus. But even though the ride was nice I was really early. Which is normally fine but I got to the building and it was locked and the lights were off. And my anxiety just absolutely peaked.

I was convinced that I wasn't supposed to be there and that we weren't supposed to come in or they were a different site and I was so upset and distressed and convinced I did something wrong. I stood outside for about 10 minutes and finally Sarah and the other Jessie came But anxiety was still pretty bad for most of the day because of that.

We spent the first hour just kind of brainstorming by ourselves. Coming up with ideas and figuring stuff out for our lesson plans. I had a lot of ideas already written down so I just did a bunch of research and started flushing things out a little bit more concretely.

For the most part it was a good guy. But then I realized I accidentally sent all of me and James's new gardening stuff to the old apartment and I was so bummed. I just felt so stupid and I just kind of sank into myself because I was so upset. James is an amazing boyfriend though and when I told him how upset I was he took the extra time between the dentist and having to go to work to go to the old apartment and get everything to bring back so I wouldn't be sad. He's so good.

But then my new phone was attempted to be delivered to the apartment and because it needed a signature they didn't leave it. I'm glad they didn't leave it but I thought they would take it to a pickup point. But they didn't. They're just going to wait till Monday and try again and I was so bummed out. I really wanted that to come today and when it didn't I was just like super sad. And I kind of just put a damper on the rest of the day for me. I was able to figure out how to make all of my UPS packages go to the pickup point from now on and so my phone will go there on Monday so I won't have to worry about not being here. But it's still a huge bummer and I feel very dumb. Thankfully it's not like my phone is broken. I was just excited about a new thing. I wanted to get it set up tomorrow while I was at the BMI since it will probably be slow. It's all right. I'll be fine.

We had a good afternoon at work though. We went through and talked about all of the artists that we were considering for research for testing our kids. And we went through a lot of really awesome artists and it was funny that me and fitsum or actually thinking about two artists that were very off the beaten path so that was cool. And I'm really pleased with the final list that we came up with. I am sad that one of the other side of Hope for got knocked off the list that doesn't mean I'm not going to teach you about her just that she's not going to be on the test. And I got my way on the layout of the semester's so that was cool.

We finished up a little bit early and I went to grab the bus but then miss Helene drove past me and stopped and she ended up giving me a ride to Dick Blick. I knew I wouldn't see James until much later because after he's done work he's going to go to his parents house to get the car and then he's going to go to the grocery store to get ready for our cookout tomorrow.

So I went in and I gave him a hug. His other manager made a joke that a customer wanted to see him very specifically. Made me laugh. And then I walked back here.

On my walk I ran into a co-worker from the BMI and that was cool. I posted in the group today about the job openings at access art and apparently everyone was talking about how great I am over there today and have felt really good. It's not the first time someone's told me that they talk about me over there and how they say a lot of positive things so that feels really cool I'm loved. I don't always feel that way. So it's nice to be reminded.

I had to make a stop at the hardware store to look for something for James but they didn't have it so I came back here. I did a whole bunch today actually. When I got back here I kind of snack and then I started working on some drawings. Our gardening stuff was here because of James so I made little tags for the all the herbs were going to put in there and the tomatoes. And then I set up the garden itself. I probably could have bought more rocks but I still think it'll be okay and I'm going to put all of the herbs in small Planters to start with anyway. And it was pretty excellent. It was fun playing in the dirt. I also dyed my hair so that I would look all nice tomorrow. And I worked on one of my Furby tarot cards. I'm actually going to go make something to eat and then do another one. My Hope Is that in the next week we'll get everything photograph so I want to have at least a couple cards finished. Start selling them as a small set.

James should be finishing work now and then he'll go start shopping for stuff. And I'm just going to hang out here. Hopefully he'll be home soon though because I miss him. I hope you guys all have a great night. Tomorrow I have work at the BMI and then we have our little get-together. I hope people come. Seems like it might be kind of small but I don't mind that. It'll be fun to show off our new place to everyone.

Be safe out there guys. Take care of each other. Good night.

[ckret2]

The Door In Petrex’s Quarters

So there’s a cool new blog on Tumblr called @tfspeedwriting where they post a bunch of prompts on Saturday and you choose one and writing something! There’s basically no rule except that you have to do it in under two hours. So anyway this took me about four hours, which were spread out over a total of ten hours.

I’m good at this game.

(If you're on mobile, the readmore malfunctions, and you gotta scroll past all this, I'm sorry for your suffering.)

Prompt: Pick a music playlist on a device of your choice. The second line of the third song is your prompt. (“Song 3”—I swear the title’s a coincidence—by Stone Sour: “So I'll keep you close, and keep my secret safe.”) Continuity: made-up Shattered Glass AU for IDW continuity Ship: Prowl/Tarantulas, but you’ll wish it wasn’t. Wordcount: 5200-ish Summary: They say that Petrex, leader of the Autobot Justice Division, can’t feel love. Petrex prefers it that way. Or: how Prowl tamed his pet scientist. Tags: Angst, abusive relationship, all hurt no comfort.

They say there's a doorway in Petrex's private quarters where his berth is supposed to be.

It's an empty metal doorframe. The space where there should be a door is filled by cement mixed with strange, dark, multicolor rubble. They say that Petrex sleeps on it, curled up on his side, a hand pressed against the surface of the shut doorway like he wants to press through to the other side.

They say the door still works. They say it goes somewhere. They say all you have to do is turn it on.

They say a lot of things about Petrex.

They say the reason that he wears a cold white Autobrand-shaped mask is because he has a cold white Autobrand-shaped face underneath, and that he'd rather people think he's hiding his expressions than let them know he doesn't have any expressions at all. He is as icy, and as hard, and as unmovable, and as implacable as marble; and Terminus save your ember if you dare try to chip that marble.

They say that nobody has ever joined the Autobot Justice Division willingly—nobody except for Petrex, its founder, its leader, and its symbol. They say that every member of the Autobot Justice Division is someone who tried to flee or betray the Autobots, but who had potential, had a use; and so, as their punishment, instead of adding them to the AJD's list for retribution, Petrex added them to the AJD itself, chained them in service to himself, and turned them into essential cogs in the machine that grinds up other criminals and turncoats.

They say he's not a person, but a drone, a machine designed for order and logic and laws, capable only of understanding emotions in a theoretical sense, and then only far enough to determine how he might make use of them.

Petrex doesn't deny anything anyone says about him.

"Mesothulas. Mesothulas!"

Mesothulas started, almost dropping his welder. Terminus below, he wasn't expecting Prowl so soon—he wasn't supposed to come for another two weeks, was he? Why was he early? Had something gone wrong, had his latest offering malfunctioned? Part of him hoped desperately that it had; the rest of him dreaded the consequences of such a failure. Maybe Prowl had forgotten their schedule and come early? Mesothulas had never known him to do so before, but oh, if he had, if he was expecting Mesothulas's next work to be done today and it wasn't— Or, even worse, what if Prowl was right on time, what if Mesothulas had forgotten the schedule—

"I'm here!" He dropped the welder to the floor, ran for the stairs to the lab entryway, skidded an about face to go turn off the welder, and sprinted for the stairs—woe to him if he kept Prowl waiting a second too long. "I'm here, I'm here, I—I'm so sorry, Prowl, I didn't know you were coming. I was working, I'm sorry."

Prowl was standing, waiting, in the middle of the entryway. (Ostaros was so close to him, just a few feet to Prowl's left. Mesothulas's plating crawled—he shouldn't have left Ostaros out in the open like that. What if Prowl spotted him, decided after all that work that he didn't like the result? If anything happened to him—) His helmet was already off, tucked under one arm, and his red optics were so bright they were pink, nearly the same shade as Mesothulas's armor. Was he mad or happy? Mesothulas couldn't tell from the top of the stairs.

"I should hope you were working," Prowl said. "You've only got a couple of weeks left to finish the guilt extractor." So Mesothulas hadn't forgotten their schedule—that was a relief. But then why was he here?

"Yes, I know, I—I'm right on schedule, it'll be done in time." He stopped at the bottom of the stairs, and waited, his heels pressed up against the bottom step, not taking a step closer.

And then Prowl walked toward him. Mesothulas's ember jumped into his throat. The way Prowl moved—even in armor—Mesothulas could practically visualize how his joints moved underneath it. There was such control, such confidence, such precision in his motions; he radiated such strength that Mesothulas felt weaker just for being in his presence. Everything Prowl did made him feel weaker. His fuel tank fluttered, his ember guttered, his fans sputtered.

When he was alone, he told himself that it was fear—very rational fear, for more than once he and his slipped schedule had been on the receiving end of the infamous wrath of the Autobot Justice Division's Petrex.

("I'll teach you to keep on schedule," Prowl had said before; and it was both an indulgent offer to take him under his wing and a threat. "Every cog ticks in time around me. I make sure of it.")

Yes—Mesothulas told himself the weakness he felt around Prowl was born of fear. But when he was in Prowl's presence, he knew that was only half true.

When he was with Prowl, he was almost desperate to impress him.

Words tumbled out of him: "I'm—I'm almost done with the guilt extractor, actually. Ahead of schedule." It was risky business to tell Prowl when he was ahead of schedule. On the one hand, yes, he'd be immediately gratified with Prowl's approval—and oh, when Prowl approved of him, it was heavenly. For a moment, on the timepiece that was Prowl's carefully-wound life, Mesothulas was a jewel mounted in the center of its face, sparkling in the light of Prowl's delight. But Prowl never forgot a promise; and when Mesothulas promised a faster delivery, Prowl updated his expectations accordingly. If he fell behind again, it meant Prowl's wrath was twice as hot; because now, not only had he failed to meet Prowl's schedule, he'd also lied about getting ahead and maliciously stolen some of Prowl's approval.

(So Prowl made him feel, anyway. Sometimes Mesothulas nearly believed it.)

But the way Prowl's optics lit up made Mesothulas immediately forget the consequences. The consequences would come later. Today—now—Prowl's arms were outstretched, and he said, voice a little louder, "That's wonderful!" Prowl's tone of voice never changed; it only got louder or softer, and either direction could be good or bad; but whichever direction it went, it could make Mesothulas's ember flicker with fear or blaze with joy and longing for more. "I can expect it sooner, then. Would you say by the end of the week."

Without stopping to think, Mesothulas said, "Without a doubt," and immediately felt faint; although he wasn't sure whether it was from the monumental scale of this promise, or from the way Prowl's arms wrapped around him: one pressed to his upper back, pulling Mesothulas's face against the chest of his armor; and one pressed lower on his back, so suggestively low that Mesothulas's armor burned where Prowl's fingers touched him. Mesothulas's own fingers burned as well, itching with the urge to wrap his arms around the thick waist of Prowl's rad suit—but to do so without explicit permission was dangerous. Mesothulas had courted enough danger by promising the guilt extractor so soon.

"Good," Prowl said—his voice was so soft now, and Mesothulas's legs were weak. "I'll hold you to it."

Mesothulas's ember filled with dread, and he wanted even more to wrap himself around Prowl—not just physically, but spiritually, to bind himself to his... to his perverse muse, the walking inspiration for all the most wondrous things he'd ever created.

"But that's not what I'm here about."

... And the most horrible things. He tensed with the urge to pull back, but couldn't. Not until Prowl was ready to let him go.

"Oh, I've—" Mesothulas spoke quickly, "—I've been working on another project too, since I'm getting so far ahead on the guilt extractor—you'll be pleased, I'm sure—it's the one you thought up, to make use of all those scraps of reality I've got sitting around—"

"I'm sure I will be pleased." Prowl finally let go, and stepped back, and Mesothulas wasn't sure if that was a good sign or not. "But that's not what I'm here for, either." His head dipped down slightly, and not for the first time Mesothulas marveled through his fear at how much Prowl could express through nothing but the tilt of his head and the way his gaze came through his mask. "And I know a distraction when I hear it."

"I—I'm sorry, I just thought you'd want to—"

"Mesothulas."

"Yes! Forgive me! Y-you were saying? You're here about—?"

"Carpessa."

Mesothulas's fuel tank twisted. He had heard of the neutral city. He'd never been there before. He had no connection to it. Prowl had never mentioned it before. Mesothulas knew exactly what happened to it. "Th... The bomb...?"

"Worked flawlessly," Prowl said, and the bottom of Mesothulas's twisted fuel tank dropped out completely. "I don't know how you managed to cobble together a bomb out of pathetic Decepticon parts that has such explosive capacity, and yet can still be mistaken for something they made—but I must hand it to you, everyone was fooled. Even the Prime is marveling at their unanticipated savagery. This will throttle their chances to get any interstellar allies rallying behind their cause, when they can't play the poor innocent victims. A job well done, Mesothulas. For the most part."

Every word was an icicle through Mesothulas's ember. It took him several tries to choke out the word, "S-survivors?"

Prowl hesitated. "Too many," he said. "There were less than fifteen hundred fatalities. That's why I'm here, to discuss my requirements for the next model. Which I'd like you to get to work on as soon as possible. I was going to give you an extension on the guilt extractor so you could begin to work on the bomb immediately, but if you think you can be done in a week, then you can finish it first and get to work on the next bomb—"

"No."

He hadn't planned it. He hadn't meant to say it. And if he had the choice, he'd rather throw himself on Terminus's teeth than spend one more nanosecond watching in horror as Prowl's head slowly tilted down, and his optics blazed brighter.

Quietly, Prowl said, "No."

For a moment, the lab was so quiet, Mesothulas could hear Ostaros's vents cycling air. Ostaros. Never mind what Prowl might do to him—what might he do to Ostaros? Prowl could rip Mesothulas to shreds, but the mere thought of him scratching Ostaros's soft paint, the enamel hadn't even cured yet—

"Well," Prowl said, just as quietly, "if you'd rather keep to the original schedule, then—take the extension on the guilt extractor, and work on it and the bomb simultaneously..."

For a moment, the heavens opened up, a beam of light shone down on Prowl, and a holy chorus played. Prowl didn't offer second chances. Never. The Autobot Justice Division culled and amputated all limbs of the Autobot Army that no longer served what Petrex considered to be their appropriate purpose. Weakness was to be eradicated. Mesothulas should have been honored to be so indulged after wavering from the path Prowl had assigned him. All he had to do was accept it, and get back to work. Continue singing the songs his muse wrote for him. All would be well and beautiful, and if Mesothulas was good, every once in a while Prowl would touch him as kindly as he had a moment ago.

And there would be more Carpessas.

No. No, he couldn't, not again. Damn whatever Prowl might do to him—to them—oh, Ostaros, Mesothulas is so sorry—but Mesothulas and Ostaros were only two people. How many had died in Carpessa? He couldn't let it happen again.

His voice was barely a whisper. "I can't."

Prowl's optics flashed brighter, and Mesothulas flinched. "Excuse me." Yet another chance to correct his errant wording. Mesothulas was drowning in indulgences today. He wondered if Prowl had ever before been so lenient with anyone else. If he was smart, he'd take this chance.

But Carpessa. "Forgive me, I'm sorry, I—"

Prowl lunged forward, seizing him by the collar of his chestplate, and Mesothulas cried out, nearly sobbing. "You've always been so obedient," he hissed. "You've done your job so well. It's what I like so much about you." (Even now, ready to die, Mesothulas's ember blazed brighter at the praise. Terminus, Terminus, Mesothulas would do anything for Prowl—not just out of fear—but he couldn't do this. Over a thousand lives were already on his hands.) "After all that, you haven't suddenly developed a streak of naughtiness, have you."

"No! Never!" Mesothulas grabbed at Prowl's gauntleted hand. "I—I'm still useful to you, I swear! I can build you more troops—reliable troops—without waiting for Terminus to reawaken—"

"Surely you're not referring to your vapid pet project that smiled at me when I came in."

"He's not done. When he's finished—"

"I asked for a bomb!" He shook Mesothulas to emphasize the word. This time Mesothulas did sob.

"Wh-w-what about the guilt extractor? Or—or the project with the reality scraps? I've stitched it into a serviceable prison, I—I could show—"

Prowl shook Mesothulas again, and he fell silent. But Prowl said nothing. It was more terrifying than anything he might have said. Even a death sentence would end the suspense.

But finally—voice back at its usual volume—he said, "Show me."

Surely, no one in all of Cybertronian history had been shown as much mercy as the merciless Prowl had shown to Mesothulas today. "Oh—th-thank you—you'll be so pleased, I'm sure of—"

"Just move." Prowl let go of Mesothulas, and shoved him backwards. He tripped backwards on the stairs, crashed down, and for a moment in his panic actually tried to clamber up them backwards on his hands and heels before he managed to roll over and rush to his feet.

"This way!" He took the stairs two at a time, and heard Prowl following heavily behind.

He had to get out. He couldn't stay here, not like this. This would only work as a distraction, and Mesothulas couldn't risk Ostaros's life again. He'd done it in the spur of the moment, but next time he'd be weak, he knew it. It wouldn't be long before Prowl figured out he could get whatever he wanted if he threatened Ostaros.

He'd get through this. He'd hand over his prison if Prowl asked for it. And then he and Ostaros had to disappear.

"I call it the Noisemaze. It's—I-it's—" He'd had a description of it he'd been working on, trying to figure out how to convey what it was while leaving out all the words like horrifying and monstrous and unconscionable, all the little descriptors that Prowl didn't like to hear Mesothulas say; but the words failed him now, and all he could say about it was, "it induces sensory overload."

"Is that it."

"Extreme sensory overload," Mesothulas protested. Keep talking, keep talking, impress him. "The kind that—that completely fills your RAM. You can't think through it. It destroys all higher rational thought." He entered the room where he'd been working on the Noisemaze, looked around for something other than the doorframe to focus on—there was the welder he'd discarded, he should pick it up—and tried not to think about whether offering Prowl this torture prison was any less evil than bombing civilians. At least a bomb was quick. (Evil, that was what it was—that was what he was, now—he'd done evil. He'd done evil for Prowl.)

"How painful."

"I can think of nothing more painful." He set the welder on a workbench, and climbed up the two-step pedestal so he could flip the switch on the side of the frame. A hum, and the shadows of the room were stirred with soft, moving turquoise and orange lights. "It's—unending torment. It skips straight past the more fragile vectors for pain—limbs, nerves, all of them are things that can be destroyed, turned off, or burned out. But the Noisemaze attacks your mind directly. It harms you through your senses without harming your senses. Nothing you can do will turn off or block the barrage except destroying your own senses, all of them—but the Noisemaze would leave your mind too addled and overloaded on pain to even think of such a thing." It wasn't the description he'd meant to go for, but he was fairly certain he'd left out any words that would make Prowl tetchy. Prowl didn't care how awful it sounded, as long as Mesothulas didn't imply that to do it was wrong.

Prowl ambled around it, examining the controls. "And it's finished, you say. You certainly showed initiative."

"Well—the hardware used to access it needs some refining—the prototype is practically held together with hot glue and scotch tape—but the Noisemaze itself, it'll hold together indefinitely." He leaned an elbow on the doorframe to gaze into the Noisemaze. The landscape shifted and the sky spun, and even with the thin membrane of the doorway separating him from the maze, watching it undulate and roil made him dizzy. How many would Prowl put in here? Maybe he could find a way later to steal it back. Once he and Ostaros were out of here—he could get Ostaros with one of the neutral populations fleeing the planet, he could join the Decepticons, use his inventing abilities and knowledge of Prowl for good—

He heard Prowl climbing the doorframe's pedestal, right behind him; and yet, he still flinched when Prowl's arms wrapped, slowly, gently, around his waist. "It's beautiful." Prowl's voice was a whisper; and his fingertips grazed across Mesothulas's stomach so softly, so tenderly, it almost made him cry. "The perfect prison for the Autobot Justice Division's needs. The ultimate tool for reform—destroy their mind and remake it."

Mesothulas's abdominal armor trembled under Prowl's touches, and the Noisemaze spun nauseatingly before his optics. Oh Prowl, love him, praise him, use him, keep holding him just like that. Mesothulas couldn't leave, he couldn't leave. He'd get Ostaros away and bear the punishment for it, but he couldn't leave. "Is—is th... I didn't think the AJD focused on reform? Just punishment?"

"We reform a few," Prowl said. "The few cogs that aren't too broken or too dull to be of use, but rather would help the Autobot machine tick more efficiently, if only the rough edges could be sanded smooth." One hand grazed Mesothulas's waist, leaving a path of tingling light in its wake as it languidly circled around to the small of his back. "The ones like you."

Mesothulas's spark froze. "Wha—?"

He tried to twist at the exact moment Prowl shoved him. He grabbed Prowl's gauntleted wrist. "Prowl!" He hung by one hand and the tip of one foot in reality; his other arm and leg wheeled wildly in the Noisemaze, trying to help him keep balance, but he couldn't even tell which direction he was spinning them. A dozen directions at once. Prowl's mask melted and twisted in front of his optics. "Please! Don't— I— Take me— Ostaros—"

"When you get out," it looked like the Autobrand had melted onto Prowl's face, like it moved and shifted with his words, like he spoke through its mouth, "I expect your head to be empty of everything except thoughts of obeying me. If your Noisemaze works as well as you say, that should be no problem."

"No, no, no no no no—" He managed to get his other hand back through the portal, and the tip of his other foot, and he grabbed Prowl's hand. Prowl's optics blazed bright, the same pink as Mesothulas's armor. (Was it still pink? He couldn't see himself anymore, he was turning black, only his hands and the tips of his feet still looked pink.) "Please." He squeezed Prowl's hand. "Please."

Prowl stared at him, even as the edges of his face started to fall apart. And then he squeezed Mesothulas's hand back. Hope surged. Was he reconsidering? He was going to pull Mesothulas back in, this had just been to scare him, he still had one more chance—

"When you get out, you're going to make me an army, Mesothulas. Just like Ostaros." With his free hand, Prowl unlatched his gauntlet. It slid off and Mesothulas tumbled into madness.

The lab was dusty; the lights were out. Everything that Prowl could find an off switch for had been shut down months ago; everything he couldn't, had been left to run or burn out. Something had exploded. A couple of wings of the lab were rubble, now. Radiation from outside leaked in through a destroyed wall. Prowl had sealed all the doors he could between here and there, but he still wouldn't dare so much as take off his rad suit's helmet inside the lab.

A second suit was settled against the wall, waiting for a passenger, as Prowl ascended the pedestal to the Noisemaze's doorframe. Six months was long enough. Mesothulas was ready to come back.

Prowl pulled the lever to open the door.

Nothing happened.

He turned it off, and back on. And again. And again, more forcefully. "No." He looked down, getting off the pedestal, dropping to his knees to check the power cables. He grabbed every point at which they connected and twisted them together, tight, making sure the connections were secure. He risked exposing a sliver of armor under one gauntlet so he could hold his wrist against the cable, checking to make sure he could detect a flowing EM field through it. He latched his gauntlet back in place, and walked up to the doorframe again, to flip the switch one more time.

Sparks flew from the frame. Prowl stumbled back as something popped, and smoke spewed from behind the switch. "No!" He waved the smoke away and stormed up to the frame again, flipping the switch over, and over, and over. "No, no, no—" his voice got louder with every word, "—give him back, give him back. This is incarceration, not an execution!"

Nothing. He waved an arm wildly through the doorframe, ducked through it, quickly examined the doorframe from the other side, circled around it, circled around it faster. "No! Dammit, he's—he's mine, he's—give him back! Give him back to me!" He grabbed the frame, shook it—the lever coughed out a sad puff of smoke—and he leaned through it again. "Mesothulas!" As though the Noisemaze was still right through the doorway. "Mesothulas!" As though he could reach him from here, if only he was loud enough.

There was silence in the abandoned lab.

Prowl's hand slid off the doorframe. He dropped to his knees in the middle of the dead portal to the Noisemaze, cradled his head in his hands, and rocked back and forth, back and forth, back and forth.

They say that the doorway in Petrex's room goes somewhere—or it would, if only somebody knew how to turn it on again. They say that it's a prison; they say he keeps something terrible locked away, and woe to anyone who's there when he unlocks it. They say that when Petrex sleeps on his doorway, hand pressed to its cement-and-rubble surface, sometimes something on the other side will scratch at it, desperate to get out; and sometimes, in his sleep, Petrex will scratch back.

They say many things about Petrex. A few of them are true.

Here's what they don't say about Petrex, but perhaps they should: he is icy, and hard, and unmovable, and implacable in public; but in private, he screams, he rages, he cackles, he dances, hot and explosive as a fire raging through a fuel refinery. You can see his optics behind his mask, wide and wild and red, but sometimes they're white-hot, and at those times his mask doesn't look icy but white-hot too. Here's what else they don't say: nobody has ever joined the Autobot Justice Division willingly; and most of those who join are criminals and turncoats that Petrex has reassigned to more important functions; but a few, a few are those who he has not chained to himself with invisible ununtrium links, but rather tied to himself with sinewy red threads. A few are those that he's loved too much to ever let escape.

Nobody says that about Petrex because nobody knows that he can feel love.

Petrex prefers it that way.

"What's the point of all this, Tarantulas."

Even when Prowl was on the ground and Tarantulas—what a stupid name, a grotesque alien name for an animal, a name that clattered and chattered against the back of Prowl's teeth, t-t-t—Tarantulas was pulled up high, huddling like a fearful creature against the wall—even at this range, Prowl had mastered the art of tilting his head just so, so that the way his mask framed his optics made it look like he was glaring down at Tarantulas. And he was glaring down at Tarantulas. Because no matter what a putrid beast he'd made of himself, no matter what a lowly bug he was now compared to Prowl, no matter all Prowl had achieved or all the power he'd amassed or all the soldiers at his beck and call—Autobot and Decepticon alike, now—the truth was, Tarantulas had blackmail, and Tarantulas had an invisible army, and Tarantulas had a prison in a pocket dimension where he'd trapped Prowl and where nobody knew how to find Prowl—and Prowl was terrified. And he would never, ever let Tarantulas know that.

"The point?" Tarantulas drew back, visibly surprised, and Prowl was pleased by his confusion even if he didn't understand it. "I—Isn't it obvious?"

"As obvious as you are pink." Tarantulas wasn't pink, anymore. He was black, all but for red biolights and the cotton candy pink on his feet and the filthy fuzzy tips of his new spidery limbs. Tarantulas flinched, looking down, self-consciously running a—it wasn't a hand, was it?—a hairy sausage over the black fur on one thigh, and Prowl made note of the insecurity to exploit later. "So what is this. Explain yourself."

"This is..." For a moment, Tarantulas wilted, visibly bewildered. "This is... what you asked me for."

Prowl stared at him, just as bewildered but much less visibly. "Explain more."

"You... you told me to empty my thoughts of everything, except obeying you." Tarantulas crept down the wall, his many legs squirming agitatedly. "You told me when I got out, I'd make you an army. And I—I have. I am."

Prowl stared at Tarantulas, as he lowered himself back to floor level. "You don't mean the Chimeracons. I thought they forced you to make their meat suits." The damage they'd left Tarantulas with was still visible, the melted and matted fur, the breaks in two of his spider legs. Of all the mysterious affairs surrounding Prowl's kidnapping, Prowl still couldn't figure out why, when Tarantulas commanded the Noisemaze and could shrink to the point of invisibility, he had put up with their abuses. Perhaps Prowl had trained him to tolerate too much. "They've already kidnapped me. They'd have tried to kill me if you hadn't intervened. What kind of army is that."

And once on the floor, Tarantulas kept lowering himself, kneeling at Prowl's feet. "I had to let them use me, to get the resources I needed to get close to you. They're irrelevant—they're only the start. Now that I've perfected the technology, I—I can pick up where I left off with Ostaros—y-you remember Ostaros, don't you?—just like you wanted. Making your army from scratch. Yours to do with as you please—overthrow the Prime, vanquish the Decepticons, reorder Cybertron to your specifications—all yours, Prowl. All of it. All—all of me." Prowl's ember leapt into his throat.

So he grabbed Tarantulas's. "Don't play with me."

Tarantulas flinched, but he didn't even try to pull back. "I'm not." His voice was shaky—Prowl couldn't see the fear on his face, he didn't know how to make sense of his new features yet, but he could hear it. "I'm not, I would never. I—Prowl, you're—you're all I thought about in the Noisemaze. When I could think. I—I was wrong to challenge your orders. I'm sorry. You're everything to me. You're my muse, my inspiration, my life, I—I'm yours. Anything you want from me, it's yours."

Prowl stared at him. And swallowed hard, trying to put his ember back where it belonged. He squeezed tighter. Tarantulas's visor widened, but he didn't even grab at Prowl's hand.

"Anything."

"Anything," Tarantulas whispered. It was the most beautiful word Prowl had ever heard.

And funny. Because Prowl remembered how it had been "anything" before, too—up until suddenly Mesothulas changed his mind, and then it wasn't.

Last time, Prowl had been too soft on Mesothulas—he'd liked him too much. He'd eased him into his new duties, slowly escalating the amount of energon he had to spill. That worked on most people. They'll commit any atrocity you ask for, as long as it's only just a little bit worse than the one before.

He wasn't making that mistake this time. While Tarantulas was still malleable, still vulnerable, still dizzy with adoration and desperate to regain Prowl's approval—Prowl had to make him do the worst thing he could imagine. Something so awful, that nothing else Tarantulas could possibly do would ever be worse.

"I do remember Ostaros." Prowl let go of Tarantulas's throat. Tarantulas swayed forward, following Prowl's hand, as though he wanted to be choked again. Pathetic. Gorgeous. "I took him with me. He's an Autobot now."

"He's—still alive?"

"He is. He's named Springer, now. 'Ostaros' was a stupid name." (Tarantulas flinched, gaze wavering, but he didn't argue.) "He'll be coming to rescue me as soon as he figures out where I am, I'm sure. You'll get to meet him."

Tarantulas's visor practically sparkled. "Oh! I—"

"When you do, you'll kill him."

Tarantulas stared at him. His strange rows of mandibles were frozen at irregular angles, as though he'd been caught with his mouth hanging open. "I... I don't understand, I..."

"I will not have divided loyalties." Prowl cupped Tarantulas's face in his hand, running a thumb along a ridge over his cheek. "If you're mine, then you're mine. No part of you will belong to anyone else."

Prowl could see the exact moment Tarantulas decided he would obey Prowl's order. It was the moment a light behind his visor died.

"... What does he look like, now." Tarantulas's voice was as hollow and toneless as Prowl's.

Prowl tilted his helm in just that right way to imply a smile. "I'm sure you'll know him when you see him."

The Noisemaze was falling apart. From Prowl's vantage point in Debris, he could see it convulsing and collapsing on itself. With one hand, Prowl stroked Tarantulas's head, as Tarantulas sobbed brokenly. Tarantulas's arms were flung around Prowl's waist, filthy claws clutching pitifully at whatever kibble he could latch onto, rocking back and forth as he wailed. Prowl had heard the wail of a grieving parent before, but never from a Cybertronian. He wondered if Tarantulas even counted as a Cybertronian now.

With his other hand, Prowl carried Springer's head.

Prowl was sorry for Tarantulas. He truly was. Prowl had always hated hurting him the most. But after this, everything else would come so much easier.

The Noisemaze was nothing but shreds and void by the time Tarantulas's sobs grew silent and his convulsions reduced to mere trembling. Only then did Prowl speak.

"Welcome to the AJD."

Tarantulas was silent.

After a long moment, he said, hoarsely, "I—w-we... we're named for our hometowns, aren't we? In the AJD. I... I was... truly... truly born in the Noisemaze, s-so... so, I guess..."

"No," Prowl said. "No, people get names. You're no longer a person. You've turned yourself into a beast."

Tarantulas didn't even wince. Something in Prowl shuddered at it—had he gone too far?—but he consoled himself: maybe Tarantulas was beyond pain, now. Everything would be easier from here on. Everything would be easier.

After another long silence, Tarantulas asked, "Then... what...? What's my...?"

Prowl rubbed a thumb affectionately over one of his horns. "You're my Pet."

Now, they say there's a monster in Petrex's private quarters that lives under his berth.

It's as black as Terminus's gaping maw and has just as many fangs, and it's just as likely to kill you. It's a freak that used to be Cybertronian, but now it's made of meat and metal, the metal rotting the meat and the meat rusting the metal, and it shambles around in the dark on too many legs, and it climbs the walls and ceiling and nests in the corners like a ghost trapped in the room where it died, trying to get free.

They say that Petrex can love; but his love is cruel, and cold, and it will suck the life out of you and leave you a husk of the mech you used to be before you caught his fevered gaze.

They say that when he finds somebody he wants, he chains them to himself with invisible ununtrium links, or ties them to himself with sinewy red threads, or, in one special case, webs them to him with sticky white silk.

They say that Petrex sleeps on a doorway, filled in with cement—a door that doesn't go anywhere. He presses his hand to it when he sleeps.

Sometimes, something scratches on the door from underneath.

Also on AO3.

If you want a tiny fic/story, buy me a coffee and leave a prompt in the comments!

(Feel free to reblog/add comments)

[eirenical]

F, I and N, I love h/c and I'm looking for some new writing ideas so I might try out something that you want ❤️💛💚💙💜

F: Care to share a favorite hurt/comfort fic?

OK, so this is becoming harder than I expected, so instead of a comprehensive list, I will just pull out a few favorites.  I know I’m leaving things out, but my brain is not quite up to the monumental task of listing all my favorite hurt/comfort fic tonight.  O_o;;;

then burn the ashes by @kvothes

Maybe they differ the most in their dispositions, in the way they react to injustice. Where Feuilly bruises, Enjolras bleeds.(Enjolras x Feuilly)

The writing and characterizations on this are just flat out gorgeous.  Enjolras texts Feuilly to ask him to look after his plant for the night.  Feuilly does so and finds himself still there when Enjolras returns in the morning, a bit shook up and bruised, but still somehow relieved to find Feuilly there.  Comfort and adorableness ensues.  ^_^

OK, I could probably just add: EVERYTHING EVER BY @takethewatch to this list and not be lying.  ;D  But a couple of specifics…

Carry On and the ensuing “fix-its/follow-ups”

Feuilly moves to a new city to start over. He plans to keep his head down this time, to work an 8 to 5 job and keep to himself and settle for getting by. His hopes are modest, reasonable: He hopes to keep up on his loan payments, to get along with his coworkers, to get through another Christmas alone.  

He doesn’t plan on getting sucked into a group of literacy activists who care way too much, on getting involved in trying to fix the world again, on stumbling into people who actually seem to care about him. He doesn’t plan on being happy.

I really, really need to do a re-read of this series.  It’s one of my favorite Feuilly stories EVER and a part of why is because of all the glorious hurt/comfort.  ^_^  But seriously, this is my favorite ever Amis Origin Story.  *_*

the best medicine 

Five times Joly took care of his friends, and one time they took care of him.

I am weak, ABSOLUTELY WEAK for competent!joly fic.  And here we have him taking care of everyone and then getting taken care of and just GOSH I LOVE JOLY.  *_*

A Passion for the Absoluteby @amarguerite

Courfeyrac gets severely injured and turns to Enjolras, high priest of the ideal that he is, for a little illumination. Courfeyrac enlightens Enjolras in return. Featuring terrible puns, romantic and Romantic excesses, and the Battle of Hernani.

Holy, oh my goodness, THIS FIC.  *falls over*  This is possibly my favorite ever canon era fic.  I don’t even have WORDS for how much flail I’m still in over this fic, even years later.  This is the fic that made me utterly and completely fall in love with Enjolras and Courfeyrac, as friends, as lovers, as EVERYTHING.  And there’s just SO. MUCH. BEAUTIFUL. HURT/COMFORT.  TT^TT  I LOVE IT SO.

The Peace of Wild Thingsby @ariadneslostthread

Series of vignettes featuring the Chief, the Guide and the Centre. And an obscene amount of h/c.

1. “Good.” Enjolras says with finality. “Now, if you will all excuse me, I’m going to lock myself in a darkened room for a few hours.”

2. Combeferre sighs as he looks from Courfeyrac to Enjolras and back, “I don’t feel entirely myself tonight, to be honest.” He smiles weakly.

3. It is a quiet, reserved sort of concern and love which entirely suits Enjolras so he is happy to share the sofa and pile of blankets with Courfeyrac, their legs tangled together like some sort of two headed, phlegm-ridden blanket monster, coughing and sniffling to his heart’s content without feeling self-conscious.

4. Courfeyrac. It isn’t until he’s retrieved his toothbrush from inside the bathroom cabinet that he catches sight of himself in the mirror, and lets out a horrified scream.

This is honestly one of my most self-indulgent favorite h/c fic.  It’s one of the ones I come back to over and over and over, especially if I’m in need of comfort, myself.  I just love these three so much and I love how deeply they care for each other in this fic and just EVERYTHING.  *_*

All I Have Known by @whimsical-in-the-brainpan

Grantaire’s motto has always been “it only hurts if you care.” Of course, Éponine knows that secretly he’s always cared. But it’s just easier for him to play the strawman than to actually let himself believe. It’s safer.

This is an epically long series of slow-burn e/R that focuses on Eponine and Grantaire’s amazingly co-dependent friendship and JFC, it’s still one of my favorites even though I’m not really on the e/R bandwagon anymore.  It just packs SUCH an emotional punch throughout the entire thing and I love it SO MUCH.  I really need to re-read it, too.  ;D  (Side note: I especially love the characterization of Cosette in this fic.  It’s one of my favorites, to this day. ^_^)

I Know How to Love Only When You’re Holding Meby @kingesstropolis

Courfeyrac and Enjolras grew up next door to each other, with their families so close they might as well be related at this point. So when Enjolras’s older sister gets engaged, Courfeyrac knows he’ll be attending the wedding–which isn’t a problem until it becomes clear he’s supposed to bring a significant other to the wedding. Not having dated anyone in the years since his last disastrous relationship and unable to tell his mother why he’s given up on romance, Courfeyrac does the only logical thing–he brings along his new fake boyfriend, Combeferre.

OK, so this one may not TECHNICALLY be h/c, but it involves a lot of angst and emotional h/c, so I SAY IT COUNTS.  Featuring an ace!Courfeyrac who has put himself through hell and back to get to that conclusion and faces an even steeper uphill battle to accept that he’s still worthy of love and that someone could love him.  And it’s just so lovely and painful and ^__________^.

@thecoffeetragedy always writes really good hurt/comfort, mostly on tumblr, like this really lovely little Combeferre & Courfeyrac ficlet she wrote for me, but you can find a bunch of them here on AO3, too.

I also have a ton of other h/c recs, like I’m sure I’m going to think of a million more that just HAVE TO BE on this list as soon as I post this, but THIS IS A GOOD START, HOPEFULLY, Y/Y?  I also have a ton of others in other fandoms, but I think you are Love, Simon AU nonny, so hopefully these were all relevant to your interests.  ^_^

I: Do you have a guilty pleasure in fic (reading or writing)?

I don’t really believe in guilty pleasures.  I thoroughly enjoy all my pleasures, no shame attached.  ^_~  I absolutely love H/C and sick!fic of every flavor and variety, but I feel absolutely no guilt or shame about that whatsoever.  BRING IT ON.  *_*

N: Is there a fic you wish someone else would write (or finish) for you?

And I just answered this one in the last ask, so a little c/p wouldn’t hurt…

Pfft.  There’s a part of me that really wishes someone would finish FYFM for me at this point, but not too seriously.  I’m too much of a control freak for that.  -.-;;;

As for stories I wish someone would WRITE for me?  *evil grin*  Anything in any of these tags:

dear yuletide author

dear miserable holidays author

dear not for primetime author

dear pr femslash ficathon writer

dear rare pair fest writer

dear trick or treat writer

HAVE AT.  SERIOUSLY.  *chinhands*  ^___________^

SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG, NONNY.  Hopefully you see this.  ^_^

(Anyone else want to send some?  ^_^)