#I’m like oh hey!! What cable needles do you use?

[mothidocandart]

hold on do people normally just fucking. Drop their stitches for cables or is that just my friend

[professorspork]

If you're accepting non-superhell prompts, I'd love to see a conversation between Nora and Emerald! I've been REALLY loving these microfics, I've subscribed to you on Ao3, I'll read whatever else you write

[Gahhh that’s so nice you’re so nice!! thanks for being patient on this one, finding my Nora took some doing]

It’s occurring to Emerald that she’s never had a close female friend before.

You say that like you’ve ever had any friends before, the voice in her head that sounds suspiciously like Mercury needles her, but she brushes it aside. Like—okay, yeah, she’ll concede the point when it comes to Cinder. In hindsight, whatever they’d had going on between them may have been... super intense... but it probably had never been friendship, in the usual definition. But she and Mercury were friends, no matter what the judgy little shitstain version of him who lives in her head has to say about it. They’d always gotten along. Told each other stuff. It’s not like there’s more to it than that, right?

It had always been like that. Been—instinctive somehow, with guys. Before Cinder, on the street, it was always the men who’d been easiest to manipulate; who would empty their pockets for a smile and a sob story. And then she and Merc had been two sides of the same coin for so long, and then... well, Hazel’d liked her enough to die for her, apparently. (Which—that’s a door that she keeps closed, thanks. She shuts it firmly again, now.) Oscar seems fond of her, in a sweet, uncomplicated sort of way that she really doesn’t know what to do with, seeing as he shares headspace with like a trillion year old man and the idea that anything to do with that kid could be “uncomplicated” is batshit. Ren vouched for her once, and then again, and now he keeps doing it, like it’s habit, like she should just be used to the fact that people are going to have her back, to ask her if she’s eaten, to turn to her with a raised eyebrow in conversation like her opinion would be constructive.

Anyway.

Now that she’s noticed the pattern, it seems like the kind of thing she should probably… work on, or whatever. And Nora seems like an obvious place for Emerald to start. They’ve been thrown in together a lot, lately, Emerald and Oscar expected to fill in the gaps of what’s left of the old JNPR by default. Not that they’ve ever really had a conversation about it—Emerald can’t think of the last time Nora said two words to her that weren’t combat warnings like “more Grimm coming” or “on your left,” but. That’s probably just because things have been tense. She remembers Nora being friendly, on the whole of it. Off-puttingly friendly, even, back at Beacon.

How hard could it be?

The answer, it turns out, is absurdly hard. Nora’s barely ever in the temporary barracks they’re all living out of, instead always checking on the refugees, going on supply runs over esoteric requests, volunteering for extra patrols. Emerald used to find that kind of dogged do-goodery gag-inducing, but now that she’s been the helping hand herself a few times, she’s starting to see the appeal. The way people look at you when you’ve been of service, it’s—nice. Really nice. But Nora works utterly thankless jobs, the kind most people don’t even notice, let alone appreciate. And when they have their insufferably long leadership meetings and they’re talking about distribution of resources or whatever, Nora’s a fierce debater—jumping in to advocate for the people from Mantle sometimes even before May can. As far as Emerald can tell, she does this stuff just because... she believes in it. Because it’s the right thing to do, and someone has to.

She can’t imagine what it would feel like, to have the attention of someone like that turned on her. She’s craved it from the wrong people for so long, but now that she has her pick of options... she’s letting herself actually want the right kind, for once. She thinks.

Which is all to say that largely through no fault of her own, Emerald unexpectedly finds herself sitting with a profound, fervent desire for Nora Valkyrie to think she’s cool.

She hates that.

-

Fighting with Nora is easy.

(—er. Alongside. Fighting alongside Nora is easy. Emerald’s done fighting with these people. Very done.)

It’s weird, because Emerald’s finding working with a full team to be a real adjustment. When battles get big enough to merit it, she’s used to keeping to the sidelines to use her Semblance for nefarious purposes, or, in a jam, used to having Mercury’s six—literally, because all the forward momentum from his feet-first style always left his back wide open. Figuring out where to put herself so that Oscar can use her shoulder as a fulcrum as he dodges, or trying to aim for the Grimm Ren isn’t already shooting (ugh)—it’s taking work.

But somehow, it’s not work for Nora. Nora seems to anticipate with perfect ease how Emerald will move or what she’ll be doing; Nora bobs and weaves around their ragtag little band with her war hammer like it’s breathing.

It doesn’t bother Emerald until it does, and she means to bring it up casually but there’s never a good time. So it just… stews, and stews, until she can’t keep it bottled up anymore.

Which means that instead of the earnest question she intends it to be, it comes out like this:

“Okay, seriously? It’s creepy how you do that.”

It’s just the two of them, plus the handful of dweeby Atlesian tech-types they’re escorting back from their foray installing some fancy hydro-filtration modules on the outskirts of the camp. And it’s not like Emerald had felt outmatched by the half-dozen Ravagers that had decided they looked like lunch—she can shoot Ravagers in her sleep, at this point—but still. The way Nora had moved around her, it was like they’d been fighting side by side for years.

Nora just cocks her head to the side. “Do what?” she asks, like she hadn’t just basically read Emerald’s mind in front of the water nerds.

Emerald does a complicated gesture with her hands, wrist over wrist, and then flicking two fingers—trying to evoke the way Nora had flipped over Emerald’s back and then kicked off, just trusting Emerald would reel her back in with a chain in midair before a Grimm could fly away with her sorry ass. “That.”

“Oh!” Nora laughs and rubs at the back of her neck, looking sheepish. “It’s nothing. I guess it’s just not a big deal for me? Like—I was there when Ren built StormFlower. The cables are newish, but we practiced so much back in Atlas… I dunno. It’s just reflex, when your weapons are so similar. Fighting with you, it’s almost like fighting with him. I don’t even have to think about it.”

Nora swallows, then, and makes a face Emerald can’t interpret—disappointed, maybe, or ashamed. Which: good. She probably should be, taking things for granted like that.

“Well—just—” Emerald’s not even sure what she wants to say. Ask, next time? Don’t? “You shouldn’t make assumptions. I’m not your boyfriend, okay?”

The venom she puts behind the word is directed more at herself than Nora—frustrated, again, that she’s put herself in the position of wanting so desperately to be liked.

Pathetic.

Nora just nods, looking glum.

“Yeah,” she murmurs, cheeks pulling in a bitter smile. “You’d think I’d be able to keep that one straight, huh?”

She says it with such pointed irony that for a second Emerald wonders if she’d gotten it wrong somehow, but like—Nora and Ren are a thing, right? That’s—everyone knows that.

“Hey, what—?”

“Let’s just go,” Nora says, and Emerald automatically falls into line behind her.

They make the rest of the walk back in silence.

-

Sometimes at night, when she can’t sleep, Emerald likes to climb up to the roof of the barracks and look out over the refugee camp.

It’s—peaceful, is all. A good reminder of where she is; how far she’s come. The night sky in Vacuo has more stars than she’s ever seen, and being able to watch over all these people who have somehow become her responsibility… well.

A part of her will always be standing on the rooftop at Beacon, looking down on pure chaos as a queasy, frightened sensation twists in her gut and its noxious voice whispers you did this, you did this, you did this. What did you think was going to happen, you stupid little girl? You don’t get to feel sorry for it now.

But she does.

Weird how the only thing that’s helped is actually doing something about it.

She hears a scuffling noise over her shoulder, and she’s got Thief’s Respite drawn and ready before she can even really register what she’s heard. She relaxes when she sees it’s Nora at the other end of the barrels, unarmed and hands raised—a funny little smile on her face, like yeah, fair enough, I should have known better than to try and sneak up.

“Just me,” she says, unnecessarily.

Emerald holsters her guns. “Can I help you?” she asks, and—what is it about her voice, that makes sentences that would be nice if any other human said them come out straight-up hostile?

Nora shrugs, hands dropping to her sides. “I was hoping we could talk; I figured you’d come up here if I waited long enough.”

Well, see—what kind of lesson is she supposed to take from that? She’s been hoping for Nora to talk to her for weeks, and acting like a bitch is the thing that gets her what she wants? Good guys are supposed to know better.

And there’s the way she said it, too. Like everyone knows Emerald comes up here to brood; like it’s a big open secret. The knowledge sits uncomfortably in her stomach, makes her feel watched. Even now, even here, she can’t get a moment alone. Not really.

“What, so you’re spying on me now?”

Nora’s eyes narrow. “I have a pretty bad track record when it comes to losing people. Makes a girl want to put in a little hustle when it comes to keeping tabs on her friends.”

And Emerald would snark at that, or maybe apologize, or something, only—

Nora thinks they’re friends?

“Well, take a seat, I guess,” she mumbles, scooching to the side as though she needs to make room on the massive, empty roof.

Nora walks over and joins Emerald on the asphalt, letting her legs dangle over the edge. Seemingly unsure of where to start, she stares at her hands. Emerald stares too, but her eyes can’t help but wander—tracing the way scars, silvery in the moonlight, spiderweb up Nora’s bare wrists and forearms to fetter her shoulders, clavicle, neck. Like cracks in a pane of glass, right before it shatters.

(Only that’s not it at all, is it? It’s not a sign of weakness, but a warning of strength. I care this much, her scars announce to the word. You wanna try me?

Hazel’s arms always looked like that.)

Emerald doesn’t want to be the one to break the silence, sure that whatever she’d say would be incredibly stupid.

Luckily, Nora has no such qualms, and opens with: “I really admire you, you know?”

Emerald stares, jaw slack, certain she’s heard wrong. “I—what?” She’d say something defensive, like yeah right or you don’t have to make fun of me, only Nora’s eyes are so wide and so guileless they don’t leave any room for argument.

“I mean it,” Nora adds. “I know we don’t know all that much about each other, but… here’s what I do know: I can’t remember a time I saw you without Mercury right behind. Just like me’n Ren. And the way you fought for Cinder…” Nora smiles a sad, private little smile. “You don’t fight like that unless it’s personal; unless someone means something to you. Just like me’n Ren. And now you’re here. All on your own. And you didn’t have to be. That’s—don’t you think that’s crazy brave? I sure do.”

Of course she fucking doesn’t. Crazy brave would have been walking away the first, tenth, hundredth time she had a flash of panic about what she was doing. Or, better yet, doing something about it. Crazy brave is taking thirty thousand volts to get to your friends; it’s flooding your veins with pure crystalline power and saying Go, I’m doing what Gretchen would have done, it’s—

She closes that door.

“It’s not like I really had a choice,” she sighs, dodging the question.

“Oh, you know that’s not true,” Nora scoffs dismissively, tilting sideways to nudge Emerald with her shoulder.

And Emerald jolts, because—look, it’s not like no one touches her. They have to manhandle each other all the time in battle, and… and Oscar gives her high fives sometimes, which makes her embarrassingly pleased. But what Nora’s offering now, that kind of buddy-buddy casual contact…

… it’s been a while, is all.

“So, why did you want to talk to me?” Emerald asks, overwhelmed and suddenly desperate to find a way to get this conversation over with. She feels like she’s sprinted five miles; like she’s had the crap kicked out of her and she has to go somewhere to lick her wounds. Too much, too fast.

Nora laughs—a chuffing, cynical noise that doesn’t sound at all like her. “Looking for pointers? See, I’m trying this thing where I do things on my own, but I just—I suck at it. Like today; you saw. Even when I’m not with Ren, all I do is… is act exactly the same way I do when I’m with Ren. Like I literally don’t know how to exist without him, whether he’s actually there or not. And I know that’s not fair to anyone; I didn’t mean to treat you like—” She shakes her head, biting her lip. “You’re not just some stand-in. It’s not you at all. I’m just—broken, or something. One trick pony.”

“No, hey—”

“But you figured it out,” she barrels on, which is good, because Emerald doesn’t actually have a clue what she would have said there. “You don’t have anyone and somehow you’re just, like—good to go!” Nora says it cheerily, like it’s a compliment, but has the grace to balk a little when she hears how it sounds. “…sorry. That’s—sorry.”

Emerald shrugs, drawing her knees to her chest and resting her chin there. She feels like an idiot; building it up for weeks like spending time with Nora would solve all her problems when, surprise surprise, Nora’s just as fucked up as she is.

“Hate to disappoint you, but I don’t have any hot tips,” she mutters into the crooks of her elbows. “I don’t have a clue what I’m doing. Like—you want to know the really sad part? I was just following your lead.”

“My…?” Nora can’t even finish repeating it, which: Emerald can’t blame her. It’s so dumb. “Huh?”

“Come on. You know.”

“I don’t,” Nora says, voice thick with exhaustion. Like she’s sick of herself. “Ask anyone—I’m not the brains of the operation.”

Hearing Nora talk about herself that way makes Emerald’s chest feel tight; like her ribs have locked in place so her lungs can’t expand. She doesn’t know how to explain it; not without sounding like a starry-eyed fangirl or a moron with a crush and that’s not what this—it’s only that—

She chooses to start a different way.

“You wanna know why I switched sides? Like, really why?”

Nora softens, and reaches out to touch the back of Emerald’s left hand, where it dangles over her knee. “Sure,” she says, but Emerald barely hears it; it’s taking all of her concentration not to clench her fist or pull away in response.

“I overheard Oscar—or, Ozpin, I guess, I don’t know—talking to Hazel about Salem, about her goals. And… listen. No one joins under Salem because they’re trying to kill the world, okay? I mean, no one but Tyrian, anyway. We were all just trying to… find ways to get by. And when Cinder found me, she—” Emerald swallows, hard. This cuts too deep, too close. It’s not something she can just say. “I wasn’t trying to be some big villain, or something. I was just—looking out for the people who were looking out for me. And why wouldn’t I? No one else ever seemed to think I was worth it.”

“Of course you are,” Nora cuts in, quiet but vehement. “Everyone is.”

“See, the worst part is that you mean that when you say it,” Emerald grumbles, scrubbing at her face until smears of color kaleidoscope behind her closed eyes. “I figured people like you didn’t exist, and then Cinder and Merc were glad to prove me right, and—I let them. You know? And maybe if I’d just held out a little longer…”

“You’re not the only one here who’s ashamed of her past. Harriet tried to blow up Mantle, like, a month ago.”

“That’s not—forget that. I’m talking about you. Nora.” It’s the first time she’s ever said her name like that—addressing her, in conversation. It feels… astonishingly intimate, for so small a thing. Emerald powers past it. “Every day, I see you do something ridiculous, like double back on a patrol because you forgot you promised some kid a candy bar, or something, and that—matters. To me. It’s so stupid, but it’s not, because… argh! I want—it’s—” She tries to get her mouth to form the words, that’s the kind of person I want to be, but they stop in her throat.

Still, Nora seems to get the message. Her eyes seem suspiciously shiny for a moment—but when she blinks, it’s gone. “I… thank you.”

“Don’t mention it,” Emerald grumbles. Saying it like she means it: seriously. Don’t mention it.

“I understand what you mean, though. For years, the only person who looked out for me was Ren. And if he’d said…” Nora trails off, then, cocking her head to the side as she works through something. “Huh.”

“What?”

“Nothing, just. I remembered something. I was about to say that if Ren told me the only way for us to get by was a life of crime, or something, I would’ve taken his word for it, but—the opposite happened. We decided to enroll at Beacon. And that wasn’t his idea; it was mine. I always wanted to be a Huntress. To… to be the one strong enough to help people, instead of always needing the help. He wasn’t sure if we would make it, but I was. We were together, right? How could we lose?” She chuckles, a little, shaking her head at herself. “Get a load of that. He followed me.”

They smile at each other, then. Like they’ve figured out something profound. Maybe Nora has; Emerald hopes so.

“I’m glad you’re here, Emerald,” Nora says, and—there it is again. The frisson of electricity that comes with being referred to by name.

Of course, then Emerald ruins it by blurting out:

“Of course you are, all your other friends are dead.”

Which—“Fuck!” she sputters, because she didn’t mean to say that. What is wrong with her? “Sorry! Sorry.”

Nora only grins at her, feral and incisive. “Yeah, well. Yours are evil, so. Pick your poison. At least I’m proud of mine.”

Touché.

“Still glad I’m here?” Emerald jeers, because her first instinct is still to press on the bruise to see how much it hurts.

Nora laughs, and gets to her feet. “Believe it or not, yes. If putting your foot in your mouth was all it took to get booted from Hero Club, I’d have been kicked out a long time ago.” She reaches down to offer Emerald a hand; Emerald takes it, letting Nora pull her to standing. “Now go and get some rest, huh? None of us can ever sleep when you’re up here thinking so loud.”

“That an order?”

“Advice. Friends give it, from time to time.”

And—yeah. Maybe they do. 

[flippyspoon]

Pick Up

Note: Just a lil thingie because I imagining Steve’s voice over the phone lol. MMMMM.

To say Billy’s on pins and needles after the first time he and Steve fool around is a gross understatement. He can’t tell the terror from the ecstasy. He’s about to jump out of his skin. 

He’s used to feeling a lot about..everything.

This is more than usual.

Billy flees Steve’s place quickly, having no better ideas.

He’s nice about it.

“See ya, Harrington!” He says, as he pulls his shirt back on. He glances at Steve who looks half-delirious sitting on the bed, smiling sleepily at Billy, his jeans and briefs still down around his thighs, his spent dick hanging out.

Billy’s out the door before he gets a response, still feeling the sensation of Steve’s dick in his mouth.

He doesn’t sleep a wink that night and his thoughts race around too quickly in his head to catch a hold of any one in particular.

He burns through the half pack of Marlboros he’s got, his bedroom window open to let out the smoke, bringing in the chill. Nothing much is on TV to distract him. I Dream of Jeannie for four straight hours keeps him entertained. Or anyway, he stares at it and thinks of Steve’s head gently falling back against this bedroom door when Billy curled his tongue a certain way.

The way the little bump of Steve’s Adam’s apple stuck out, his mouth gaping open as he breathed. His hand tugging on Billy’s hair. Maybe not tugging quite as hard as Billy would have wanted. But that’s Steve. He was always going to be so sweet. 

I Dream of Jeannie...

He always thought Major Nelson was kind of cute in a fumbling, totally square kinda way.

Huh.

The line of Steve’s throat…

That vein along his dick pressing against Billy’s lips...

It’s maddening.

In the morning, his bones ache from staying up, his throat raw from smoking...and probably from the blow-job.

He makes breakfast for Susan and Max in the morning, feeling bleary, like everything isn’t quite real because he watched the sun rise outside, sitting on the stoop and chilly even in his hooded sweatshirt. He smoked and watched the sky turn amber and for a moment life was perfect because for a moment there, he had Steve Harrington.

They watched MTV because Steve had cable in his room. Steve made some joke about Robert Palmer girls and Billy laughed and when he turned his head, Steve was just staring at him…

Susan goes to work. Max goes to school.

Billy makes himself busy doing things around the house before pretending to look at want ads even though he’s always too chicken shit to apply for anything.

He feels a little braver today. He circles a couple jobs, makes two calls. He reaches Mr. Haggerty at the hardware store. That sounds promising.

He catches himself smiling for no particular reason. But around noon the high starts to fade. 

It’s not like anything is ever going to happen with Steve again. As if a guy like Steve would want him, a voice that sounds like his dad says in his head-

The phone rings while he’s smoking at the kitchen table, glaring into a Cherry Coke.

He lets it ring. It’s likely for Susan and they have a machine since Neil left, because he’s called a couple times and left nasty messages. 

Billy’s shoulders tense up, half expecting to hear his father’s voice after the beep. 

But-

“Hey…” Steve Harrington’s soft voice might as well be a crack of thunder and Billy’s heart starts thudding. “It’s...Steve. Harrington? Um. I just wanted to uh…”

It takes Billy a moment to collect himself enough to realize he should pick up the damn phone. He stumbles getting to his feet, scrambling to the corner counter in the kitchen where the machine sits.

“Just want to...talk to you um…” Steve laughs. “I dunno what to... Holy shit, please pick up-”

Billy picks up the phone.

“Harrington.” He winces at the crack in his voice.

He’s not as smooth as he used to be.

He clears his throat.

“Hey, what’s up,” he says. 

He bites his lip so hard, he nearly draws blood.

“Oh shit,” Steve says, sighing. “Thank God, you picked up. I had no idea what to say to the machine. Holy shit,”

His voice is so warm in Billy’s ear, and just a little crackling through the phone. It’s like coming in from the cold. Billy slumps against the counter and closes his eyes, holding the receiver so tightly in his hand, his fingers ache.

“You at work?” Billy says.

“Yeah! I’m on lunch,” Steve says. “Um. Slow as hell. I just uhhhh…wanted to...say...hi?” He mutters under his breath: “Goddammit.”

Billy takes a breath and summons the courage and cool that used to come more easily.

“Can’t get enough of me, huh?” He says.

That breaks the ice and Steve chuckles in his ear. Billy can practically feel it on his skin.

“I can’t stop thinking about it!” Steve whispers. “I can’t...I can’t stop thinking about you.”

Billy says: “Oh.”

His legs give out a little and he sits down on the floor, his hands shaking so hard, it’s difficult to hold the phone.

Because Steve Harrington can’t stop thinking about him.

“Look, I don’t care if it’s lame or whatever,” Steve goes on, “because like we’ve all almost died ten times. So I don’t give a shit what anybody thinks or anything. Even my parents! I don’t care! I really like you. I like hanging out and...I like...what we did. And...just... do you want to come over tonight? Come over tonight. Don’t make me beg, okay? This speech sounded a lot better in my head. I should’ve written it down-”

“Yeah okay,” Billy says, his head swimming. “Okay.”

“Okay.” Steve says, sighing again. “There’s just one thing. You have to promise me.”

Billy braces himself. “What.”

“If...if you don’t like me,” Steve says, “if it’s not… Just, if you don’t like me like I like you? You have to tell me. Okay? Just don’t lie, like don’t pretend. I can’t pretend shit anymore. Please?”

Jesus. Harrington can make things heavy quick. He didn’t see that coming.

“Okay,” Billy says. “Cool. I promise.”

“Alright,” Steve says, but he sounds farther away now.

It’s almost like maybe he doesn’t believe Billy which causes a sharp pang in Billy’s tender heart. 

“My place at six then?” Steve says. “I’ll order pizza-”

“Cool.”

“Okay.”

“Steve.”

“Yeah?”

“I uh…” Billy rolls his eyes, but that sharp pang doesn’t go anywhere. He licks his lips and says: “I like you? A lot. I… just, I do. I like you. Since...forever. So. Um. Don’t worry about it. Cool?”

The pang is gone. Feels a lot like after Owens gets him to crack his heart open every week. Totally excruciating and then better.

There’s a terrifying pause before Steve says, “Okay. Cool.” And all that warmth is back suddenly and he’s close in Billy’s ear again. Billy can even hear the smile in his voice. “Okay okay! Cool! Okay, I’ll see you at six then!”

Billy checks his watch. It’s only one. So many hours until he sees Steve again, but the anticipation is so acute it almost feels good and he blurts out, “Can’t wait, baby.” 

Steve says, “Jesus Christ… Me either. Kay um...bye.”

Billy hears a giggle before Steve hangs up. 

Five hours seems like a long time, but the minutes are made shorter by the memory of Steve’s warm voice in his ear.

[dawl-and-dapple]

rating: general word count: 1443

Essek and Jester being sweet, based on the non-sexual intimacy prompt 'escorting the other to a doctor/ therapist appointment' given by @mllekurtz

***

Can you drive me to the dentist next week pretty please?

It’s been almost a year since Essek had first been asked to give one of his friends a lift. The requests had slowed somewhat since Caleb finally got himself his own car two months ago, but he is not yet necessarily free from this particular duty. Now he receives a text asking to be driven out of town most often when Caleb is occupied with work, sick, or inebriated.

These texts used to make him wince. After some time they made him smile. These days, they tend to catch him a little off-guard.

Is Caleb not available? he responds.

No, Jester texts back, he’s got an appointment too. Are you gonna be busy?

No, I will be available. I’ll drive you.

Thank you!! I’ll meet you outside the school like usual!! Love you so much!!!!

Essek puts away his phone. He remembers where Jester’s dentist is from the last time she had him drive there. There’s a nice café two blocks away where he could wait out her appointment, reading and enjoying a cup of tea, before driving her home again. He puts his mind to picking out which book to bring.

Five days later, when Essek arrives in the small car park across from the art college, he’s twenty minutes early. He occupies himself by methodically checking his emails, texts, then social media.

Caleb has sent him a photo of Frumpkin playing with his television’s cables. Essek asks if he’s forgotten about his therapy appointment. Caleb responds with a photo taken through a windscreen of a city road, blocked with traffic as far as the eye can see, and a text reading, I wish I had.

Someone knocks on Essek’s window.

“Hey!” Jester’s nose presses up against the glass. “You got here early,” she says, muffled. “You should have let me know.”

“I am not going to encourage you to leave class early, Jester.” He opens the passenger door.

“Boo.” Jester flops into the seat and begins buckling herself in as Essek starts the engine. “We could have hung out a little! We’ve all been so busy since the summer and I miss you, you know. I wanna know how you’ve been! Do you wanna talk about work? Probably not. How about, um, how’s the new flat? I heard Caduceus helped you settle in.”

“I have been well,” Essek says as he pulls out of the car park. “You remember that miniature flower bed you helped me build on my windowsill? I have been growing a little basil plant there.”

“Oh! Have you used the leaves to make anything?”

Essek winces. Of the scant few recipes he could reliably prepare, most are from his home. He’d failed to find a Xhorhasian supermarket in the area after moving and had taken it as a strong sign to try working with what he’d been given. But his lack of experience cooking anything at all made adapting that much harder.

“The cooking part...I am working on that. I will be asking for Caduceus’ guidance again.”

“I’m sure you’ll get the hang of it,” Jester says airily while digging through the small collection of audiobooks and music discs in the door compartment. “How long have you had these? Caleb’s car doesn't even have a CD player. Oh, I bet Caleb could help!” She grins at his reflection in the internal mirror. “He can make some very tasty Zemnian meals, you know.”

“I do know. I believe I’ve eaten one or two prepared by him at a dinner party with the others.”

“You should ask him to teach you the recipes.”

“I might. What did you get up to today? Painting? Sculpting?”

Jester smirks. She answers him, goes on to talk about her current project (a ten-foot-tall collage of hundreds of vintage pinup photographs, though Essek cannot parse the meaning of it). Essek gets the distinct impression that she’s barely holding herself back from needling him more.

As they reach the edge of the city, the traffic slows. A heavy sense of doom overcomes Essek, while Jester flips through the radio channels.

Someone behind Essek honks. He grits his teeth.

“Oh, the traffic here is pretty bad, huh.”

Essek flexes his hands around the steering wheel. “Yes, it seems so.”

Jester turns the radio off. “Do you have to be anywhere after this?”

“No,” he replies. The car comes to a dead halt. “I do not.”

Jester bounces in her seat as if she might be able to peer over the roofs of the dozens of gridlocked cars ahead of them. “Oh man,” she says. “I’d get there faster if I walked.” She goes quiet. After a heartbeat she smiles and turns towards Essek. “Hey Essek? Do you have any sexy audiobooks?”

“What?”

“Like, do you have a CD in here of someone reading a porn book out loud.”

“No, why would I have–?”

“That’s okay, I can plug my phone into the dashboard.”

“Please, Jester.”

“Okay!” She laughs, tucking her phone back into her jacket pocket. “What CDs do you have? All the titles are in Undercommon...”

“Most are audio documentaries. There are two about special relativity, one about magnetism, and one on the life of a particular astrophysicist. There’s also a rock album in there somewhere; my brother gave it to me as a joke.”

Jester snorts.

“I am very boring, aren't I?”

“No!” Jester suddenly grabs his shoulder and shoves him around in his seat, which would have worried him were they moving at any velocity at all. “You’re not! Essek, you’re very fun and interesting.”

Essek smiles as he’s shaken from side to side, keeping his eyes on the traffic jam ahead. “I am very fun and interesting,” he repeats.

She finally stops shoving at his shoulder. “I should get you some new fun CDs for your car. I don’t even know where to buy CDs these days, but I'll get you some.”

“Can you promise there will be no more than one pornographic item in this collection?” he asks, raising his brow at Jester in the mirror.

“Oh, sure.”

“Then, as they say, go wild.”

“Neat. Hey! I know we’ve all been super busy lately but I bet we can do, like, a dinner party or something. Just one evening. Yasha got back into town this week and Veth says Luc has been spending most weekends at his friends’ houses so she can come over. Maybe a Saturday night?” She’s pulled out her phone already. “We can just hang out in my and Fjord’s flat for a while. Or yours!”

“I do not think I have enough space for nine.”

“But would you be free?”

He thinks. “Next weekend, yes.”

Jester pumps her fist in the air. “Awesome! I’ll text the others.”

The traffic moves ever so slightly. Essek watches the cars ahead of him like a cat watching a bird.

“Beau might be the busiest but I bet she’ll want to come. Oh, Caleb can cook something with Caduceus! One of those meals you liked.”

“Uh, maybe.”

“Maybe you can show him a recipe you know too. Try that sometime.”

“Hm.” The car in front finally budges. Essek inches forward.

“I bet he’d love that, Essek.”

“Uh-huh.”

“I know you don't think you’re a good cook, but I remember that rice meal you made when I came over last spring and it was good!”

Now they’re driving again, if at no more than five mph. Essek grips the wheel.

“Make that meal, put on a good movie, wear something cute — that black top with the long sleeves I think — and it’ll be smooth sailing. Trust me, Fjord was no match for the tried and true Lavorre Technique.”

“Hm.”

“And then maybe you can finally talk to him about your big fat crush on Cay-leb.”

The car directly ahead halts. Essek swears and steps on the brake. He stares at Jester. “Pardon?”

She just grins at him.

“I was not listening. Sorry.”

“Oh that’s okay,” she croons, “But guess what…”

Essek is familiar with this tone. It doesn't scare him as much as it used to; he’s developed somewhat of a pavlovian response to her mischief in spite of his initial displeasure. As her grin widens, Essek feels a mirrored anticipatory smile spread across his face.

“You’re stuck in here with me,” she sings, waving her index fingers side-to-side with each word, “and we’re stuck in here together, and I wanna know the truth. So…” She leans forward. “Don’t you like him?”

Essek, face hot, but still smiling, reaches for the radio fast enough to fumble the air conditioning.

[lailyn]

This Magical Journey Called Multiple (Chapter 2)

“Now will you let me take your blood?”

“Nothing I say will stop you." With a resigned sigh, Loki slowly straightened his arm in consent. "If it must be done." 

The incessant complaining continued, regardless. “Know that I hate this.”

“Duly noted, my dear," Stephen murmured. "You're such a great patient."

“Don’t sound so disappointed.”

“For someone so fond of knives, you sure are critical about needles.” Stephen found a juicy vein in the bend of Loki’s elbow, and pressed the tip of his syringe at the plumpest point. “Sharp prick.”

The tension in Loki's muscles did not let up even after Stephen had removed the needle. 

Handing the blood sample to one of Tony’s robots to be processed, he gently patted Loki’s arm where the needle mark was already fading as Stephen watched. "You can relax now. It's done."

Loki mustered a half-smile but something was still amiss.

Stephen narrowed his eyes. "Is your stomach hurting again?"

"Some," Loki admitted reluctantly. "It's not that bad."

"I call bullshit," Tony said darkly. "We practically had to carry you."

"Half-carry," Loki corrected, raising his head off his tiny pillow to glare at Tony, who had been standing silently in the far corner of the room ever since they returned from the farmers market. "If you hadn't freaked out and given me a moment like I asked instead of crying to Stephen, I would have recovered in time." 

But before Tony could counter-argue, Loki proved himself wrong when the pain returned in full force, cleaving him in two and leaving him panting for breath. 

That was the last straw. Tony stepped out of the shadows and grabbed the hand grasping the side of the bed in a white-knuckled grip. “Bambi.”

Stephen watched the beads of sweat form on Loki's forehead. "Pain scale of one to ten, where are you at?”

Loki shook his head in denial.

“Stephen, he’s not talking. Why isn’t he talking?”

“He’s trying to think of a number to throw us off.”

With a feverish roll of his eyes, Loki held up his right thumb and first two fingers.

Tony allowed himself to relax slightly. “A three. That’s not so bad, right?”

“It’s a seven,” Stephen said flatly. 

“Huh?”

“That’s finger abacus, the thumb represents a five,” Stephen glowered. “Thinks he’s smarter than us.”

Loki dropped his finger gun. “Sod off,” he muttered. 

“Now is not the time to be difficult, Loki,” Stephen growled. "Did you take any hits in the battle that you failed to mention?"

“No,” Loki grunted. "I had my shield up the whole time. This is new."

But Stephen was already pulling the ultrasound machine closer. "Can't hurt to take a look. Occult internal bleeding can happen long after the initial trauma, doctors miss it all the time."

"How reassuring." Loki squirmed as he tried to find the most comfortable position. The ice-cold gel Stephen was liberally squirting all over his tense abdomen did not help matters.

"Try to hold still."

Loki breathed deeply in and out of his nose, focusing on keeping the fidgeting to a minimum. As gentle as Stephen tried to be with maneuvering the transducer probe, every prod and push sent a fresh shard of pain lancing through his belly. 

"Loki, lower your shield. I need to see if there’s free fluid in your abdominal cavity.” 

"What? What are you talking about?" Loki asked.

“I can't see a thing." Stephen turned the monitor around so they both could see just what he meant. “Look.”

“It’s all black,” Tony said in rising horror. “Why the hell is it black? Are you liquidating inside? Is that what's happening?”

“Not if I can help it…” Stephen murmured distractedly, fingers flying over the knobs and dials but no amount of adjusting seemed to work. “And the word you're looking for is liquefying. Liquidating is what you do when your stock price falls and you start selling your yachts.”

Tony placed his hands on his hips. “You just can’t help yourself, can you?”

Stephen ignored him, focusing on the quieter of his two husbands, which was a great worry in itself. “I can’t see the inside of your body, you’re not letting me.”

"It's not me. I'm not doing anything," Loki said, sounding more breathless than Stephen would like. 

Tony must have thought the same. He turned the knob controlling the supplemental oxygen supply on the wall and cajoled Loki into wearing the nasal cannula. Unsurprisingly, he succeeded. It was something Tony would always be better at doing than Stephen, getting Loki to do stuff he did not want to do, and Stephen was forever grateful for it.

“Well, something’s blocking the sonic waves."

"Blocking?" 

Stephen nodded, allowing himself a moment of relief. Loki seemed to be breathing a bit easier now. 

"It’s like your abdomen’s made of solid rock,” he said, mind racing as he pondered their next move. “You need a CT scan. Is the blood test ready? I have to see if the kidney function’s okay if we’re thinking of giving you contrast.”

Tony typed away on the console for a few seconds. “Yeah. I’m bringing the results up right now.” 

Stephen reluctantly left Loki’s side and joined Tony at the computer. “Let’s see…” 

He scrolled down quickly before something caught his eye and he stopped. “Oh.”

“Oh?” Tony peered over Stephen’s shoulder. “What is it? What do you see?”

Stephen backed away from the monitor, looking spooked all of a sudden. “Maybe it’s not acoustic impedance at all...” 

Tony frowned. The look on Stephen’s face was not sitting right with him at all. “What isn’t? If you don’t start sharing what you know, I swear I am going to kick your ass.”

“Maybe there’s nothing wrong with the ultrasound. Maybe something is cancelling it out.” Stephen turned around very, very slowly. “Loki. Is there any chance that you could be pregnant?”

“What?” Loki balked. “No!” 

“Are you sure?” Stephen asked carefully. “It’s not like you have a discernible ovarian cycle to guide you.”

“I don’t need one,” Loki retorted, but the first glimmer of doubt crept into his voice. “What makes you think I am?”

“Your hCG level’s elevated," Stephen said. 

When Loki stared at him blankly through eyes glazed with pain, Stephen figured he should elaborate.

“It’s a marker of pregnancy and testicular carcinoma, but the latter takes slightly longer to kill you and isn’t a concern for right now.”

“This is a nightmare.” Tony sank into a chair and buried his face into his hands. “A fucking nightmare.”

“Stop being so dramatic, Stark,” Loki scoffed. "Why can't it be the latter? I do have a sizable pair."

“To confirm that, we need another panel of special blood tests that I will definitely take from you later,” Stephen said, blatantly ignoring Loki's poor attempt at humor. “One thing at a time.”

"I am not pregnant. Don't you think I would know if I were?"

"It's a moot question, considering there is no precedent for the current situation."

"I have been pregnant before."

"Not by us humans."

There were many things about Stephen Loki found endearing, too many to count, but there was a smugness to his persona whenever his husband put on his doctor hat...not that it was any more authoritative than his usual self, but definitely a lot less tolerable. In things concerning magic, Loki was easily his equal if not superior. But now, struggling with this awful pain in his gut, he was at Stephen’s mercy. 

Even so, Loki was not going to back down without a fight. “My contraceptive spells are infallible.”

“Spells can fail.”

Loki was out of the bed so fast he was a blur of shadow flying across the room toward them.

"Stephen - " Tony leaped forward.

Stephen fumbled as he tried to conjure a defence against whatever was coming, but before he knew it, Tony's fast reflexes kicked in and he caught Loki in mid-collapse, “Hey, easy, easy!”

As Tony lowered him to the floor, Loki buried his face as deeply as he could in Tony’s chest in the hope that it would stifle his scream, of pain and rage alike. "Did you do this?"

“What?” Tony strained to hear him amid the alarm blaring from the monitors from which Loki had extricated himself in his frenzy. 

“Not you.” A green eye stared out accusingly from the crevice of their interlocking arms. “Him.”

Stephen's heart thundered in his chest. He knew when something was meant for Tony, and when it was meant for him. “I did not.”

Tony swivelled his head. “Stephen, what is he talking about?”

“There is only one being in this world powerful enough to counter my spells,” Loki spat. “Is this your doing?”

“I would never do that to you,” Stephen said heatedly. “How could you even think that?”

“Bambi,” Tony said anxiously when Loki’s form began trembling in his arms. “Bambi, calm down.”

Stephen braced himself once more against the onslaught of daggers or fists or magic but no threat of any kind came forth. He watched the light leave Loki’s eyes like a candle snuffed and heard Tony shout out a warning. “Loki!” 

Stephen lunged to grab their listing husband and managed to save Loki’s head from hitting the floor, only just. 

“Loki,” he called urgently. True fear gripped his heart when Loki remained motionless. “Help me, Tony.”

They wrestled with Loki’s long limbs and together, they carried him over to the bed. 

“What the hell is going on?” Tony asked frantically. “Stephen?”

Stephen ignored him, focusing instead on reattaching the wires and cables that would connect Loki once more to the vital signs monitor. He did not speak until a blood pressure reading came back; it was borderline low but satisfactory for now, given the normal pulse rate and heart rhythm. 

“He’s fine,” Stephen said gruffly. “He just passed out.”

Tony growled, “That’s not what I meant and you know it.” 

He picked up a limp hand and rubbed it furiously between his palms. 

“He’s freezing. Why is he freezing? It’s like ninety-degrees in here,” he rambled, “And I don’t know if I heard you right the first time, feel free to correct me if I’m wrong, but I swear I heard you say Loki was pregnant.”

“I did.”

“Please tell me you’re joking,” Tony pleaded.

Stephen sighed, massaging the bridge of his nose. “Wish I could.”

“Are you sure?”

“I can’t be sure.” Stephen studied Loki’s wan face and the desire to just dip his astral fingers into his husband’s abdomen to take a look inside was overwhelming. He killed the thought before desperation could breathe it to life. “There’s one thing we haven’t tried. Another ultrasound.” 

He met Tony’s eyes across the bed. “Transvaginally.”

“What are you waiting for?” Tony demanded. 

Stephen bit the inside of his lip. “I don’t know how.”

“What do you mean you don’t know?” Tony’s voice shrilled. “You’re supposed to know everything!”

“About brains, not babies!” Stephen exploded. “I think I need to talk to Christine.”

Tony’s face changed. He pulled Stephen by the sleeve of his shirt to a corner, the farthest he could go while still keeping Loki in his line of sight and out of earshot. 

“Christine? As in your ex?” he hissed.

“She’s a doctor, Tony, and a damn good one too. She’s seen her fair share of strange things and ambiguous genitalia is nowhere near up there.”

“Okay, I don’t know if you can’t hear yourself or if you’re being an ass on purpose, but you’re being an ass!”

Stephen opened his mouth to protest, but Tony beat him to the punch. 

“Never mind how I feel, but you and I both know how Loki feels about her! No shade on Christine, coz I’m sure she’s great but - ” Tony’s knight’s-move thinking took him off course, “Ambiguous? Really?” 

Stephen stared. What’s so wrong with what he said? “That...is the clinical term, if you must know.”    

“I don’t give a shit. You don’t say things like that,” Tony seethed. “I’ve never been surer of what Loki is and what he has, and what he has is not a fucking cul-de-sac!”

“I know that, and that is why I’m trying to get to the bottom of this because I know what’s at stake!” Stephen’s voice rose in pitch to match Tony’s. “I am not going to argue semantics with you when Loki could be having an ectopic pregnancy that could kill him at any minute while we stand here fighting!”

Tony instantly deflated. “I’m not fighting.”

“Good!” Stephen snapped. A guilty look instantly flashed across his face. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to yell.”

“No, I get it. You’re worried about Loki,” Tony sighed heavily. “And I’m sorry too. I just - I can't - " his voice caught in his throat, "You're probably used to it, but I can't stand seeing him like this."

"You never get used to seeing someone you love hurting," Stephen said quietly.

Tony's gaze softened. "Yeah." His thumb rubbed comforting circles on the back of Stephen's scarred hand. "I've got your back."

Stephen smiled gratefully. "Thanks, Tony."

When they turned around to return to Loki, the sight awaiting them froze them in their tracks. 

"Oh shit," Tony breathed. "No, no, no…"

Everywhere they looked they saw ice, creeping across the tiles from where the examination table was bolted to the floor and spreading toward the computers and sensitive medical equipment surrounding it.

Still deeply unconscious, Loki's Aesir glamour had fallen away, revealing his Jotun form, skin as blue as the slab of ice he was lying on.

[thatmultifandomhoe]

Knitting You a Home - 2

Pairing: Wolf Hybrid Namjoon and Human Reader

Word Count: 3k

Genre/Rating: Hybrid AU - Established Relationship - Angst - Fluff - Smut - PG-13

Overview: Things have changed for you and Namjoon. It’s been a year since the two of you got together, and despite a rocky start, it was impossible to deny the bond and love you shared for each other. But ever since Hoseok had been separated from his Mate, Namjoon has been withdrawing himself from you and doesn’t come home until late at night.

With questions far larger than either of you imagined, you can’t help but wonder if he’s let his past and old fears come back to haunt him. You had shown him that it was possible to have a home and be loved once before, but will you be able to do it again?

Warning: None.

Playlist:

Main Master List:

Knitting You a Home Master List:

Mated Love is Never Easy Master List:

Sneak Peak - Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6 - Part 7 - Part 8 - Part 9 - Part 10 - Part 11 - Part 12 - Part 13 - Part 14 - Part 15 - ?

©thatmultifandomhoe Do not repost, translate, or use my stories without permission.

June 2019

The ringing of the overhead bell captured your attention, whisking you out of your memories. With a forced smile, you looked up from where you pricing the bamboo knitting needles to greet the customers.

You recognized the two women as regulars who frequently came to your shop for supplies or to add to their yarn addiction. “Hi Carol, hey Tammy, how are you ladies today?”

“Doing fine,” Tammy answered. Carol disappeared to the back of the store where the larger displays of yarn were kept. Yup. Adding to their yarn addiction was on the menu for them today. “Is your grandmother here?”

Chuckling, you added another package of needles to the wire basket you had sitting on the stool next to you. “In the back fawning over the Mongolian Cashmere yarn.”

“Are you talking about the Jade Sapphire brand of Mongolian Cashmere?” Tammy’s eyes widened, leaning closer to you as she held onto the counter.

With a serious nod, you fought back the urge to smile. “The very one.”

“What colors?”

“Moonstone, Red Light District, Ivory, Perugia, and Umbrian Sky.”

Tammy gasped, her hand coming up to clutch her chest. “You only had three colors last time.”

It never ceased to amaze you how die hard some of the women who came into the shop were for the yarn, especially the luxury yarn that you sold. The conversation didn’t last much longer, and it was with a smile that you watched Tammy scurry her way to Carol and whisper in her ear, the two of them high tailing to go find your Grandmother.

While you had your own love and passion for the age-old hobby of knitting – so much that you went into business with your Grandmother to open your own shop, Second Gen Knitters – you weren’t about to go spending fifty dollars on a single hank of yarn. Not only would your bank account cry, but Namjoon would most likely choke on whatever you fed him in an attempt to break the news.

Sighing, you stuck a label on another pair of needles, taking a moment to look around the store. The teal carpet stood out from the hardwood floor, and the mahogany bookcases that lined the walls gleamed from being dusted earlier that morning. On a large square table in the middle of the front room were wicker baskets displaying smaller hanks of colorful sock yarn, and a decorative black wrought iron stand that stood out among the bright colors, held up a sign you had painstakingly painted to display the prices.

In the corner to the left near the windows, was a sitting area with matching teal couches and chair along with a mini coffee table. A various group of knitting, country lifestyle, and People magazines were neatly spread out, completely ignored by the group of husbands that sat there on their phones, letting their wives go about and shop.

It always amused you when a couple would enter the shop and after only a few moments the husband would hightail it to the sitting area, leaving the wife completely unsurprised.

Namjoon never outright said anything, but every time he saw that area filled and he was in the shop, he made a habit of making faces in their direction to amuse you. Whenever you went on your own knitting shopping spree, he would join you and help to make decisions if you were stuck between colors or how many you needed to complete a project. Especially when what was being made was for him, he was there to give his input on colors and textures.

The summer weather made it too warm for the scarves and sweaters that Namjoon loved to wear, but it was perfect to sit down and knit away so he’d be able to wear them in the fall.

As much as you loved him, these last few weeks had your mind spinning with his strange behavior. When Hoseok’s life had gotten turned upside down, Namjoon had become extra protective of you. While the possibility of what happened between Hoseok and his mate would happen to Namjoon and you were highly unlikely, the instinct for him to be there and watch over you was too strong for him to suppress.

You hadn’t minded it, especially when his physical affection increased greatly. But it’d be a lie to say that you weren’t affected by what happened, even if you were barely involved in the situation. It was one of those things that buried itself deep in your mind, forcing you to think about it even when you didn’t want to.

It was different for the two of you though. You weren’t just his Mate, but it was your name written on his Adoption papers.

Life had begun to go back to normal when Hoseok and Sarah were finally reunited, but then they dropped another bomb. Hoseok had signed a contract with a dance company in Seoul and at the end of the month, he was leaving for a year to tour with a professional team made up of elite dancers from all around the world. While you had been stunned by the announcement and how long he was to be gone for, you were ecstatic for your friend to pursue his dreams.

But then, Namjoon changed again.

As the days inched closer to Hoseok’s departure, Namjoon had grown quieter, and surprisingly, withdrawn. The extra affection had declined along with his usual amount. While he was naturally a quiet person, he always managed to start up a conversation and keep it going for hours, but something had flipped inside him and he was barely able to keep one going. Now it was you who was randomly hugging him while out in public or crawling between his legs when you saw him reading on the couch. He never turned your affection down, but he wasn’t seeking it out either.

The bell rang out again, but you didn’t look up as you were in the middle of counting how many needles you already had labeled. If the goal number was met, then you’d be able to put the rest back in the storage room for now.

“Hey Angel.”

The corner of your mouth curled up at the soft and familiar voice calling out his pet name for you, abruptly dropping the needles back into the basket to turn and face him.

Namjoon raised an eyebrow as he looked at the basket, a teasing grin appearing as he leaned against the counter. “Isn’t that important?”

“Not as important as you,” you sweetly answered, smiling as you watched Namjoon duck his head. It was absolutely cheesy, but it worked like magic to make him happy.

“Shut up,” he murmured, handing you a coffee before taking a sip out of his own.

Grateful for the caffeine, you tapped the white recycled cup that’s only design was the black lettering that spelt out, Kim Seokjin’s Café in cursive. “I thought you had work today?”

“Lunch break,” Namjoon answered, his ears twitching as he glanced around the shop. “I thought you might want a cup, and the bus stop just happens to be conveniently near your store.”

You hummed in agreement, leaning back to look in the direction of where your Grandmother was. Well, in the direction that you heard her voice coming from. Even from the front, you were able to hear her explaining how to do a cable stitch to someone.

“How’s your day been though?” You asked, gesturing for him to come around the counter with you. At least his little visits hadn’t stopped. They were a habit he started not long after moving in with you and when he saw how much you looked forward to them, made it a point to come by when he was able to during the day.

He held onto his cup a little tighter, not wanting to spill a single drop as he maneuvered his way around the counter. The space was small and even as you moved the wire basket and stool out of his way, he didn’t seem to relax until he set his cup on the counter. “Good. We’re working with a rapper this time. He’s really hands on with the album, which is amazing considering the last artist we--”

“Oh, Namjoon!” your Grandmother called out.

Teasingly rolling your eyes, you grinned as she came out from the back, her glasses on the bridge of her nose when she held her arms out to bring Namjoon in for a hug, despite the fact that he was easily a foot and a half taller than her.

“Hey Ma, how are you?”

“I’m good sweetheart.”

Without even looking, you were willing to bet that his dimples were showing. Grandmother just had a certain way about her that made it impossible for anyone to not be happy around her.

You leaned backwards against his Namjoon’s chest out of habit when he came back, feeling the gentle vibrations coming from him as he wrapped his arms around your waist in a loose hug. The gesture, while small, had you relaxing even more so. This was the majority of any affection the two of you had been sharing lately.

The moment would have been more enjoyable had you paid attention to the conversation that your Grandmother was having with Namjoon, but you had glanced around the store out of habit. You didn’t want anyone to feel ignored in case they had a question about a product, needed assistance with a project, or simply was ready to check out.

She was looking at the sock yarn at the table across from the counter. An older woman with a wire basket resting on her elbow. It was with experienced eyes that you noticed two of the Jade Sapphira hands sitting in there, and in her hands was some blue sock yarn, but she wasn’t looking at that. Matter of fact, her gaze was focused on you, but it was too low to be an attempt to capture your attention.

To someone who didn’t understand anything about Hybrids, the scar on your neck appeared to be the result of a painful accident. In reality, it was the exact opposite. The scar was your Mate Mark, the very one that you treasured when Namjoon had given it to you almost a year ago, sealing the bond between you as Mates for the rest of your lives.

The old woman stared at the Mate Mark, her gaze flicking towards Namjoon to see the wolf ears on top of his head, then down to his tail that was carefully wagging behind him.

“I’m sorry ma’am,” Grandmother suddenly spoke, stealing your attention as she walked towards the woman who had been staring. “But I couldn’t help but notice you’d been looking at this young man, and while my son-in-law is not for sale, we do have some great patterns in the back that have almost as equally handsome young male models on them.”

Your heart nearly stopped as she led the old woman away and to the back, internally dying at her antics but grateful for them at the same time. Embarrassment had your cheeks feeling warm, and with Namjoon’s body shaking from holding back his laughter, you covered your face with your hands when the women were out of sight.

With the exception of the chuckles slipping out, he was quiet as he tightened his arms around you, leaning down to gently kiss at your Mate Mark. While you had only been able to see her stares, Namjoon had been able to sense the woman’s distaste the second she saw him hugging you.

“She’s a closed-minded old woman,” he softly murmured in your ear, hoping to ease your hands away from your face. “Who is currently having to deal with an upset Ma right now, and I think that’s punishment enough.”

Like always, your skin tingled each time he kissed the mark, the sensation coursing throughout your body even after you lowered your hands. “That doesn’t mean I like her,” you muttered.

Namjoon simply chuckled, settling for kissing your neck again. Normally, you would have let him have his fun before teasing him to stop, reasoning that you were at work and the last thing you wanted to do was make anyone uncomfortable with all the affection. But you didn’t stop him this time. This was perhaps the most affection that he had given out since Hoseok’s career announcement, and you weren’t the one having to initiate it.

“I’ve missed you,” you whispered, sliding your hands over his until you were hugging his arms. It had felt like forever since you last shared such a sweet moment with Namjoon. All you wanted was to make it last, because if tonight was anything like it has been for last several weeks, he wouldn’t be home before midnight again.

Despite your silent wishes, Namjoon lifted his head and kissed your cheek once before resting his chin on top of your head.

“I know,” he softly murmured back, his arms wrapping around you further in an attempt to bring you closer. “I miss you too.”

Your heart dropped however, and you stared at the packaging of the knitting needles you had been counting, wishing that it didn’t feel like there was sea separating you from Namjoon these days.

“Will you be late coming home again?”

He closed his eyes, signing as he kissed the side of your head. Able to sense you true feelings, he knew that you already had the answer. “I’m sorry Angel.”

Pressing your lips together, you gently squeezed his hand. “Will Yoongi be there?”

“Yoongi practically lives there,” he joked, kissing your mark once more before finally pulling back. “I should get going, the bus will be here soon.”

His hand slid down to your lower back before disappearing completely as he walked around the counter, leaving you feeling cold and alone.

It was reassuring to know that Yoongi was going to be with him, but with all the hours he’s been spending at work, it was becoming impossible to recall the times that he was at home. Most nights he was only getting home after you crawled into bed, and having gotten used to Namjoon hugging you to his chest while the two of you slept, sleeping without him wasn’t easy. A majority of the time you found yourself playing on your phone for an hour or so before ditching it in an attempt to get some sleep, but then you’d be woken up at the touch of his arms sliding around your body as he slipped under the covers with a kiss to your neck, coaxing you back to sleep.

Stolen moments and gentle kisses were the most romantic the two of you were getting these days.

As much as you loved them, it all reminded you of the early days of your relationship, and as he withdrew in on himself, you couldn’t help but wonder if it had to do with you. Had the relationship become too much of a routine? Were you becoming predictable? Was he no longer attracted to you?

Like she knew that she was needed, Grandmother once again came back to the front, this time without the old woman following her. “Heading back out Namjoon?”

Namjoon nodded as he leaned down to give her a hug, his arms carefully wrapping around your Grandmother like he thought she was fragile and was afraid that he’d break her. Which wasn’t unrealistic, considering all the dishes that he’s broken in the last year.

“Yes, I need to catch the bus to get back to work.”

“You need to get yourself a driver’s license hun,” Grandma teased, rubbing Namjoon’s back before tilting her head to kiss his cheek.

As they parted from their hug, you smiled at seeing the light blush on his cheeks for a brief moment, any worries disappearing for the time being.

“I like taking the bus Ma,” Namjoon teased, pulling out of her embrace to lean against the counter for a moment. “It’s relaxing and lets me clear my thoughts.”

“You can clear your thoughts at home you know,” Grandma pointed out, her eyes crinkling at the corner. “I’m not getting any younger, and to be able to hold my great-grandbabies is a dream I want to see come true.”

Once again you felt your cheeks heating up, the sound of her laughter echoing as she left the two of you alone again. Ever since you told her that you were Namjoon’s Mate, she made sure to hint around about grandkids whenever the moment struck her.

“I love her I do…” Namjoon murmured, reaching his hand out for yours to hold.

“But she drives us nuts.” You supplied, smiling up at him.

He nodded, his own embarrassed smile appearing to be permanent while displaying his dimples for you. “Okay, I really have to get going or I’ll be late. I love you Angel.”

Your smile softened as he held your hand to his lips, his fingers squeezing your palm quickly. “I love you too Namjoon.”

He didn’t stay much longer, his tail wagging as he walked out the door and shortly out of your sight, his departure forcing you to get back to work, and allowing your worry to come back to the forefront of your mind. This time free to do so since Namjoon wasn’t around to sense your emotions.

It was proven time after time that Hybrids only had one true Mate in their lives, and once couples completed the bond, they weren’t able to have any romantic feelings towards anyone else. Which was why you were struggling to understand these changes with Namjoon.

Reaching up, you touched the Mate Mark, recalling all the moments when Namjoon had been the one to pull you back to bed, to cuddle you for five extra minutes because he had missed you. It was stupid to doubt his love for you, but you couldn’t help it.

There had to be a reason for why he was so distant again. For why he was barely being affectionate these days. Was it because these long nights that he spent at work with Yoongi, were with someone else? That he was enjoying the warm embrace of another before coming home? The idea was far-fetched, and you began doubting it a second later like always, but what were you supposed to think?

“Oh Joonie,” you sighed, seeing that he had left behind his coffee cup.

It was too late to try and rush out to bring it to him, so you tossed it into the trash with a thump, feeling like you were grasping at straws at this point. When you had done researched on what it meant to be Mates, never once did you come across a point where there was a possibility that the couples separated. It wasn’t even a consideration.

But now…you weren’t sure what to think.

[memzhay]

The Elevator

Rhett and Link stepped into the elevator on the 8th floor of the Courtyard by Marriott Downtown in Portland, Oregon.  Portland was always a fun town to visit: cool vibe, easy nonstop flights, excellent coffee, that giant awesome used bookstore. They were meeting with a team from Laika Studios, the ones who did Coraline, to talk about a possible animated version of Bleak Creek. If everything went well, this could be a perfect fit for the story. They were trying not to get their hopes up, but were both fairly nervous and excited to see how it turned out.

They were alone in the elevator, Link reading aloud from his phone about the history of Laika and what the company was about, when the elevator suddenly stopped with a jolt and a loud grinding sound from the back wall. They grabbed onto the walls both letting out startled yells of curse words and general panic.

“What the ever-living crap?!” Link shouted. “You alright?” he said to Rhett, grabbing onto his arm like a life vest in the ocean.

Rhett’s eyes were wide with terror, his knuckles white as he grasped the handrail for dear life. He’s not alright, Link realized.

Well, Link thought, he can’t be the one to go to pieces all the time. Rhett should get a turn here and there. “Hey man,” he said gently. “It’s alright. It’s not moving anymore. Did you get hurt at all when it dropped a little there? Your knees? Your back?”

Rhett shook his head quickly. Eyes locked tight, face red.

“Breathe, man, just breathe!” Link commanded, taking his right hand in both of his. “Hey Rhett, look at me a sec. Boy, you’re tore up aren’t you? Come on Rhett, deep breaths.”

“Fuck.. Fucking.. FUCK!!” Rhett shouted, but he then sucked in a huge lungful of air and opened his eyes, locking them onto Link.

“There we go,” Link said with a smile he hoped was comforting. “Here. Let’s check out this lovely carpet down here. Let’s just sit you down.” He kept a hold of Rhett’s hand in one of his, putting the other on his shoulder and guiding him to the floor of the elevator. “I’m gonna talk to the front desk and see what the actual fuck, right? And you just breathe.”

Rhett nodded wordlessly from the floor. Link opened the panel above the floor buttons and grabbed the emergency phone. Rhett heard him talking to the front desk as he tried to get a hold on himself. He wasn’t claustrophobic or scared of elevators or anything. Why was his heart racing so bad? Why was Link relatively unscathed? Link once melted down when he dropped a pen off a damn balcony! Why couldn’t he get it together? In what seemed like a fraction of a second, or maybe 50 years, Link was on the floor next to him, one hand on his shoulder, the other on his knee.

“They think it was a damn bird or something,” Link said. “Stuck in the whosie-whatsit thing that the cables go in up there. They have somebody on the way. We’ll hear them up there soon.”

“We killed a bird?!” Rhett cried.

“We did no such thing!” Link insisted. “That bird made a very bad decision. We just happened to be here.”

“Who gets stuck in an elevator?” Rhett demanded. “That’s something that happens in movies, not in real life!”

“Hey, we get in a lot of elevators,” Link said. “You get in enough elevators, you get stuck eventually. It’s math.”

“Fuuuuuck!” Rhett groaned, pulling his legs to his chest and resting his head on his knees. “Laika!” he yelled.

“On it!” said Link, standing up and scrolling through the contacts in his phone. Rhett heard him talking, but he sounded far away. Get it together, McLaughlin! Next thing Rhett knew, Link was again seated on the floor next to him.

“They are apprised. Told us to be safe and let them know what happens. This will make a great ice-breaker for the pitch meeting, don’t you think?” Link said patting his back with a chuckle that sounded slightly forced. “Now,” he continued, “What to do to take your mind off things until our friends fix the problem?”

“When I’m in a stormy ocean,” Link began.

“Oh, you couldn’t possibly!” Rhett objected.

“I rub myself with calming lotion.”

“UGH!!” Rhett protested.

“And crawl inside a soft cocoon,” Link continued hypnotically.

“Stop man. For reals,” Rhett said with a strained laugh.

“Alright,” Link agreed. “But ‘The Puzzle’ doesn’t get talked about enough. That shit was dope!”

“When in your life have you ever said ‘That shit was dope’?” Rhett demanded.

“Just then,” Link admitted.

“You’re a freak,” Rhett said amused.

“I’m your best friend who you love so much,” Link corrected.

“Maniac!” Rhett laughed.

“The best friend a man could ever ask for! Hair all full of silver moonbeams and eyes like the Caribbean!” Link needled.

“BARF!” Rhett proclaimed.

“A friend like no other! Heart of an angel, whimsy of a jester, and the lithe body of a sleek jungle cat!” Link added striking his best sexy tiger pose.

“The nerve!” Rhett giggled. “The absolute, unmitigated gall!”

They leaned against the wall chortling until Rhett was breathing normally and seemed more grounded. “You got any more tricks in your Link Neal bag of foolishness?”

“Spread your legs,” Link instructed.

“I beg your pardon!” Rhett said in shock.

“It’s pretzel time, Rhett,” Link said nodding his head.

“Be serious!” Rhett demanded.

Link raised his face to the overhead lights. “Cuddle Queen Jean!” he intoned, “Be with us in this our hour of need! May we cuddle and cuddle well!” Link crawled into Rhett’s lap and scooched around. Rhett muttering under his breath about god damn elevators and birds and indignity, but obediently wrapping his arms and legs around Link who nuzzled into the base of his neck, sing-songing “Pretzel time, pretzel time,” and letting out a contented sigh.

“Unbelievable,” muttered Rhett. “It would be pretty hilarious if they find us like this when the doors open,” he admitted.

“I hope there are at least 3 people with cell phone cameras at the ready. The fans would love it. This is vintage us and I’m here for it,” Link stated matter of fact.

Link made a point of taking deep slow breaths in and out, continuing until he noticed Rhett was matching his breathing.

“Daddy like peanut butter,” Link said into his shoulder.

Rhett snorted derisively. Link pulled his head up, raising his eyebrows. Go with the bit, Rhett. Always go with the bit. No exceptions.

“Daddy don’t like elevators,” Rhett said miserably.

Link nodded and laid his head back on Rhett’s shoulder. That’s more like it.

“Daddy like puppy dogs,” Link continued.

“Daddy don’t like losing his shit,” Rhett said.

“Daddy like emotional honesty,” Link cooed.

“Daddy don’t like liver,” Rhett said with a smile.

“Daddy like his best friend,” Link said happily.

“Daddy does too,” Rhett said fondly.

“Hey, I win,” Link said peacefully. “You didn’t say ‘Daddy don’t like’.”

“Yep, you win,” Rhett sighed, giving him a good squeeze and leaning his face into Link’s hair. “You win.”

[hopelikethemoon]

Bleed (Javier x Reader) {MTMF}

Title: Bleed Rating: PG-13 Length: 1400 Warnings: Violence (mentions of gun violence, bullet wounds, blood, and medical procedures) Notes: You can find everything about Maybe Today, Maybe Forever here. Set in late November 1991. I’m going to do a follow up chapter in a few days, I do believe.  Summary: Reader is shot. 

@grapemama @seawhisperer @huliabitch @pedropascalito @rogrsnbarnes@thewallpapergoesorido @twomoonstwosuns @gooddaykate @livasaurasrex @ham4arrow@plexflexico​ @readsalot73 @hdlynn @lokiaddicted @randomness501 @fioccodineveautunnale  @roxypeanut​ @snivellusim​ @lukesrighthand​ @historynerd04 @mrsparknuts​@synystersilenceinblacknwhite​ @behindmyeyes-insidemyhead @exrebelshocktrooper​@awesomefandomsunited​ @ah-callie​ @swhiskeys​ @lady-tano​ @u-wakatoshii @space-floozy​ @cable-kenobi @cool-ultra-nerd @himbopoes​ @findhimfives​ @pedrosdoll​ @frietiemeloen​@arrowswithwifi​ @random066 @uncomicalhumour​ @heather-lynn​ @domino-oh-damn​ @cyarikaaa​ @ahopelessromanticwritersworld​ @im-still-a-pieceofgarbage @ksgeekgirl​  @yabby-girl​ @xqueenofthecraziesx​ @punkass-potato @coredrive​ @pascalesque​@theduchessofkirkcaldy​ @queenquazar​ @sabinemorans​ @buckstaposition​ @holkaskrosnou​@yespolkadotkitty​ @fleetwoodmactshirt​ @seeking-a-great–perhaps @kochamcie​ @jaime1110​

From where you were laying, you could see a body laying on the opposite side of the Jeep. There was shattered glass on the ground from the busted out car window. 

And there was blood — your blood. Your arm wasn’t even the worst of it. A few spots were bleeding from slamming your arm into the broken glass on the way down…

But the main concern was the wet sensation pooling under your leg. 

The world was swimming around you. The pain had shifted into a numb throb, a tingling sensation radiating up your thigh, into your hip, before fanning out. 

Your cheeks felt simultaneously hot and cold — and there was sweat clinging to your brows. 

Everything felt far away. 

You closed your eyes slowly, your eyelids feeling weighed down. Something touched you and you jerked, eyes going wide as you focused on Javier who was kneeling beside you. 

“Baby, baby… you’ve got to stay with me okay.” Javier urged as you watched his hands go to his belt. 

“I’m honored,” You said wryly. “But I’ve been shot.”

A faint smirk played over his lips, “Yet your wit hasn’t been affected.” He quipped as he slid his belt from the loops. “I need to cut these off.” He told you, “Shit, that’s a lot of blood.”

You shook your head, “You should see the other guy.” You turned your head, looked across the broken glass to the body of the man you’d shot. 

He had been aiming at Javier. You hadn’t even thought twice about pulling the trigger. You hadn’t even seen the second gunman. 

A soft cry tore from your lips as Javier used his pocket knife to cut your jeans off. The motion caused more blood to gush from your wound and you felt a fresh wave of dizzying nausea take over. Fuck.

This wasn’t good. 

“Keep talking,” Javier told you as he rubbed the back of his hand over his forehead, causing blood to smear there. Yours. That was your blood. “Baby, keep talking.”

“Buy me a drink first,” You hissed out as Javier tossed your ruined jeans aside. 

“That an offer?”

“Maybe.” You could be dying. There was a lot of blood and you felt… off. Was this what dying felt like? 

You’d seen death before. 

Death was a slow creeping shadow. 

One second, a person could be laughing at your kitchen table… and the next minute they could be dead behind the eyes. 

“Hey, hey.” Javier patted your cheek. “Eyes open.”

“Trying.” You mumbled, tilting your head to watch as he wrapped his belt around your thigh and pulled it taut to stop the blood flow. It hurt like a son of a bitch, your skin pinched under the leather. 

But the gaping bullet hole hurt worse. 

“Where the fuck is the ambulance?” Javier seethed as he reached for your hand, giving it a squeeze. “Hey, you’ve got to keep talking.”

“Did they hit you?”

“Baby, I’m fine. I’ll be better if we can get this bleeding stopped.” Javier squeezed your hand again, before shifting to examine the wound. “I think we’ve got it slowed. Goddammit where’s the ambulance?” He looked around frantically. 

“I’m glad you’re here.” You whispered, your eyes falling closed as you let yourself sink into the strange tingling sensation that seemed to envelop you. “I don’t want to die…” 

“No one’s dying.” Javier leaned over you, patting your cheek. “Come on. Open your eyes. Let me see your eyes, baby.”

“I can’t…” 

“Fuck.” Javier rubbed his hand over your cheek, “Come on. I can’t fucking lose you. You can’t do this to me. Come on.” 

You heard a car door slam shut.

“Holy shit—“ Steve swore. “The ambulance was behind me. Fuck. That looks bad. Is she—“

“Still… kicking.” You mumbled, though you weren’t sure how loud your voice was because Steve didn’t even acknowledge you. Javier, on the other hand, squeezed your hand hard enough to hurt. 

“She’s lost a lot of blood and I can’t…” Javier sounded like he was crying. 

You tried to open your eyes, but even that little gesture felt like it was taking too much of your energy. 

“Javier—“ You whispered, weakly squeezing his hand. “It’s okay.”

“Stay with me, okay? You’ve got to stay with me.”

“Peña, you’ve got to let go.” Steve urged, and you felt Javier’s hand jerked out of your grip. 

There were other voices — new ones. You were too tired to translate the Spanish they spoke, your brain catching one or two words as they shifted you from the ground to a stretcher. 

When had the ambulance shown up?

“Javier?” You questioned as someone peeled your eye open and shined a light into it. It wasn’t Javier. 

Someone else had your arm and you flinched as you felt a needle jab into your arm. After that, everything got a lot more confusing. Your thoughts swirled in your head, just out of reach of making coherent sense. You dipped in and out of consciousness, easily drawn into the dark nothingness of whatever shit they had pumping through your IV.

You hated this shit. 

Yet, in this situation you didn’t have much of a choice. 

 ——

 Javier was sitting by your bedside when you woke up. He was sound asleep, resting on his folded arms that he had propped up on your bed about halfway down. His face was turned towards yours — like he had fallen asleep waiting for you to wake up. 

It probably meant something that in what might have been your final moments, he was all you could think of. 

You knew he’d been the one to find his mother and you didn’t want to add to the tragedy in his life. Hell, you knew how he acted when things went wrong for his informants — that guilt he carried with him. 

You had been afraid that you’d be someone else he felt responsible for. Someone else he’d lost. And maybe you were putting more value on yourself, than you actually held in his life. But then again, he was sitting by your bedside and no one else was. 

“Javi,” You whispered as you reached out and touched his cheek, before you stroked your fingers over the hair that fell against his forehead. 

“Morning.” He grumbled, stretching just arms out in front of him before he froze. His eyes snapped open and he jerked upright. “You’re awake.”

You laughed quietly, “Unless heaven is a hospital, yeah.” 

“You scared the fuck out of me.” Javier reached for your hand and gave it a squeeze. “Do I still have a leg?”

He nodded, squeezing your hand back. “They, uh… they said it was close to an artery. A little to the left and you’d be—“

“Yeah.” You lifted your hand and rubbed at your face. “And to think that handsome face of yours would’ve been the last thing I saw.”

“I suppose that’s why you were spared, baby.” Javier snorted, rubbing his thumb over the back of your hand. “They should be releasing you in a day or two. Steve’s settled all the bullshit at the office.”

You smiled at him, “Tell him ‘thank you’ for me.” You stretched a little, rolling your shoulders back against the mattress. “I don’t think I can handle getting desked, Javi. You’ve gotta get me back in the field.”

Javier pressed his tongue to the inside of his cheek, “I’ll see what I can do for you.” He winked. “But first, we’ve got to get you out of here.” He gestured around the hospital room. 

“Are you going to get me out of here?”

“Wish I could.” He shrugged. “Office won’t be the same while you’re laid up.”

“I expect you to call me at least three times a day to let me know what’s going on.” 

He cracked a grin, “I’ll see what can be arranged.” Javier dragged his hands over his face. “You’re gonna get to catch up on all the good novellas.”

You rolled your eyes. “Which is why you’ll have to call for updates.”

Javier nodded, “Wouldn’t miss it.” 

“There goes our New Years plans.” You remarked as you rubbed at your eyes. “Shit, I don’t like whatever they’ve got me on. I feel like I’ve got cotton in my eyes.”

“You need rest.”

“I don’t need this shit to sleep.” You groused, “Are you staying?”

“As long as they’ll let me.”

You ran your finger along the side of his hand. “I don’t want you to go, Javi.” You let your eyes flicker closed, “I never do.”

Javier stood up, leaning over the bed to press a kiss to your forehead. “Sleep.” He told you softly. “I’m just glad you’re still here.”

[diaryofabeautyfiend]

Small Time Witch (32)

S I X M O N T H S L A T E R

Vanaheim had been kind to you but it was time to make your next move. Loki had been pardoned on Asgard. The convergence was nigh and preparations for Malekith had begun. Asgard was fortified as a precaution. You thought maybe Malekith wouldn’t bother since the entire universe knew you had the stones. The small council was not so sure. They wanted you locked away in a secure location where he couldn’t find you. You wanted to fight. That’s all you seemed to want these days.

Malekith and Frigga have long been enemies. His brute murdered her when the dark elves invaded Asgard. You would only hide if she hid with you. Being ever stubborn she declined. You didn’t tell her what would happen but, because of your insistence, she could guess. “If it’s my time, it’s my time. I won’t hide.” Everyone in this family was ridiculously stubborn. You fit right in.

Loki fought you ad nauseam about expelling the stones. You refused to even entertain the thought until the convergence was over. He thought the stones were overtaking you. They changed your personality. You argued they just made you stronger and perhaps he was threatened by you. That never failed to spur him into a tirade about how dangerous they were and how no one knew what they were doing to you. The voice in your head told you otherwise. He would prattle on about how they seemed to speak for you. How you had changed. You never listened.

“Mortal are you listening?” It drove you insane when he called you mortal. Just a constant reminder that you were beneath him.

“I am. And I’ve asked you to please stop calling me mortal.”

“Well aren’t you? Are you now unable to die? Have I missed something?”

“As long as I have them I am.”

“And that’s why you shouldn’t have them. Where is my wife? You were not this war mongering battle hardened warrior when I first met you.”

“You prefer me weak? Too afraid of my own shadow?”

He knelt in front of you to look in your eyes. “I have never known you to be weak, Y/N. You were powerful enough.”

You laughed but the smile on your lips never met your eyes. “Just enough that I couldn’t ever take you.”

“Stop it. That’s never mattered to me.”

“Until I became stronger than you.”

He picked up a pillow off of the bed and smashed it into his face. He let out a deep growl out of sheer frustration. “Your new found obsession with power is exactly why I am worried. They need you. They are like parasites and you are their host. You feed them, darling. Of course they don’t want to give you up.”

“And what if I do release them? What then? Do we just wait for the next maniac to use them against us?”

“Then we keep them locked in the vault.”

“Oh yeah, because Odin’s vault has never been breached.”

“Only by me.” He hated fighting with you. Absolutely loathed it. You kept putting off the release of the stones but he wouldn’t give up. You were scared they would fall into the wrong hands. He was afraid they already had. The only other person who was in your corner was Odin.

Loki knew his father all too well. He was not interested in what you wanted but what your power could do for him. He treated you like his own sentient weapon. Your daddy issues completely clouded your judgement in regards to Odin. He doted on you. Called you his daughter. You lapped it up. When Loki or Thor would say something he would laugh it off and say they were jealous that he had a new favorite child. After Asgard was safe, they thought it was time for you to go back to Midgard for a while for an extended holiday. Maybe your family could talk some sense into you.

“My love. My little queen. Please don’t be cross with me. I am simply worried for your safety and sanity. Don’t you want to leave all of this behind? Perhaps we can start our family. I’ve longed to see you with child.”

Your voice was quiet, “That’s not my dream. It’s yours. You know how I feel about having children. Can’t we just go on forever having adventures?”

“Pet, I have had my fun. I just want to start a family and be settled. I don’t care if I ever ride into another battle. Children or not, I just want this constant upheaval to end. I quite liked our life on Midgard. I actually miss television. Why don’t we go back and rebuild our little cottage? Will you at least think about it?”

You kissed the tip of his nose, “I will. When this is all over, I will agree to take extended leave and visit my family.”

—————————————————————

The day Malekith invaded was like deja vu for Loki except he was not in the dungeon. The dark elves were unable to breech the outer reaches of Asgard so they moved on to Greenwich where he and Thor would meet. Against your better judgement (and certainly Loki’s), you jumped the portal to help Thor. You served as nothing but a distraction. Thor was nearly crushed by Malekith’s ship. Had it not been for Dr. Selvig, Thor would have been killed.

Your magic destroyed half of a library and a lot more property. When law enforcement arrived they thanked Thor for his help. You, on the other hand, were put in shackles and taken into custody. Thor tried to stop them but they were under strict orders from the World Security Council to take you in.

You tried to break free for your bonds but your magic wouldn’t work. “Stop resisting, Princess.” one of the Interpol officers shouted. They didn’t have regular guns pointed at you. They looked like ray guns or something you’d see in a sci fi movie. Thor rushed behind you asking where you were being taken. They muttered something about an Air Force base as officers held him back.

“I’m coming, little sister! Just hang on.”

They had you locked in the back of a van that was caged and padded. A thick metal partition separated you from the driver. The doors on the back were also thick metal. Three officers wearing helmets rushed in in a practiced military style drill. Keeping their weapons trained on you, one officer stood in front of you and pressed a button that magnetized your restraints. He stuck your hands to a small but sturdy loop on the bench you sat on. Another officer put a mutant inhibitor collar around your neck while the third jabbed a needle in your arm. “Nighty night, Princess.”

When you awoke your head was pounding. There was a jumpsuit on the small table next to you. On the floor were socks and slippers. The collar was pretty heavy and seemed to grab at your skin when you pulled. “It won’t come off Mrs. Odinson” a voice said. There was a speaker just above the door.

“Where am I?”

“Change into your jumps.”

“Where am I? Don’t make me ask again.”

“Change into your jumps, prisoner.”

You tried to use your magic but only a tiny spark flickered between your hands.

Your cell doors opened and a familiar face stood in front of you. “Ma’am. I’m Coulson. Come with me.”

“Wait. Aren’t you...”

“Dead? As in your husband killed me? Yeah. Something like that.” He stood in the doorway looking at you expectantly. “Unless you’d rather stay here.”

You followed behind him flipping off the speaker when you left. “Can you remove this collar, Coulson?”

“Please forgive me if I’m not super trusting.”

“Understandable I guess. Where are you taking me?”

“New York. Into S.H.I.E.L.D. custody. It’s the only way the US government will release you. Part of the MCA.”

“MCA?”

“Mutant Control Act. You’re an unregistered omega level mutant. Your powers, as defined by the government, are unlimited. You’re dangerous.”

“So when I’m on Earth, I am a prisoner?”

“When you’re on Earth? You think you’re leaving? You belong to us now.”

He took you along to an airstrip where you boarded a small plane. He helped you into your seat, shackled your wrists and ankles and bid you a safe flight.

——————————————————————

Thor was too scared to tell Loki you were captured. He would have been pissed at the both of you. If he thought you were in danger he would rip Midgard apart to find you. The only person he knew to contact was Steve Rogers.

In Tony’s infinite wisdom, he named Steve his successor of sorts. He called him the Chief Moral Compass of the company. That gave Steve all kinds of contacts and diplomatic immunity in 46 countries.

Steve met your flight at the base in New York. Coulson was thrilled to see Steve again but he wouldn’t release you. He got into the backseat and went with you to the facility where you’d be staying.

You waited for several hours in a holding room. You hadn’t eaten in a couple of days and your body was exhausted without the stones to prop you up. You fell asleep with your head on the table. Finally Steve came in to wake you.

“Hey, Y/N. You’re free to go. Get this collar off of her now!” he said to an agent.

“Can we grab something to eat? I haven’t had anything in a couple of days.”

He planted his hands on his hips and clenched his jaw. You were freaking Asgardian royalty and a human being. Surely that earned you some respect. He was livid. “Seriously, guys? You couldn’t have gotten her food? My apologies, Princess.”

“I would kill for a slice. Ever hear of Joe’s Pizza in Brooklyn?”

He smiled, “Best in New York. How do you know about that place?”

“I was in love with a guy from Brooklyn once.”

“Yeah? What happened?”

“He couldn’t handle who I was.”

Steve chuckled to himself, “Then he didn’t deserve you.”

——————————————————————

Pending a hearing, you were released to your mother’s care. You absolutely could not prevent Loki from coming any longer. When he landed you were sitting in the open space where your house would be built.

“This is the perfect spot isn’t it?” You were picking blades of grass and letting them fall through your fingers.

“Afelheim has ample space for cottage building. No cable though. I guess this rules out our extended holiday.” He sat next to you and you rested your head on his shoulder.

“I think this is our extended holiday. My hearing isn’t for another month.”

“You know what you did was careless and stupid right? Also incredibly arrogant. Thor didn’t need your help.”

“I know. I don’t know what came over me. It’s like I wasn’t thinking.”

“You weren’t. The stones were. While we’re stuck here, I’d like to get as many people as possible involved in removing them and healing you. That’s even if you can be healed. Your body could be riddled with cancer like poor Jane.”

“Well I’ve saved her from that fate.”

“Not yourself. If I lost you....”

“You’re not losing me.”

You snuggled against him and he kissed the top of your head. He no longer tried to hide his feelings from you. He was afraid. You just found each other again and he was afraid he would lose you. The old Loki would have run screaming. This Loki would fight for you. And, if he had to, he would follow you into Hel. Maybe he was selfish in that regard. He lost you once. Never again.

[hotpinkrathian]

The Adult Party

(Kyalin)

Lin sat by the dwindling fire, waiting for someone to add a log before eventually doing it herself. She tossed two pieces in and returned to her seat next to her sister.

“Lin, do you want another drink?” A very drunk Suyin managed through her hiccups.

“I think I’ll pass.”

“Oh come on Lin, one more for old times sake!” She turned to see Kya, who had her hand outstretched with a beer clasped in her palm. Lin sighed and took the drink, offering Kya a weak smile.

“We should dance!” Su cheered while she stood up and began to dance. Kya laughed, watching Lin’s sister do a very un coordinated dance next to the fire.

“Su!” Lin and Bataar said simultaneously.

“Okay okay fine. Sheesh when did you two become so boring. Lin likes to deny it but she was quite the rouse at parties growing up.”

“What are you talking about?” Lin asked angrily.

“See, you never knew I was there, but I would I see you. I mean you were like a champion when it came to beer pong. You were so accurate.”

“The trick was sobriety.”

“Oh so you were sober the time you made out with that brunette in the elevator of Haru Jr.’s apartment building. Lin felt herself blush. Su got her there.

“Oh do tell more Su,” Pema laughed from across the fire.

“You know Bataar it might be time you take her home.”

“Hey I made out with someone in the elevator of that party too. She’s was good, damn good. Eager in all the right ways. She left in a rush though. I was so high on lily weed I don’t even remember who it was.” Kya added. Lin shot her a glare referencing the Lily weed and Kya just shrugged.

“Tenzin wasn’t it you and Bumi who found her running out of the elevator and into the backyard.”

“Yeah and she fell into the koi pond!” Bumi laughed. Lin put her palm to her face, attempting to hide her embarrassment.

“Can we talk about anything else please.” Lin begged.

“Lin we’re just teasing you.” Su said, “it’s been a while since you had a good time that’s all.” Lin furrowed her brow, finding it hard to disprove her sisters statement.

“You’re right...” Lin murmured quietly before taking the can Kya had handed her earlier and chugging it.

“Lin!” Kya exclaimed, shock evident in her voice. Lin then took the half full one out of Su yin’s grip and did the same.

“Better?” She asked her sister, who stared at her with a blank, drunken smile.

“Much, but Lin,” Su said.

“What?”

“That one had Chaichee berries in it.”

“So?”

“You’re allergic to Chaichee berries.” As if on cue, Lin began to cough as she felt her throat began to swell up. She scratched at her neck, trying to free the air.

“Oh my god!” Kya jumped off her chair and pushed Lin to the ground. Lin’s back hit the grass with a thud, but Kya saved her from hitting her head. “Lin this is going to hurt I need you to stay still.” Lin gurgled and took hold of Kya’s wrist. Kya called to Pema to hand her a small needle from her purse which she used to prick Lin on the collar bone. The pain that came next was excruciating and Lin might’ve passed out, if it weren’t for the comforting words and the contact Kya was making with her. Her eyes moved around to Suyin who sobered up enough to be concerned, and Tenzin who stood in the back, his expression wide eyed and in shock. The pain subsided as a new substance over came her body, and slowly Lin felt her throat retract. She released a heavy breath and Kya’s hands fell to her side.

“Su you’re going to kill me one of these days,” Su smiled nervously and bent down to hug her sister.

“Kya,” Su started, “that was incredible. How did you do that?”

“Little trick my mom taught me off-record. Blood bending doesn’t have to be used as a weapon, it can be used to heal.” Lin shook her head in attempt to clear it, she decided she’d un pack Kya’s explanation later.

“Thank you,” Lin said, and she blushed slightly when Kya took her hand in her own and massaged it gently.

“Any time Lin.” Lin gulped. Everyone’s eyes were on her, but she was so focused on Kya. Perhaps it was the alcohol making her exceptionally bold or perhaps it was the years of repressed feelings that just couldn’t be caged anymore, but Lin leaned in and kissed her. It was short, and Kya pulled back, staring at Lin in awe before kissing Lin herself. Lin gripped Kya’s chin as their mouths interrupted each other. Lin could feel Kya’s body pressing against hers and she smiled, pulling away.

“Holy flameo,” Kya whispered. “It was you?”

“What are you talking about?”

“At that party, in the elevator. Lin it was me you were kissing!” Lin blushed, she feinged surprise.

“What? No I would’ve known!”

“Lin I have never forgotten that kiss. It was you.”

“Oh my god,” Tenzin said breathlessly, sitting down on one of the chairs.

“Lin! I am so proud of you!” Suyin laughed, and Bataar gripped her arm. Kya started at Lin, suspicion creeping in her eyes.

“Lin?” She asked sternly, “did you know?”

“Kya of course she didn’t kn-“

“Yes. You were there, so was I. And you were just so... that was the day I caught feelings for you. Of course then I repressed them until much later and dealt with them after Tenzin and I ended things-“

“I ended things with you-“

“And I just never got the nerve to tell you until now. When my throat is swollen and sore and my sister almost killed me. Again.” Kya smiled and pulled Lin into one more kiss. Kya laughed when she pulled away and Lin tilted her head.

“What?”

“Nothing it’s just...”

“Spit it out.”

“You jumped into a Koi pond because you kissed me. That’s one for my wall.”

“I hate you.”

“That kiss would say otherwise.” Kya smiled and stood up, offering Lin her arm. Lin took it and pulled herself up, brushing herself off.

“See Lin, good things come when I injur you,” Suying said, prodding Lin with her elbow.

“Don’t touch me.”

“This has been a great night, and eventful but I’m taking Tenzin to bed.” Pema said, holding Tenzin who was still incoherent.

“I’m going home,” Lin said, turning away from the fire.

“I’m coming!” Kya called, running up to Lin, freezing the metal bender in her tracks. She could see Su yin from the corner of her eye, biting her lip to keep her mouth shut. “What? Did you think you could kiss me like that and there be no follow up?” Kya whispered into her ear before walking ahead. Before Lin could leave Su called to her one last time.

“Hey Lin,”

“Yes Su,” Lin sighed.

“Clean your cables before you stick them anywhere.” Tenzin fell to floor and Lin blushed with embarrassment.

“Bataar you can take her home at any point,” Lin said threateningly, a smile creeping to the corner of her mouth. As much as she despised what her sister had said she had to admit, it was good advice.

[fearfulkittenwrites]

“What’s wrong? What’s happening?”

Summary:Duke runs into trouble during his daytime patrol, and ends up needing some back up. The resident over-productive insomniac bat picks up the call.

(A little bit of Tim and Duke interaction for a nice tumblr Anon :) I hope you like it!)

Link for it on AO3, if you prefer it: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25963561

TW: Mentions blood and injuries. Also gangs, but not for long. Nothing too graphic.

Word count: 2345

Notes: Hello! Once again, I don't know much about Duke (or Tim tbh, I know more about Dick, Damian and Cass when it comes to the batfam), so I hope I didn't butcher the characterization! I really love him as a character, and the more I read on Signal, the more I fall in love with him.

“Uuuh, guys?” Duke said into his comm, watching as a car was thrown over his head and crashed into a building “I think I’m gonna need backup. Is anyone available?”

“On my way.” A voice answered.

Duke wasn’t sure on which of the boys it was; telling their voices apart was hard in normal situations, but with the chaos that had just been unleashed on the streets of Gotham, it was damn near impossible. Oh well. He had bigger problems to deal with at the moment.

Such as the gang who had brought a meta human to a gun fight.

The Signal turned around, looking at the man, about the size of a trailer. He had to crane his neck to stare at his face.

“Man,” He sighed “Why can’t I have one normal patrol?” He dodged the meta’s fist as it smashed through the asphalt, opening a hole next to where the hero was standing “Just one. One normal day, is that too much to ask?” He climbed the man’s arm, trying to reach his neck and hold him down, but soon felt a big hand grabbing his thigh “Fuck. Bad idea.”

The meta lauched Signal to the nearest brick wall, before roaring and flipping over a bus. Duke hoped it was empty. He let his head drop, helmet knocking on the floor with a small ‘tick’, and breathed heavily, trying to recover. He groaned in pain, and the hit must’ve turned his communicator on, seeing as his backup became a little worried.

“What’s wrong? What’s happening? Where are you, Signal?” Red Robin’s voice came through the comm. Duke saw his brother looking for him as he glided to the ground.

“Over here.” He answered, raising a hand.

“Found you.” He said, smiling “Tired already, Signal?” He teased, landing next to him.

“You try being tossed into a wall the next time.”

“Been there. Not fun.” The hero offered him a hand “Here.” Tim helped him up, pulling him into a quick greeting hug “You alright there, bro?”

“Yeah.” Duke stretched his back “This armor is pretty good, huh?”

“Of course it is, I taught Batman all I know.” They both laughed at that “But seriously, that looks like a major hit. Do you need to head home?”

“Nah, I’m fine. Besides, I don’t think you could do this alone anyways.” He teased.

“Yeah, yeah.” Tim pushed him away slightly “So, tell me what’s going on.”

“Two gangs had set up a gun fight. Reasons behind it are unclear. One of them had a meta under their belt, but things got a little out of hand, and now...” He pointed at the scene as the big guy kept throwing things around “Now we have a very angry, not very chatty, huge meta trashing around the neighborhood.”

“And the gangs?”

“Bolted.”

“Classic.” Red Robin grunted, turning his bo staff around “Let’s go.”

They rushed into battle.

“Hey, ugly!” The Signal yelled, making him look at his direction “Won’t you tell us your name?” The guy roared again “Okay, fine! Come and get it then!”

The man was slower than both of them, giving Red Robin more than enough time to hit him over the head with his staff as Duke distracted him. He barely stumbled, turning around angryly. Tim raised an eyebrow, evading his random punches easily and using his staff to try and poke at his face while Duke wrapped a disconnected eletric cable around his neck, forcing him down.

“Yeah, bet you’re not so glad you knocked down those eletric posts now, huh?” The Signal teased, grunting from the effort as the guy trashed around. Red Robin grabbed one end of the cable, and with both of their strenghts, they managed to knock down the other guy.

“Good thinking.” Tim complimented, tapping on his yellow partner’s back, shallow breaths coming from his mouth.

“Thanks.” Duke’s breathing was the same as his “I think I might need to go home now.”

“Yeah.” Tim huffed out a laugh “The cops are on their way. Let’s tie this big guy up and roll.”

...

Duke hissed as he inspected his bruises in the mirror, pulling off his armor. They didn’t seem as painful as they felt; his dark skin hid the bruises pretty well, but the pain was definetly there.

“Hey, Duke are you...” Tim knocked on his door, entering his bedroom, getting a clear view of his brother in his batroom. He still had his Red Robin uniform on “Nevermind. You are bleeding from your back.” He pointed.

“I am?” He asked, trying to twist his body so he could check it, but the movement stretched the wound, sending a piercing pain through his body. He supported himself on his sink.

“Okay, bad move.” Tim said “Hang on, let me help.” He walked towards the boy, grabbing a towel and putting pressure on it “You might wanna sit down.” He leaded him to the toilet, and Duke rested his head against the wall. Tim sat on the floor.

“How did I not notice it?”

“It’s the adrenaline.” Tim explained “Don’t beat yourself up over it. I passed out from the blood loss once, not even realizing I had a huge wound on my thigh.” He laughed.

“That’s a little terrifying, man.”

“Eh.” He shrugged “You get used to it.” Duke let out shaky breaths, in pain “Just a little longer, okay?” Tim tried to comfort his brother.

“Yeah, alright.” Duke grunted, grinding his teeth.

“Shh, shh, shh, it’s okay.” Tim shushed him as he applied a little more pressure “Juuust need to stop the bleeding... Almost there...” He whispered, stretching out some words.

“You don’t have to baby me, Tim.” Duke laughed.

“I’m sorry. I’m not exactly great at this.” Tim said “I’d call Dick, but he had a rough patrol last night and is currently passed out.”

“That’s good. He hasn’t slept properly in days.” Duke hissed in pain again “But what about you? Did you get any sleep?”

“Ahm... I had coffee.”

“That’s not the same.”

“I know.” Tim sighed “But I had stuff to do.”

“Still, you need to rest.”

“Hey, be thankful that I was awake!” Tim said “If I didn’t had to finish that essay, no one would’ve picked up your call.”

“Yeah, okay.” Duke laughed “Thanks for the help.”

“It’s nothing.” Tim dismissed, smiling “I was just being an ass because I know that you’re right. I just really hate having to sleep, y’know? I could do so much with that time.”

“Yeah, I get that.” Duke nodded.

“Okay, you stopped bleeding.” Tim said, pulling the towel away “But I think you might need some stitches.”

“Damn.” Duke whispered, forehead against the cold white tiles on the wall.

“It’s alright. I can do that for you.” He offered “Again, I’m no Dick, but I can make a decent suture.”

“You sure?”

Tim huffed in disbelieve.

“Yes I’m sure I can make a decent suture!”

“No,” Duke chuckled “I mean as in are you sure you wanna do this?”

“Oh.” Tim blinked “Yeah, of course. Why wouldn’t I?” He got up, taking Duke’s first aid kit from his cabinet “You’re my brother.”

Duke swallowed.

“Yeah,” He murmured “I keep forgetting that.”

Tim laughed a little, picking up a washcloth and soaking it in water.

“That’s alright. It took me quite a while to get used to this, but...” He kneeled, using the soft cloth to clean around the wound, trying to get most of the blood out “Once you do, it becomes natural. Trust me.” He ran more water through the towel, wringing the blood out and getting it wet again, repeating the cleaning process “I know this is uncomfortable, sorry. I’m almost done, I swear.”

“Uhum.” He grunted, nodding.

Tim got up again, picking up an antiseptic spray.

“This might sting a little too.” He warned as he applied the solution to the wounded flesh “Okay, that should do it.” Tim went over to the sink one more time, picking up an anesthetic cream “I’m not trying anything injectable because I’m afraid of messing with those. But trust me, this one helps just fine.”

“Alright then.” Duke felt his brother’s fingers moving around the wound, spreading the substance on his skin.

“Let’s wait a little for the effects to start, and then I’ll stitch you up.” Tim sat down behind him, the needle ready.

“Hey man, thanks for doing this.” Duke said “I didn’t mean to be a trouble, but...”

“No. Shut up.” Tim scolded him “You’re my little brother and I take care of you. You’re no trouble Duke.”

The teen swallowed, looking at his own reflection in the shiny wall.

“Well... Thank you anyways.”

“You’re very welcome. But don’t act like this is anything but normal.” Tim answered.

“I mean, I think having a cut on your back from being tossed around like a rag doll by a man twice the size of a regular human isn’t exactly normal.” Duke chuckled.

“Considering the family you’re in now, this is entirely too normal.” Tim laughed with him “Worryingly so.”

“What were you going to ask me when you came in here?” Duke said.

“Oh.” Tim blushed a little “It’s kinda silly compared to this. I’m gonna start the stitches by the way.”

“I’m sure it’s not. And yeah, go ahead.”

“I just... I know that you really enjoy reading and you are really intelligent, so I was wondering if you could proofread my essay for me? You don’t have to, of course, but considering how I wrote it during a caffeine induced high...” He cut himself off, starting to sew his brother shut.

“Of course I can.” Duke said “When do you need to turn it in?”

“... Today. In like, five hours.” Tim blushed.

“How many pages?”

“Seven.”

“Okay.” Duke nodded “I can do that.”

“Thanks.”

“No problem.” Duke smiled.

“Alright, I’m almost done, I swear.” Tim said “By the way, I won’t put any bandages now because I know you’ll take a shower, but don’t try to do it on your own, okay? Head over to my room and I’ll do it for you. Otherwise, you might tear up those stitches and I will get pissed.”

“Fine.” Duke laughed.

“That’s it.” Tim looked at the suture “I think it might be my best work.”

“Thanks dude.” Duke got up “I’ll head over to your room in five.”

“Thanks.” Tim smiled, leaving the room.

Duke carefully examined the stitches in the mirror. It wasn’t a pretty sight. Tim had done a great job, but seeing yourself in such a state is unsettling. At least it was on his back, which made it harder for him to set his gaze upon it. It wasn’t all that big, and he hoped that he’d heal quickly as he hoped in the shower.

A little while later, he made his way to Tim’s bedroom, wearing black sweatpants, carrying an orange t-shirt in his hand.

“Hey,” He knocked on the open door “I hope this isn’t a problem, but everytime I tried to put on a t-shirt the stitches pulled in a weird way, so can you help me with that too?”

“Yeah, sure.” Tim answered from his computer. Duke noticed he still had his gear on “Come in, sit on the bed, back turned to me please.” He rolled away in his chair, picking up his own medical kit and an ice pack that he tossed in his brother’s direction “For the bruises on your torso.” Duke sat down as instructed, pressing the ice against his collarbone and shoulder.

Tim worked silently, spraying more antisseptic and covering the wound with gauze.

“Alright, all done.” He said “Listen, you must be tired.” Tim started “You don’t have to do this, you can go rest. I’ll be fine.”

“No man, c’mon. You said it yourself, we’re brothers.” He got up, leaning over Tim’s desk “It’s no trouble at all.” He began reading through the pages. Duke didn’t understand exactly what the essay was about, but he was able to pick up on some minor mispellings and fixed some hard to read sentences.

“-tt-” Damian clicked his tongue from the door, examining the duo with cold eyes “Can’t do your own papers by yourself, Drake?” The kid still had his school uniform on.

“Shut up, brat.” Tim answered.

Duke noticed Damian’s expression lacked the usual sparkle. He wondered if it simply meant he was tired or if it meant something else. Something worse. The kid clicked his tongue again.

“Whatever. Where is Grayson?”

“Sleeping.” Tim answered “Why, what do you want?”

“It’s none of your business Drake.” He crossed his arms, leaving.

“Someone’s in a good mood.” Duke murmured.

“Eh, could be worse.” Tim said “And don’t worry, the fact that he didn’t insult you means he’s warming up to you just fine.”

“Weird way to show that.” Duke raised an eyebrow.

“He is weird.” Tim shrugged “Pull a chair for yourself, or you’ll be standing for a long time.”

Duke did as he was told. And as he kept picking apart his brother’s work, pointing out his mistakes and explaining to him how to fix those, Duke felt at peace. Like he had some normalcy back in his life, for once. It wasn’t ideal. He still wished his parents could come back to him, still wished he could get back the life he once had, still wished none of what happened had happened.

But right now, he felt good, and he decided to focus on that feeling. Because he had a family. It wasn’t a perfect family. It wasn’t the one that he’d pick. But it was the one he had, and it was one that wanted him. One that appreciated him, and that wasn’t afraid of asking for his help when needed, but also offered him help when he would forget the he needs it too.

For the first time in a long time, the fear of being alone and helpless faded.

It was nothing but background noise in a very loud, love-filled life.

[sassaetcie]

The Ashes of the Oven : Silver x Idia as a play with Lilia as the main actor - 3 (end)

yeaaaah i’ve over ;_;

                                                     Scene VII

LILIA: So, Silver rather than my child, will you save your, if not own prince, beloved?

SILVER: You have to take responsibilities, don't you? I'm at loss of words that could express how much I want to scream and punch you, as much as I... respect you.

TREY: Well, better do like everyone else and wait for Idia to... calm down before punching this...  asshole. Especially since Mr Vargas is getting everyone out to fetch the staff...

CATER: Which means we have either until they get back or just to hold the place until they get back, eeeh~.

TREY: That's the spirit, haha.

LILIA: So, Silver, will you join our cause? Idia seems rather wrathful. Who knows when will he unleash his anguish and despair?

SILVER: Why do you act as if you were the good one when you're the fucking reason he lost it in the first place? But yes... I guess it's not... like I have any other option.

IDIA: I'm sorry. I shouldn't have tried to change anything. It's no use... I'm cursed. This whole family is cursed, I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'M SORRY. Did you lose a lot of time because of me? Did you feel bad because of me? Did you lie to me because you pitied me? Out of kindness, I guess. You're too pure but you could never like someone like me, right? Or maybe I'm not that bad. But I'm a SHROUD. You see? The blue flames won't stop. They won't stop. There's no water that can help them. No water can help me. I'm just flames. Flames are just me. Oh, you know what? Flames are just flames. This is just a fucking crown. Just a fucking crown.

SILVER: Hey... don't say that. Come on. You can cool them down, I know that. You can...

IDIA: Just go away. You don't need me. No one should need me, actually, right? I'm just a curse. There's no such thing as "Idia Shroud". There is Idia. And there is the Shroud. That's fucking all. Just go away. I can keep on dreaming. I can keep on dreaming. I can keep on dreaming. I can keep on dreaming. Go away. Go away. Go away. Go away.

LILIA: Sir Idia, please think about it. Silver did not reject you, did he? Do not think too much about it, there is no such thing as a curse as long as you can think by yourself. There is, no such thing as Fortune or Curses. There may be some kind of Fate, but this is the Fortune and Curses entertwined of Pain.

IDIA: Shut the fuck up. Shut the fuck up! Who are you, huuuuuuh? Do you think you can withstand what I'm going through and saying "hey there's no such thing as a curse"? Shut the fuck up! You know fucking nothing! You kept on using flames. But Trey told you, right? He did TELL YOU? That flames hurt me. I hate them so much. People always told me that my hair was weird. I should have drown myself. Maybe they would have shut the fuck up. I'm sorry, Silver. I'm so sorry. I want to fucking kill your father. I'm sorry. It's his fault, right? I could have kept on DAYDREAMING. But I didn't... I couldn't... Because of him. That's your fault. I mean, it's not my fault if I kill you, right? That's not my fault, right? Right?

TREY: Hey, Idia... it's okay. We can talk about it, okay? We can also punch Lilia, if you want to. Because he really acted... not like a 3rd year should.

CATER: Yes! Please tell us something you want to do, Idia. We can do it together, really~! Everything's going to be alright... I swear~!

IDIA: Shut up. Shut up. Silver, go away. The flames want to swallow. I'm tired.

CATER: Think of Ortho, Idia! I'm sorry, I didn't mean to be mean! But think of Ortho, he won't be happy if he sees you like this...~!

IDIA: Eeeeeh? Guiltripping me? You're fucking pathetic. I'm better at guiltripping myself than you'll ever be, fucker.

TREY: Cater! Dodge!

CATER: Eeeeh! The flames are surrounding us, now?!

TREY: F... lip! I'm the only one who uses water instead of ice...

LILIA: Do not fear, young ones. If it were to get dangerous, I shall make these flames disappear, but I cannot tell how exactly will it end.

CATER: "Dangerous"?! We're surrounded by flames and Idia has lost it?!

IDIA: You're right, it's going to take too much time... I shouldn't rely on these flames... These cables should be good.

CATER: Lilia pleaaaaaase~!!!! He's trying to squeeze us with cables!!

TREY: Squeeze? More like choking.

CATER: PLEASE DON'T GO ON MAKING THE SITUATION WORSE, TRIEEEEE~!

SILVER: Watch OUT!

                                                       Scene VIII

SILVER: Is everyone alright?

TREY: Well, somehow... yes.

CATER: Y-yeah, as alright as someone who is currently under death threats can be! Tehehe~! I'm fucking going to cry.

SILVER: Save your tears for later... The cables are at it again. Care to use your unique magic, Cater?

CATER: Yes! I can do that at least, I guess~. Want me to run until his cables wrap him up or something?

TREY: It won't work. Pretty sure Idia will...

IDIA: THINKING I'M SO LOW-RANK BOSS? I WON'T GET CAUGHT BY SOMETHING THAT CLICHE!

TREY: Hey, Cater, are you alright?!

LILIA: Well, these cables sure look... harmful indeed.

SILVER: Cater, you're still in it? Or should I slap you?

CATER: I'm going to use it, okay? Just make sure I-I don't get whipped again... It hurts... and I don't want my pretty face to be ruined eeeeeh~!

SILVER: Care to give me a sword, old man? I'm not sure my magic will be enough... I'd rather have something I can attack with while protecting myself.

LILIA: Of course, my child, of course. This sword might as well be the only needle of the Compass we have been seeking all of these years. I am fairly certain the blade will reach him better than flickering butterflies of a magic he knows too well for sure. Take this sword, my child.

TREY: Wait, is your unique magic to make items appear out of nowhere...?

LILIA: Fufufu. Who can tell? Now, go and fly, my child. Break down Fortune and Curses.

CATER: I'm ready to go!

TREY: Can I help with something?

LILIA: Well, pray extinguish these flames before they make us suffocate.

TREY: Didn't you say something about

LILIA: Absolutely nothing! I am but an innocent young man, ain't I? I may overwork myself by using that much magic after summoning something...

TREY: Alright, alright... I swear you'll owe us a lot, Lilia... haha...

IDIA: OH? Multiplying even when I told you that you won't get me like some kind of cheap boss? Keep on insulting me, come on! That'll only make me right in killing you! Are these flames protecting me in the end? Ahaha...

SILVER: Idia, I don't want to hurt you.

IDIA: You think I do? You really think I would like to hurt you after spending so much time pining over you and thinking of you holding my hand and telling me I wasn't just a pack of cursed flames fated to repeat my parents' stupidity and greed and just being a fucking bastard? You really think so?

SILVER: No! I'm sure you don't want to hurt me... either. But I want to make sure you understand me. Because it's so hard for both of us to understand what's going on in the other's head, right? So I'll be clear with you. I love you. I care about you.

IDIA: Hahaha! So do I, so do I!

CATER: Am I just going to keep on running the whole day while these two live a sweet love story~?!

LILIA: Pray keep on running, young one. I will foster some little things to help you... live more comfortably after this.

CATER: You better! His cables sure are getting faster and faster...!

SILVER: Idia! Listen to me. I don't think that... your flames are ugly or unsightly or harmful in the end. I've already told you, right? I think your flames... are not true flames.

IDIA: OF COURSE THEY ARE TRUE FLAMES! YOU CAN SEE THEM ON THE VERGE OF BURNING EVERYONE! JUST STOP LYING TO ME LIKE THIS AHAHAHA... haha...

SILVER: No! I mean it...! Your flames feel warm but never too hot... they just... feel as if I were... at home!

IDIA: At home?! YOU DON'T MAKE ANY SENSE! AT LEAST TRY TO HAVE SOME GOOD LIES! No... You're too pure for that, right? You're too pitch perfect... Please just go away. You don't... have to save me, you know? You'll lose time. Whatever! Whatever! Whatever... Whatever.

SILVER: I think that these flames dont have to be Shroud. They just can be ashes from true flames, you know? I don't know if it makes sense, but... you can understand, right? You're not the flames anymore. You're the ashes of the oven.

IDIA: The ashes of the

LILIA: Silver! Free him!

IDIA: Oh so it really was... you were possessed too all along, huh? FINE! I'll just... I'll just free you as well! All of you can burn but first... I'll make sure no one can do to you what my parents did to me!

SILVER: Yes... Give me all of these cables... they aren't you!

                                                      Scene IX

IDIA: What the

SILVER: Why do you think the old man dared to say something like this when I was being honest?! I cut all of these cables that you think could kill me as one!

IDIA: So you did plan to harm me. Haha. Hahahahahahahahaah... I... why? Why? I... Why would you? Hahahahahahaahhahaahaha...!

SILVER: Your flames are the ashes of the oven. Because Idia Shroud is not made of red, orange, yellow flames. Look, I can even touch them.

IDIA: Don't! DON'T! I don't want you... to! It'll hurt you?! It's a curse...!

SILVER: Look. Lilia, Cater and Trey can go through them too. Want to see?

IDIA: Don't go... Don't go through them! Please...

SILVER: I thought you wanted to kill us...

IDIA: I just... I'm just tired, fuck... I don't even have enough energy to keep on being angry. Guess that's what I get for spending all of my perks in intellect, lol. Twas unfair to fight me with 3 people and 1²... like what the fuck did you expect, pfff...

LILIA: Silver, reach out to him, if you will. He is about to collapse, very likely.

SILVER: Is that so?

IDIA: C'm'on I can still stand... I know everyone thinks I'm a wimp or whatever but dancing games truly built my stamina, 'k?

TREY: Don't push yourself too much, though... You've just... overblotted, you know...? And just went back to your senses as if nothing happened.

LILIA: Well, as much as you try to hide again your weaknesses, you will fall now.

IDIA: Hey, what the

SILVER: Yep, just in my arms. As expected.

CATER: Heeeey~... Did everything go as planned? Idia looks all blushy in Silver's arms~. All's well that ends well, I guess?

LILIA: Indeed, indeed, everything went as planned, or at least, the best ending did happened.

TREY: I don't mean to be condescending even as a third year, but maybe you shouldn't say these... kind of things in front of all of us for a while, you know...? Just saying that as a... friend.

SILVER: Please, old... Lilia. Do not speak for a while.

LILIA: Oh? Is it possible that you are furious?

SILVER: I still want to punch you several times for what you've done to Idia.

LILIA: Mhhh... Even though you do know it would bring quite the trouble upon both you and Idia if it were to happen.

TREY: I think most of us really want to punch you, actually.

CATER: Yup~! I'm sure even Idia wants to slap Lilie right now~.

IDIA: Would throw a fucking flare his way.

LILIA: Well, it is my duty as an adult... no, as a young blooming man, to apologize for my mistakes and lurking patronage. I wholeheartdly bow and ask for your pardon, for I have been too arrogant. It is my duty to acknowledge my own mistake, and beware of my own failure. For a healthy future, without any ghastly, ghostly, Compass. Pray ask me something, I will try to make for my hasty decision.

TREY: We'll discuss this over a cake and fine cutlery, okay? We'll be at peace a bit, and we should be able to spend a long time around the cake.

CATER: Yeaah~ Let's do as Trie tells us to~! He's so good to solve problems when they already happened, ehe~.

TREY: I'm trying to learn, yeah...

LILIA: Good! It is quite the good thing, young lad! Never stop learning, even when it comes to food. Those rotten foods are not that bad once you are used to it.

IDIA: I'd rather not eat them, thaaaaanks... Oh... wait. WAIT. DID THE WHOLE CLASS SEE ME GOING APESHIT AND ALL???

Cater: Yes they did~! But don't worry, they ran off immediatly. Nobody has taken a pic of you, even I. Didn't have the time anyway~.

IDIA: Ehh... Nice, I guess... Could have been worse... Neutral end, I guess, heh...

TREY: Hmm, Cater, can you come with me? Let's prepare the cake and all for our little... conversation with Lilia.

CATER: Yee~ I'm following you~!

LILIA: I will be on my way to clean the mess I have quite triggered in the coliseum. Pray take your time to join Cater and Trey... or run if you want. You have quite the free will, don't you?

Cater, Trey and Lilia leave.

SILVER: So... everything's alright, now? I hope you do feel better?

IDIA: Yeah, kinda. You h-h-hold me... dearly... kinda? You know? Not like I'm some kind of careful-to-handle-item nor just... a friend. There's a mix of both, y'know?

SILVER: Well, you are the soft ashes of the hearthfire I can sleep by.

IDIA: Huuuuh! That's like!!! Such a flirty and cool but dumb line?! How can you say something like that and not even blink... Would like to say you're a NPC but... Didn't really expect you to save me... IRL. Guess that the Higurashi choice in Minagoroshi with no incidence really was the same... Sometimes it's not just up to me to chose what's going, and yet other people can reallyyyy act on their own, huh?

SILVER: Mhhh mh.

                                                     Scene X

LILIA: Well, here I am bowing for you, whether you are my young lads, or young lads of somewhere else, far away perhaps, if this Word holds any meaning. Am I lying? Have I lied? I do not know. For, what is a lie, what is the truth? Well, quite the simple answer, in the end. But the world might be bigger, and might not be the World. No Compass can guide us on its own... It might exist, perhaps broken. No direction can be named, the name cannot be named, the named cannot be name. Then maybe we, you, them, have to repair, fix, help it. Holding hands until they reach the Compass. For, it is quite easy to destroy oneself. Few attain serenity, but I pray you will if the path of the hermit suits you. After all, it may be worse for some to be surrounded. However, pray, never forget that, if you want to be to around to seek warm and truth, or if you want to meditate for your own warm and truth, you will reach the Compass equally. Probably, fufu. Words may be lies, lies may be words, and both may hide what you seek, but deep down, you will know if you can keep on going. Fortune is a huge lie too, don't you think so? How much events lead to such a limited pattern of choices for you? Political choices made thousand of years made this "Fortune" true. But even while knowing this I, still have to work, young one. Do not worry. Wars did not make me give up, but indeed I may be seeking entertainement and forgettance from a peaceful world. I know that for sure. I am not the only one acting, playing, breathing. And you are, not alone on your path, either.

[arcadeghostadventurer]

that’s it, that’s the fic.

Untitled Goose Fic 

x find on AO3 x

That wandering pillow stuffing on two flappy feet keeps stealing Tony's tools. Too bad the little shit is hiding them in Steve Rogers' garden because Steve definitely hates Tony.

He does, right?

------------------------------------------------

“No! I will roast you for Thanksgiving! Hell, I will roast you for a completely insignificant mid-week lunch you-” Tony stands back up as the surprisingly agile goose makes it off with his screwdriver, ducking under the table as it runs away. For the third time that day.

“Geese don’t use screwdrivers!” Tony shouts after it, halfheartedly, “You don’t even have opposable thumbs!”

The goose doesn’t turn around. Naturally, since geese would never admit to understanding something as pathetic as spoken language.

He looks after the waddling white bum, slowly disappearing in the distance. Oh well, he has other screwdrivers.

It isn’t until Tony catches the fat feathery fury of hell making off with an entire bundle of fiber optic cable that he fully recognizes the extent of the crimes committed by this goose.

“No! No!! You rotund little shit! Come back- Ow!”

Unfortunately not only he is too late to realize the culprit, but he is also under a car. And so, before Tony can recover from bumping his head and free himself from under the chassis, the goose is gone. So is his brand new cable.

“Fuck you,” mutters Tony, looking after him once again. He rubs his forehead.

He lost about a hundred dollars worth of cable and gained one lump on his head. Now exactly a fair trade, if you ask him. ---

He’s had it. A goose is a glorified duck. Tony will not hear anything else on this matter. Also a goose definitely does not need one flat head and three Phillips head screwdrivers; two pliers, one needle nose and one grooved; a roll of blue painter’s tape, in mint condition; wire cutters; one putty knife; one medium sized hammer and two bananas.

All right, maybe he could let go of the bananas. The little dude, or dudette, has probably already demolished what was supposed to be Tony’s attempt at starting healthy eating habits three weeks ago.

But the other stuff? No way.

So, here is the plan.

The goose must be taking this stuff somewhere. This is almost a one-man organized crime at this point. The bird must have a stash and that stash must be somewhere in this little town.

Maybe Tony’s attempts at goose-proofing the garage haven’t been too successful; considering, as a mechanic, he has to wheel in and out cars, sometimes tractors and hefty motor blocks of farming equipment. Some part of the garage has to open up and that opening has to be big. But, there is nothing holding him from following the goose and finding the little offender’s stash of stolen goods.

He is surprised, really, that he hasn’t thought of this before. He’s a genius. Supposedly. Self-proclaimed but still... It’s just that, the monotone but deafeningly loud and repetitive honks of the creature are so damn disheartening that he just… Gave up. Before even trying.

Yeah, that really doesn’t sound like Tony Stark.

So, he will wait and he will follow. Because if there is one thing he knows, it’s that that goose cannot resist the sweet, sweet call of free knick-knacks that are absolutely of no use to it. ---

And Tony is right. The waddling bundle of doom approaches, honking and being a general nuisance. It doesn’t even try for stealth as it grabs a long strip of discarded chain and totters away.

Tony gets up, downs his coffee and follows.

He has made the calculations. Ran the numbers. The goose cannot be hiding its stolen goodies anywhere too far. First of all, it’s a goose. With short legs. And it has been seen stealing stuff that was too heavy for it to fly with. Second of all, it’s always around. So considering the time it would need to steal, leave, stash and come back; it’s probably hiding its stuff in some unseen but not unreachable and definitely not far away place.

Under a hedge, possibly. Or in a ditch.

Most likely it’s someone’s garden or barn.

And wouldn’t that be the best. He might not be exactly friendly with a lot of people but it is a small town and he is the only mechanic. So if the goose is hiding his stuff in someone’s garden, he’ll just knock on their door and retrieve his stuff. Done.

He strolls down the little path after the toddling white bum, listening to the sound of the chain rolling on the ground without paying much attention to where he’s actually going.

That is, until the jangling of the chain is dulled by grass and the white feathery bum disappears between someone’s broken garden fence. But not just anyone’s garden fence. Oh no. Because Tony Stark’s life cannot be without drama and complications once, even in a remote little town like this.

That little expressionless harbinger of doom, that pint sized behemoth, Tony’s peanut-brained personal devil choose Steve Rogers’ garden to stove away his embezzled tools.

Well, Tony is not going to be knocking on that door anytime soon. He knows for a fact that the guy hates his guts. Since day one. Not that there had been any other day apart from day one but… Well. Oh well.

He could… Sneak in?

Yeah, and just further establish the idea that he is a fucking creep in the man’s eyes.

He stands there for a couple minutes under fading daylight, with a defeated expression on his face before turning around and leaving for his garage. Maybe he should go back to his ideas for cutting-edge anti-goose technology. ---

Steve knows exactly how the high-end, diamond tipped cutter came into his house and from where. And the screwdrivers. And the pliers. And the tape.

The entire roll of unused cable that he has no idea how that goose ever dragged through his fence.

The problem is that he’s pretty sure he made the mechanic hate his guts the first time they met.

He got defensive and well… Some needlessly rude things had been said and assumptions had been made. By Steve. Because Steve is great at acting without thinking apparently.

Well. What happened had happened and Steve should have apologized when he had the chance. But now, after so much time, it would be weird to go to the guy’s house and apologize.

And it would also be weird to act like nothing happened. Which, at this moment, really doesn’t solve his problem of hoarding the man’s equipment in his own house.

He probably doesn’t even remember you, says a little voice in his head, he probably hasn’t even lingered on it like you do, forgot about it the moment you had left.

It’s just that, sometimes it’s still hard for Steve to remember he has grown, both literally and figuratively, and possibly more than doubled in weight. He’s… Well, decent looking now. Not a scrawny little kid. On the outside, at least. Inside is a whole another matter.

So in the end, it had taken his tired-to-the-bone-from-moving brain about three days to realize the mechanic hadn’t been making fun of him when they had been introduced but instead, had been kind of hitting on him. Possibly. Or he is just friendly like that. But Steve is ready to bet the guy had been flirting. With him. Maybe.

And now it’s too late to do anything about it, Steve thinks to himself ruefully. At least he doesn’t own anything that requires a mechanic, really. That, he thinks, had to have been enough to escape from the possible mortification of facing the guy again.

And frankly, when Steve had kind of adopted the town criminal, the goose, how could he have known that the animal would have… Done this! Out of all things a goose could ever do! This!!

“Honk! Hooonk!!”

“I heard you buddy, I’m on it,” Steve slowly rises from his chair and leaves his brooding aside to open his door.

There, stands the goose, with a chain hanging from its beak. It happily waddles inside once Steve steps aside and drops the chain onto its pile.

“Honk!”

“Stealing is bad, you know?” Steve looks at it accusingly.

Goose just honks again.

Steves checks out the frankly impressive pile of tools and knick-knacks the big bird carried into his house over the course of weeks. He sighs, he needs to do something about this. He needs to be brave. He can take his stuff to the guy. He can-

Or, maybe he can just mail it!

He slumps. The guy lives fifteen minutes away. He really couldn’t have come up with a more offensive way of returning the stuff and making the situation even more uncomfortable. He could even add a note. Hey remember how rudely I turned you down the first time we met? Well I still don’t want to see your face, just so you know.

Steve sighs and goes to set out some vegetable scraps for the little rascal. He looks at the goose as it gobbles down the carrot peels, “You started this mess and you fix it!”

And then he thinks, maybe, maybe it really could. Yup, this is definitely going to be the best way of testing the waters. Steve is a genius. ---

Tony is pacing his garage. He needs his 3mm plier that is somewhere in Steve Rogers’ garden. He cannot go there. He has ordered a new one but the two day shipping is… Well, two days away. And he just has nothing else to do but pace and think.

He’s about to go crazy. Just a little more pacing and thinking and he will be intellectually stunted forever, only being able to think about Steve Rogers.

Steve Rogers the artist. The polite, kind, attractive, whose angelic aura enticed even that little white beast of hell and he’s just so-

Okay, no going down that road. He did it once already. And he’s still pacing. Tony’s feelings and opinions about Steve Rogers are not the answer to this dilemma.

He needs the opposite. Needs to think about what Rogers thinks of him. Which, from his reaction was when they met, isn’t really anything pleasant.

It’s just that Tony, being Tony, hadn't been able to say no to flirting with the handsome stranger. It’s not like they get new blood in this town that often. And definitely not of that caliber. Rogers had looked good, coming out of the little store with groceries, biceps swelling with the weight of the bags. Face open and hopeful. Tired, but hopeful.

And Tony is only human. And gay. So sue him.

Rogers hadn’t looked like a bigot then, and with all that he has heard about him, Tony doesn’t think he’s one either. Maybe he’s straight. A huge possibility. But that alone still doesn’t explain his hostility.

Tony wants to say maybe Rogers saw into him that day, somehow knew Tony’s track record. The short and failed relationships. The bad decisions and the mistakes. Just how Tony failed to make any partner happy, failed to be enough so that they would stay...

But that’s ridiculous. Right?

Right. So he paces, and thinks maybe he could ask his regulars to ask around and one of them is bound to know Rogers and they can be a middleman to-

“HONK!”

Tony jumps.,

“HOOONK!!”

“What now, you little- Oh!”

The goose is waddling around in the open areas of his garage, its little orange feet making cute flapping sounds on concrete. But weirdly enough, it doesn’t seem to be stealing anything. On the contrary, it’s just… Waddling. Around. Hmm...

Getting closer to the goose, Tony realizes there is a red ribbon tied in a neat bow around his neck. From this ribbon dangles a piece of paper.

To Tony Stark.

Tony looks to the left. Then to the right. Then for good measure, he pokes his head out of the garage and looks around. There is nobody.

He looks back at the goose. Well, somebody was able to tie that around its neck, so it must be safe to take it off, right?

“If you bite me, and I mean it, even if you just, peck me a little, I’m taking you right to the butcher’s shop.” ---

Steve comes back to his house and his incriminating balled up papers, hiding and evading the town people throughout the whole way. And he’s already having a freak-out about just how much he has overshared in what was supposed to be a tiny note saying “Hey, I have your things I think, would you like to pick them up or would you like me to bring them over.”

But no Steve had to go and be all hopelessly romantic and embarrassing and overshare. At least he didn’t outright say stuff like your eyes are beautiful or you’re really confident and I don’t know how to talk to you or… Yeah.

And obviously he wouldn’t be able to trust the dumb (however cute and waddly) bird to find its way directly to the mechanic’s garage so he had all but grabbed the goose and went over to the place himself. Had set the goose back on its feet from the side of the garage door and ran away like a kid. Well, there had been some peeking, but he couldn’t risk being caught.

All in all, he’d give himself 10/10 for planning, 10/10 for execution and like… 3/10 for the contents note itself. So it all averaged to something passable. Hopefully.

The worst thing is that Tony Stark was as intimidatingly and effortlessly handsome as he remembered. Steve hadn’t been able to stop peeking at him as he gingerly taking off the ribbon around the goose’s neck. He had been in a black tank top; his slightly tanned and toned arms flexing as he fiddled with the bow. He had wiped his hands on an already grease stained fabric before opening the note.

And then Steve had ran away.

Now, back in his house, Steve sits down and puts his face in his hands. He can literally feel just how blushed his cheeks are from the warmth. But, what’s done is done. He cannot really take it back now. The mechanic’s tools are in a paper bag by the door, in case he just, you know, wants to take them and leave. Steve wouldn’t want to make him wait.

And Steve hates to wait himself, but there is really nothing else left to do. ---

Tony wears a shirt and then realizes what he’s doing and takes it off. He’s not wearing a button up shirt to walk fifteen minutes,get his tools and come back. That’s a little too much. A little.

He does trim his beard though. Looking put together never hurt anybody. Definitely a plus, if you’re going to see the guy you’ve had a crush on for over a month. For the second time. After a total fucking disaster.

It’s been really hard. Moving. Leaving a big city like New York and coming to a small town. Wondering if it will work out, if you’ll be able to make it. Get used to it. But staying in Brooklyn had became harder and harder after I had lost my mother. But also I had never lived anywhere else before. All my life; the same neighbourhood, same faces, same places...

I had been tired and irritable, Steve had written. I owe you a very late apology, he had said. I have, what I assume is, all of your lost tools and I would like to return them if you’re not against seeing me again.

Tony is clearly very against the idea, seeing that he’s changing his t-shirt for the fourth time instead of just leaving his house like a normal person.

Also, Steve had called the goose, the town criminal, without specifying that he was talking about the bird, which will always be written as about 10 points in his corner. Even if this thing doesn’t work out. It

He’s stalling. He’s stalling so much.

He checks himself out in the mirror one last time. Fixes his hair and washes his hands once again. The grease under his nails will never be fully gone probably but he can try. Make an effort. Yeah.

When he makes it to the edge of Steve’s picket fence, the goose is already inside. Right at the door, sitting on the doormat with its face tucked under its wing, seemingly dead to the world. Once Tony opens the garden gate however, it starts screaming its little head off. And the door opens before Tony has any time to psych himself up.

Steve Rogers comes out shining golden under the late afternoon sun and complaining, “I just fed you!”

“Yeah, a microphone it seems like,” Tony cringes as soon as the words leave his mouth. Yes Tony, amazing, insert your foot a little bit deeper into your mouth.

Steve startles and looks at him, clearly not expecting to see him, but then he laughs and it’s all Tony can do at that moment is not to slump in relief.

Steve clears his throat, “I will go get your, uh- Tools? Yes. Just a sec-” He disappears behind the door as the goose squeezes inside beside his leg.

Tony is left all by himself in front of the door, suddenly feeling disappointed. Well, what did he expect? ---

Once inside, Steve slumps against the door frame for two seconds, needing to regroup. This is harder than he thought it would be and Tony looks better than he has any right to with his perfect curl falling on his forehead and his perfect facial hair and- Well, at least he didn’t bring up the note, or the delivery method, Steve thinks, not that he gave him any time to speak.

Steve takes the hefty bag of tools into his hands. Takes a deep breath. Now or never, now or never, he repeats from inside, be brave for yourself for one second.

He opens the door again and Tony is there, standing a polite distance away from the steps. Steve extends the bag, “Here you go. This is all that I could find, though, if you have anything else missing-”

“Thank you, thank you. Well, yeah, I think I’ll be fine,” Tony looks at him with a clipped smile.

Now or never, now or never.

“Hey, you know, if you ever lose anything you can,” Steve can feel his blush rising, “well, call?” ---

“I don’t have a phone.” What? What?! If there was ever a good time for a meteor to fall onto me and just onto me, now is it, Tony thinks.

“Oh,” Steve deflates.

“No!” Tony shouts, making both of them flinch. Then schools his voice into something more appropriate, “I mean I didn’t,” he flails, pointing up the hill he came from, “my house is just over there so, I don’t know, I didn’t think I’d need it honestly. So I can’t really- I mean, your number- I can give you mine?”

“Oh, yeah, sure. Just let me-” Steve disappears back into the house and comes back with his phone, gives a little nod, “Mhm?”

So Tony gives Steve his number. Steve sends him a text. After a polite goodbye he leaves, clutching his tools to his chest and all but runs back to his house. He throws the bag onto his work table on his way up and immediately goes searching for his phone.

He giggles as he reads the message, “Hi! This is Steve the goose-sitter.” ---

A Couple Of Months Later

“Steve!! If you don’t come pick up your live pillow stuffing, you’re going to see it under the cloche for tonight’s dinner.”

Steve laughs, honest to God laughs at him and his misery on the phone, “Like you know how to cook.”

Tony sputters, phone in hand and eyes locked onto the little criminal currently pat-pat-ing greasy footprints all over his beautiful and once clean car. With a harmonica in its beak.

Aimless chaos, that’s what it is.

He sighs, “That was cruel and you know it but I’ll let it go if you come here and give me a kiss.”

“Tony, I have one more lesson, just one more and then I’m home, okay babe?”

Tony grinns giddily. Okay, maybe he’s a little head over heels here but at least he knows he’s not the only one.

As Steve had predicted, the goose kept stealing his tools. And kept stashing them in Steve’s house. And Tony just kept… Going back to retrieve them. In time it became Steve coming over to drop off some things Tony had not yet realized gone missing and staying to chat for a bit. Or Tony realizing things were missing and going to Steve’s house for a coffee, waiting for the goose to come from parading his stolen goods around.

They talked about Steve’s moving adventures first. Then his reasons; his Ma’s illness, losing her at the hospital and his best friend overseas and looking around Brooklyn to see pain everywhere. And in turn Tony told his own story, about leaving a busy life with three cities in one day, shareholder’s meetings, inventing with strict deadlines on endless budget that got quite unfulfilling really quickly.

And then they talked about more personal details. Steve’s insecurities from when he was dealing with asthma and was as thin as a stick that never quite left. Tony’s inability to pay attention to anybody or anything but his craft for more than two seconds that drove all his ex-es away.

Steve had smiled at his berating, “You’ve been here for three hours now.”

“And? Should I- Oh.” Tony had blushed, “Well, yeah.”

Somewhere along the way, it had become this.

Tony knows Steve will come over after he’s done teaching kids how to draw and will give him as many kisses as he wants and then a little bit more. He will cook because Tony really cannot but helps by providing any ingredient Steve needs for his recipes, no matter how obscure. They will sit in Tony’s little kitchen and chat and eat and kiss a little bit more. And when Steve gets up to go home, his overgrown duck with itsy-bitsy razor teeth will follow him back home loyally.

But there is still an hour and then some until that can happen.

“I am not cleaning your weird misshapen dog though,” he sulks into his phone.

Steve chuckles, “That’s alright Tony, I have to go now, I’ll see you soon, alright?”

“Yeah, okay, love you.”

“Love you too.”

[indelible-colouring-markers]

Set after 5km trainer, week 5 workout 3

I grinned at Jody as she explained more about different types of cabling stitches and their effects on sweater stability. Her face was flush with success from the run and her enthusiastic gestures needed a safe radius.

A warm arm wrapped around my shoulders, pulling me into an equally warm body.

Runner - 3, possibly? - Simon grinned down at me. "She isn't bothering you with her nattering, is she Five?"

I shook my head as Jody squawked at him. A flash of his skin caught my eye and I ran a finger along a rip in his shirt.

"Oh that? Got caught on a branch when I was getting firewood," he explained easily.

I held my hand out. "Geh-vuh."

His eyebrows raised. "Take me out to dinner first Five, I'm not that easy."

"You absolutely are though," Jody said.

I rolled my eyes at him. "Fickzit. Gih-vuh."

He tugged his shirt up by the collar. I decided not to tsk him over the way it could damage the hem.

I grabbed the pack of needles from my pocket and the first spool of thread I could find. Neon orange, no wonder there had been so much of it.

It was a clean rip, not frayed yet. It didnt take long for me to stitch it closed, cutting the thread with my teeth.

The needle went back into the pack and then into my pocket.

I looked up, blinking at the small audience I had gathered. I held the shirt out. "Duh-ne."

Simon took it, running his finger over the spot of bright orange. I wonder if it would glow in black light.

"That was right fast Five," Jody said.

I shrugged with one shoulder. "Did it at Mullinz, 'tween runs. Got gud."

"I'd say," Eugene said. I blinked - when had he showed up? "Hey Five, if I bring you my pants, can you do them too?"

"You can't just ask Five to handle your pants," Jack panicked.

Eugene frowned. "What do you mean, you've seen how dirty the hems get."

"Oh, you meant your trousers," he realized.

Eugene rolled his eyes. "Fine. Five would you hem my trousers."

"Ray-dee-oh soon?" I asked.

"We need a bit more tech for it, but we're hoping to get something soonish."

"Ray-dee-oh song, for sew, gud?"

He laughed. "You drive a hard bargain," he said, sticking out his hand.

I shook it firmly. Him and Jack wandered off.

Simon, still shirtless for reasons beyond me, slung his arm around my shoulders again. "You're not good at making deals, are you Five. You need an agent."

"And you'll do it, so you don't have to worry about any more tree branches?" Jody cut it, linking her arm with mine. "What Five really needs is someone who understands how difficult a craft is."

"I have a craft!"

"Do not."

"Do too. Working out is a craft, right Five?"

I tried not to laugh as I shook my head. "Leaf me outta thiz."

"C'mon Five, if you agree with me, I'll make you a nice pair of socks," Jody whedled.

"Oi, bribery's cheating," Simon jumped in. "If you agree with me, I'll get you hair elastics my next supply run."

"Warm wooly socks, perfect for after a long day slogging through the water." That was tempting. 

He sensed my wavering resolve. "All the hair elastics you could ever need, and a nice, relaxing massage."

"You give all the runners massages," she said.

"That's not true," he said, looking offended. "Evan doesn't like them."

It was too much. Laughter bubbled out as my shoulders shook. I tried to explain how ridiculous they were being, but I couldn't manage it, repeating "Jus," again and again.

"Jus ask!" I managed to get out, wiping tears from my eyes.

They were grinning as their requests overlapped. I tilted my head, intentionally birdlife, making a wordless confused noise.

Simon gestured for Jody to go first. "Would you mind helping me mend Sara's rucksack?"

"But first, would you help with my number? It's gotten a bit loose." Simon showed me the weakened stitches.

"Kay," I grabbed the shirt back and looked back to Jody. "Where zit?"

She grinned, tuggi g with our link arms. "This way."

Simon tagged behind us. I smiled. Maybe Able wouldn't be so bad a place to stay.

[mor-beck-more-problems]

Friend Fail || Skylar and Morgan

@theskyeandsea

Don’t do blood magic in front of the baby seal. 

Morgan stopped her work for the third time this hour to make sure she really did have everything she needed. The crystals were all made, the bath salt jars were freshly clean and ready. She had her measuring cups and postage boxes so Skylar could help. She had even gotten through half her grading. There really was no reason not to make use of her new chalkboard and try another summoning. She’d gotten Sean with a birthday cake--sort of. Who was to say she couldn’t get Constance with a proper circle and a little blood? At least, practice getting the circle, right? The board had even come with chalk in three different colors, just waiting, begging to be used. Morgan checked her phone to see where the planets were. Still Aquarius season, so not great for her, but her Mercury was almost in a water sign. It was all so...promising. Enough to give her pause and make her look around the room once more. It didn’t feel very much like skirting around the curse if the universe was setting everything up so nicely for her. But if she waited until things were more dire, what would that achieve? Morgan pulled up the spell on her phone again. This was not Cassie approved, but at least she had salt this time. She could line the place if she decided to get serious. Which, she wouldn’t. Probably. (What if this was her one door and she was missing the good kind of signal? Or what if that was just what the curse wanted her to think?)

A knock at the door startled her out of her thought loop. Right. Skylar was stopping by the house to visit. Good for her! Making friends with grownups was kind of pitiful, but she’d been there before herself. Sometimes you had to take what you could get. “Hey, come on in!” She stepped back and signed, Good afternoon! Happy to see you. She’d watched a couple of videos online and had mostly memorized the greeting, plus two other words. Work there, Magic there. 

Skylar really, really, really didn’t want to be here. Her head had been aching all day, she’d barely been able to eat anything, and her body just felt run down, even though she’d slept ten hours the previous night. And… what made it worse was she knew exactly why she was feeling this way. Ricky had told her as much. It was because she hadn’t transformed. Apparently, all her problems were a direct result of not turning into a seal, which she didn’t quite follow. She wasn’t a seal who could sometimes be human. She was a human, a normal human. With… quirks. Taking a long drink from her thermos of coffee, Skylar sighed as she walked up to Morgan’s house. This was going to be good for her. This was going to be something good and helpful and nice. Because Morgan had been nothing but nice and helpful, even after Skylar had been dismissive of the whole magic situation. Knocking on the door, Skylar offered what she hoped was a bright smile as Morgan opened the door.

The signing threw her for a second. For one thing, she was going way too fast for her fingers, so they came out garbled. Skylar could tell what she meant, but it wasn’t the best use of sign. “Hi! Thanks for having me.” She said. Setting her coffee down, she let out a small laugh and signed, What do you mean by work there, magic here? 

Oh, thank god Skylar could talk just fine, maybe (probably) even read lips! Morgan saw the two whole words she’d learned outside of the basic greeting repeated in a new way, one she had no idea how to answer. She winced. “Sorry. Just--different tasks I have going on today! Um, I’ve got some bath salts that need to go into those very uh, hashtag aesthetic jars, and I have this shiny new chalkboard that has a lot of magic potential! I’m not going to do anything to it, I should clarify, I’m going to use it to make some more elaborate circles that I’m using right now.” Only after she finished did she realize just how fast she was prone to talking sometimes. Sorry, she signed, the only other word she’d thought make handy use of. “I talk fast sometimes, and I don’t always realize. Can I get you some sweet tea?”

“No problem.” Skylar said, waving it off with a laugh. “I was joking. Sorry, I didn’t mean to make fun.” She said as she took look around Morgan’s house curiously. There were a lot of odds and ends, and a lot of jars as well. What were the jars for? Watching Morgan intently, Skylar did her best to match the lip movements with what she was hearing, but it wasn’t easy. Morgan was speaking just a bit too quickly for her. “Ah. It’s okay, really! You said something about aesthetic jars? Is that what these are for?” She said, gesturing to the mason jars that were set up. “Tea? No, no, I’m good. Thank you though.” Skylar said as she picked up her thermos from where she’d set it down. Being around other people usually helped take her mind off what troubled her, so hopefully helping Morgan would do the same.

“No, I think you earn the right to tease,” Morgan said, trying to reassure her. “I tried to be competent in your language over the course of forty-eight hours maybe, with nothing but youtube and willpower. But, grab a pillow! Make yourself cozy!” She grabbed some tea for herself and sat on the floor with her shiny new board. It was so smooth it didn’t even look real. Morgan broke the seal on the chalk. It was good to practice, right? “You can put the TV on and make yourself at home if you want, but if you really want to help, You can use the measuring cup to put two scoops into the jars.” Morgan beamed over at the girl,who, now that she wasn’t moving quite so fast, really did seem in need of some kind of pick-me-up, poor kid. 

Shaking her head, Skylar shrugged. “I appreciate you trying at the very least. It’s more than a lot of people do.” She said, the thought making her slightly melancholy. Ack. No, no, no. Watching as Morgan picked up a neat little chalkboard, she settled down on the proffered pillow, her legs curling under her. “Oh, that’s okay. I’d much rather do something productive than just use your cable.” She said with a smile. Looking at the set up in front of her, Skylar set to work doing as she was told, putting two scoops of… stuff into the jars and screwing the lids on. “What are these jars full of anyways? Magic salt or something?” She asked curiously.

Morgan began drawing the circle. After so many years of alchemy, she was pretty good at freehand, though everything that went in would need more precision. She couldn’t help but smile at the tingle that went up her hand from that new-supply feeling. She looked up at Skylar to make sure she could see what she was saying alright. “Salt, lavender oil, dry roses and yarrow, and ground crystals. Very relaxing, but less real magic and more mind over matter fluffy magic,” she admitted. She got up and went for her chalk compass. “This, on the other hand, will hopefully be real magic someday. Thank you for deciding to help me out, by the way.” 

All of the things Morgan rattled off sounded just like normal herbal stuff that you could find in any shop, which Skylar realized was exactly the case as the woman finished speaking. Hm. So there were still some parts of “magic” that weren’t exactly flame throwers and turning garbage into candles. At least some things still made sense. Lavender was just relaxing because it smelled nice, not because it had any crazy property to it. “No, don’t worry about it. I needed to get out of the house anyways.” She said as she filled another jar with salt mixture. She watched as Morgan grabbed a small instrument and tilted her head, intrigued. “What’s all of that for? The chalkboard and things.”

Morgan hesitated, compass in hand, as she started to section off her array, making room for each of the runes and sigils she would need to make this work. And, terrifying as the feeling was, she couldn’t help but feel excited. She had a name. Constance Bachman. She had to be related to Sean and Agnes, even if she hadn’t been able to find her name in the geneology list. Maybe a spinster aunt? Or a lost sister? Either way, she was findable. And if Morgan actually managed to hack herself a successful, specific, ghost summoning with this, it would be the craziest and most amazing feat of magic she’d ever accomplished. Which meant she definitely wouldn’t today. Or that if she did, she’d get some static-y bitter brother of Sean’s. Or maybe some minor pesky demon. But she had to thread the needle between knowing the curse wanted to screw her over and manifesting some progress. It could work. And, well, who was Skylar going to talk about it with anyway? “Reason A for getting a big board is so I can make my crystals faster. The more material I can fit and work with, the more I can pop out at a time. My pop socket lid is great, but really not practical. But this,” she explained. “Is something different than my normal bag of tricks. I’ve got this project about spirits and their living descendants.” She began marking out the basic runes for summoning, then constructing the smaller circle she had designed to get Constance. Hopefully, anyway. She reached over for the version she’d sketched out on paper. She smudged away one of the sigils and drew it over again, clearer this time. “If it works, I might be able to bring someone over. Wanna see?”

Skylar watched as Morgan divied up the board with chalk, still not quite sure what she was looking it. Magic seemed to be a bit different than she thought it was. Winston had just kinda… done magic when they’d done it. But, she supposed that there was probably some method to the madness. Continuing to screw the lids on jars, she listened as Morgan offered an explanation. She wasn’t really sure what she meant by pop socket lid-- was she talking about the thing on the back of phones? Not wanting to interupt, she continued to listen. “So… you’re using a chalk board to summon a ghost?” She repeat, just trying to wrap her head around all of that. Ghosts. Ghosts were real. Okay. And you could use chalk and weird little doodles to make them appear? Mmmm, that was less okay. Even though she didn’t really want to see the odd little circle, Skylar scooted closer, “That’s interesting. They look like something out of Skyrim, honestly.”

Morgan was almost finished. She laid it down on the floor and examined her handiwork, then knelt down to add in the minor markings of the array. “What’s a Skyrim?” She asked. “Wait, don’t tell me--it’s that new show on Netflix right?” No, that sounded wrong. Morgan was more preoccupied with getting all the connecting lines just right anyway. “Sorry,” she said, looking up again. “I’m old. Like way old. I follow Grey’s Anatomy, and I have my supernatural crime shows, and food network. But tell me about Skyrim! I’m just going to grab some salt from the kitchen real quick.”

Raising an eyebrow, Skylar tilted her head in surprise. Mm. Well, after Alain had sent her the weird old French music, it shouldn’t be that surprising that some people weren’t as in the know with video games and stuff. “It’s a video game. You play as a Dragonborn, someone who’s got the spirit of a dragon, and can read and speak the ancient language of dragons. It’s…” She paused, realizing that she had no idea if dragons were a real thing. Were they real? Was Skyrim real? “It’s a fun game!” She finished, offering a slightly stressed smile. Oh dear. “Are you using table salt..” She asked. So, magic consisted of weird little runes on a chalkboard and table salt. Good to know, good to know. 

Video games. Morgan probably should have guessed something like that. There hadn’t been time or money to that when she was a kid, and though now, as far as she could tell, you could download one off the internet for thirty dollars, it seemed like an alien existence. “It sounds like fun!” She said brightly. “Fantasy conception is one of my favorite interests. Oh--and it’s not table salt, or not just table salt. It’s a mix this exorcist friend of mine told me about.” She came back out with the mix and started shifting around some objects in the room. She would need to get the real estate for this eventually. And maybe--maybe this could happen. “Hey, Skylar, do you think you can write the alphabet out for me real quick? 

“It’s a neat game, mhm.” Skylar said with a smile before taking a long sip of coffee. Thank God for this new thermos, honestly. Alain had been right about investing in one of these. And she honestly needed it now more than ever. As Morgan explained the mix of salt, Skylar watched with interest as she moved things around. Was this a big spell..? She had been under the assumption that the… spirit would just pop out of the chalk board kinda like a hologram in Star Wars or something. But then again, what did she know about magic anyways? “Huh? Oh, sure. On the chalkboard or somewhere else?” She asked, picking up one of the pieces of chalk from where Morgan had left them.

“Huh?” Morgan looked up from her work distractedly. “No, just grab a pen and paper from my grading pile over there. If I do, hypothetically, get a ghost in here, it’s going to need a way to talk to me. Especially, uh, since I can’t see them!” She was finished. She was finished and she felt like she’d stolen a cookie from her mom’s jar. Like she should run and enjoy her spoils or stay and get as many into her hand before she was caught. Morgan started to work on the salt circle, was going to fetch her dad’s old athame, just cleaned, before she realized just how this might look to someone who just learned that half the mythical creatures they’d read about as a kid were real. “Um, you don’t have to stick around for this part if it’s too much,” she said. “My cat is around somewhere if you’d like to meet her, or I can take it from here,” she offered. “Unless you can secretly see ghosts, in which case I will literally pay you to stick around.”

The back of her neck burning in embarrassment, Skylar nodded and did as Morgan told her. “Sure! Will do!” She said, hoping her tone sounded bright and not mortified. Mmm, yeah the alphabet made more sense to be written on a piece of paper. Writing out the alphabet in clean, large letters, Skylar tilted her head in surprise. “You can’t see ghosts? I thought that if you summoned them you’d be able to see them. But, um, sorry. Dumb assumption, I guess.” She said as she printed out a large Z. When Morgan offered her an out, Skylar chewed on the inside of her cheek. A big part of her wanted nothing more than to just… pretend that this wasn’t real. She wanted to forget everything about this. But, she couldn’t just run away from magic. It was here and she should know more about it. “Um, sorry. I don’t think I can see ghosts, but… I’d like to stay, if that’s okay. I just, I want to know more about all of this.”

“Oh, gosh, I wish,” Morgan confessed. “I honestly thought that too, but as it turns out you need some kind of special ability for that. And, for the record, not a dumb question. Didn’t you only learn all this weird shit was real two weeks ago? You’re harder on yourself than I am on actual students. There’s a lot to learn. Too much, really. I’ve known magic was real my whole life and I just figured out the ghost thing a while ago.” She smiled brightly at Skylar, hoping she felt better and went for the athame. She’d laid the salt thick. If, even, anything happened, they would be safe, and she could vacuum away the evidence before Cece came home to ask questions. And maybe if she was lucky Skylar would be willing to help with that too. She grabbed one of her novelty bowls, a tragic indulgence from the dollar store during her Traveler’s Rest stay, the happy faces of the Disney princesses already peeling away, and positioned herself over the circle. Then she put Skylar’s alphabet paper and pen in where it wouldn’t disturb the runes. “Let’s just hope this doesn’t turn out really anticlimactic, huh?” She raised the ritual knife and began to chant. So far so good. Then came the time for her blood offering. Morgan pressed the knife into her arm, voice hiccuping only a little as the pain sliced into her. So far, so good. Then she looked down into the bowl to make sure she had enough and the world shrank down to the size of a single drop of blood. She went silent and the rising magic and the knife both went whizzing away from her. 

“I… Yeah, only the last two weeks, with the karkinoids.” Skylar said with a shrug as she moved over to the side, letting Morgan do all the final preparation work on the spell that she had laid out. But… No, Morgan didn’t need to know about her situation. Not after she mentioned how there were people going around trying to steal teeth for potions and stuff. Skylar watched, curiously as Morgan pulled out a weird little disney princess bowl and set it down. Were princesses important for this? Fingers curling up at her side, she forced herself to watch as Morgan began to say words she’d never heard before and then draw the knife blade-- What the fuuuuuuck was she doing? Before Skylar could react, tremors began to fill the room, the bowl of blood shaking violently-- A sharp pain lanced through her right shoulder, searing and hot, as the knife flew towards her and lodged itself into her body. Letting out a scream of pain, Skylar fell to the ground, a large spout of blood splattering across the room. “MORGAN!” She cried out, panic threatening to overwhelm her as she stared at the knife sticking out of her.

Morgan didn’t hear or notice anything except the blood in the bowl. She shoved the plastic into her mouth with both hands, guzzling the liquid ravenously and licking the sides where it had stuck. And there was more, streaks puddling on the floor and the coffee table. Morgan dropped the bowl and threw herself down to lap them all up. When she pulled away at last, panting and dizzy, her face stained from nose to chin, and saw her dad’s knife lodged in Skylar’s arm. “Oh fuck.” She licked her lips in spite of herself and scrambled to her feet. Keys. She needed her phone and her keys so they could get to the car so they could drive to the hospital. Fuck. The fucking blood clinger. She should’ve known it wouldn’t have worn off that quickly. “It’s okay, it’s okay!” She cried, her voice jumping higher each time she said it. The edges of her vision felt blurry and she grabbed an empty mason jar while she was at it. “Come on, we’re taking you to the hospital, okay! Also, hold this to collect any blood you lose! This is fine, you’re gonna be fine!” She, on the other hand, looked like a walking crime scene, but maybe if she bulldozed ahead on the knife inside the girl’s arm they wouldn’t have to go into it. 

Skylar began to hyperventilate as she stared at the knife in her arm, her vision narrowing at the edges as she tried to focus on anything other than the knife-- “What the fuck are you doing?!” Skylar screamed, pointing at the bowl of blood that Morgan had just drank from. Scrambling away across the floor, she let out a cry of pain as she tried to put as much distance from her and Morgan, who was apparently some kinda vampire? “G-get away from me!” Skylar said, rivulets of blood running down her arm to pool on the floor. The more she struggled, the more and more blood poured from around the knife still lodged in her arm. “I’m not going anywhere with a vampire! An-And I’m not,” She let out a groan of pain as her arm screamed in pain, “Going to make you a to-go cup!”

“Oh my god you’re making it worse!” Morgan shrieked, starting to panic herself. She screwed her eyes shut. Maybe if she didn’t see the blood she wouldn’t have some weird blood-clinger blackout. “I’m not a vampire, it was a magic tick! I thought it had worn off  but apparently not! I mean, would you rather be the juice box? Come on!” But no sooner did she settle this in her head than did she slip on the floor and come face to face with the fresh streams of blood from Skylar. Morgan forgot everything she was talking about and licked them up like her life depended on it.

As Morgan tried to convince her that she wasn’t some kind of vampire out to suck her blood, Skylar remembered what Ricky had told her. Selkies had more blood than other people, making them prime targets for vampires. “A magic tick? That’s, that’s a thing? WHAT THE FUCK!” Skylar screeched as Morgan dropped down and began to lap up her blood from the floor. Skylar watched in horror and reached behind her to pull herself up to her feet-- she needed to get out of her, she needed too… As she stood up, what blood was in her head, immediately rushed out and her vision went white around the edges as fell back to the ground, woozy. “I… I… I’m…” She couldn’t fully make out words any more, all she could do was grasp at a nearby mason jar and hold it to her still bleeding shoulder.

Morgan slithered her way over the floor, lapping every drop until her tongue felt rough and every drop had been siphoned. She groaned, still thirsty, and made a grab for Skylar, but missed as the girl stood up. Her head hit the wall and she lost her balance, going splat and rolling onto her back Slowly, her brain cleared again. Maybe anticlimactic would’ve been better after all. “Skylar??” She asked. “Are you still there? Can you drive yourself maybe? Or, I don’t know, call an Uber? There’s Uber in White Crest, right?” She was afraid to get up again. Afraid the floor would fall out from under herself. Afraid of the red, tangy blood. It was still on her rough-scraped tongue and in the back of her, hateful and terrifying. But in the moment it hadn’t been. God she was so screwed. “Skylar--?” She croaked.

“Mmmnot good. No’ good.” Skylar said thickly, her head heavy as she continued to try and get away from Morgan. Holding the mason jar in her hand, she did her best to siphon some of the blood that clung to her skin into the jar. “Don’ eat me… ’m… fishy. Wouldn’t tas’ good.” Her words slurred together as she slid the mason jar towards Morgan. Uber? Her phone. Her phone! Pulling her phone out of her pocket, Skylar swiped her thumb across the screen to send a garbled text before setting it down on the ground, “Please don’t eat me.” She mumbled.

This was not going to be a good day. And really, Morgan should’ve known better than to hope for getting away with anything for long. She reached across the floor and grabbed the jar, stomach-lurching at the precaution and inched, achingly, to a sit. “I promise on whatever will make you feel better I do not want to eat you!” Never the less she sipped the blood. It didn’t soothe her like it did earlier, so maybe she was past the worst of this. “Come on, Uber’s going to take too long and you need help.” She was unsteady on her feet, but she had what she needed and she could just about make it to the door, to-go cup in hand as Skylar had so kindly put it. She staggered out and took a deep lung full of fresh air. She had no idea how she was going to explain this to Ricky, or anyone else for that matter. How far was the hospital again?

“Not an Uber… Ricky, he’s gonna… gonna help me. Can’ go hospital.” Skylar said, shaking her head back and forth. As she continued to struggle away, she fell flat on her back onto Morgan’s floor, the knife still sticking out of her shoulder. Fatigue and blood loss overtook her and Skylar passed out right in the entryway of the front door.

Morgan heard the thump of Skylar’s body on the floor and went more or less splat herself on Cece’s porch in defeat. The was no way she was getting her in the car by herself, or answering any questions EMTs might have. And Skylar didn’t want that stuff anyways, though whether it was because health insurance was a curse on everyone, or because of some supernatural bullshit she didn’t know about yet, she had no clue. But in the end, it didn’t matter. Morgan sent off some messages and waited for everything, as usual, to get worse.

[macgyvermedical]

3-Quinuclidinyl Benzilate is My New Favorite Chemical Weapon, A “Mason+Cable+Choices” Medical Review

This episode. This freaking episode.

First of all, Charlie Robinson, who I really thought was going to stick around in this version of the series after he survived his first episode, had to go and become the instrument to someone else’s revenge scheme. We also got to see a relatively hard side of Mac in the interrogation room, and I’m not sure whether to applaud it as character development or feel like they’re going too dark.

From a medical and whump standpoint, this episode sure has a lot of things covered- the gunshot wound, the neck needle, the 3-quinuclidinyl benzilate poisoning (Yay!), the heart needle/antidote, and the toxic smoke. I'm warning you now, most of this review is about the 3-quinuclidinyl benzilate poisoning.

The Gunshot Wound

Honestly, there’s not a lot to be said about the gunshot wound- it was to the outside of Charlie’s thigh, so while it would have been painful and probably would have bled some (the duct tape wouldn’t have helped stop the bleeding) it probably wouldn’t have been enough to really threaten his life. If he hadn’t later plummeted to his death, he might have needed some antibiotics, professional medical attention, and physical therapy.

Neck Needles

Neck needles aren’t a thing, but I’ve talked about those in previous posts.

3-Quinuclidinyl Benzilate Poisoning

Oh hey look, we’re already at 3-quinuclidinyl benzilate poisoning! And fam? this is where I really did my research.

If you’ve been on this blog long enough you know I like my chemical weapons. Not in a “kill everyone” way but in more of a “strong academic interest I may one day write a thesis about” way. And man, do I love having access to an academic library again. Whoo buddy. This was fun.

In the episode, Mason uses a chemical weapon called 3-quinuclidinyl benzilate (also noted in the episode as “BZ”), smuggled in a false tooth, to subdue Mac before making his escape from the interrogation room. The tooth contains QNB  in an aerosol form, which when released forms a visible cloud in the room. Mac breathes the aerosol, which appears to instantly paralyze or possibly sedate him, while Mason takes advantage of the small amount of uncontaminated air in Mac’s water bottle before making his escape up the air vent. A security team makes their way to Mac, Desi calls for a med team, and Mac is revived with an antidote delivered by a needle straight to his heart.

When someone mentions chemical weapons, most people think of mustard gas or nerve agents. But poisons designed to torture and kill people aren’t the only things that fall into the category of chemical weapons. In fact, there’s a whole class of them, called “incapacitants” that are specifically designed to take people out of commission without a high risk of death or permanent disability. 

Let me just say, Jim Adler is a writer after my own heart. He wrote both this episode and “Mac+Fallout+Jack” and considering both were absolutely gut-wrenching and contained reasonable choices of incapacitating agents, I really, really appreciate what he’s done for the canon. He didn’t get everything right here (*cough cough* neck and heart needles *cough cough*), but he clearly understands enough about drugging people to buy some literary license. Not all of it, but some.

Now, as I’ve talked about in other posts, drugging people into unconsciousness isn’t a particularly safe thing to do. Unconscious people can’t protect their airway, and most drugs that render people unconscious significantly impact their respiratory rate, blood pressure, or both. Unless the party doing the drugging is prepared to devote at least one trained person to monitoring and management of the drugged individual, there’s a chance that person could suffocate and die. Paralytic agents have a lot of the same issues.

This becomes even more problematic if you’re trying to incapacitate multiple people. Case in point- in 2002 a small group of Chechan rebels held over a 1,000 Russian civilians hostage in a theater in Moscow. After several days, in order to end the stand-off, Russian military personnel used what was probably an aerosalized opioid* to render everyone in the building unconscious. They then stormed the building and rescued the hostages. Unfortunately, even though antidotes were available and used, about 1 out of every 10 hostages ended up dying due to the mass drugging, which didn’t win any PR points for the use of incapacitating agents.

But if you get just slightly more creative, sedation and paralysis are not the only two ways to drug enemy combatants into uselessness. Turns out, a variety of hallucinogens and deliriants can achieve the same goal without the same risk of death by suffocation. If you can get someone to a state where they can’t remember what they’re doing or perform basic skills like reading or decision making, they can’t easily attack and kill your own personnel.

This is where 3-quinuclidinyl benzilate, (NATO code BZ, US Army code EA-2277, Soviet code Substance 78, and usually referred to as “QNB” in medical circles) starts to stand out. QNB is a deliriant and hallucinogen. Now, there are lots of drugs that fall into these categories- think LSD, ketamine, PCP, and atropine to name a few. QNB works very similarly to atropine, by selectively blocking the action of the neurotransmitter acetylcholine (think the opposite of a nerve agent), but with significantly more of its action concentrated around the mind-altering side-effects. It’s also safer, hardier, more versatile, and has a more ideal onset and duration of action.

The typical course of incapacitation with QNB involves:

An initial period of progressively worsening anxiety, restlessness, and confusion

A period of extreme drowsiness

Finally, more confusion, an inability to perform simple tasks, difficulty with movement, hallucinations, and bizarre behaviors including picking at things, which all gradually wane over the course of 2-4 days.

Here are some reasons QNB stands out as a particularly effective incapacitant (and all the ways the episode ignored them):

The first is therapeutic index. A drug’s therapeutic index is the difference between its effective dose and it’s toxic dose. If we say a drug has a “narrow” therapeutic index, that means there’s a very small difference between an effective dose and a toxic one, while a “wide” therapeutic index means that the two doses are very different. When drugging someone without their knowledge, no matter how you’re delivering the drug, it’s really hard to estimate the actual ingested dose. Because of this, you want the widest possible range of effective-but-not-deadly doses you can have- the best drugs for mass druggings are those with the widest possible therapeutic indices.

QNB happens to have a very wide therapeutic index compared to other possibilities for incapacitants. The lowest effective dose is about 150 micrograms, while a toxic dose is more than 650 times that at about 100 miligrams. In small doses, the drug doesn’t last as long and causes more sedating vs delirious effect, but is still very useful in lowering the effectiveness of an enemy force.

The second is its options for route and availability in an environment. How any drug is given is referred to the route of administration. These can include:

PO (oral- taken as a pill or liquid)

IV (intravenous- injected into a vein)

IM (intramuscular- injected into a muscle)

SC (subcutaneous- injected into fat)

IO (intrasseous- injected into a bone in an emergency)

Inhaled (breathed and absorbed through blood vessels in the lungs)

PR (rectal- given rectally)

Transdermal (absorbed through the skin)

Most drugs work best when administered a certain way, and some may only be produced for use by a certain route. Some, like ketamine or LSD, can’t be absorbed in the stomach, so giving them orally doesn’t work (LSD “tabs” are actually absorbed through the mucous membrane in the mouth). QNB’s advantage is that it can be given by any route. You want to drug food or drink? It works. Aerosolize it and pump it into the air? Also works. Inject it IM, SC, or IV? Yes but you might have to answer some questions. Coat something like a doorknob? It goes through skin too!

QNB is particularly suited as an aerosol, not because it readily evaporates, but because it’s odorless. No one would even know they were breathing it until it started working, and even then, they might not know what happened. It also stays in the environment for a long time- up to several weeks depending on conditions- and can survive extreme heat without degrading, so it could be disbursed via explosive (LSD would not survive). Bottom line, everyone that came into that room to rescue Mac was contaminated, probably enough to cause them problems. Also, so was Mason, so take that as you will.

The third is the drug’s onset and duration of action. In the episode Mac is almost instantly incapacitated when the spray hits his face. This is not how any drug works (even via the IV route, the quickest-onset drugs still take at least 15-30 seconds to be felt), but particularly not QNB. QNB has an onset time of about an hour, no matter the route. This is actually beneficial to the drug’s original purpose- if no one shows symptoms from drugging with an odorless aerosol until an hour after exposure, there’s no way to take protective measures. Suddenly everyone’s hallucinating and can’t do basic math. Sucks for that attack plan you were working on.

The fourth and final benefit that QNB provides is both it’s lack of (specific) antidote and the fact that there are no lasting effects. Some people point to physostigmine as a possible antidote, but it’s not perfect and has some incapacitating side effects of its own. As incapacitation with QNB is generally not life threatening, it’s probably better for most people to be cared for in a safe place and ride out the effects. Since it’s also not a carcinogen or mutagen, once the effects subside, there shouldn’t be any additional problems.

Phew. Okay.

Heart Needles

I swear I’ve talked about heart needles before, but I’ll do it again since it hasn’t been recently. In the episode, Mac is injected with an antidote directly into his heart. Now, like we said before, using an antidote wouldn’t really help him much, and its not really necessary. He’s just gonna have to ride it out (I don’t make the rules...).

But they chose to do it, so we should talk about it- in the pre-CPR era, intracardiac injections represented the only way of getting emergency medications like epi to the heart in the case of cardiac arrest. As late as 1992, there were still some groups advocating for it if the patient was in asystole (flatline) and IV or IO access couldn’t be obtained. Mac has excellent veins if I do say so myself, and he also wasn’t coding, so there’s no reason for this to have been a thing in the episode. It’s also never used today.

Also, I’m going to be particularly disappointed if that was just a callback to the similarly inaccurate Pulp Fiction scene. Because this show has already used epi to counter an acetylcholine-based problem, and you already only get to do that once. EPINEPHRINE IS NOT AN ALL-PURPOSE ANTIDOTE.

Jim Adler based on your other work I have to assume you know better.

Also it’s late and I’m not talking about the toxic smoke. See my many posts on cyanide and some time in the future come read my post on carbon monoxide.

*According to the book Chemical Warfare: Secrets Almost Forgotten by James Ketchum, who did a lot of the initial research on chemical incapacitants. Other sources reference the drug used as anything from traditional nerve agents to QNB itself, but the onset times and symptoms initially reported seem to match up better with an opioid than QNB.

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