#a fic that asks: do i know the alphabet enough to put these men's names in order in a pairing? and the answer is no <3 | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

thetriggeredhappy · 3 years

Note

recently rediscovered your blog and read the fic from your dad spy au where scout starts out as the "guard" and then becomes scout from there and lemme tell you that shit put me on some s-tier brainrot. like a cranial decay type beat.

i had a concept in my head that instead of being hired as a guard, he could have been hired as a right hand man to the administrator like pauling, because i think hed be awesome in that position. like imagine having a personal merc who can get in fast and out even faster. but maybe he would stay in the base like the rest of them, sort of like a secret on call intel gatherer, who also maybe sometimes has to dig a couple graves. and also like, nobody on the team expects anything from him at first because its this 20 year old newbie kid. hes dressed in his formal clothes and he talks like somebody from relatively around boston but not quite. i can just imagine one day he comes back during a team dinner with his shirt half untucked and stained with blood, hair disheveled as he asks soldier if he can borrow his shovel, or him debriefing them for a mission when miss pauling is busy. same vibe as the fic i mentioned before but scout gets to have a job as cool as miss paulings. honestly id write it myself if i didnt have the attention span of a fly

anyways your scout content gives me life thank you

scout teamfortress but 20% more competent standing next to miss pauling teamfortress while she's doing her job and doing like silly quips and otherwise contributing nothing like it's a buddy cop film is literally my fucking ideal

(warnings for some canon-typical violence)

“Oh, Pauling, it’s good to see you again,” greeted the chairman, smiling in an imitation of a grandfather and clasping her hands perhaps too-kindly considering she barely knew him. “Young as ever, and still so stylish, I see. And who’s the new fellow?”

“He’s just here to help with transport, Mr. Montgomery, nothing unusual,” Miss Pauling replied, returning his smile and adjusting her glasses. “Heavy cases, you know how it is.”

“Of course, I remember you almost toppling clean over last time we made a trade!” Montgomery agreed, frowning at the memory. “You’ll pull a muscle that way, better to be careful. It’s a pleasure to meet you, young man. And your name?”

“Mr. Normandy, sir,” the new kid replied easily enough despite his slight East Coast accent, giving the man a firm handshake, expression neutral and stony, the picture of professionalism. Internally, Pauling breathed a sigh of relief.

“Firm grip there, young man,” Montgomery praised, nodding approvingly. “Tennis player, perhaps? Or golf?”

“Baseball, sir,” he replied, still evenly. “First baseman.”

“Ah! Of course! Were you any good?” Montgomery joked.

“At everything but playing in front of the crowds, otherwise I’d be in the major leagues,” he replied, tilting his head just slightly to imply that he was joking, his sunglasses glinting at the movement, and Montgomery barked a laugh.

“I like this one, Miss Pauling!” Montgomery said, and Pauling just barely caught herself from physically relaxing at it.

“We do too, Mr. Montgomery,” she agreed. “I was under the impression that you’re very busy today, so we won’t keep you for too long, we just wanted to sort out the final details surrounding the manufacturing rights for the—“

“—Pacific Northwest branch, up into British Columbia and Alberta, of course,” Montgomery agreed, nodding faintly. “Of course, of course.” He turned to regard his own man in a dark suit, the one standing to the right, who appeared to be unsuccessfully trying to stare down Normandy, who was completely ignoring him. “My briefcase, please.”

The man handed over the briefcase, and Montgomery put it on his desk, opening it and pulling out a sheaf of papers. “All our requests are submitted and approved, at this point we just had a few dustbins to take care of regarding initial percentages and making sure everything is wired to the correct accounts, which names are undisclosed, things like that,” Pauling explained as he glanced through the papers.

“Right, right, everything looks good here,” the man murmured, nodding to himself, sending his long-white hair just ever-so-slightly out of place. “I’m assuming these more sensitive documents should be sent some way besides through the mail?”

“If you finish them today I can take them with me, otherwise either me or Mr. Normandy can return to pick them up at your convenience,” she replied, to which Normandy gave a singular nod.

“Oh, it would only take me a short while,” Montgomery said, waving a hand. “We have a lovely lounge just down the hall from here if you’d prefer to wait there, it should only take me ten, fifteen minutes at most. In the meantime, I do believe there’s also the manner of payment for services rendered.”

Miss Pauling tilted her head just slightly to one side, confused.

“I arranged with Helen already,” Montgomery explained, not looking up from where he was initialing a few things. “The payment, rather than being wired, she asked to be made in material investment. A venture of mine from years ago that she’s willing to sit on. Rather than gold or bonds, she agreed to take some old currency of mine that my family collected, from early 18th century New Zealand and Australia. Monetarily it’s worth around the same, and I’m quite a bit attached to it to be entirely frank, but it was at her request to buy the whole collection from me, and after years of the work we’ve been doing together, well, I’d never trust it with anyone else.”

He gestured to the other man, the one on his left, who stepped forward to hand him a manila envelope, which he passed to Pauling.

“Inside is both keys, the door alarm codes, and all other security information for the building where the collection is being stored. They’ll ask for a few codes and confirmation of identity, only because several other art collections and artifacts are being stored there by other affluent individuals such as myself.”

“Thank you, Mr. Montgomery,” Pauling said, taking the envelope gratefully.

“Think nothing of it, my dear. Helen talked me into it all her own,” he said easily enough. “Now, gentlemen, if you would let Miss Pauling and Mr. Normandy into our lounge? I should have these wrapped up before any of us can even think about lunch, eh?”

One of the suits showed the two of them through the doors and down the hallway, through two doors bracketed by similar suits who simply nodded politely at Pauling and ticked their chins at Normandy as they passed them.

Normandy posted up beside the door for all of three seconds before they shut and Pauling pulled her glasses up, rubbing at the bridge of her nose and making a vaguely distressed noise. He then promptly relaxed, instead leaning his hip against an armchair probably worth the same amount as a small car. “So, uh, we’re glad that he’s giving us a bunch of commemorative coins from when dinosaurs still walked the earth?” he asked just below normal speaking volume, eyebrows raised.

“Yes. Very glad. Because unlike about six people total on the planet, he hasn’t figured out yet how valuable those are.”

“What, is a picture of a kangaroo on some copper really gonna make up for a couple hundred thousand American dollars?” Normandy asked, sounding doubtful.

“Not copper. Something else,” she replied. “I can’t tell you much more about it other than that, but these coins are made of something priceless to us. And to the Administrator.”

“…Love? Memories? The magic of family?” he joked, cracking a smile, and she rolled her eyes, moving to open the envelope and start reading the papers inside. “Hey, uh, not to question whether my job should exist, but what the hell am I doing here, exactly? Besides carrying a briefcase. Like, chivalry isn’t dead but I really don’t think you need me carrying your bags and holding the door for you.”

“You’re helping with security, basically,” she replied, adjusting her glasses to squint at tiny handwriting about the collection. “Mr. Montgomery is trustworthy, but he mostly hires out to… well, people like us. His security detail is mostly people we’d rather have screened, freelancers, stuff like that. A lot of people we contract out to are like that. Most of them have heard about me and know better than to try and pull something, since I can hold my own pretty well, but if they haven’t, seeing a second person might persuade them to think it over again.”

“Oh, so I’m like, uh, when it says ‘tow zone’ next to the no parking signs even though nobody checks, or when they’ve got a camera in the corner of the store that isn’t even plugged into anything,” he said, and the looked up at him, confused. “Like, uh, what’s the word… I’m a casual deterrent.”

“Sure,” she said, because it sounded like he knew what he was talking about, shuffling the papers back away and closing the envelope again, making a note to ask the Administrator if she should change their current containment procedures to be closer to Mr. Montgomery’s. “Just… if there’s a fight, you deal with it, otherwise you just stand there and look like you’re paying attention.”

“That’s what the sunglasses are for,” he agreed. “I was blinking morse code at the guy across from me literally the whole time.”

“You know morse code?” Pauling asked, surprised.

“Just the alphabet, ‘S.O.S.’, and ‘ass’.”

She rolled her eyes again, and that’s when the door opened.

She expected Mr. Montgomery, not one of the men in suits. “Excuse me, both of you, if you don’t mind,”the man said, accent having the slightest English tilt to it, a Londoner if Pauling had to guess. “You’re Miss Pauling, the Mann Co. affiliate, yes?”

“That’s me,” she agreed, hesitant, and glanced at Normandy.

“I’m afraid there’s been a mistake. Mr. Montgomery have you the wrong envelope on accident,” the man said apologetically, extending a hand forward. “We apologize for this unfortunate mix-up, it’s really quite embarrassing, but those documents are sensitive and we’ll be needing to see them back now.”

Pauling looked at him, and within a moment, shifted her expression. “Oh, I’m so sorry!” she agreed, nodding. “No, right, of course. These aren’t the papers for the currency collection?”

“I’m afraid not,” the Brit agreed, head tilting just slightly, hand still extended, moving a fraction further forward.

“Well, thank goodness we figured out now and not with us halfway back,” she joked, and moved to hold the folder closer to her body. “I’ll take this right back to Mr. Montgomery, then.”

“He’s sent me to correct the error,” the man explained simply.

“Right,” she said, and saw in her periphery that Normandy had already started sneaking a hand in towards his primary, clearly having pieced together something she was only suspecting. “We can bring this to his office, then, right down the hall.”

“You misunderstand,” the man said, taking a step forward again. “I’ll be taking it to his office myself.”

“That’s funny,” Pauling said. “I didn’t realize you had clearance to be in there. Or to be carrying a semi-automatic instead of a standard handgun.”

The Brit reached for the semi-automatic, and before he could even get it out properly, Normandy hit one clean shot to the side of his head and another to his thigh, sending him crumpling to the ground.

Pauling had only as far as pulling her own handgun free, thumb on the safety, and breathed a sigh of relief, glancing over at Normandy, shifting to more comfortably hold her gun. “Quick reflexes,” she noted.

“Just noticed a lot sooner, maybe,” he shrugged, stepping forward to glance over the body, tucking his gun back away.

“What was your hint?”

“He’s here to give us the right folder, yeah? Well, why were his hands empty, then?”

She was just starting to nod and realize that as well when a second man shouldered through the door, holding a gun at the ready. Normandy scrambled to draw his own, but Pauling fired a shot into his knee, shoulder, and neck to send him dropping before he was even close. “There’s quick on the draw, and then there’s prepared,” she said pointedly. “Gotta think of if there’s more than one, new guy.”

He nodded, and drew his gun again, bending to hit the guy on the ground at the temple hard enough to knock him out if he wasn’t unconscious already. He then glanced up at the sound of a shout from the other side of the door, two men shouldering through, guns drawn but lowered. It was only the firm eye contact they made with both her and Normandy that made her pause the millisecond it took to realize these ones weren’t trying to kill them.

“Pauling, what on earth is going on here?!” Montgomery demanded, entering the room and staring with wide eyes at the bodies on the ground. “What could’ve possessed you to—“

“He was trying to run off with these documents,” she explained quickly, gesturing with the envelope. “He knew whatever was in here was valuable.”

“He drew his gun, sir,” Normandy added, tipping his head down towards the body, and Pauling glanced down as well and found herself a little surprised. He’d rearranged the man just slightly, apparently, adjusting the arm to be holding the gun a bit further outward. “Other one was aiming to kill.”

“My, my,” Montgomery tsk’d, shaking his head as he surveyed the scene. “What a mess. My apologies, Miss Pauling, Mr. Normandy.”

“It’s alright, but you need to start doing more thorough checks on your staff, Mr. Montgomery,” Pauling stressed.

“He’s only been here two weeks, sir, he was one of the men we hired in a hurry after the incident last month,” one of the bodyguards said, and Montgomery shook his head.

“Thank goodness nobody was hurt,” he sighed. “Mutiny, and besides that, they’re bleeding on my carpet. Here are those papers, Miss Pauling—what a day, eh?”

“It’s really alright, we handled it,” Pauling assured him, giving her bravest smile, a little exasperated now.

“Right, right, you and the first baseman,” he agreed, and Normandy fought back an actual smile.

“If you’d like, we can take care of those for you,” Pauling said, gesturing at the bodies. “To pay you back for the carpet and the scare.”

“Sounds fair to me,” Montgomery agreed, clearly relieved.

“My dad’s gonna be pissed, by the way,” Normandy was so helpful as to say on the way back up the path to the base. “And you’re fielding that.”

“About the suit, or the fight?” she asked, glancing at his clothes where he was somewhat covered in a fine dusting of mud and grime from the gravedigging, shovel still in his free hand.

“Both. Mostly the fight. Your fault for saying it’d be an easy one to start with,” he said.

“If it was going to be that much of a problem, you wouldn’t have gotten this job. I’d just have made you go do dishes all day or something,” Pauling replied.

“Point taken,” he said, walking ahead to get the door, holding it open for her. “Wait, we’re allowed to mention what we do, right? Just not names?”

“Or locations, even with travel distance. Round up to the hour if it comes up,” she replied.

“Sure, sure,” he agreed, trailing a step behind her as she led the way through the base.

In the common area, there was a bit of a ruckus happening. Soldier, Heavy, and Demo appeared to be having some kind of arm wrestling competition on a rapidly-toppling table, the Engineer was on a stepstool trying to fix the ceiling fan, and Sniper appeared to be half-watching the beginnings of an argument between Pyro and the Spy regarding use of the oven as Medic patched up a burn on his arm.

“Hullo,” Sniper greeted the two of them, sounding a little bored, Medic giving them a brief, polite nod. Normandy’s eyebrows were raised pretty far as he surveyed the room.

“Hi, Sniper,” she greeted in return, then cleared her throat, raised her voice. “Team meeting in five minutes! New mission for next week!”

Groans from the room at large, the eight mercenaries starting to finish up what they were doing and filing out. Spy moved over, glancing over Normandy and starting to talk to him in rapid-fire French, picking smaller bits of gravel off of his suit as they walked.

“Alright,” she addressed the room, Normandy peeling off from getting mother hen’d by Spy to stand next to the blackboard with her. “Monday, you’re all going on a transport mission. Getting the truck from point A to point B with everything in the boxes intact. Already we’ve had to put up with some people trying to get ahold of these things, so bring your guns.”

“Oh, our guns, you said? Lads, this is a serious one, keep your heads on a feckin' swivel, she’s sayin’ we might even need guns, can you believe it?” Demo faux-gasped, and chuckled when Spy bopped him on the arm, rolling his eyes at the Scot's theatrics.

“Yeah, yeah,” she waved off, flipping through the papers a bit. “So Engie, I’ll need the keys to the truck, me and Normandy are going to be loading those tomorrow, all of you need to be at this drop point bright and early.”

“How early?” Heavy rumbled.

“Six. Hour and a half of drive from here.”

Some complaints from the room that she sighed at.

“Hey, hey, calm the hell down,” Normandy cut in, and she glanced over at him where he had his arms crossed and a stern look on his face. “You chuckleheads get to have all eight of you to unload the damn thing, me and Miss P gotta do all the rest of this on our own and probably kill twenty guys on the way there and back. She had to be up at 6 AM, workin’ since 7 AM, lunch break at noon and nothin’ else, and we just got back now at, what, fuckin’, 10, 11 PM? Any of you work her shift and then see if you even got the energy to complain about wakin’ up early, how about that?”

The room went utterly devoid of complaint or backsass. “Thank you, Normandy,” she said politely, and he just nodded once, glancing off to the side. “Anyways, anything new on this end? Spy, how are you adjusting?”

“Very well,” he said simply. “I have nothing pressing to say. Once I’ve been updated from the stock weaponry provided here to my requested preferred weaponry, I believe I should do just fine.”

“I see you already have Herr Normandy digging graves,” Medic chimed in. “Straight into the hard labor, ja?”

“Eh, hey, y’know, it’s why they keep us young people around,” he shrugged, grinning, and there was a brief uproar to drown out Medic’s entirely offended scoffing and Spy’s snort-laughing.

“Get ‘im, lad!” Demo cheered, and Normandy indeed looked fairly proud of himself.

“Monday, transport mission,” Pauling noted over the noise, writing it up on the chalkboard to hide her own smile from the room. “Normandy, you and me are doing the boxes tomorrow. Everyone on the same page? Good. Dismissed. Oh, and Pyro—stop taking the fire alarms down when they beep. They’re beeping because you light things on fire in the base. Do that outside.”

“Oh, hey, uh, helmet guy, All-American Beef,” Normandy called, and Soldier straightened up. “Here’s your shovel back. Gettin’ my own tomorrow.”

 Soldier walked directly over to him, clasping a hand on his shoulder. “That’s a high honor, Cadet,” he said, tone grave. “Do not take this responsibility lightly.”

“I, uh, I won’t?” he said hesitantly, and blinked a few times as the shovel was carefully taken from him before it was promptly marched from the room in double-time. Only then did Normandy look over at her. “So he’s always like that?”

“You’ll get used to it,” she assured, dusting chalk from her hands. “You should get to sleep soon, we have to be up early.”

“Sure thing, Miss P.”

#tf2 #team fortress 2 #my fanfiction #dad!spy #father-son bonding au #shut up me #que?#in this au he picks a fake name like she does. later i think demo starts calling him norman and some of the others do as well as goofs #also apologies for montgomery i couldnt quite get away with not naming random rich guy. just barely scraped by with guards one through four #everybody talks

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octalove · 4 years

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IV: The Dinner

(Batgirl/Red Hood)

Brief note; per demand, this little trilogy will now be an ongoing series🥺thank u all for the support! i was not expecting it at all. ur comments make my day!! i hope u enjoy this chapter bearing in mind that i wasn’t intending on a full length fic, so i hope u can put up with any missteps in the plot or writing. i’m making it up as i go. kiss kiss

Description: Reader makes an ally, and attends a tense dinner. part one, two, and three.

A mild blue dawn was just beginning to flit through the blinds, and I sighed heavily, stretching a little, and running a hand across my face. My skin was cold to the touch. Rolling over stiffly, I glanced at the clock on my nightstand.

5:26a.m.

Nineteen minutes before my alarm. I was too cold to go back to sleep, I knew, as much as Alfred had requested I try and get more of it. Pulling myself up, the sheets slipped off my bare shoulders and folded onto themselves. Once in a blue moon, I would forego making it up again, usually accompanied by an excuse. Today, I didn’t have one. I put my feet on the floor, mind buzzing.

I was done tossing and turning, and decided to get up and shower. Afterward, I threw on my uniform, and got to work on my face. A little bronzy eyeshadow, some mascara and lip balm. I could’ve turned my face into a work of art, but I was tired from my sleepless night and doing much else seemed like a strain.

There was a knock on the door.

“Come in.” I was expecting Bruce or Alfred, but I caught Tim’s reflection in my vanity mirror.

“Hey.” He said.

“Good morning.” I replied tensely. He sat on my bed. Okay. Weird. Tim was a year younger than me- but always ordained himself something of an older brother. His brainpower made learned helplessness and easy state to slip into when he was around- always fixing my PS4, or recovering lost files from my laptop. When we first met, I used to use those things as a crutch to interact with him, as neither of us were particularly forthcoming. These days, we were as close as any pair of siblings.

“What’s up?” I asked, tucking away my mascara wand.

“Oh, I just thought I’d… check up on you. Before school started.”

I was the only one of the Waynes attending Gotham Academy at the moment. Damian was still at Gotham Prep, but by the time he would attend next year, I’d be graduated. I wondered if Tim ever missed it. He garnered his fair share of attention; mostly because of his attractive status and predisposition of agreeability. Before he dropped out, I used the be the subject of mediation for every eligible teenage girl that wanted to get to know my brother- no, the other one. With the soft hair. The chem tutor.

I laughed a little. “Do I seem like I need it?” Tim shrugged. I got up and plopped on the duvet beside him. My window was open a crack, filling the room with a chilly breeze and the scent of moisture and petrichor.

“Did Bruce make you get up for this?” I tried again, keeping my playful tone. He sighed and shook his head.

“Bruce isn’t the only one who’s noticed you lately.” He said, with contrasting seriousness that made my smile fall.

“What’s there to notice? Seriously.” I questioned.

He sighed again and twisted his lip. I knew what that meant. He was about to list everything different I’d been doing for the past three weeks, either alphabetically or by severity. “You look tired. You get home and go straight to your room. You keep fidgeting during briefings. You look distracted. You’re avoiding Damian- which, I get it- but like, more than usual. Dick said you haven’t texted him all week. You usually have something to say about your day at dinner, but-“

“Okay. I get it.”

A brief moment passed, where I watched him pull a looser string from the duvet.

“I know you went somewhere. On the 21st, when we were patrolling in Otisburg. You went somewhere for forty-two minutes.”

I blinked. “Oh.”

“I’m not accusing you of anything-“ He added quickly, looking at me. “Really, I have know idea why you left. I’m sure it was nothing, I just… you’ve been acting weird ever since. Where did you go?”

I swallowed, and my intestines felt like lead. Really, I was relieved. Here I was, in my room I’d decorated with Wayne money, with my brother who evidently cared enough about me to notice my typical word count at dinner, asking me what was wrong. And a lot was wrong.

So, I smoothed my plaid skirt and told him about the night of the 21st- and only that. From Red Hood, to Hoffman, to the warehouse. Every vivid detail I could remember. I decided to leave out my little truancy adventure, along with meeting him in the alley. Lifting up his mask. Having his exposed skin close enough to touch. His gunpowder smell. By the end, Tim was frowning. The following silence could’ve crushed a coke can.

“Shit.” He muttered.

“Yeah.” I echoed. “Shit.”

He didn’t asked why I didn’t tell Bruce. Or Anyone. He didn’t ask why it was so important to me to do this by myself. All he did was take in the information and start putting it together.

“Jesus- you could’ve died. But all that Hoffman stuff. Why you?”

“Exactly!” I breathed.

Another knock on the door, and Alfred’s voice carried through, telling me it was time to go. I got up. Tim nodded and followed suit, no doubt carrying my every last recounting in his piggy-bank memory.

“Please don’t tell Bruce.” I said, some amount of fear slipping into my voice. “I know it was a stupid thing to do and it was stupid not to tell anyone. But he’ll never trust me again.” Tim hesitated at the door.

“There’s nothing to tell.”

I climbed into the backseat of the car, and stared at the cityscape running past the windows. The anxiety had lifted. One of my growing number of secrets revealed. In its wake, the sudden absence left a sense of clarity. I remembered why I had kept it to begin with.

Dick was gifted. The first. The talented boy who could fly. Babs and Tim were brilliant; genius far beyond the confines of academia. Damian was skilled. Trained from birth, the blood son. It nestled here him neatly, right where he belonged. What was I? I wasn’t born with athletic ability beyond my years, or genius intellect. Without that information- without my secrets- I had nothing else to give.

Thursday night was dinner. The whole family. It was Bruce’s excuse to drag Dick out of his apartment in Blüdhaven, and for Alfred to exercise a new recipe, since everyone was on a strict lean-means and superfoods regimen every other waking day. Babs attended occasionally, when work didn’t keep her busy, and Tim was only allowed to pass if he promised to rest instead.

I met his eyes as everyone was rounded into the dining room by Alfred like a herd of sheep; he gave me some imperceptible knowing look that promised to keep my secret.

We sat down and sipped water from crystal glasses as the table was set with food, muttering amongst ourselves about our days. Dick was given a coffee with the wrong name (‘Nick’), Babs met up with her friend from high school (Olivia something or other), and Damian completed a group project with some incompetent classmates (they all were- even the professors). Vigilante talk wasn’t forbidden, but generally skirted around so as to offer a small reprieve of normalcy during the week.

There was an exception to this unspoken rule when there was a particularly exciting case on the table. Unfortunately for me and my anxiety, the case of the Red Hood was a very exciting one.

“Any new breaks with Red Hood?” Dick asked through miso soup. Bruce sighed.

“He made some movements in Robbinsville. Gone before we could get there. He’s got his men on a tight leash- we couldn’t get any of them to talk.”

“Course not. There’s rumors flying all over the department. One of the Ioveanu family branches payed out a huge security detail for their private mansion.”

“He hasn’t hunted anyone in their home, has he?” I asked. I pictured him standing in front of me- maskless, in my academy uniform.

“No, it’s not his MO.” Barbara answered.

“Not yet. It’s only been six months, and he’s progressing rapidly.” Bruce diagnosed grimly.

“Are you scared he’s gonna join us for dinner?” Dick joked, throwing a wink my way.

“Haha.” I muttered. Actually, I hadn’t slept because of the very idea.

“If you’re nervous, you could always stay home next patrol.” Damian suggested pointedly. To him, existing in the realm of crimefighting was a competition, and he was always looking for others to drop out of the race. I resisted the urge to fling a pea at him.

“I’m not nervous.” I said coolly.

“You’ve been practically trembling since we fought his pathetic lackeys.”

“Damian.” Bruce warned, from the head of the table. I flipped the smallest Wayne the middle finger. He resigned, but I swore I saw amusement on his lips.

“There’s nothing to be ashamed of. Red Hood is very skilled and very prolific. It’s a daunting case.” Bruce continued.

“Thanks, but I’m okay. Really.” I said, trying not to sound annoyed, and feeling like a spotlight was over my head, operated by the ghost of Hoffman. I almost laughed as I pictured it.

“That’s good to hear. We’ve been concerned.” Alfred added.

“Wow. I’m the star of the show around here.” I remarked dryly.

“We can’t help it, Miss Independent.” Dick said teasingly. “You’re just a good mystery.”

“Reminds me of Talia.” Tim said casually. The silverware stopped clanging.

It was a shameless subject change. Damian’s mother was an inflammatory topic for all parties. Bruce’s moral contempt didn’t reach the likes of Talia Al Ghul and Selena Kyle, immoral though they were. Beauty makes anything charming- and when paired with an impeccable taste in dress, even murder and thievery can be minimized into something of a quirk. Bruce thought so, anyway.

As for Damian, he had grappled with his dismissal from Talia’s side for what was now a majority of his life, and still possessed this deep-rooted, inextinguishable attachment to his mother. It was the hollow soreness any young boy would have in his position. Tim called him mama’s boy until he finally displayed a frightening amount of disdain for the title and actually begged him to stop. Tim agreed to, and I agreed to pretend I never heard a thing.

Dick disagreed with both of those sentiments and viewed Talia as someone who wasn’t worth the trouble. His dismissal embarrassed Bruce and offended Damian, so I knew the dinner table had been sufficiently turned into a powder keg. Tim and I shared a look as I expressed silent gratefulness, and he resigned to inspecting a dumpling, while I picked around my haka noodles.

The rest of dinner was quiet. Somehow, somewhere in the silence all had been decidedly forgiven. First by Babs who asked me to pass the pepper. Then by Dick who said the vegetables were good. Thank you, Alfred. Damian still looked pissed, and Bruce kept stealing glances at the clock.

I texted Tim under the table.

Thanks for taking one for the team.

The reply: You owe me one. I think Damian’s gonna poison my food.

We both glanced at the youngest, who was darkly mesmerized by what appeared to be Tim’s soup bowl.

He quickly added, Wait, actually tho? And we both fought laughter like two kids in the back of the class. It felt good to have an ally. Even if he still didn’t know the whole truth.

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a-libra-writes · 4 years

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Unexpected - Tywin x Reader

Hey yall! Im really sick with a cold, so I haven’t been able to get to the Imagines +Alphabets Instead I’ll post this requested fic, and I’ve got two more fics in the queue for the next few days while I recover.

This wasn’t exactly as requested, but I really enjoyed writing it!

Incoming: Fighter!Reader and Tywin having their meet cute and bond over being sick of other people’s shit.

Every inch of her body protested as she untied the dirty shirt and slipped it down to her arms. A squire had helped her out of her armor and padded gambeson, and she put on a strong face for that, but upon reaching the maester’s tent she nearly collapsed.

There were voices and scattered chaos outside, but she held her dizzying head and tried to focus on the maester’s instructions. Her strong facade finally fell when he gently pressed his fingers to the ugly black and purple bruises forming on her chest.

“Not broken,” The haggard man said. He looked as worn as the men she saw leaving his tent.

She hissed and cursed, but had no energy left to flinch away. Thank the gods, she assumed the worst when that blow knocked out all the wind she had in her lungs and toppled her backwards. Damned Northmen. She threw herself to her feet soon enough, but the pain wrenched a scream from her everytime she cut through a foe.

The maester began cleaning a more pressing wound on her arm. It wasn’t her dominant hand, another stroke of luck.

The gods give and take, she thought bitterly. The cut on her arm did not trouble her near as much, nor did the slice on her leg. She carelessly tore her breeches for the maester so he could wrap it. Her modesty wasn’t even crossing her mind.

Instead, she asked the maester, “Have you tended to my lord father, or seen him? He is of House Lydden, our standard has the badger.”

The maester’s weary eyes only looked up from his work for a moment. “I have not, my lady. House Lydden is not amongst my patients.”

The bitterness and anxiety began to creep up her stomach, touching at her throat, becoming an uncomfortable bile. Of course not. She was the one who broke formation, who left her father and their knights.

I thought the old man could handle himself. I would only be gone a few minutes, then I’d return to him -- stupid, reckless girl --

She could still see the way her father’s arm snapped backwards, as if he were in front of her again. She still heard his scream echoing through his helmet, and the way his strong body crumpled back. She was able to lunge forward, fight off his attacker, but the real fight was leaving his side. She couldn’t stay and help him, cry over him, hold him. She had to keep moving, it’s what he always told her.

He would teach her the sword, her lord father said, but she had to learn to be hard. Soft hands and soft hearts made for softer blows.

The maester must have noticed her stormy thoughts. The fatigue on his face lessened as he gave her a soft smile. “Your lord father is a known knight, and fine warrior, my lady. Doubtless you will find him when the camp gathers.”

She nodded, but the dark thoughts continued. Even if I do, what condition will he be in? That was his sword arm. He may never hold one again.

She should have been there to watch his back, and their men. She should have, but …

Kevin Lannister led their host, nearly 10,000 men strong and composed of other houses, not just her own. When the chaos of battle reached its height, the neat formations began to break, and she noticed her commander was surrounded. Even if she had lost her own horse, she threw herself into the defense, allowing him to ride to safety.

She did the right thing, she knew, but the anxiety still twisted at her. She asked the maester, “May I leave now?”

“You would do well to rest here, my lady. You should not be walking with that wound.”

“I can make it to my own tent and rest there,” She said stubbornly, even though she wasn’t sure where her house had set up their war tents. The maester was ready to protest, but a commotion outside pulled away both of their attentions.

There was the noise of horses and clinking armor outside the tent, not the sound of wounded men groaning as they were carried in. A squire opened the tent flap, and a tall, armored man entered.

The maester instantly bowed his head. She followed his gesture after a brief moment of shock. “My lord.”

When she looked up, the squire was taking his helmet. She found his eyes in an instant, a striking green that only looked bolder against his fine gold armor and the splash of blood that dried on his cheek.

“I understand it was you, Lady Y/N of House Lydden, who came to my brother’s defense.”

“Yes, my lord,” She said. She’d heard him speak before, but that was to crowds of people, swaths of armored men. In such a small tent, in close proximity, she could hear just how deep and commanding his voice was. She was determined to keep her own steady.

“300 armored men, yet a stray soldier was the one jumping to the task. He wanted to know your name.”

Her mind scrambled for a response. “You spoke it true, my lord, and you have honored me with a visit. Might I ask why?”

While the unwounded and surviving soldiers outside the tent were already beginning to celebrate victory, their liege lord’s manner was steady. Take the fanciful armor away, and you would never guess he was returning from battle, save for an unmistakable glow in his eyes. She was sure that wasn’t just the candle light.

“Your father has relinquished his command to you. He was one of my strategists, so in his place, you will join the war council tonight.”

A wave of emotion washed over her, slowly ebbing away the pain but bringing in a new motley of feelings. Regardless, she nodded. “I understand. I will serve well, my lord, as he did.”

Lord Tywin’s eyes glanced up her body. He turned to his squire. “Find her proper clothes before the evening sets in.”

The young squire hastily opened the tent flap for him and bowed. “Yes, my lord.”

When they departed and the tent clothes, she felt her body sag on instinct. All the warmth seemed to have left the room, replacing it with a comforting chill. She released a breath and instantly regretted it, wincing at the pain in her ribs.

Then she winced again as she flinched. Gods be good, nearly her whole upper body was exposed in front of her lord paramount. She hastily tied her shirt back. The damage was done, but at least she could keep herself covered in front of the camp.

“It seems you cannot stay here even if I wish it,” The maester said. She had almost forgotten he was in the room.

“I’ll return if my wounds take a turn for the worst, I promise. Thank you for your help.” Her promise felt silly as she uneasily stood on her bad leg. The pain began to dissipate as she walked, not because it felt any better, but because her mind was spinning, replaying the conversation.

It had been a short talk, but she kept going over what he said, the way he stood, the way he looked at her -- well, she was just imagining that last part. She hastily pushed aside her exposure and focused on finding her house’s tents.

As was commanded, a set of fine clothes were brought to her tent, in addition to her set of newly cleaned armor. She raised her eyebrow at the dress - presumably, what she was expected to wear. She sighed and put it on. On one hand, it was irksome that she couldn’t wear a doublet and breeches, on the other, she was grateful to not have to don the armor. Her body was still aching from the morning battle, and a skirt was easier on her wounded leg.

The wartent was just as impressive as it was the last time she saw it. The canvas was a bold crimson that was lit up from the inside, making it glow in the night, with embroidered gold lions on the side. Tywin’s squire recognized her and allowed her inside with a courteous “good evening, Lady Lydden”.

As expected, several of the lords gathered at the table stared pointedly at her. Some recognized her, most didn’t, and it was Kevan Lannister crossing the room that quieted any protest. He offered his hand. “I owe you a great deal of thanks, Lady Lydden.”

“I was merely doing my duty, Ser Kevan.” The gratitude was unexpected, but welcome. Kevan led her to an empty seat, only two seats down from Lord Tywin, she realized. Was this truly her father’s seat? She ignored the other lord’s gazes, but she could feel how confused and indignant they were.

Lord Tywin began the discussion. Even after a heated battle, a victory, he would not rest. The young wolf had surprised him. She listened to the talks and strategies the men threw out, interjecting when she felt the need to provide her own knowledge. Some lords ignored her, others gave her pointed retorts. It seems only Ser Kevan was responding to her favorably, and she had yet to have a chance to respond to Lord Tywin, until now.

“We will need a smaller host to stay in the center, and go where is needed,” Ser Kevan said, pointing to a map and moving several figures. Banners of various houses were attached to small stone-carved knights, representing their forces.

“They will need to be swift riders, with a keen awareness. Whichever side begins to crack under pressure, they’ll be there to relieve it.” Lord Tywin said. He looked around the table, expectantly.

She met those green eyes as she leaned forward. Close as she was, it was as though she were speaking directly to him, not addressing an entire war council. “My lord, I have some of the finest riders at my command. I can lead two or three hundred of them -- the rest will replenish whichever hosts have lost the most men.”

There was a loud scoff behind her. She turned sharply, recognizing the source at once. Of course, Ser Amory Lorch. “It is so … refreshing to see enthusiasm in a … lady such as yourself, but such an important task should be left to one with experience.”

Lord Leo Lefford leaned back in his seat and adopted a tone that was better suited to addressing a child. “I agree. I was at the center of today’s battle, my lady. Surely you understand our soldiers will not be eager to obey your commands, no matter what they may be.”

“They will listen,” She retorted hotly, the pain in her wounds and worry for her father creating a bite in her voice. “My orders would be coming from our liege, Lord Tywin. To disobey me is to disobey him... Surely they understand that?”

The men around the table did not immediately respond, falling into an uncomfortable silence that made some of them shift in their seats. Ser Amory obviously wanted to argue, but now it was a matter of what their commander would say.

Her father taught her to meet men’s gazes, to not demure and look away. Her mother taught her to straighten her posture and keep herself tall, never shrink and simper, even if they tried to make her feel small. Their lessons helped her become who she was, and she looked upon Tywin Lannister’s green eyes again.

Just like at the maester’s tent, the room felt smaller and warmer than it had moments ago. It was foolish to say time crawled, because it didn’t. She just breathed a little slower.

“Lady Y/N’s host will lead in the center. They’ll be supplied with the best mounts, after the vanguard has had their pick.” Lord Tywin said, and gestured to his brother. Ser Kevan placed a figurine with House Lydden’s banner, and just like that, any room for argument was over.

It would be unseemly to smirk and gloat, so she’d do it in the privacy of her tent, or perhaps when the next battle was over. For the next hour, her contributions were received with noticeably less ice, save for Ser Amory. She became engrossed in the meeting, not noticing how the man sitting just two seats away was taking note of the certainty in her voice and the strength of her conviction.

Some ladies flourished in court, some in marriage, some in solitude. It was obvious where this one’s talents lied.

She hadn’t even noticed how the hours passed, especially once wine was poured. The council was dismissed and Y/N tried to subtly finish off her cup. She didn’t get fine vintages like this often, and her aching ribs thanked her for the alcohol.

She set it down once she realized she was being watched. “Pardon, my lord. I don’t often have the luxury.”

“I imagine you’ll need it to sleep.” Tywin said. His goblet was still half-full, and she wondered if it was still his first cup. She hadn’t been paying attention. “Most men would’ve yielded from that wound.”

She touched her chest, feeling pain from just the brush of her fingers. “My ribs are not broken, my lord, and besides, I’ve never yielded to any man.”

“Is that so? I believe it.”

Why was there amusement in his voice - was she imagining it, and the way his eyes looked lighter? Why couldn’t she stop looking at them? Desperate to look at anything else, she realized the other lords had shuffled out of the tent, even Ser Kevan. The only one left was a servant clearing the table.

She stood from the war table and slid her chair in. It would hurt less to curtsy, but she wouldn’t do such a thing. Perhaps if she were leaving her lord paramount at a feast or gala, but this was her commander. She bowed her head and kept her posture rigid, ignoring the pain that shot up her spine. “I’ll speak with you at the next council, my lord.”

“That you will, and louder than tonight. The likes of Ser Amory and Lord Kenning are hard of hearing, and not half as clever as they think. They need a reminder of what I expect in this army.”

His flippant tone brought a slight smile to her face. “I’ll gladly speak loudly and slowly for them. Rest well, my lord.”

#asoiaf #tywin lannister x reader #tywin lannister #libra fics #idk yall i tried lol imma go back to sleep #my ass has just been sleeping and dying all day

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noodlecupcakeswritings · 4 years

Text

Ownership - Chapter 14 (A Kylo RenxOC AU)

Cora Ardmore and Kylo Ren work for rival companies, but they don’t know that until after they spend the night together. Once their identities are revealed to each other it’s a question of who will cave first?

This fic is pure porn, pure kinky porn.

Please leave comments, kudos and reblogs if you like it. If you would like to be tagged let me know.

Warnings: Language, Plot (we are finally moving into the plot lads), Armitage Hux is a warning

Chapter 14

Kylo Ren

Another few months seemed to fly by, and soon enough my arrangement with Cora had been going on for an entire year. I’d played the long game to ensure her trust. Now felt like the best time to tell her and get her on board. I couldn’t hold the plan off forever, even if I was enjoying her company at the weekends. That morning I woke her with breakfast in bed, pancakes with honey and blueberries. Cora stirred as I kissed her cheek before opening her eyes. A soft smile spread across her face before she sat up. Spotting the breakfast tray, her smile grew further. “Whats the occasion? You’re not normally this sweet in the morning?” She asked. “Well, we did recently hit our one-year milestone. I feel that’s reason to celebrate.” “Happy one-year anniversary of us fucking each other?”

Cora laughs at her own joke before taking a sip of the orange juice. I can’t help but laugh at the joke too, sitting down beside her on the bed. We share the pancakes, making small talk as we eat. Once we finished, I put the tray aside. “I know we agreed to not get our jobs involved in this. But I can’t do that anymore,” I started. Cora hung on my every word. There was what seemed a glimmer of hope in her eyes. Hope for what though, I had no idea. “I can’t keep quiet about this anymore; I have to tell someone Cora and I figured you were the best person to tell. I think the CEO at my company is doing some illegal things on the side…things that could threaten the safety of this country,” I explained.

There was a moment where Cora looked disappointed, but she quickly looked at me with interest. Her journalist instinct had kicked in. “And your telling me this with what intention exactly?” Cora asked. “You’re a journalist. Even if I can’t stand the publication, I figured the best way for me to go public about this would be under the cover of your anonymous source.” Cora nodded and got out of bed, throwing on some clean panties and a robe. Taking a seat, she leant forward to rest her elbows on her knee and her chin on her fist. “How bad is it?” She asked, “Is he dealing with terrorists?” “Bear in mind, I don’t have current proof for this, so you’ll have to take my word for it. But yes, I believe he’s selling weapons to terrorist groups.”

Taking a deep breath, Cora was quickly on her feet, pacing as if she needed time to think. “Anything else?” She asked. “Bribery, embezzlement. Likely murder, torture and god knows what else.” “How long have you known?” “About three years.” She stopped mid-stride and turned to face me; her eyes wide in anger. This was new for her. She’d been pissed off with me before, sure, but I’d never seen such rage in her eyes. “Why now? You’ve protected a diabolical human being for all these years. Why say something now? Has your fucking conscience finally made a reappearance?” She snapped.

I swallowed my need to reprimand her on her tone. I knew it wouldn’t do me any favours right now. “Cora, I’m risking a lot simply telling you this now. If he finds out that I’ve told you, he’ll kill both of us,” I replied. “So you kept quiet out of fear? So your balls have also reappeared?” “Are you going to take the story or not?” “Oh, you bet I am. But I’m still pissed off you conformed for so long, even whilst we were…” she trailed off. “I already told you, getting you involved now puts you at risk. I care enough about you to not want you getting hurt because of me.”

Cora paused at this, her expression softening. Her rage had gone from boiling to a simmer. Her shoulders slumped and her fists unclenched. “Well, it’s safe to say you will remain an anonymous source. And interviews remain between us,” Cora explained. Good, that’s what I had wanted to hear. “But before I even start writing this, I need evidence. Proof that this is all legit and you’re not leading me on some wild goose chase,” she continued. That was fair. She’d probably had plenty of people waste her time in the past. “I can get it for you by next weekend,” I declared.

I had no idea how I was going to get it, but I’d find a way. “Are there any of other of your work colleagues that are involved?” She asked. “You mean with Snoke or with me?” Her eyebrow quirked in interest, “with you?” “I’m not the only concerned with Snokes actions. Armitage Hux is also on board to take him down. And my assistant Dopheld Mitaka.” Smirking, “does everyone you work with have stupid names?” “Well…now that you mention it. Snoke has allies within the company. Men that were there since the beginning. Orson Krennic and Wilhuff Tarkin. I know they also both have ridiculous names.”

“Would Armitage be up for interviewing? Of course he would also remain completely anonymous,” Cora asked, sitting back down. “I can ask him. I’m sure it wouldn’t be too much of an issue.” “Okay. Don’t email me anything, or text me anything. All the evidence needs to be physical, to lessen the risk of Snoke finding out. It would probably be wise you get a burner phone and start contacting me using that from now on too.” The way she said this made it sound so casual, like this was just protocol for her. Maybe she had done something like this before. But never on this scale. The Resistance had never done an issue on such a massive story. They normally wrote about things like Black Lives Matter, Global Warming, America’s healthcare system (or lack thereof). A story like this would fly off the shelves that they’d need reprints within the same month.

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Entering the office Monday morning, I sent a text to Armitage, asking him to meet me in my office at 10am. Mitaka was already finding me the inventory folders for me to look over for evidence. With this being the headquarters and main warehouse for production, that meant we had every single weapon counted and document as well as every single bullet. If anything was missing, I’d pick up on it. Going through my work emails helped pass the time whilst I waited. There was a soft knock at the door before Armitage entered my office without me having to call him in. He had a habit of doing that. “I assume its important Ren, otherwise you would have sent me an email,” Armitage spoke, taking a seat opposite me.

“We’re moving forward with the operation.” This had Armitage interested, a soft smirk at the corners of his lips. “You found a suitable candidate? It’s about time. If you’d left it any longer who knows what state, we’d be in.” “She would like to interview you if you’re up for that.” “I assume you’ve already discussed confidentiality with her.” I nodded, “she knows the risks. She’d like to know what you know. Get some background information, that sort of thing.” “I can do that. Is there a number I can call her on to arrange it?”

Whilst I trusted Armitage with this, I didn’t trust him completely with Cora. “I will arrange it. Her weekends are usually fully booked,” I said firmly. Armitage smirked knowingly, “Fully booked because of you, I presume? Do you not trust me with her, Ren? Getting a little territorial?” “I have the right too after what happened with my last sub.” “You shouldn’t have left her unattended for so long. Besides, she told me she was up for both of us. You were the one who was being a prude about it.” The look I gave him quickly made him drop the subject with a small chuckle. He knew how easy it was to rile me up.

Armitage chuckled, “Anyway, back to the matter at hand. I can fit her in next Saturday afternoon, around two. Would that fit with your schedule?” “Two would be fine. You can do it at my place where I can keep an eye on you.” “I’ll text you before I leave, just in case I’m running a bit behind.” There was another knock at the door, three confident knocks before Mitaka poked his head in the room. “I’m not interrupting, am I?” He asked. “Not at all, we’re just about finished here, and I need to get back to work,” Armitage answered for me, rising from his seat.

Mitaka stepped further into the room before Armitage left, closing the door behind him. Mitaka was carrying last year’s very thick inventory folder. “I don’t mind splitting it fifty fifty with you, sir. It would make things quicker,” Mitaka offered. “I appreciate that, thanks.” Putting the file on the desk, he then opened it and grabbed a handful before pushing over the rest. “If you find anything, scan it and print it. Then highlight the copy,” I instructed. Mitaka nodded his understanding and got himself comfortable in a chair, looking through the first page.

The pages were split into four columns. The first listed various firearms in alphabetical order. The second listed how many were made, the third listed how many were sold, and the fourth listed how many were left in our warehouses. I’d likely need a list of the companies that the firearms were sold too once I’d gone through this stack. There were probably inconsistences on that list as well. Companies that didn’t exist or the total number of units sold didn’t match the inventories total.

Mitaka and I finished up around 3pm with a reasonable large pile of copies to further investigate. After a late lunch break, Mitaka returned the inventory file and came back with another file that listed all the companies we had sold to last year. Thankfully, that wasn’t as thick. Mitaka read out the names whilst I did a quick google search. After the first three pages, we finally found a company that didn’t exist. Prearm. After making a note of it in my notebook, we kept going. Five others ‘companies’ were listed. As well as any individuals’ names. To me, selling firearms to one person was definitely a red flag.

Now that we were finished, I gathered my evidence and sent a text to Cora on my new burner phone. Her number was the only number logged into the phone and even then, I wasn’t stupid enough to give it a contact name. I have evidence. After three minutes, the phone dinged. Good. I’ll be over tonight to look at it if you don’t mind. I’ll pick up dinner on the way if you want. I figured once this started, we’d be seeing a lot more of each other. Hopefully, this visit wasn’t all business. Quickly, I typed out a response. And will you be staying over?

Three dots appeared as she wrote her own response. Would you like me too? Smirking softly, I replied. I would. As for dinner, how does Chinese sound? Perfect. I’ll have to go back to my place first to pack a bag. But I’ll text you once I’ve left. Normally, if a sub had suggested staying over in the week, I would have turned it down immediately. But Cora was special. Maybe we’d need to rethink our rules for the future.

Taglist: @sweetfictionalworld, @sweetsec-93, @cltex84, @jana-banana-fana, @dark-night-sky-99, @little-laamb, @ellelaconiwrites, @jynzandtonic, @blackredrose27, @neeharlow

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justanalto · 4 years

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i was tagged by the wonderfully sweet @besidemethewholedamntime -- thank you so much!! <3 <3 <3

1. What is the color of your hairbrush?

I have a wet brush that’s bright blue, but I also have a hairbrush that’s red!

2. Name a food you never eat

uhhhh...olives, but only when they’re on their own.

3. Are you typical too warm or too cold?

I’m always too cold. always, always, always. my fingers are currently freezing and so are my toes. I think it’s because there’s a loose draft in my room here somewhere, TBH.

4. What were you doing 45 minutes ago?

roses are red // 45 minutes ago // i was writing poetry // and answering all my asks in a row

i’ve been sending people asks in poetry form and they’ve been responding, LOL -- so there’s been a lot of poetry brain going on!

5. What’s your favorite candy bar?

either a nice dark chocolate bar or a green tea kit kat bar!

6. Have you ever been to professional sports event?

I’ve been to a few professional baseball games! gotta get out there and have some mass sports pride. one of these days, my american football team will be good again and I will get those tickets.

7. What is the last thing you said out loud?

some half-hearted mumble-harmonizing to pentatonix’s be my eyes, so something along those lyrics!

8. What is your favorite ice cream?

either black raspberry (s/o to campus!!) or mint chocolate chip :)

9. What was the last thing you had to drink?

a couple of sips of water, hehe

10. Do you like your wallet?

I do! It’s the first “grown-up” wallet I feel like I’ve ever had -- I bought it from camden market last year when I was in london, and it’s a nice pine shade of green and made of cork. unfortunately, because i bought it in london, it also means that it doesn’t hold american currency quite as well, but it’s okay, i make do, LOL!

11. What is the last thing you ate?

my dad made spaghetti bolognese and I ate that with a hecking ton of bread. it was fantastic :)

12. Did you buy any new clothes last weekend?

unfortunately, no :( i can’t remember the last time I bought new clothes. maybe january? february? before the pandemic started.

13. What’s the last sporting event you watched?

I think...I know it was definitely a pats game, and I’m pretty sure we lost, so it’s somewhere along the lines of pats v. ravens, I think

14. What is your favorite flavor of popcorn?

extra buttery, even though it would probably murder me :’)

15. Who is the last person you send text message to?

@aleksandrachaev, and it was two thumbs-up emojis, LOL.

16. Ever been camping?

I have! I went a long time ago, like nine years ago long ago, I think somewhere out west? I slept on an air mattress, went to an outdoor bathroom, all that fun jazz! and the bug bites, LOL.

17. Do you take vitamins?

my mom: so you’ve got the probiotic, the vitamin c and the biotin...

18. Do you regularly attend a place of workship?

I don’t -- my dad used to go to church regularly, but other than that, I’ve never been to church and we’ve never been as a family.

19. Do you have a tan?

i don’t know how this happened but I literally still have shorts tan from like, august. it is the middle of november, someone tell me how I got here. a couple of years ago, I burnt so badly on a trip to LA I was still seeing the tan months later, LOL. and most of the time, I have some fair flip-flop tan!

20. Do you prefer chinese or pizza?

chinese, because pizza has the ability to murder me

21. Do you drink your soda through a straw?

it it’s a takeout cup, then odds are good i’m drinking it through a straw, but other than that nope :)

22. What color socks you usually wear?

white or grey, I think? i have some funky colored ones but i’m trying to change that

23. Do you ever drive above the speed limit?

i’m having flashbacks to a conversation I had with a friend who laughed at me for going five miles above the speed limit -- yes, I do, but only the allowed five miles above the speed limit and none more

24. What terrifies you?

oh, no, you don’t want to ask me that, we’d be here all day...being abandoned, I guess? being left by the people I care about, becoming too attached to people because they can leave and hurt me, spiders, heights, the pandemic, being hated, being alone...my own emotions, sometimes.

25. Look to your left, what do you see?

my tubby nugget! he smiles at me, and I feel a lil better :)

26. What chore do you hate the most?

i literally could not tell you how much I hate cleaning the grout in our bathroom tile. it is a CHORE.

27. What do you think when you hear Australian accent?

the hemsworth brothers, but also someone I met abroad who was from perth and had the same name as me, LOL

28. Whats your favorite soda?

ginger ale!

29. Do you go in a fast food place or just hit drive through?

depends on where I’m hitting, tbh -- if i’m in a hurry, we’re going straight through the drive-thru. but if it’s an event, then we’ll go in! have a fun time. sit for a while and talk.

30. What’s your favorite number?

i don’t think I have one, actually?

31. Who’s the last person you talked to?

my dad, I’m pretty sure -- we talked about pandemic unemployment assistance :)

32. Favorite meal?

sushi, or whenever my mom makes steamed chicken. (i’m realizing it’s been so long since I’ve had that chicken and now I’m sad)

33. Last song you listed to?

for real by lana condor

34. Last book you read?

confucius jane by katie lynch, just to see if the lesbians stood up to the pedestal i’d put them on -- and hell yeah, they did!

35. Favorite day of the week?

right now, thursdays, because thursday is grey’s day!

36. Can you say alphabet backwards?

probably, if you gave me enough time to think about it

37. How do you like your coffee?

like i like my men -- from afar, some of them are pretty, but do I actually like them? no

38. Favorite pair of shoes?

either my gray ankle boots I got a couple of years ago or my ‘gay lesbian snow boots’ that I use when it’s snowing something awful out, LOL!

39. Time you normally get up?

i’m supposed to be up at 8 am, but I’m usually up anywhere between 9 and 10am. I...need to change that, LOL.

40. What do you prefer, sunrise or sunset?

i love both! but I like sunset because I’ve never specifically woken up to see the sunrise, i’ve only seen it out of coincidence because I pulled an all nighter to do work

41. How many blankets on your bed?

three, at the moment -- a costco blanket, my college blanket and a five-below blanket

42. Describe your kitchen plates.

white with a floral border

43. Describe your kitchen at the moment.

it’s lived-in -- we have a side table that’s always at the risk of a collapsing, a power strip that runs a kettle, microwave and toaster oven (you can never run two of them at once otherwise the strip shuts off), kitchen mats that will never get rid of their crumbs and a healthy, healthy pantry!

44. Do you have a favorite alcoholic drink?

either pink moscato wine or a rekorderlig cider!

45. Do you play cards?

i used to a lot, when I was younger! when I got older I stopped finding people to be able to play them with, unfortunately.

46. What color is your car?

silver! (even though I share it with my sister)

47. Can you change a tire?

no, but I’d definitely like to learn :)

48. Your favorite state or province?

new york or california, honestly. probably california. it’s the place I’ve felt the most free :)

49. Favorite job you’ve had?

i’ve had a lot of internships but not a lot of jobs, but I’d probably have to say it was the one I had at dunks -- so many funny things and stories came out of it, and now I have enough barista experience to power my coffee shop fics for a lifetime!

tagging: @agentmmayy @nazezdha321 @sadtunes @a-biochemist-not-a-bird @browneyedgenius @daisylincs @aleksandrachaev @missinglittlebritishfriend @hannahxowen @genderfluid-and-confuzled and anyone else that I missed -- you’re it!! (i’m truly sorry if I forgot you, I haven’t slept a lot in the last couple of nights fhdskjfhs)

#tag things #rebecca #besidemethewholedamntime

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ckret2 · 4 years

Text

Violet/Violent

Part 1, Hybrid Cultivar: Jonah’s got a Ghidorah head and he’s not afraid to clone it. Or, failing that, whatever stray biological matter his reluctant team of scientists finds inside of it.

Part 2, Violet/Violent: Dr. Shiragami and his fellow scientists are the proud accidental creators of an impossibility: a fusion between a rose, a human, and Godzilla. But Jonah doesn’t want a miracle. He wants a monster.

(KOTM one-shot, part 2 of 3. Stay tuned for part 3... *checks writing to-do list* ...eventually! If you want to read my other fics set in this KOTM ‘verse, click here.)

###

The pet rose/titan/human hybrid of Alan Jonah's gang of variously bribed and blackmailed scientists was growing faster than any of them had ever anticipated.

Her height had been holding steady for the last week, although she was still accruing foliage that spread her out sideways: an ever-spreading tangle of vines and branches. A matted mass of leaves enveloped the majority of her body like crocodilian scales or like great flakey layers of skin. They told themselves it was a mass of leaves, anyway. It was easier to look at her when they thought of the curtain of mass that made up her "hide" as "plant mimicking flesh" rather than as "flesh mutated to resembled plant," but in truth it was, by all measures—genetically, chemically, cellularly—a fusion of both plant and flesh into something entirely unprecedented and entirely new, in the same way that a mix of blue paint and yellow paint was neither "blue imitating yellow" nor "yellow imitating blue" but simply "green."

At most times, she was about seven feet tall, and typically she moved by undulating across the ground on vines and roots with motions like something between a millipede and a beached octopus. Other times, she pulled the thicket of her body in tight, weaving vines together like muscles and branches like bones, reshaping herself into something hunched but clearly bipedal, with stocky legs and a long thick tail and an array of grasping vines like undersized arms; and like that she stood just over ten feet tall. Most rarely, she would pull her vines and branches even tighter together into an even more solid form, stretching her legs long, straightening her back, lifting her head, sacrificing stability for height—until she stood fifteen feet tall, eerily humanoid, tottering like a toddler learning to walk. But a thick, crude, simple approximation of a human, like a golem made of trees rather than clay.

Back when she'd been about the size of a basketball, they'd started testing her for human intelligence—speaking to her, showing her books for children, seeing whether she could be taught to read and write. Within minutes of being shown a thick cardboard picture book meant to teach the alphabet, she'd seized up a marker and began scribbling letters on every surface she could reach—including letters she hadn't yet been shown. They still wondered if she'd observed them in the lab, if she'd perhaps picked them up from the scientists through some sort of as yet unidentified telepathic sense, or if she remembered them.

Dr. Shiragami suspected she remembered. He had no objective proof of this. Just a feeling, an uneasy feeling, that there was something observing them through the hybrid's strange small eyes; something that, although not human, once had been—and could recall that past life. An ex-human staring out at her former peers from the other side of death.

The letter she wrote most often was V.

She'd write it on a wall and stand beneath it, or on the floor and stand before it, as if using its tip to point at herself. Dr. Shiragami wondered what had been the name of the human whom Monster Zero had devoured and whose DNA had been used for their accidental cloning project.

He had nicknamed their rose/titan/human hybrid "Violet"—he thought that perhaps her name had once started with V, and without any idea what it was, the name of a flower seemed fitting. In his accent, when he wasn't careful, it came out as "Bioretto," which was how it caught on with the other scientists working with her; and the name drifted over the days to "Biorante" until her official name in their documentation on here was changed at last to "unknown Godzilla genetic sample" to "Biollante."

Dr. Shiragami thought the name sounded too much like "violent."

A true golem, made of clay, had two letters written on its head that meant "death." Writing a third letter changed the word to "truth" and brought the inanimate figure to life; removing the letter changed it back to "death" and put the figure back to sleep.

He hoped that, unlike a true golem, adding a letter to her name wouldn't change her nature.

###

"Dr. Shiragami, I did not bring you on to work with Monster Zero so that you could play with a walking plant."

"I work in genetics, sir. Genetics with a specialization in botany. You brought me on to gene sequence an alien that doesn't have genes."

"Hm." Jonah was staring through the observation window into the room they'd set up for Biollante. It was little more than a large room with a soft dirt floor and a skylight, with a water pipe she could work herself, a board to write on, and plastic playground equipment for lack of a better idea of what kind of enrichment a titan-plant-human needed. It was apparently insufficient entertainment; she was currently amusing herself by struggling to lift up and tip over a plastic playhouse designed to look like a castle. She'd fit in the play castle just a few weeks ago, but now it came up to her thighs when she was humanoid.

Dr. Shiragami said, "There's nothing I can do with an alien head without DNA in it, but there's—there's plenty I can do with a plant. A remarkable plant that consists of a genetic splice between three unspliceable species. I'm helping in what way I can—"

"Except you're not helping, doctor, are you? Because my objective is not to create novel freaks of nature; it's to get back on track with unleashing something that can combat the biggest extinction level event in this planet's history, i.e., us. So unless this creature you're wasting my time and resources on can do that—" Jonah suddenly fell silent. He watched wordlessly as the miniature titan knocked over a miniature castle. "Can this creature do that, doctor?"

"I'm sorry?"

"How tall is it going to get? Do you know?"

Dr. Shiragami's throat went dry.

"Has it displayed any violent tendencies?" Jonah went on. "Or are we going to have to train them into it?"

"You can't—"

"Can't I? Will you stop me?" Jonah asked. "What have you got, a doctorate? I've got men with guns."

"This is a living creature! Possibly a person—"

"You know how I feel about people."

"—A child. And a completely new form of life on top of that! I won't help you turn her into a monster."

"Fine," Jonah said. "You're welcome to resign at any time. I wish you the best of luck finding another way to fund your daughter's medical treatment."

Shiragami's blood ran cold.

"I'll leave you alone to think it over, shall I?" Jonah nodded to him and walked away.

Shiragami stared through the window at Biollante.

###

Biollante sprayed spores when she was upset, a thin sickly yellow haze of pollen. It made the scientists' and soldiers' eyes burn and throats close up. They now approached Biollante with pollen-filtering masks and goggles.

The facility hadn't been airtight when they made the discovery. Now it was, but not soon enough to prevent the spores from spreading for miles around them in every direction, settling into the sand, nearly invisible.

The desert was blooming. Trees and shrubs and vines shot into the sky, every species in the Rosaceae family they had ever tried to feed Biollante: roses and rowans and hawthorns, apples and almonds and peaches, more and more and more.

Somewhere in the Sahara, such an immediate reversal to desertification might have been a miracle.

If not for the fact that Biollante's spawn consisted of uncontrolled invasive species.

And at any rate—Jonah had not decided to hide his facility in that part of the Sahara.

Over five thousand years ago, the Sahara had been green. In fifteen thousand years, as the Earth's axis tilted, it would become green again. But even a green Sahara was mostly savannah, covered in shrubs and grasses, able to support clusters of trees only near deep water. The Sahara had never been jungles, never been rainforests. And some portions of the desert, even at the Sahara's wettest, remained desert still—such as the sea of sand dunes shared by Egypt and Libya.

Here, deep in the Sahara's heart, its truth, its natural, its healthy, its correct was desert. This was the part of the Sahara where there always had been, always would be, and always should be desert. A forest—a dry jungle of woody shrubby plants—would choke out the native species, destroy the local ecology, disrupt the weather patterns, displace the nomadic people that called the desert home. Everything about this part of the Sahara, from the temperature to the complete lack of precipitation to the nutrients in the loose sand, was unable to support a single one of the trees now growing there, much less so many.

Nevertheless, the forest spitefully flourished.

Like a fungus in a sack of flour, like a tumor in a heart.

And Biollante grew as well.

The scientists, even under Jonah's blackmail, were reluctant to harm her; so it was Jonah's soldiers who had learned via experimentation what could force her to fight. Fire—first only when it was thrust directly into her vines, but soon they trained her to lash out at the mere sight of it. Weedkiller, but only certain kinds—they'd tried so many different ones, seeing how she took each poison. Flashing blue lights. Recordings of the cries of MUTOs. Being presented with the dead head of Ghidorah, the monster that had devoured the things she was made from.

Dr. Shiragami was sure that Biollante must remember her past lives. Remember being Godzilla. Remember being human. Perhaps even remember being a rose—what did they know of the memories of flowers? Shiragami suspected plants remembered far more than humans gave them credit for.

The sight of Ghidorah made her struggle the hardest and roar the loudest. Once she'd been forced into the room with the dead head, she never cooperated with her keepers again. Now, the mere sight of humans was enough to enrage her.

She fought with spores, with choking vines, with cutting thornlike teeth. She fought with screams that they thought might have been an instinctive attempt to use Godzilla's atomic breath. These roars were horrible things, like Godzilla bellowing in rage and a woman wailing in pain and a tree splintering and falling all at once; they suspected she was twisting and snapping branches inside of her own body to make the sounds. She would no longer let anyone close enough to her to check.

Shiragami was only one remaining out of the original scientists that had been working with Biollante. All of the others either had been killed or else left—some in fear for their lives, but most in protest against what they were doing to a creature they knew deserved better. Shiragami now had new coworkers who cared much less. He would have left too—if not for his daughter, and if not for the fact that he thought someone should be working with Biollante who cared about what happened to her.

Even if he knew he wasn't doing anything to help.

They expanded her containment room when they could, but there was only so much they could do so fast when a facility that had been designed to camouflage into sand dunes was still trying to remain hidden now that it was in the center of a desiccated forest that it seemed the whole world was watching. She was too large to relocate without anyone noticing. Jonah ordered her nutrients be cut off—water only—in an attempt to slow her growth; in return, she began killing and devouring any humans that entered her enclosure. When they stopped entering, she burrowed her roots straight through the concrete foundation of the facility and deep down, they suspected perhaps even into the bedrock below.

As she grew so tall her head brushed the fifty foot skylights over her prison, she stopped using her humanoid form; as she kept growing still, she stopped using her bipedal form. Her prison cell was nothing but a mass of tangled vines, filling the room, brushing the walls. Vines—and sometimes teeth, gnashing between leaves and within blooms as she crashed branches through doors and felt her way down the halls.

Inside Jonah's facility, Biollante threatened to push them all out. Outside the unnatural forest, Monarch exploration crews backed by Egyptian and Libyan forces ventured into freakishly tall trees, as did curious or annoyed locals who wanted to know what strange forest had just appeared in the middle of their desert; it wouldn't be long until someone found the hidden facility.

Between Biollante and the investigating humans, Shiragami hoped Jonah was going to be pinched in the middle.

Jonah had what he wanted now that Biollante had been changed from a docile child into a wild animal. Shiragami wondered if Jonah had any idea how to tame her again. Surely he didn't.

For his daughter's sake, Shiragami would stay until the end, whether that end came from Biollante or Monarch; but for his other daughter's sake, he hoped she crushed Jonah beneath her roots when she escaped.

In the past couple of days, the bud of a rose ten feet long had emerged where her head had once been, up near the skylights.

Shiragami was sure it wouldn't be long now until she broke free. As soon as the rose bloomed.

###

(Click here for my masterlist of fics set in this KOTM verse, as well as my AO3 and Ko-fi links. If you enjoyed the fic, I’d appreciate a reblog or comment!)

#biollante #godzilla #kotm #fanfic #my writing

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docholligay · 5 years

Text

Smoke and Ashes

This is a fic I wrote mostly for me for once but also for @rosepetalrevolution and anyone else who is interested in These Western Fucks, namely Yael, McCree, and Ashe. You can find it in the timeline: here. 3,300 words I would love to know if you enjoy it!!

“Please don’t!” Tears ran down his face. “For Christ’s sake, please!”

“Wrong audience, motherfucker.” Yael cocked her gun, and fired, an impressive spray of blood spackling across McCree’s boots.

He looked down at them and frowned. “I just polished these, Yael.” He picked some of the brass off the ground. “That was quick.”

“Easy when it’s a bunch a little boys pissin their pants.” She knelt down and rifled through the dead man’s pockets, “Jacinta! You done over there? Quit bein’ so fuckin’ dramatic.”

The echoing fire of a gun was the reply, and Jacinta walked around the end of the truck. “I would think you’d appreciate lingering on this a little bit.”

“It’s not about enjoying the job, it’s a practical matter,” Yael took the cigarettes out of the dead man’s jacket, tapping one out of the pack and lighting it, taking a long drag as she leaned her elbows back onto the dead man’s chest, “Though I don’t hate it. Goddamn, even their cigarettes are terrible, Jesus fucking wept.”

She sat up and put the cigarette out in his cheek.

“Nice cache a weapons, though.” McCree set an AK to the side of the truck.

“Welp,” Yael slapped her knee, “Alls well that ends well, then.” She gave a chuckle and slapped McCree on the shoulder. “We’ll eat good tonight, tell you what. Already have a buyer.”

“Didn’t you,” McCree pushed the brim of his hat back a touch, “Specifically tell me, more n once, not to sell anything you ain’t got in hand?”

“Yael thinks the rules don’t apply to her.” Jacinta put a crate of ammo into the back of the truck, “Thinks she is special.”

“You’d know.” Yael grinned.

Jacinta tried to scowl, but smiled anyhow, as she checked a rifle for a round. “You are not cute.”

“Yael you ever think that the people we sell these to, are gonna go back and sell em to these poor fucks again?” McCree had said it quite without meaning to.

Yael’s internal compass was its own creature, and McCree could never quite puzzle it out. She was happy enough to take the boxes of illegal arms from these people, but the suppliers they sold to probably didn’t exactly ask for an essay on intercultural exchange before they sold them. It’d just fall back, that they’d be back where they started.

“Not those poor fucks,” she tipped her head to the one on the ground, his head split open, flies buzzing around his brains, “cleared that right up.”

And that would be the end of the debate, McCree knew, in the way he knew he’d never stop thinking it. There were certain things, rhythms, in the gang, that flowed through everything they did like a bends of a river, and McCree knew how to point his canoe by now.

McCree had come to them three years ago, but it might as well have been a lifetime. Cody Stenslund was an old man with a scraggy group of hungry young kids, and a smaller band of old men like him. It was the assumption they’d picked up these kids to pass the torch to someone, and it had proved successful, and he hadn’t wanted McCree. No one seemed to, back then.

But Yael was clever, and she was a connoisseur of people who survived when they weren’t meant to, and she’d stood for him. He’d been with them ever since, through his own training and scrapes and Cody’s retirement, and he couldn’t see leaving. Yael was Yael about near everything, but McCree never worried about where he was going to go, what he was going to eat, and the drifting tumbleweed decided this was a fine fence to be caught upon.

Besides that, he’d reflected at Jacinta and Yael’s wedding, it was a kind of a family, and McCree needed all of that he could get.

Carey loaded on an unopened crate to the back of the truck, and flipped up the tailgate, leaning against the back of it and giving McCree a grin, the soft green of his eyes flickering with excitement.

“Yael said beers are on her tonight.” He tapped out two cigarettes, and offered McCree one, which he gratefully accepted.

“Better be,” he lit the smoke and took a deep drag, “much as she’s had us all runnin around Hell out here.”

Carey chuckled softly. He was a few years older than McCree, like most of the gang, tall and thin, his dark brown hair clipped neatly. He had no idea about McCree. McCree barely had any idea about McCree, even when he thought about walking over to Carey’s bunk in the night and kissing him as the moonlight streamed through the window.

There was nothing for McCree to be ashamed of, and he knew that, but somehow he still couldn’t bring himself to say the words. Yael had done it. No one questioned her or so much as said boo about it.

But the rules didn’t apply to Yael, you know.

“Well boys,” Yael circled around and tossed the keys to Carey, who caught them handily, “let’s get to gettin.”

_____

Ashe stood outside the bar, adjusting the collar of her shirt and trying to get the right angle of the hat on her head. She’d known the Deadlock Gang was going to be here, it was an open secret that they protected this bar and the bar did the same to them, a scrappy outpost at the edge of the world that no one seemed to much care about and that seemed fine to everyone inside.

She walked in the door, the dark and agining place exactly as she’d imagined it, and found the gang immediately. The leader was just as she’d read, when she decided this was the career path she wanted to take, when she got sick of everything her parents expected for her, tired of being a show pony and ready to take it on her own. She was a scary story to tell in the dark as much as she was a person, and Ashe wanted that for herself.

She strode confidently to where she sat, and a lean, green-eyed man to Yael’s right put his hand on a gun.

But Yael just watched, leaned forward onto her elbows, as Ashe approached.

“Yael Rabin?” She cleared her throat, puffing her chest out. “Been looking for you. “I’m here to join the Deadlock Gang.”

No one said anything for a moment, and Ashe wondered if the entire concept of sound had gone from her, the chatter and music fading away from the space and leaving only Ashe, standing there.

Then Yael drummed her fingers on the table.

“You just looking for trouble in alphabetical order or somethin’? Barstow Boys turn you down already?” Yael picked up a toothpick from the holder and on the table and placed it between her teeth as she studied Ashe.

It was the sort of look Ashe had not yet become accustomed to, though she would learn it for herself, in time. It was a look that scanned over every inch of her, that took the information and made conclusions, and locked it away until it was needed. It was the searing eye of a hawk setting on a rabbit, and Ashe squirmed underneath despite herself.

“Nice boots you got there, Tex.” A sly smile crept across her face and her collected gang spit out hoots of laughter.

Ashe didn’t give her the satisfaction of looking down, but she noticed the beaten and scuffed hat Yael wore, the way her shirt had faded in rings from being pushed up to her elbows in the sun, and had a sudden moment of realization that the same things she wore that impressed the folks when she did barrel were a mistake here.

Didn’t matter. She was a trick of a rider, she could shoot a gun, and Ashe knew, above anything else, that the infamous Deadlock Gang could only profit by adding her to the group, even if they did make fun of her bright silver buckles.

“Name’s Ashe.” She jutted out her chin and extended her hand.

“Sure it is.” Yael chuckled and leaned back in her chair, and Ashe crossed her arms, her mouth forming into an angry twist, which Yael handily ignored, “You even old enough to be in here? Go home, kid, I ain’t got time to play dolls.”

“How old’s he?” She motioned her chin to the man at her left, though it was hardly fair to call him man, not yet filled in, still gangly with the edge of teenagerhood.

“Jesse?” She turned to him and smiled, “I dunno, how old are you?”

“Forty five this July.” He took a drink of his beer.

“That’s about what I thought, why, thank you Jesse.” she picked up her own beer, “Well, there you have it.”

Ashe popped like a corn kernel.

“You were younger than me, sixteen! When you joined the Deadlock Gang, and now you’re only afraid--”

“I ain’t afraid of shit,” Yael laughed, “You think you can compare yourself to me, Tex? What’s the worst thing ever happened to you, Daddy tell you no new pony this year? Shiiiit.” She chuckled again. “Swear to god, they get stupider every year.” She stood up. “You ain’t hungry enough. You don’t need it enough. You got a net, girl, and we perform without one.” She turned back briefly to her gang. “Gonna go find Jaci and have a smoke.”

She turned her back to Ashe as she left, completely unafraid of anything Ashe could do, and all she could do is stand stock-still, fuming and furious and embarrassed and ashamed and hungrier than Yael could ever know.

___

McCree didn’t ask too many questions, at this time in his life.

It would sound stupid to say it out loud, as he heard the dogs barking in the distance outside the shitty honky tonk, the party having briefly broken up from their reverie, but the last three years had been the most stable in his life since his mother had died. It wasn’t much of a life, rolling along the backroads and still-quiet ways that barely seemed to exist except as corridors anymore, but it was his, and it was consistent, and he knew what he was meant to do and why, and what he brought.

He wasn’t interested in shaking up the flow he’d come to understand in his life, and he wasn’t sure what someone so rich would want with the Deadlock Gang anyhow. Could be that she was an agent trying to infiltrate, but McCree hoped they’d send someone a little better than some little blonde thing fresh out of the ranchwear store. Maybe that was the trick, that they thought it was so stupid Yael’d fall for it.

They didn’t know her very well.

Ashe breezed by him after Yael, having had a few moments to think to herself and still not giving up, and he chuckled. She had plenty of sand, that much was sure, and if he was going to be so stupid as to tell Yael her business, he’d say that a sparrow who’s willing to chase after a hawk with no fear of nothing wasn’t the stupidest idea for the gang. Yael had a kill count that rivaled a small army, and there was no way Ashe didn’t know that. It just didn’t seem to matter. She had an idea of what she wanted, and maybe Yael would have to shoot her to get her to find another one.

They didn’t usually meet people like this, who wouldn’t take Yael’s no for an answer. Yael was particular about her crew, even at the best of times, and though she’d help other hard up folks set up complimentary organizations, or reinstall them their lives back home on their farms and ranches and wilds, her Deadlock Gang was a tightly closed group, only people she would happily sleep with her back to. And this girl was in no way Yael’s kind of people. This was all more stuff she should’ve known but didn’t seem to care much about.

There was a part of McCree that respected that.

Carey walked up next to him and sipped his beer. “What’s the over under on Yael shootin her where she stands?”

McCree smiled over at him. “She’s had, what, three beers? Say ten minutes.”

“You’re a regular optimist, Jess,” Carey clapped him on the shoulder, and McCree looked away from him into the night, “say that much for ya.”

McCree wasn’t sure he’d call himself that, but there was something that told him this girl who called herself Ashe was gonna be a thorn in everyone’s side for a long time.

___

Yael didn’t seem to be listening to her, just walking along and tapping out a cigarette as she looked up at the half-clouded moon.

“You don’t know what I can do!” Ashe spat, the injustice of the situation, the hopelessness of it, drilling into her head.

“But I do know that it’s my gang, and, I don’t like you.” She put the cigarette to her lips and flicked her lighter, shielding it from the wind. “Don’t need no prissy little rich girls whose daddies bought em their titles.”

What Yael needed and what Yael ended up getting could be very different indeed.

“Elizabeth Ashe?” A voice came out of the darkness, and Ashe’s hair stood up at the sound of her name.

She turned around and her eyes met with dark brown ones, ones she did not know but clearly knew her. It was not a question so much as a confirmation, but whatever it was, it furrowed Yael’s brow.

“You know her, Jacinta?” Yael stood up from where she leaned against the beam.

Jacinta took her eyes off Ashe for a moment, meeting Yael’s gaze, and let out an exclamation of rapid-fire Spanish, which Ashe suddenly wished she had opted to take in all of her private schooling.

“Huh,” was all Yael said by way of hint, before asking Jacinta a question Ashe could not understand, and receiving an answer Ashe wished she could know. “I dunno, Jaci, bad idea to me.”

Her ears perked at the English, and she looked back to Jacinta, wondering where she could possibly know her from. She was a handsome woman, dark with glossy in a low, tightly wound bun at her neck, but Ashe could not quite place her name, or where they might have seen each other.

Yael walked over to where she and Jacinta stood, and waved Ashe off. “Git.”

It was the first command of Yael’s Ashe would obey, and it would not be the last, and at her hand she would learn how to give a command so it never seemed like a request, to men twice her size, but right now all she could do was back up until she nearly hit the two young men who had been sitting beside Yael in the bar.

Carey shrugged at her. “Jaci’s your best chance, rich girl.”

Ashe fumed, but didn’t say a word. There was someone, for whatever reason, who was fighting for her, and the argument seemed to be growing more heated, Yael shaking her head, her eyebrows in a knot as she looked to Jacinta, who waved a hand in fury even as she tried to cross her arms in front of her.

“If she wants you,” McCree drawled, “well, Jaci’s the only one Yael’l ever listen to.”

“I don’t know why she does.” Ashe hadn’t meant to say it, but it had slipped out, her thoughts as to all the reasons why filling the space in her head meant for a tough showing.

McCree looked over to her, a brief recognition of her inability to understand that made her blood boil, and chuckled. “Best not to.”

Yael threw her arms in the air and kicked the dip bucket by the side of the back porch, spraying wet tobacco across the wood. Jacinta seemed unimpressed.

“¡Bueno! Christ,” She took her hat off and nearly threw it into the dirt before reconsidering. “You win, alright?”

Ashe felt a swirl of excitement rise in her chest, and pride. She was going to be a member of the Deadlock Gang, the kind of gang that people whispered about, the kind of gang that even someone like the Barstow Boys held in high regard. And she would be, in no time, she was sure, be at the right hand of the hawk, Ashe, a legend in her own right.

These fantasies of her own grandeur were quickly brought back into the reality of the situation as Yael walked up to her and grabbed her by the collar, almost pressing their faces together. Yael and Ashe were nearly the same size, but Ashe was shocked by the sheer strength of her, the grip of her claw next to Ashe’s neck.

“Now listen here. This is against my better judgement or will, Tex, so I want you to take very careful notice of what I’m bout to say.” Ashe nodded as Yael stared deep into her eyes, but she did not break her gaze or let her lip quiver, “You want to be a part of this gang, you’ll come to find there’s work to be done that ain’t all in the papers and glory, and when I say jump, the only thing I wanna hear out of your goddamn mouth is how high. I will teach you to be a gunslinger and an arms runner and every terrible thing you wanna be, and you had better pay me back with your unending goddamn loyalty or I’ll shoot you myself.”

She let go of Ashe’s collar and half-tossed her back into Carey and McCree, who caught her gently by the shoulders.

“Married life’s a whole thing, ain’t it, Yael?” Carey laughed good naturedly.

“Carey, I will leave you in the ditch I found you in.” But she sighed, seemingly forcing herself to make peace with the new, shiny-booted, crisp shirted, silver trimmed reality in her life.

“You won’t regret it, I promise.” Ashe tugged at her shirt, rolling her shoulders back.

“And I ain’t callin you Ashe, so best get used to that idea.” She grinned, and her voice turned sickly-sweet, “Elizabeth Caledonia, pretty little miss of the Texas debutante set. Jesse!”

“Yeah?” he took off his hat and ran a hand through his shaggy brown hair before looking back to Yael.

“You’re off smoker duty tonight, other’n showin Bitsy here how to scrub it.” She waved her hand to McCree, “God knows you’ve earned it. And God knows you will, us having to teach her an honest day’s work.”

“She’s alright once you get used to her.” Carey gave his usual casual grin and shrugged. “Give her a year or two to warm up. Carey.” He gave a tip of his hat.

“Jesse.” He nodded to her.

She gave a snort, jutted her chin out, and looked at the two men who were now her teammates.

“Ashe.”

Carey chuckled as he turned to go. “S’not what Yael said.”

Ashe crossed her arms across her chest in frustration. When she had planned out the life she was going to create for herself, the infamous legend and outlaw she was going to become, this was not how she’d seen her first day on the team. She would learn, at Yael’s hand, how to scramble, how to deal, how to play a low card, but now she was a frustrated trainee.

“Welcome to the team,” McCree said, tipping his hat, “Come on then.”

Ashe gave the smallest smile, and she remembered she had won a victory today. It didn’t matter if she were Tex or Bitsy or whatever Yael wanted to call her today, because she had to call her one very important thing.

A member of the Deadlock Gang.

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wipbigbang · 5 years

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Art Claims Round 4

Fourth and last round of story claims are up. At the time of this posting, 47 stories are left. These are all really fantastic stories that deserve an awesome artist. Please look into your hearts and see if you want to claim any of these. Also, PLEASE TELL YOUR FRIENDS. Bribe them with smiles and candy. I've just checked with my lawyer and it's perfectly acceptable to grab your artist friends and stuff them in a sack and bring them over here*. *Actually, my lawyer's words were more like "Don't do that." This year, art claims are working a little differently than in years past. We are using a google form to streamline things, which should make things easier both for you as participants and us mods. To claim a story, the form requires email, check in ID, and the identifying number of your first choice of story. Putting your top three choices is best in case your first or second has already been chosen. Your check in ID should be different from any fic you signed up for or any previous art claim. Please be sure you've read the FAQ before claiming.

Click here to claim a story.

Stories are listed by fandom in alphabetical order and then by the story name, with a number identifying that story (for our records).

Stories are first come, first serve

. I'll update this post as stories are claimed. Official posting dates begin on July 27th. Once all stories are claimed and all artists/authors have been notified, I will put up a sign-up sheet so authors and artists can choose their posting dates.

Authors, if something is wrong with the info for your stories, please let me know ASAP here or via email at [email protected].

See all fandoms in a google doc.

BBC Sherlock #6 Story Title: ...And All The Men And Women Merely Players Pairings, Characters: Sherlock Holmes/Molly Hooper, Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade, Mary Morstan/John Watson, Eurus Holmes/Jim Moriarty; Sherlock Holmes, Mycroft Holmes, Molly Hooper, Greg Lestrade, John Watson, Mary Morstan, Anthea, Janine, Eurus Holmes, Jim Moriarty, Original Child Character(s), Mummy Holmes, Siger Holmes Rating: Mature | M Warnings: No Warnings apply Summary: Mycroft Holmes is not-so-subtly trying to make sure there's a reconciliation between his youngest sibling Sherlock and his ex-wife, Molly Hooper, by forcing them to work together on a theatre project. But it isn't all smooth sailing when his and Sherlock's sister comes back from the States with a boyfriend who is the devil incarnate...and all hell is about to break loose. #7 Story Title: A Boon For You, A Boon For Me Pairings, Characters: Mycroft Holmes/Molly Hooper; Molly Hooper, Mycroft Holmes, Sherlock Holmes, Eurus Holmes, James Moriarty, Siger Holmes, Mummy Holmes Rating: General | G Warnings: No Warnings apply Summary: When Molly saves the life of a fairy prince, she’s given the chance to ask for whatever her heart most desires, and since what she wants to do most is help others, she’s given the ability to grant boons by the prince’s eldest brother. Little does she imagine such a simple and generous wish will change her life forever... #8 Story Title: A Merry Christmas After All Pairings, Characters: Mycroft Holmes/Sally Donovan; Sally Donovan, Mycroft Holmes, Anthea, brief appearance by Sherlock Holmes and Molly Hooper Rating: Teen | T Warnings: No Warnings apply Summary: Sally and Mycroft make an arrangement to have a pretend relationship together, culminating in a spectacular break-up at a destination wedding in Hawaii. But what they intend to have happen doesn't go according to plan when pesky feelings decide to get involved. #12 Story Title: Desperate Times Call For Desperate Measures Pairings, Characters: Sherlock Holmes/Molly Hooper, Mycroft Holmes/Anthea, Mr. & Mrs. Holmes, OC pairings; Sherlock Holmes, Molly Hooper, Mycroft HOlmes, Anthea, Mummy HOlmes, Siger Holmes, OC Holmes Brother, assorted OFCs and OMCs Rating: Teen | T Warnings: No Warnings apply Summary: It all begins with an invitation to Mycroft's wedding to his PA and seven days at a resort in Jamaica, with the assumption that Molly pretends to be his girlfriend that his mother might be under the impression that he's going to propose to sooner rather than later. It ends up being so much more than that... #13 Story Title: Ever Changing, Ever Growing Pairings, Characters: Sherlock Holmes/Molly Hooper, background Mycroft Holmes/OC and John Watson/Mary Morstan Rating: Explicit | E Warnings: Major Character Death Summary: They make the arrangement to present what society wants from them to the world as husband and wife, but childhood friends Sherlock Holmes and Margaret Hooper agree that their lives are their own. But with the death of Sherlock's brother and an unexpected scandal, their marriage of convenience is shaken. Will their friendship remain intact as their marriage falls apart, or will they decide that it is in their best interest to make this a true marriage between partners instead? #19 Story Title: Neither Living Dead Nor Fully Living Pairings, Characters: Sebastian Moran/Molly Hooper, past Sebastian Moran/James Moriarty and James Moriarty/Molly Hooper; Sebastian Moran, Molly Hooper, Sherlock Holmes, OCs Rating: Explicit | E Warnings: Major Character Death, Character death is temporary, as character is turned into a vampire Summary: When Sebastian Moran inherits a building, a business and a servant from James Moriarty, he tries to live as normal a life as he can. But when Molly Hooper does the unthinkable and falls in love with him, he finds himself fighting a battle he'd never imagined he'd be in. #21 Story Title: Nothing's Changed That Matters Pairings, Characters: Sherlock Holmes/Molly Hooper, past Mycroft Holmes/Anthea; Sherlock Holmes. Molly Hooper, John Watson, Eurus Holmes, Greg Lestrade Rating: Teen | T Warnings: Major Character Death Summary: When Sherlock comes to Molly in Oxford ten years after their divorce with a favour to ask, she agrees to help. While a lot has changed some things remain very much the same...including the love that Sherlock and Molly once shared. #22 Story Title: Old Books & New Flames Pairings, Characters: Sebastian Moran/Molly Hooper, Greg Lestrade/Sally Donovan, John Watson/Mary Morstan; Molly Hooper, Sebastian Moran, Mary Morstan, Sally Donovan, Greg Lestrade, John Watson, Jim Moriarty Rating: Explicit | E Warnings: No Warnings apply Summary: When Sebastian Moran asks local bookstore owner Molly Hooper for a job, all he wants is a second chance to live the life he should have been living before prison. What Molly gets is more than a loyal employee and good friend. What she ends up with is what she had always wanted her entire life: happiness. #24 Story Title: Rectifying Past Mistakes Pairings, Characters: Sherlock Holmes/Mary Morstan; Sherlock Holmes, Mycroft Holmes, Anthea, Mary Morstan, John Watson, Mrs. Hudson, Molly Hooper, Greg Lestrade, Sebastian Moran Rating: Teen | T Warnings: No Warnings apply Summary: When Mycroft gets Sherlock out of Serbia, he drops a bombshell on him he isn't quite prepared for: after years of being gone out of his life, Sherlock's ex-wife Elizabeth has reappeared, under the name Mary Morstan. While he was off taking care of Moriarty's mess she was protecting those he cared about and helping his brother, for reasons, he finds, that she is keeping close to the vest. But when they're forced to stay in close quarters at Baker Street both secrets and old wounds come to light and, perhaps, things might turn out for the best after all. #25 Story Title: The Babe On The Doorstep Pairings, Characters: Mycroft Holmes/Anthea; Mycroft Holmes, Anthea, Greg Lestrade, OCs Rating: General | G Warnings: Child Abandonment Summary: One morning an infant is left on Mycroft’s doorstep with a note, signed by a woman named Laura. As Mycroft tries to find out who would entrust a child into his care he slowly opens his heart to the infant and lets the other people in his life that he’s kept at arms length in more, bit by bit. #28 Story Title: The Head Knows What The Heart Wants Pairings, Characters: Sebastian Moran/Molly Hooper, background John Watson/Mary Morstan; Sebastian Moran, Molly Hooper, Sherlock Holmes, Mary Morstan, Mycroft Holmes, Eurus Holmes, OCs Rating: Explicit | E Warnings: Mild violence Summary: After the revelation that there had been some plotting between Moriarty and Eurus before his death, Sebastian Moran had decided to do whatever it took to keep Molly safe...even if that meant ruining whatever the results of his ex-lover's collusion with the Holmes sister were. But after enough time had gone by, things changed, and that was when Eurus decided to strike. That was when Sebastian couldn't deny the truth any longer: Molly Hooper had become the most important person in his life...and he would do whatever it took to make sure she was safe. #29 Story Title: The Pesky Virginity Issue Pairings, Characters: Sherlock Holmes/Molly Hooper, John Watson/Mary Morstan, past Tom/Molly Hooper; Molly Hooper, Mary Morstan, John Watson, Sherlock Holmes, Tom, OCs Rating: Explicit | E Warnings: No Warnings apply Summary: After Molly's engagement ends she decides she wants to rid herself of her virginity since that was a major cause of the dissolution of her relationship with her ex. When her friend Mary suggests she knows the perfect person, things don't go quite according to any sort of plan she may have had in her head...but it has a pleasantly surprising result nonetheless. #30 Story Title: To Live Again Pairings, Characters: Pre-Mycroft Holmes/Mary Morstan, background Sherlock Holmes/Molly Hooper, past John Watson/Mary Morstan;Mary Morstan, Mycroft Holmes, Molly Hooper Rating: General | G Warnings: No Warnings apply Summary: After the events at the aquarium which leaves most of the world thinking Mary Watson is dead, Mary deals with conflicting feelings and moving on in the wake of knowing her marriage is, for all intents and purposes, over. #31 Story Title: What Could Have Been, What Will Be In Its Stead Pairings, Characters: Mycroft Holmes/Molly Hooper, past Sherlock Holmes/Molly Hooper, mentioned Anthea/Kate and Mr & Mrs. Holmes; Mycroft Holmes, Molly Hooper, Siger Holmes, Mummy Holmes, Greg Lestrade, Anthea, OCs Rating: Teen | T Warnings: Major Character Death Summary: When Sherlock dies, he leaves behind a woman he planned to marry and a child he did not know about. Mycroft is determined to take care of them both in his brother's stead, but nothing is ever as easy as one plans. That is the true Holmes legacy. BBC Sherlock/Doctor Who #32 Story Title: The Detective And The Hound Pairings, Characters: Sherlock Holmes/Amy Pond, background John Watson/Lorna Bucket; Sherlock Holmes, John Watson, Amy Pond, Henry Knight; other Sherlock characters in"The Hounds of Baskerville" Rating: Teen | T Warnings: Unconcensual drug use Summary: Sherlock and John get given a case from Henry Knight, who believes his father was killed years prior by a hound in the moors. But what starts as a much needed break from the tedium that Sherlock is experiencing turns into a case that has him questioning many things and feeling something he has not felt in a long time: the type of fear that leaves you with a chill in your bones. BBC Sherlock/Marvel Cinematic Universe #34 Story Title: A Potential Loophole To Exploit Pairings, Characters: Thor Odinson/Jane Foster, Sherlock Holmes/Molly Hooper, implied Loki Laufeyson/Darcy Lewis, Phil Coulson/Melinda May, Antoine Triplett/Daisy Johnson, Jemma Simmons/Leo Fitz and Clint Barton/Natasha Romanoff; Thor Odinson, Loki Laufeyson, Frigga, Phil Coulson, Molly Hooper, Sherlock Holmes, Mycroft Holmes, Tony Stark, Clint Barton, Jane Foster, Melinda May, Jemma Simmons, Leo Fitz, Antoine Triplett, Daisy Johnson, Darcy Lewis, Sif, Heimdall, OCs Rating: General | G Warnings: No Warnings apply Summary: After Thor and Loki leave a meeting with their mother, they start to talk about what can be done to stave off the foretold arrival of their sister, Hela, and begin to make plans. BBC Sherlock/Midsomer Murders #37 Story Title: Every English Village Has Its Secrets Pairings, Characters: Past/Unrequited Mycroft Holmes/Gregory Lestrade, Tom Barnaby/Joyce Barnaby, Sally Donovan/OMC; Greg Lestrade, Sally Donovan, Mycroft Holmes, Tom Barnaby, Gavin Troy, OCs Rating: Teen | T Warnings: Summary: When Greg and Sally get called to Midsomer County for a case, right from the start Greg knows it will be a headache when Mycroft offers him lodging (so long as he's alright with his former lover being his housemate for his time there), and it doesn't get much better when he meets DCI Tom Barnaby and immediately their Detective Sergeants take an instant dislike to each other when Sally arrives the next evening. And that isn't even getting into the actual case itself and all the secrets hidden in the village of Elverton-cum-Latterley... Black Sails #39 Story Title: a tide of hope Pairings, Characters: Abigail Ashe/Billy Bones Rating: Mature | M Warnings: mild violence Summary: "My point being, unless my crew decides that they don’t want to give me up for dead, and if what you say is true and no one will come looking for you, then we are very much stranded on this island.” Abigail Ashe awakens to find herself shipwrecked on an island. However, she is not alone. Abigail Ashe/Billy Bones, post season 3. Boku No Hero Academia/Star Vs the Forces of Evil #40 Story Title: Princess' guide (title may be subject to change) Pairings, Characters: Star Butterfly/Tenya Iida Rating: General | G Warnings: No Warnings apply Summary: A Sequel to 'An Earthling's Guide to Dealing with Mewberty' Star was serious when she offered to take Iida on a multidimensional adventure as a thank you for helping her get through Mewberty, and after hearing about the Hero Killer's capture, and Iida's own encounter with Stain, Star is more sure than anything else, that her friend could use some uncomplicated fun. Code Geass #43 Story Title: World Enough and Time Pairings, Characters: Suzaku/Lelouch and Gino/Kallen (both minor) Rating: Teen | T Warnings: Graphic Violence Summary: Six months after Ragnarok, all Kallen wants to do is protect the people she loves, even if it means betraying everything in her heart to serve a Britannian prince. Suzaku wants to reverse a mistake he made but would never take back. Euphemia is willing to risk everything of herself in order to be a better person and find a cure. And Lelouch... Lelouch wants to make the world safe for his little sister, even if it means destroying everything in his path. (The AU where the royal family controls the elements through music instead of Geass, and the Ragnarok Connection united the living and dead... by bringing back the dead.) Critical Role Campaign One/Dragon Age Origins (Awakening) #44 Story Title: TBA Pairings, Characters: Vax'ildan/Keyleth; Vax'ildan, Percy, Vex'alia, Scanlan, Keyleth, M!Mahariel, probably others from both canons, Grey Wardens from Awakening Rating: No Rating Warnings: Chooses not to use Warnings Summary: Merging of the two canons, but mainly in the Dragon Age setting with some Critical Role characters. Vox Machina finds the ancient thaig containing the tomb of the Raven Queen's champion, but in the process Vax'ildan is infected with the Blight. Only Loral Mahariel, hero of Ferelden, can save Vax's life -- but will he be willing to pay the price? Crossing Lines/Grey's Anatomy/Hawaii Five-0/Marvel Cinematic Universe/The Sentinel/S.W.A.T. #45 Story Title: This is our sanctuary Pairings, Characters: Steve Rogers/Bucky Barnes/Tony Stark, Clint Barton/James Street, Natasha Romanov/Sam Wilson, Ellie Defont-Bogard/Sebastian Berger Rating: Mature | M Warnings: Graphic Violence Summary: Clint Barton and Jim Street have been together for about a month as Guide and Sentinel when Jimmy's mom is released from prison. Clint wants Jimmy to have nothing to do with his emotionally abusive, Hydra mother. But Jimmy feels he owes Karen Street too much to abandon her, and Clint loves Jimmy too much to break his Sentinel's heart. So despite Clint's misgivings, they go to Los Angeles to visit her. The idea is to spend a couple hours with Karen and then hopefully never see her again. But what not even Jimmy realizes is how much Karen hates Clint for being Jimmy's Guide instead of her. Or how far she'll go to get her son back. Because Karen Street will do anything to get her son back. The problem is, Clint and Jimmy might not survive it. CSI: NY/Law & Order #47 Story Title: Theraputic Pairings, Characters: Eventual Danny Messer/Lindsay Monroe; Danny Messer, Mac Taylor, Emil Skoda, Don Flack Jr., Lindsay Monroe, Lennie Briscoe Rating: Teen | T Warnings: Major Character Death, Character deaths are in the past, but they were characters from CSI: NY Danny knew Summary: In Danny's eyes, the hits just keep on coming...though this particular hit may turn out all right in the end. DC Extended Universe #49 Story Title: Pairings, Characters: Dick Grayson Rating: Mature | M Warnings: Graphic Violence Summary: After Superman dies, Dick Grayson reconnects with his father Doctor Who/St. Trinian's #51 Story Title: Adventures In Unexpected Places Pairings, Characters: Rory Williams/Amy Pond; Amy Pond, Camilla Fritton, Kelly Jones, Eleventh Doctor, Rory Williams, Mels Zucker Rating: General | G Warnings: No Warnings apply Summary: After being sent to the worst school in the whole of England, Amy meets up with the man whose fault it is that she’s there, and things go vastly more differently than anyone expected. Football RPF #54 Story Title: It's A Long Way Up When You Hit the Ground Pairings, Characters: Christian Eriksen/Vincent Janssen Rating: Mature | M Warnings: No Warnings Apply Summary: Vincent's future is still uncertain, but rather than dwell on it, all he wants to do is welcome Christian home from the World Cup and find a few moments of bliss in each other's company before the world comes along and sweeps them away again. Christian, however, isn't making things at all easy, and Vincent starts wondering if maybe he has other ideas. A story about moving in, uncertainty, finding true friendships, and questioning everything about your past, present, and future. Gilmore Girls #55 Story Title: The Thing He Carried Pairings, Characters: Rory Gilmore/Jess Mariano and Luke Danes/Lorelai Gilmore Rating: Teen | T Warnings: No Warnings apply, Minor violence Summary: This story is based on a post on Tumblr pertaining to what if Jess did not go to California. It is also based on 'The Things That He Carried' by Tim O'Brien, who also wrote an episode of 'This Is Us'. It's about growth and acceptance. it's about love and relationships. It's about rising above adversity. Hannibal #59 Story Title: The Art of Her Mind Pairings, Characters: Hannibal Lecter/Will Graham, Aralie/Travis Rating: Explicit | E Warnings: Graphic Violence, Depiction of drug use Summary: A young girl was accused of murdering her entire family, but one clever psychologist got her to serve a five year sentence at a mental institution. The day she is released from the hospital, Aralie has to adjust to life beyond her past. Aralie finds that when her anxiety becomes to much she occupies her mind with sketching the world around her and losing herself in ballet. Harry Potter #61 Story Title: Lionhearted Girl Pairings, Characters: Regulus Black/Severus Snape (minor), no other pairings at this time, but future Female!Harry Potter/Neville Longbottom Rating: Teen | T Warnings: No Warnings apply, Forced Amnesia Summary: Roswitha Artemis Black had gone from orphan to heiress to daughter in remarkably short time frame, like a dream come true. Now starting her first year of Hogwarts, she faces challenges she is certain regular first years don't have to deal with -- like the castle talking to her and demanding she find and evict an artifact deep beneath the stone floors. Or how whispers of another girl, nameed Heather Potter, stir some strange dream within her. #62 Story Title: Pairings, Characters: OMC/Pansy Parkinson, Harry Potter/Draco Malfoy Rating: Warnings: Summary: Evan Potter grew up knowing two things were true: that he was the Boy Who Lived, and that because of that, it wasn't safe for his squib brother Harry to live in the magical world. He'd be an easy target for any angry Death Eater who wanted revenge. No matter how badly he wants to be an ordinary kid with an ordinary brother, his life is never going to work that way. Then it turns out that Harry isn't a squib after all. And when Evan follows him into Slytherin to protect him... well, maybe his life isn't as set in stone as he'd always thought it would be. Hetalia #63 Story Title: From Spacious Skies, To Perilous Fight Pairings, Characters: America (Hetalia); Canada (Hetalia); Germany (Hetalia); North Italy (Hetalia); England (Hetalia); France (Hetalia); Molossia (Hetalia); Additional micronations Rating: Mature | M Warnings: Graphic Violence, Invasive Medical Procedures Summary: America’s explosive appearance on the national stage sent ripples of shock throughout the world. As he grapples to find his place as the Personification of the United State of America, dark forces begin to stir once more. Sequel to"In Need of Representation". James Bond #65 Story Title: My Partner the Car Pairings, Characters: James Bond/Alec Trevelyan/Q Rating: General | G Warnings: No Warnings apply, Canon-Typical Violence Summary: James Bond's partner, Alec Trevelyan, recently died. When he goes to pick up Alec's old car, he discovers there's more to the Jaguar than he realized, and that Alec wasn't as dead as everyone thought. With the assistance of MI6's Quartermaster, James has to find Alec's body, and somehow return Alec's spirit to his body. It might be an impossible task for some, but not for MI6's best Double O's. Law & Order #66 Story Title: a moment of transition Pairings, Characters: Mike Logan/Elizabeth Olivet; Mike Logan (Chris Noth), Elizabeth Olivet (Carolyn McCormick), Caroline Olivet (I'm picturing Madeline Zima), Lucas de Motigny (OC, I'm picturing Tom Sturridge) Rating: Mature | M Warnings: No Warnings apply Summary: Caroline Olivet starts her first semester at Yale. Les Miserables #67 Story Title: We’ll take a cup of kindness, yet Pairings, Characters: Minor/Background relationships. Grantaire, Enjolras, Courfeyrac, Combeferre, Joly, Musichetta, Bossuet, Bahorel, Bahorel’s laughing mistress, Feuilly, Jean"Jehan"Pouvoir, Eponine Thenardier, Marius Pontmercy; Cosette; Gavroche Rating: Teen | T Warnings: No Warnings apply, Alcohol, mentions of marijuana, Summary: They’re having some sort of winter holiday… thing. She’s never quite sure what to call these gatherings. They're not religious, and they’re not meetings; they have regular meetings and this is not one. But, it’s not quite a party, either. It could be if they decided on a theme or reason, beyond"its cold and we’re all busy and everyone else is getting together, so let’s eat food and enjoy each other."So, it’s a thing. That works right? They’re having a December Thing. In which R discovers Enjolras can cook, Cosette tricks Gavroche into eating vegetables, Bossuet both forgets and wins at White Elephant, and having close friends is just generally awesome. Marvel Cinematic Universe #71 Story Title: till human voices wake us Pairings, Characters: Steve Rogers/Tony Stark, Clint Barton, James"Bucky"Barnes, James"Rhodey"Rhodes, Rating: Mature | M Warnings: Chooses not to use Warnings Summary: Tony is called out on a rescue mission. Things deteriorate from there. [post-Civil War sort-of fix-it reconciliation fic, de-aging (kid!Steve), action/adventure, ensemble, eventual Steve/Tony] #73 Story Title: Whoops, I slipped Pairings, Characters: Tony Stark, Steve Rogers, Clint Barton, and the rest of the Avengers in more of a supporting role Rating: General | G Warnings: No Warnings apply Summary: There's an explosion in the labs and Tony Stark finds himself in the body of a 3 or 4 year old. Unfortunately, his adult brain is calibrated for an adult body and all of the connections are scrambled, so he's in a bit a pickle. It's hard to let your teammates know that you're capable of rational thought when you can't even figure out how to operate the controls that enable you to walk and talk. Once Upon A Time #77 Story Title: The Stowaways Pairings, Characters: Ruby/Belle, Killian/Emma Rating: Teen | T Warnings: No Warnings apply Summary: On a much needed vacation, Emma and Killian find that they are not alone on the Jolly Roger. Original Works #78 Story Title: Taking Over Pairings, Characters: Original Male Character/Orc, Original Male Character/Original Male Character Rating: Explicit | E Warnings: Graphic Violence, Major Character Death, Chooses not to use Warnings, Past abusive relationship, PWP that grew plot, Summary: The King is dead, long live the King... As king's consort, Teyrin had never expected any strife. Then the orcs attacked. Now Teyrin has found himself torn between two world: rebellion against the new King of Athary is brewing in Neith. However, stuck at the castle, Teyrin finds himself falling in love not just with the Orckish culture, but with their king as well. As the consequences get more dire, Teyrin finds the stakes increasing. It's no longer just his life that hangs in the balance. Peaky Blinders #80 Story Title: A Battle Joined Pairings, Characters: Esme Shelby/Tommy Shelby Rating: No Rating Warnings: Chooses not to use Warnings Summary: "Your wife is gone, Tommy. Does it matter how?" A sprawling tale of family and deceit, love and regret, anchored by Esme and Tommy's complicated arranged marriage. Primeval (BBC) #81 Story Title: untitled role reversal fic Pairings, Characters: Nick/Stephen, Ensemble Rating: Explicit | E Warnings: No Warnings apply Summary: Nick emerges from an anomaly into a world where Stephen is still alive . . . and Nick is the person who betrayed the team by siding with Helen. Nick doesn't know if he could return to his own 'verse even if he wanted to, but finds that Stephen is reason enough to make him want to stay in this one. At first Nick is distrusted, especially by Claudia. Nick helps the ARC by pointing out the differences between his world and this one and helping them try to figure out what Helen's up to. Eventually he is allowed back on the team; this time with Stephen as the team leader. Connor and Abby welcome Nick back with open arms (even if he isn't ~their Nick) and the four of them hang out together as a team and as friends. Nick and Stephen rekindle their friendship and grow even closer until they admit that the relationship they want is far different from the one they had before. (If you're familiar with Primeval, this fic was started for the role reversal square for trope_bingo.) Star Wars Legends, X-Wing series #92 Story Title: Just Like That, Everything Changes Pairings, Characters: Wes Janson/Derek"Hobbie"Klivian, Wedge Antilles, Tycho Celchu, minor characters Rating: General | G Warnings: No Warnings apply Summary: After years of being"just friends", an imminent separation forces Wes and Hobbie to finally accept their feelings for the other, and in time, they may even admit this to each other. Supernatural #93 Story Title: Angel of the Morning Pairings, Characters: Gabriel/Christa(OFC) Rating: Explicit | E Warnings: Chooses not to use Warnings Summary: slightly inspired by the Juice Newton song of the same name. sequel to Invisible Touch (OC Edition). Things don't go as planned for our golden-eyed Archangel (do they ever?) Not every human has an Angel as a soulmate, but every Angel has a human as a theirs. Will Christa be able to accept the truth when she finds out just how deep the bond between her and Gabriel goes? Or will she reject him forever? Can true love really conquer all? Transformers Generation One #98 Story Title: Pairings, Characters: Prowl & Barricade, Prowl & Bluestreak, Prowl & Bluestreak & Barricade, Prowl/Starscream, Prowl/Jazz, Codicil, First Aid, Lifeline, Nightstalker, Accord, Trailbreaker, Crosscut, Pulse, Incidental OCs Rating: Teen | T Warnings: No Warnings apply, Chooses not to use Warnings Summary: Prowl, a young single parent, manages raising his creation, the demands of his own neglectful former guardian, and seeks to enter into a relationship. TVXQ #99 Story Title: Digital Stockholm Pairings, Characters: Jung Yunho/Shim Changmin Rating: Explicit | E Warnings: mentions of suicide, stress induced anxiety, depression symptoms Summary: Yunho has no idea why there are concerning videos of Changmin on his laptop, but it might just unhinge the volatile and complicated relationship he’s maintained with Changmin for the last decade. Set at the end of 2014, a psycho-dramatic get-together fic. Voltron: Legendary Defender #101 Story Title: An Inconvenient Attachment Pairings, Characters: Keith/Pidge | Katie Holt, Ryan Kinkade/James Griffin (mentioned), past Pidge | Katie Holt/Original Male character, Pidge | Katie Holt Shiro (Voltron) Keith (Voltron) Iverson (Voltron) James Griffin (Voltron) Ryan Kinkade Rating: Explicit | E Warnings: No Warnings apply, Trans Female Pidge | Katie Holt, Accidental Voyeurism, Summary: In the aftermath of the failed Kerberos mission, Katie Holt descended into despair. No amount of skill would give her the information she wanted, especially after being banned from Garrison property by Commander Iverson. Thus there was only one solution in her mind. She had to infiltrate the Galaxy Garrison, to be close to the source and enable her to find what she needed to find to know the fate of her father and brother. Getting in was the easy part. Being able to stay? That was a little harder. Remaining unattached so she could focus entirely on finding her family? That was the hardest part, harder than she ever could expect after years of being brushed aside. #104 Story Title: show me what you're made of Pairings, Characters: Pidge | Katie Holt/Original Male Character, Pidge | Katie Holt/Ryou Shirogane, Pidge| Katie Holt, Ryou Shirogane Rating: Explicit | E Warnings: Underage Drinking, Dubcon, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Ryou is Shiro's twin brother, Trans female Pidge, Transphobia, trans slurs Summary: Katie Holt, graduate student at the Taylor-Keaton Institute of Technology, was proud of the work that her father and brother did at the Galaxy Garrison. Even knowing they were going to be gone for several months at the least going the furthest any manned mission had gone, filled her more with pride than with dread. Months passed, and then days passed without word from Matt. And then she saw the news. And her world crumbled apart. (A story in five parts about mourning, denial, and coming into adulthood by throwing oneself in the deep end and struggling to stay afloat.) Watch Dogs (Video Games) #105 Story Title: Hurricane Pairings, Characters: Aiden Pearce/Jordi Chin, Marcus Holloway/Wrench (Watch Dogs) Rating: Mature | M Warnings: Graphic Violence Summary: People keep going missing in downtown San Francisco, including a member of DedSec. When Marcus and the rest of the gang start to investigate, their mission runs face first into one that Aiden Pearce is involved in too—but this time, close and personal instead of from behind the safety of a camera and a drone. When all of that piles on top of a job Jordi Chin's on, Marcus begins to wonder if he's pissed off any unloving gods recently.

#WIPBigBang #WIP Big Bang #looking for an artist #looking for artists #artists needed #artist sign up #art claims #mod post #2019

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obsessedwithereri-nz · 5 years

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Stone Cold Chapter 1 (FULL)

Hey guys! I decided to post the full chapters of my first ever fic on Tumblr because why not! Follow the tag #stonecoldfic to find the rest of the chapters! Enjoy!!

Levi x Eren

Summary: Ever since Levi was a pre-teen, he knew he’d have to marry her, otherwise he’d have to answer to his abusive uncle which never turned out well for Levi’s wellbeing. But after meeting a certain singer at his favorite bar, he knew he was in deep, deep shit.

Warnings: None

SLAM

The polished wooden door slams open. A dark-haired man of short stature bolts from inside the gorgeous ‘American Dream’ home, desperation is written all over his objectively perfect face. A thick layer of pure white snow coats the driveway, almost making him slip and fall as he makes his way to his parked car now also covered with snow.

Reaching into his trousers, he pulls out his keys with shaking hands and attempts to insert the key into the driver door lock.

“For fuck’s sake. Come. On!” the man yells.

“It’s okay, Levi. Calm. Take a deep breath and calm…” The familiar voice sounds inside Levi’s head, but he gasps as if someone were whispering in his ear. He glances around him, however, realizing that, of course, he’s alone.

Levi lowers his grey-blue eyes back down to his still trembling hands. Releasing the furrow of his brow, he closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. In through the nose, out through the mouth. He looks down once more to find his hands perfectly still.

The corners of his mouth pull upwards ever so slightly, which has become an almost foreign feeling to him once again.

“I’m coming. Please wait for me.”

-----

Alcohol and good music.

That’s what Levi would answer with if someone asked him what he thought made a good time. Music can make you feel good, and alcohol can make you feel even better, plus if you drink enough of the good shit, it’ll make you forget about all the bullshit going on in your life. But in Levi’s case, he wishes it’d do more.

“Maybe if I just keep drinking, it will all disappear,” Levi says to himself as he sits in his car, parked outside an old fashioned building covered in white paint. The car is his most prized possession, a beautiful black 1966 Chevrolet Impala. He takes one last long drag of his cigarette before stepping out of his car, throwing the butt to the ground and snuffing it out with the heel of his leather dress shoes.

“Tsk… yeah right. But one can only try.”

Just like any other Monday afternoon at exactly 5:45pm, Levi exits his car, locks it, and walks up to the usual bouncer.

“Ackerman! What a surprise.” Not really. “Another rough day at the office?”

“Does today end with ‘day’, Nile?” It’s a good thing for Nile that he knows Levi decently well after all his visits here, otherwise, he’d probably be shitting his pants at the deathly look Levi never ceases to wear. His cold grey eyes, sunken into his sockets, shadowed by dark circles, and his contrasting pale white skin could make even the manliest of men look the other way.

“Ha- always the jokester, aren’t we, Levi?” Nile laughs alone. “Go on in, man. I think you’re going to enjoy yourself tonight. We got a new face for the stage! He’s a goodie.”

Levi not at all subtly rolls his eyes and enters the bar, which goes by the name The Library and is, in reality, more of a lounge that features excellent live music, delicious food and the most unique cocktails around. The booths have extremely comfortable sofas on either side of black and white marble tables. Hanging from the ceiling are human-sized bubbles filled with cushions and a place to put drinks, and a nice small stage over in the corner furthest from the entrance and right by the bar. What’s better is that the good performers take song requests. Which is why Levi is beyond grateful it’s not a jukebox, because humans can say no to the shitty songs.

It’s a place anybody who is of age can go to do almost anything- relax, drink, eat, study, drink, work, play board games, drink, listen to music… you name it. Levi absolutely only goes for the music and booze; all the other bars in town around are filled with loud, smelly drunk assholes who have no respect for the other people around them, and Levi has no tolerance for people like that. Especially after being around said people at his work, minus the drunk part.

Although he does enjoy a strong drink, or five, he doesn’t do it for the social life, or to ‘let loose’ as some say. He drinks to escape and forget his cursed reality, even if it’s only for an hour or two.

He waltzes through the building over to the bar, takes his usual cushioned stool seat, removes his sleek suit jacket and lets out a sigh when he sees the bartender flirting it up with another customer down the other side.

“Oi, shitty glasses!” Levi projects down the bar, giving them a very unimpressed look. “You gonna do your job and get me a drink or not?”

“Leeeeeviiiiii!!” the bartender screeches like banshee, seemingly forgetting they were just talking to someone not five feet from them.

Levi winces at the awful sound then proceeds to grunt in annoyance when he sees them vaulting over the bar and racing over towards him with their typical ginormous smile that even the Joker would be terrified of. And, before he knows it, he can’t breathe. Shitty Glasses may not look physically strong from the outside, but fucking hell they would break Levi’s back if they hugged him even 0.1% harder.

“Get your fucking paws off me, crazy hag!” Levi groans with all of his might, and shoves them away. They stumble back a few feet, glasses falling down the bridge of their nose, and stare at him.

“Tsk”, Levi says with the tiniest of smirks that only people closest to him would recognize as a smirk, “how you doing, Hanji?”

“You always do know how to keep me on my toes, Levi,” Hanji exclaims as they vaults back over the bar flawlessly after playfully winking toward him. “Well, I am doing much better now that your booty is in that bar seat. Now, what can I get ya?”

“Jameson on the rocks.”

“Oh, going straight for the good stuff, huh?”

“Trust me. If I have to keep going home to all of that bullshit, I need that liquid gold in my system. And a lot of it.”

After hearing the melancholy tone in Levi’s voice, Hanji gives him a sad yet comforting smile then grabs the bottle of Jameson Irish Whiskey off the shelf, grabs a glass for each of them and begins to pour.

“Alright tough guy. What happened?” Hanji demands.

“Huh? What makes you think that anything ‘happened’?”

“Do you want them in alphabetical or chronological order?” Hanji giggles. “Well, for starters, you always start off with the strong stuff when you’ve had a particularly shit day. Was it the parents?”

Levi is shocked at how their first guess is spot on. Although, it wasn’t his parents either of them were thinking of or referring to.

Levi works for his girlfriend’s family in their furniture business, but it’s no ordinary furniture business. This shit is all handmade with the finest materials one can buy and majoritively custom orders from very “important” people with very “high net worths”.

Does Levi give a fuck about furniture? No. Does he give a shit about the difference between an Ottoman and a Hassock? Fuck no. Does he give a rats fucking ass about all these very important people? Absolutely fucking not! The only thing Levi does care about is getting through the day without punching somebody’s lights out or getting alcohol poisoning that night.

Sometimes he wishes he could purposely mess up these people’s orders just to make sure they don’t come back and buy from them again. But then he would have to deal with his soon to be parents-in-law getting on his ass even more than they already are. And as of this day, he has not made an overly noticeable mistake in years, yet they still find something to pick at as if they don’t have a fucking company to be running.

“Do I really need to answer that?” Levi answers as he buries himself in his glass.

“Oh, hun, I really don’t understand why you don’t just up and quit already. You’re obviously miserable there.”

“You know I can’t do that, Hanji.” He puts down his now empty glass and stares at the freshly cleaned bar top.

“Actually, I don’t know. You’re not exactly one to share details, Levi. Not that I mind, of course, like yes I’d like to know what’s making you so upset all the time but I’m not going to pry.”

Levi finally looks at Hanji again and raises his eyebrow while keeping his stoic expression plastered to his face.

“What? I know my boundaries,” they say, lifting their hands up off the bar to either side of their head.

“Not when it comes to personal space you don’t,” Levi mutters as he returns to look at his empty glass. Hanji sighs, grabs the whiskey bottle again and fills Levi’s glass with more.

“Hey now, everybody needs a hug every now and again. Anyway, you know little ol’ me is here to listen if you need, and I’m not gonna blab. Hell, I don’t know who I’d blab to!”

“Look, it-!” Levi slams his hands on the bar, startling Hanji and other bar-goers around him. Quickly realizing his sudden outburst, he looks around and sits back down in his seat and buries his face in his skinny hands. “I’m sorry, I just… I can’t, okay. That’s all you need to know.”

“Alright, I’ll back off. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have pushed. I’ll be right back.”

He lowers his hands to reveal his furrowed brows, and all they do is wink and walk away from behind the bar and behind the curtains by the stage. Levi rolls his eyes, downs his already filled glass and begins to eye the whiskey bottle Hanji left out in arms reach, considering pouring himself another glass. Yes, this would be his third glass and probably not his last, but he does need to drive home. Sure, he could get a cab, God knows he can afford it, but there’s no way in hell he’s leaving his baby out for drunkards or teenagers to vandalize or steal. Although, this wouldn’t be the first time he’s driven home drunk before. He knows it’s wrong, he knows he could get somebody seriously hurt or worse, but all his cares and worries in the world fade away when that first drop of amber liquid makes contact with his taste buds.

As if out of nowhere, a loud screeching noise sounds from the stage, snapping Levi out of his alcohol-induced daze to see Hanji standing right beside him, blocking his view of the stage.

“What the fuck? You letting some amateur on the stage tonight or something?” Levi says with a big scowl on his face, irritated that his quiet place was disrupted by something louder and more annoying than Hanji’s voice.

“Don’t worry, you’re gonna like this one.” They send him yet another wink and walk out of his line of sight, revealing some snot-nosed kid standing on stage.

However, that not particularly nice thought vanished from existence as soon the ‘kid’ looked out into the crowd. Then all Levi could think and say was:

“Wow.”

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builder051 · 6 years

Text

He lives to run

For @royalermine. I’ve had these scenes in my head for a while now, but once I tried to put them on the page, they started to shape themselves around the events in Royal’s I, Zola.

(It’s a great read, but if you don’t have time for the novel-length wonder, a basic summary is that new evidence comes to light showing that while Zola was the brains behind the winter soldier project, he was less of a monster and more of a man caught up in impossible circumstances. That’s all you really need to know in order for my fic to make sense, but if you’re looking for recs, well, there you go.)

This falls comfortably into Heroverse, even though it pulls in Royal’s missing moment/subplot. We’re still in that ‘post-CA:CW Steve and Bucky working for (reestablished) SHIELD as boyfriend heroes’ place.

_____

Bucky starts to pale during the pre-mission briefing. He slumps in his chair and rests his elbows on the conference table as they watch the slideshow of maps and aerial photos of a not-entirely-decommissioned HYDRA base. Steve steals a glance at him from the corner of his eye, then returns his attention to the presentation.

“Some of the names we’ve attached to the faces have a history,” Fury says, zooming in on a picture of a man in a black coat slinking along the perimeter fence. It’s so grainy Steve can barely pick out his features. He’s stopped wondering how SHIELD’s facial recognition technology works, but he doesn’t think it’ll ever cease to amaze him. “This one’s former KBG. With ties to Russia and Germany.”

Bucky gives a noncommittal grunt and reaches for the coffee carafe. He tops off his cup, then stares into the dark liquid as Fury progresses to the next photo.

“Some of them, not so much.” The director tightens up on another face. “CalTech professors don’t have a lot of reason to be in Siberian bunkers, if you get my drift.”

Steve nods. He’s used to jobs like this: bring back the hostages; leave the bad guys in a pile on the floor. If there are in fact both. He feels better about the outcome if he winds up evacuating a few civilians, but there’s something invigorating about fighting alongside Bucky, communicating in nods and glances to coordinate maneuvers they can laugh about on the plane ride home. It reminds him of the Howling Commandos days, and even of the days before that, when they talked through baseball games as they walked home on muggy summer nights.

But there’s a long way to go before they get to that point, if they do at all. “Any evidence they’re keeping him there against his will?” Steve asks. He looks at Bucky again. It feels wrong to make a bigger deal of Bucky’s trauma than Bucky does himself, but left to his own devices, Bucky would probably never bring it up.

“Not directly, but we have reports of chemicals and lab equipment arriving at the location two weeks before Professor Carlisle did,” Fury answers. “And this from the security camera outside his house in Pasadena.” He advances to the next image. A half-dozen newspapers sit strewn across the porch, along with a soggy-looking Amazon package.

“So,” Steve says slowly. “They knew he was coming. But he didn’t know he was leaving.”

“Exactly,” Fury says. “Five more brilliant minds from around the country have gone missing. Carlisle’s the only one we’ve captured on film, but it’s feasible that all of them could be here. And with the four agents we’ve also seen, that’s ten possible opponents.”

“Or just four HYDRA with the rest as hostages,” Steve counters.

“Or any combination in between,” Fury finishes. “Plan for the worst, hope for the best.”

Bucky scoffs. He takes a long gulp of his coffee and sets the cup down hard. A little splashes over the edges. Steve notices he has the handle of the mug gripped in his left hand, the light glinting off his shiny silver knuckles. His right is balled into a fist on the table.

“You ok?” Steve asks softly.

“Yeah.” Bucky scrapes his thumb over lip of the mug, picking at a crack in the glaze. “I’m fine.”

“Ok.” He doesn’t push it, but Steve drops his palm over Bucky’s clenched fist. He asks Fury, “Know what they’re trying to do?”

“No. Not really.” Fury flicks the slideshow forward to show a scanned image of a shipping receipt. It’s difficult to read through creases and garbage stains. “The chemicals are listed here.” Fury points. “It’s all common enough stuff. Every hospital and university on the planet stocks the same things. It’s like...trying to do a crossword when all you have are the blanks. No clues, and every letter of the alphabet is up for grabs.”

“Yeah,” Steve sighs. “And we don’t go around doing searches and seizures in hospitals and universities, so, benefit of the doubt, I guess.”

“And that’s where we trust your discretion. And your expertise.”

Bucky’s hand starts to vibrate under Steve’s, a miniscule, fast-paced tremor that carries up his arm and furthers the slouch in his shoulders. Steve feels like he’s shaking too, though the movement he absorbs stops at his wrist.

“Buck?” Steve strokes the back of his hand. “What’s--?”

But he doesn’t get to finish the question. Bucky audibly grinds his teeth, then shoves his chair back from the table and tears for the door.

“Buck, wait,” Steve calls after him, getting to his feet. But the door to the conference room slams.

“Shit,” Steve mutters. “Sorry.” He looks at Fury.

“No, don’t be.” Fury raises one eyebrow. “He alright?”

“I don’t know,” Steve says. “I mean, generally, yes. But... I don’t know.”

“You know what I mean.” Fury presses a button on the wall, and the holographic screen vanishes. The room feels dark without it. “Do I need to bring in another team? Barton and Romanov are on call, but...” He shakes his head.

Steve lets out his breath. “ I don’t know,” he says again. “Give me a minute with him.” He doesn’t wait for permission to step toward the door.

Bucky stands in the hall, hunched over with his back to Steve. He keeps his head down as Steve softly says his name.

“Bucky?” Steve approaches slowly, but not quietly. Being a little on edge is helpful for missions, but sneaking up on him will do more harm than good now.

Bucky’s shoulders rise and fall with the rhythm of breath that comes too fast. His right hand embeds in his hair, and his left rises slowly toward the wall. Steve isn’t sure if he’s going to steady himself or punch it.

“Hey. It’s alright.” Steve reaches for him. The tips of his fingers barely brush the thick fabric of Bucky’s tactical vest, but Bucky cringes and pulls away again. A strangled noise comes from his throat, and he trips down the hall toward the bathroom.

Steve curses under his breath. If Bucky wants privacy to get himself under control, Steve should let him have it. It’s hard to stand in the hall and know Bucky’s falling apart on the other side of the door, but Steve’s willing to try. For a few minutes at least.

But then Bucky starts gasping. Then retching. A choked string of profanities reaches Steve’s ears along with the sound of liquid hitting toilet water.

“Aw, Buck,” Steve sighs. He paces back and forth in front of the bathroom door. He’ll give him five minutes. He’ll give him three. He’ll give him ninety seconds…

Not quite a minute passes, and Steve still can’t decide on a course of action. But then Bucky heaves again, and this time it turns to a different sound. A primal sob that’s a hack and a wail all at once.

It doesn’t matter that Bucky locked the door. Steve breaks the bolt with one good shove and runs to Bucky’s side, skidding the last couple yards on his knees like a batter scrambling for home plate.

“It’s ok,” Steve says, trying to breathe and speak at the same time. The last thing he wants is for the franticness in his voice to feed Bucky’s panic. “Alright. It’s alright.” He sweeps Bucky’s hair out of his face and strokes it down his neck. The exposed skin above his collar is damp with clammy sweat.

Strings of vomit and mucous hang from Bucky’s lips and sway over the toilet bowl. His adam’s apple bobs up and down. He draws in a quavering, wet-sounding breath and immediately begins to cough and sputter.

“”Ok, ok, Buck.” Steve pats him between the shoulder blades, hoping to break up whatever he’s choking on. “Breathe. I got you.”

Air moves audibly in and out, rattling through Bucky’s throat. Steve’s lungs burn in sympathy. It’s clear Bucky’s suffering physically, but Steve has no idea where he is mentally. He wraps his hands around Bucky’s trembling biceps and presses his chest to his back, desperate to ground him.

“It’s ok,” Steve intones. “Get your breath. It’s ok.”

But it’s not working. Bucky gags harshly, bringing up coffee and acid all over the toilet seat. A low whine escapes his lips, and he breaks into a fit of deep coughs.

“Come on, Buck. Calm down.” It’s probably the worst thing he can say, but Steve can’t stop himself. “Calm down, please, Buck. Calm down.”

He’s been to the therapy sessions. He knows Bucky can’t help it. He knows some words carry double meanings, encoded messages that can be intentional or not. They can be born of cruel brainwashing or just the ebb and flow of social norms. A lot of things might be different now from the way the were in ‘45, but the world still has a hard time with men showing their feelings.

But I don’t, Steve thinks. It’s fine, Buck. I wish I could help you calm down. I wish I could flip a switch and take it all away…

Bucky heaves again, and this time Steve feels nauseous too. What is he doing? Of course he doesn’t wish that. Taking away Bucky’s autonomy and free will is still a crime, no matter how good his intentions. Even though he’s said none of it aloud, Steve still feels the need to apologize.

“I’m sorry.” He dips his chin, his temple brushing past Bucky’s ear. “I’m so sorry, Buck.” Steve can’t think of anything else to say, so he just sits there holding him, letting his legs go numb and praying Bucky understands.

Finally the tension begins to ease. There’s more space between the sobs. Bucky’s muscles loosen, and he melts into a lax heap sandwiched between Steve and the toilet.

Steve lets out a breath of relief. He brushes a lock of sweat-damp hair out of Bucky’s eyes, then erases a tear track from his cheek. “Ok,” he whispers. “You back with me?”

“Hm.”

Steve can’t help but smile. It’s a small response, but it’s music to Steve’s ears. Bucky may be tender and sick and in no shape for a mission, but at least Steve has him again. “That’s good,” he whispers.

Bucky slowly reaches up to flush the toilet. He shifts to a more upright seated position, then blinks at Steve. He opens his mouth, his brow furrowing as he searches for words.

Steve’s working on being patient, on letting Bucky voice his thoughts at his own pace. He’s getting better at it, but as their therapist often points out, change takes time. It’s still easier to give him choices. “Do you feel up to going home?” Steve asks. “I just have to talk to Fury for a minute, then we can go. Or we can stay here.”

“No.” The force of it surprises Steve. Bucky’s weak and breathless, but his tone is clear. “No...I…” He swallows. “We have to--”

“Buck…” Steve shakes his head. “You‘re not feeling good. Someone else can go.”

“But it’s our mission,” Bucky protests. “I have to do it.”

“No, you don’t.” Steve squeezes his shoulder. “You’re allowed to turn it down. And...this time I think you probably should.”

“But...what they’re doing, who knows how many innocent lives are at stake.”

“You’re right,” Steve says. “We don’t know. It’s like Fury said. It’s a puzzle with no clues.”

“No!” Bucky slams his fist down on the toilet seat. “You just don’t want to see it. Chemicals. Lab shit. Abducted scientists. What do you think they’re doing, Steve?” The threat of tears creeps into his tone again, along with anger and blatant obviousness.

Steve sighs. Of course he’s thought about it. He thinks about it all the time, even when Fury’s not showing them pictures from HYDRA’s trash can and telling them to go fetch. What if they revitalized the program? What if what happened to Bucky happens to someone else? How would he feel about fighting them, now that he’s seen the love of his life fall apart and try desperately to pick up the pieces?

But they’re back to Bucky’s trauma again. Steve doesn’t go there unless Bucky does first. And now that they are there, Steve would rather stay silent. He can’t, though. Not with Bucky looking at him like that.

“They hurt you, Buck,” Steve says softly. “I know you’re upset about it.” That doesn’t begin to cover it. “I am too. But you don’t have to go after justice. It matters more that you’re ok.”

“It’s not about me.” Bucky’s voice drops to somewhere between a whisper and a growl. “If they’re doing the same thing over again, they’ve got some new guy locked up in a cage. Maybe some kid, maybe someone...someone like Wanda.”

Even in his less than stable state, Bucky’s playing to Steve’s sensibilities. He knows exactly what buttons to push. He always has. If Steve weren’t so grateful Bucky’s communicating at all, he’d hate to admit that it’s working. He can’t contradict him. “Buck…” Steve bites his lip.

“No, listen.” Bucky’s jaw trembles. He pulls in a congested breath, then twitches, and he suddenly has a handful of Steve’s collar clenched in his metal fist. “They’re… Fuck, Steve, they’re gonna do what they did to Zola. Six times over.” Bucky’s face is inches from Steve’s. A vein throbs in his forehead, and moisture glistens in his eyelashes and moustache. “Prisoners manipulated into killing their own families, it ain’t exactly new. How many of those doctors were married, huh? Fury didn’t feel like putting a number on that for us.”

“He might not know,” Steve murmurs. He holds as still as he possibly can. He trusts Bucky not to hurt him. Not on purpose. But Bucky’s dangerous. He’s just as strong as Steve is, both in body and stubbornness. They share protective instincts, too. It makes them a good team, but it makes their conflicts bitter, each of them ending up with more defensive wounds than strikes landed.

“I don’t buy it.” Bucky’s breathing speeds up again, puffs of warm air hitting Steve’s cheeks and making the whole room smell like fear and bile. “I don’t fucking buy it.”

Bucky’s right. About the whole thing, probably. Steve’s all for innocent until proven otherwise, but Occam’s razor is enough to tell him that’s most likely not the case here. Their worst fears about HYDRA are coming true. And Bucky’s probably the best-equipped of all of them to take them down. Except that he can’t, not without destroying himself. If he does, he’s taking Steve down with him.

Fury will take one look at Bucky and declare him unfit to fly, let alone fight. Steve’s not worried about physical danger. It’s Bucky’s progress that’s in jeopardy. Recovery isn’t linear; they’ve established that. But how does he tell the beautiful, powerful man in his arms that doing the right thing is, in this case, the wrong thing?

Bucky has the first shred of autonomy he’s had in over 70 years. He’s just beginning to get over the stumbling block of Zola’s tape, to not look sad anymore when they walk into the SHIELD building where the doctor’s body had been found.

Steve can’t tell Bucky what to do. His conscience won’t let him. So he does the next best thing and closes the gap between their bodies, pulling Bucky against his chest. He’s stiff in Steve’s arms for a moment, then his head drops to Steve’s shoulder, and the grip of his metal hand loosens until his palm is flat over Steve’s sternum.

“Sometimes,” Steve whispers, blinking back tears, “You just gotta take care of you. And if you’re not, then I’m damn well gonna try.”

Bucky doesn’t reply. He’s past words again, and crying into the fabric of Steve’s uniform. But he shifts slightly, pushing upward until the top of his head fills the space below Steve’s chin. He leaves no gap. And no uncertainty.

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colorofinsanity · 5 years

Text

A Vampire oneshot fic thing I wrote because I was in a mood

Trigger warning; predatory men

“I’ll be back later, I promise.” Morgan assured Erik, leaning on the door. “Before the sun rises.”

Morgan clicked her tongue. From the edge of the room, one of her hounds, Indigo, heeled to her. She turned to leave, but...

“Wait.” Erik said, his voice mixed of resignation and concealed panic. Morgan paused in the threshold as he approached her.

Gingerly, he took her left hand and pressed it to his lips, imparting what bit of comfort he could into the kiss. Morgan sighed, but gave him a grateful smile.

Indigo nudged her leg, a short whine a reminder of the time.

“I have to go.” Morgan affirmed, pulling back from Erik. The door of the undercroft slammed closed behind her, the noise ringing through the misty night with a harsh finality.

Had Erik known what Morgan planned to do, he would have tried to stop her from leaving. He would have barred the door, put himself between her and the exit, despite his fear of her hounds. Bless his mad, violent, gentle heart.

Morgan felt her own heart in her throat. Vainly, she tried to swallow it down.

She set off into the street, pulling her veil over her face, Indigo close on her heels. She bid him to change his shape, the wolf taking on the form of a large raven. She too, changed slightly, unfolding inky feathered wings to match her familiar’s.

The two took to a fluttering flight over the rooftops of the empty city. There was no one to see them, not that anyone would care. On their journey they passed the winged constructs of necromancers, hulking stitched creatures that took no notice of the two fae passing in their midst.

Morgan bit her lip at the desolate streets. The few figures she did see either slipped from shadow to shadow, or lumbered obliviously and carelessly. Too great a toll had been exacted here. There was hardly anyone left living in the city.

What was it she had said to Erik?

“The dead outnumber the living. And they’re still walking. The dead, I mean.”

She was regretting how true that was.

She allowed herself to freefall toward the pavement, catching herself in the canvas of her wings before dropping neatly on the ground before a dilapidated town manor that was near identical to every other gray stone building around it. She folded in her wings, and they disappeared from normal sight. Her heels clicked on the cobblestone, the mist swirling around her ankles and mingling with her skirts.

Perhaps it was Morgan’s spectral appearance that caused the servant at the door to flinch, or maybe it was simply the sight of another living person.

Still, Morgan addressed the woman in a smooth purr, her veil making it much easier to hide how tired, and how afraid she was.

“I am here to see Soren. He should be expecting me.”

“Your... your name, miss?”

Morgan had to think for a moment. What pseudonym had she given him? It was either Grimheild or...

“Persephone.” Morgan said, and that seemed to be the correct answer.

The servant opened the door for Morgan, motioning her in. Morgan flinched crossing the threshold, failing to notice the iron ward until it pricked and pulled at her flesh. It wasn’t a particularly strong ward, however, and it allowed her to pass through.

Morgan was led through the echoing, dusty halls of the claustrophobic manor. Though every nerve of her frayed with each step, she was comforted by the flutter of sacred wings at every window, and the bright eyes of Indigo that watched over her from the glass panes.

Every sound was muffled by the dust in this house. The steps of Morgan and the servant, the sigh of Morgan’s breath, even the thud of her heart in her ears was muted. It was an uncomfortable feeling of strained energy, a rabbit who wanted simultaneously to flee and to freeze.

Morgan never had been fond of being the rabbit.

She was led, finally, to an open area; a huge dining room, cavernous in its way, and lifeless. Dusty, dead, and mute, like everything else. Too big for its sole occupant, a large man seated at the head of the table.

The servant scurried away with a hasted bow, leaving Morgan alone with the dust and the man.

Morgan stood at the edge of the room, silent. The man did not rise to greet her. He did not speak. He did not glace her way.

Morgan swallowed the lump in her throat.

Time to do what she did best.

“You know your door is warded?” she asked haughtily, her shoes clattering on the marble floor as she crossed the vast expanse to the table.”If it can’t even keep the likes of you out, I don’t much see the point of it.”

Soren glanced up at her from the wine glass he had apparently been staring into. Morgan sneered under her veil. How unoriginally cliche of him.

She pulled out a chair next to the table’s head, seating herself without waiting for permission and pushing up a cloud of dust as she did. She shoved down the urge to cough, leaving an uncomfortable itching in her throat. She leaned back in the chair, trying to appear as comfortable and nonchalant as her host.

“Miss Persephone.” he spoke at last, his tone baring the name for the lie it was. Morgan only tilted her head. Of course it was a lie. She knew it. He knew it. Woefully unimportant.

Soren was a rather large man. Two heads taller than Morgan and twice her breadth, but Morgan was used to being the shortest in the room.

Being shorter than him wasn’t the problem.

Vampires, as a rule, were faster and stronger than Morgan could ever push her frail elvish body to be.

Soren reached over to his side, where rested a second wineglass and a bottle; the only things in the room that weren’t covered in dust.

“Well. You said you intended to bribe me, yes?” he said, offering the filled glass to Morgan. “I remember it like it was yesterday. Your manservant was glaring at me.”

“You’re memory must be going. That was this afternoon. And I distinctly told you he wasn’t my servant.” Morgan accepted the glass, but didn’t dare to drink it.

“Oh yes. And I asked if he was your lover.”

“Can we skip this part?” Morgan sighed. “I’m not here to play. I’d like to get to-”

“The part where you bribe me?” Soren took a sip of his drink.

“I shouldn’t have to bribe you to run your city.”

“It’s not my job to run the city.”

“The mayor is dead. So, yes, it is.”

Soren raised an eyebrow, conceding Morgan’s point.

“The creatures in the swamp. The new ones.” Morgan began, “They’ll target children over others. You need to bring the families on the edge into the inner city. They’ll not survive otherwise.”

Soren was staring at Morgan, a dark look in his eyes.

“Take off your veil.” he said.

“No.” Morgan replied.

They stared at each other coolly, two vipers in the pit. It was Soren who broke the silence.

“There isn’t room in the inner city for anyone, much less hundreds of people.”

“Half the population is dead.” Morgan’s voice clipped, “There’s plenty of room.”

Soren threw his hands out in a shrug.

“And why would I do that? You’ve yet to convince me.”

Morgan took a deep breath. When next she spoke, her words were layered with magic Soren could never hope to replicate. A fae contract. A contract Morgan had murmured to herself, again and again like a lullaby, that she had scribbled down countless times in an alphabet Erik couldn’t read. She reviewed it, reconstructed it, over and over, until she could find no loopholes, no exploits.

She could only pray she was through enough.

“I will give you my blood. No more than what you can take without my passing out. You, in return, will bring those families on the outskirts into the safest parts of the city. You will insure to the best of your ability that no harm will befall those children. Those are my terms.”

Soren tilted his head with a bemused smile.

“You must think I’m so easy.” he purred. “What makes you think I’d want your blood? I have plenty.”

Morgan raised an eyebrow under her veil. She tossed up between two potential responses, both equally snarky.

She raised her hand up, resting her elbow on the table. Her hand was bent back, exposing the pale skin of her wrist and the blueish veins within. She watched Soren’s eyes follow her motion, watched him stare at her exposed wrist and his gaze unfocus.

“That’s why.” Morgan said shortly. It took Soren a moment to catch her meaning. He flinched back into focus, frowning at his lack of control. With a dry laugh, Morgan rested her hand on the table.

“I know how valuable my blood is, Soren.” Morgan said, “Just by virtue of being a faerie. But were I to list all my names, you might realize how valuable it is.”

“.... All your names? Like Persephone?” Soren teased with some hesitance, trying to regain his control over the conversation.

“Yes, that’s a name that might be assigned to me.”

“The name of Destroyer… or the consort of Death?”

Morgan gave no answer. She knew she had him. She just needed his assent.

Soren folded his hands on the table.

“How valuable?” he asked.

“Have we a deal or not?”

Soren regarded her with a merciless smile. Morgan hated what came out of his mouth before he even said it.

“What if I want more than your blood?”

“Oh darling,” she replied harsly, her voice tinged with threat. “You’re not near pretty enough to get away with that.”

He laughed, the sound of it echoing, the cruelty of it somehow escaping the all encompassing muteness of the dust.

His next words hammered nails into Morgan’s coffin of instant regret. Words that sealed the fae contract, so that neither may back out or alter terms.

“Very well.” Soren said, “I accept.”

Morgan swallowed, steeling her nerve. She glanced out the tall windows of the dining room, catching glimpse of Indigo’s feathery silhouette. With a small smile, concealed beneath her veil, she turned to Soren.

“Well then. Here, then, or is there somewhere else you’d like to go?” she asked nonchalantly. Soren rose from the table, offering Morgan his arm.

Hesitantly, Morgan rose, lacing her arm into his. He led her deeper into the house, deeper into the dust and darkness.

Morgan knew, without question, he could hear her racing heartbeat. But did he know she was afraid? Did he know how this city, this swamp, destroyed her every nerve and will? How useless, how unreliable her magic was in this damned town?

Did he know how helpless she really was?

The trek through the lifeless corridors was agonizingly long and entirely too short. Morgan almost lost her nerve. She didn’t have enough time to gather it.

Soren pushed open the door and waved her in ahead. Morgan knew, of course, it would be a bedroom, because of course it would. The foreknowledge still hadn’t prepared her for it.

Morgan took a deep breath, filling every bit of her lungs with the dusty air.

This was the last chance she had to compose herself.

She remembered the shape of Indigo in the window.

She remembered the concerned kiss Erik had left on the back of her hand.

She remembered the face of her spouse, the warmth of his arm around her waist.

Morgan slid off the crown of black roses that held her veil in place, their silk petals crinkling in her hands.

She pulled off her dark mourner’s veil that had hidden her from the dead.

She turned back toward Soren. Unmasked. Exposed.

She didn’t like the smile he gave her.

“Remember our contract.” she said, her head held with grace. “If I pass out, I’ll curse your eyes out.”

“Of course.” Soren drawled. “Oh, but won’t you spend the night?”

“I have other promises to keep tonight.” Morgan said tersely. “So no, I will not be staying.”

Morgan held put her wrist impatiently.

“Can we get this over with?”

“How cute.” Soren chuckled at her, moving closer. “Have you done this before?”

More that she cared to admit.

At least last time she trusted the one with the fangs.

She didn’t answer, and Soren didn’t wait for one.

He took her proffered wrist, pulling it to his mouth, leaning down to make the connection. With a single fang, he pierced the delicate skin, blind to Morgan’s grimace. His tongue lolled out, catching the welling blood.

Morgan knew the routine. The shudder that ran through him, the tightening of his grip. Fae blood was potent, even addictive to vampires. No matter how often it was consumed, it always brought the same high.

Soren traced the way up her arm to Morgan’s neck, engulfing her in his bulk. It took everything Morgan had to let him. She was small. She was trapped.

Her only defense was her fire and her curse. Both would ruin her contract. Both could, albeit indirectly, lead to the deaths of dozens.

So Morgan let him.

His fangs hovered over a vein in her throat. Though Morgan braced herself, she could not help the yelp of pain that escaped her.

Fangs cut deep into the vein. Morgan grabbed a handful of her skirt, grinding her teeth through the pain. Soren shuddered and sighed, engrossed in the taste and scent. He pushed harder. Morgan clamped down on her whimper before it could rise.

Morgan forced herself to breathe. She counted her breaths.

One. Two.

She winced as he bit in harder. She tried not to listen to the sound of him swallowing, even though it was right by her ear.

Five. Six. Seven.

Soren let out a groan, lost in his gluttony. Morgan’s teeth felt they might crack with how hard she clenched them.

Nine. Ten.

She was getting dizzy. It was a woefully familiar feeling.

Eleven. Twelve.

“Enough.” Morgan said, her voice cracking. “Enough!” she commanded, stronger this time. She resisted the urge to shove him away from her. She knew if she did, his fangs might tear out the vein.

Slowly, thankfully, Soren pulled away without further prompting. Another second and Morgan might have burned him. He released her from his grip, and Morgan stumbled, her balance off, her head light. She managed to stand, looking dignified despite the fact she was spinning.

Soren licked the rements from his lips, sucking the blood from his teeth.

“Valuable indeed,” he murmured, his eyes hooded with a devious half-smirk. “Tell me, Miss Persephone… What is your name?”

“I needn’t tell you what I can do to you if you break our terms, do I?” Morgan said, gathering her veil and crown.

“... No.” Soren shook his head with a smile. “I will do as I’m asked… consider me fully bribed.”

Morgan rolled her eyes as she replaced her veil. She took a few steps toward the door, stumbling a bit on her way. Soren swooped in behind her, grabbing her forearm. Though he steadied her, she sidled away, barely restraining a catlike hiss.

“Allow me to escort you home.” Soren offered in false kindness, “I would hate if you ran afoul of someone’s construct…”

“There is no need of that.” Morgan spoke harshly. “I am fully capable of seeing myself home.”

“Then, I will at least show you the door.” Soren purred. That, Morgan could not deny. Not while still in his house. She was a faerie of the most ancient orders. She knew better than to be rude.

Still, Morgan couldn’t escape the choking dust of that house fast enough. She couldn’t prove that Soren tarried on purpose, but she was sure that he did. Despite her attempts to hurry, he moved infuriatingly slowly.

It was half an eternity before they made it back to the main entrance. Even still, with Soren’s leisurely gait and his arm around hers, it took the rest of eternity to reach the door.

“Good evening, Miss Persephone.” Soren said as his servant opened the door. Morgan slipped from his grasp and into the freedom of the night. She barely even registered the pull of the ward in her relief. Her lungs gasped the mercifully cold air, her head clearing of the dust and the fear.

Soren, however, prevented his servant from closing the door behind her. With a hand on the door, he leaned out into the night.

“Are you sure you can make it home on your own?” he asked with a demeaning smile, a smile that seemed to insinuate something. Morgan, still breathless and dazzled by escape, could not fathom what, nor, in that moment, did she care.

“I will be fine.” Morgan said, tossing her head. She turned away from the manor, the breeze picking at her veil and skirt. A dark, scruffy raven fluttered, landing on her shoulder.

“Good night, Soren.” Morgan threw the farewell over her shoulder without looking back. Indigo echoed with a sharp, judgemental caw.

The dizziness of the night gave way to the dizziness of blood loss. Morgan stumbled, tripping over her shoes, catching herself on a nearby wall. She was too weakend to fly. Luckily, she had planned ahead.

Indigo resumed his form of a wolf with a skeletal face, a varghest of Morgan’s homeland. Morgan pulled herself onto his bulk, allowing him to carry her back to the undercroft. With a trailing hand, she snatched up a sheet of shadow, using it to cover the both of them, not trusting her veil alone while on street level.

She leaned over Indigo’s back, stroking the bone enmanal of his muzzle as the wolf trotted through empty, narrow cobblestone, on two occasions passing by the lumbering constructs, nearly brushing against their swollen, necropsied limbs.

Necromancer's constructs had always wandered the streets of this city. They acted as guards and lamplighters, but nowadays… dangerous times called for larger, more violent constructs. The old ones kept being torn apart by the things in the swamp. The newer ones were… flawed. Stitched together in a hurry by frightened apprentices mourning their masters, their constructs could barely tell friend from foe.

And they were only half the reason for the dusk curfew.

But a mourner’s veil concealed the living from the dead, and with the addition of a shadowy shroud, both Morgan and Indigo passed unnoticed.

Indigo carried Morgan safely to the door of the undercroft. She had nearly nodded off by then.

She was so tired.

So tired.

She slid off Indigo’s side, opening the door that creaked loudly through the night. She slipped in quickly, before the noise could attract any unwanted attention. Indigo streaked past her, disappearing into the fur and happy yips of the other four varghests welcoming him back.

Indigo nearly tripped Erik as he passed him, Erik already off balance, having jumped off his stool with his hands in the air, as though pretending he hadn’t just been petting the fae wolves he had claimed to be repulsed by.

“I told you my hounds like you.” Morgan commented, fastening the door behind her.

“I… ugh…” Erik choked on his denial, and focused on more important things. “You’re back. Are you well? You look pale…” Erik slid off her veil to affirm his statement. He put a hand against her face and tsked. “You’re freezing! Come upstairs and get warm.”

He led her to the stairs by the hand, muttering to himself, leaving her veil and crown on the workbench as he passed it.

“I’m surprised you waited in the undercroft.” teased Morgan. “With the varghest and the malice… and the Lamplighter in the corner… you hate all of them.”

“I don’t hate-” he turned back toward her, only to notice the five huge varghests trailing after her, filling the entire stairway.

Erik made a deep, patient sigh.

“I don’t… hate… anything that is yours.” he said slowly.

Erik led Morgan upstairs and into her room. She managed to ditch her shoes by the door before she was bundled into bed and piled on top of by a small pack of varghests.

Now, when one adult varghest lays on you- that’s it. That’s your life now. The gods could not move it. Let alone five of them arranging themselves around you for comfort and warmth. At least this time none of them had decided to lay on her face.

Thoroughly trapped and thwarted for the night, Morgan settled for sleep into the safety and softness of the fur of her hounds.

#creative writing #faerie #fantasy #vampire #vampire fiction #horror #macabre

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poca-staks · 6 years

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Sent

By RoyaltyLaine

Summary: While figuring out a way to break up with her current guy friend without disappointing her father, Belle happens across a compromise that can either destroy her or provide her with the answer she's been seeking.

Rating: Mature for nudity. Words: 2038 Tags: Epistolary, Nudity, Sorry Wrong Number A/n: Yup Another RomCom. I blame this on my Tumblr mom @standbyyourmantis , Thanks to her and her amazing fics and @gwenore , I found my niche. lol read on (Ao3)

Belle's new guy friend was proving to be a pain in her ass. His constant requests for sex were pathetic, an annoying attempt to solidify his claim over her. For the past month his pleas were becoming more frequent and their dates, fewer. She considered breaking up with him sooner, and the only reason she hadn't was because of her father. He loved Gaston like a son and would boast proudly of their relationship to everyone he knew. Belle loved her father, and the thought of letting him down broke her heart, but the idea of having sex with Gaston and his chauvinistic sentiments made her stomach churn. She hoped that her distaste for him would evaporate after a few weeks, but it only grew. Especially when he began pressuring her into sex. What Belle needed was an equal ground. A compromise. A way where she wouldn't have to sleep with him, but also satisfying his need for her body until she could break up with him. She sighed when the newest text message from Gaston appeared on her phone.

How 'bout some sexy nudes babe.

That text alone made Belle groan and roll her eyes. It basically shouted at her that he had no sense of respect for her or their deteriorating relationship. After turning on the cap lock, she thumbed the letter N, then O. For a moment, as her finger hovered over the send button, she had an interesting thought. A nude picture of her could be the answer she was looking for. It would stop the pestering requests for sex, at least for a while. Then she can take this brevity of time to figure out a way to break it off with Gaston without disappointing her father. This could work.

Belle leapt from her bed, crossing her room in a nightie under a housecoat until she reached the vanity mirror in her bathroom. Keying out of the text message section of her phone, she turned on her camera. She's never taken any erotic picture, let alone a nude one. Without knowing the first thing to do, she began peeling off some of her clothing. First her robe, then, one by one she pulled down the spaghetti straps of her silk nightie, letting it fall and gather around her waist. Now, what about the bra, she reflected. Knowing Gaston, he would probably say that it wasn't a real nude, and would ask her to take her bra off too. So to keep herself from having to take another uncomfortable picture, she slid the straps off her shoulders and reached around and unhooked her bra removing it as well as a bit of her dignity.

She stared at herself in the mirror. Men thought this was sexy. They were just breasts, two sacks of fat that didn't serve any purpose unless a woman had just given birth. Overthinking helped some, she wasn't as nervous about snapping a photo of her breasts and then sending it to him. She held her phone up to the mirror, unsure about how to go about this. Should she pose? Should her hair be up or down? Was the light in her bathroom bright enough? Should she point her camera at an angle, selfie style, or just straight on like a portrait.

All in all, Belle took a total of fifteen pictures. She had no idea trying to take sexy pictures would turn her into such a shutterbug. She posed with her hair up and a few with it down, some blowing a kiss. A couple of vogue ones, aiming the camera at different angles. Puppy eyes and duck lips. But she always made sure that the primary focus was her breasts. Arching her back and puffing up her chest, helping to turn her perky B's into voluptuous D's. It kind of empowered her. All the photos she took were tasteful, and a bit artsy, even choosing to add a simple gold chain necklace. The hint of color made her photos look more elegant and her body more sophisticated.

After, she scrolled through the photos until she decided on one picture that was worthy enough to be shown. Her head was slightly tilted up. It made her neck look longer and her shoulders even. Her face was playfully sexy, biting her bottom lip and smiling wantonly while her blue eyes held her innocence in their soft gaze. The picture screamed come and get me. But as it would happen, her apprehension was back, so she decided to send it quickly, without thinking about it, like ripping a band-aid off. She hit the share button on the photo, scroll through her contact list to the G's, closed her eyes, and tapped his name. In a millisecond her phone notified her that her message had been sent. She breathed a sigh of relief and went back to her photo gallery to delete those pictures from her phone and her memory. All except for two, keeping those safe for her own personal and private viewing. She had to admit it. She liked doing her little intimate photo shoot. It was just too bad she couldn't show the photos to someone who could fully appreciate them. She made a promised to herself that she would never do something like that again, at least not for Gaston. But unfortunately, she had this gnawing feeling that his little monster wasn't so easily sated. In any case, she would have to work quickly and figure out a way to put an end to their relationship

Ten minutes went by and no response. Belle giggled to herself. Boys -because Gaston was nowhere near being a man- were so easy to preoccupy. She pictured him drooling over her photo like a wolf salivating over its prey, touching himself and pretending his hand was her. She hoped his hand was giving him all the pleasure he needed because the photo was all he was getting from her.

The night was getting later, and Belle was getting antsy. She was sure he would have sent something back. Something simple like Hot or Sexy. Gaston wasn't a man capable of writing sonnets by any means, but she would have at least thought he'd have sent something back by now. Anything. Just great, now she was feeling a little self-conscious. Was she not even good enough for the likes of someone as shallow as Gaston? She opened her contact list and scrolled to the G's. In her blind fury about Gaston, she mistakenly hit the name of her landlord, Mr. Gold, whose name was just under Gaston's. She quickly hung up just after the first ring. That was a close one. What would she and Mr. Gold even talk about on the phone at this late hour? Rent? Maybe calling Gaston right away was a bad idea. He would text her eventually. It was best not to think about it, so she turned off her phone and rolled over in bed.

A what if thought enter her mind. What if instead of Gaston, she accidentally sent Mr. Gold the nude picture. He would probably assume she was trying to get out of paying him and raise her rent substantially for trying to solicit him with her nude photographs. Belle chuckled. It was impossible, she knew. She was sure she sent the picture to the correct person.

She had known Mr. Gold since she was a young girl. Before he became her landlord, Mr. Gold was her father's. She had a schoolgirl crush on him when she became old enough to know what a crush was. Whenever he was collecting rent from her father, Mr. Gold always made it a task to talk to her. He asked mostly about school, how were her grades and were there any new school projects she was working. Reminding her that his shop was always open and free to her if she ever needed an artifact for a school project or report.

Her favorite thing about his monthly visits to her father's shop was the books he loaned her from the collection in his pawnshop. Most of them were fantasy, fearless knights fighting off a variety of beasts to win the heart and hand of the princesses. But there was one book that he'd let her borrow. It was her favorite. Instead of falling for the insipid prince who was only saving the fair maiden for glory, the princess fell in love with the beast, who loved her fiercely. When she told Mr. Gold how much she loved that particular book, he smiled and told her to keep it. Scribing the inside cover with her name and a note: May her light brighten, and shine on others as it has shined on me. Even to this day, she still had that book. Nestled safely between two other alphabetized books on her bookshelf. She still read it from time to time. Sometimes only what Mr. Gold wrote on the back of the cover.

But as it did, time didn't wait for either them, and the years went on one by one. Belle's crush on her father's landlord faded as she matured, and Mr. Gold became reclusive and jaded. When she reached adulthood, Mr. Gold had managed to be feared by the whole town from his cynical demeanor. Choosing only to be seen in expensive suits, or scarcely seen at all, holding himself up in his pawnshop or his big pink house on the edge of town; other than when the first of the month rolled around.

Belle was one of the few people in town who didn't cross the street or shield their eyes just to avoid Mr. Gold. In fact, she loved holding conversations with him. Even though he seemed more interested in the welfare of the library he was leasing to her, like if the heating was adequate in the winter and other such things, but Belle could tell there were hidden layers under his snide remarks and impertinent reproaches. Once, while speaking to him about the types of genre Storybrooke's residents like to check-out, she saw him smile. It was crooked, only one corner of his mouth raised into a thin grin. But there was a softness in his eyes, and for a moment it felt like they were just two normal friends sharing a conversation. It was the first smile she had seen since she was a child, and it made her smile in turn. They stood there in the moment together, Her smiling and enjoying his company. Him staring at her like she was heaven's light. Then, all of a sudden, it was like he realized what he was doing and left abruptly, vowing to see her for next month's rent on the way out of the library.

The ten o'clock news was beginning its nightly newscast and still nothing from Gaston. What was he doing with that picture of her that was taking almost an hour for him to respond back? Was he showing it to his buddies, posting it online, seriously what? Belle rolled over in bed and reached for her phone. Maybe she was just overreacting. The phone services were sometimes sketchy on this side of Storybrooke; perhaps he didn't even receive the message at all. Belle gave another big sigh and checked her phone.

She had a new message, but she bypassed it and went straight for Gaston's text thread. To her bewilderment, there wasn't any picture of her attached to the thread, just his last message asking for nudes. But she was sure she sent it. Was there a picture of her breasts floating around on someone else's phone?

After contemplating leaving town, there was a ding from her phone and a text notification, reminding her that she still had an unopened text message. More to her surprise, it was from Mr. Gold. Splayed on his empty thread, were her and her bare breasts. The gold necklace wrapping around the delicate curves of her neck while the slack of the chain rested between her cleavage. Under her naughty photo was a reply.

They're quite lovely, Ms French. Could I trouble you for another one?

She had heard Florida was nice this time of year.

@--->-----3nd

#rumbelle fic #rumbelle #sent #royaltylaine #my fic #one-shot #belle french #Rumplestiltskin #mr. gold

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yoiotdfics · 6 years

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Fic Recs for the Month of November 2016

Triple Axel by terunakamura

Summary:

Yuuri is so in love with Victor that he gets too distracted to do his jumps. What better solution than to avoid the problem?

fight for you, write for you by third

Summary:

The thing is, Yuuri had completely forgotten about his account on Figure Skating! until he sees the email in his inbox. He doesn’t know how he ends up awake at 3 AM defending Victor’s reputation from strangers on the internet.

Melting Point by cirrus (themorninglark)

Summary:

Katsuki Yuuri waves an awkward greeting at him. Yuri feels his blood rising, whirls and whips away. He’s definitely out of step now. Not that it matters. Not that he needs any more practice to beat Yuuri to a pulp.

In which a conversation takes place off the ice, and Yuri Plisetsky considers fragments, shards, and space to breathe.

Looking for a clue by neerappi

Summary:

It takes one touch and Yuuri’s head goes haywire.

Dear Mama by Ferrero13

Summary:

In which Victor writes letters to his mother, who is fifty percent of his rationality and self-control.

Cheering for You by gawsoloy

Summary:

The tissue box cover shielded his face, as if it was an impenetrable barrier to keep the stunning man in front of him from starting into his soul.

Learn to Love Yourself by SocialDegenerate

Summary:

Victor teaches Yuuri to become more attuned to his sexual side.

“Tonight,” Victor said, and his thumbs were rubbing little circles on Yuuri’s hips, making him painfully aware of the slight layer of fat that still padded some of his stomach, “I want you to become more comfortable with your body.”

Lift Me Up by ca_te

Summary:

Before Victor came barging into his life, Yuuri didn’t know what love was. Then Victor arrived and lifted his heart up. Ep 5 reaction ficlet!

Iced by Sandyclaws68

Summary:

A hard fall, ice packs, the Cyrillic alphabet, and Viktor all combine into one oddly comfortable situation.

Ice Posters, Warm Pictures by StorySongs

Summary:

Yuuri’s walls don’t stay blank forever, but this time he fills them with pictures of the real Victor.

What are we? by angel_ponders

Summary:

The media picks up on the close relationship between Yuuri and Victor, which forces Yuuri to confront him about the nature of their relationship.

And then cuddles, because we need cuddles.

What do you Want from me? by Goombella123

Summary:

The one in which they’re dating in all but name.

Mild spoilers past episode 3.

Hold my Heart by Gilrael

Summary:

Yuuri can see Victor’s mouth move, but he might as well be speaking Russian – all Yuuri can think about are the three words he’s been practising in his rare moments of privacy. He’s this close to saying them, they are burning on his tongue, filling his mind…

Sparks in The Snow by nuclearchinchilla

Summary:

Guang Hong Ji peeled Viktor’s thong off his head, throwing it aside, along with any remaining shred of his dignity. Honestly, he was just here to pretend to like hotpot, and he was feeling so traumatized right now.

Out in the cold, the red of the restaurant’s lanterns shone like large beads against the white streets and black-framed snack stands.

Sexy and I Know it, But Not by InsominiacArrest

Leo and Guang-Hong end up trying to increase their ‘sex appeal’ after seeing this year’s competition, they laugh, they cry, they look silly in a local park

Show Me by actualgayrobot

Summary:

Yuuri finds himself hot and bothered after his most recent Eros performance, wanting nothing more than some alone time in a private room to sort out his problems. He doesn’t plan to drag Viktor with him, it just kind of… happens.

A sister knows by preciousbunnynoiz

Summary:

Everyone says that Victor is a terrible flirt but Mari isn’t convinced.

Off the Ice by Lirillith read by Rhea314 (Rhea)

Summary: Guang-Hong Ji saw a lot more than naked Victor at that restaurant.

Old Wounds by YuYam

Summary:

It’s when Viktor takes off his shirt to change when Yuuri notices a small scar he’s never seen before on his upper back. He reaches a hand forward, his fingers lightly brushing the shiny pink skin, and he blushes when Viktor turns to acknowledge him. “Would you like to see more?”

stranger in the shell of a lover by astralelegies

Summary:

“Victor Nikiforov had always been just the right level of unattainable—an international skating celebrity who was close enough to dream about but remained constantly out of reach. Yuuri would see him at competitions, hoping for a chance to meet, praying that they wouldn’t, and thus a reasonable balance between reality and his own wilful illusion was maintained. Now Victor was his coach, his reality, and the balance was changing. He was on thin ice.”

For You, For Me by Val_Creative

Leo shares his headphones with Guang-Hong, making him flustered about how close they are. Having an unrequited crush feels disappointing, until maybe it’s just not unrequited at all.

Masquerade by Ashida

Summary:

“Just say the word.” came the whisper as Victor stepped close, behind them Yuuri was aware of guns out and at the ready, of confused men and questioned loyalties, here Victor was offering, and Yuuri was too selfish to say no.

“Ok.” Yuuri smiled as this game of masquerade came to an end, what would happen now, he didn’t know, he would probably die, his family would come after him and try to put a knife in his back or a bullet between his eyes, none of it mattered, because together they would fight, and the rest of the world would finally burn.

a single vowel in this metallic silence by 100demons

Summary: “Kissing you still feels like a surprise,” Yuri says thoughtfully.Post Episode 7.

Slow it down by SportsAnimeRuinedMyLife (KnightOfRage)

Summary: "At first, he looked at Yuuri and he just wanted.But then he started looking at Yuuri and wanting to protect him, to make him happy.Now he looks at Yuuri and he wants everything with him.It’s terrifying.“Or…people have always been easy for Victor. Yuuri is the exception to the rule.

When Everything Calms by lizo1294

Summary: After the kiss on the ice, Yuuri needs to be alone with Victor. But he’s also exhausted. He really should have taken that nap before the competition.

After the Free Skate by Arisprite

Summary: After everything that had happened, Yuri’s exhaustion is catching up to him. Victor’s arm is warm around his shoulders.

Strictly Professional by sqbr

Summary: Yuuri is deeply scandalised when he finds out everyone thinks he’s dating Victor.

The Aftermath of Sleepless Nights by JDGambit

Summary: Agape, eros, he felt it all and more and, he knew, with certainty that Yuuri felt the same. And wasn’t that just amazing?

AfterShocks by trixiechick

Summary: the reactions to The Kiss™ Seen Around the Skating World

In All of Creation by flyingcrane

Summary:

Yuuri knows everyone - friends, rivals, coaches, even strangers - have given Victor the “don’t break his heart” speech. He’s not surprised when it’s his turn, but he doesn’t expect to get it from his own mother.

Some Tender Love and Care by Momus

Summary: Victor tends to Yuuri after a long day of competition.

if only by nsykdk

Summary:

What if Victor never meant that kiss?

The Trouble With Boyfriends and Dogs by Wolfs_Ayame

Summary:

Makkachin is a boyfriend thief, Victor just wants to sleep, and Yuuri is a sass master.

Based off a Tumblr prompt challenge given to me by my friend Sachiro: “You can’t banish me, this is my bed too!”

Tomorrow the world breathes again by perennials

Summary:

“Can I touch you?”

“We’re holding hands. You already are.“

“Then, can I touch you more?”

Thunder comes after by calciseptine

Summary:

“Touch me,” Victor demands.

For Makkachin by anomeganeyatsu

Summary:

The moment he hears the words Makkachin, hospital and not gonna make it in the same sentence his mind flashes back to Vicchan.

Bridge-Passage by Eithe

Summary:

Yuuri and Victor are figuring out how to build a partnership, but it’s hard when their best common language is nonverbal.

When He’s Not Even Trying by qwartooty

Summary:

“Do you have any kinks?”

Viktor looked down at Phichit, surprised. “Excuse me?”

“Fetishes. Turn-ons. Things that make you go, ‘Oooh! Wow! Yeah!’”

“I know what a kink is. Why are you asking me that kind of question?”

“Don’t look so scandalized. It’s for my psychology project. Which I just told you about, but you were too busy drooling over Yuuri to listen,” Phichit said.

(post episode 7 - In which Viktor is enlightened, Phichit is a little shit, and Yuuri frantically searches for ways to keep surprising Viktor)

Momentum by YankingAwry

Summary:

Here was how the scene went in Yuuri’s head:

Victor, frozen, clueless: the ruins of a smile on his face. But Yuuri, I thought you knew! It was only to surprise you. It meant nothing more-

Yuuri: spine limp, head hanging, tears streaking down his face and collecting at his chin, dripping like an old faucet onto the ground. Words exploding out of his mouth, wet, glottal: Then just stop! Stop doing things that mean nothing to you, and everything to me!

Too Much, Not Enough by iceprinceofbelair

Summary: Viktor cuts his hair.

Sunrise and Winter Snow by Crimsonpheonix271

Summary:

Sometimes Yuuri just wants to enjoy his only day off, and sometimes Makkachin disagrees with that plan. Victor just wants to stay warm and comfortable, and attached to Yuuri.

A Member of the Family by TheUnforgivables

Summary:

Victor returns to Japan to check on Makkachin. While traveling, he muses about family and how Makkachin is pretty much the only family he has.

One Surprise after the other by shimazakis

Yuri didn’t expect a quiet birthday, not when Victor Nikiforov was his boyfriend.

We’ll call this place our home by perennials

“What do you want for your birthday?”

Yuuri averts his gaze, cheeks rosy-red. “You, I guess? Forever?”

Forever. Forever.

Viktor buys a ring.

Or, The Big Day approaches, and Viktor seeks advice from various members of the Katsuki family.

Pieces Of Me Pieces Of You by Sandyclaws68

Birthday cake, sake, and one special present have Yuuri and Viktor crossing one more threshold in their relationship.

Savor the Taste by RennieOnIceCream (Hitsugi_Zirkus)

Everything was sinfully good sensation under Yuuri’s palms until he couldn’t quite tell if the silk he felt was the lingerie or Viktor’s own skin. It was surreal and beautiful and made Yuuri’s head spin all bubbly like champagne.

In which it’s Yuuri’s birthday and Viktor’s eager for him to unwrap his presents.

For Good Luck by StorySongs

Victor puts his own twist on a traditional Russian birthday tradition.

To be selfish by shiromantic

Yuuri is turning twenty four. He starts to think about his life up until this moment and how much he’s grown. Victor listens and tells him how important he really is.

On Pirozhki and Katsudon by Zelinxia

Summary:

Yuri knows what Agape is, but not what it means to him. As his motivator for the Onsen on Ice competition, Yuuko comes up with a solid idea that helps him find inspiration.

“What is your favorite comfort food?”

#yoi #yuri on ice #fic rec list #November 2016 Fic Recs

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spn67-sister · 7 years

Text

Three Fathers

One shot

Characters: Dean, Sam, Cas, Reader which is the little girl, and my characters Ella and Amanda.

Request/Prompt by @crystallstaircase : IDK if your requests are open but I had this idea for a fic. Probably not a good one but I know I’d like to see it for sure.TFW comes across a toddler reader whose family has been killed by witches and they all adopt her. There are scenes of Sam maybe homeschooling her, Cas teaching her about animals and Dean talking about proper car maintenance.

Authors Note: This is a great request and I am so happy to finally have found time to start on it! I hope you don’t mind that I added a little. I really hope you enjoy this and thank you for letting me write this for you!

If anyone wants to submit a request, the link is in my Bio!

Warnings: FLUFF

—————————————-

Sam and Dean told Y/n that her parents went to heaven because of the bad guys or in other words her parents were killed by demons. She didn’t understand at first, but she got the hint when Sam and Dean took her home to the bunker. It didn’t take long for the guys to figure out that they wanted to take her home with them. By the way she grabbed on to Deans legs and wouldn’t let go, they knew there was no way they could put her in the foster care system. She was too precious to them already, and Dean was already hopelessly head over heels for her.

Y/n’s first week in the bunker was extremely hard. She cried almost every night and wanted her mommy and daddy. She was clearly home sick and didn’t know Sam and Dean. It broke the boy’s heart to see her so upset, so they did everything to distract her. Play games, watch a Disney movie, or read her a story. At first, it was hopeless and the boys didn’t know what to do, but about a month after Y/n came into their lives, she finally adjusted to the new home and became a happy, smiley, bubbly, little ball of joy and the Winchesters were thrilled.

Cas was confused at first as to why the Winchesters took in a 3 year old, but the minute he meet her, he immediately understood. Y/n loved Cas, because he tried to teach her the sounds animals made. Y/n laughed every time Cas tried to mimic a sound, because everyone knew he sounded nothing like they normally do. Cas didn’t mind that she laughed because he loved her smile. He sometimes would mess up on purpose just to see her smile and laugh. He loved this girl.

Sam was the responsible one when it came to caring for Y/n. He made sure to feed her, change her dipper, and taught her everything she know. So far, they are currently working on the alphabet and Y/n is particularly smart for her age which made Sam proud. Every day Y/n amazed him with something she would do, whether it was get the next letter right in the alphabet or communicate exactly what she wanted without gibberish. Y/n loves playing with Sam’s hair and would constantly twist it and put it in pony tails. Sam was crazy for her, and she loved him right back.

Dean, was by far the worst of all. This girl had Dean so tightly wrapped around her finger that it seemed almost impossible. Y/n would do the smallest thing like look at him and he melted at her glance. Dean would do anything and everything for Y/n and if any monster tried to hurt her, god help them. Dean would often take Y/n in his car with him and drive around and she would sequel with joy. He couldn’t wait until she was older so he could teach her how to fix it up. Dean would play dress up and tea party with Y/n and she would love to put little tiaras on Dean’s head, but he didn’t care. Dean’s all-time favorite thing to do was read her stories. He read her Cinderella about a million times and she loved it. Dean was obsessed with Y/n and she was the same with him.

As years went on, Y/n grew to be a beautiful girl. As much to Dean’s disapproval, Y/n grew up as a hunter. The boys tried to not have her grow up this way, but she chose it herself. She liked the idea of it and after her first hunt couldn’t have had enough of it.

The first time Y/n got hurt on a hunt was when she was 14 years old. Dean killed the werewolf ridiculously fast while Sam ran to Y/n’s side. She had a couple of broken ribs and deep wounds on her back and stomach. Sam cradled her in the car until she got home and he stitched her up and Cas healed her. It broke Cas’s heart to see her in pain so he tried to comfort her the best he could, and it worked. Dean beat himself up about it for days until he knew she was okay, but he still has yet to forgive himself about it.

As time went on, Dean meet a woman names Amanda. Dean was crazy for this girl, but Y/n came first. At the time she was 16, and hadn’t meet Amanda. Dean swore to himself that if she hated her, she was gone. Y/n loved her from the minute she saw her. Amanda knew the situation because she was also a hunter. Amanda became a mother to Y/n. They went shopping and would talk for hours about anything. Y/n loved her, and so did Dean. Dean proposed a year and a half later.

After the wedding with Dean and Amanda, she of course moved in. Suddenly, she wasn’t the only other adult female. Sam had meet a wonderful woman named Ella and like Amanda, Y/n loved her. Ella and Y/n bonded over books and music. Like Dean, Sam needed to know that Y/n liked her before anything else would happen. Sam proposed about two years later.

All five of us living in the bunker wasn’t a problem, but Y/n was going to go to college soon. With help from Sam and Ella, she wrote a killer collage letter and got into UOI. Y/n was beyond thrilled and extremely excited to start the new chapter in her life, but it killed her to leave Sam, Dean, and Cas. After everyone helped her pack, she put all her stuff in a spare car in the bunker and Cas snapped some of her stuff to the dorm room.

The goodbye was one of the saddest moments in all the three grown men’s life. Cas gave Y/n a little stuffed animal so she would be with him when she was away, and he took credit for teaching her the sound that it made and asked her to make it just to be sure. He gave her a hug and told her to call for him if she ever needed him, and with that he was gone.

Y/n was crying when she said goodbye to Cas, but was an absolute mess when she said goodbye to Sam and Dean. When she started sobbing, a couple of tears raced down their face. They had all been through so much together, and this was the first time she would be away from them. They all hugged and Y/n promised to call every night. With that, she got into her car and drove to college.

Y/n kept her promise and called every night. She would switch off from talking to Sam, Cas, Ella, Amanda, and Dean. She told Dean first that she had a boyfriend named Alex, and Dean insisted that she would bring him home for Christmas, so she did. Y/n made the same vow to herself like Sam and Dean did for her before, if they hated him he was gone. Not to worry though, because they loved him and she was thrilled. He proposed about 3 years later.

The wedding was held in an old chapel and Sam, Cas and Dean sat in the front row after all three of them walked her down the aisle. Y/n saw that they all were crying. After she exchanged vows, and the ceremony was over, everyone went back to the bunker for pie. Y/n danced with all three of her fathers at her wedding before being handed off to her new husband.

Cas thought Y/n looked beautiful. He was beyond thrilled to have been able to have danced with her at the wedding and honored to have helped raise her into the wonderful woman that she is.

Sam was beyond proud of the young mature woman Y/n grew up to be. He was nervous about taking Y/n into their lives, but now knows it was the best decision of his life. He loved her with all of his heart and could not wait to see what the future held for her.

Dean was speechless. He never thought that he would have been able to raise Y/n, but he somehow did. Y/n helped make him into the man he is today and he brought happiness into the life he had. His little Cinderella found her prince, and he couldn’t be more proud.

Tag list

@fromheaven2he11 @sisterwinchesterwriter @winchesters-favorite-girl @rosie-winchester @miss-katie-winchester @27bmm @jensen-jarpad @lauren-novak @theimpalaiscrying @mogaruke

If you want to be on or off the tag list, let me know!

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