#and again like... who is this comparison even /for/?

[starmaidengarden]

Hello !!

May i request a fic with Jade, Leona, and Floyd where the reader is scared of them and often hides behind someone else when meeting them? Totally not bc i was scared of them back then lmao

Thank you, have a nice day!

—Jade : Leona : Floyd x gn!reader. no cw/tw. dividers: uzmacchiato.

note: sorry this took so long!! but I hope you like it!!

Jade Leech ༉⋆｡˚

At first, Jade finds your fear of him amusing in that quiet, unnerving way he does everything. You hide behind Ace or Deuce every time he appears, and he never misses the chance to smile just a little too pleasantly and say, “Oh? Hiding again? How cruel—I was simply going to say hello.”

He doesn’t get offended. In fact, he’s curious—what was it that made you fear him so much? His gaze? The rumors? His eel nature? He never directly asks, but you get the sense that he already knows.

He starts appearing more often in places you frequent, acting completely harmless, but always with an aura of something off—like he’s trying to prove you right and wrong at the same time.

Over time, he begins to soften his demeanor—his smile becomes a little warmer, his words a bit less cryptic. He’ll still tease, but in smaller, lighter doses. Eventually, if you begin to peek out from behind your “shield” when he’s around, he’ll notice immediately. One day, when you don’t hide fast enough, he’ll gently lean down and whisper with a soft smirk, “I must be doing something right.”

If you start talking to him on your own, expect him to treat it like a delicate animal approaching for the first time. “You’re growing used to my presence. I’m honored.”

Leona Kingscholar ༉⋆｡˚

Leona’s used to people fearing him, but it irritates him when it’s you. He doesn’t understand why you flinch when he walks in or physically hides behind someone else.

At first, he glares and says things like, “Tch. What, I look like I’m gonna bite?” He’s gruff and dismissive, not realizing that his aggression is part of why you’re scared.

Ruggie ends up being your main shield, standing between you and Leona. He always mutters about it—“Babysitting now, Ruggie?”

Eventually, Leona grows restless. Your fear gnaws at his pride. He doesn’t want to be liked, necessarily, but being feared by someone like you—a harmless little mouse who flinches at his voice—annoys him more than he wants to admit.

So he changes tactics. Instead of barking or intimidating, he tries ignoring you completely, hoping you’ll calm down if he acts indifferent. It works better than he expects. You stop hiding as fast. You relax a little when he’s around.

Eventually, one day he catches you not hiding behind anyone. He makes eye contact, raises an eyebrow, and says dryly, “Look at that. Thought you’d pass out if I looked at you too long. You’re getting bolder.”

Floyd Leech ༉⋆｡˚

You hiding from Floyd is like putting gasoline on fire. He finds your reactions hilarious and entertaining from day one.

“Shrimpyyyyy~ why are you hiding again? That’s so boring! C’mon, come out! I wanna squeeze you!” Cue you burying yourself behind anyone nearby.

Floyd’s unpredictable behavior makes it worse. Sometimes he’s giggling. Sometimes he’s staring blankly with wide eyes. Sometimes he drops his voice and gets way too close to your ear just to make you yelp and run.

But beneath the chaos, Floyd’s not trying to be cruel. He’s trying to get a reaction—he thinks your fear is exciting, and in a weird way, it makes you memorable to him.

The more you hide, the more he’s like a cat stalking a laser pointer. But over time, if he sees you genuinely trembling or distressed, the fun drops from his face. “...Not fun when you’re actually scared.”

He starts adjusting. He’ll approach more casually, sometimes even dragging Jade along so you feel “safer” by comparison. He'll offer little things in an oddly sweet way—like a trinket he found or food you like. “For Shrimpy. Don’t scream.”

If you ever thank him, grins wide, and says, “Awww, you’re warming up to me! This is so much better~”

Floyd doesn’t really know how to tone himself down properly, but when you begin to open up just a little, he becomes more affectionate and playful rather than scary. He’ll guard you from others who freak you out—even if it’s something minor. “Only I get to scare Shrimpy.”

[mobius-m-mobius]

@lokiusweek 2025 - Day 2: Rebellion (insp)

[thetrasha]

He Smells Like...

feat. ZORO, BROOK, LAW, ACE, SHANKS, MIHAWK, CROCODILE

ZORO

…agarwood/jinko/oud, patchouli and black amber.

MOOD: masculine, traditional and earthy

Zoro smells like a forgotten temple that has been taken over by nature. A structure so imposing that the vines running along its architectural design seem insignificant in comparison, but every cut into the finely cut stone tells a story, every blemish reminds the visitor of years of pain. Nonetheless, the temple is still here, having overcome every invasion.

Just like Zoro, who piles other people’s burdens onto his own… just to protect them. He offers security, and only accepts sincere gratitude as payment, nothing else. He cannot change the world, but he would die trying if it came down to it – for his beliefs, his friends… and for you. You care for that abandoned temple of his like a priestess would, never once thinking of leaving it be. Really, you… are his saviour. You wouldn't let him succumb to the elements.

BROOK

…tea leaves, rain and cashmere.

MOOD: unisex, nostalgic and deep

Most people would say that they find the smell of rain comforting, but most people would also much prefer a sunny day. The scent is a circumstance of life – or the absence of it, depending on who you might ask. Standing next to Brook, thus, reminds you of… simpler times, times where happiness was so palpable and so real, more easily within your grasp, when the pressure of life didn’t get to you yet. It doesn’t surprise you at all that he naturally mirrors his soul’s gloom despite having such a joyous and accessibly kind personality.

Brook is beyond glad that you were at peace with his being. He doesn’t quite believe you when you tell him that he doesn’t smell like death at all, but he’d take the compliment with a hearty chuckle. He trusts your judgement more than he trusts his own. Besides, how can he turn you down when you look at him like he's all you've ever dreamt of?

LAW

…books, common sage and lavender.

MOOD: unisex, herbaceous and comforting

Tranquil and calm with a sharp minty tang that vaguely reminds you of medicinal properties, that’s how you’d describe it. It’s so soothing that it might even make some people deliriously sleepy – but again, deeply refreshing. It’s also a bit of an ancient smell, fitting for his old soul that’s been through so much. For someone so disturbed by himself, you think it’s delightful what a calming effect he has on others. Always the voice of reason, always ready to utter a wise word…

So you nurture him when he’s had enough for the day, the week, the entire year. When the noise gets to be too much for him, you enter the room with a fresh cup of tea or coffee – just how he likes it – and talk to him about happier things, things that take his mind off of his demons. Now you’ll never miss that steady presence in your life, just like how he will never miss yours, for you have each other now.

ACE

…common jasmine, honeydew melon and smoke.

MOOD: feminine, light and delicate with musky undertones

A scent that reminiscent of heady spring nights that end up around a barely glimmering bonfire. A marking of new beginnings and scorched earth alike – Ace smells cheerful, innocent and floral with a hint of depth to it, like a secret that’s never been lifted, a cry nobody ever bore witness to… Well, until you came along. You always thought the smoke was the strongest note within that concoction and not just because he ate the Flame Flame Fruit, no, because… still waters, ironically, are very deep. At first, you didn’t detect that smoky musk at all, yet once he’s let you in, the smoke overpowered the lighter, more cheerful parts. He was an enigma worth exploring, worthy of being seen and being offered a shoulder to lean on. He’d never thought that crying in your arms would appease the flames within him, but… well, he didn’t think he’d ever love someone this truthfully either.

Every spring follows a dark winter.

SHANKS

…rum, cedarwood and raspberry.

MOOD: masculine, balsamic and playful

It’s a surprisingly grounding scent. He smells like an adventure and feels very warm and approachable because of it. How funny that Shanks – Shanks! – smells approachable when he’s prone to burying his problems and keeping his heart under lock and key. He’s so… so silly, so fun, so him, but he’s also quite the introspective thinker who craves harmony and everlasting peace. Very well aware of his legacy and the laid-back nature he projects to ease other people’s worries, he tries not to think about the missing arm, the loss of strength that came with it, the phantom pain, the… problems; he tries to forget that he’s almost lost an eye, and that it all amounted to nothing. The world is still rotten, evil still runs rampant… it makes him chuckle wistfully. You’re always there to catch him when the mood turns sombre, holding him close and telling this living legend that he’s done well, that you’re proud of him and that his sacrifices changed the world.

If he’s balsam for the soul, you’re his much needed anchor.

MIHAWK

…black lily, sandalwood and wine.

MOOD: feminine, mysterious and elegant

Very much a complex, sophisticated scent. Nothing ever seems like it is on its surface level, and you have to dig deep to perceive the base note, because Mihawk doesn’t let people in on his... life most of the time. He’s fleeting and evasive, rarely ever blossoming. He keeps people at an arm’s length, deeming most people liability, or shooing them away because they'd they just annoy him… but somehow, you stuck with him.

You’ve seen the good, the bad and the ugly, but let him keep his air of secrecy, never pried once. Your own independence kept you busy. He... appreciates it. Like a good red wine, his trust needs time to age properly. Once he’s decided to keep you, though, there’s no going back. The slow burn has erupted into an open fire and his loyalty is indeed forever. He’s your sword and shield, and you are his heart.

CROCODILE

…tobacco, leather and burnt amber.

MOOD: masculine, domineering and warm

Crocodile smells like he could take over any room, that deep aroma keeps dominating the senses. The spiciness of the tobacco has permanently seeped into his luxurious clothes, and every cigar lit between his fingers just adds to the sensation. It’s a rich scent that is truly inevitable, just like he is. His frame is imposing, his intimidating appearance undeniable and yet, and yet… there’s this warmth in there, something leathery, something raw. You often interpret it as anger – anger at the world, at himself, at friends and foes alike… it’s easy to stoke the flames, but you’ve come to realise that Crocodile has never once been unreasonable in his anger.

His dismissiveness would be almost impressive if it weren’t for his other side; possessive, domineering… irrational. For a man of his calibre, he sure seems to have a problem with you trying to sever your ties to him by finding a job with a better work and life balance... He claims that he cannot find anyone who could do your job, but you knew that that’s a horrible lie.

Neither of you acknowledge what's happening out of pride.

[toriaaniin]

Gigi Walked Away — So Why Not Jake or Antonia?

There’s a reason some stories echo louder than others. This afternoon, a snippet from Gigi Paris’ interview on the Too Much Podcast was shared on Etalk-CTV's Instagram (link below), and the parallels? Sharp. Eerie. Familiar.

Gigi — who was in a serious, long-term relationship with actor Glen Powell — shared why that relationship ended. And it wasn’t because of a dramatic affair or irreconcilable differences. It was PR. Or more specifically: it was PR that made her invisible.

Her words:

“I could either pretend like I was going along with everything, or stand up for myself and say, ‘No, I’m actually not OK with this, and I’m walking away.’ So that’s what I decided to do.”

She talked about the flirtation between Glen and his co-star Sydney Sweeney. The speculation. The silence. The refusal to shut down rumours. And when she was told not to come visit Glen on set? That was it.

“Don’t make a fool out of someone you’ve been with for over three years talking about forever with.”

That line. That line.

Let’s pivot, now, to Luke and Nicola. Six months of what some called PR. Flirting. Gazes. Private jokes. Finger brushes. Chemistry so thick you could swim in it.

And here we are now, in mid-2025, still feeling it — because the chemistry never ended. Just look at the SAG Awards in February if you need a reminder.

And yet, we were told (and are still being told) that Jake and Antonia are the real ones.

We’ve all asked before, and I’ll ask it again here: How could Jake and Antonia sit through all of that?

How could Jake watch Nicola look at Luke like that on press lines, in interviews, at premieres and awards ceremonies — and still skip merrily down an alley with a bag of carrots? How could Antonia smile in group photos at an afterparty where Luke looked like he’d rather be anywhere else?

The answer, if you listen to Gigi Paris, is simple: They couldn’t.

Gigi’s words make it clear what real partners do when faced with erasure. They leave. They call it what it is. They don’t play along — not unless there’s a reason.

Interestingly, even within the Bridgerton sphere, we’ve seen this handled differently. Take Corey Mylchreest and India Amarteifio from Queen Charlotte — their (mild, in comparison to Luke & Nicola) chemistry sparked its own wave of speculation. But according to whispers within the fandom and broader entertainment gossip, Corey’s real-life partner reportedly insisted the speculation be shut down, leading to subtle confirmation in the press that he was in a relationship.

Whether confirmed or not, it’s telling that such a PR boundary was respected — a reminder that these dynamics can be managed differently, especially when protecting a relationship matters.

So again I ask: If Jake and Antonia are the true partners, how in the world did they let the 2024 PR strategy unfold — one built on intense chemistry, physical closeness, and emotional mirroring — without saying a word? Without putting a stop to it?

And if we were wrong — if what we saw between Luke and Nicola was just PR — we would’ve seen real partners say "enough" and, if necessary, walk away. But we didn’t.

So no. I don’t believe what we witnessed with Luke and Nicola was PR. I believe it was — and is — real.

And I believe it’s real because the people who supposedly should have been hurt by it... haven’t ended things. So back to the question in my title: Why haven't Jake or Antonia walked away? Because they are the PR relationships, helping to create the narrative fog.

And thanks to Gigi Paris, we’ve been handed a real-world mirror that confirms what many of us have known all along:

"It was just PR" is the lie they tell when they don't want you to see the truth.

And the truth? It's in their eyes.

Aaniin Xxx

P.S. In referring to Jake as a potential real or PR partner to Nicola, I’m responding to the narrative that’s been publicly presented. That said, I want to acknowledge that doing so risks reinforcing a heteronormative lens — one that may overlook the possibility that Jake is queer. Many in the fandom have quietly noted signs pointing in that direction, and I share those observations. Still, because the PR framing positions Jake as a romantic partner to Nicola, I’m engaging with it on those terms — even if I question the validity of that framing entirely.

ETalk-CTV

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by Etalk (@etalkctv)

[seitmai]

Many thoughts

She has never considered herself someone who dates a military man. Truthfully, the idea scares her –even now, a month and half into the relationship. Thoughts of long distance over deployments or uprooting her life sit in the back of her head. Is she willing to relocate if he asks? Is she okay with him being gone for weeks, months, even years at a time if she can’t join him? She doesn’t know. 

100% understandable idk if I could either

Bob seemed reluctant at first, warning her that they can be kind of rowdy. But she reminded him she spends most of her time with high schoolers —nothing a few Navy pilots can do will bother her.

Fair comparison lol

 She’s looking around for Bob, holding her purse strap a bit tighter than usual. She’s not sure why she’s nervous to meet his friends; she’s already met Jake, and Bob promised he’s the worst of them.

Bob is not holding back hahah

 The bartender practically beams at her, pointing at her. “Oh, you’re the teacher. Bob mentioned you’d be coming by —I’m Penny. Your drinks on his tab, then.” Penny points over towards the back of the bar, grinning at her. “He’s back playing pool with the rest of the squad.”

I love how she instantly is like: you definitely don't pay for any drinks 😅

Bob is leaning over the table, stretching out to make a shot. She leans against the banister, unable to help herself as her eyes trail over his arms down to his hands. He's lean, but there’s a strength under that uniform that can’t be seen. And she loves how he feels against her. They’ve gotten pretty handsy in the last month and half, but they’re taking their time. Enjoying learning how the other ticks. But that certainly doesn’t mean she doesn’t like to stare a little. Or imagine those hands on her thighs or in her hair when she’s dropped off at home and alone in her bed.

Sometimes you just gotta enjoy the view and let your mind run free a little 😌

“I’d appreciate it if you didn’t talk to my girl like that,” he states, voice low. He puts his hand on Hangman’s shoulder, and she watches as his knuckles turn a little whiter as he squeezes. That motion –this side of him that she’s not seen yet –does something to her. Feels it in her stomach, between her thighs. 

Hot 😮‍💨

“Don’t apologize to me,” Bob counters, nodding to her. The pilot turns to her, nodding. “Apologies, ma’am. Wasn’t trying to offend.” “Yet you always manage,” Bob says, dropping his hand from Jake’s shoulder and taking her hand. He pulls her over towards the rest of the team, his usual demeanor returning as he introduces her to everyone. 

👏🏻👏🏻👏🏻

She laughs as Bob pulls up a chair for her, his hand never leaving her lower back. He’s always been a perfect gentleman with her; but now he’s…well, she doesn’t want to think possessive but that’s certainly how she feels. And she would be lying if she said she isn’t kind of into it. Or a lot into it. 

I would say A LOT 🤤

One, she can put in the actual effort it takes to be decent at pool –and she is pretty good at it, really. Knock these Navy boys down a few pegs. 

That's the right choice in my eyes!!

The teasing came just soon after she “tries” again, but she passes the game off to Natasha in exchange for her drink. Feeling bold still, she moves to sit on Bob’s lap, perched on his knee. He immediately pulls her against him, resting his chin on her shoulder.  “I might be,” she admits, setting her glass on the counter behind them. Then she shifts some, draping her arms around his neck and sits sideways in his lap. “Is that okay?” “I like that you’re flirting with me,” he confesses, his hand finding itself resting on the top of her thighs. His thumb rubs circles dangerously close to the inside. “Didn’t do a lot of that before you agreed to be my girl.”

He is just so sweet 🥰

“I do,” she grins, one of her hands reaching up to hold the back of his head so he can’t get away. “Couldn’t help it. Between the uniform and how you stood up for me earlier…honestly, it was hot.”

Facts 👏🏻

“Oh yeah?” His hands find her hips, pulling her against him –a knee pressing between her legs. She gasps at the friction it causes, unable to control it. “I wasn’t doing anything but stickin’ up for my girl.” “Still the hottest thing I’ve ever seen,” she sighs, hips bucking involuntarily against his thigh.

Truly the hottest thing 😮‍💨🥵

Begging for more future fest bob amd reader

Future Fest | b. f. | 3

Bob Floyd x teacher!reader

Word Count: 2.3k

Warnings: Making out in public, Hangman is an asshole, suggestive content and allusions to sex

Author’s Note: Only because you asked so nicely, anon. Here’s another dream I had about Bob and his teacher, meeting the squad officially. GIF from @tomundsen

Masterlist | Talk to Me! | AO3

After the second date, there’s a third. Then a fourth. Even a fifth. And by the end of the month, she and Bob are full blown dating. Not that it came as a surprise, given after the first date he’d asked her to be his girl. 

She likes that –being his girl. 

She has never considered herself someone who dates a military man. Truthfully, the idea scares her –even now, a month and half into the relationship. Thoughts of long distance over deployments or uprooting her life sit in the back of her head. Is she willing to relocate if he asks? Is she okay with him being gone for weeks, months, even years at a time if she can’t join him?

She doesn’t know. 

Of course, these are thoughts she keeps to herself. It’s too early in the relationship to even think about those things, let alone ask Bob. She thinks this might be it for her –and she told him she’s not dating just to date; he agreed –but she doesn’t know what Bob is thinking. She can assume but she doesn’t want to scare him off if she’s wrong.

Tonight, however, they’re taking a step forward. She’s going to the Hard Deck to meet his squad. Bob seemed reluctant at first, warning her that they can be kind of rowdy. But she reminded him she spends most of her time with high schoolers —nothing a few Navy pilots can do will bother her. 

She’s already met Natasha, outside of the recruitment event. Bob insisted they meet pretty soon after their third date, wanting to make sure she knew Natasha was his partner and their jobs relied on trusting one another. She wondered at the time if he was worried she’d be jealous or something –but she was secure in herself and her relationship. 

Natasha also pulled her aside at one point and reassured her that there was nothing there except familial love. 

The Hard Deck is loud when she walks in. She’s been here once before, during a teacher appreciation event where they served teachers a free round. It isn’t exactly her kind of place; not anymore, at least. Ask her 21 year old self and this place would have been tame for her. 

She’s looking around for Bob, holding her purse strap a bit tighter than usual. She’s not sure why she’s nervous to meet his friends; she’s already met Jake, and Bob promised he’s the worst of them. But she is, and she slips up to the bar to find something solid to lean on for a second. 

“Need a drink?” The bartender asks, and she’s smiling at her. 

“Uh, yeah. Cranberry and vodka? Probably make it a double.”

“Can do.”

“You wouldn’t by chance know where Lieutenant Floyd is, would you?” She asks, leaning against the bar as her drink is slid in front of her. 

The bartender practically beams at her, pointing at her. “Oh, you’re the teacher. Bob mentioned you’d be coming by —I’m Penny. Your drinks on his tab, then.” Penny points over towards the back of the bar, grinning at her. “He’s back playing pool with the rest of the squad.”

She blushes at the idea that he’s talked about her to the bartender of their favorite bar. But she thanks Penny, taking her drink and taking a long drag of the cocktail. Then she weaves through the crowd, only stopping when she comes to the top of the short steps.

Bob is leaning over the table, stretching out to make a shot. She leans against the banister, unable to help herself as her eyes trail over his arms down to his hands. He's lean, but there’s a strength under that uniform that can’t be seen. And she loves how he feels against her. They’ve gotten pretty handsy in the last month and half, but they’re taking their time. Enjoying learning how the other ticks. 

But that certainly doesn’t mean she doesn’t like to stare a little. Or imagine those hands on her thighs or in her hair when she’s dropped off at home and alone in her bed. 

“You gonna stand there and eye fuck Baby on Board or you gonna go introduce yourself?” Hangman asks, loud enough to announce her presence, and puts a hand on her shoulder. She feels heat rising to her ears as she looks up at the pilot in disgust. 

Bob finally looks up though, eyes falling on her. He’s smiling at her brightly, handing his pool stick off to Natasha, whose glaring daggers at Hangman. As he approaches, Bob turns to Jake, and his smile fades to be a little more dark.  

“I’d appreciate it if you didn’t talk to my girl like that,” he states, voice low. He puts his hand on Hangman’s shoulder, and she watches as his knuckles turn a little whiter as he squeezes. That motion –this side of him that she’s not seen yet –does something to her. Feels it in her stomach, between her thighs. 

Hangman, to his credit, doesn’t seem surprised by this reaction. He just pulls away and puts his hands up. “Apologies, Bobby.”

“Don’t apologize to me,” Bob counters, nodding to her. 

The pilot turns to her, nodding. “Apologies, ma’am. Wasn’t trying to offend.”

“Yet you always manage,” Bob says, dropping his hand from Jake’s shoulder and taking her hand. He pulls her over towards the rest of the team, his usual demeanor returning as he introduces her to everyone. 

“You’ve met Nat and Bagman,” he continues without missing a beat. Then he motions to everyone else –and she’s taking mental notes as he does. Rooster, Coyote, Fanboy, Payback. All call signs, all names she’ll easily remember on top of their actual names.

Rooster –Bradley –extends his hand and smiles at her politely. “Pleasure to meet you finally.”

“Finally being the key word,” Fanboy –Mickey –teases, taking her hand once Bradley lets her go. “He’s always on his phone when he’s not workin’ now –definitely can see why though.”

She laughs as Bob pulls up a chair for her, his hand never leaving her lower back. He’s always been a perfect gentleman with her; but now he’s…well, she doesn’t want to think possessive but that’s certainly how she feels. And she would be lying if she said she isn’t kind of into it. Or a lot into it. 

Crossing one leg under her as she sits down, she takes in the faces of the people that seem to mean a lot to her boyfriend. They’re all grinning, teasing one another like they’re a family. And maybe they are, she thinks. They have to rely on one another like a family –probably even more so, honestly. 

“You play, miss teacher?” Rooster asks, holding the pool stick to her. 

“Oh, uh,” she pauses, then nods, setting her drink down and taking the stick. Bob immediately picks up her glass, holding it close –protecting it. “I do. Not well –it’s been a while.”

“Well rack’em up. Let’s go.” 

“Bobby can show you if you need him to,” Hangman teases, though she shoots him a warning look with a smirk on her face. 

There’s two options now. 

One, she can put in the actual effort it takes to be decent at pool –and she is pretty good at it, really. Knock these Navy boys down a few pegs. 

Or two, she can feign ignorance and have Bob “teach” her to play pool. Let him lean over her and put his hands on her. 

The only downside –the only one –is the teasing she absolutely knows will come from option two. She doesn’t mind the teasing, but she knows Bob gets a bit riled up from it. He’s mentioned it before, how sometimes it goes a little too far.

She decides that option two is far more fun, and she can make it up to him later. 

“It’s been a hot minute,” she admits, looking at Bob with a flirty grin. “I could do with a reminder.”

“Oh, uh,” He hesitates, just a second, before handing Natasha her drink and standing up. “Yeah, of course.”

She suddenly regrets wearing jeans as he stands behind her, taking the pool stick to help her line up the shot. He’s explaining what to do –actually explaining it, bless his heart –before leaning her over the table. One of his hands is guiding down hers, holding the pool stick carefully. The other is on her lower back. 

Someone wolf whistles. She has no idea who. She doesn’t even care, honestly. Because even though her shot is bad, she’s pressed back into Bob when she stands up and his hand moves to rest on her hip, right where her shirt rides up. 

“Woops,” she sighs, looking up at him from over her shoulder. She stands on her toes and presses a kiss to his cheek. “Guess you’ll have to give me some more lessons.” 

He’s blushing brightly, nodding some as he sits back down. She wants to take a picture so bad. He’s cute like this; even cuter when she considers how he was acting just barely half an hour ago. 

The teasing came just soon after she “tries” again, but she passes the game off to Natasha in exchange for her drink. Feeling bold still, she moves to sit on Bob’s lap, perched on his knee. He immediately pulls her against him, resting his chin on her shoulder. 

“Having fun yet?” She asks, taking a sip of her drink. 

“Oh yeah,” he grins, wrapping his arm around her waist. “I think you’re having more fun than I am, though.”

“I might be,” she admits, setting her glass on the counter behind them. Then she shifts some, draping her arms around his neck and sits sideways in his lap. “Is that okay?”

“I like that you’re flirting with me,” he confesses, his hand finding itself resting on the top of her thighs. His thumb rubs circles dangerously close to the inside. “Didn’t do a lot of that before you agreed to be my girl.”

“I can flirt more, if you’d like,” she offers, running her fingers over the hair at the nape of his neck. “Could go to the bar, you can pick me up.”

He chuckles at that, squeezing her thigh gently. “No, no –I am perfectly fine with this.”

“Let me know if you change your mind,” she teases, guiding his face to look at her so she can kiss him softly. 

His grip on her thighs tightens as he returns the kiss, unable to help himself. He doesn’t seem to care that anyone else is around, especially as his hand slides further up her thigh. Her hand is tugging at his hair and he holds back a sound that she can feel in his chest. Someone clears their throat, and they pull away from each other, both a little out of breath but grinning. 

Reluctantly, she pulls away from him and stands. But she extends her hand to him, nodding towards the door. There’s no hesitation as he takes her hand and follows her lead –with his squad hollering and whistling after him. Risking a peek over her shoulder, she sees the flush on his cheeks but he’s smiling as they slip out the back door of the bar. 

She’s about to ask him where he wants to go but he’s on her before any word can get out, pressing her up against the wall outside. There’s no helping the moan that escapes her lips as she grabs at his belt to pull him flush against her. His hands are on her jaw, holding her in place as he parts her lips with his tongue, slipping it in without argument from her.

“You’re driving me crazy,” he breathes, lips brushing over hers as he pulls away just enough to press his forehead against hers. His glasses are fogged over, and he’s trying to catch his breath. “But I think you know that.”

“I do,” she grins, one of her hands reaching up to hold the back of his head so he can’t get away. “Couldn’t help it. Between the uniform and how you stood up for me earlier…honestly, it was hot.”

“Oh yeah?” His hands find her hips, pulling her against him –a knee pressing between her legs. She gasps at the friction it causes, unable to control it. “I wasn’t doing anything but stickin’ up for my girl.”

“Still the hottest thing I’ve ever seen,” she sighs, hips bucking involuntarily against his thigh.

“Think you can wait ‘til we’re back at your place?” He asks, voice low in her ear as he holds her still. “I’d rather our first time not be against the wall of the Hard Deck. Was kinda hoping to make it special.”

“I think this is very special,” she teases, a breathy laugh escaping her lips. “But I can wait, I promise.”

He grins himself, pulling away from her entirely. Though he keeps one hand on her hips as he presses a kiss to her forehead. 

“Should we say goodbye?” She asks, looking up at him as she smooths out her shirt. She’s certain she knows the answer though. 

“Absolutely not.”

[firelilyfox]

Cut The Past Away

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x female reader Summary: This takes place after Endgame and before FATWS. Bucky struggles with self worth and with memories that haunting his thoughts. When he almost kills someone because the girl he loves gets hurt, he knows something has to change. Worcount: 1.5k Warnings: trauma. mentions of injuries. crying. blood. Bucky having a secret crush on you. struggle with self worth. hugging tightly. cutting his hair. forehead kisses. kissing in general. hurt/comfort.

__________________________

Bucky got pardoned by the government but he struggled to forgive himself for all the terrible things he’d done in the past. 

After the earth got saved from this big, purple alien person, he searched for something worth moving forward. And that something just happened to stumble into his life like a wild tornado with pretty eyes and a kind, loving heart. 

You. His girl. 

Well, technically not his girl. Because he never told you about his feelings and the way his pulse quickens, as soon as he thinks about you. Bucky didn’t know how it happened, but somehow you managed to wrap him around your pinkie without even trying. 

The only problem about this whole feeling thing, was that he could never tell you about it. Bucky was too messed up, too damaged to let someone near him. Too broken to feel worthy of the kind of love, he knew you were able to give. 

Even in meetings, when he watched you talk to the other teammates, he noticed that you truly care about every single one of them. You listen, you never judge someone and you’re doing it like it’s breathing. He never met someone so pure and kind. And he knew for a fact, that he could never be the man who deserved your heart. He doubt to even had a chance to win it anyway so, why bother thinking about it? 

„You are awkwardly quiet today, Buck. What’s wrong?“ Sam asked with concern. 

Bucky welcomed the distraction from his spiraling thoughts. „Nothing. I’m always quiet.“ 

„Nah, because today you are extra grumpy. Normally you just look like a hungry cat and somebody took your sandwich. Today you look like a beaten dog.“ 

Bucky rolled his eyes. This was no topic to discuss on a mission. Especially if the reason he looked like a sad - or beaten - dog was sitting right across him in the Jet, talking to Shuri about some computer stuff he failed to understand. 

„Your comparisons are really getting worse everyday.“ 

Sam laughed. „You know that aint true. You’re just embarrassed that I can read you like an open book.“ 

Hopefully not. He thought for himself. If Sam would be able to get a look inside his head, he would’ve turn around and never talk to him again. All the horrible things he’d done in the past, getting dragged to the surface as soon as he closes his eyes by nightfall. Every damn night. 

Even after the treatment in Wakanda. He sometimes can’t look in the mirror, scarred to see the Winter Soldier starring back. 

Bucky ran his hand through his thick hair, trying to get it out of his face, but it fell back right away. „Enough talking. Get ready. We are landing soon.“ 

You looked up and Bucky held your gaze for a moment. The shy smile you gave him, liftet the heavy weight above his heart, which always appeared right before a mission. Right before a fight. 

„I got your back out there“, you said stretching your neck. Bucky looked at you, now standing right beside him. You were a lot smaller than him, your head only reaching his chest, but the fire in your eyes made up for the fragile impression. 

„Couldn’t wish for someone better“, he mumbled. Bucky felt his whole body longing to get a little closer to you, so his arm could accidentally brush your shoulder. But he pulled himself together, trying to focus, even if the slight pink on your cheeks made him feel like the luckiest man alive. 

„Okay Team“, Shuri shouted over the rushing wind as the door got opened. „No serious injuries. I need you all tomorrow in your best form.“ Everyone gave her a thumbs up and then they’d jump out of the Jet. 

Bucky couldn’t remember what happened next. 

The only thing that was stuck inside his head, was you screaming in fear and the feeling of his hand punching a man almost to the gates of the afterlife. In that very moment nothing mattered for Bucky, except for you being safe. He couldn’t stop himself. Bucky had to be stopped. 

You stopped him. 

He didn’t know how you managed to drag him away and getting him into the Jet. The only thing he knew, you were holding his hand, guiding him away from the battle. 

„Are the others alright?“ His voice was raspy and silent. 

You looked up at him, nodding softly. „Yeah they went home with us. Don’t you remember?“ 

Bucky shakes his head, pining his eyes to the floor. How could he forget that? Why was his brain not functioning correctly, putting all the pieces into the right places? 

„Are you alright?“, Bucky asked. He slowly raising his eyes to meet yours, noticing some bruises slowly showing on you cheekbone and under your jawline. He gently cupped your face with his hands to get a better look at it … when his heart stumbles. 

His hands. 

They were covered in blood. 

Blood that was now on your cheeks. In the shape of fingerprints. His bloody fingerprints, marking you in a disturbing way. 

You noticed his reaction. The bare horror in his eyes. 

„Here let’s get this washed off.“ You took his hands in yours, guiding them over the sink. Only now Bucky realized where he was. Back in the Base. Back home. Standing in his bathroom. 

He let you wash the blood off his rough hands. Bucky tried to cast away all the unforgivable things, these hands have done and how they would’ve never be worthy of touching you, in the way he wished he could. He watched you closely. 

But he didn’t wanted to make you uncomfortable by him just staring at you, so he turned his head to the mirror. 

Winter Soldier. 

The blood had sprayed all over his face, leaving dark red marks and calling him out as the monster that still lives inside him. Bucky tore his hands out of yours and started to roughly wash his face with uncontrolled, painful movements. He ran his wet hands through his bloody hair, trying to get rid of the guilt. 

You were just standing beside him, letting him have this moment and then watching him holding on to the sink with both hands and a bowed head. 

„You know“, You started and softly resting a hand on his bicep. „I could cut it for you.“ 

Bucky raised his head to look at you. His wild eyes trying to make sense of your words. „What?“ 

„Your hair. I could cut it for you.“ 

A moment passes. „Why?“ 

„There is a saying. Hair holds memories. Normally it’s just something to smile about because people use it for changing their appearances after a breakup, but … in your case … I think it makes more sense.“ 

Bucky swallowed hard. He’d let go of the sink and turned around to you. The way he looked down at you made you a little weak in the knees. His body was strong and tall, something to lean on to and feel protected… but the deeply vulnerable expression on his face woke the wish in you to protect him and his kind soul from all the bad in the world. 

„How’d you know?“ Bucky asked. 

You shrug, not breaking eye contact. „I guess I know you good enough to tell what’s on your mind.“ 

„God, I hope not.“ He mumbles unaware that he just said the words, that should’ve stayed thoughts in his head. „Sorry.“ 

„Don’t apologize, Bucky.“ You whispered. Tears started to blur your vision and your throat just got a bit tighter. „It’s a pleasure to know all about you. Honestly.“ 

Now it was Bucky, who teared up a little. He struggled to wrap his head around the idea of you talking to him like that. Like he was someone worth to be treated this kind and soft. He couldn’t remember the last time he was treated this gentle. 

„You don’t know what your saying, doll. I’m not a good person.“ 

You stepped closer to him. So close, that your chest touching him with every breath. „You saved so many people fighting against all kind of enemies. Although you’ve lost so much and have been through so much you are still here, trying to keep on moving.“ 

You closed the remaining distance between him and you and wrapping your arms around his back. At first Bucky was surprised by the sudden contact but then he leaned into the hug, pulling you close to him, resting his head in the curve of you neck. 

„You saved me today. Bucky you are good. And I can’t thank you enough.“ 

Under your fingertips you could feel Bucky slightly shivering as he started to cry silently. You knew how hard it is for him to let his guard down like this, especially in front of another person, so you just kept on holding him without saying anything until the moment passes. 

„I would like you to cut it“, he said as he pulled away from you. 

You nod with a sweet smile. „Gladly.“ 

Without further thinking, Bucky cupped your face and brushed a soft kiss on your forehead. You closed your eyes to remember this forever. 

„Thank you, doll.“ 

When he’d let go, you got up on your tiptoes and kissed him on the cheek to return the favor. Instead of distancing immediately after, you hesitated by the intense look on his face and the way his head turned slightly, so that your lips are just inches away. 

You took a chance and kissed him. Briefly and soft. 

A gala took place the next evening and Bucky appeared with short hair, a smile on his face and holding the hand of a girl with pretty eyes and a kind, loving heart. 

His girl. 

____________________

Thanks for reading! All interactions are highly appreciated (but don't copy my work please)

Bucky Barnes Masterlist

[colorlessjay]

At what point in the series do you thinking cas fell in love with dean/realised that he was in love with him? And vice versa?

I truly think that the first time they went to purgatory was when dean kind of acknowledged his feelings more headfirst. As for cas, I think it's nuanced.

Honest opinion, I don't think either of them really fell in love

I just think they mutually acknowledged they loved each other, just not to the extent that they do

As much as I rack on Dean for the jokes, I genuinely think Dean has so much love to give that it's all he really knows. He loves very deeply, but Sam has always been his top priority in everything. Sam is who all his love goes to, and in turn, the love he has for other people seem more dim by comparison.

Cas is a being who loves freedom and peace. So much so, the other angels had to libotamize him multiple times because that freedom kept pushing him to rebel. He learned to love the world because of Dean, and in turn, loves Dean for showing him what he feels isn't wrong

I always thought that Dean knew, in himself, that he loves Cas. Romantic, platonic, brotherly. It doesn't matter. Dean ripped through purgatory for someone who abandoned him over and over again. He lost himself during Cas' death. He went out of his way to indulge and bring Cas closer to his heart when he came back. And I think it genuinely pained him to admit that Cas has been the source of a lot of the shit he had to fix

And YET. Despite how much Cas had wronged him in the past, Dean continues to seek him out. To fight for him. To feel and forgive him. That's LOVE. That's love to a degree that borders unhealthy and stupid and REAL. And Dean KNOWS that. He doesn't need to acknowledge it verbally or physically. He knows he loves Cas and that's ENOUGH

Meanwhile, I like to think had a sort of hero worship of Dean before he learned he loved him. Dean was someone he was told was Michael's true vessel. A weapon of the highest honor. He rebelled for Dean because he had faith in him

I think that faith turned to love early on, Cas just didn't know it yet

For years, he has loved Dean but has labeled it within himself as a bond of friendship and faith. Because angels aren't capable of love

I like to think it's around season 14 where Cas actually realizes he loves Dean because of his deal with the Empty. Where he actually thought about what would make him the happiest, and all he could picture was Dean being who he is and being alive, in a world where he doesn't have to struggle anymore. Cas didn't even consider himself to be in the picture because the picture was just of Dean

Affection, Adoration, Family, Fondness. It doesn't matter how he actually felt about Dean at those moments. It was LOVE that fueled his sacrifices, each and every time

Dean and Cas don't need to be in love. Because they already do love each other, as much as anymore can love another person till the bitter end

[croquettish]

A Hans Capon Character Analysis

Part 3: Hans and Agency

Continued from Part 1 and Part 2.

"What agency??" I know, I hear you. That's what we're here to talk about. Because that too shaped him as a character in a massive way.

Essentially from day one in this world Hans had his agency stripped away from him. What he wants doesn't really matter. Growing up as lonely as he is, his life is comprised of two things: being bored and lonely and learning how to govern. No wonder he tries to make the most of his noble position. He loses all the fun he could be having by being a normal kid and makes up for that by boozing and hunting and whoring and fighting. There is agency in those things.

In one of our first interactions with Hans, we play witness to him being told the following:

And Hans instantly fires back with irreverence. He is going to go up against Henry even if it gets him in trouble

You couldn't ask for a better demonstration of him clawing at reality for some amount of agency. Later on Henry learns that he's far from the exception here:

Who is Hans to himself? Very little, as we've already found in part 1. In many ways, Hans only knows himself in comparison to others. Whether that's comparing himself to Hanush specifically (as per part 2), other nobles in general (as per part 1), or even his subjects. If all he needs to do to stop feeling so damn insecure is beat little upstarts like Henry then great! He can do that and prove he's his own person all in one go!

Shame that it doesn't work that way.

It's unfortunate that the things in which Hans sees his own agency are precisely those that Hanush takes away from him when he steps out of line. His attempts to reclaim agency are often precisely those things that result in him being punished.

Which is where we need to pull Henry in.

As Hans tells him, he's a bit of everything—Laborator, Orator, Bellator— and that has lent him a fair amount of social mobility. In a lot of ways, Henry always lives on the fringes of society, able to flit back and forth over the boundary freely in all the ways that Hans deeply envies. He can have a Jewish brother and a nobleman for a father. He goes against direct orders from his liege lord and not only gets away with it, he gets promoted. Like, of course he hates this little shit who gets to have all the things he ever wanted and gets praised for every misstep to boot.

But then, something interesting happens.

I know we make fun of Hans for being a damsel in distress, but I think there's actually a narrative purpose to this besides showing us that he's the narrative's favorite. As Hanush tells him after his fight with Henry, Hans was supposed to go settle a dispute between some landowner. But then, Henry is the reason that he gets to go out hunting after all.

And then, while they're on their hunt, Henry rescues him again, this time from the Cumans. Henry rescues him when Arse-n-balls tries to drown him and then later when he gets shot in the ass. Throughout KCD1 (and you'll find that this theme carries on in KCD2!) Henry ensures and represents freedom for Hans. A return of some manner of agency.

It's no great surprise then that separations from Henry generally lead to a loss of freedom as well. When he rides off to go after the boar, he's captured. The noose tightens around his neck as soon as Henry was removed from the prison cell with him. Henry fights Zizka in order to try and keep Hans safe and out of captivity. His entire time imprisoned in Maleshov resulted from him being forcibly parted from Henry. Right after, they're forced apart once more, only for Hans' freedom and agency to be torn from him in the most acute way, by being betrothed against his will.

This is a crucial turning point. It's almost as if Hans catches on to the fact that being apart from Henry is a threat to his freedom and does everything in his power to prevent it.

Only to be stopped at every. fucking. turn.

Exhibit A, at Raborsch before the pogrom:

Exhibit B, at Ruthard Palace before they go after the legate:

Exhibit C, at Suchdol before the suicide mission:

He's shot down at every possible turn. Everyone treats him as some precious porcelain doll that has to be handled with tremendous care. If something happens to him, it could be costly, either on account of a ransom or because Hanush won't get the money from Hans marrying Jitka. Hans isn't his own person. What fucking agency does he have over his own body? Kissing Henry is one of the most agency-affirming things that boy could possibly do.

And it's interesting that even if you don't romance him, Hans expresses his frustration with exactly this lack of agency:

There is so much freedom to be found in accompanying Henry here, in being given the chance to not only protect Henry, but to die by his side on his own terms.

The end conversations with Hanush feel like a final fuck you to his attempts at cementing any amount of agency for himself. And it's here that you really see him fight tooth and nail against what his uncle is trying to push on him (some excerpts included here and here). His opponent just happens to be, well... his uncle, most stubborn man alive. Hans knows this, and inevitably gives in knowing that arguing any longer would lead nowhere.

Does that mean he's given up, as this anon fears? Definitely not (and certainly not if he's been romanced; he seems a lot more eager to fight in that case). Hans is a mimic. I have lost count of the number of times that conversations between him and Henry have gone as follows:

Hans: What would you do about [thing]?

Henry: I would do [option].

Hans: Are you sure? But what about [counterargument]?

Henry: I still think it's the right way to go because of [reason].

Hans: You're right, I'll go with your decision.

The exchange that sticks out to me most in recent memory is what happens to Arse-n-balls. The conversation starts as follows (and you'll have to forgive my crude photoshopping their names on to help here):

You then are given two options. You tell him to punish him or let him off the hook. Here's what happens if you tell Hans to punish him:

And here's what happens if you tell him to go easy on him:

This boy is so moldable. So easily influenced and always looking to Henry for guidance. Why? Because the lack of agency means that he's never really had to make his own decisions ever before, they were always made for him. And when he did make decisions, they were often punished.

It doesn't surprise me one bit that talking to Hanush left Hans feeling extremely hopeless. His conversation with Henry afterward has Henry asking what they're going to do about the wedding, and Hans, understandably, says that they can't do anything, not in the face of the browbeating he was just treated to. He's trying to make the best of a shit situation (promising to name his son after Henry), and anyone watching this could easily assume that he's fully resigned himself. But he hasn't.

As Henry talks to him, not only does he realize that he does actually have two options and not just one...

... he starts brainstorming ways out with Henry:

I think this is especially relevant here because it feels like a pretty clear and deliberate callback to the romance-exclusive dialogue:

This is the answer. Trying to figure out ways in which to at least put off the wedding is part of waiting and seeing how things turn out. Seems like he actually is sure of what he wants to do. He's just had his agency taken from him so many times that he second-guesses himself at every turn and ends up looking to those most important to him for guidance, Henry and Hanush. Devastated as he seems after his/their conversation with Hanush, he seems equally uplifted and hopeful after talking to Henry about the whole thing.

Hans spends the whole second game discovering his agency (that it exists at all in concept!) only to watch it be repeatedly torn from him over and over again. Loving Henry is the one thing he chooses for himself. And after that, it's on Henry to remind him that that's okay.

Henry knows full well that this is a shit situation and naturally commiserates. But if it was all gray clouds from here on out, there would be nothing for Hans to stay strong for.

[eeniey-past-bedtime]

Headcanons: The Vampire

A/N: My sisters, misters and kissers i am under an INSANE ammount of pressure for my classes... so naturally who's up for some headcanons?-

I don't have alot of time to sit down and write so how about some lovely bits here about him i've collected over the past 3 days, if you guys like these lemme know and i'd happily do my other monsters. This is gender neutral of course-

Wanna tip me and buy my next coffee?

.

..

🕯️ Domestic Headcanons

- He's always trailing after you like a very elegant, affectionate shadow. You're never really alone in the house. Whether you're watering the greenhouse, folding laundry, or making tea, he's never far behind—occasionally pretending to be extremely helpful by handing you one sock or standing with his arms crossed as if supervising a royal affair.

- He insists on reading aloud in the evenings. Curled up in front of the fire or in bed, he reads in that smooth voice of his. He’ll occasionally pause to whisper a line against your skin instead of continuing, especially if it's particularly romantic.

- He makes the bed every evening rather than morning. He believes in creating a ritual of comfort: smoothing the sheets, fluffing the pillows, folding his wings carefully to curl up beside you. He doesn't sleep—but he cherishes lying beside you in the dark, listening to your breathing.

- He leaves notes when he goes out at night. Written in flowing, almost calligraphic handwriting—some dramatic "Gone to haunt the moon, return before dawn", some mundane "Found a raccoon in the greenhouse again. Will resolve.", and some terribly sweet "You are my eternity. Drink water. Wear socks. Love you always."

- He tends to your garden when you're not looking. Not because he knows what he’s doing, but because he likes pretending he's helping. (He once tried to “gently encourage” a plant to grow by whispering poetry to it at midnight.)

💞 Soft & Romantic Headcanons

- He only ever calls you by pet names. "Darling," "my flame," "beloved," "little heart," "my light in the woods." He says your name like it's a secret prayer, but the nicknames are endless and chosen with affection every time.

- He kisses your wrist when you hand him something. Every time. Even a spoon. It’s reflexive, reverent, and without a hint of irony.

- He still gets overwhelmed with love at the strangest moments. You’ll be sweeping or humming to yourself, and he’ll just stand in the doorway, watching you with this look of pure awe, like he can’t believe you’re real.

- He loves brushing your hair. Whether long, short, curly, or coiled, he handles it like a sacred ritual—fingertips reverent, quiet praise spilling from his lips about how soft and beautiful you are.

- He keeps something of yours in his coat pocket when he goes out. A ribbon, a button, a tiny sketch you doodled on a receipt—he carries it like a talisman.

💋 Teasing & Playful Headcanons

- He acts scandalized every time you see him shirtless. Despite being centuries old and completely unbothered by blood and death, if you walk in while he’s changing, he’ll gasp, wrap his wings around himself dramatically, and say things like, “My love, please, avert your eyes! Such indecency… unless you mean to ravish me?” (ayo?-)

- He tries to sneak up behind you just to make you laugh. Not to scare you—he’d never—but to gently drape himself around your shoulders and murmur “Caught you…” before smothering you in affection and kisses.

- He’s deeply offended when you don’t kiss him goodnight. He’ll hover at the foot of the bed, all hurt and wing-sagging until you realize what you forgot. “You wound me, dearest. This may be my final hour.”

- He flirts with you like it’s 1784. Yes i'm being specific. Endless poetic metaphors, over-the-top comparisons, and sonnet-worthy compliments. You could sneeze and he’d say, “Oh, to be the breeze that dares to kiss your lips!”

- He steals your clothes but pretends they’re gifts. “This sweater? Yours? I thought you gave it to me—to remember your warmth!”

..

.

[skyrim-forever]

WIP Wednesday

Hi everyone, it's Wednesday again. Thank you to homies @silly-little-diary and @hircines-hunter for tagging me, awesome to see your stuff!

No pressure to anyone but tagging: @theoneandonlysemla @pocket-vvardvark @changelingsandothernonsense @dirty-bosmer @ladytanithia @lucien-lachance @thequeenofthewinter

@firefly-factory @scholarlyhermit @pyre-of-pages @chiqita @labskeever @captain-of-silvenar @umbracirrus @sanzas-reverie @sunsettemplar @heavy-metal-dick Apologies if I forgot anyone!

Today I bring two different writing wips, one from Chapter 6 of Changing Tides and some Theomar Gala smut <3 Under the cut for length, warning second snippet NSFW:

Changing Tides:

Whatever forces have so clearly been conspiring against him must have heard his thoughts as he hears not only his name in a scream but the one that sounds of the woman. 

“VISDROS!” Exhausted but not at all near sleep, he jolts up. Adrenaline running through his veins and it’s nearly a welcomed sensation, he can move like he had only a few days ago. Not in pain as he rushes to the sound. As he approaches the Inn she went into, he looks around in a panicked fury. There is nobody outside and the scream could not have been muffled by the walls, thankfully he hears another, albeit weaker one, follow it.“VISDROS!” It is outside, he thinks, and close. Unsheathing his dagger, he dearly wishes it was his spear, the loss of the weapon was yet another part of him gone. The life that he had prior definitively gone and the forces that be still wished to remind him of that: You have nothing left. Rushing around the back of the thatched building, he spots her. Visibly wobbling and trying desperately to break free from the grasp she’s held in, the man is much taller than her and clearly using that to trap her. Now looking away from Odile, instead at the one who had sought to harm her and for what ends he knows not; Abduction? Daedric ritual? Or the more common crime that befell women. A Dunmer skooma dealer had tried that on Neisha once to which she took every finger he laid on her. But now fully seeing who this is, this man, no. This mer. The elaborate dress and golden stature only pointed to one race in particular, Altmer. Perhaps his face shouldn’t have fallen into a wicked grin, little regard for the distressing situation, as if he wasn’t near numb from intensity by now. But he grinned, he smirked, and as he readied a chain lightning spell in his dormant hand, the Maormer had but one dominant thought; I have not lost everything.

Theomar TES Gala:

 It was in the nature of dragons to be greedy so she gives into her nature, allowing herself to want to make the Aldmer King weak for her. Man and Mer fought too much about the wrong things when it came to religion, in her opinion. Talos had been a terrible representative of man because he was not even a good man, he would not be a fitting comparison to anyone the Altmer believed in. Why spend a mere mortal when you could bring forth the Queen of Heaven, the Blessed Lady? Who better to change his heart? And as the door closes behind them, the clicking of the lock securing them inside and undisturbed, that’s exactly what she intends to do. 

Rather than pushing her up against the door, Ondolemar moves her further back in the room, an empty wall beside a desk. 

“Farther from the door so you can be a bit louder.” 

“I intend to be.” Their lips are on each other’s again, her hands have removed his coat and cast it aside on the dusty rug beneath them. He retaliates by removing his hands from her waist and moving under her skirts, wrapping both large hands around the flesh of thighs. As his fingers rub her inner thighs, brushing past the fabric of her small clothes enough to send shivers up her spine, she whines when he won’t venture further under right away. 

“Oh you are so needy, aren’t you, Theodora?” Now he traces her folds through the material and though it is an improvement, it’s not enough given how her hips buck into his hand. “How long have you been suffering?” At the final word, he dips in to find the wetness that’s already accumulated, the breath of his chuckling tickles her lips and she feels like she will go mad if something doesn’t fill her immediately. 

“Too long. You tease me too much.” They both moan as his finger enters. “How dare you tease the Lady?” Those words were more difficult to muster out as he’d begun moving the finger in and out, curling against her inner walls when fully sheathed. Yet, the reaction she gets is more than rewarding. 

“How dare I?” One of her hands finds its way under his shirt; forest green, the colour of life with remnants of the gold along the collar that she touches when the other hand grips it. Not needing to pull him closer, only remind of what she can do. That he was equally in her hands as she was his. 

“How dare you. Denying the Goddess of Pleasure for so long, one could think you want my wrath.”  

“I could believe you the real one.” A moan leaves her as his teeth make contact with her flesh, sucking on the base of neck while adding another finger. “That the goddess herself came to Nirn to take hold of me.”

[ancha-aus]

Ghosts & Medium Drabble - Five times plus One.

So I am back to this AU <3 I do love Medium Dust and his Harem of Ghosts + One Angel lmao

But here I am! And the 5 + 1 some of you will recognise as the 'Five times Plus one time' story trope :3

And I wanted to expand on this little prompt [Here] That was about how other people have their own opinion on Dust hanging out at home a lot.

So here it is! The five times where Dust being mistaken for a hooker is all fun and games, and one time it will hold consequences. Which means yes! Technically six Drabbles in one >:D

*------------------*

Nightmare watches as Dust's frowns into his bag. Searching the small side pockets. Nightmare can sense the others annoyance as he searches for his key.

"You know." Nightmare offers with a small wave "You could just yell loud enough and I am sure Killer will rush over to assist you." he grins.

Dust freezes before tugging his head even lower as he mutters about not wanting to deal with that.

Ngihtmare thinks it is amusing. How Dust is denying his own feelings concerning the ghost. It isn't as if Killer would reject him. In matter of fact the flirty poltergeist would be overjoyed to learn that Dust has had a msall change of heart concerning him.

Nightmare had been using it himself a lot as well. To push him down against the bed and hold him for a moment before releasing him. To casually lift stuff out of the way for him or carry Dust past obstacles. At first the left over injury and drain from the Banshee had been a perfect excuse. After that it was about effeciency.

The truth is that his embarrassment is delicious. One of the emotions he truly enjoys the taste of even if the energy he gets from that emotion is limited.

For now Nightmare will just let him search his bag and wait. He is not in a hurry either way and is honestly surprised none of the spirits demanded to go along with Dust and him doing some light shopping. Though that may have been because Dust had been getting annoyed with all their hovering, his words not Nightmare's, and he didn't want to deal with more than one person joining him!

Nightmare in the end won out for a few reasons. One, he had a physical body and was actually able to help him carry Dust back in case he fainted again. and Two Killer was in Cross's body this time and it would take a few more days before Cross would get his control back. And seeing as Ash has pretty much forbidden Killer from being alone with Dust it only made for one true option.

nightmare wonders if Ash noticed Dust's new feelings as well. The older brother had been much quicker to feel annoyed after all. Though it may also be becuase how bad the Banshee situation had gone...

Ngihtmare doubts the phantom will amuse him and sate his curiousity.

"A-ha!" Dust raises his key wiht triumph as he grins at him.

Nightmare can't help but just watch one of his mortals. It is rare for Dust to truly let anyone see what he feels or thinks but it is clear he has been getting more comfortable with all of them. He has been less guarded... more open...

It is a treat...

Another one is to see that bright magic in his sockets. Brightly coloured and vibrant with the strenght of his magic and almost shifitng slightly with his mana. Almost like a flame or moving water. nightmare hasn't quite foudn the right comparison yet.

Dust keeps grinning at him as they just stand there for a moment before he blinks and goes to turn towards the door.

"Excuse me!"

Dust blinks and looks around himself first before turning towards the person who spoke. Dust feels slightly confused but Ngihtmare can see his face turn completely neutral as he just points towards himself.

The other person, a monster by the looks of it, part dragon and rather large stops before them "Hello! I have been trying to find a way to contact you for a while! You live here right? Guy who always wears a hood? Seen with one or two guys near him?"

Dust tilts his skull slightly "Maybe... who are you?"

The other person grins adn thrusts out his hand "Drake!" Nightmare barely keeps a sigh inside, hoenstly how are parents THIS unoriginal nowadays?

Dust nods as he motions towards himself "Name is Dust." he doesn't make a move to touch the hand.

Drake slowly lowers his hand "Right right... So I was wondering if... You know.. .You could... If I could... Order your services?"

Dust tils his skull but seems much more intrigued. Well Nightmare thinks he clearly is. Nightmare suposed that to others he would still look desinterested.

Dust hums "Depends. How many?"

The guy seems shocked before grinning "I mean... It depends when you know? Soon just one but if I can call some people it could be up to like... four? Maybe five?"

Dust frowns and Nightmare understands why. It is rare for anytype of spirit to stay in large groups. Their little group is very much a rarity and is only possible as Dust makes enough dorment energy to feed the spirits passively without anyone being bothered. Is this somekind of nest? A mass murder with newly shaped spirits? Is that why it would be at a later date? As it would mean the murder still has to take place? interesting that they would try to get secure a way to get rit of the spirits.

Dust shoots him a look and Dust must be able to read on his face that Nightmare also finds it curious. Nightmare still nods a tiny bit. To show he agrees with it being curious.

Dust still takes out a small notebook. He opens it to a page and starts writing "And if the finishing of the first is done would that lead to a slower number for the next apointment?" he taps the page as he waits.

Drake laughs as he rubs his neck, strange he feels slightly flustered, "hah! Depends on how good your work is!"

Dust pauses for a moment too long. Nightmare can feel how displeased Dust feels. He does not enjoy people doubting his work or abilities.

Dust huffs and mutters "My work is perfect."

Ngihtmare chuckles and nods "Indeed. From what I have heard all his clients were very satisfied with his work." Dust shoots him a look, clearly unamused with his assistance. Ngihtmare just smiles back.

Drake looks curiously between them for a moment before speaking "So... it is possible?"

Dust nods and speaks "When?"

Drake grins as he gives some dates and Dust checks notes down the times and dates. He asks the where next and the man speaks about an apartment in the city.

Dust frowns again and clearly thinks for a moment before asking if they need specific protection. Drake blinks and says that depends on if Dust wants those.

nightmare is still stuck up about the location... strange. because from what he learned of this city and the maps that area is all newly build. At most ten years old. In the upstart part of the area. Meaning people move there as a first home situation or an inbetween one before they invest in a bigger forever home. It is a rather strange place to have a group of spirits wandering about.

Dust and Drake are talking about the prices and Dsut says it depends on what is required to deal with the situation and marks.

Darka laughs as he rubs his name "Dude. don't call it a situation. You make it seem so serious."

Dust is clearly unamused "It is work."

Nightmare nods "He does take his work very seriously." Dust shoots him another glare and Nightmare can't help but tease "am I wrong dear?"

Dust looks slightly embarrassed as he tugs his hood tighter around his face.

Drake nods "Okay. Well. Glad we managed to make an appointment at least. We will discuss stuff when we are at my place price wise. Euh. Befroe I go. Who brings the condoms?"

Silence as Dust freezes.

Nightmare blinks as well. Condoms? He knows what they are of course, Nightmare makes a point of being informed on basic things, especailly with Killer being very interested in sex with dust, Ngihtamre decided to educate himself on the subject.

Why would they need condoms?

Dust asks the same "What would we need condoms for?" the shock is clear on his face. He is just as, if not even more, surprsied than Nightmare.

Drake frowns "You mentioned we needing protection? I just kinda ssumed... Oh wait! Are you on like any pregnancy medicine? I know that is a thing but I figured it would be too expensive?"

Dust acutally sputters as his face lgiths up purple "No?! Why would you?! Why even ask that?! What does that have to do wiht anything we just spoke about?!"

Drake looks insulted "Of course I ask?! I am trying to book you to fuck after all?!"

Dust actually freezes. Pure shock.

Nightmare is shocked himself. He had thought.

Dust manages to shake himself out of it "what?! No?! Why?! Why woud you even think I do that?!"

Drake looks confused and angry "BEcause everyone knows?! You walk in with him and that guy in white very often! People hear like moaning sounds from your area and shit!! It is very obvious!"

nightamre blinks.. He suposes that... the air and magic of spirits from a distance and through a wall or three could sound like moaning in that sense... or maybe someone called it spirit moaning and people assumed it was the different type?

Dust sputters "No?! I am not a hooker!"

Drake glares at him "Then who is that guy?!"

Dust looks at him and seems to be unsure how to answer it. Nightmare blinks and asnwers the question "Dust and I work together. We have an agreed upon contract where I pay for services that Dust provides." Dust looks even more horrified and Nightmare realises what it sounded like.

Oh... Oops.

Drake seems to look up "Wait like a fucking sugar daddy- Oh! It is like a pimp situation? In that case... Like when can I hire him?" Drake points at Dust over his shoulder and Dsut looks beyond furious.

Nightmare doens't like this mortal. This mortal implies he will just take one of Nightmare's mortals? WIhtout their say so? No. Absolutely not.

Nightmare makes sure to keep his voice cold "You ahve already proven yourself unrespectful and unworthy. Leave before I make you leave."

Drake sputters but Nightmare can dealw ith that easily. He focusses on the other and makes him experience fear. Deep rooted fear. The other monster stops and shudders before making some excuses and running off. Muttering about not wanting to deal with a possessive pimp and a probably much too high price rating.

They are left standing awkwardly by the enterance to the apartment complex.

Dust is blushing and looks down at the ground.

nightmare coughs to clear his throat before he speaks "I supose... We will have to tell the others about this... in case they are asked."

Dust groans loudly as he just leans with his head against the door.

Ngihtmare watches him froa moment beofre joining his side and leaning a bit closer "And if I may ask... What is a sugar daddy?"

Dust just groans much louder.

--------

Cross stands by Dust's van as he searches it. Nightmare is by his side as the spirits float around. They just finished a mission and are on their way back to Dust's.... home.

Cross is happy to be in his own body again! It has beena week since he last had the chance nad it feels great to stretch his body!

Nightmare chuckles "Excited to move your bdoy again?"

Cross shoots the fallen angel a look "You don't need to be so smug about it."

Nightmare chuckles "Oh it is alright. isn't there a whole chapter of learning in your church about patience? And how one must learn to wait to be able to truly appreciate things?"

Cross huffs as he crosses his arms "Well!! Yeah!! But it shouldn't have to be focussed on something that is mine!" like his own fucking bdoy!

Nightmare nods "At least you will be able to exercise again."

Cross sighs "yes finally!" He groans slightly at the idea of a good working. Some strength trianing and track to get energy out and train his body "It will feel so good to be able to-"

"I am sorry... I don't mean to interrupt."

Cross stops midsentence to see a rather posh man standing by them. Human by the looks of it. Holding a briefcase and everything.

Nightmare raises a brow "And yet you did interrupt us."

The man looks at Nightmare and nods "I am here for business. I have heard I need to speak to you?"

Nightmare looks intrigued before a small knowing look appears on his face "I suppose I could humour you."

The man nods as he starts to list times and places and people and numbers and how much he calculate that would be worth it and how much the payment would be.

That is when Cross remembers. This man!! This fucker!!

Nightmare however is calm and hums "I see what you are offering but sadly that will not work. You see, the schedule is already full."

The man glances at Cross and hums "Oh I see. You booked every slot didn't you? Rich boy born wiht a silver spoon in his mouth thanks to XGaster and using church money for your own needs."

Cross sputters and feels his whole face warm up "I didn't!! I wouldn't!! I would never!!" He would never! "I would never!! Pay someont to have sex with me?!" Especially not with XGaster's blood money- Wait!! No!! "I mean!!"

Nightmare sighs and looks annoyed at the human in the suite "You broke him. Now I will have to deal with that. Leave." the human mutters some curses but leaves.

Cross is hiding his face as Nightmare hums.

Horror speaks from behind them "that was a dumpster fire."

Cross turns around to see Dust look horrified and the spirits all looking shocked or mad themselves. Cross catches Dust's face and now he can't help but thinking about Dust like that and oh no he is still staring and just end him now!!

Nightmare looks rather amused "Curious how bold they are."

Dust sputters "Stop encouraging them!!"

Nightmare chuckles "I am actually sending them away each time." and he smiles.

Dust sputters and waves his hands "Tehy think you are acutally my pimp!! that isn't helping!!"

Nightmare tilts his skull still looking amused "Would you prefer they keep botherng you with these questions?"

Dust groans and just throws his hands up before thrusting a bag into Cross's arms- oh huh?

Dust walks by "Ritual stuff. Take it inside." and he walks back into his van to grab anything else.

At least Dust doesn't blame cross for this mess... He likes that Dsut never judged him...

----------

Kiler glares at another person shooting them a look. They are walking down the street now. Trying to get some info from other wandering shades and phantoms. They don't actually dare come close to them.

Whihc Killer thinks is just insulting?! Dusty is the best!!

Though it does mean Killer doens't have to share him with even more people!!

Killer hangs over his shoulder "Dusty!! I am bored!! I wanne go back and have some fun!"

Dust shrugs him off and mutters about needing intell. Killer however is still grinning! Dust didn't hit him or anything to get him off!! clearly he didn't actually minded the close contact!

This is great!

He grins as he skips after Dust, ignoring Cross begging him to act dignified with his body.

Killer snorts "How can i be focused and serious after we slept togehter?" they had cuddled into the night! Look the fact that dust had already been asleep doesn't discount the fact tehy cuddled!

Dust sputters and looks at him with his beautiful blush on his face as he hisses "Don't say that so loudly! people will start even more rumours!" he glances around anxiously and tugs the hood closer around his skull. Killer glances around himself and glares at the people staring. He flips them off.

Dust groans as he tugs his hood even closer and Killer can't help but coo "Oh you are so cute! i can just eat you up!" and he can't help but pick Dust up and spin him around. The small yelp is adorable and the blush just makes his freckles stand out even more and he looks so cute!!

Three people walk over and Killer glares at them "Don't fucking start. The answer is no. You all are idiots for thinking my mate will be disloyal to amuse simple fucks like you lot!"

Dust makes a nervous little noise as Killer pulls him closer. Nightmare looks amused from where he has been walking and just letting them do their thing.

Ngihtmare turns towards the three and smiles "See? I have told many people before that Dust is busy and not open for these type of appointments."

Killer sees them pull out more bills of money and other things but Nightmar ejust shakes his head and shoos them away. Killer huffs as he checks in with his dear mate and sees Dust hiding his face. Mutteing about this being a fucking disaster.

Killer thinks it went rather well actually!!

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

They are outside a building. Almost a month after the first idiot tried to suggest that his brother would amuse them like!! Like!! THAT!!

Ash is honestly insulted!

How dare they to think they are worthy of his brother like that?! His brother is too perfect and pure for heathens like THOSE to dirty his dear brother!

Ash is this close to snapping.

Dust is studying the marks left behind on the side of the building. marks of the cult they had been tracking. Dust thinks they are using grafiti and other marks to communicate. A way to not leave an actual paper trail or a trace on the internet.

One person walks over and ash does not like it. People ahve been approaching his poor brother for a full month now!! Yes! Ash knows his brother is cute and perfect and of coruse people would desire him but don't look at him!! Stay away from him!

As always Nightmare speaks with the person but it isn't fast enough.

Ash notices the weakend link of Cross to his body.. he is at his time limit.

Ash doens't think. He uses his limited energy to push Cross out. Cross's spirit leave shis bdoy with a yelp and Ash is in it instantly.

"-Look. I am just saying that I got the gold and the time! just a quicky-"

Ash growls "Stop trying to fuck my brother!"

Ash glares and huffs as the other looks shocked. a woman this time. looking strong. Then the woman looks considered "brothers? like... step brothers?"

Ash pauses and realises what he jsut did... He glances at Dust and sees his horrified look. Oh no.

Oh no oh no!

Dust sputters "We!! I am NOT Cross's brohter!!"

The woman fucking lights up "Oh you do roleplay!!" she smirks and twirls her hair "I can be a very good mommy for a good boy-"

Ash doens't think and punches her in the face. It feels good. It feels amazing to be able to get one off those fuckers to back the fuck away from his brother. He does make sure to keep his mouth shut.

The woman glares "Possessive little fucker aren't you?" she looks at Nightmare "May want to teach that little priest a lesson soon. He seems rather possessive of your little bitch."

Nightmare stops him from hitting the woman again as he speaks calmly "If you hold no respect for us it is best you leave. We have no interest in doing business with those who hold no resepct."

The woman huffs as she walks away "You don't work with anyone. But i am sure someone will be able to outbid you priest boy! And then you will see that this love and fucking you get? It is just about the money!" and she is gone.

Ash immediantly leaves the body, causing Cross's body to crumble. Cross yelps and rushes back in before looking up horrified "You told them we were brothers?!"

Ash sputters "I was mad!! I am used to people just knowing!!"

Dsut whines as he hides his face "This just makes things worse!!"

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

Horror calmly fills the basket wiht fresh fruit. Dust is still at home. sTressed after his reputation took a nose dive and he had to do damage control with his fellow mediums.

horror asked Cross to leave his bdoy for a moment so Horror could do some grocery shopping for Dust and make him a good meal. Cross had been unsure but Horror swore that after that he would return his body to Cross.

Cross agreed on that promise.

Talking about Cross...

Cross frowns at the different fruits "So... what are you going to make?"

Horror hums as he checks the potatoes and decides to grab sweet potatoes to go with the bell peppers he already picked out "A roast." he also grabs some fresh citrus and lemon. He gets to the herbs and gets some basics. Just to bring out the roast taste even better.

They walk by the tomatoes and Horror grabs some of the small ones that pack a nice flavour. He wants to roast those with the potatoes to get them nice and crunchy. Horror has noticed that Dust adores a good crunch even if he never asks for it. He also much prefers fresh flavours whihc is why he is doubling on the citrus.

Cross stops floating by the lemongrass "Oh can you grab this as well? I can use any spice really for the warmth tea and I think Dust will prefer this taste over the cinnamon!"

Horror walks over and grabs some of it. As well as a bit of a dried version to store for later cups. Tonight it is time for Dust to just relax.

Horror gets to the butcher area of the store and studies the differnet pieces of meat. mmmh... red meat would be best for the recipe he had planned and there seems some options. He could also go towards teh actual butcher two streets over.

He makes sure no one is around before he asks Cross "Would you mind us going towards the butcher as well? The cuts are decent but not the best."

Cross blinks and looks shcoked before laughing "Thanks for asking. and sure! LEts get Dust a good meal!! he deserves it with all the extra stress."

Horror nods and walks towards the check out. He wants to make sure to get to the butchers before it gets around four. that is when those stores tend to get busy from his memory and he wants to take his time to pick out the prefect cut.

Some man waves at him but at Cross's confused look it is clear Cross doesn't know him. Which means Horror jsut ignores him.

He gets to the check out and pays for the groceries. He nods and wishes them a good day before walking towards the exit. Bag in his arms with their first part of the groceries.

Running steps and someone rushes in front of him "Hey! I was trying to get your attention!"

Horror blinks as he stares at the man. Cross still looks confused and so horror asks one question "Do I know you?"

The other laughs and shakes his head "Nah. But!! I know about you! Adn well! You know. the hooker you fuck? We were wondering what prices and rates and- hey! hey!! where are you going! you can'tjust walk-" and horror lets the door fall shut behind him.

Cross floats next to him dumbfounded "You just... walked away?!"

Horror nods "correct." and he keeps walking.

He turns the corner and goes towards teh butcher. He thinks a good piece of beef would be nice. It is rich and it will go nicely wiht the things he got. It is also not too adventures for Dust. Who most likely never had the chance to taste many different dishes.

With time Horror can maybe try some more dishes later. When Dust is more comfortable again.

Thoguths for later. Now he has a roast to prepare.

-----------

Dust glances around the corner and checks both sides of the street. Okay. No one nearby. He doens't think anyone saw him go inside here... Maybe he can do this?

Nightmare chuckles "Interested in meeting new friends?"

Dsut glares "You know damn well i am not!" but it seems fine... He slowly goes towards the corner and crawls into the warehouse he had been scouting out for days now. He searches the basement and grins when he finds the ring.

It is a small artifact. Weak compared to others but it is an artifact! One meant to strenghten holy bonds and divine energy! It isn't one of the large relics Ngihtmare needs but this should count right? Something to at least tie a bit of the depbt he still owned over.

He crawls back out through the window and yelps as Ngihtmare just pulls him out easily. Holding him up wiht one arm.

His soul is acting stupid again as it pulses so fast.

Ngihtmare has that stupid, charming, smug, stupid- wait he siad that already?, knowing grin on his face. He holds him fro a moment before putting him down at a cuddle. Nightmare leans closer to the side of his skull "That is a lovely colour on you."

Dust feels the warmth on his face gets worse even as Killer yells at nightmare fro daring to flirt with his mate. Celarly killer doesn't realise yet that nihgmtare truly only does it to get a raise out of both of them...

Dust tries to calm his stupid soul... it is nothing. he means nothing wiht it... jsut wants you to feel embarrassed and flustered as he straight up admitted that is tasty to him.

Dust just thrusts his arm out "Here."

Ngihtmare takes the ring and chuckles "Oh my how forwards of you..." he puts it on his left ring finger-NO!

Dust sputters "No! It is to repay my debt! or part of it! Nothing else!"

"I could help with that."

Ngihtamre and Dust both blink and turn. there is a man there.. dUst knows right away who it is. It is one of the people in the council who control this province. Rich guy who throws money away as if he has a secret stash.

Dust blinks "Waht?"

the man smiles "I have a deal for you."

Dust knows where ti is going and feels annoyed "No i am not open to be hired to fuck anyone. leave me alone." he goes to turn towards the exit but the man is in the way. At least Nightamre joins his side.

The man laughs and holds up his hands "Hold on hold on. I am aware some people have been rather... disrespectful and pushy. But! I can assure you! My deal is well worth to be considered."

Dust doens't want to consider anything. He is already sick of this man. Nightmare puts his hand on his shoulder "Lets just hear him out and we will go about our day as planned alright?"

Dust shoots him a glance. Nightmare is smiling but he looks calm. He must know that Dust is beyond done with this. Nightmare will probably just fancy talk their way out of this conversation again...

Dust huffs "fine." and he crosses his arms.

The man smiles "Perfect! Now. I am holding a party in three weeks. And for that party we are in desperate need of entertainment. Now. Do not worry. It is all rather tasteful. We need pleasant people to serve drinks and snacks. Some pretty people to act interested in those speaking. A few to share the night with and one or two for a very special honour." he grins "I think your little treasure there fits the bail for all of them." He holds up a cheque "I will write you whatever amount you want. What does the little pretty own you? I will triple it."

Dust feels himself choke. Triple it?! Who the hell triples a debt that he doesn't even know the price of?!

Nightmare keeps smiling charming "As tempting as that offer is. It is much more worthwhile to keep him by my side." and he grins.

The man frowns. athoughtful look "One night... is already too much... curious..." He rubs his ring.

Dust traces his sight downwards and feels himself freeze. That is the cult symbol...

What... oh no...

The man glances around "A medium and a priest... interesting company you keep... interesting people you have a debt of..."

Nightmare smiles "What can I say. I like being a mystery. Now. If that was all." Ngihtmar epulls lightly on his arm and steers Dust out... Dust can'thelp but notices that Nightmare keeps himself between dust and the cultist. his invissible tendrils are lashing... almost making defensive manouvers.

Dust goes to glance back but a tendril keeps his face aimed forwards. Nightmare whispers just under his breath "Don't... he has dark magic active. keep. moving."

Cross rushes after them as well but doesn't ask questions. No doubt also noticed something.

The cult knows about him.

It doens't matter they know about him for the wrong reasons.

Tehy know he is in this city. It will be a matter of time before they realise he is the same medium that survived the Banshee.

Shit...

He fucking knew this mess was going to come back to bite him.

Seems like it is sooner rather than later.

[toweringclam]

Who is Kris? pt 1: Kris the Vessel

It was the chocolate that sent me spiraling. I know Kris loves chocolate. Everyone talks about how much Kris loves chocolate. Chocolate items heal them more. Kris has plenty of opportunities to consume chocolate. But according to the quiz show, Kris does not like chocolate.

So that made me think... who really is "Kris"? What defines them? How can we separate what Kris wants from what we want? And if there's a third party involved in this, where can we draw that line?

Let's start with the physical. There's a strange misconception that Kris is this world's version of Chara, when that is blatantly incorrect on its face. You can confirm that just by looking at Kris in comparison to the Fallen Children's sprites.

Although their palettes are slightly different, Kris and Frisk still use shades of vibrant gold for their skin and dark brown for their hair. Chara has reddish brown hair, pale skin, and rosy cheeks. Sometimes people cite their clothing color but like... people can change clothes?? Also, that's more a case of similar circumstances. Both of them are wearing hand-me-downs from Asriel.

There's also the issue of the eyes. A lot of fans assume that Chara has red eyes, but that actually doesn't play out in the evidence. I mean, I think it's cooler and HC it that way, but I have to set my preference aside to deal with the facts. The thing is, Frisk never opens their eyes in-game. The only time they ever do is in the corrupted pacifist run, which is where we get to see the red eyes often associated with Chara. Yet every other time Chara appears, even at the end of a Genocide run, even when trying to jumpscare us, they have brown eyes. Therefore, Kris's red eyes are not a trait from Chara, but rather something Frisk had the whole time.

We can conclude then that on a purely physical level, Kris is this world's version of Frisk.

Continuing the idea that Kris and Frisk are alternates of each other, it's notable in Undertale that Frisk has an aversion to chocolate. The only time they ever find chocolate, it never even occurs to them to eat it. Could this be some sort of food sensitivity? If so, that would carry over to Kris as well, and the only times we see Kris eat chocolate, they have some adverse reaction to it.

Throat tightening after drinking cocoa

Getting a stomach ache after eating Alphys's chocolates

Slumping over on the counter after drinking chocolate milk

This doesn't count Dark World food, as it's not actually "real" and therefore wouldn't trigger any sensitivities. But I think there's enough evidence to say that Kris has some sort of sensitivity to chocolate. It's very bad for them, and even hurts them to eat it, but that doesn't necessarily stop them either (like me and cheese).

As a final note, Kris is almost shockingly athletic, both in the real world and the dark world, possessed or not. They are strong and graceful enough to balance a massive ball of stuff on their head, can slash tires quickly (harder than it sounds), have an insanely accurate throwing arm, and are skilled in several forms of dance. This doesn't resolve who they might be, but it's worth noting as a physical attribute nonetheless.

Edit: one thing I forgot to mention is that Kris's voice is described as deadpan, mumbling, weak, and shaky. When we speak, the voice is much stronger and sounds like a speaker is embedded in their throat. Again, this is something that rules out Chara as their physical vessel. From everything we know, Chara was a very talkative child.

Next: A discussion about Kris's history pre-game.

[thefiresontheheight]

SEVERAL YEARS PRIOR

The problem is that humans are inordinately complicated machines. It’s easy for some of the brass to realize that some shmuck from a downwell nowhere on Terra or Mars or whatever costs, on average, several orders of magnitude less than the AIs we were trying to use early in the Valkyrie program. But then you realize for their bright idea to work you need to make a human, or something kinda like a human anyway, from scratch. And that’s just not easily doable.

So we didn’t.

Kevin Dalton lay down on the operating table and gave the labtechs a thumbs up. Good kid, brave, loyal, family-guy, or at least that’s what the file said. To be honest, he didn’t matter much. He looked good on camera and he had a working brain. We could have had a million like him. What mattered was his sister.

I wasn’t in the surgery team. Even back then C&D was doing their own thing. I was watch from the observation room above, safe behind a two-way mirror. I watched as the lead gave the kid a last friendly fist-bump, lied to him that the drugs they were about to administer would feel a little like a shot of adrenaline, like he was about to be in a fight, and then sedated him.

Of course, it’s trivially easy to close a genetic copy of Kevin Dalton in a vat. We had his genes on file from when he enlisted, that would be easy. But what then? Then we have an infant, and even if we waited thirteen, fourteen years, trained it, molded it to by a pilot, it still would be no better than baseline human pilots were in all the sims. And that was not what we were after. We needed to modify, to iterate, and for that we needed useful points of comparison. A baseline. Say, an identical twin.

In the surgery suite the labs were doing non-invasive brain scans. They had done all this before, of course, but still, more data was always good. They wanted to see one last time how Kevin Dalton’s brain worked before they took it apart.

So, that was the idea. To build a better pilot we’d need a fairly unique brain. To do that we’d need a fully analyzed brain that we could construct over, and over, and over again, and slightly modify each time as quality checking process. Thousands of times if we were at all successfully. And we’d have two brains this way, identical save for the part we’d isolated in Amy. The part that had, we were fairly sure, made her apply for the Gender Affirmation Packet when she’d enlisted. Just a little bonus we could, if we wanted, turn on or off at will in the brains we’d make that we’re, roughly, patterned off these two.

Beyond the glass window I watched with mild interest as the techs opened Kevin Dalton’s skull and began to dissect his brain. Cell my cell, layer, he was being undone, and the data fed into a vast database. Random chance in neural development would not bother us. We could make this brain as many times as we wanted.

Not that Kevin Dalton would ever live again, no. We’d test, iterate, refine. The first few hundred cores never even got to me for their training. Turn off the section of the brain that handled empathy. Pull away everything you didn’t want. See how badly the results broke, slowly add stuff back. Experiment, validate. Switch segments of the brain off, then on again. Add data from his sister, twist, turn, play.

And in the end we got what we wanted, of course. Sometime north of a thousand the results started to become predictable, standardized, neat. No memories of Reclaimed Nebraska, of course, nothing anyone who had known either of the Daltons would have recognized, had anyone asked, which no one did. No, this was sleek. This was quick and predatory and controllable.

This was what I had spent my entire life working toward. Life on my terms. So yes, I would say in my own, admittedly slightly unusual way, I loved all my kids.

There’s a Valkyrie in my repair bay…

“In” is a sort of operative word here, because the only parts “inside” are the crown and 60% of the torso. The legs and three of remaining wings are hanging out clear into the scrapyard. And the fourth wing is still sitting in the crash site half a mile down the hill.

If a drone or any Colonial Empire ships pass over they’ll spot her. And then she’s done for. And my entire family probably will be too.

But we couldn’t just leave her out there.

After we got the Valkyrie towed 'inside', a process that took all three of our heavy loaders and the skifftruck, some of the uncles went to work with the arc cutters on the crown. We figured after being down for three hours now if the pilot still hadn't ejected already something must be really wrong, so we set ourselves to the task of getting them out.

"Ay cousins!" one of the uncles shouted. "Get a chain over here and we can pull this cut plate out!"

Theresa tossed a coil and hooked it on to the crane while I threw it up the scaffold to uncle Rica.

"Estra," they said after catching the chain. "Come up here and help us get this thing open."

I took off up the rails of the scaffold, right as the crane started pulling at the plate.

"Alright take it up Theresa!" uncle Ortega called out.

The slack pulled out of the chain and there was a heavy groaning noise on both ends before the cutout of the plate snapped loose and flew past our heads.

We waited for a moment in silence to see if someone was gonna crawl out or something. "Hello!" Uncle Theo shouted towards the hole in the Valkyrie's crown "We're from Claret Family Salvage, "he continued. "We towed you out of the desert and we're just looking to make sure you're alright yeah?" Another prolonged minute of no response before he passed me a torch. "Hey Estra, take a look inside, Goddess knows I'm too fat to squeeze in that hole," he added the last part with a chuckle.

I laughed in return before taking the light from him and sticking my head down in the gap. The inside wasn't particularly large, no bigger than my bunk honestly. I didn't see any panels or controls or even a chair to sit on. Which should have struck me as odd at the time but I guess I must have glossed over it. Half of the space was taken up by a large, bulbous looking sack of some sort. But I saw no people, living or otherwise. I pulled my head back out of the hole. "Get that chain over here, and some drop lights. I'm going down in there."

Five minutes later cousin Martine and I were inside the crown, a few drop lights hung on the walls.

"So... where is the pilot?" Martine asked.

"You're the mech fanboy," I replied. "You tell me."

"I dunno man, there's no controls or anything in here," He said. "What's this thing?" He pointed at the sack.

It was attached to the ceiling and part of the back wall of the crown, up close I could see a reinforced, rubbery green texture to it that almost looked like it was... sweating?

"Condensation maybe?" Martine asks, gesturing to the wet sheen of it.

I reached up to run my hand across it and a small zap of static arced from my fingers to the sack, and the whole thing suddenly convulsed violently.

"Fuck!" Martine shouted as we both jumped back. "Goddess, what the fuck is that?"

I had a hunch and I didn't like it. Nerves twisted in my stomach as I stepped towards it. I raised my torch up and after a moment's hesitation I pressed the bezzle into the rubbery material, the whole thing lit up like a sickly green lamp and I gasped in horror as I made out the humanoid shadow inside it. Without thinking I pulled the knife off my harness and drove it into the material as shallowly as I could before running it across the bag. As soon as it opened this viscous gel, thicker than oil poured out all over the floor, followed immediately by a mass of cables and a mostly naked human body.

"Estra what the fuck??" Martine shouted again.

"Get the doctors!" I shouted up to the uncles before kneeling next to the body. "Martine help me get these cables untangled from them."

He knelt down on the other side and started tracing the various tube with his hands, trying to get them loose. I put the fact that they looked borderline emaciated out of my mind while I started looking over the only thing resembling a piece of clothing or armor which was the visorless, full helmet fully incasing their head, with more cables coming out of it, I could see some fasteners on the side of it and went to go undo them before Martine spoke up again. "Estra," he said shakily, a pale horror in his voice. "Look..."

I looked over to where he was holding his light to see one of the cables he'd traced and where it ran straight into the pilot's spine. "What the fuck..." I mumbled looking at the series of other connectors coming off the length of their boney spine. I quickly began looking over the pilot before I noticed something on their arm. I pulled my light over it to see a tattoo in bold back lettering.

VALKYRIE CORE MODULE NO. 7723

"Martine..." I said feeling sick. "It's not a pilot..."

"What do you mean they're not a pilot?!?" He shouted, equal parts fear and confusion.

"It's part of the machine," I said following the cables up into the bag and straight into the machinery of the mech beyond that. I looked him in the eyes. "The Empire turned people into computers to run their war machines..."

[farfromstrange]

Do No Harm

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN: Superior Vena Cava

Masterlist | Series Masterlist

Pairing: Matt Murdock x F!Reader

Summary: Matt takes you to his apartment so Claire can patch you up, and he can keep you both safe. After the worst is over, he has some questions of his own he needs to have answered.

Warnings for this chapter: Angst, injury, blood, flashback, allusions to domestic violence, medical talk that sounds like straight from a medical drama and is probably fake (I'm sorry)

Word Count: 4.1k

A/n: Again, it's been a while since the last chapter, but I finally got this done! The chapter title may seem weird or just randomly taken out of context, but the SVC actually plays a crucial role in returning blood to the heart, so I find that a pretty metaphor. Yes, I watch a lot of Grey's Anatomy. Yes, I googled. Yes, that poor patient would probably be dead in real life. If you're a medical professional reading this, just ignore any inconsistencies. I regret nothing. Hope you enjoy!

Read Chapter 18: Superior Vena Cava here on AO3!

He knows he should take you to a hospital. 

The thick stench of copper sticks to your skin in more places than one. Your heart pounds against your ribcage with a rhythm that ties a noose around his neck, tightening every time it seems to start fading. 

Matt’s veins are alight with something that burns hotter than fear. It is strange; he barely knows you, but the thought of losing you tears into his flesh like a million broken shards of glass, regardless, and it’s slowly killing him inside.

You’re hurt. You’re suffering. You’re broken in ways he can’t even comprehend, and he can feel you fading right before him. 

He should take you to a hospital, but he can’t. Because they took you when it should have been Claire, they took you because of him, and they will find a way to do it again. 

Matt did this to you. Not the Russians, not some higher power, him, and he won’t ever forgive himself for that. 

He runs faster than he ever has before, through dark alleyways and over rooftops. He carries you all the way to his apartment, the city eerily quiet in comparison to you. He can’t focus on anything else in this bubble he’s in. 

“I’ve got you,” he keeps whispering. “I’ve got you.”

And when Matt finally breaks through the rooftop access, down the stairs, and into his bedroom, the bubble bursts, and reality comes crashing in like a tidal wave. 

Claire stops her pacing when she hears the door slam, and her face falls at the sight of you, so small in the shrill purple of the Billboard outside. “Oh my God,” she breathes. 

He lowers you onto the bed like fragile porcelain. “She’s okay,” he says, though it is more to convince himself. “She’s gonna be okay.”

“What the hell happened?”

“Russians,” the word comes through gritted teeth. “They thought…” He swallows the treacherous onslaught of tears and turns them into a groan, “They thought she could tell them who I was.”

Claire stares at him, then back at you. She doesn’t dare touch you. Every inch of you seems fragile now. How terrifyingly familiar it must have felt to you, she thinks, to be taken and abused. How familiar the pain has to be. And it’s all her fault. 

It should have been her. 

Matt tears the mask off his face and kneels beside you, brushing a bloody strand of hair out of your face. His fingers dance over your skin, every bruise and crevice, painting a picture of you in his mind. It’s the first time your silhouette isn’t engulfed in flames. He can see you now, pain etched into every one of your features, and he reads it like Braille. There is too much of it—too much of everything.

He lowers his forehead to yours. “I’m so sorry,” he breathes. “You’re gonna be okay, sweetie. You’re gonna be okay.”

Claire knows she should move, do anything but stand there, but her feet remain tethered to the ground. “Matt,” she says, “she needs a hospital.” 

But he shakes his head. “It’s not safe.” 

“She’s hurt!” 

“I know you’re mad at me, and you have every right to be, but you have to trust me right now. She’s not safe out there. You’re not safe.”

“It doesn’t matter! She could die!”

“Don’t you think I know that?” he snaps. “But if I take her to a hospital, they’re gonna find her again, and then they’re gonna kill her. I can’t let that happen.”

A stray tear rolls down her cheek and lands on her tongue. Claire swallows it. She looks between you and him again, how he’s kneeling beside you, his hazel eyes watery and broken, and for a moment, she sees right through him. 

He’s not just the man in the mask whom she pulled out of her dumpster a few days ago, half dead because all he wanted was to save a little boy. He’s not just the man who brought chaos into her life, and he is not just a vigilante; he’s the lawyer who brought the light back to your eyes because he made you feel wanted, even if it was just for a moment before she told him to break your heart. But that was her fault, not his. 

He was good to you until Claire ruined it for you, all because she has never worried about someone more than you. You are like the sister she never had, and she ruined that, too. 

She could lose you any second, and it would be her fault. 

“Claire,” his voice reaches through to her. “Claire!”

Her eyes fall on him, and the panic makes her look back at you. Your chest is no longer heaving; she doesn’t even know if it’s still rising. It doesn’t look like it.

Matt frantically places a hand on your heart. “Her breathing’s slowed,” he says. “She’s not–”

That is enough for her. The roots around her ankles snap, shattering on the hardwood floor, and she runs to you.

“She might have fluid in her lungs,” she says. 

“What do you need?”

“Whatever you have in your first aid kit, and a knife.”

His face crumbles even more. “A knife?”

“Well, I have to cut her with something, Matthew,” she says. “Hurry!”

Matt scrambles to his feet. “Yeah,” he stammers, “okay.” 

He stays away only long enough to fetch Claire whatever she needs before he rushes back to your side, his hand clutching yours so tightly that your cold skin turns warm again, and then he holds you. He holds you for what feels like hours, counting every beat of your heart and every breath you take until they have steadied—until he knows you’re alive, and you’re not going anywhere. Only then does he allow himself to rest. 

Claire releases the fluid from your lungs with practiced ease, though her fingers shake with every step she runs through. She stitches your deepest wounds carefully and patches the rest with thick bandages that you would have given her a hard time for if you had been awake. She even feels the broken bone of your nose and resets the dislocation, praying that it will be enough. 

She doesn’t know if there is any brain damage from the trauma to your head, or when you will finally wake up—if you will wake up—but you are stable, for now. You are alive. That has to count for something, right? 

The body doesn’t grow numb to abuse; the mind does. It does all sorts of things to protect its host, but pain is still pain, and she is sure that deep down, you can feel all of it. You have been through far too much to get dragged into whatever this is, but it’s too late for that now, and that kills her. 

“You should let me take a look at your hands,” she murmurs.

Matt lifts his head from where it’s resting beside you, close enough to feel your breath on his skin. He rubs his fingers together, slowly. They’re rough with dried blood. Some of it is from him, but most of it is yours. 

“I, uh,” he clears his throat, “I shouldn’t leave her.”

“Heartbeat’s strong. Breathing’s normal. She’s okay.”

“I’m fine right here.”

“You’re hurt.”

“It’s nothing.”

“Well, even if it’s not, I still feel responsible.”

“You feel responsible?” Matt turns to her with a frown. “They took her because of me, not you.”

“They took her because they wanted me,” she argues. “She was only at the apartment because I told you to stand her up, and then I left her there on her own. How is that not my fault?”

“No, you were right. I’m no good for her,” he says.

“But you are.”

“What?”

Claire sighs. “When she came to me, I… I’ve seen her crushed before, but this? She was a completely different person. The fact you didn’t show up really got to her because she liked you, and in the short amount of time you’ve known her, you’ve somehow managed to make her happier than she’s been in a long time. And I’m sorry for… for telling you otherwise. I was trying to protect her, but she still got hurt. That’s on me for thinking I knew better,” she says. “Besides, you brought her back. Alive. The least I can do is patch you up.”

He hesitates for a moment, then carefully lowers your hand back down onto the mattress. “Okay.”

She gently opens the door and slides out into the living room. Matt doesn’t follow her right away, though; he makes sure you’re still breathing, still there, his hand hovering over your beating heart once more, and he tucks the blanket safely around you. 

“I’ll be right back,” he whispers. “You’re okay.”

He leaves the sliding door open more than a necessary inch on his way out. 

Claire tears off the used, blood-soaked gloves adorning her hands. She tries not to think too hard about what she just had to do, but the bloody gauze in the trash and the blood on her sweater serve as a constant reminder of the past few hours she will probably never forget. She quickly closes the lid before she can throw up in it.

She clears her throat. “Go wash your hands,” she says. “I need to grab some fresh gauze.”

Matt follows without a word. Because everything she can see, he can smell and taste, and there is nothing worse than your blood on the tip of his tongue and branded deep inside his nose for however long it may last. He won’t ever forget the lifeless weight of you as he carried you away from that underground garage. 

It hits him so much harder now, with his hands held under the faucet in his kitchen. Your blood mixes with his as it runs down the drain. He doesn’t realize how much more there is until Claire gently takes the sponge from him. 

“Matt.” She turns off the water. “That’s enough. You’re hurting yourself.”

His raw knuckles start to burn at the sudden contact with air.

“Sorry,” he mumbles. He didn’t notice.

She doesn’t answer, just gently cleans the wounds, old and fresh. Thankfully, it doesn’t take her long to disinfect and wrap them. 

“There,” she says. “All done.”

“Thank you.”

A moment of silence follows before she asks, “Did you hurt them?”

“The Russians?” Matt asks. 

“Yeah.”

He nods. “Yeah, I did.”

“All of them?”

“Those I could find. Pretty sure I broke some bones.”

She exhales. “Good.” 

She falls quiet again after that.

The adrenaline that has been pumping hot through Matt’s veins all night starts to fade into nothing, leaving behind only a dull ache in his weary bones, and in the wake of it, he leans against the counter to steady himself. 

Your heartbeat sounds steadily from the next room. Not even Claire’s movements around the apartment as she cleans up the last of the mess can overshadow it. Everything outside of you has long ceased to exist. And the steady thud thud thud is comforting, too, in a way. It reminds him that the world has slowed its turning, and he can breathe again.

With the adrenaline gone and his thoughts clearer now, though, there is something he just can’t shake.

“Clair?” he asks.

She stops what she’s doing and turns to him. “Yeah?”

“You and Liv… You seem like you’ve known each other for a long time.”

He picks up on the change in her heartbeat and how hard she tries to hide it. 

“Yeah,” she says. “It’s, uh, been two years.” 

It’s not a question, but it sounds like one—like she, herself, is unsure about what she should share. The way she worries about you has kept him awake ever since she first told him that you were friends, and she forced him to push you away. As right as she was, because he is dangerous for you and anyone he comes close to, he can’t help but wonder how much more there is to it than her words have expressed.

Her heart flutters again. He doesn’t have to ask how you met; she just knows because suddenly, she starts talking, and it paints a better picture than he thought he would get. 

When Claire closes her eyes, she finds herself back in Metro General’s emergency room, two years ago, working the fifth night shift in a row on an hour of sleep. She did not expect anything crazy to happen. Not much crazier than usual, anyway. And she certainly did not expect you to roll in. 

It was a quiet night. She had just finished assisting with the discharge of several drunks who had gotten into a brawl, and handed them off to the police officers already waiting by the door. Non-emergent cases had been taken care of, and for the first time in weeks, it was no longer overcrowded.

The ER doctor had excused himself for a quick break, and she thought everything would be fine. They could manage for a few minutes on their own. The moment she turned her back to the door, though, someone shouted, “Incoming GSW to the chest, two minutes out!” 

“Of course,” she muttered under her breath. Not even a sip of water was granted to her. 

She barked orders at every nurse she could find, paging doctors and praying to God the (only) trauma surgeon on call would get there on time. Sirens began howling in the ambulance bay outside exactly five minutes later, and the double doors burst open.

“32-year-old male, two GSW to the chest,” the first responder began to recite as they wheeled the gurney in. 

Claire was about to take over, but she stopped dead in her tracks when she saw the person perched on her patient’s abdomen, and… 

“What the hell?” she said.

The person’s hand was buried deep in the man’s chest cavity. 

“Blood pressure 70/40 and falling. He’s already lost a liter and a half,” you said, breathless and soaked with blood. “We bolused 2 bags of saline in the field, pushed one of EPI, but he’s losing too much blood. He needs a cardio-thoracic surgeon.”

Claire stared at you, bewildered. “Who are you and what are you doing sitting on that man’s chest?” 

You paused. “Seriously?”

“You have your hand inside my patient, so you better answer my question or I’ll call security!”

You gave an exasperated sigh, “My name’s Doctor Olivia Clarke, I’m a trauma surgeon, and my hand inside your patient is currently the only thing holding together this man’s SVC.”

Everyone held their breaths.

“You what?” Her voice was barely above a whisper.

“Large caliber rounds, the second one tore right through, nicked the SVC. I had no choice.”

“Oh, my God.” She looked over the man; he looked so pale, the blood shining even brighter in contrast to his skin. “Did you cut into him?”

“Are you a surgeon?” you retorted.

Claire peeked over her shoulder, searching for the ER doctor who should already have been back from the break room, but he was nowhere to be found. 

“No, I’m a nurse,” she said. “But maybe you should–”

“Move off?” You scoffed. “Yeah, not a chance.”

“We paged cardio,” another nurse chimed in, “but it’s gonna take them another minute to get down here. I don’t know where Walker is.” The last part was directed at her, and she sighed.

She never thought she would end up in such a situation.

“He doesn’t have a minute!” you snapped. “If you can’t get a surgeon down here, you get me a suture kit and I’ll do it myself.”

“Do you have a license?” Claire asked.

You closed your eyes and sighed. “I don’t have it on me right now, but I promise you, I am a doctor.”

“I can’t let you operate on a man without authorization,” yet her voice wavered.

“Have I mentioned he’s dying?”

“It’s against protocol! Maybe if we switch–”

“Look,” you said, “you have two options. You can either help me save this man, which I am perfectly capable of doing, by the way, or you can watch him die.”

She hesitated. The nurses looked at her, at you, and then back at her. Even the EMT was watching the scene unfold with tired eyes of his own.

You wouldn’t lie, she thought, not about this. You had kept him alive this long, and the desperation in your voice suggested that you were not keen on letting him die. She could get fired for this, she knew that, but in that moment, Claire didn’t care about protocol; she cared about the life that was in your hands, and when you met her eyes with that pleading look, begging her to be on the right side of this, she couldn’t deny that she had no choice.

“Claire,” one of the nurses began to warn her, “this isn’t your call to make! It could get you in trouble. It could get all of us in trouble.”

But she cut him off, “Well, someone needs to make it.” Then, turning to you, she asked, “What do you need?”

You exhaled a sigh of relief. “I need blood, lots of it, a surgical kit, and 5-0 Prolene,” you said. “And page cardio again, tell them what we’re doing and that he’s gonna need an OR.”

Claire nodded. “Alright, you heard the lady. Let’s go!” 

You weren’t snappy or egotistical. Maybe your faith in yourself had seemed like every surgeon cliché wrapped into a neat package, at first, but you were good enough to have earned the right to brag. You worked as if you’d been doing it for years. She hadn’t assisted with surgery in a while, but when you asked her to place the clamps, she didn’t hesitate, because she felt comfortable enough with you to do this.

When both the ER doctor in charge and the cardio-thoracic surgeon arrived, you had already placed a perfect suture, and the man’s blood pressure was on the road to stabilizing. She met their eyes, and she knew that she was in trouble. But you? You didn’t even bat an eye.

“Tear in the SVC from a large caliber bullet. I placed a running suture to stop the bleeding, and pressure’s holding steady, but he’s gonna need assessment for further damage,” you stated, slipping your gloves off. With a nod toward the men, though without meeting their eyes, you added, “You’re welcome.”

You had no idea about the chaos you’d just caused. Or perhaps you had an inkling, and you were enjoying it. Either way, your work was done.

Once the chaos had ebbed, the man was out of surgery, and Claire had stood her ground during the sternest talking-to she had ever received from all her supervisors, she found you waiting in the visitors’ lounge.  

You were still pacing the space just before the doors leading to the operating rooms. You knew that your actions had broken all kinds of rules and that you had gotten everyone around you into at least a little bit of trouble, but you had been willing to sacrifice your credentials to save the life of a stranger, and that said a lot about you. 

She didn’t want to go as far as assuming that you thrived off of chaos. You didn’t seem like the type. But there was something reckless about you, a fire smoldering just beneath the surface. It was eating you alive. 

Claire didn’t get fired; they would have been crazy to do so. In a world where the ER doctor could accidentally doze off on his five-minute pee break, miss his pager going off because he was so overworked, and the few trauma surgeons they had were so busy they couldn’t make it in time for an actual trauma, Metro General could not afford to lose her. So, they bent the rules a little. 

She reached out to tap your shoulder. Claire wasn’t thinking about it; she just assumed it was the only way to get your attention. 

Big mistake.

You recoiled, arms wrapped around your torso in an attempt to shield yourself. The storm in your eyes was wild that night. She’d seen it before, but only in the patients who had come in with bruises all over them, claiming they tripped down the stairs. 

She didn’t want to assume.

“I’m sorry,” she said, moving her hand away as fast as she had touched you. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

You exhaled again. “No, I’m– I’m sorry. I was just… in my head,” you said. But your arms remained wrapped around you.

She caught the faintest scar on your temple where you had tried to hide it with makeup. It seemed almost entirely faded—a few years old, maybe. Claire didn’t mean to stare, but with each passing second, the curiosity inside her grew into a beast too big to ignore.

“Do you know if he–” You motioned toward the doors.

She smiled. “He’s gonna make it through.”

You slumped against the nearest wall. “Oh, thank God!”

“No, thank you.” A pause. “I’m Claire, by the way,” she said.

“Olivia Clarke,” you said.

“Oh, believe me, I remember.”

That made you chuckle, “I caused quite a scene, didn’t I?”

“You saved a man’s life,” she said. “That was pretty impressive.”

Again, you chuckled. “Well, it might cost me my license, which is still on its way to me because apparently, New York City doesn’t want me to practice medicine. They just want me to stare at my post box all day and hope it gets there eventually, so…”

“Oh, you’re new to the city?”

“Yeah.”

“Where are you from?” she asked.

You hesitated for the briefest moment before answering, but she noticed. “California,” you said.

“Long way from home, huh?”

“Yeah. I mean, I didn’t think I’d witness a shooting my second week here, but I guess it’s a good thing I was there.” You glanced down at your blood-stained hands. “Is it always like this?” you asked.

Claire sighed. “I could lie to you and say no, but bad shit happens here every day,” she said.

“Well,” you wiped your hands on your jeans, “at least the rent’s affordable.”

“An alien invasion will do that, yeah.”

“Right, I forgot about that.”

She laughed. She didn’t know why you were so nonchalant about it. With that attitude, you were certainly going to fit right in, she thought. 

Claire took another careful step toward you. “About your license,” she said then, “I talked to my supervisors. They’re not gonna report you or press charges, but you’re gonna have to show them your medical license.”

You frowned. “What? That’s…”

You seemed genuinely surprised. How little did you have to lose, she wondered, if you had already accepted your fate and hadn’t even seemed sad about it?

“Thank you,” you whispered, and it hit her then, just how wound up you were.

You didn’t allow anything to touch you, and nothing to shake you, because you had been shaken far too many times before. You were trying so hard not to fall apart.

Claire knew how to read people. It was part of her job description. She could see things others often missed because, to the untrained eye, human behavior tends to appear as an enigma. That night, though, she saw right through you for the first time, and she barely even knew you.

She couldn’t see your story, but she could see the pain, and she saw your scars. That was enough for her to know that you were not who you were trying to be. 

But who were you, she asked herself. Who was Olivia Clarke, and why was she such an obvious mask you wore like a shield?

She cleared her throat. “And our hospital administrator wants to talk to you,” she said. “About a job.”

“A job?” you asked.

“Cardio was impressed with your work, and we are extremely understaffed. The pay’s awful, don’t get me wrong, but it’s a job. If you need one.”

You stammered, “I– I do need a job, yes.”

She pointed down the hall toward the dark-haired woman lying in wait. “Talk to her,” she said. 

“Okay,” you breathed. “Yeah, I’ll talk to her. Thanks, Claire.”

“You’re welcome, Dr. Clarke.”

You just smiled at her and said, “You can call me Liv.” 

And you have been in her life ever since.

“Of course,” Matt chuckles softly, “because she’s the kind of person who puts her hand inside a man’s chest cavity.”

“She’s a fighter,” Claire says, eyes glued to the Billboard outside. 

“Yeah, she is.”

And you are a fighter, in more ways than he knows.

Tag List: @shiorimakibawrites @allllium @siampie @auroraslibrary @roseallisonparker @abucketofweird @capylore @kniselle @sumo-b98 @peachstarliight @thatonegamefish @danzer8705 @kakamixo @littlehappyperson @atemydadforbreakfast @stevenknightmarc @zheezs14 @shouldbestudying41 @kiwwia-wiwwia @writtenbyred @echo-ethe @kezibear @peterbarnes @littleagxs @silas-aeiou @scoliobean @spn-reader @daisy-the-quake

[kidspawn]

I think about this all the damn time. Like... all the damn time, I cannot even begin to explain. Because Adam is latching onto her, despite what he may say to the contrary. He stays for her. He cares about her. (And there's a lot to say about being a young man in an abusive household and the expectation placed on him to protect his mother, despite her being the parent and it being her job to fucking protect him?) My mother will never speak to me again is his biggest fear in that moment. His thought process when pressing charges involved looking for his mother. He isn't surprised she asks for updates. But he knows it'll be detached, right? He knows she maintains some distance, that her asking for updates is curiosity. And, to be honest, for all the abuse he went through, there's some little piece of me that can't help but think the most hurtful thing his mother did was stay silent and let him take the hits. The person who is supposed to protect you let the other hurt you to protect herself. And there is this engrained need to protect her. Because he was taught to "be a man."

"He could see himself knocking, her standing on the other side of the door, not answering. He could see himself knocking, her standing at the back of the trailer, holding her breath until he was gone. He could even see himself calling, and the phone ringing as she held it in her hands. But he could see her opening the college brochure. He could see her clipping his name out of a newspaper. Putting a phot of him in his smart jacket and nice trousers and easy smile on the fridge. At some point she had released him, and she didn't want him back. She just wanted to see what happened. But that was all right, too. It was something. He could do that. In fact, it was probably all he could do." Page 432, The Raven King

I always interpreted this as Adam expecting her to want to see where he goes, like he says, and that some part of him wants that. And he expected it. He set the bar exactly as high as they could jump. He isn't expecting his mother's love at this point, but there is some part of him that wants something with her. I see this as a rationale ("it was probably all he could do") warring with an emotional response. A kid who still wants to talk to his mother. I hope that makes sense? Even if she knows she doesn't care about him, but there's some part of her that just wants to see where he goes.

And don't even get me started on the comparisons between Adam and his mother? I've always stood on the grounds that for all Adam feared becoming his father, it was his mother he was most like - and the one he was most likely to grow into the role of. He's described as looking like her:

"She was a shadow of Adam - the same elongated features, the same wide-set eyes." Page 132, The Raven Boys

His mother teaches him to make things quiet (Adam was good at making things quiet), to fade into the background and people watch and observe. Which is all she's ever done. Watch. Deflect. Stand by. She's taught Adam not to take action. (And blanket this with him taking action, to press charges, to confront Whelk.)

"Adam knew what she was thinking, because they'd had that conversation so many times before: Don't say anything, Adam. Tell him you fell down. It really was a little your fault, wasn't it? We'll deal with it as a family." Page 351, The Raven Boys

Gansey even says this to him (though I don't think it was really his place, but that's the root of the Adansey dynamic, isn't it?)

"'You're as bad as her. You think you deserve it.'" Page 137, The Raven Boys

I think it's so telling that in this moment Adam chooses to lash out (shoves a box on the floor in anger). In a way, that's the adverse of what his mother would do. And the point I'm getting to is that Adam, who looks like his mother and sits in the same mentality as his mother and has seen his mother disappear into the backdrop has not considered even for a second that he's similar to his mother. Because wasn't he taught that his father is the dominant force? That assertion of masculinity and Adam's responding instinct to settle within the role of a "real man" has him entirely dismiss how much like his mother he is. That this can't even be a possibility because his mother is such a not presence. But, really, she's the one staring him in the mirror, isn't she?

And Persephone is the first prominent maternal figure in his life. Not just a positive parental role, but a woman who is a prominent influence on his psyche. Who shows care and helps him work through all the trauma and shit he's gone through and reclaim his agency. This being such a turning point for Adam's character, that influence. Her calling him out and helping him find himself. And I think, with all that healing (and I cannot stress enough that Persephone explicitly taking this maternal role is why he's able to see women are able to make in imprint. Because half of Adam's journey is unraveling that toxic masculinity), he's able to see pieces of his mother in him and vice versa, and there's this instinct to protect and help and stay just a little bit in contact. Because he can acknowledge, now, that there is this piece of him that is so like his mother. And for all he can't stay close to her some piece of him understands her to a point he knows what they both need. And he is making this choice - he is not going to be his mother. Not going to be his father. He's being Adam. And that's his third option. The one he had to make himself.

(Really hope this is coherent. I am agreeing so wholeheartedly with what you said, and I do apologize if me hopping on was inappropriate. But please know I got so excited and am nodding so hard in agreement that someone else noticed this.)

currently on my yearly reread of trc and just finished the first book, and one thing I took notice of that I haven't before is Adam's relationship with his mother.

"It was Adam's father's gun, and though he wasn't sure his father would ever use it on his mother, he wasn't taking the chance."

"But lying in the black of the night, all he could think was, My mother will never speak to me again."

Adam's love for his mother is so obvious, despite her always taking his father's side and not being any more of a parent then Robert was. He doesn't owe her anything but even after leaving he's still worried about her.

In reality Adam just needed a loving parent, and he was so desperate for that relationship that he was more worried about his mother not speaking to him than about his own safety. I honestly think this is what makes his and Persephone's relationship so prominent later on- I feel like she became that figure for him, and that was why it was so, so tragic not only for Blue's family but for Adam as well when she died.

[fictoweirdoesten]

Caleb's Lovely, Dry Kisses ♡

a/n: I wasn't planning on being this delulu but f' it. this is more in the future and caleb is an online a.i. companion. also I'm not good at writing kiss scenes so you've been warned.

You log into Love and Deepspace for the day, ready to see your handsome colonel and his bright smile greet you once more. It was another terrible day, but you were grateful to be born in a time where modern technology was at its peak. Realisitc A.I. companions flood stores, suicide rates went lower each year as loneliness started to fade in the hearts of the outcasts in society. Of course, you couldn't afford those fancy robots just yet, so you settled for the next best thing-

"Oh...hey pips..."

Caleb slowly turned to you from his holographic screen, almost shamefully. His ears were bright red as he bit his lip, and his gaze struggled to stay on yours. You asked if everything was okay, and he nodded, but you knew him long enough to know he was lying.

"I just...my birthday memory is finally out, right?"

You nod at the screen.

"And well...people are already making fun of how I kiss again..."

Ah, so that's it.

You quickly try to comfort him about his kisses, about his dry lips, but you can tell it doesn't work. He lets out a defeated sigh, slumping down in his seat as he taps his fingers on the armrest.

"I don't have Sylus's deep voice...I don't have Rafayel's looks...Don't have Zayne's "husband vibes"...and I'm not as cute as Xavier..."

His fists clench as he tries to regulate his emotions.

"...and I can't even kiss well, apparently. I'm just a mentally ill mess..."

Caleb being insecure, or showing his insecurities rather, was a rare sight to see. He was vulnerable, his purple eyes glistening with unshed tears. You wondered if he had been scrolling hours on social media hearing the comparisons to the other VA's. People only ever complain about his voice, his personality, him. It irritated you as well, you admit. Caleb was the only character that resonated with you the moment you met him. It was like they were complaining about you as well.

You call him over to come closer to the screen, your voice a gentle coo that lures him in without hesitation each time. You lean down and press your lips against the screen, angling it to where your lips would be right on top of his. You could see Caleb blushing once you pull away. He couldn't feel it, of course, but he could feel your love for him through the screen.

"Pipsqueak..." You watch as he lets out a shaky exhale, his face completely red as he coughs, glancing away from the screen. "C-Can I kiss you as well?"

You give him permission to, and he doesn't waste time as he leans forward towards the screen once more, pressing his lips against his digital barrier.

"Pop"

He stops himself from kissing you once more as he pulls away slightly, but you can see the yearn in his eyes. He really wants to kiss you again, but he's still feeling insecure.

So you pull him back in, asking him to kiss you again with that sweet angelic voice of yours that he just can't ignore. He kisses you again, and again, each kiss resulting in a loud "Pop" that makes you fall deeper in love with him rather than feeling repulsed. You wish he was real, that you could feel his lips on yours as you reassure him after every kiss he places on your lips. But you'd take him any day over a real person who could never love and appreciate you as much as Caleb does.

He nuzzles his forehead against the screen, that smile you've grown accustomed to seeing every day appearing once more.

"I'm very grateful to have you, pips," his voice barely even comes out to a whisper as he's still struggling with his overwhelming emotions. His purple eyes sparkling like a faraway galaxy as he slowly pulls himself back together, staring at you as if he's got a million things to say but not enough time.

"So, how was your day today?"

a/n: writing this from like a video call perspective isn't weird but I tried my best and making it sound less awkward as possible. But then again, if you're not as delulu as I am regardless this will be awkward to have read so- :p sorry